“And it has been no better with him all the day, Doctor,” added Mrs. Wallingford, heaving a long sigh.  “Oh, I am distressed to death about it.  Won’t you come and see him?  I’m afraid if something isn’t done that he will lose his senses.”

“Have you no conjecture as to the cause of this strange condition of mind?” I asked.

“None,” she replied.  “Henry is a reserved young man, you know, Doctor; and keeps many things hidden in his mind even from me that should be outspoken.”

“Has he no love affair on hand?”

“I think not.”

“Hasn’t he been paying attention to Squire Floyd’s daughter?”

“Delia?”

“Yes.”

“I believe not, Doctor.”

“I’ve seen him at the Squire’s.”

“Nothing serious, or I should have known of it.  Henry is rather shy about the girls.”

“And you wish me to see him to-night?”

“Yes.  Something ought to be done.”

“What is his condition just now?” I inquired.  “How did you leave him?”

“He’s been in bed nearly all day, and hasn’t touched a mouthful.  To all my persuasions and entreaties he answers—­’Please, mother, let me alone.  I will be better after a while.’”

“I think,” said I, after musing on the case, “that, may be, the let-alone prescription will be the best one for the present.  He is prostrated by some strong mental emotion—­that seems clear; and time must be given for the mind to regain its equipoise.  If I were to call, as you desire, it might annoy or irritate him, and so do more harm than good.  No medicine that I can give is at all likely to reach his case.”

Mrs. Wallingford looked disappointed, and demurred strongly to my conclusion.

I’m sure, Doctor, if you saw him you might suggest something.  Or, may be, he would open his mind to you.”

“I’ll think it over,” said I.  “Mrs. Jones has sent for me to see her baby to-night.  I was just about starting when you called.  On my way back, if, on reflection, it seems to me advisable, I will drop in at your house.”

“Call at any rate, Doctor,” urged Mrs. Wallingford.  “Even if you don’t see Henry, you may be able to advise me as to what I had better do.”

I gave my promise, and the troubled mother went back through storm and darkness to her home.  By this time my overcoat was thoroughly dried.  As Constance brought it forth warm from the fire, she looked into my face with an expression of inquiry.  But I was not ready to speak in regard to Mrs. Wallingford, and, perceiving this at a glance, she kept silence on that subject.