"This is one, of those cases in which it is very hard to determine
the wisest course to be pursued. The question is not unlike that which
arises in certain cases of dislocation of the bones of the neck. Shall
the unfortunate sufferer go all his days with his face turned far round
to the right or the left, or shall an attempt be made to replace the
dislocated bones? an attempt which may succeed, or may cause instant
death. The patient must be consulted as to whether he will take the
chance. The practitioner may be unwilling to risk it, if the patient
consents. Each case must be judged on its own special grounds. We cannot
think that this young man is doomed to perpetual separation from the
society of womanhood during the period of its bloom and attraction. But
to provoke another seizure after his past experiences would be too much
like committing suicide. We fear that we must trust to the chapter
of accidents. The strange malady--for such it is--has become a second
nature, and may require as energetic a shock to displace it as it did
to bring it into existence. Time alone can solve this question, on which
depends the well-being and, it may be, the existence of a young man
every way fitted to be happy, and to give happiness, if restored to his
true nature."

XX. DR. BUTTS REFLECTS.

Dr. Butts sat up late at night reading these papers and reflecting upon
them. He was profoundly impressed and tenderly affected by the entire
frankness, the absence of all attempt at concealment, which Maurice
showed in placing these papers at his disposal. He believed that his
patient would recover from this illness for which he had been taking
care of him. He thought deeply and earnestly of what he could do for him
after he should have regained his health and strength.

There were references, in Maurice's own account of himself, which
the doctor called to mind with great interest after reading his brief
autobiography. Some one person--some young woman, it must be--had
produced a singular impression upon him since those earlier perilous
experiences through which he had passed. The doctor could not help
thinking of that meeting with Euthymia of which she had spoken to him.
Maurice, as she said, turned pale,--he clapped his hand to his breast.
He might have done so if he had met her chambermaid, or any straggling
damsel of the village. But Euthymia was not a young woman to be looked
upon with indifference. She held herself like a queen