nough," said Dr. May.

"I suppose," continued Margaret, "it will be better not to let dear
Norman know we are uneasy about him."

"No, no, certainly not. Don't say a word of this to him. I shall
find Harry, and ask about these disturbed nights, and then watch him,
trusting it may not have gone too far; but there must be dreadful
excitability of brain!"

He went away, leaving Margaret to comfort Ethel as well as she could, by
showing her that he had not said the mischief was done, putting her in
mind that he was wont to speak strongly; and trying to make her thankful
that her brother would now have such care as might avert all evil
results.

"But, oh," said Ethel, "his success has been dearly purchased!"

CHAPTER XII.

"It hath do me mochil woe."
"Yea hath it? Use," quod he, "this medicine;
Every daie this Maie or that thou dine,
Go lokin in upon the freshe daisie,
And though thou be for woe in poinct to die,
That shall full gretly lessen thee of thy pine."
CHAUCER.

That night Norman started from, what was not so much sleep, as a trance
of oppression and suffering, and beheld his father's face watching him
attentively.

"Papa! What's the matter?" said he, starting up. "Is any one ill?"

"No; no one, lie down again," said Dr. May, possessing himself of a
hand, with a burning spot in the palm, and a throbbing pulse.

"But what made you come here? Have I disturbed any one? Have I been
talking?"

"Only mumbling a little, but you looked very uncomfortable."

"But I'm not ill--what are you feeling my pulse for?" said Norman
uneasily.

"To see whether that restless sleep has quickened it."

Norman scarcely let his father count for a moment, before he asked,
"What o'clock is it?"

"A little after twelve."

"What does make you stay up so late, papa?"

"I often do when my arm seems likely to keep me awake. Richard has done
all I want."

"Pray don't stay here in the cold," said Norman, with feverish
impatience, as he turned upwards the cool side of his pillow.
"Good-night!"

"No hurry," said his father, still watching him.

"There's nothing the matter," repeated the boy.

"Do you often have such unquiet nights?"

"Oh, it does not signify. Good-night," and he tried to look settled and
comfortable.

"Norman," said his father, in a voice betraying much grief, "it will not
do to go on in