But such a time of uncertainty as that which Julian must now
endure is a great penalty to pay for even the greatest joy, when the
joy is past. He had his trance of the mind. He was hypnotized by his
ignorance whether Valentine were alive or dead. And so he sat motionless,
making the tour of an eternity of suffering, of wonder, of doubt, and
hope, and yet, through it all, in some strange, indefinite way, numb,
phlegmatic, and actually stupid.
At last the bell rang. Dr. Levillier had arrived. He was struck at once
by Julian's heaviness of manner.
"What is it? What is the matter?" he asked.
"I don't know. You tell me."
"He is fainting--unconscious?"
"Unconscious, yes."
They were in the little hall now. Doctor Levillier narrowly scrutinized
Julian. For a moment he thought Julian had been drinking, and he took him
by the arm.
"No; it is fear," he murmured, releasing him, and walking into the
tentroom.
Julian followed with a loud footstep, treading firmly. Each step said to
Death, "You are not here. You are not here."
He stood at a little distance near the door, while Levillier approached
Valentine and bent over him. Rip woke up and curled his top lip in a
terrier smile of welcome. The doctor stroked his head, then lifted
Valentine's hand and held the wrist.
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