"
But, though we rejoiced to see that Clarian's health promised to be
better than it had been for months, we did not fail to notice with
regret and apprehension, that, as he grew physically better and
mentally clearer, a darkening cloud settled over his whole being,
until he seemed on the point of drowning in the depths of an
irremediable dejection and despair. Besides this, he was ever on the
point of telling us something, which he yet failed of courage to put
into words; and Thorne, noticing this, when, one day, we were all
seated round the bed, while the lad fixed his shaded, large, mournful
eyes upon us with a painfully imploring look, said suddenly, his
fingers upon Clarian's pulse,--
"You have something to say to us,--a confession to make, Clarian."
The boy flushed and shuddered, but did not falter, as he replied,
"Yes."
"You must withhold it until you are well again. I know what it is."
Clarian quickly withdrew his hand from the Doctor's grasp.
"You know it, and yet here, touching me? Impossible! entirely
impossible!"
"Oh, as to that," said Thorne, with a cool shrug of the shoulders,
"you must remember that _our_ relations are simply those of physician
and patient.
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