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 this way.

If your mother was here, you would not close yourself against her." Norman interrupted him in a voice strangled with sobs: "It is no good saying it--I thought it would only make it worse for you; but that's it.
I cannot bear the being without her." Dr.May was glad to see that a gush of tears followed this exclamation, as Norman hid his face under the coverings.
"My poor boy," said he, hardly able to speak, "only One can comfort you truly; but you must not turn from me; you must let me do what I can for you, though it is not the same." "I thought it would grieve you more," said Norman, turning his face towards him again.
"What, to find my children, feeling with me, and knowing what they have lost?
Surely not, Norman." "And it is of no use," added Norman, hiding his face again, "no one can comfort--" "There you are wrong," said Dr.May, with deep feeling, "there is much comfort in everything, in everybody, in kindness, in all around, if one can only open one's mind to it.