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Updated: May 7, 2025
Lewis could not see Shenton's face, but he saw his slight form suddenly straighten. Then he realized with a great relief that the Reverend Orme was not looking at Shenton; his gaze was fastened on Manoel. Lewis, too, turned his eyes on Manoel. Cold sweat came out over him as he saw the terror in Manoel's face. The leer was still there, frozen.
Toward evening he raised his face to his mother's. She leaned over him. "Mother," he whispered, "I should like to reach the mountain." Tears welled from her eyes and trickled down her cheeks. She held Shenton's curly head against her face so that he could not see. She stifled a sob and whispered back: "My boy, you will reach the mountain." The next day a man of the country joined them.
A strange terror had seized him. Something was the matter with Shenton. Lewis did not know what it was. Suddenly Shenton's mood changed to sullen stupor, and Manoel, whose gait was also unsteady, picked him up and carried him to a spigot, where he carefully unbuttoned the child's waist and soaked his head in cold water. The charm was broken. Lewis fled. Routine is the murderer of time.
Leighton looked from Ann's face to her burden, and his own face paled. "Again?" he asked. "O, Orme," cried Ann, "I'm frightened. What is it, Orme? Dr. MacDonald must come. Send for him. We must know!" The Reverend Orme took the boy from her arms and carried him into a spare bedroom. He laid him down. Shenton's head fell limply to one side upon the pillow.
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