The poor boy cried aloud: "Oh, these infernal thoughts! These infernal thoughts! If only I could get them out of my head--think of something else!" He was going mad over it, he told himself. His head ached--ached. It would all come right--there was no cause for all this worrying. He had often thought about it before--never till now, till to-day, this wild, maddening, throbbing fury of trouble. What was it? What was it that caused these feelings and all this pain--why, why was he so taxed and tormented? If only he could get it out of his mind, could think of something else till he got home! There would be the jolly, jolly little supper with Aunt Maggie awaiting him; after it they would talk quietly, happily together, and he would tell her how he really must be doing something, and she would understand and everything would be put right. If only he could get it out of his mind--if he went back now as he was, why, he was not in a fit state of mind to go near her--and why? why? why this sudden difference, this sudden, maddening, throbbing state that goaded and tortured like a wild live thing within his brain? why? III More reasoned thoughts these--at least a consciousness of his condition and an attempt to plumb its cause. More reasoned thoughts--and they brought him suddenly to a calmer moment and there to the answer he sought: Dora. He was not far in person from the very spot where earlier in the day the vision of her had come to him and he had breathed her name and had her name come floating about him--Dora! Dora! Dora! soft as rose petals fall, sweet as they. He was not far in person from that spot--realising her in spirit he was aswoon again in that vision's ecstasy; and suddenly knew what reason urged his burning mood, and suddenly discovered why he burned to do. She the sweet cause of all this new distress!--hers the dear fault that life was now thus changed!