Christine for a breathing-space remained motionless, aghast. All at once, “Oh, my God! He is dead--_dead!_” she cried, an agonized, heart-piercing cry, and sank upon her knees beside him, and flung herself sobbing upon his breast. Parrot-like, the guests caught up her cry, and repeated it in low, awed tones among themselves: “He is dead. He has dropped down dead.” The poor minister looked very badly scared, and as though he felt it incumbent upon him to say or to do something, without knowing what. At first old Redwood himself had started back, completely staggered. But he very speedily recovered his presence of mind. “Oh, no, he ain't dead either,” he called out. “He's got a fit or something. Hey, Dr. Whipple, down there! Come up here--will ye?--and see what ye can do.” The person thus appealed to, a tall old gentleman, with iron-gray hair, had gradually been elbowing his way to the front; and before Redwood had fairly spoken his last word, was bending over Elias, and gazing curiously at his face. Close upon the doctor's heels came the rabbi. The rabbi's countenance wore a strangely inappropriate smile--one would have said, a smile of satisfaction. “Well, doctor?” questioned Redwood. “Oh, doctor, doctor,” cried Christine, looking up through her tears, “is--is he--?” “No, no, my child,” answered the doctor, kindly. “He'll be as well as ever in an hour or two--only a bit head-achey and shaken up. There's no occasion for any alarm at all.” Turning to Redwood: “It's epilepsy. Does he have these attacks often?” “I'm blamed if I knew he had them at all,” said Redwood. “How is it about that?” he asked, addressing the rabbi. “He has never been troubled this way before,” the rabbi replied. “Perhaps it's in his family?” questioned the doctor. “Perhaps. I don't know,” the rabbi answered, though he did know perfectly well that Elias's father had died in an epileptic fit; a fact, by the way, of which Elias himself was ignorant. “Brought on, then, by nervous excitement, worry, loss of sleep, or what not, I suppose. It will be interesting to note whether he ever has another,” the medical man concluded. Christine, upon receiving the doctor's assurance that her lover was in no danger of death, had begun anew to sob upon his breast, more violently, if possible, than at first. The clergyman had retired to the back parlor, and was discoursing of the mishap to a bevy of gaping guests. “He turned as red, madam, as red as a beet,” the clergyman declared, “and then as white--as white as your handkerchief, and frothed at the mouth. I never saw a person turn so white--positively livid. Conceive my feelings. I was really very much pained, and very apprehensive. I thought certainly that it was heart-disease, and that he was about to breathe his last. I can't tell you how distressing it is, to have such a thing occur in the midst of such a joyful occasion. It has given my nerves a most serious shock.” His auditors murmured sympathetically.