It was not long before William had his family domesticated in his home. For a while it required most of his time and attention to restore them and Merle to even seemingly well conditions. By the time one was better another would fail, yet this was the happiest period so far in his life, and his contented mind showed forth in his every expression and act. Not that every condition was precisely what he desired, for there were often conflicts between stubborn wills, but he had been disciplined in the stern, hard, rigid school of experience.
The loneliness he had endured in the beautiful home that was the envy of so many, will never be known to any save himself. His wife can never realize it, for she has had her child to occupy her attention. His was a nature hard to understand, as he possessed a pride so deep and strong it was easier for him to endure suffering than to accept pity or sympathy.
The darkest season of his life had been lived alone. In early youth he had been left an orphan, inheriting vast riches. His remembrances of his parents were very vague, and he had neither agreed with nor respected his guardian. He had been practically unrestricted anddeveloped an imperious, haughty temperament, expecting his words and wishes to always command obedience and attention because they always had.
When he met Clarissa, she embodied, to his mind, just the qualities with which he had endowed his ideal of woman. She was beautiful in person, gracious and graceful in deportment, cultured, refined, and gifted with a glorious voice that cultivation had rendered little less than marvellous in power and richness. He immediately gave her all the love that was in his hitherto unexpressed nature, and cherished only one thought—to call her his.
The force and power of his intense nature was great. From his earliest recollections he had been accustomed to obtain everything he had desired, and this fact lent extra power to his purpose to win this woman for his wife.
Never having learned to curb his desires, nor to experience failure, his thoughts went forth ardent and strong, with never a doubt he should win her, and his thoughts were therefore charged with unusually strong magnetism. His wooing was short and ardent, for his imperious nature was unwilling to await patiently what he might desire, and his world of happiness was encompassed within the radius of her presence and affection. He was impatient of any intrusion upon their privacy, and being accustomed toconsider his word and wishes as law, he had believed a husband was master and arbiter of his wife's fate and life, and became furiously jealous, exacting and unreasonable.
Some women would have yielded submissively to the demands he made upon her, but Clarissa had herself been nurtured and developed under a regime of independence similar to his own, and likewise thought her wishes should always be consulted. Her beauty and talent had brought her admiration, flattery and homage, and it was impossible that she should be content or satisfied with one person's favor.
She was proud of her husband, loving him beyond all else on earth, but she had ever been used to command—not to obey. Dictation brought forth all the resistance and ire of her nature, and she would not yield. She loved to be noticed, flattered and praised, and William's extreme jealousy was therefore a tax upon her patience. Neither would change to suit the methods of the other, for each thought the other wrong.
Finally there came a climax, unusually severe. Clarissa, thinking herself greatly injured, left him, and taking Dinah, who had been her nurse in childhood, returned to her father. James and Nancy had also been servants in her father's house, following her whenshe married, and went into her new home. James' sympathy, however, was with his young master, whom he idolized, and he remained with him, trusting in a speedy reunion, but William and Clarissa were too proud to seek each other's forgiveness. Each believed the other to be entirely at fault.
William never had known he was a father, believing she had left him because she preferred a man whom he bitterly hated, therefore never sought to trace or find her. That people should not think he was weak enough to suffer through a fickle woman, he immediately left the place, and sought a new home, where he devoted all his time, wealth and energy to the study of mesmeric influence, the efficacy of which he had heard much. His pride continually said to him—"She has left you of her own choice.—She has disgraced you.—You must never admit you suffer."
When angry, he was actually irresponsible for many of the things he did, and the words he uttered. To so impetuous a nature, no other feeling could be so strong as jealousy, which seemed to render him temporarily insane.
In the very vortex of his passion, Clarissa told him she was about to become a mother. Under any other conditions, how happy such a revelation would have made him! Under such as those in which she had imparted the information,however, she might as well have gone to a person incapable of understanding as to expect him to remember what she said after they had ceased their quarrel.
Of course, she believed he remembered what she had told him, and because it did not soften his anger, making him loving and tender to her, she rushed to the conclusion he did not want to acknowledge the child as his own. Such injustice angered and irritated her, and she had returned to her father, telling him her side of the story. Her father, having always indulged her every whim, felt William was unjust, so made no effort to reconcile the conditions. While Augustus was very young, he passed away, leaving them alone, with plenty of money to care for themselves. Thus both she and William suffered, never learning, even in the severe school of life, to curb the haste of their uncontrolled natures.
There could be no better illustration of their attitude toward one another than that of two positive chemicals, which the chemist of love was trying to assimilate and compound into united action. Being equally positive, they held one another at bay, or at least, at such a distance as to preserve their individualities from the influence of the other, consequently were never drawn into concerted action as the object of each seemed to be to enhance his or her individuality.
Neither being wholly right or wholly wrong, both did as well as they understood, and the stern discipline of suffering was needed to refine their souls and bring into prominence their real value and worth.
In like manner as a diamond when taken from the ground contains within itself all the beauty and excellence it can be made to show, they were obliged to pass through the tests of true love, which declare its real worth, and bring forth such proofs of its superiority over mere physical attraction, as the passage of the diamond through the fierce tests of heat and fire, which proclaim its value beyond that of the ingenious and skillful imitations, for while they become disintegrated and their beauties are destroyed, the real gems only gleam the brighter because of the severity of the test. Like the diamond, the jewel of true love must always possess the ability to rise superior to those conditions which quench and destroy the flame of physical attraction often masquerading under the guise of love. The stronger and purer the love, the greater and more severe the tests it can withstand.
Both William and Clarissa had suffered much; instead, however, of estranging their souls, or, as many would say, their hearts, it only served to draw them nearer together, though they were physically far apart. No other woman couldsatisfy William's ideals, and no other man could fill William's place in Clarissa's affections, although they were unable to agree or satisfy one another, neither would acknowledge any wrong, so while each longed for the other's love and confidence, neither would make advances toward a reconciliation.
The fires of the furnace of suffering had destroyed much dross in both their natures, while the real jewel of their loves gleamed brighter and brighter as time passed.
Augustus passed his embryotic development and birth under such conditions, while his mother was suffering and smarting from the wounds of supposedly unappreciated love. Clarissa tried to the best of her knowledge to fill the place of both mother and father to him, going to the opposite extreme, mistaking indulgence for the expression of love. In so doing she was quite as selfish as William, who had expected so much from her, finding her own happiness in Augustus' pleasure, deceiving herself into the belief she was unselfish.
Such sentiments can never be unselfish, for does not unselfishness mean the unalloyed pleasure of giving, lovingly and generously to another, without consulting one's own aspirations, that the happiness which they enjoy may be for their good and betterment?
Less than a year has elapsed since William's reunion with his family. Merle, Alice and Augustus are visibly stronger and healthier, but Clarissa seemed to fluctuate between better and worse for a considerable length of time. For quite a while after she came to William's home, she appeared greatly improved, almost like a girl again, until after about six months, she suddenly began to show peculiar symptoms.
Usually the soul and life of the home, all, from William to the humblest servant looked to her for approbation, happy when she was happy, and uneasy when she was sad. From her entrance into the home, she had brought sunshine, not only to William's heart, but to his servants and Merle's family as well.
Mrs. Millard and her children rejoiced in William's happiness as though it had been their own, even more. He had been a friend in need, and they regarded him as their adviser and guardian. Gladly would any of them have suffered to purchase or enhance his happiness. The knowledge he had a family was a great surprise to them. They were much pleased to learn of his good fortune in being reunited to them, and would have found anyone whom he had claimedas his family pleasing and agreeable, whatever their characteristics might have been. As it was, a wife and son, possessing as they did talents and qualities of mind that commanded their esteem, had become, if possible, still greater objects of veneration than the Professor himself.
Clarissa's marvellous voice charmed and fascinated them beyond expression; to them she was more than a mere woman. Augustus' infirmity endeared him to them; he would have been loved had he not possessed other characteristics, but added to that, he possessed more than ordinary beauty, also great skill in drawing and music. They vied with one another to entertain and humor him, and this deference to his wishes was just what he sought and enjoyed. He spent much of his time with them, and in their home he was king. His slightest whim was law. They were so accustomed to bound their lives by the Professor's work, that they recounted to him such marvelous tales of his father's power and skill, the boy had grown to think him the wisest and most powerful man on earth.
When Augustus wanted to gain some favor or especial promise, he appealed to his mother, whom he knew how to coerce, but no words of love or praise she could bestow upon him filled him with such pride and genuine satisfaction as he knew when his father expressed hisapprobation of what he did. He grew to watch his father's face very closely, soon acquiring the perception to know whether he was pleased or annoyed even though such sensations were never expressed in words.
He possessed a very sensitive nature. The shock of seeing his mother in a mesmeric sleep, which he had mistaken for death, was an experience he could never forget, and while he was very proud of his father's reputation as the strongest and most powerful mesmerist of the age, he feared seeing anyone in that state; still, his mind was too active and vigorous not to desire to know the principles underlying the phenomena that terrified him, so he frequently questioned his father as to the nature of it, although he could not be urged nor persuaded to either be influenced himself or to see others placed in the trance state.
William was very anxious to place Augustus in a mesmeric condition, believing that by so doing he could restore his physical vigor, and knowing the boy's aversion to being, or seeing anyone else placed there, he strove to control him without his knowledge. He soon found the process did not conduce to improve the boy's health, however, as he became exceedingly irritable and nervous, so much so indeed, that on one occasion, when he had persisted in concentrating his thoughts upon him, Augustus had becomehysterical, and nearly gone into convulsions. He would undoubtedly have done so had his father persisted in his resolve.
This was a condition William did not comprehend. He sought by every method to reconcile Augustus to the idea to be mesmerized willingly, hoping by means of the trance state to obtain some explanation of the strange phenomenon, as the boy's personality promised him an unusual subject if he could only subjugate his prejudice. He was the most difficult subject he had ever encountered. This was not because he did not possess the power to conquer his resistance either waking or sleeping, but he disliked to evoke the conditions necessary to control his individuality by force.
When Augustus sickened, he not only had this condition to combat, but Clarissa and Merle's family and the servants all became agitated and alarmed, and looked upon him as the source of relief. Thus, to control Augustus, he was obliged to control them all. Strange to say, he could control all far easier than he could Augustus. He tried to bribe him to see Merle or Alice in a trance, hoping in this way to take from his consciousness all thoughts of fear, but he was never successful.
Augustus could not separate the trance state from thought of death. While in a strangerWilliam would not have humored a repugnance, he, like Clarissa, felt the boy's infirmity was due in part to his fault, although unwittingly so, therefore thought it his duty to make all possible excuses for him. His best judgment was never exercised toward Augustus. Thus, when Clarissa began to show the desire to retire by herself, the father and son naturally grew nearer and nearer to one another, in thought and deed, while neither would acknowledge the vast difference they noted in her actions.
Both were sensitive, we might even say, jealous, because they realized their presence was no longer necessary to her happiness. She sought seclusion, throwing them more and more into companionship, but both were too proud to own the keen agony they felt, and as they realized more and more deeply this lack of the necessity of their affections to her, a common instinct seemed to draw them closer and closer together.
Augustus, like his father, was peculiarly sensitive and loved to be made much of, but they both feared to intrude themselves upon her. It was not because she loved them less, however, she sought seclusion, nor could she have told why she wished to be alone. She only knew she desired complete solitude, where, unmolested by anyone, she questioned and requestioned facts she knewto be true. She was as irresponsible for her actions as a person bereft of mind or consciousness.
Being shut so much from her presence, William came to confide more and more in Augustus, who opened his heart toward his father in corresponding measure, and each finding the other was not preferred more than himself, they joined in mutual resistance.
As Clarissa drew herself further and further from her husband and her child, she clung more closely to Mrs. Millard and Alice, and it seemed as though she either desired to be entirely alone or in their company. She only sang when begged to do so, and even then did not do herself justice. Dr. Baxter and others of her husband's friends who had been most agreeable to her at first, seemed now to only irritate her—she could not herself tell why.
She had never loved William and Augustus more than now, still they caused her much irritation, and although she meant to be patient and loving, she was the exact opposite, and the more congenial and pleasant and agreeable she endeavored to be, the more her strength deserted her. She was an enigma to herself as well as to her family. Had anyone told her she could ever be wearied or exhausted by Augustus she would a short time before have resented it, now she found his very voice and presence often vexing.
She fought with herself valiantly, and William watched, sad and distressed as her infirmity gained upon her. It was a condition that, with all his skill, he could not meet. He worked patiently and lovingly, picturing her in his mind to represent health, vigor, cheerfulness and happiness, but the harder he worked, the greater became the ravages of nervousness upon her. He had tried mesmeric sleep, but despite his confident thoughts she would wake with calmness, peace and contentment, he could clearly see before she vented her feelings in words that she awoke nervous and irritable, and shrank from his love and embraces. It was inexplicable.
Once he would have hastened to the conclusion she did not love him, and jealousy would have forced him into unkind measures with her, but when he saw Augustus suffering a like banishment, the boy's suffering was so acute, he felt he must amuse him, and think of him and until Clarissa should again be herself, be both father and mother to him. They were almost continuously together; both suffered, each pitied the other, and tried to make the other forget.
William gave up his scientific researches completely; he had no heart nor interest for it while Clarissa continued in her present state, and despite his vast experience with nervous difficulties, he could not account for the peculiar phases ofher sickness. Had she shunned him and clung to Augustus, it would have seemed less inexplicable. In a way he would have suffered more, for his keenest suffering now was modified by the fact that he must amuse Augustus and save him from suffering.
The boy could not understand why he was forbidden his mother's presence, as he had been taught from earliest infancy to expect his wishes to be regarded as law by her and the servants. Now Clarissa, although still kind, no longer made him the center of her attention or interest. He was sensitive, and his pride as well as his affections was hurt.
One day Clarissa had not appeared at the morning meal, but pleading illness, had gone to Mrs. Millard's and remained till after the time for him to retire. He became so aggrieved he wanted sympathy, and, although during all the time they had been growing nearer and dearer they had neither of them ever referred to what they considered their common sorrow, when it became time for Augustus to go to bed, and his mother had not returned, he went quietly with Dinah without a word, but noting his father's pained expression, after he had been undressed and prepared to sleep, he suddenly resolved to go back to him and tell him that he loved him and not to grieve. Dinah could not control him,but she insisted in wrapping him with shawls to keep him warm, and, placing him in his chair, promised to remain where she was till his return.
With the help of one of the other servants, he soon reached the room where he had left his father, and entered. William sat quietly looking straight before him, so did not notice him at first, but afterward, hearing the noise of his chair, he looked up, surprised and perplexed.
"Why, Augustus, I thought you were sleeping. Are you ill?"
There was no answer, but William saw the tears in the boy's eyes. He said no more,—his heart ached for sympathy, and it was a relief to have him near to lavish his affection upon. He lifted Augustus from his chair into his arms, and as the boy's head went to his shoulder, his arms wound around his neck in a tight embrace. For quite a time neither spoke, then Augustus, lifting his head and looking piteously into his father's face, said:
"She does not love us any more."
William could not speak; he only held his son closer to him.—So they sat when the door opened and Clarissa entered. They both heard her—neither moved. Each seemed to feel a comfort in knowing that the other suffered too.
There was someone with her,—Mrs. Millard,—and they went directly by the room wherefather and son were sitting. They strained their ears to hear if she inquired for them, but were unrewarded. Her voice sounded cheerful to them. They instinctively clung closer to each other, and neither spoke. The voices grew fainter and fainter, and finally died away altogether, and left them sitting there,—miserable, unhappy and forgotten.
William bowed his head over his son until their faces touched; he thought he had known misery before, but as he felt the boy's suffering by the deep drawn sighs which were almost sobs, he realized that only now had he touched the bitter cup. Jealousy was no factor in his sufferings now, and no one could ever know what consolation there was for him in those clinging arms and the companionship of his boy. He knew they made him a better man, and resolved to do for him what he could not do for himself. That close embrace seemed to feed his hungry heart, and after a while Augustus slept. William rejoiced. Still he preferred to hold him rather than be alone with his sorrow.
He tried to think where he had failed to win Clarissa's love. Not only he had failed, but his boy also, who had previously been the center of her interest. Neither of them was now necessary to her happiness. What a void! Who could compass it?—He felt a touch upon his shoulder,and before he could bring his mind to realize her actual presence, Clarissa's arms were encircling them both, and her kisses, warm and fervent, were upon his lips. As he looked up, her eyes gleamed bright and tenderly into his, and his first thought was, "I wish Augustus could see her."
He knew the boy's heart was as hungry as his own, and that Clarissa, the old loving Clarissa, was before him. He removed one arm from Augustus, placing it tenderly and closely about her, and drawing Clarissa nearer said, "Kiss him."
What volumes the words implied! They proved how his nature had broadened. Instead of thinking of his own happiness, he thought first of Augustus. To be sure he was his child, but the time had been when even his own child would not have come first. Not that he loved her less, for he loved her more, but he was beginning to learn what love really was. The boy did not stir as his mother kissed him, and Clarissa said, "Why is not Augustus in bed?"
"He went," said William, "then came back to comfort me, I think, although he did not say so."
As he said this, he looked up at her with a pleasant smile, and she seemed to recognize its significance, for she bent over and, kissing him, placed her arms above Augustus' around his neck.
A bright flush mounted to William's cheek as he drew her still closer to him; his eyes sought hers eagerly, but hers sank before him. He held the boy nearer and nearer, with a long drawn sigh that made Clarissa sad, and she said quickly:
"William, do you doubt my love?"
No answer.
"William, tell me;—do you doubt my love?"
There was no response in words, but his arms held her a little closer. The power of speech seemed to have left him. Again she asked, "William,—you know I love you?"
After a pause he spoke.
"If you love Augustus, why do you not remain with him? See, he has come to me for sympathy and love. Clarissa, even though you shun me, give our boy your love. He must not be blamed for his father's—"
"William! William! Do you not understand?"
"No, Clarissa; I do not. I only know my heart is desolate, and Augustus suffers. I have not questioned your motive. Probably, Augustus, like his father, has failed to satisfy you."
"Enough, William. See; I am pleading humbly. No,—do not try to raise me. I promised Mrs. Millard I would tell you the truth. I—"
"Clarissa!"
"Do not—do not touch me. Do not wakeAugustus. I want to talk with you,—alone. I love you, William. Do you believe me when I say I love you?"
"Yes, Clarissa, though I sometimes have my doubts when you shrink from me and my embraces. My love makes me desire your constant presence, but you draw away when I come—"
"Do not say any more, William;—I cannot understand myself. I never loved you nor Augustus more, yet I cannot endure your embraces. Will you not have patience with me, knowing my condition? I want your affection. I feel I must have it. Still, I want to be alone. I do not know why, but Augustus' voice even, makes me irritable. William, I am a very weak woman; will you not help me? You are the father of my children. Have patience. Think for me. Believe me, William, I never loved you as I do now, yet there is some power beyond my control that makes me long to be alone. I long so many times to have your arms around me. I want a lover, not a husband. Do you not understand?"
"I cannot separate the two, Clarissa. I am your husband, and have always been your lover since I first saw you. I am as much so now and more, than ever before. You were never so beautiful to me, so loving—"
"William, if I were suddenly to lose the beauty you love, would you still love me?"
William was surprised to see the concern and anxiety in her face, and said confidently, "Yes, Clarissa. Why do you question me? You have made me very happy by your admission of your coming motherhood. It means a new happiness in our lives. Let me share your feelings now. I was not privileged to be with you before Augustus was born. You have relieved my heart of a great burden. I thought you had grown weary of me, but now I have a new joy. I am so glad you have told me. Lift your head, Clarissa. Let us seal our new joy with a kiss. One for Augustus, too. Poor child, he and I have suffered much. Why have you not told me before?"
Clarissa suddenly burst into such a torrent of tears that her sobs awoke Augustus; he clung to her, half asleep, half awake; then sank back upon his father's shoulder. William smiled and said:
"Kiss mamma. I will tell Dinah you are going to remain with me tonight. Let her put you in my bed. I will come soon."
Without speaking to Clarissa, he went out with Augustus. Before long he returned and without a word he clasped her in his arms. Soon she ceased her sobbing, and he said:
"Clarissa, let us go and thank Mrs. Millard. I feel she has sent you to me. She knows the strength of my love better than you do. In thefuture, don't draw away from me; do not fear me. Give me the privilege of sharing all your experiences. I will never obtrude upon you. Come, let us go to Mrs. Millard,—then to Augustus. We three will unite in thanksgiving for the new love we are to have."
"You are pleased, William?"
"Pleased is a faint word. Knowing the cause of your eccentricities, I shall not grieve, though you exclude me entirely from your presence."
"William, what will Augustus say?"
"He is too much my boy not to rejoice too. Trust us, Clarissa; we are jealous, exacting, and imperfect, but our loyalty and love are unswerving. You are our all. Try to have patience with our shortcomings."
"I am afraid Augustus will be grieved."
"You have made me most happy by your confidence. In all future times come to me with your difficulties, even though I am the cause of them, and permit me to change my methods when I am wrong. Act your own will. Just love us, and I will prepare Augustus for the revelation. I know he will rejoice too. He and I have grown very near one another in these few days. We are much alike. I am glad to see you smile, even if it is at my expense. Just a word, and then we will go to Mrs. Millard.
"Forget the past selfishness upon my part. Iwill try in the future to do just what you want. Anything but isolation. If you prefer lover to husband, I will be that; when you want neither, I will try to make Augustus happy. Your smile makes me glad. How much I owe Alice and her mother,—yes, and Merle, too! Come, let us go."
The revelation which Clarissa had made to William wrought a great change in him. Even the next day he felt cheerful, and upon waking and finding Augustus still asleep, he said to him:
"Come, Augustus, we must rise, for I have some work to do. I promised your mother I would bring you to her early. She is not well, and we are to shield and care for her. Shall I carry you just as you are, and put you beside her while she is sleeping? Perhaps we can surprise her. Shall we try?"
There was such jovial pleasure in his face that Augustus was surprised and he looked at him suspiciously, and asked:
"Did she ask for you or me to come?"
"Both of us, boy. She came in and kissed you after you were asleep, and said she wanted us to come and see her before I went out."
"Where are you going? May I go? I get so lonesome here with only Dinah and James."
"You may go if you wish. I should like to have you. You love Merle. I am going to him, and try to finish my book upon science."
"Father, are you going to make him look dead?"
"I am going to put him in a trance, Augustus.You are too brave a boy to be afraid of anything your father does. Do you think I would injure Merle?"
"No; but mamma looked as though she were dead. I do not want to go."
"You will always be nervous, Augustus, until you have watched the process of mesmeric influence. When you know what I am doing, you will not feel as you did, when, without warning, you found your mother in a mesmeric state. Come, my boy, be brave. I like to have you with me, if you will come. I will take you to the theatre after my work is done, and we will ask Merle to go with us. Merle loves me. Would he love me if I did him any injury?"
"No; but it makes me nervous just to think of it."
"All that nervousness will go when you see me work. Will you come?"
"May I go away if I do not like it?"
"Yes. Now let's go to mamma; we will not bother with the chair. Let's surprise her. I will put you beside her before she awakes. We will go very quietly."
"Will she want us?"
"I think so. Come."
* * * * *
Later in the day, Augustus went with his father, but not without many misgivings. Hewanted to go, but he was afraid. He and Merle were the best of friends, yet he felt a sense of nervousness about seeing him entranced, although he was ashamed to acknowledge it to his father. He did not doubt his father's power nor think that William would hurt Merle, even temporarily, but the first shock he had received had prejudiced him. He was very fond of his father, and had he heard anyone doubt his abilities or powers, he would have resented it. He was glad his father had asked him to go with him, while he was working upon the evidence for his book, still, would have given much to have been somewhere else at the time.
Arriving at Merle's house, each member of the family vied with the others to entertain him, and after a while William said, "Come, Merle, let's get to work."
"All right, Professor," responded Merle.
They started toward another room, and William said, "Come, Augustus."
Augustus took his crutches and started to follow them. His father was ahead, thus did not see the boy's agitation and paleness, but Alice did, and said, "Don't you think Augustus had better stay with mother and me while you work, Professor?"
William did not turn his head, but said, "No, Alice; he wants to be with me."
Alice said no more; it seemed to her that it was anything but a joyous expression upon Augustus' face. She was accustomed to obey the professor implicitly and without comment. It did not occur to her that the boy was afraid. She thought he was displeased.
William had just begun to work upon Merle. As he said "You are waking, Merle?" he heard a noise behind him, but did not turn in time to prevent Augustus from falling. He was insensible when his father reached him. William's first thought was "What will Clarissa do if he is dead!" He had not realized the terror the child felt at seeing a comrade pass through the successive stages between consciousness and trance obedience. Custom had inured William to such scenes, but fear pictured each transition in intensified colors to Augustus. When he saw the pallor and rigidity which Merle assumed, he could not help but think he was dead, and fell forward, without a word, in a deep swoon.
Merle was forgotten for the moment, and William was aghast at the condition in which he found Augustus. He called quickly and sharply and both Mrs. Millard and Alice responded. Augustus looked worse than Merle. William rubbed him vigorously and continuously, calling "Come, Augustus;—Augustus; wake up my boy, wake up. Mother is waiting for us."
They gave him air, water and stimulants, and finally he began to show signs of life. William continued to talk to him. "Augustus, my boy,—Augustus, look at me."
Finally, as William raised him, his eyes opened and looked into his father's, then wandered to Merle. Such a piercing cry rang out as they will never forget, and he sank back, rigid and still. William, the calm man of science, was visibly disturbed. Anxiety was plainly written upon his countenance, and, holding Augustus closely to him, he bade Merle awake.
Merle was very soon himself again, and astonished at seeing Augustus in his father's arms, with Mrs. Millard and Alice rubbing him. The condition was very soon explained to him, and he took his stand directly beside the boy, so when he regained consciousness he would be relieved of his fears, finding Merle well and smiling.
When Augustus finally revived from this second swoon, and saw all the loving solicitude upon the faces around him, his first feeling was of shame he had shown fear, and although he had a weak body, he had a strong will when he set about a thing, and the thought caused him to try to raise himself. He threw his arms around William's neck, trying thus to support himself, and looking earnestly into his father's eyes, said:
"I do not want to be a coward."
"Do not think about it, Augustus;—Mrs. Millard, will you and Merle and Alice leave us alone for a little while? There, boy; rest. Keep perfectly quiet. You shall not be frightened so again."
William lifted the child, and seating himself in a chair, held him closely to him. The boy's head drooped upon his shoulder and everything was quiet. After a long pause, Augustus spoke, but without lifting his head.
"Father, are you very much ashamed of me?"
"Not a bit, boy. I only regret I caused you to suffer so. You are a brave little fellow to stand so much without a word. I am proud of you. Try to calm yourself; then we will do whatever you wish."
With a sigh of relief, Augustus relapsed into silence, and William communed with himself. By the expression upon his face it was evident that his thoughts were not altogether to his liking. He had many questions to ask himself that could not be answered satisfactorily. Where now was his boasted calmness? Even now, it was only by the exercise of all his force of will that he kept from trembling, and all because a boy had swooned.
That it was his boy was no reasonable excuse, for love should have made him stronger instead of weaker. Why was it that he could notmesmerize Augustus, who ought to be an unusually good subject? Why did Clarissa draw away from him and Augustus at the time of all others when she should be most dependent upon them for love and care?
If, before his family returned to him, another man had come to him with similar difficulties, he would, without hesitation, have explained the cause and offered to adjust the condition. He had tried all the methods he knew upon his wife and child, and instead of bringing about the desired results, Clarissa shrank more and more from him. He knew that it was not because she did not love him. There was no other way to account for it than by her physical condition.
He felt an almost irresistible impulse to give vent to a sarcastic laugh. "Science baffled by a pregnant woman's whim and a child's fear. Wonderful exponent of it I am!" As he thought this, William threw his head back quickly and scornfully. Augustus said:
"What is it, father?"
"Nothing, my little man. How are you feeling now?"
"Better. I wish I could go riding out of doors."
"You may. There are your crutches. Go ahead of me, and ask Merle and Alice to join us. They will feel relieved to know that you arewell enough to come to them; they were very anxious."
"Father, I would not want mamma and Dinah to know that I was afraid."
"All right, boy. You go and ask Merle and Alice to go with us, and I will go and get a carriage."
After the members of his household had retired that night, William sat thinking as he had never thought before. He believed he had solved the cause of various phenomena through the use of mesmeric influence. He was able to demonstrate their basic principles to his friends or indeed to strangers, by the application of his knowledge, without relying upon theories or conjectures, and to perform marvelous feats by the aid of his powers, yet he was completely non-plussed by two members of his own family, who, although they did not doubt the efficacy of his powers, exhibited the very opposite traits to what he desired when he endeavored to work upon them.
While he sat there, deep in thought, he felt a hand upon his shoulder, and, looking up, saw Clarissa standing before him.
"William, why are you not in bed and sleeping? Does anything trouble you? You looked so sad when I came in—"
"I am a little perplexed, but not troubled. How came you here, dear? Can you not sleep? Are you ill?"
"No; I went to sleep, directly I went to bed. I dreamed you were here, alone and troubled, andI have little, if any recollection of leaving or coming here, but here I am. William, did you will me to come to you?"
"No, Clarissa; I supposed you were sleeping, and I would not disturb your sleep."
"Then how did I come here? I did not know you were here. I remember dreaming you were here; that is all."
"You must have felt I was lonely, and your goodness of heart brought you here to comfort me. That thought makes me happy. You must go back, or you will take cold."
"But, William, when I first asked you, you said that you were not troubled; now you say you are."
"Only troubled to understand myself, and some scientific problems that have been brought to my attention."
"You are wise, William; I wish you would explain to me some of the things I have seen since I have been ill. Oh! I don't mean right now; tomorrow;—any time when you are not engaged."
"Certainly;—I will do my best. Clarissa, are you happier here than you were before you came back to me?"
"Yes."
"Now I will go and stay with you until you are sound asleep. Here is Dinah. Did you think she was lost, Dinah?"
"No, master; but she acted so strange I was afraid that she was sick."
"Acted strange when?"
"Why, master, she went to sleep right after she retired and seemed so quiet like, I thought I would go and see Augustus. Then I remembered he wanted me to do an errand for him—I promised not to tell what it was,—as I was going back to him, I met Mistress Clarissa coming down here. I spoke to her, but she did not answer me, and said, 'Yes, William I know—I am coming.' I touched her, but she didn't look around, only said, 'Yes, William.' I thought sure she was walking in her sleep, and I ought to watch her, but if I had known you were here, Master William, I would not have come in."
"You did just right, Dinah;—I am glad you watched her. Now go to Augustus. I will stay with her till she sleeps soundly and well."
"William, I do not remember meeting Dinah; surely, you must have willed me to come to you, or I would not have known where to find you, nor failed to see Dinah when she spoke. Did you not call me, William?"
"No, Clarissa; no more than I do always when you are absent. Your image is never away from my consciousness, and whatever subject may claim my attention, you are always present in my mind. I did not will you. I hoped with all the powerof my soul you were enjoying a sweet and dreamless sleep."
"I think it strange. I did not know you were here. I came here without knowing it, and you say you did not call me."
"No; but do not worry about it. I am going back with you, and will stay until you are sound asleep. Do not try to explain your coming here. We will do that together later. I always want you near me; possibly when you were sleeping, you became sensitive to that thought. Come. You will be ill tomorrow."
The night's experience furnished William with still another problem to study, all the more perplexing because of the fact that Clarissa had come to him without his having concentrated upon her doing so, and apparently of her own will, while she had shrunk away, cold and unresponsive when he had tried to bring her. What was the power that had brought her to him? It must have been strong, although she had no remembrance of coming, nor of meeting Dinah.
Long after she was asleep, he weighed cause after cause; there was no disputing the fact he was becoming nervous, and, when her regular and low breathing proclaimed beyond all doubt she was sleeping sweetly and soundly, he would not move, nor leave her, fearing she might again rise and walk about in her sleep.
If she had come to him at almost any other time, he would not have been surprised, as she was so constantly in his mind; then he would have thought his silent suggestions, finding her negative, had drawn her to him, by the same law that a hypnotist draws a subject, but just at this particular time he had been very deeply engrossed in other thoughts.
According to his ideas, there was only one wayto account for it; that was to ascribe it to her physical condition, making her negative and sensitive; possibly producing a state of somnambulance, and that he was in her mind in her dreaming, she had been guided to him by that strangely inexplicable, but none the less true instinct that guides all somnambulists if left unrestricted in their movements. This nervous state might last throughout the entire period of her pregnancy. At another time she might be drawn to Augustus, or any other person or place.
Persons have been known to drown themselves in such a state, so he would watch her. He knew somnambulance sprang from nervous excitement, and in her condition, there was no telling what phases might develop.
This had been a harmless and pleasing incident, but there was nothing to guarantee its repetition would be the same. It was not only his right, but his duty to watch over her while she was in this negative condition, for if harm should come to her, he could never forgive himself.
There was danger when she would seek him in an apartment he was unaccustomed to be in,—especially at that time of night. Her very accuracy was, perhaps, the most alarming feature. Women in her condition are apt to exhibit very peculiar traits, and these usually entirely foreign to their natural instincts. He would, therefore,watch her very closely during the interval, doing what he could to help her, but he must be careful she did not discover his surveillance.
How little he realized what an advancement he was making in true love! Once he would have wanted her to know of every sacrifice he made, and had she not desired his constant presence, he would have become jealous,—perhaps furiously so—and felt she had no love for him. He had learned much. He had learned love means more than attention even more than endearing words and close embraces. These could all be supplied by subterfuge, even while love was totally absent. Real love may exist without these outward demonstrations.
He understood all this as he was compelled to hide his own affections more and more, and as he witnessed Augustus' suffering upon being banished from his mother's presence. He had been educated to believe himself the one object of interest in the home, and it came harder to him, therefore, than it did to William, to relinquish her constant solicitude.
Altogether, it was a dreary season for them, full of heartaches, but to William, even this, compared to the time when he was alone in his beautiful home, was a veritable paradise, for now he had Augustus and his love and Clarissa's presence. Humble indeed were his presentrequirements as compared to his past exactions, and this state of humbleness proved his great growth in wisdom, for ignorance is always aggressive and egotistic, encroaching largely upon both possibilities and the actual, while real wisdom, like charity, "vaunteth not itself."
For some unknown reason, William felt he wanted to talk with Alice when she was entranced. Until Clarissa came to him, he had turned to Merle in all seasons of doubt and perplexity, but now, he felt Alice could best furnish him the information he desired. Augustus clung to his father's companionship a large portion of the time, even in the matter of education the family felt that they could best supply him with knowledge, for they were even more sensitive about his infirmity than himself.
They were unwilling he should mingle with boys about his own age, taking especial care in cultivating his taste for music and art, which was far beyond the ken of children of his age. William felt he must also devote more of his time to him, so, on the day following asked him if he would like to go with Merle for a long ride that would occupy some time, calling for him upon the way back, when they would all go to the theatre, where Augustus loved so well to go.
When his mother had swayed and thrilled such vast audiences by the magic of her beautiful voice,she had rarely allowed him to be present; she loved to think she was singing for him, and he was the one object in her mind, but she felt she could do better when he was not actually present. This very fact probably made Augustus all the more fond of public performances, for he always thought "my mother can do better than that."
He was very proud of her reputation as a singer while his father was extremely sensitive about it. William would have been loth to admit it to anyone, but, growing to believe he had no other rival in Clarissa's affection save this boy, he transmitted his hatred of supposed rivals to her public achievements, and could not endure the thought of them.
What gave Augustus joy in this respect, gave him jealousy. He did not like to think of her as singing to multitude, the object of their unstinted admiration, therefore her reputation as a peerless musician and singer brought him no whit of pleasure.
Few of her hearers could appreciate her singing as he, for he was a fine musician himself, still he could not endure the thought of her singing for public approval or money. Music, to him, was a sacred gift, and although he gloried in her abilities, he deplored the attention it brought to her publicly. Of all things, the knowledge shewas working for financial reasons was the most exasperating, and he was particularly and peculiarly sensitive upon this point, not liking to hear her spoken of as a public entertainer, while that was very pleasing to Augustus.
Whenever he attended a public performance, he invariably said that it was good, but mamma could do better, deriving much pleasure from the thought, though the mere mention of Clarissa's achievements and attempts to win public favor was torture to his father.
Just now, however, William desired to see Augustus happy, so he planned for every condition he felt would add to his pleasure, and while he and Merle were riding, he would talk with Alice, thus both father and son would be occupied and partially happy.
William felt relieved when the boys had started upon their pleasure trip, and he was left alone with Alice and Mrs. Millard. The Millards seemed very near to him, and he felt almost as much solicitude for them as for his own family. Alice was glad to be of service to him, and this cheerfulness upon her part was, perhaps, one of the strongest factors in her ability to do good work for him.
Merle was equally desirous of pleasing him, passing willingly at any and all times into the trance state. William had never felt as much pride in his work or the results accruing from it as Merle did, and never had found another "subject" upon whom he could so fully rely. There was no doubt the congeniality of their souls had much to do with the success of their achievements. It gave Merle particular pleasure to know William eclipsed all other demonstrators of mesmeric power, feeling flattered to be chosen by so wise a man as his principal subject.
He never dreaded to pass into the trance state, and had, in so far as it was possible for him to do so, followed the injunctions he had been given at the outset, to try and eliminate all personal opinions, holding no personal prejudices, and offering no resistance.
Not a little of William's prestige depended upon the evidence Merle had given him in the trance condition, and Alice was equally zealous, but had never been used for any public work.
She, also, felt flattered to think the professor should select her to assist him in his investigations instead of Merle, whom she considered to be her superior as a subject, and whose reputation as a subject was as great as the professor's as a demonstrator.
She had no realization of the difference in the kind or nature of the work done through them, nor, indeed, had she ever speculated upon that point.
Mrs. Millard excused herself, leaving William and Alice alone, and he soon placed her in a trance. She said nothing until he questioned her.
"Alice, are you waking?"
"Yes, Professor."
"Can you see my wife? Tell me what she is doing."
"She looks very thoughtful. I do not know whether she is sad or not."
"Why should she be sad?"
"I do not know that she is sad."
"Then why do you speak of it?"
"I do not know."
"Alice, can you read her thoughts? You ought to. Try."
"Ask her to come here. She will be here soon. I feel she will help you more than I can. There she is."
"Alice, I cannot bring her. You ought to know that."
"You must. Ask her."
"Her health will not permit it."
Alice shook her head thoughtfully, then she said: "I want to see her."
"But, Alice, I tell you that she is not in condition—"
"I want to see her. Ask her. Did I not help you to get her? Ask her."
That last assertion alone moved William; he remembered how skeptical he had been when she had advised him to return to Clarissa; she was right then, and he had no reason to question her until he had found her advice to be incorrect, at least once.
The first thought to arise in his mind was "Why did Clarissa come here?" She had sent word to him and Augustus she was ill and could not join them in their morning meal, but she was evidently not too ill to visit comparative strangers, so he had no desire to force his presence upon her, but Alice said she wanted to see her. He remained silent for a while, then said, "If you want to see her, go to her."
The words were scarcely out of his mouth,when Alice arose with closed eyes and walked out of the room. William hardly knew what to do; he wanted to follow her to see what transpired, but his sensitive pride said "She will think you forced the girl to come," and that thought determined his action. He did not move. He waited and waited, still she did not come. What was she doing? Why did they not come to him, knowing he was waiting? Still he waited, too proud to go to them; then he thought that Alice ought not to be controlled so long. As this thought entered his mind, she came into the room, alone.
She looked wan and tired, and walked past him to the place of her entrancement, and, drawing a long sigh as she laid her head back, said "I am going to her tomorrow. She will not come here," then her head drooped wearily. He did not feel he ought to force her further, although he was filled with a jealous longing to know what had transpired.
She said nothing more, although he allowed her to remain in a trance condition for some time. How keen his disappointment at the result of the interview he had looked forward to was, no one save himself would ever know. He hoped Clarissa was as pleased as he was disappointed. He would have liked to know what had passed between them. As he was thinking thus, he feltarms around his neck, drawing him closely and affectionately, and looking up, surprised and astonished, he saw—Clarissa.
She bent over him quickly, and drawing him closer still, and said, "Wake her, William, she must be tired." He would have gone cheerfully, even to his execution, while she held him thus, looking into his eyes with that expression of love. His arms went around her, and he said, almost unconsciously, "Wake, Alice. Alice, are you awake?"
He did not notice her answer, and Alice, feeling confused at seeing them in their fond embrace, at once left the room, without being noticed by either. They were engrossed with their own feelings. Clarissa spoke first.
"William,—she helped me so much. Will you not try to help me be what she says I can be? Do not move, dear. I have not finished yet. I promised her I would tell you how much I loved you, but I cannot keep that promise, for words do not express the full sentiment of the heart. I love you more than words can tell. You know that, even if I am irritable and distant."
"Clarissa, you and I have much to thank Alice for;—how little I realized when I was developing her as a subject, what a flood of happiness she would bring into my life! What did she meanwhen she said that she was going to see you tomorrow?"
"That is our secret. She is coming to our home. You will entrance her for me and then leave us alone, will you not?"
"With pleasure."
"There is Augustus. Mrs. Millard has invited us to remain and spend the evening. Would you like to?"
"Yes—if you would."
"Then let's go and see what the boys have to say. Before long, William, I will tell you the secret."
It was a happy gathering in Mrs. Millard's house that evening. Each thought the others appeared to the best advantage, and they separated only when Augustus became so tired that, despite his most heroic efforts, his eyes would close. It had been a happy day for him.
From the day she had talked with Alice, there had been a noticeable improvement in Clarissa. She became less nervous, and, instead of shutting herself away from her family, she devoted most of her time to them, at times appearing almost like a young girl, full of enthusiasm for whatever she was doing.
Nearly every day since that time, Alice had been with her for awhile, but no one except Clarissa knew what transpired. William would have been most impatient at this had it not been for the change that had come over Clarissa;—she was again the light and life of the home.
Three times, when he believed the entire household asleep, he had sat alone, trying to straighten out in his mind the perplexing questions that had presented themselves since that memorable night when he and Merle had gone to hear the great singer who had proven to be his wife. From that time to this, there had been one continual sequence of surprises for him, few of which he was able to satisfactorily explain, even to himself.
Until then, he had logically deduced the cause of every circumstance occurring around him. Now he lacked that degree of confidence with which he had previously undertaken theirsolution. One point in this long chain of events always held him spellbound; that was his finding Clarissa at the concert. Supposing he had not gone to that concert;—what then?
It was by the merest chance he had gone, and nothing could have been further from his mind than that he should find Clarissa there. Not going to that concert would have meant living alone for him, as he had done so long. The life had been so lonely and desolate it was only endurable when he worked continually.
His resolve to go had been hasty and unpremeditated; what good influence had been working in his life just at that particular time, that he now had—
The interruption to this soliloquy was a pleasant one, for Clarissa's entrance had finished his retrospection.
"Why are you here all alone, William? Are you troubled in any way?"
"No; I was only thinking, and was unaware that time was passing. How did you know that I was here? I thought you were sleeping long ago."
"So I was; but I awoke suddenly, and had a strong inclination to know where you were and what you were doing. I suppose it was imagination, but I thought you called me."
"I did not. It would be selfish indeed, to callyou from your sleep. You were probably tired and nervous; thus your sleep was not sound nor refreshing. Come, I will return with you, and put you to sleep again."
On two other occasions, under quite similar circumstances, she had come to him when he had been trying to unravel the same problem. The strangest part of the whole occurrence was that, when he had sat there on several previous occasions, willing her to come to him, he had sent her such suggestions as "Clarissa, come to me," she had failed to respond, although he knew the thoughts had carried sufficient power to draw her.
He was only a man; well meaning, but faulty and imperfect as all men are. It hurt his pride to be thwarted when he knew the strength of his power, so he threw all the force of his will into the demand, ashamed, even while he was doing it, to use so much power upon a sensitive, pregnant woman, but the disappointment was so great he rebelled against reason. He made up his mind he would not stop until she did come. He saw, later, that, while in the first instance, he was really anxious for her presence, as time passed, and she did not come, his feeling was unworthy a loving husband, bringing forth the practiced hypnotist who disliked to be disobeyed by a negative subject.
His strongest efforts were unsuccessful,however, and what was worse, Clarissa sent word she could not join the family at their meals, and made no appearance during the entire day.
When she came, he was surprised at her appearance; she was pale, and visibly uneasy, and darkly settled under the eyes; she shrank from him when he offered to treat her, saying all she needed was quiet repose alone. The repetition of this furnished another problem for William to solve. Not only his pride but his love was humiliated, and he secretly resolved that his book of personal experiences should not be finished and given to the public until he was a wiser man than he then was; he had thought he knew much, but he now realized that he understood only very little of the science upon which he had worked so zealously.
It was a pitiable condition, when he had no faith in either his subjects or himself, for he had always believed faith and confidence were the greatest requisites for a mesmerist. His years of hard and patient study seemed to have only brought him to this;—a state of general doubt.
Merle, who had been his most trusted subject, had proven false, and he could never again place implicit confidence in any one. In the past, any assertion that Merle had made was accepted without comment or doubt, but now, that he had been untruthful in the trance condition, being honestand trustworthy in his normal state, he knew absolute faith in a subject's assertions would never again be his.
Time passed rapidly. One night, as he was sitting alone, planning an excursion of pleasure for Augustus and Merle and Alice, knowing Clarissa was with her son, she came to him with a large book in her hand, and said:
"Here, William, is an exact account of all that transpired while Alice was entranced. Read it carefully, and see if she was correct when she told me we would give you knowledge you could not obtain for yourself, because of reasons she has explained. I have not placed one word of my own in it; everything is just as Alice gave it. You will see I have asked very few questions, permitting her to choose her own subjects. I bring it to you now, as I feel I shall soon be ill, and no one knows, at such times, exactly how it will terminate. Do not look so surprised; I am not afraid—I think all will be well, but I wanted you to have this with my explanations. According to Alice's statements, we, working together, have obtained better results in technical points and causes of the various phenomena than you could; we have not obtained the highest nor sublimest wisdom possible, but our united work of love (and that is what this book is) is but designed to be a stepping-stone for you, who haveso much more knowledge and power in this line. She says you will glean from it such facts as will enable you to become a still greater power and more illustrious man in the realm of science. It is the work of love of two loyal hearts. I hope it will be to you all that she has prophesied. I cannot help the tears, William;—I am nervous."
"Come, you had better retire. You are trembling. How much pleasure you have given me by this loving work, I shall not try to express in words, but I will honestly try from the depths of my soul, to be the man you want me to be. It is a very faulty foundation, Clarissa, but with your love and patient help, I will do my best to be worthy of the wife who was never equaled upon earth, I think. You deserve a better man—"
"William, your words fill me with shame, for I am just one mass of weakness.—I am cross and irritable with both you and Augustus, but, William, if anything should happen to me, will you not try to forget all my faults, remembering only my love—"
"Clarissa! Clarissa! I will not listen even to your suggestion. Come, let me try to put you to sleep. I am so happy I want to be with you. You are never going to leave me again."
The next morning Augustus slept later than usual. He had been away with Merle all day.He woke fractious and nervous, and nothing seemed just right to him; dressing him was a slow and patient task to Dinah, who was patience itself. After several prolonged altercations, when she had great difficulty in appeasing him, she said:
"You just wait, Honey; Dinah has something for you that will make you just the proudest boy she ever saw. You just wait and see what Dinah brings you."
She passed quickly from the room, and soon returned with a small bundle in her arms.
Augustus did not look up when she entered, so did not notice his father was in the room. He was decidedly cross and petulant; he felt he was going to have something he liked to eat proffered to him, and had made up his mind firmly in advance that he would not eat it, no matter what it was. The first thing he knew, Dinah placed the bundle in his arms, and opening the covering, showed him a wee, tiny baby's face.
One expression chased another so rapidly over his face, that, keenly as William and Dinah watched him they were both unable to distinguish the predominating thought. They had all been anxious to know how Augustus would feel toward the little stranger. William wanted to be present when he first saw it, to assure him no one could possibly occupy his place in the affections ofeither father or mother, and was just about to step forward and speak, when the baby began to cry. At the first sound of that cry, Augustus looked up at Dinah, his face a perfect picture of wrath, and said:
"If you do not know how to take care of that baby, I do; I tell you it wants something to eat."
This was such an unexpected result William burst into a laugh, and, bending, kissed first Augustus and then the baby, saying, "Well, my son, see what has been given to us to love."