Professor Huskins Part 19

"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, and I 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 power of 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."

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

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 way to 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 repet.i.tion 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 present requirements 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 mult.i.tude, 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 she was 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.

CHAPTER NINETEEN

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, pa.s.sing 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 princ.i.p.al subject.

He never dreaded to pa.s.s 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 a.s.sist 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.