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 claimed as 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 his approbation 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 become hysterical, 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 stranger William 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 knew to 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 of her 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 where father 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 wake Augustus. 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 the
future, 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. I will 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."