During Clarissa's illness, William devoted all the available time he
could find to the study of the book she had brought him. He had many
interruptions, for Augustus appealed to his father in his altercations
with Dinah, when they were too severe for him to conquer by might of his
own will.
There were many visitors, who came to inquire the health of Clarissa and
her babe. Clarissa seemed very nervous if William was long away, so he
did most of his reading near her. She said this uncontrollable desire to
know he was close beside her arose from the mental suffering she had
endured from his absence when Augustus was born. She suffered keenly
then, and the same conditions brought similar sensations. She was
perfectly satisfied to remain quiet if she saw him present, but if he
remained long from her, she was pursued by fears and thoughts that she
would not tell even him.
In her weakened condition, they quickly showed themselves in her
physical depletion. She was annoyed at her weakness, but her sufferings
were none the less acute because she knew that they were visionary.
She was not a weak woman in any sense of the word, but just now her
husband's presence furnished her a sense of security; his absence
brought weakness. The fact she had had no long or severe confinement
made it still harder to account for her subsequent nervousness.
Doctors Baxter and Harrington had for some time been trying to get
William to perform an experiment in psychology for them. He put them off
from time to time by different excuses, because he was unwilling to
leave Clarissa for a long enough time, knowing her confinement was near.
Not having been with her at the time of Augustus' birth, and having no
experience in such cases, he was more concerned about it than he would
admit.
After her easy and well nigh painless delivery, he felt so relieved the
next day but one, he went with them. He was gone almost the entire day,
as the physicians asked him to visit a patient of each, who was
suffering from nervous troubles, which eluded their powers, and which
they felt he could relieve. They were situated at quite a distance one
from the other, so it consumed considerable time to visit them.
William felt perfectly easy in his mind regarding Clarissa. He had told
her where he was going, and she said she was proud he could do what
others failed to do. She was comfortable and happy, when he left,
laughing gaily at Augustus' concern because baby slept so long. She had
an arm around each as he took his last look at them before leaving the
room. That picture of home and happiness had been with him all day.
Once he would not have thought that day's work an arduous one, as he
sought for years to crush every sentiment and interest but scientific
research. The more work he had before him, the more contented he was;
now he could not help thinking, even while he worked, of his family.
Both doctors remarked how quickly he placed each subject in a trance
state; in the last instance, especially, it was very noticeable, as the
sick girl was a peculiarly sensitive person, but being entirely ignorant
of mesmeric power was consumed by fear, exhibiting traits bordering upon
convulsions. She did the same when William began to work. Her heart
exhibited such erratic tendencies of action, the three men united in the
verdict it was better not to force her further.
As he witnessed the girl's suffering, he thought of his own baby girl,
similarly terrorized, for it was only terror that caused the condition.
Immediately the scientist and man of force was submerged, and the father
was the predominating man. Without any thought but loving sympathy, he
placed his hand upon the girl's head and said:
"Poor child;--do not worry;--you shall not be molested, nor forced by
me, any more than I want my baby girl so treated."
He smoothed her head, and she gave him such a look of gratitude as he
could not soon forget, then closed her eyes. He saw she was passing into
a comatose state, without his forcible dictation. Once placed there, he
gave her the customary suggestions, telling her to wake at a certain
time, then left the doctors to return home, feeling tired, but cheered
by the knowledge of the presence of the three loved ones who were
awaiting him.
How he pitied the two men whom he had just left, who were going to their
elegant homes, but for whom there was no wife or children waiting. Often
the three had communed together in the past, upon their good fortune in
having a place of quiet and repose, where they would be unmolested, and
free to think. Now William knew that, whatever conditions of perplexity,
even of discord and confusion awaited him in his home, it was infinitely
sweeter and preferable to the quiet and peace they had pretended to
like, for while he joined them in congratulations upon this condition,
his soul had hungered for his wife's presence. How did he know there was
no similar episode in each of his two friends' lives?
They believed him when he had lied. Yes. There was no escaping the
truth; he might as well own up to himself, if he would not to anyone
else. He, a truthful man, in all other respects, lied rather than reveal
a heartache he felt to be a weakness. No one but himself knew he lied.
How did he know that Baxter and Harrington were not lying too, actuated
by the same motive--their inability to secure the companionship of the
particular woman they loved.
As he thought of his own heartaches, when alone, he felt a profound pity
for them, while respecting the motives that kept them silent. It was as
natural for man to love woman, as it was to breathe the air into his
lungs. Yes, there must be some tragedy in each of his friends' lives.
His earnest wish was they might terminate as happily as his had.
He had arrived home by the time he had reached this conclusion, and, for
all his fatigue, he ascended the steps with the buoyancy and elasticity
of a youth, he was so anxious to look at his treasures.
His animation and joy received a rude shock, when he saw James' face,
and he happened to be the first person he met. There was such a look of
anxiety and sadness there, as was not to be mistaken by anyone who knew
him well. Without waiting for William to ask him the cause, he said:
"Oh, Master, I am so glad you have come! Mistress Clarissa was stricken
suddenly very ill. We are much concerned about her, long ago sending to
both Doctors Baxter and Harrington, thinking to bring them and you. She
isn't quite herself, sir. Won't you hasten?"
No need for this last injunction, for William was already ascending the
stairs with rapid strides, not waiting for all the steps. Soon he was in
Clarissa's room, where he found both Dinah and Nancy; Dinah was holding
the babe while Nancy tried by every means she knew to coax and divert
Clarissa's attention.
One glance showed William the condition of affairs. She had a high
fever; her face was red, and her eyes sparkled with an unnatural
brilliancy. She was talking rapidly but disconnectedly. How he felt, he
could have told no one, and, unlike his usually calm and sensible self,
he rushed at once to the conclusion this was that dangerous and
weakening fever that so often accompanies childbirth.
The sudden reversion from thoughts of happiness to those of acute
anxiety was too great for him to immediately overcome, for like most
anxious persons, he pictured the worst. Like a horrible panorama, there
came before his consciousness, instantaneously, the spectacle of her
death. For the time being, he lost sight, entirely, of his power to
control such conditions, and instead of being calm and collected, he
was anxious, and full of thoughts of doubt and suspense. He spoke in a
quick, agonized way:
"Clarissa--Clarissa."