DOUBT AND ANXIETY.
It was nearly two hours from the time the physician entered the house
of Mr. Dainty before he retired, and then the night had fallen. He left
Madeline in a natural slumber, and with her pulses beating evenly. She
had recovered from her almost cataleptic condition with the rapidity
of one awakening, and showed a tranquil rather than disturbed state of
mind. The presence of the doctor seemed a little to surprise her, and
she asked, as she looked from face to face, who had been sick. Soon
after, like one overwearied, she sunk into a gentle sleep.
Before retiring from the house, the physician had a long conversation
with Mr. Dainty and Mr. Fleetwood, in which he gave it as his opinion
that Mrs. Jeckyl had attempted to gain a mesmeric influence over
Madeline, and with a successful result that it was frightful to
contemplate.
“She looked to me like a very fiend incarnate,” said Mr. Fleetwood. “I
can believe any thing against her as to evil purpose; but I am hardly
prepared to reach your conclusion in the case.”
“Has the child ever shown symptoms of nervous disease at all resembling
her present affection?”
“Never,” replied Mr. Dainty.
“You heard Agnes describe the way in which she acted toward this woman?”
“Yes.”
“Was it not remarkable?”
“Very.”
“Have you any theory in regard to it different from mine?”
“I have no theory on the subject,” said Mr. Dainty. “The whole thing is
beyond my reach.”
“Are you familiar with these modern phenomena, which some call, oddly
enough, spiritualism?”
A look of disgust came into the face of Mr. Dainty, as he answered,—
“No.”
“If you were familiar with them, either from reading or observation,”
said the doctor, “you might be inclined to think as I do touching your
daughter’s sudden terror, which was followed by so deep a prostration
of mind and body.”
“Her imagination,” said Mr. Fleetwood, “is no doubt far more active
than we had supposed, and she may have an idiosyncrasy in regard to
snakes which threw her into a condition of paralyzing terror when
George declared that the woman had serpents crawling all over her. I am
sure that her eyes were remarkably snaky at the time. This, to me, is a
more intelligible explanation.”
The doctor did not urge his view of the case, although his response
to Mr. Fleetwood was not of a character to show any leaning, on his
part, to that gentleman’s opinion. After charging them to keep Madeline
as free as possible from all disturbing influences, he went away,
promising to call in the morning.
Before making his visit to the house of Mr. Dainty on the next day, the
doctor, whose mind had become very much interested in Madeline’s case,
called to see Mrs. Ashton, whom he knew very well. After making a few
friendly inquiries about her family, he said,—
“You recommended to Mrs. Dainty an Englishwoman as a suitable person to
take the place of governess to her children?”
An expression of surprise came into the face of Mrs. Ashton, as she
answered,—
“I have not the pleasure of an acquaintance with Mrs. Dainty.”
For a moment the doctor looked puzzled. Before he had time to put
another question, Mrs. Ashton said,—
“There is an Englishwoman named Jeckyl——”
“The same! What do you know of her?” The doctor spoke quickly,
interrupting the lady.
“Very little,” replied Mrs. Ashton. “But why do you question me in
regard to this woman, Dr. Edmonson?”
“Mrs. Dainty engaged her on your recommendation.”
“On my recommendation!”
“Yes.”
“In the first place, doctor, I don’t know Mrs. Dainty, except by sight;
and, in the second place, I have never recommended Mrs. Jeckyl to
anybody.”
“There has been some deception, then,” said Dr. Edmonson.
“There certainly has, if I have been made to endorse the woman. I
did speak of her, to one or two persons, as an Englishwoman who
desired to get the situation of governess, and I may have spoken of
her as educated and accomplished,—not so much from my knowledge of
her acquirements as from her own testimony in the case. And now I
remember that somebody told me that Mrs. Dainty was about changing her
governess, and that I mentioned this to Mrs. Jeckyl and advised her to
see about the matter. This is the utmost of my doings in the case.”
“What is your impression of the woman?” inquired the doctor.
“Not particularly favorable,” said Mrs. Ashton. “I can hardly tell how
she got access to my family in the beginning. At first I pitied her
lonely and almost helpless condition in a strange country, and felt
some interest in her; but this interest has steadily diminished, until
now the woman is so repulsive that I can scarcely endure her presence.”
“And this is all you know of her?”
“All; and I am pained to think that she has been received into any
family on my supposed recommendation. I should not like her to have
a controlling influence over my children. But pray, doctor, what has
happened in connection with her and Mrs. Dainty’s family? I hope she
has not been robbing them, or any thing of that kind?”
“Nothing of that kind,” answered the doctor. “But I’m afraid she has
been attempting mesmeric influence over one of Mrs. Dainty’s children.”
“Dr. Edmonson!”
There was about Mrs. Ashton a peculiar tone and manner that excited the
doctor’s curiosity.
“Are you aware that she possesses any power of this kind?”
“Your question throws a flood of light into my mind,” said Mrs. Ashton,
“and gives, I think, the key to a singular fact that has always
puzzled me. On occasion of one of Mrs. Jeckyl’s visits here, my little
Emmeline was suffering with a sick headache. You know how much she has
been troubled with these headaches. She was lying on the sofa, with
pale face, and red, suffused eyes, when this woman came in. Seeing
that Emmeline was sick, she made a number of inquiries about her, and
then, sitting down by the sofa, laid her hand, with a light pressure,
as I could see, upon her head. ‘Poor child!’ she murmured, and then
began stroking her hair. I noticed that she bent down and looked very
intently into her face. I thought her manner a little curious, but
did not regard it as significant of any thing unusual. This result
followed: Emmeline, in less than two minutes, closed her eyes and
went off into a deep sleep, which lasted over an hour, or until Mrs.
Jeckyl ended her visit. On rising to go, she referred to the child,
and, leaning over her, moved her hand, in what struck me as a singular
way, over her face. Emmeline roused up instantly. ‘How does your head
feel, dear?’ asked this woman. ‘It does not ache any,’ was answered.
‘I thought you would be better,’ said Mrs. Jeckyl, as if speaking to
herself. Once or twice since, in thinking of this incident, I have had
a vague impression that the sleep of Emmeline on that occasion was not
a natural one, and that it depended, in some way, on the act of Mrs.
Jeckyl.”
“I have no doubt of it,” said Dr. Edmonson.
“You have not?”
“No: evidently the woman transferred, for the time, some will-force of
her own to the child, producing temporary unconsciousness. Her spirit
overshadowed the helpless little one.”
The words of Dr. Edmonson sent a shudder along the nerves of Mrs.
Ashton.
“You frighten me!” she said.
“You have cause to be frightened. When half-insane men and women step
beyond the orderly course of natural life and invoke powers of evil—for
all things disorderly are evil—to enable them to exercise a mysterious
and controlling influence over their weaker fellow men and women, there
is subtle danger abroad, more fearful in its effects than the invisible
pestilence walking in darkness and wasting at noonday. It is no light
thing, Mrs. Ashton, to disturb the divine harmonies of the human
soul,—to thrust an impious hand boldly down among its hidden strings! I
am amazed at the folly and weakness that prevail on this subject,—at
the singular infatuation of well-meaning persons, who permit themselves
to become the instruments of invisible powers and influences the
quality of which even the feeblest reason might determine. To hear
some of these persons talk confidently, and with self-satisfied tone
and countenance, about penetrating the arcana of the spiritual world,
excites my mirth sometimes, but oftener affects me with sadness.”
“I have two or three friends,” said Mrs. Ashton, “who have been carried
away by these things, and their lapse from reason has caused me deep
regret.”
“You rightly designate their state of mind,” replied the doctor, “as
a lapse from reason. No mind possessing a _true rational balance_
is in any danger of falling from its mountain-height and crystal
atmosphere, where every thing is seen in its true relation, down into
this miry valley, where the thick atmosphere distorts every object and
mirage adds its mocking illusions. I am in no wonder at the result,—at
toppling reason, lapsing virtue, desolated homes! Every tree may be
known by its fruit; and the product of this has shown itself to be evil
from rind to core!
“Never again, Mrs. Ashton, permit this woman Jeckyl to darken your
chambers with the shadow of her presence. If she have once brought
your little Emmeline under this direful influence of which we are
speaking, she has disturbed the natural order of her mind and gained
a certain power over her. A second trance will be induced more easily
than the first. Even by her serpent-eye she may cast on her a spell.”
Mrs. Ashton grew pale and shuddered.
“I warn you in plain words,” added the doctor, “speaking as I think,
and from a solemn sense of duty. Mrs. Jeckyl, if I am to judge by
the way in which her presence and active sphere affected one of Mrs.
Dainty’s children, has a potency of will almost irresistible. In
Madeline’s efforts at resistance—for she manifested from the very
beginning an intense repugnance toward the woman—she was thrown
into a condition of trance profound almost as death. The state in
which I discovered her, when summoned by the family, was not that
of an ordinary suspension of vital powers. I saw in an instant that
extraordinary causes had been at work. And I now fully comprehend the
case. There has been a disturbance of the order of that child’s life
that may never be corrected. Ah, Mrs. Ashton, a mother can never be too
careful in the selection of those who are to be the daily companions,
and, I might say, educators, of her children!”
From the house of Mrs. Ashton, Dr. Edmonson went to Mrs. Dainty’s.
He found Madeline as well, apparently, as usual, and her mother’s
cheerfulness restored. He made an effort to startle her mind with a
clear apprehension of the danger through which the child had just
passed, but only partially succeeded. Mrs. Dainty hadn’t much faith,
she said, in the strange stories told about the power of mesmerists,
and considered nine-tenths of the alleged phenomena as sheer delusion.
She could understand how Madeline’s repugnance to Mrs. Jeckyl might
have been so strong as to produce vital suspension for a period; but
that Mrs. Jeckyl had gained any power over her was a thing not to be
admitted for a moment.
The doctor observed Madeline very closely, and was satisfied that a
change had taken place.
“Did you sleep well last night?” he inquired of her.
“Not very well,” was answered.
“Why?”
“I had ugly dreams, that waked me up.”
“Often?”
“Two or three times.”
“What did you dream about?”
“I don’t know.”
“Try if you can remember one of your dreams.”
“I fell into the water once,” said Madeline.
“And that woke you?”
“No, sir; but I thought that Mrs. Jeckyl tried to push me under, and
that made me wake up.”
The doctor looked very earnestly into Madeline’s face. Its expression
troubled him.
“Can you remember another dream?”
“No, sir; I can’t remember any more.”
“You may be thankful, Mrs. Dainty,” said Dr. Edmonson, “that
circumstances so soon showed the character of this woman. The harm she
might have done your children is inconceivable.”
“I think you put too serious a face upon the matter, doctor,” replied
Mrs. Dainty.
“Time, I fear, will tell you a different story,” said the doctor, as he
arose to depart. “For the present let me enjoin upon you to keep this
child as free as possible from all disturbing causes.”
Mrs. Dainty made no answer, and the doctor, bowing almost formally,
bade her good-morning.