Could he keep them? If love would hold them he would. He was tired himself, but he must go and consult with James and Dinah. So he left them together and went out to perfect his plans for their future happiness.

CHAPTER FOURTEEN

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 and developed 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. .h.i.therto 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 encompa.s.sed within the radius of her presence and affection. He was impatient of any intrusion upon their privacy, and being accustomed to consider 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 when she 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 pa.s.sion, 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 pa.s.sed 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 ill.u.s.tration of their att.i.tude toward one another than that of two positive chemicals, which the chemist of love was trying to a.s.similate 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 pa.s.s 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 pa.s.sage 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 could satisfy 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 pa.s.sed.

Augustus pa.s.sed 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?

CHAPTER FIFTEEN

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.