Mrs. Millard excused herself, leaving William and Alice alone, and he soon placed her in a trance. She said nothing until he questioned her.

"Alice, are you waking?"

"Yes, Professor."

"Can you see my wife? Tell me what she is doing."

"She looks very thoughtful. I do not know whether she is sad or not."

"Why should she be sad?"

"I do not know that she is sad."

"Then why do you speak of it?"

"I do not know."

"Alice, can you read her thoughts? You ought to. Try."

"Ask her to come here. She will be here soon. I feel she will help you more than I can. There she is."

"Alice, I cannot bring her. You ought to know that."

"You must. Ask her."

"Her health will not permit it."

Alice shook her head thoughtfully, then she said: "I want to see her."

"But, Alice, I tell you that she is not in condition--"

"I want to see her. Ask her. Did I not help you to get her? Ask her."

That last a.s.sertion alone moved William; he remembered how skeptical he had been when she had advised him to return to Clarissa; she was right then, and he had no reason to question her until he had found her advice to be incorrect, at least once.

The first thought to arise in his mind was "Why did Clarissa come here?"

She had sent word to him and Augustus she was ill and could not join them in their morning meal, but she was evidently not too ill to visit comparative strangers, so he had no desire to force his presence upon her, but Alice said she wanted to see her. He remained silent for a while, then said, "If you want to see her, go to her."

The words were scarcely out of his mouth, when Alice arose with closed eyes and walked out of the room. William hardly knew what to do; he wanted to follow her to see what transpired, but his sensitive pride said "She will think you forced the girl to come," and that thought determined his action. He did not move. He waited and waited, still she did not come. What was she doing? Why did they not come to him, knowing he was waiting? Still he waited, too proud to go to them; then he thought that Alice ought not to be controlled so long. As this thought entered his mind, she came into the room, alone.

She looked wan and tired, and walked past him to the place of her entrancement, and, drawing a long sigh as she laid her head back, said "I am going to her tomorrow. She will not come here," then her head drooped wearily. He did not feel he ought to force her further, although he was filled with a jealous longing to know what had transpired.

She said nothing more, although he allowed her to remain in a trance condition for some time. How keen his disappointment at the result of the interview he had looked forward to was, no one save himself would ever know. He hoped Clarissa was as pleased as he was disappointed. He would have liked to know what had pa.s.sed between them. As he was thinking thus, he felt arms around his neck, drawing him closely and affectionately, and looking up, surprised and astonished, he saw--Clarissa.

She bent over him quickly, and drawing him closer still, and said, "Wake her, William, she must be tired." He would have gone cheerfully, even to his execution, while she held him thus, looking into his eyes with that expression of love. His arms went around her, and he said, almost unconsciously, "Wake, Alice. Alice, are you awake?"

He did not notice her answer, and Alice, feeling confused at seeing them in their fond embrace, at once left the room, without being noticed by either. They were engrossed with their own feelings. Clarissa spoke first.

"William,--she helped me so much. Will you not try to help me be what she says I can be? Do not move, dear. I have not finished yet. I promised her I would tell you how much I loved you, but I cannot keep that promise, for words do not express the full sentiment of the heart.

I love you more than words can tell. You know that, even if I am irritable and distant."

"Clarissa, you and I have much to thank Alice for;--how little I realized when I was developing her as a subject, what a flood of happiness she would bring into my life! What did she mean when she said that she was going to see you tomorrow?"

"That is our secret. She is coming to our home. You will entrance her for me and then leave us alone, will you not?"

"With pleasure."

"There is Augustus. Mrs. Millard has invited us to remain and spend the evening. Would you like to?"

"Yes--if you would."

"Then let's go and see what the boys have to say. Before long, William, I will tell you the secret."

It was a happy gathering in Mrs. Millard's house that evening. Each thought the others appeared to the best advantage, and they separated only when Augustus became so tired that, despite his most heroic efforts, his eyes would close. It had been a happy day for him.

CHAPTER TWENTY

From the day she had talked with Alice, there had been a noticeable improvement in Clarissa. She became less nervous, and, instead of shutting herself away from her family, she devoted most of her time to them, at times appearing almost like a young girl, full of enthusiasm for whatever she was doing.

Nearly every day since that time, Alice had been with her for awhile, but no one except Clarissa knew what transpired. William would have been most impatient at this had it not been for the change that had come over Clarissa;--she was again the light and life of the home.

Three times, when he believed the entire household asleep, he had sat alone, trying to straighten out in his mind the perplexing questions that had presented themselves since that memorable night when he and Merle had gone to hear the great singer who had proven to be his wife.

From that time to this, there had been one continual sequence of surprises for him, few of which he was able to satisfactorily explain, even to himself.

Until then, he had logically deduced the cause of every circ.u.mstance occurring around him. Now he lacked that degree of confidence with which he had previously undertaken their solution. One point in this long chain of events always held him spellbound; that was his finding Clarissa at the concert. Supposing he had not gone to that concert;--what then?

It was by the merest chance he had gone, and nothing could have been further from his mind than that he should find Clarissa there. Not going to that concert would have meant living alone for him, as he had done so long. The life had been so lonely and desolate it was only endurable when he worked continually.

His resolve to go had been hasty and unpremeditated; what good influence had been working in his life just at that particular time, that he now had--

The interruption to this soliloquy was a pleasant one, for Clarissa's entrance had finished his retrospection.

"Why are you here all alone, William? Are you troubled in any way?"

"No; I was only thinking, and was unaware that time was pa.s.sing. How did you know that I was here? I thought you were sleeping long ago."

"So I was; but I awoke suddenly, and had a strong inclination to know where you were and what you were doing. I suppose it was imagination, but I thought you called me."

"I did not. It would be selfish indeed, to call you from your sleep.

You were probably tired and nervous; thus your sleep was not sound nor refreshing. Come, I will return with you, and put you to sleep again."

On two other occasions, under quite similar circ.u.mstances, she had come to him when he had been trying to unravel the same problem. The strangest part of the whole occurrence was that, when he had sat there on several previous occasions, willing her to come to him, he had sent her such suggestions as "Clarissa, come to me," she had failed to respond, although he knew the thoughts had carried sufficient power to draw her.

He was only a man; well meaning, but faulty and imperfect as all men are. It hurt his pride to be thwarted when he knew the strength of his power, so he threw all the force of his will into the demand, ashamed, even while he was doing it, to use so much power upon a sensitive, pregnant woman, but the disappointment was so great he rebelled against reason. He made up his mind he would not stop until she did come. He saw, later, that, while in the first instance, he was really anxious for her presence, as time pa.s.sed, and she did not come, his feeling was unworthy a loving husband, bringing forth the practiced hypnotist who disliked to be disobeyed by a negative subject.