"When she sees all the other boys walking, will she be ashamed her brother has to be wheeled around?"

William answered promptly:

"No; my son."

But that was the keenest pain he had ever felt, to witness the boy's suffering, who was paying the price or the penalty of his own ignorance and selfishness. The boy suffered keenly, but the father more as he had a larger capacity for suffering. There was one thought that brought a small degree of light; it was that Clarissa was spared this suffering.

How his heart ached for the boy, words cannot express.

They had tried in every possible way since Augustus' birth to reconcile him to his infirmity. When he had expressed envy for boys who could run and play, they had told him of the gifts and talents he possessed, and that they were far more estimable and valuable than those the boys whom he envied had. So much care had been taken with him, he had not thought of his inability to walk in the light of shame, until he had thought of what that tiny babe, whom he idolized and whom he wanted to think he was as dear to as she was to him, would think of him, who could not guide her faltering steps, because he could not steady and control his own.

He could not endure the thought that others could do for her what he could not; no one loved her better (he thought, none so well,) yet they could do for her what he could not; following this train of thought, it flashed upon his consciousness she might be ashamed of him because he was not like other boys.

The thought was too strong and horrible for him to bear without giving some sign of suffering. She was his idol; all his plans were made from the point of her supposed pleasure or displeasure; if she pitied him, he could not endure it. He would rather she hated him. He could endure pity from some one he did not care for, but never from Baby Clarissa. He had not realized the enormity of his affliction until now. In the past, he had been petted and loved, indulged and looked up to, and accustomed to this homage from his birth, he had grown to believe it to be only his due; his just deserts. Now there was a new factor and force come into his life, dearer far than himself. He had felt, since the baby's coming, he must watch over her and care for her, and his anxiety for her comfort so far transcended his own, he forgot himself, a thing he had never done before, and probably never would even now were it not for this helpless little stranger who had come into his life.

Never having walked nor played, he did not fully realize the many pleasures from which he was debarred, but it was borne home to his consciousness suddenly and forcibly by the fact that the might of his love would not permit him to do what a common stranger with no personal interest in her might do. It was unbearable. Stinging horror filled his soul at the thought of the comparison she might draw between himself and other boys. He longed so ardently to be her ideal and hero among boys, the same as she was and would always be among girls, that jealousy became a fiery tormentor.

There was a time when his mother had been the princ.i.p.al object of his interest and inspirations. It seemed as though all the force of his nature, disappointed in his mother's loyalty to him as the one point of interest on the earth, had been transplanted to this babe, gaining intensity from the change, rather than losing it. Not even his parents realized the strength of this devotion.

He could not help but partake of all the ardor and enthusiasm of their souls, and this ardor, in the present state of his development, showed itself in the admiration he felt for his baby sister, and as a consequence, his suffering was both keen and loyal.

When his father, whom he considered the grandest and wisest upon the earth (having heard so many eulogies upon his powers and prowess,) a.s.sured him that Baby Clarissa would esteem him, and honor him, he brought forth a deep sigh of satisfaction. He believed more fully in what his father said than what his mother did. This was probably due to the fact that his father had compelled from him that which his mother never tried to exact.

Those persons who have made life a deep and profound study, have ever found masters to be admired while servants are endured. Augustus had governed and ruled, thus made servants of persons whom he had come in contact with, until he had met his father. His father conquered his imperative will, consequently his admiration had increased in proportion to the degree he was conquered.

When he was a little more himself, William told him how proud Clarissa would be of his art and music. Those boys who could romp and play could not do what he could, and his sister would be as proud of his talent as his parents were. He soon became cheerful and contented again. Then with a mutual promise of secrecy concerning this interview, they returned to Clarissa's room.

The baby was sleeping, but Clarissa was anxious to know what had disturbed Augustus, still, being told that the interview was to be a secret between father and son, and seeing Augustus cheerful, she desisted from her inquiries, thinking it was some boyish whim William had granted.

William had, however, received a pang of remorse he would not soon forget. Augustus was the innocent sufferer for a lifetime for his own hasty, unreasonable temper, while he, the cause, was a physically perfect and happy man, coming forth from his past sufferings a better one, while his boy paid the heavy price of his baseness.

The thought was nearly unbearable. From that time he became very sensitive to Augustus' affliction. He resolutely made up his mind the boy should walk if there was remedial virtue in magnetism. It should become his one duty and ambition to study those limbs until they should bear up, unsupported, the boy's body. He would never rest until he had accomplished it. He was the cause of the boy's suffering, and he would be his healer. If it was possible, his love increased for Augustus from this time.

CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

Merle came to take Augustus out, and William and Clarissa were left alone; for a time both were silent, each wanting to impart to the other the thoughts that were troubling them, but scarcely knowing how to begin. Before the recent interview with Augustus, William would not have hesitated referring to his condition and declaring his intention to try to remove it, but now he felt a sense of embarra.s.sment hard to explain, and none the less excruciating because of that fact.

He could not overcome the thought he was a coward to let an innocent child suffer for him, and felt deep shame. Unconsciously a deep sigh escaped him which attracted Clarissa's attention. She was likewise deep in meditation, wondering how William would receive her avowal of dislike to have either of her children mesmerized. Hearing the sigh, she said:

"What is troubling you, William?"

"Nothing," said William.

"But you gave such a deep sigh--something unpleasant provoked it surely.--Probably you think I cannot understand or appreciate it. Well, I hope it will not trouble you long."

"I hope not, Clarissa;--I am going to try and make Augustus walk. The cause of his inability to do so is nerve enervation. Thus the chords and muscles are not supplied with sufficient energy to support his body. I believe by the infusion of new and powerful magnetism, they will perform the necessary and customary functions. It would be vastly different were he not perfectly formed. His limbs are as perfect as any child's could be; they are simply weak and impotent. Another great factor to his disadvantage is his thought and the thought of all those around him that he cannot walk. I intend to eradicate that thought from his consciousness, making him have faith in the ability of his limbs to support him. I think, Clarissa, I never suffered so, thinking of our boy's weakness, as I did just now when he went out with Merle.--Merle buoyant and well, but a needed support to my son, who is physically perfect as he. I will take from Augustus the thought he cannot walk. I will will myself to see him walking, running, and playing like other children, then I will make him see himself as I see him. Think how happy we shall be, Clarissa, when that boy steps. I feel responsible for his weakness; therefore, I am glad I have studied Mind Power so thoroughly; if I had not done so, our boy, whom we love so well, would have suffered all his life; now I believe I can cure him--"

"Shall you hypnotize him to do this?"

"Certainly."

"Then I prefer him to be as he is--"

"Clarissa! You do not know what you are saying."

"Yes, I do, William;--that is why I say that I should prefer him lame or impotent rather than have him mesmerized."

"I do not know what to make of that a.s.sertion.--It sounds as though you doubted my ability to do what I have in mind."

"I do not doubt your ability in the slightest degree, but I do not want Augustus nor our baby mesmerized as you do Merle and Alice."

"Clarissa, you astonish me.--I gave you credit for possessing intellectual powers beyond the ordinary woman. Now you object to what most women would hail with joy. Why do you not want our children mesmerized by their own father, who loves them not one whit less than you do? You imply by your remark I have in some manner injured Merle and Alice by my power. I cannot help resenting that remark, as I have been using Merle for years, and he has not, in all that time, done one thing but was worthy of a gentleman. I kept him well until the time when I suffered so acutely at seeing you so unexpectedly, that my mental torture reflected upon him. Even that experience taught me a valuable lesson, so a similar condition will never occur again. Go to the Millards; ask them if I have brought anything into their lives they regretted, or anything but good. Mrs. Millard is not afraid to trust her children to me after our long experience together, but you, the mother of my own children, do not dare to trust me with yours. Think of it!

Would I not gladly, think you, offer myself, a living sacrifice, before harm should come to either of them? My desire is to remedy the evil and wrong I unconsciously did years ago, and for which an innocent and irresponsible person is suffering. Why, even you, yourself, came to me, a stranger, and wanted my help to do the very thing I propose to do now.

You would have trusted our boy to a stranger, but will not to his own father. I--"

"That is enough, William. I can see that you are still the same William I married. Hasty--rushing to conclusions--"

"Who would not rush to conclusions? I never pretended to be a saint--"

"If you did, persons would not believe it who saw you just now--"

"Probably they would give that distinguished t.i.tle to you, who are so much more estimable in all ways. My memory is sufficiently clear to remember you always sought--"

"William, have you no sense of either love or shame? You talk to me this way when I am ill, and our baby here beside me."

"What love have you for me, when you do not trust my own boy to me?"

"I love you as my husband, but I am not willing my children shall either of them be mesmerized, even by their father."

"You are not willing? May I ask you how you are going to help it if I feel inclined to do so? I can mesmerize you any time I want to. How are you going to protect your children from what you cannot protect yourself from?"

"By the might of my mother's love."

"Ha--ha! So you think a mother's indulgent, negative love a secure protection from positive and well directed thoughts. Wonderful logic, that. It is worthy a woman's brain. You may be, as I know you are, a proficient musician, but you have much to learn about science. Like all ignorant persons, you talk loquaciously where you know nothing, and possess no power. It is really ludicrous. You, a negative sensitive, defy me. Why, I could, if I chose to exert the might of my will, make you shrink from the embraces of both of your children, as though they were serpents; yet you say I shall not mesmerize my own children.--Excuse me, I cannot help laughing."

While William had been talking, he had not been looking at Clarissa.

When she spoke, he turned his eyes to her, and he would not admit to anyone his surprise at the strength of character he found there. He was too thorough a master of his work, not to recognize positive resistance when he met it. If anyone had told him Clarissa could have looked him firmly, unflinchingly in the eye, and dared him to use his will, he would not have believed it. She spoke calmly and slowly: "I defy your power; now when I am sick and weak, or at any future time, to influence me in the slightest degree. You may be sure you will never affect my children by any thought suggestions while my brain is clear and in normal condition. Try it.--Begin upon me.--I not only do not fear you.--I defy you and your boasted power.--You shall never mesmerize Augustus. If I knew you had the power (which I doubt) to make him walk, and that was the price to pay, I should say, 'Leave him as he is; a cripple,' but you cannot mesmerize him."

As she spoke, Clarissa had risen to a sitting position in the bed. Her eyes shone with a feverish l.u.s.tre. An impartial observer would have recognized the fact that here were two positive souls clashing in no ordinary encounter. Undoubtedly they would have given the credit of the final outcome to William, as he was working from the tried basis of experience, while she was voicing the natural sentiments of a loving mother's heart. Scientists have seen equally zealous mothers changed so they would have felt very similar to William. He thought he knew Clarissa, but he had yet some points to learn about her. The baby woke, disturbed by the unwonted voices, and began to cry.--Clarissa reached down, and drew her close up to her, then looked defiantly up at William, and continued:

"You--you brave man of science, say you can make me dread my baby's influence. Do it. Now is as good an opportunity as any man could ask, for we are alone. I hold her lovingly to me--I defy you to make me put her down. You are a coward--I see by your eyes you do not intend to try.

Only cowards talk without acting. Your words sound well to any person who is afraid of you; I am not. I only feel I am chagrined and ashamed to look my children in the face, and say, 'I chose and gave you such a coward of a man for a father.' I--"

"Clarissa, stop; you will make yourself ill."

"I will not stop. I will tell you my opinion of you.--I defy you and your power to influence me, or my children. You have yet to learn what power and might there lies in a mother's love. I have not your power or experience. I may not use my thoughts as scientifically as to furnish my name with the l.u.s.tre which surrounds yours, but I have power to protect my children from yours, or any other man's thoughts, or the united thoughts of them all. Put your mind upon me. You can hypnotize me any time, can you? Do it now. Make me fear my baby. Do not dare approach my bed, nor touch this child.--I do not care to listen to your further conversation. This is my apartment. If you have left the faint shadow even, of a gentlemanly instinct, you will leave it now, and forbear to thrust your unwelcome presence upon me again until I am able to take my children and leave."