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.

With the help of one of the other servants, he soon reached the room where he had left his father, and entered. William sat quietly looking straight before him, so did not notice him at first, but afterward, hearing the noise of his chair, he looked up, surprised and perplexed.

"Why, Augustus, I thought you were sleeping. Are you ill?"

There was no answer, but William saw the tears in the boy's eyes. He said no more,—his heart ached for sympathy, and it was a relief to have him near to lavish his affection upon. He lifted Augustus from his chair into his arms, and as the boy's head went to his shoulder, his arms wound around his neck in a tight embrace. For quite a time neither spoke, then Augustus, lifting his head and looking piteously into his father's face, said:

"She does not love us any more."

William could not speak; he only held his son closer to him.—So they sat when the door opened and Clarissa entered. They both heard her—neither moved. Each seemed to feel a comfort in knowing that the other suffered too.

There was someone with her,—Mrs. Millard,—and they went directly by the room where father and son were sitting. They strained their ears to hear if she inquired for them, but were unrewarded. Her voice sounded cheerful to them. They instinctively clung closer to each other, and neither spoke. The voices grew fainter and fainter, and finally died away altogether, and left them sitting there,—miserable, unhappy and forgotten.

William bowed his head over his son until their faces touched; he thought he had known misery before, but as he felt the boy's suffering by the deep drawn sighs which were almost sobs, he realized that only now had he touched the bitter cup. Jealousy was no factor in his sufferings now, and no one could ever know what consolation there was for him in those clinging arms and the companionship of his boy. He knew they made him a better man, and resolved to do for him what he could not do for himself. That close embrace seemed to feed his hungry heart, and after a while Augustus slept. William rejoiced. Still he preferred to hold him rather than be alone with his sorrow.

He tried to think where he had failed to win Clarissa's love. Not only he had failed, but his boy also, who had previously been the center of her interest. Neither of them was now necessary to her happiness. What a void! Who could compass it?—He felt a touch upon his shoulder, and before he could bring his mind to realize her actual presence, Clarissa's arms were encircling them both, and her kisses, warm and fervent, were upon his lips. As he looked up, her eyes gleamed bright and tenderly into his, and his first thought was, "I wish Augustus could see her."

He knew the boy's heart was as hungry as his own, and that Clarissa, the old loving Clarissa, was before him. He removed one arm from Augustus, placing it tenderly and closely about her, and drawing Clarissa nearer said, "Kiss him."

What volumes the words implied! They proved how his nature had broadened. Instead of thinking of his own happiness, he thought first of Augustus. To be sure he was his child, but the time had been when even his own child would not have come first. Not that he loved her less, for he loved her more, but he was beginning to learn what love really was. The boy did not stir as his mother kissed him, and Clarissa said, "Why is not Augustus in bed?"

"He went," said William, "then came back to comfort me, I think, although he did not say so."

As he said this, he looked up at her with a pleasant smile, and she seemed to recognize its significance, for she bent over and, kissing him, placed her arms above Augustus' around his neck.

A bright flush mounted to William's cheek as he drew her still closer to him; his eyes sought hers eagerly, but hers sank before him. He held the boy nearer and nearer, with a long drawn sigh that made Clarissa sad, and she said quickly:

"William, do you doubt my love?"

No answer.

"William, tell me;—do you doubt my love?"

There was no response in words, but his arms held her a little closer. The power of speech seemed to have left him. Again she asked, "William,—you know I love you?"

After a pause he spoke.

"If you love Augustus, why do you not remain with him? See, he has come to me for sympathy and love. Clarissa, even though you shun me, give our boy your love. He must not be blamed for his father's—"

"William! William! Do you not understand?"

"No, Clarissa; I do not. I only know my heart is desolate, and Augustus suffers. I have not questioned your motive. Probably, Augustus, like his father, has failed to satisfy you."

"Enough, William. See; I am pleading humbly. No,—do not try to raise me. I promised Mrs. Millard I would tell you the truth. I—"

"Clarissa!"

"Do not—do not touch me. Do not wake Augustus. I want to talk with you,—alone. I love you, William. Do you believe me when I say I love you?"

"Yes, Clarissa, though I sometimes have my doubts when you shrink from me and my embraces. My love makes me desire your constant presence, but you draw away when I come—"

"Do not say any more, William;—I cannot understand myself. I never loved you nor Augustus more, yet I cannot endure your embraces. Will you not have patience with me, knowing my condition? I want your affection. I feel I must have it. Still, I want to be alone. I do not know why, but Augustus' voice even, makes me irritable. William, I am a very weak woman; will you not help me? You are the father of my children. Have patience. Think for me. Believe me, William, I never loved you as I do now, yet there is some power beyond my control that makes me long to be alone. I long so many times to have your arms around me. I want a lover, not a husband. Do you not understand?"

"I cannot separate the two, Clarissa. I am your husband, and have always been your lover since I first saw you. I am as much so now and more, than ever before. You were never so beautiful to me, so loving—"

"William, if I were suddenly to lose the beauty you love, would you still love me?"

William was surprised to see the concern and anxiety in her face, and said confidently, "Yes, Clarissa. Why do you question me? You have made me very happy by your admission of your coming motherhood. It means a new happiness in our lives. Let me share your feelings now. I was not privileged to be with you before Augustus was born. You have relieved my heart of a great burden. I thought you had grown weary of me, but now I have a new joy. I am so glad you have told me. Lift your head, Clarissa. Let us seal our new joy with a kiss. One for Augustus, too. Poor child, he and I have suffered much. Why have you not told me before?"

Clarissa suddenly burst into such a torrent of tears that her sobs awoke Augustus; he clung to her, half asleep, half awake; then sank back upon his father's shoulder. William smiled and said:

"Kiss mamma. I will tell Dinah you are going to remain with me tonight. Let her put you in my bed. I will come soon."

Without speaking to Clarissa, he went out with Augustus. Before long he returned and without a word he clasped her in his arms. Soon she ceased her sobbing, and he said:

"Clarissa, let us go and thank Mrs. Millard. I feel she has sent you to me. She knows the strength of my love better than you do. In the future, don't draw away from me; do not fear me. Give me the privilege of sharing all your experiences. I will never obtrude upon you. Come, let us go to Mrs. Millard,—then to Augustus. We three will unite in thanksgiving for the new love we are to have."

"You are pleased, William?"

"Pleased is a faint word. Knowing the cause of your eccentricities, I shall not grieve, though you exclude me entirely from your presence."

"William, what will Augustus say?"

"He is too much my boy not to rejoice too. Trust us, Clarissa; we are jealous, exacting, and imperfect, but our loyalty and love are unswerving. You are our all. Try to have patience with our shortcomings."

"I am afraid Augustus will be grieved."

"You have made me most happy by your confidence. In all future times come to me with your difficulties, even though I am the cause of them, and permit me to change my methods when I am wrong. Act your own will. Just love us, and I will prepare Augustus for the revelation. I know he will rejoice too. He and I have grown very near one another in these few days. We are much alike. I am glad to see you smile, even if it is at my expense. Just a word, and then we will go to Mrs. Millard.

"Forget the past selfishness upon my part. I will try in the future to do just what you want. Anything but isolation. If you prefer lover to husband, I will be that; when you want neither, I will try to make Augustus happy. Your smile makes me glad. How much I owe Alice and her mother,—yes, and Merle, too! Come, let us go."