William went directly from Dr. Harrington's to Merle's home, where he was greeted by Mrs. Millard, who said, "I am so glad you have come, Professor, as Merle does not seem at all well. He is feverish and nervous, and has said every little while, 'I wish the Professor would come.' He will be so glad to see you. You look pale yourself; I hope you are not ill."

"Thank you, Mrs. Millard, I am well, but have just come from a professional conference. I am sorry that Merle is not feeling well. I will soon help him. Shall I go right up to his room?"

"Oh! He would get up and dress. He is in the parlor lying down. Go right in."

"See that no one disturbs us until I speak to you. I shall put him to sleep."

"No one will enter; I will see to that. I hope you will have time to see Alice, too—she also acts strangely. I do not like to intrude upon your time; you have been so good to us,—but mothers are nervous, weak creatures."

"It will be a pleasure to do anything that lies in my power for Alice, after I have restored Merle, and I will see her then. You must never hesitate to ask favors of me, Mrs. Millard. It gives me real pleasure to be of assistance to you at all times. Now I will look at Merle."

"I am sorry to see you looking so weak and sick, Merle. What do you suppose caused your sudden faintness at the concert? You were apparently well and rested before the singer's entrance. It wasn't a case of love at first sight, was it? We may as well jest as look upon the dark side of the picture."

"You don't know how grieved I was to be the means of depriving you of the pleasure of hearing so exquisite a singer as Miss Earle, knowing, as I do, your love of music. I think the very thought of how disappointed you must have been has helped to make me sick. I would like to be instrumental in bringing you happiness, but my weakness robbed you of a special delight. Really, I tried not to give up, but an irresistible wave of power seemed to pass over me."

"I understand. Do not think of me at all. My concern for you and your health supplanted every other feeling. Merle, your father is dead, and though I am not old enough in years to fill his place, my love and interest in you are sufficiently strong to warrant me a father's privilege of questioning you as to the cause of this undue illness. You know me well enough to be sure that whatever you may say to me will never be repeated. I would not ask you any questions except in the interest of science, but I want to find out what has caused this condition. You were apparently well and happy until the singer appeared, then you were taken suddenly and seriously sick. Merle, what is she to you?"

"What is she to me? Nothing. I did not even see her."

"Then what made you ill?"

"I do not know."

"Think well, Merle. Tell me every sensation you remember."

"I cannot recall anything but a clutching sensation at my heart, as though some one had it in his hand, and tightened his hold until I could neither see nor hear, and a loud rumbling sounded in my ears."

"What caused these sensations? That is what I want to know. Tell me, Merle, did not the appearance of the woman evolve some painful recollection?"

"How could it? I did not see her. I do not know whether she was young or old, light or dark, large or small."

"I shall be obliged to put you into the trance state to find out the exact cause. You know, Merle, I never permit a result to elude me. Are you willing I should try to find the cause? I confess I am as ignorant of it as you."

"You know I am always willing to be of any assistance to you, and if I knew the cause, I would tell you more quickly than my own father, but I do not."

"Very well. Now sleep. Speak. Merle, are you all right?"

"Yes."

"I am glad. Now I want to know what was the cause of your physical weakness at the concert."

"I do not know."

"You do not know? Do not answer me that way. I want the truth, and will have it. What made your body faint and sick?"

"I do not know."

"Merle, you have been a faithful, truthful subject for almost ten years. I have always chosen you when some severe and important test was before me. Never yet have you failed to respond to my wishes. Do not let this be the first occasion of your disobedience. You know what made your heart stop beating. Tell me. I demand it. What is that woman to you?"

"What woman? I did not see any woman."

"Merle, you are lying to me. Do you think you can make me believe such an assertion as that? You can not deceive me. Tell me the truth."

"I am telling you the truth."

"Merle, I will you; tell me what that woman is to you."

"What woman?"

"I cannot tell you how it grieves me to find you so untruthful; no man on earth could have convinced me of the fact that you would ever give me anything but truthful answers. Probably you were afraid I would reprimand you, if you were to tell the exact truth, but I will not. It makes no difference into what conditions you may have been led, or what you have done, I will remain ever your staunch friend. Be frank, be the Merle I have so long loved and trusted. What made you ill?"

"I do not know."

"What is that woman to you?"

"What woman?"

"I have good patience, but you are trying it too far. You shall tell me the truth."

"I am telling you the truth."

"You know the woman who sang."

"I do not know her."

"You do."

"I do not."

"I say you do. Where have you seen her before last night?"

"Nowhere."

"I say you have, and you shall tell me. Merle, why do you not speak? What makes you act in this contrary manner? Speak. You know this woman."

"Yes."

"I knew it. Did the sight of her make you ill?"

"Yes."

"Just what I thought. What is she now, or what has she formerly been to you?"

"I was her lover."

"Ah!"

"She said she loved me and urged me on, but finally I discovered I was only one of several admirers. When she appeared, the shock of seeing her thus unexpectedly, made me faint."

"Why did you not tell me this when I first asked you?"

"I was afraid."

"You would have pleased me much more in telling the truth. There is no disgrace in loving a beautiful woman. Where did you meet her and woo her?"

"I do not know."

"Of course you know. Tell me the truth."

"I feel as though it were a long time ago, and everywhere there was sunshine and flowers, but I don't know where it was."

"You do;—tell me."

"I cannot."

"Do you hear me, Merle? What ails the boy? I never saw him like this before. Merle, answer me. Where did you first meet the woman?"

"I never saw her."

"You just told me you were her lover. Where did you know her?"

"I do not know her."

"You do, and I will you to tell me the truth. Again, where did you first meet the woman?"

"I am tired."

"Tell me the truth and then you shall rest."

"I do not know any more. I cannot get it."

"Get what?"

"Where she was."

"Where were you?"

"With you."

"No; with her. Merle, you must be very ill when you talk so irrationally and untruthfully. You, whom I believed to be the soul of honor and rectitude. Sleep awhile. I will return, and then you will tell me truthfully. Whom can I trust, if not Merle? Yet, he persists in telling me lies, and defies my suggestions for truth. This proves to me that I have yet much to learn of men's souls. I would have given much rather than have this occur, for I can never again feel the same degree of confidence in anything he may give me in the trance state. Heretofore I have always put implicit faith in any assertions he made, but I am grievously disappointed at this. Women are the source of all man's iniquity. She has made him this, and yet he tries to shield her. He was a good boy until her influence poisoned him. I will take him in his normal condition and teach him to avoid women. I will obliterate her memory even from his mind, for he is too good a boy to be ruined by a frivolous woman's fancy. Sleep sweetly till I bid you wake, Merle; I will go and see what ails Alice. It is strange she should also be affected at this time. A few more experiences like this, and I shall have good reason to believe that I have very little knowledge of the human mind and mechanism."

"Mrs. Millard, I have put Merle to sleep. He will waken calm and refreshed. I would like Alice to come here.—Ah! Here she is. Let me see what is troubling you."

"I do not feel ill, Professor. I am just nervous and weak."

"Shall I put you to sleep?"

"I wish you would."

"Mrs. Millard, I will see you before I go. Sleep, Alice. That is well."

"Poor Merle."

"Why Alice, what makes you say 'poor Merle?' He is sleeping quietly, and will awake refreshed and cheerful."

"Poor Merle! Poor Merle!"

"There Alice, that will do. Do not try to talk; just rest."

"But I want to talk; I know what made Merle sick."

"You do? What did make him sick?"

"You did."

"I? Why Alice, I am making him well, not ill."

"You made him sick."

"What power is working to make you and Merle talk so strangely to-day?"

"I say that you made him ill."

"There, you had better sleep now, you are in no condition to talk."

"You think the beautiful woman's influence affected him, but it was your own that overcame him. That is the reason you could not control him. Had your own mind been at rest and at peace, you could have prevented his present sickness."

"You talk enigmas, Alice. Merle acknowledged while in the trance state that he knew the woman, and that the sight of her overcame him."

"Then he told you an untruth. He does not know the woman."

"Which of you shall I believe?"

"Me."

"Under similar conditions, he would answer the same. I know not which to trust. Balancing the two testimonies, at their intrinsic values, any man would unhesitatingly accept Merle's as the more reliable. How did you get your information that I caused his sickness? If my influence made him ill, what agitated me so, leaving no sign of impression upon me, yet causing another person to suffer? You have given me some strange assertions, which you cannot hope to have me believe, unless you give me logical reasons for so doing."

"It is very hard to get close enough into your magnetism to sense the exact causes of your emotions, but I know that your own surprise at seeing the face of that woman produced such a shock, the influence was reflected upon Merle's body. You could control yourself by strong will force, but Merle could not guard against the powerful wave of magnetism your surprise generated. You have mesmerized him so much he is sensitive to your every thought, either spoken or silent, and he cannot help it."

"Why should he be so strangely affected just at the present time? He never exhibited such a tendency before."

"You have never been affected so strongly before, as you were at the concert."

"Why was I so affected at the sight of a strange woman as to warrant such an explanation of Merle's sickness as you have given me?"

"She was not a strange woman to you. You were not pleased to see her there."

"Why?"

"I do not know. It is all dark before me now, but I will yet go into the clouds as I promised you. I told you Merle could not do the work for you, for I saw him falling down before it. I can—after a few times trying. I cannot see the woman myself. I feel just as you feel, almost numb from a severe shock. I cannot get any more now. Do not be impatient nor vexed with Merle. He loves you, and told you the truth, but your stronger will (believing he knew the woman) compelled him to say that he did. He will not be well again until you become calm in your own mind, for all the sensations that sway your soul will be reflected in him. You are a very powerful man, but even you cannot set aside Infinite Law."

"Before you go, Alice, try to tell me something about the lady. Try to see her."

"I cannot see her. The only sensation is sadness. Oh, so deep!"

"She looked anything but sad, when I saw her. I think you have not gotten into her influence at all. She was the personification of cheerfulness."

"You saw only the body of the woman, which was compelled to laugh, at her desire to appear well. How do you know when a person smiles that it is a sign of happiness? You laugh—I always knew you were not happy. Would anyone have thought to have seen you at the concert, looking so fine, your heart was aching as it did?"

"Try once more to see her. I will wait patiently."

"I shall not see her until you have again. I feel sorry for her. You are so kind, and I feel you are going to be as cruel as your nature will allow."

"There, Alice, wake up cheerful and strong. You have talked enough. Wake up. There, you are feeling better; I know by the healthful flush upon your face. Merle is still sleeping. Leave him as he is. I will be back again to-day. He will soon be himself again."

"I am glad to hear you say that; mother and I have been quite worried about him; he acted so unlike himself, but we felt you could cure him. I will speak to mother; you may tell her anything you want done."

"Mrs. Millard, you may relieve your mind of all anxiety concerning Merle. See how rosy and well Alice is looking. I will have Merle the same. There is nothing you can do for him, any more than to keep him perfectly quiet. I will come back later in the day. I have an appointment at my home, so I must be going."

"A mother's loving gratitude will follow you, Professor. My constant wish is that you may be as happy yourself as you make others."

As William walked briskly away from Merle's home to his own, Mrs. Millard's parting words followed him, causing him to think sadly. "Happy—me happy! Does a happy man work as I work, who has money enough to gratify his every whim, but concentrates every thought and interest upon science, experiment and work, just to lose sight of himself? I flattered myself years ago that I had conquered myself; stifled every sensation and emotion common to youth and man, transformed myself into a student of science, and grew gradually to believe myself quite a power in the use of psychology. After all my work, I am, in a day, brought face to face with my great ignorance and weakness, at the very time I seemed nearest to the goal I have so long held before me, while all my boasted calmness and control over my nerves and body were instantaneously dispelled by a woman's presence.

"No man could have made me believe I was so weak. I will overcome this humiliating weakness, as I have similar ones in the past. It must have been the suddenness of her appearance before me that temporarily shattered all my self-control.

"Who would have expected to see her in the famous singer whom everyone is adoring? Praise, flattery and homage! Well, that will make her happy for a while, then she will find how empty and worthless it all is. What reason can she possibly have for coming to see me, of all persons?

"I may as well acknowledge the truth to myself. I would have allowed Merle to suffer before I would have gone out, while she stood there. She would have thought I felt shocked to see her, but she will find me entirely calm and collected;—master of myself.

"To think that now, of all times, Merle fails me! If I ever wanted his help, it is now. I ought to be strong enough and shrewd enough to compete with a woman. I cannot collect my thoughts sufficiently to even try to conjecture the cause of Merle's and Alice's inconsistency in talk. Truly, inconsistency, you never had a more ardent and faithful pupil than I. My whole bearing is an example of inconsistency, without modification. I am glad no person can know from my outward appearance, the great tumult sweeping over my soul.

"Happy? Poor woman, she did not mean to be sarcastic, for she was sincere in her wish, but my worst enemy could not give me a keener thrust. Now to tell James. He and Mrs. C—— must not be seen by her. I seem pursued by fate, yet I have always been an honorable man. Sometimes I am almost convinced those who try least to be so are blessed with the greatest happiness."