Six months have passed since we last saw William. During that time a noticeable change has taken place in his appearance. He seems many years older, and his eyes appear incapable of expressing anything but sternness. In a way these changes add to his dignity in a manner not altogether pleasant to contemplate.

Since last we saw him, his time has been given to the task of controlling Clarissa's spirit, by silent thought suggestion, but so far he had been unable to bring her to him by their power. Having experimented so long and thoroughly with mesmeric power, he was able to distinguish at a single glance those persons who were sensitive to his influence, consequently knew her to be a sensitive of an unusually susceptible and refined order, and he naturally thought that by concentrating upon her with the entire strength of his will he would cause her to gravitate to his presence, drawn by an irresistible force, in a very short time, as many others had before.

There had been no lack of interest upon his part, as he had thrown into this work all the force and intensity of his power, but so far as he could see, there was no sign of Clarissa's yielding, and she made no movement to seek his presence.

Such a result was exasperating in the extreme, and humiliating to him. Almost every day he had questioned either Merle or Alice, after putting them into a trance state, concerning her movements, but he only received the most vague and indefinite replies, not one of which was satisfactory. Alice had said several times that she would never come to him, and told him to go to her, but the idea seemed preposterous to him. He go to her? No—she should come to him. This at first, but after a while he added "or send for him," and now, here he was in search of her.

It was easy to trace her movements, as her singing at any particular place was advertised in all directions. He kept in close touch with her movements, hoping to find a trace of the person whom she wished him to assist, but so far he had been unsuccessful in his search. The last reports he had had of her announced that she was in poor health as the result of overwork, which necessitated a complete rest from all public work.

He was not deceived by this report, as he knew his constant thought was affecting her nervous system and undermining her strength, and this was not wholly unpleasant knowledge. He made a sudden resolution to go to her. It was useless for her to resist, so he immediately started on the journey, and we now find him entering the hotel where he had learned she was stopping.

All the way, he had been devising plans as to how he should get into her presence. If he sent up his own name, she would claim she was indisposed, refuse him admittance, and he was a man who disliked to be thwarted in his plans. He would be compelled to send some name to her, and it must be someone whom she would want to see, as, naturally in this nervous condition, she would not see many people. She would see him though—in that he was determined.

He had pictured exultingly the shock it would be to her, and trusted a great deal in the fact that the force of the shock would be in his favor.

Finally he decided to send up the name of Dr. Baxter. He had two reasons for the selection,—Dr. Baxter was a noted expert in nervous disorders, a man whom one in her condition would be glad to see, and she had expressed herself as indebted to him for her intrusion upon his time and patience to satisfy her whim. Everything transpired exactly as he had anticipated, and he was soon following a guide to her apartments.

His countenance had that impassive expression that usually characterizes so-called distinguished persons, but he was innately far removed from the calmness and immobility that his appearance indicated. It seemed to him his heart beats might be plainly heard by the young man ahead of him, and pausing when he had arrived at his destination to calm himself, he felt as though his strength were oozing out of his usually vigorous body, and he noticed his hands were actually trembling. He soon regained control over his nerves, however, and gave the signal announcing his arrival.

The door was opened almost immediately, and as he stepped forward, in the natural perturbation of his mind, he failed to notice who it was who opened the door. All his attention was fixed upon the coming ordeal, but just as he passed the threshold he heard someone say in a hushed and awed tone, vibrant with emotion: "Master William! Master William!!"

He turned quickly toward the speaker, and as he saw the expression of not only wonder but pleasure on the face of the colored woman, his own eyes filled with tears, for he was just in the mood, wrought up and nervous as he was, that any unexpected noise or temporary shock would agitate him. He held out his hands to her, but no words came.

It was different with the woman; her face seemed to beam with happiness, as she carried his outstretched hands to her lips, murmuring, "Master William has come; now mistress will get well.—Augustus will be right back, and Oh, Master William, we have been powerful sad and lonely. Bless your heart, you are looking fine! I will go and tell mistress you are here; You don't want me to tell mistress? Well, joy don't kill even sick people. I reckon your face and love will do her more good than medicine.—That's her voice—She's right in there and you shall not be disturbed only when Augustus comes."

This unexpected welcome, too honest and sincere to be doubted for a moment, did what nothing else could have done for William. He seemed to break away from the cold sensation that had for so long been clutching at his heart, and held every emotion in its relentless grasp. This expression of faithfulness and these words of welcome when he had schooled himself to look for and expect coldness, hauteur, and possibly defiance, had defeated the man who had come there by dint of force, carrying him back in fancy to scenes of past happiness, and had unwittingly unlocked the volcano of love and emotion, which he had so long repressed.

His whole countenance underwent an immediate change; his eyes shone with a lustre almost dazzling, and his step quickened. He could not control his voice to speak, but he pressed the hand of the servant tightly, and with a quickness and agility of movement a youth might envy removed his outer garments, and started for the place that the servant had pointed out to him.

He met Clarissa just at the door, for she had risen to greet Dr. Baxter as she supposed. As his glance fell upon her, he advanced yet more quickly, and before she had time even to think, he clasped her in his arms, drawing her tenderly to him. Neither was conscious of what transpired, and of that scene there only remained in her memory in later times the feeling of such happiness as deprived her of speech and emotion, while in her ear was murmured words to her at the time unintelligible.

The shock was so great she was powerless to resist and when he turned his eyes toward hers, they seemed to hold her irresistibly. It seemed to her he had never before been so handsome. How good it was to feel his arms about her. She was sick and weak.—Closer and closer came his face to hers, and when his lips met hers, there was neither power nor wish to resist or repulse him. Without knowing or realizing what she was doing, she raised her arms and placed them around his neck, and her head nestled closer to his breast, instead of shrinking she gave kiss for kiss.

Just then there came a joyous laugh, which was quickly shut out by the closing of a door, but a large St. Bernard dog leaped upon William with a savage growl. Before the dog entered William felt a change in Clarissa; she was apparently changed from a loving woman to a rigid statue. He had not noticed the boyish laugh, as his mind had but one thought. He only knew he held Clarissa in his arms—the only woman he had ever loved instead of repulsing had yielded lovingly to his embraces and answered his caresses. Her eyes fed his hungry, starving soul, and shed the glances and promises of love.

The whole world might have quivered and shaken at this time, and he would have still been oblivious, but, looking into her eyes with all the eagerness of his soul, and revelling in the unexpected happiness he felt, he saw a change, that like some magical influence extinguished from her countenance its expression of love, loosened her closely clasping arms, and rendered cold and irresponsive the lips that had been so warm. He did not try to analyze the cause, but instinctively drew her more closely to him.

His eyes gleamed more brightly, as he pressed his lips more firmly to hers, and then came the shock of the dog's attack upon him, and the low sullen growl. Clarissa spoke quickly and sharply, and the dog moved slowly away, while she strove to free herself from William's embrace, but though she struggled, he drew her more tightly to him, and he felt a quiver as of a strong emotion pass over her. Then for the first time he remembered her illness, and a feeling of shame came to him that he had startled her so.

Probably the shock of his sudden appearance had made her faint. He had been the cause of her suffering—he would remove it. He lifted her easily in his arms, and placed her upon the couch from which she had risen when he entered. Her face was wan and pale, and her body seemed cold and inanimate, but her color returned as a voice said, "Come, Rex—get your supper." Then a door shut, and he heard no more.

With a sudden bound, and eyes flashing, Clarissa arose and confronted him. The change was so sudden he was wholly unprepared for it, and seeing the great struggle she was making to speak, he could only account for it by the supposition she was enraged because he had come upon her so unexpectedly, compelling her to admit by her acts if not by her words that her love for him had not waned any more than his for her. Her pride was wounded. He would not notice whatever she might say;—he would soon have her back in his arms again.

Finally she spoke. Her voice sounded cold and strange, and her words came slowly, and distinctly, but there was an apparent effort:

"You will excuse me if I retire. I am ill.—I will ring for my maid to escort you out, and so long as we live, never enter my home again."

The expression of William's face never changed. He opened his arms and approached her, intending to draw her to him, but something in her eyes stopped him before he reached her; they stood there looking at one another fixedly and neither spoke. She pointed her finger significantly toward the door. This position, which William made no move to change, became unbearable, and she exclaimed sharply: "If you have any of the instincts of a gentleman, you will not wait to be again asked to leave my presence."

Every word she uttered made a visible change in William's look and manner; all the gladness fled from his face, and he seemed to strengthen and expand, while his eyes glowed like orbs of fire. "I have always understood that the customs and usages of the best society permitted a gentleman to remain in the presence and home of his wife."

"William, go—I beg of you—don't look at me that way.—I feel faint and dizzy."

"Then my arms are your proper resting place. See—I will forgive your sharp words. I know you are not well. There, rest against me.—You won't kiss me? You struggle to get away, but just now you nestled close to me as you used to do. Be still. I have power; you shall be strong again."

"Mistress, Augustus is home and insists upon seeing you. Shall I let him in?"

"No—I will be out very soon."

When the servant spoke, William released Clarissa, but his eyes did not leave her face. When she had gone, he strode to her, and grasping her arm in no gentle manner, said: "Who is Augustus? Why don't you answer me? Another of your innumerable lovers, I suppose. Well, there have been a few kisses since he left that did not go to him. They were as warm and tender as any you ever gave him, and you may assure him, with my compliments, that they are not the last I shall have either. A fool's paradise is better than none. You belong to me by every law of God or man, and no one shall ever again come between us, for I have the power to slowly kill him.—Do you realize what that means? I will put him or any other person out of my way as I would kill a viper. You need not turn pale—I mean it. Your beloved Augustus shall die. I swear it."

"William, take that back."

"Oh, you plead for him, do you? I register a solemn vow to Heaven—"

"William! You shall not say it—It is too horrible.—Say that you do not mean it.—See, my arms are around you.—Do not speak."

"Do not speak? I do not need to. My thought has power to blast him, soul and body. Now—this very day. You need not cling to me. I will not share your embraces with him.—He shall die.—I am not the first man who has murdered for the sake of a woman. The sight of you has crazed me. I swear—"

"Mother, Dinah said I might bring you these flowers. May I come in?"

At that word "mother," uttered by a voice in the distance, which kept coming nearer, accompanied by the barking of a dog and the sound of wheels, William stopped abruptly and looked at Clarissa, with severely questioning eyes. Her face lit up at the sound of the voice, then her whole body shivered and shook, threatening to prevent her standing, and her hand went to her heart while she struggled for breath.

"Mother dear, may I come?"

The voice and dog stopped, for the boy would not enter till he was bidden. William's eyes did not leave her face. He said coldly: "Why do you not answer? It is evidently you who are addressed."

No wonder she trembled as she looked at him. She made a visible effort and said, "What is it, dear? I will come presently."

"But, mamma, I want you to wear these, they are so pretty. Just let me put them in your dress, and I will go back to Dinah."

By this time, William's eyes blazed, and his voice was calm as he said, "Bid him enter." Clarissa seemed under a spell as she said with a vacant expression, "Come, Augustus."

The words had scarcely left her lips, when the voice began, the dog barked, and a young boy, guiding a wheeled chair, came into the room. He was a remarkably handsome child, probably about twelve years old, a cripple. His cheeks were flushed, his eyes glowing, and he looked more like an animated picture than a real boy. Being the personification of refinement and beauty, he needed only a robust body to appear a miniature God.

One glance at the boy, a sudden start, and a complete change took place in William's countenance. All the anger and jealousy and uncontrollable rage faded away, and so kindly a light came into his eyes it attracted the boy's attention. Rolling his chair to his mother's side, he put his arm around her, and rising to his feet, with the other hand he placed in her dress a bunch of tuberoses, and gave her a loving kiss. Then he quickly sat down in his chair, bowed to William, and said "Come, Rex," at the same time starting for the door.

"Will you not speak to me, or give me a flower, or at least tell me your name?" said William.

"Yes, sir. My name is Augustus Earle, and I will buy flowers with all my money and bring them to you,—I won't even buy a picture or anything if you will just cure my mamma. Dinah said you were a doctor, come to cure her, and we are going to have a jolly time when she gets strong again."

"Your father must be very proud of you; such a bright boy as you are."

"I have no father. Didn't mamma tell you? No? Papa is dead, and Aunt Dinah and Rex and I take care of mamma. Aunt Dinah says I look like my father and have his temper, but you must not think he was a bad man, for mamma says he was grand and good and noble. I would like to be like my father when I am a man, only of course he could walk and I can not without crutches. But I don't care, only sometimes. Have you any little boys or girls?"

"Yes; I have one boy."

"I suppose he can walk and run and jump and swim. You just wait, I like you—I am going to send your little boy a present, for you are going to cure mamma, I know. How old is your little boy?"

"He is twelve years old."

"Just the same age I am. How do you suppose he would like a horse? Do you think he would rather have a dog? Oh, I don't mean a truly one—only one I draw. You tell him, when you give it to him, Augustus Earle, a boy who can't run and walk like him, drew it, and sends his love with it.—I will not be gone long."

After Augustus had left, neither spoke for some time; not till the clatter of his chair was lost, then William said, and his voice was low and gentle:

"Clarissa, why did you not tell me of this years ago?" She made no reply. "Why did you let me remain ignorant that I was a father?—Won't you speak?"

"He does not belong to you."

"Clarissa, you don't realize the significance of what you say. That is my son—I know it, and it is useless to deny it. Why you should try to I cannot understand.—What is the cause of his lameness? I may be able to cure him, and make him so he can walk. He is a handsome boy."

"I say you shall not cure him;—I have cared for him so long, and—"

"Here I am, Dr. Baxter, I think I will send both of these, then he will be sure to be pleased. I am so glad you are going to eat with us—Aunt Dinah has put an extra plate, and made me promise to be on my best behavior. You see, Aunt Dinah forgets that I am not a baby because I cannot walk, but I can play and sing and draw better than boys that can play games. I have a boat—I will go fetch it. Do you know, Rex has learned to swim and sail it for me, and I sit and watch it. It is a good boat, for a fisherman told me so. Rex, go and get my boat. Now Doctor, you just see if he does not fetch it. He knows what I want, for he takes care of me.—There is Aunt Dinah calling. I have to go and let her fuss over me. She rubs my face and hands, and combs my hair just as they do a baby's, and if I get angry and wash myself, she says I am not clean.—If I do not go, she will come for me, and rub soap and water into my mouth and eyes and say, 'You are the perfect acting image of your father, you are.' I will be ready by the time supper is; I am so glad you are going to stay. I will show you my drawings, and sing for you too. Mamma says I sing splendidly.—There's Dinah again.—We will have a jolly time, and you can tell me all about your little boy."

Various expressions had chased one another over William's face while the boy was talking, and anyone watching his countenance would hardly have believed it capable of expressing any but the kindliest of emotions, and solicitude for others. Tears were in his eyes, and his voice trembled as he thanked Augustus for the drawings he had given him, and as he started to wheel himself away, William stooped to kiss him; but, as though she had the power to divine his thoughts, Clarissa, who had remained silent during the boy's last entrance, moved quickly between them, herself kissing his animated face, and pushed his chair toward the door, saying: "Dinah will be cross with you—go quickly.—Remain in your room until I call you—I wish to talk with the Doctor, alone."

"All right, mamma; do not be long—I want to hear all about his little boy."

Clarissa watched him until he had passed from sight into another room, then turned, like an avalanche, upon William. The intensity of her feelings seemed to lend her strength.

"If there was ever one faint spark of interest—I will not desecrate the name of love by calling any feelings you may have entertained toward me by that title, but if you have ever had even a passing interest, I implore you by the remembrance of it, to leave my home immediately, and so long as my child and I may live, never bring your unwelcome presence to us again. Go.—You don't move? Whatever other feelings I may have had for you, I always give you the credit of possessing the ordinary courtesy of a gentleman.—You will compel me to resort to very rude measures, and as I am not very strong, and this interview is not only taxing my patience, but my strength—"

"Why should I go, Clarissa? Heretofore, there has been only one loved object in my life; now I find another, unexpectedly, it is true, but none the less dear. Where these two are, there I wish ever to be. You both need me and I need both of you."

"You are mistaken. We do not need you, and love is a sentiment unknown to your soul. Do not longer parley with words. Go—or I shall lose what little respect I still have for you—"

"I cannot leave you ill."

"Who has made me so? I know you have. I know very little about the science that has made your name illustrious, but I know enough of it to know your power lies in the concentration of thought. Have I not been pursued by your image and influence, sleeping or waking, ever since the day I entered your house? Do not flatter yourself this image has been welcome, for it has been far from it, and I have had but one means of banishing it.

"It has been this continual struggle to throw off this unwelcome influence that has shattered my nervous system. I am gaining upon the power to throw it off, however. I thought, one while, I would surely die, as at times my heart would cease beating, and everything begin to turn black. You would have succeeded in your nefarious scheme, but for the remembrance of my helpless boy, who has no one but me to depend upon. I cannot and will not leave him alone.—

"Nights, when I have felt your evil power so strong, I could almost see you before me; I would rise and go to Augustus, and, kneeling beside his bed, I would pray for the powers of good to give me strength to live and care for my blessed child. These prayers have been answered; I no longer fear either your image, your influence, or your actual presence.

"A mother's love has strength to overcome every evil for her child's sake. I defy you and your boasted power. I did wrong to ask you not to try it upon Augustus; the power of my love will counteract any influence you can send him. Will you leave us now?"

"I make all due allowance for your condition, and rather than cause you more suffering, I will go immediately, leaving you by yourself to think it over and reflect if you have not been a little harsh to me. Think over the early days of our marriage; how happy we were. Can you recall one act of mine that was not an expression of my loving solicitude for you? Had I one thought beyond you and our home?

"Since you went away, I have lived the isolated life of a student. No woman's smile has caused me a moment's thought. I have been as true a husband to you as in those happy days so long ago. The misery and suffering have made me old before my time, but I am clean in every thought so far as women are concerned.

"Isn't that proof of some love? I see by your face you do not believe me, but I will prove it to you.—Come home with me.—James and Nancy are with me, and always have been. You will believe them, even though you doubt me. They know my life. We will nurse you back to health—possibly I can do much for my son—"

"Stop. I told you before that Augustus was not your son."

"I know he is. His every look and movement proclaims it. It is useless to deny that I am his father. Why do you want to put such a stigma upon the child?"

"I am telling you the truth. His father is dead, just as he told you."

"Then how do you account for his remarkable likeness to me?"

"Probably the dislike I had for you before he was born marked him with your features."

"Clarissa, I do not believe you. If I am not his father, who was?"

"That is nothing to you."

"Nothing to me? Are you mad?"

"No. I was never more sane in my life. I can look you straight in the eye, without the quiver of an eyelash, and say, you, William Huskins, are not the father of my boy. Can a person telling an untruth do that? Would it be natural for a mother to acknowledge her child to be illegitimate, when she might presume upon a man's credulity to claim him as his son and heir, unless she wanted to be honest?"

"I can only account for your words by that fact."

As he spoke the words he moved toward her, and she kept receding, with her eyes fixed upon his. Paler and paler she grew, and larger and larger became the pupils of her eyes, which were gradually so dilated that they seemed to hide the other portions of them; still he gazed at her with an unwavering and stern expression till, finally, she clasped her right hand over her heart, and sank, without a word. She would have fallen prostrate upon the floor had not William sprung quickly to her as she fell.

Immediately he felt her helplessness, all the stern, steady look vanished from his face as though by magic, and in its place there shone all the eager ardor of a lover. Time and the memory of the past both seemed to have been obliterated from his mind, and he was conscious of but one fact. Clarissa, the only woman he had ever loved or who had ever held either his heart or senses captive, was again in his arms;—was his.

The thought made him tender and kind as a mother to her first born babe, whom she believes to be the answer vouchsafed to her prayers for a living example of her love for her husband; for this babe she would offer her life, a willing sacrifice, without one thought of hesitation, even if the sacrifice meant physical torture. Her love could generate the power necessary to endure any kind of personal torment if she knew her suffering would purchase the release or happiness of the child which was dearer to her than her own pleasure or welfare.

So William felt, when his arms encircled the object of his love, and he would gladly have endured any discomfort or suffering Clarissa had been subjected to while the combat of their wills had been waging. He realized as only a man whose experience had been as vast as his could realize, that her nervous condition, combined with the unexpected shock of his sudden appearance, had been a great ally to his cause, for without these, despite her naturally susceptible temperament, he would have had a severe struggle.

He lifted her easily and bore her to the couch from which she had arisen upon his entrance. She looked so white and rigid and still and cold—so much like one prepared for burial—that, despite his vast experience with mesmeric sleep, he felt anxious. He was loth to admit, even to himself, he was nervous—supposing she was dead! Supposing her spirit had actually fled, leaving him alone again:—deserted—while her soul was transported into conditions of which he knew nothing, and he could not reach her?

The thought was agonizing. He immediately drew her to him, thinking to warm her cold, inanimate body by contact with his own which was warm and vigorous. Those lips that had but a short time before responded so tenderly and lovingly to his were now cold and unresponsive. For a time, the scientist was lost, while the husband caressed, loved and suffered.

He kept repeating "Clarissa—Clarissa—Speak to me," and after a long interval of silence she spoke.

"Did you speak to me, William?"

If the voice of one dead had answered him, he would not have been more startled. The shock broke the spell that bound him, and the man of science was once more alert. He lifted her head, looked intently into her eyes, rather at her eyes which were closed, and said—

"Clarissa, do you hear me? Are you awake?"

There was a brief pause, then she replied, but her voice sounded far away. "Yes."

"Do you know who is talking to you?"

"Yes—William."

"Have you anything to say to me?"

No answer,—then he said timidly but tenderly, "Clarissa, do you love me?" No words passed the cold, impassive lips, but her arms were raised and entwined themselves about his neck, and her head nestled lovingly and confidently against him. The answer seemed to satisfy him, and for a while, he made no effort to talk, apparently quaffing the enjoyment fate furnished him.—The past and future were a blank to him, and the present was fraught with such exquisite bliss, that he heeded not when Dinah spoke to him.

"Master William."

Not receiving an answer, she entered, spoke again, and not now receiving a reply, and seeing her mistress and him in so fond an embrace, she reverted to the rules of the past and touched him instead of speaking to Clarissa. He looked up at the touch and smiled so pleasantly it seemed they were all back in the past.

"Master William, the Doctor is here to see mistress. I have your dinner all prepared. What shall I tell him? He insists upon seeing her. I told him she was engaged. I would not come in. Do not look so cross, Master William, but he said he would have to see her, and you know she has great faith in him. Aint you, Honey?"

"Dinah, tell him to go."

"But, Master, he is waiting just outside here with Augustus."

"Augustus, my baby, mamma is coming,—mamma is coming."

As these words came from Clarissa's lips, William felt a great change pass over her. He had put her to sleep by his power, but she was no longer rigid, and her arms, which had clung so tightly and lovingly about his neck, loosed their hold, and warmth and animation diffused themselves to every portion of her being. She rose erectly and tried to waken, but encountered a mighty resistance.

"Tell the doctor to remain where he is. I will come to him," said William, while he tried to restrain Clarissa from rising. "Sleep,—Sleep,—Sleep," he repeated, but his mind had been unsteadied by the happiness of thoughts of his brief intoxication. His commands seemed to have no significance for the woman who struggled to free herself from his grasp.

"Augustus—I am coming—mother hears." This was all she said, but it required all William's strength to hold her on the couch, and a feeling of jealousy (which he was at the time ashamed of feeling) overmastered him, and held him in thrall, and he repeated over and over again, "Sleep—Sleep—Sleep" his vigor increasing as his jealously gained the advantage over his judgment, and she finally collapsed into a comatose state.

Dinah had watched her struggles, but, feeling her mistress was in safe hands, had not interfered in her behalf, although she could not understand the purport of what she saw. When she saw her mistress settle back again, like one dead, she said—

"Master William, shall I show the Doctor in? She sure has fainted."

She received such a look from William as she was not likely to forget, and he replied:

"Dinah, your mistress is sleeping peacefully and well. Take me to the Doctor."

She offered no objections, but led him to a room where Augustus and a man of mature age were waiting. When he had reached there, William's eyes would have been a study for any man. He acknowledged the usual salutation of introduction, but his head was visibly elevated from the position it should have held considering the august presence of so distinguished a practitioner as Dr. Goullard;—in fact, he could not control his feelings sufficiently to remember they were both gentlemen, and said abruptly, "Dr. Goullard, your services are no longer required; I am here as Miss Earle's representative, and will at once discharge her obligations to you for services rendered if you will advise me as to the amount of her indebtedness."

"Who are you, who presume to represent Miss Earle? I only accept dismissal at her injunction. I demand to see her. If she bids me to visit her no more, very well, but I must receive some sign from her."

All the time Dr. Goullard was talking, William's face showed a scornful expression, and when he had finished, William said, "I presume her husband has some right to choose a physician?"

"Certainly," replied the Doctor quickly, "but Miss Earle's husband is dead, therefore, as she has called me regularly for a long time, I consider myself privileged to pass into her presence immediately."

"Not without my permission," replied William, and no person could have mistaken the meaning of his expression. The doctor looked at him interrogatively and he continued: "I presume you have heard of William Huskins, the scientific expert upon nervous difficulties, or diseases; I am he. I see you know of my reputation by your expression. Well, I am Miss Earle's husband. Ah, that startles you.—It is the truth.—I am this boy's father."

"I am acknowledged as an expert practitioner for difficulties and disorders of the nerves, consequently, my wife can have no further need of your services. Doubting my claims as husband to Miss Earle, and father to Augustus, you may refer to Dinah, who has been an attendant of Miss Earle since she was a young miss—"

"Prof. Huskins, I do not pretend to doubt your assertions, but you will, I think, admit that it was quite natural I should make the mistake, as I have been told by Miss Earle personally her husband was dead. I have attended her for some time, and I should be pleased to offer her my congratulations upon having so distinguished a husband as you. I will not long intrude upon the privacy of your glad reunion."

Williams' mind had cleared while the Doctor was speaking. He realized his conduct thus far had not been such as would naturally be expected from one of his reputation. He was too proud to apologize, still he knew some concession upon his part was necessary, and, throwing his head back with that impetuous movement Dinah knew so well, at the same time pushing the hair back from his forehead with his hand, he said, quickly and courteously, "My wife is sleeping now; I have just placed her in a trance condition, from which I shall awaken her shortly, calmed and refreshed, and much stronger. I will take you to her if you desire it."

"I should consider it a great favor for you to do so. I have heard much of your marvelous power, of which I must confess I know very little, but of which I should be pleased to learn more."

Without another word, William turned and walked from the apartment, followed by the Doctor, leaving Augustus and Dinah alone. While the men had been talking, Augustus' eyes had not left William's face. He made no effort to speak, now that William had gone, but fixed his gaze upon Dinah. She said nothing and there was a long silence.

Finally he said abruptly, "Dinah, is he my father?"

"Yes, honey."

"I want to see Mamma."

"Wait, honey, till the Doctor goes, and your father will take you to her. He is a right good man, but he hasn't much patience. You are just like him, honey;—I always said so. No, you cannot go now. We must wait till we are called, child."