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 embarrassment 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 assertion.—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 title 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 lustre. 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 lustre 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."

"Clarissa—Clarissa!—You will not—"

"Have I not asked you to leave me and my baby alone? If you come one step nearer—"

"But, Clarissa, you are making yourself ill. I cannot leave you in this way."

"I cannot breathe the same air with you. My children appear serpents to me! You are the serpent. If you do not leave this room at once, my child and I will."

"Calm yourself."

"Not while you are here. I have all the strength of a lioness battling for her young. Openly or secretly, you can never control or mesmerize a child of mine. Try it, if you think you are stronger than I. You have taunted me with negativeness. Words are easily spoken. I ask you to substantiate that claim. Negatives, as I understand it, cannot look a hypnotist in the eye without quailing. We will see who has the stronger power, you or I. I am looking at you fixedly. Why do you not influence me? You who are so proud of your power, ought not to falter when only confronted by a sick woman."

"Clarissa, you will really make yourself ill. I did—"

"Do not talk to me.—Your presence is unbearable. Go by yourself; put your mind upon me and my darlings, but never thrust—"

"I will not listen. You will not banish me again?"

"So long as Eternity lasts, may I never—"

"You shall not say those words."

"I will—"

"I say you shall not."

"See your face—"

"Clarissa, you are not yourself. I will go. Calm yourself."

"May this be the last time my eyes rest upon your form."

"My God! You do not mean that—"

"I mean every word—"

"You will not leave me again?"

"Not one step nearer. Do not dare try to touch me nor one of my children. With all your boasted power, you will have no difficulty making me do what you want me to. Just now, while you are getting there, I prefer your room to your company; if you persist in remaining, I shall leave."

"I cannot go without—"

"Your excuses are unnecessary.—Go.—After you reach your apartments put your whole power of science upon me and my children; you will not affect one of us three."

"Clarissa! I wanted to help Augustus—"

"Leave here now, or I will."

"Do not try to rise, dear—"

"Then leave me; and so long as life lasts, never enter my presence again, unless you have me under such perfect mesmeric influence, I am as you have said, 'Afraid of my own children.' Will you go or shall I?"

"Do not rise. You are not able."

"Then leave me."

"Not this way.—You misunderstood me—"

"You are mistaken. I understood you perfectly."

"Clarissa, do not banish me."

"Coward! I thought you were going to do all manner of things with me.—Go;—either you or I leave here. I cannot endure your presence. I cannot—"

"I cannot live without you again—"

"Where is the power of which you have boasted so much? I thought you said you could mesmerize me any time you chose. This pleading does not balance well with your large assertions; I must have some proof of them. I throw you a challenge. We will see who has the stronger power; I say I shall leave you and your home just as soon as I am able to do so. If you are as strong as you pretend, capable of controlling me at any time, you need not worry. If you want me to stay, all you have to do is to will me to, making me dislike my children.—Go.—Your presence is like a pestilence to me. I do not want my babe to breathe it.—Go—"

"I cannot—"

"Then I have more power than you."

Before William could divine her purpose, she had risen from the bed, and, with the babe in her arms, she left the room. He started after her, alarmed at the results that might follow; but he met Dinah, who resisted him, by saying:

"Mistress Clarissa is anxious to stay in Augustus' room, and does not want to see anyone."

To the servant, this seemed to be only one of the vagaries of the sick woman. She had heard it said: "A very sick person turns against the one he loves best." So when her mistress said that only Augustus was to be admitted to see her, she felt her master's banishment was only one of the symptoms of her sickness. She was loyal to both, but Clarissa's sickness naturally appealed to her more than William's opinions and prejudices.

How precious this sympathy was just at this time, nobody knew but Clarissa herself. Clarissa naturally felt that she was the sole protector and guardian of her children, whom she loved better than herself. She had no reason to doubt William's affection for his family. Her present attitude toward him was the result of her fear of mesmeric influence, not her husband himself. He, being the strongest exponent of the science of whom she knew, and telling her of his intention to mesmerize Augustus had caused her (fearing that he would do so) to picture in William, all the possible evil to be wrought by such a power, exercised by an unscrupulous man.

Fear was the artist and conjurer that distorted to her eyes even William's visage, as well as his intentions. Without her being conscious of the fact, her fears had produced a state of self-psychology, consequently, she could not see clearly nor truly, but beheld only those points in William of which she was afraid.

A little knowledge of anything is often productive of harm. Clarissa had but a limited knowledge of her husband's power, thus gave him credit for possessing more than he really had. While defying him, she exaggerated his possible power, but was sincere in her assertions she would protect herself and her children. She was not afraid of him; it was her children she worried about. Unconsciously, William had been responsible for this condition. When he said he could make her shrink from her children's embraces as though they were serpents, he gave her such a shock of horror, to think there was any power that could so change the channel of natural affection, she went directly to the opposite extreme, and saw William as the serpent because he had suggested the possibility of so horrible a thing.

It is impossible to talk and reason with a psychologized person when they have an opposite opinion in mind, and Clarissa, being self-psychologized, by fear, was no more amenable to reason than if she had been put into the condition by another person.

She loved William, but in this highly wrought nervous state, she could not see her kind and loving husband, who was an indulgent and thoughtful father. She could not believe he was actuated by a worthy motive when he spoke of mesmerizing Augustus. She pictured him selfish, commanding and cruel, and no amount of reasoning could change her.

If the children were not with her all the time, she felt he had taken them away to punish her. Keeping Augustus confined so much made him restless and nervous when the baby was sleeping. He was contented enough while he could hold her. When he began to manifest unrest, Clarissa imagined his father's mind was upon him, trying to draw him away from her, and she struggled with all the might of her soul to amuse and please him.

To Augustus, his father was a wonderful man. He loved to talk of him and what persons said of him. He often said "Let us call father." He did not understand his father's banishment from his mother's room, for he had been almost a constant presence there. Every time he mentioned his father, Clarissa thought "that is William's mind affecting him."

Finally, she would not permit the boy to leave the room, telling him that, being sick, she enjoyed having him always with her. This pleased him, so he would draw while the baby slept, or Dinah and his mother would tell him stories of their past life.

The sound of William's step or voice affected Clarissa's nerves so visibly as to be plainly observable to anyone. Sometimes she saw him right before her, then she would draw the baby close, set her teeth firmly together, looking at the image defiantly until it would disappear, when she would sink back, weak and despondent. Life was a perpetual nightmare and horror to her, and she often thought "How long can I live this way?" Then "I must gain strength for the children's sake. We will go away soon now."

She wondered if her voice had been affected by the birth of her babe. She almost dreaded testing it, still, if it had entirely gone, her children were more to her than her voice. Her joy was complete when, upon testing it, allowing for physical weakness, she was aware that her tones were, if anything, richer than of old. That fact gave her courage. She was not afraid to face life alone again, nor did she regret having returned to William, for she now had another treasure added to her life. The thoughts of how William would suffer, being left alone again, did not occur to her. Her whole thought was bounded by her children's presence.