During Clarissa's illness, William devoted all the available time he could find to the study of the book she had brought him. He had many interruptions, for Augustus appealed to his father in his altercations with Dinah, when they were too severe for him to conquer by might of his own will.

There were many visitors, who came to inquire the health of Clarissa and her babe. Clarissa seemed very nervous if William was long away, so he did most of his reading near her. She said this uncontrollable desire to know he was close beside her arose from the mental suffering she had endured from his absence when Augustus was born. She suffered keenly then, and the same conditions brought similar sensations. She was perfectly satisfied to remain quiet if she saw him present, but if he remained long from her, she was pursued by fears and thoughts that she would not tell even him.

In her weakened condition, they quickly showed themselves in her physical depletion. She was annoyed at her weakness, but her sufferings were none the less acute because she knew that they were visionary.

She was not a weak woman in any sense of the word, but just now her husband's presence furnished her a sense of security; his absence brought weakness. The fact she had had no long or severe confinement made it still harder to account for her subsequent nervousness.

Doctors Baxter and Harrington had for some time been trying to get William to perform an experiment in psychology for them. He put them off from time to time by different excuses, because he was unwilling to leave Clarissa for a long enough time, knowing her confinement was near. Not having been with her at the time of Augustus' birth, and having no experience in such cases, he was more concerned about it than he would admit.

After her easy and well nigh painless delivery, he felt so relieved the next day but one, he went with them. He was gone almost the entire day, as the physicians asked him to visit a patient of each, who was suffering from nervous troubles, which eluded their powers, and which they felt he could relieve. They were situated at quite a distance one from the other, so it consumed considerable time to visit them.

William felt perfectly easy in his mind regarding Clarissa. He had told her where he was going, and she said she was proud he could do what others failed to do. She was comfortable and happy, when he left, laughing gaily at Augustus' concern because baby slept so long. She had an arm around each as he took his last look at them before leaving the room. That picture of home and happiness had been with him all day.

Once he would not have thought that day's work an arduous one, as he sought for years to crush every sentiment and interest but scientific research. The more work he had before him, the more contented he was; now he could not help thinking, even while he worked, of his family.

Both doctors remarked how quickly he placed each subject in a trance state; in the last instance, especially, it was very noticeable, as the sick girl was a peculiarly sensitive person, but being entirely ignorant of mesmeric power was consumed by fear, exhibiting traits bordering upon convulsions. She did the same when William began to work. Her heart exhibited such erratic tendencies of action, the three men united in the verdict it was better not to force her further.

As he witnessed the girl's suffering, he thought of his own baby girl, similarly terrorized, for it was only terror that caused the condition. Immediately the scientist and man of force was submerged, and the father was the predominating man. Without any thought but loving sympathy, he placed his hand upon the girl's head and said:

"Poor child;—do not worry;—you shall not be molested, nor forced by me, any more than I want my baby girl so treated."

He smoothed her head, and she gave him such a look of gratitude as he could not soon forget, then closed her eyes. He saw she was passing into a comatose state, without his forcible dictation. Once placed there, he gave her the customary suggestions, telling her to wake at a certain time, then left the doctors to return home, feeling tired, but cheered by the knowledge of the presence of the three loved ones who were awaiting him.

How he pitied the two men whom he had just left, who were going to their elegant homes, but for whom there was no wife or children waiting. Often the three had communed together in the past, upon their good fortune in having a place of quiet and repose, where they would be unmolested, and free to think. Now William knew that, whatever conditions of perplexity, even of discord and confusion awaited him in his home, it was infinitely sweeter and preferable to the quiet and peace they had pretended to like, for while he joined them in congratulations upon this condition, his soul had hungered for his wife's presence. How did he know there was no similar episode in each of his two friends' lives?

They believed him when he had lied. Yes. There was no escaping the truth; he might as well own up to himself, if he would not to anyone else. He, a truthful man, in all other respects, lied rather than reveal a heartache he felt to be a weakness. No one but himself knew he lied. How did he know that Baxter and Harrington were not lying too, actuated by the same motive—their inability to secure the companionship of the particular woman they loved.

As he thought of his own heartaches, when alone, he felt a profound pity for them, while respecting the motives that kept them silent. It was as natural for man to love woman, as it was to breathe the air into his lungs. Yes, there must be some tragedy in each of his friends' lives. His earnest wish was they might terminate as happily as his had.

He had arrived home by the time he had reached this conclusion, and, for all his fatigue, he ascended the steps with the buoyancy and elasticity of a youth, he was so anxious to look at his treasures.

His animation and joy received a rude shock, when he saw James' face, and he happened to be the first person he met. There was such a look of anxiety and sadness there, as was not to be mistaken by anyone who knew him well. Without waiting for William to ask him the cause, he said:

"Oh, Master, I am so glad you have come! Mistress Clarissa was stricken suddenly very ill. We are much concerned about her, long ago sending to both Doctors Baxter and Harrington, thinking to bring them and you. She isn't quite herself, sir. Won't you hasten?"

No need for this last injunction, for William was already ascending the stairs with rapid strides, not waiting for all the steps. Soon he was in Clarissa's room, where he found both Dinah and Nancy; Dinah was holding the babe while Nancy tried by every means she knew to coax and divert Clarissa's attention.

One glance showed William the condition of affairs. She had a high fever; her face was red, and her eyes sparkled with an unnatural brilliancy. She was talking rapidly but disconnectedly. How he felt, he could have told no one, and, unlike his usually calm and sensible self, he rushed at once to the conclusion this was that dangerous and weakening fever that so often accompanies childbirth.

The sudden reversion from thoughts of happiness to those of acute anxiety was too great for him to immediately overcome, for like most anxious persons, he pictured the worst. Like a horrible panorama, there came before his consciousness, instantaneously, the spectacle of her death. For the time being, he lost sight, entirely, of his power to control such conditions, and instead of being calm and collected, he was anxious, and full of thoughts of doubt and suspense. He spoke in a quick, agonized way:

"Clarissa—Clarissa."

She listened, then answered: "Yes, William; what is it?"

"Are you suffering?"

"No, William; now you have come. I thought I was alone again. That thought made me so miserable! Will you not sit with me a while until I become calm?"

"You may be sure I shall not leave you again. Now try to sleep."

He was fast gaining control of himself; as he gained in this respect, she grew more quiet and soon was fast asleep.

The doctors both came in answer to the summons, but James told them that their services were unnecessary, so they returned to their homes. After this episode, knowing the cause of the difficulty, William remained almost constantly with Clarissa, taking a large measure of happiness from the knowledge his presence was necessary to her happiness. He kept her as quiet and cheerful as possible.

As he studied the book she had given him, he discussed many points with her, when she was awake, acknowledging frankly his surprise at her quick understanding. He told her the truth when he said he enjoyed talking science with her better than with any man he had met, for her perception was very keen and accurate, though she had little knowledge of mesmerism, as a practical and demonstrated science.

She proved herself capable to reason, and interpret some points obscure to him, owing to the fact his mind had been trained in a certain groove of thought, and was thus prejudiced and partial; having no certainly defined theories, she could absorb and embrace new and higher facts far more quickly than he. Whenever a new assertion was presented to him, he could not help but compare it with his past work or ideas, and was prejudiced in their favor when the balance was nearly equal, owing to the fact he had performed such feats of power by following the guidance of former schools of wisdom: on the other hand, Clarissa had supreme faith in every word Alice had given her, so she tried to make William believe all the book contained.

Her will was untrained, while his was, and developed to the highest degree. What she lacked in training, she made up in persistence. She was a staunch ally of Alice's assertions, striving by every ingenuity of her mind to successfully pit Alice's ideas against William's tried experiments. Both were stubborn;—William, because he felt actual experience was of more value than theory; Clarissa, because she knew both her own and Alice's mind was unprejudiced when the facts in the book were given.

William had entranced Alice every time, and, in fact, brought her out. Alice had never known for what reason she was entranced and did not now know she had been instigating intelligence to produce a book upon mesmeric influence.

Clarissa knew her mind had not prejudiced Alice in the slightest, as she knew too little of the science to do so; thus when it came to a conflict of faith between William and Alice, she always advocated Alice's assertions with the full might of her power.

That book had been a work of love, upon their part. Alice had said while in the trance, that the acceptance of those facts would make William a greater and more illustrious man. Clarissa believed it, and used all her power of persuasion and logic to make him understand and accept them.

She was successful, far beyond her hopes. He listened to her arguments and reasons as he would have done to no man's. When their ideas clashed, he tried by all the arguments he knew to convince her.

Take a man and woman of equally developed wisdom, and the woman's mind has been acknowledged by the most competent judges to be the more subtle and intuitive, avowing, often, upon the impulse, precepts and assertions convincing to their listeners, which, if called upon to explain, they would be powerless to do so. This fact has given birth to the axiom "Men reason logically;—women intuitively." Thus it was that Clarissa could confound, perplex and convince William, while the deep basic principles underlying the effects she so strenuously asserted, were entirely unknown to her.

William never acknowledged, even in after times, how much real knowledge Clarissa imparted to him, and as her one thought had been to avouch and do justice to Alice's work, she did not give herself the due amount of praise. When she succeeded in convincing William, upon a point of disagreement, she gave the credit instinctively to Alice.

In this communion and the almost constant conflict of wills both were growing immensely, without their consciousness of the fact, but Clarissa could never hope to be the practical demonstrator of the science that William was, and would be. She could acquire through sensitiveness, knowledge he could manifest, but could never gain originally.

This is a good proof of the law that all finite lives are fallible, one excelling in one branch of knowledge or execution, and another, in other branches. One eternally leans upon and depends upon the other for something, as it is only the Infinite that embraces all there is within itself.

The word "infinite" implies all; therefore, all individual or finite lives are faulty and fallible, furnishing less developed lives with power and knowledge, while they are, themselves, compelled to depend upon other lives still higher in the evolutionary chain of existence for similar favors.

Clarissa and William were both positive and strong souls, and the union of their forces and intellects meant a much stronger power than either could ever hope to reach alone. The very fact they took opposite views of the question was a beneficial factor to both. The conflict of wills drew from both higher wisdom than they knew they possessed. Neither wanted to be defeated, so each tried to bring forth the most persuasive and logical powers. The natural result was that both were benefited and advanced.