Think as he would, William could not account for this latest condition of Clarissa and her babe. The thought of the babe had not once recurred to him. From the time of her birth she had appeared to be physically a well child. What could be the cause of this close resemblance to death, which had temporarily deceived such keen eyes as his.

This was not the most perplexing problem either, although this was unanswerable in his present state. The child's passing into this deathlike state was not so remarkable, owing to Clarissa's physical weakness and nearness to death, (for he knew how much the condition of the mother affects the small and negative babe) as was its return to health and vigor, without apparent labor upon his part first, for Augustus had declared, while his mind had been taken up with James and the strange physician, that the babe had moved. To be sure, he had worked hard upon it after he had taken the two children alone to his room, but what made her move before he had worked upon her? He believed Augustus when he said she did move.

How to account for this apparent death and recovery was what baffled him. Had he been the only one deceived, he would have thought his fears and anxiety for Clarissa had rendered him temporarily nervous and fearful, but Dinah and Augustus were equally deceived, and united in the assertion.

It was the baby's coldness and rigidity that had alarmed and produced in Clarissa the condition of a seeming death struggle. What could it be that had caused this? He asked himself that one question until his mind and brain was a complete tangle of conjecture, but not one plausible or satisfying answer came to his consciousness.

While he was seeking the solution to it, let us try to account for the same. William was a practised and proficient psychologist. He was accustomed to control the individuality and personality of others, by force of will, or, as some persons prefer to say, mind suggestions; use whatever words you will, it all resolves itself to one point. He temporarily dominated the consciousness of others, making them, for the time being, obey and express his own thoughts and desires.

Being shut out from the association and companionship of his family, he chafed, fretted and suffered as only such a nature as his can suffer. He was pursued by pictures of Clarissa's leaving him again and misery of the darkest type settled upon his soul.

His wife was the one object of adoration in his life. He loved his children as well as any man loves his children, and would gladly have suffered to spare them suffering, but never could they occupy their mother's place in his affections, or satisfy his soul's hunger. They could do this better than another woman could, because they were hers; they were a part of her—an expression of their mutual love; therefore, he prized their comfort and welfare beyond his own, but Clarissa was the object of his veneration.

Her smile and approval gauged his happiness. That he was not equally necessary to her tortured him.

Never had she bestowed upon him the same degree of affection he had proffered her. He was satisfied and happy if he had her, but she was not equally contented; after the children came, her first thought was of them, and their happiness, and what time and affection they did not require, she gave to him. He was an unusually jealous and exacting man, and could not help feeling jealous of even his children, for he wanted to be first in her affections and interest, and the thought she should again leave him alone was simply maddening.

This second separation would be incomparably worse than the first. His love for her as a bride had not approached the degree and depth of the ardor he felt for the mother of his children. Having for so many years been deprived of her presence and love, he prized it more highly now than he could possibly have done in their early married days.

When he found no man had stepped between them in that first separation, he felt so relieved, so happy, so proud of his boy, he thought at first, he would be content with second place in her love; when little Clarissa came, she was only another object upon which to bestow his warm love, and he fervently believed her coming would cement and strengthen Clarissa's love for him, the father of her children.

His hopes had been rewarded in her early sickness, furnishing him a degree of happiness he had never before known; to be thus positively assured his presence was necessary to their happiness, and then, without warning, when he was planning to do his boy the greatest good possible to perform for him, she turned upon him like a tigress, banishing him from her presence, threatening to take her children and leave him again.

The first desolation had been bad enough, but the second would be infinitely worse. Had he been selfish, cross, jealous or exacting, he could have endured this new and unexpected banishment better, but so far as he knew how, he had striven to make his family happy, consulting, in every instance, their pleasure before his own.

Since she had returned to him, Clarissa herself had been the dictator; he had faithfully kept his promise she should reign and not he, only intruding upon her presence and life when she gave him permission. They had both, he knew, been happier in their reunion than in their first union, or marriage.

Clarissa had proven her love to him many ways. He could not doubt her loyalty to him, and that was what puzzled him. He had not the smallest shadow of a doubt she loved him only, considering other men as his opponents but why—why did she threaten to leave him, when he spoke of trying to heal Augustus?

He repeated over and over to himself that he would not be jealous of his own children, knowing he had no occasion to be jealous of anyone else. He was sorry he had spoken so harshly to her. She was ill and nervous and knew very little about mesmeric influence.

Truly, he had no real distinct memory of what he had said. When she was a little stronger, he would go to her and ask her pardon and assistance to help Augustus, that he, an innocent victim, should not pay his father's debt of jealousy and injustice. As William thought this out, he did not realize what a growth in real true love it proclaimed.

Studying them from a psychologist's standpoint, it is easy to understand the cause of the phenomena that disconcerted and puzzled him. He was, at the time of the baby's sickness, throwing the full and complete might of his practiced will into the thoughts of demanding his wife to send for him, thinking he would rather be in her presence even though she were psychologized than banished from it as he was now.

She was holding the baby close to her, just at that time, thinking how she should plan out the future so her darlings should be best situated. Suddenly she felt the strong, magnetic power which she knew so well from her experience with it, producing in her head, a dizzy sensation.

Believing he was going to carry out his threat to make her fear her children's presence, (for she knew it was his thought waves), she drew her baby still closer to her, in defiance, while her eyes at once sought Augustus' face to see if he was in any way affected.

She had no concern for the baby who was feeding from her breast; her one thought was of Augustus. He was the one his father had threatened to mesmerize; he should not do it while she was alive. Augustus sat drawing before her. He was irritable and cross, for he had wanted to go and see Merle, but his mother had insisted upon his staying with her.

Well as he loved to draw, the enjoyment vanished when he was crossed in his desires and compelled to draw. His face was the picture of disappointment. His mother's anxious scrutiny marked the pallor and symptoms of yielding to what she thought his father's mesmeric influence.

She could not fully understand and comprehend the boy's reluctance to forcible restraint. She watched his face eagerly and saw that he was nervous and uneasy, and strove to defeat the dreaded condition by the might of her will.

Augustus finally threw down his utensils impetuously, and said, "I am going to my father"; starting to move his chair back. This was a perfect confirmation of her fears. She instinctively tried to rise, saying in a harsh tone, "You cannot go." But as she arose, she became suddenly aware of the babe and that it had stopped nursing, and looking down, she saw it lay quiet and limp in her arms.

Her anxious, overwrought nerves rushed her to the quick conclusion that William's power had killed her baby. Being weak, this sudden shock threw her into such a vertigo her heart became erratic in its movement, and she was fast sinking away, believing that her baby had preceded her, when William came, compelling her to live and breathe normally.

Coming to consciousness and finding both children well, and hearing Augustus' and Dinah's glowing accounts of William's powers, which were largely exaggerated by their love for him and their ignorance of what had produced these results, she began to feel her ire towards him vanishing, and it was soon supplanted by a longing to see him.

Why should he work so to save her and her baby, if he had no love for them? She longed for his presence, whether as father, husband or hypnotist. Should she send for him? She was proud, and hesitated and promised herself to do so the next day. She would not admit how nervous she was, even to Dinah.

She fought with her inclination to see William all day. She had no more trouble with Augustus, for he could not be coaxed from the room. When it came time for him to retire, his mother granted his request that he might this once sleep with the baby, and as she was sleeping he clasped her close to him, seeming to be nervous about her.

Clarissa felt such pride in seeing the children sleeping, she wished William could see them too. That was the most beautiful picture she had ever seen. Augustus had the baby close to him in a loving embrace; looking at her treasures, she wondered if any other mother had such cause for pride as she. She turned over upon her side, that she might look easily at them. The picture of their happiness soothed her troubled nerves, and she fell into a refreshing sleep.

How long she slept, she did not know. She was vaguely conscious of an arm passing around her shoulder, and holding her lovingly and close. She knew that it was William's, without opening her eyes. She felt such a sense of security in that embrace, she would not open her eyes, though she was awake and conscious whose arm it was. She felt if she spoke, she must censure him, and she was, at present, so content she did not want to argue, or even talk; so she seemingly slept on.

William had felt so strongly he must see his treasures, he had sent word to Dinah to apprise him when they were asleep. She did so. He told her to lie down in her own apartments and he would call her when there were any signs of their awakening. She was glad of a reprieve, and he was happy to be with his family.

For a time, it seemed enough to look at them, then he felt a longing to touch Clarissa. Sitting beside the bed, he leaned over, resting his head near hers, while one arm passed over her. Afraid to waken her, he did not dare to draw her to him, so his head moved closer to hers. He thought her sleeping, and unaware of his presence.

His position soon became uncomfortable, yet he was afraid to change it, for fear she should awaken and banish him. She seemed to be sleeping soundly like the children, and he ventured as she made an uneasy movement of the head, to as easily as possible pass the other hand and arm under her head, at the same time, forsaking the sitting posture for a reclining position beside her.

Her back was toward him, as she faced the children, but there was a certain security in feeling his arms close around her. She must be asleep, as she made no movement.

The pride of both prevented their speaking, and perfect quiet reigned until the baby began to cry, waking Augustus, who was all concern for his sister. Without speaking to William, nor attempting to move from his embrace, Clarissa reached over and took the babe to her. William did not speak nor move, except to reach out his hand and draw Augustus as well as the baby into his embrace.

To Augustus' query "Is that you, father?" he answered "Yes, my boy. Now go to sleep, that you and sister may be good natured tomorrow."

Putting one arm around his sister, and hearing her regular breathing, Augustus was soon fast asleep. Neither William nor Clarissa spoke; each was waiting for the other to make the first advances; both too proud to acknowledge themselves in error. Finally, Clarissa fell asleep from sheer exhaustion. Dinah found them so when she came, early the next day.

William offered no objections, when she ordered him to leave, for he felt his banishment would not be long. Clarissa knew that he was there before she went to sleep; she did not censure him, nor bid him depart, therefore, she did not hate him. It was probably her sickness that had made her hasty and harsh to him. That sickness was largely his fault, so he would be patient.

Small babes are but sensitive plates upon which are reflected the strong emotions of the mother. Clarissa was nervous and weak, and feeling the strong magnetism flowing from William's thought, she was consumed by actual fear, in her secret soul giving him credit for more power than he possessed. The nursing babe imbibed all her nervous condition, but, unlike her, had not sufficient power to throw off the depression, and therefore it succumbed to a swoon. Clarissa thought she was dead, and her anxiety produced an effect deeper still, owing to the fact that it was only picturing her thoughts.

All physicians know that many of the illnesses of small babies are the result of the nervousness or real sickness of the mothers; set the mother's mind or body at rest and ease, and the baby revives as quickly as a dry and parched plant, supplied with water. So much for the cause of babies' sickness.

The cause of its resuscitation and movement, without visible aid, was due to precisely the same cause that had made it sick;—its mother's thought.

When William had succeeded in placing Clarissa in a sound, refreshing sleep, there was no further depressing magnetism flowing towards it. Dinah and Augustus had perfect faith he could restore the babe, and he was determined she should not die, knowing Clarissa would always hold him responsible for its death, though he was as innocent of it as the baby herself.

Like any negative, a babe will reproduce the strongest power coming to it at a given time. As it had no power to put away thoughts of depression, it was equally powerless to thrust from it cheerful and healthful ones. The strongest waves of thought at that time said "Live," and it began to manifest symptoms of life, while in close contact with those two who had insisted it must and should live;—Augustus and William.

It was only a case of temporary suspended animation, as the child was physically well. Many psychologists would have made a similar mistake as William, for while they can easily dominate the consciousness of others, there are many subtle phases of thought and action they cannot understand nor account for. The realm of thought action is as infinite in its scope as is the Universe.