“I wish you would tell Dick so. His mind is in a strange state of confusion. If you were to see him and repeat the words you have just told me it might give him untold relief.”
“My word alone would not do that. When Dr. Tarbot signed the death certificate he spoke of the cause of death as aortic disease—that means disease of the aortic valve of the heart, a species of heart disease which invariably ends suddenly. Dr. Williamson and Sir Richard Spears were of the same opinion. My word goes for nothing. Let your husband see the great specialists who examined the boy’s heart within twenty-four hours of his death.”
“I am greatly obliged to you,” said Barbara. She rose to go as she spoke. “I will tell Dick what you say. Yes, he must see the doctors. Their verdict will set his mind at rest.”
“I am glad you came to see me,” said Mrs. Tarbot, “and if in the future I can help you, pray command me.”
“I mean this. From what you say, your husband is suffering from nerve depression. Nothing else can account for the curious state you have half described. The doctors whom he consults may set his mind at rest, but if after seeing them his troubles return, his complaint ought to be treated as something physical, an ailment of the body which requires cure.”
“But how can such a thing be cured? How can a thought, a dominant thought, be banished?”
“Yes, I. Did I ever tell you that I spent three years of my life in Paris?”
“I did. I was one of the principal assistants of the great Dr. Weismann. When he lived he was the greatest mesmerist, the greatest hypnotist of his day. He accomplished more cures by hypnotism than I can describe to you. Now, the hypnotism of suggestion would, in case of need, cure your husband.”
“But I don’t believe in it, nor, I am sure, does he.”
“You may come to believe in it yet. When you do, send for me, and I will help you. I will do my best for you.”
Barbara promised, feeling as she did so a vague sense of coming trouble. Soon afterwards she took her leave and hurried home as quickly as she could.
When Pelham left his wife he went into the Park. It was a foggy evening with frost in the air, and the fog was densest in the Park, as it always is. He walked under the trees watching the gas lamps, which shone feebly through the foggy atmosphere. He did not heed where he was going, his whole soul was absorbed in anxious thought. There were no nervous terrors now visible on his face. He held himself erect, and walked quickly. After a time he stood still under a lamp post, a look of resolution and strength visiting his face.