The question was addressed to no one in particular, but Henry took it up, and answered roughly: “I think it is a lot of bosh!”
James replied pleasantly: “I don’t know that it is, though it may be so. We know that there are subtleties of the mind which we do not understand, and I do not see why there should not be the same amount of force in the higher power of man as in the physical; great feats, either of mind or muscle, are but the result of training; we think because we do not understand that to which we have scarcely given a thought—much less investigated—that it cannot be true; we have no right to cry ‘wolf’ until we—at least—uncover our eyes.”
Henry lifted up his face, a strange eagerness in his voice as he said, “Do you then believe that you could unconsciously to me force me to do that which is against my will?”
“No, indeed! The hypnotic has no will; it is the will of the hypnotizer working through him. I believe that the hypnotizer may not even be positive as to a knowledge of his own power—merely a half-consciousness, a way in which one’s thoughts at times move—like the shadow of a fast-sailing summer cloud. Of course to be so easily influenced, the subject must be of a yielding, plastic temperament; it is as though the operator sent a portion of his own soul on a brief visit into the body of the hypnotized.”
A half-frightened look flashed over Henry’s countenance—and was instantly gone; he cried out roughly: “I don’t believe it! I don’t believe it!” He wiped the perspiration from his face with a trembling hand. James laughed at his vigorous protest, and affected not to see the emotion which lay behind it, so he answered lightly: “No compulsion about it, this is just a case of leave it, or take it, as you please—which does not alter the fact that we have many forces within us of which we are in ignorance,” he replied quietly.
“Well, all I have to say is this, I wish that I had the power to get one good night’s rest. I think that hypnotism would be a blessing, if it were the means of securing it to me; I lie awake half the night to think and worry, and at last fall asleep and dream it all over again, intensified a thousand times, and aggravated by something, which each night persistently occurs, and which I try all day to recall to memory; at times I just touch the border—it is like trying to grasp the luminous tail of a comet—it is but empty air.” He suddenly paused, evidently annoyed that he had been betrayed into an expression of his feelings. James sat up, instantly interested: “Can you not concentrate your mind, and thus trace the sequence of that which you do remember? Is it a dream—or—or——”
“It is nothing! I tell you it is nothing!” said Henry testily.
James said no more, but he knew that there was something which Henry either could not, or would not explain. Later, as Henry was starting for home, James laid his hand on his shoulder and said, “I think I will go home with you, and we will have a quiet smoke together, it will soothe your nerves, and perhaps you will sleep better.”
At first Henry shrugged his shoulders impatiently, and made a movement as though he would jerk away from his detaining hand; but as James continued speaking he seemed to change his mind, and said slowly: “Very well! I do not often smoke, but perhaps it would quiet my nerves.” Aunt Hattie bade him a very crusty good-night; she had been very sarcastic, and ill-natured all the evening; it seemed to make her angry if either Marjy or Henry showed any enjoyment; she seemed equally angry if they sat silent and unhappy.
“Oh, auntie, you ought not to be so ill-natured!” said Marjy after they had gone.