"Yes, yes. I must have the picture done," said Garsworth, and, rising to his feet, he left the room, followed by Beaumont, who saw the white face of Patience peering from the shadow and frowning at him in a menacing manner.
Placing his finger on his lips to enforce silence, he glided past her down the wide stairs, across the hall and into the drawing-room, where he found the squire had once more re-established himself in his chair.
"Well," said Beaumont to himself, "there seems to be some chance of making use of this secret, but I can't do it without the help of Patience, so I must see her. Meanwhile, I'll wake the squire."
He crossed over to the squire and touched his face with his own cold hands, upon which the old man started violently.
He then spoke loudly into his ear:
"Mr. Garsworth!"
The somnambulist opened his eyes, and a confused expression appeared on his face as he looked at Beaumont.
"Do you feel better?" asked the artist, gently.
"Yes," answered the squire, slowly passing his hand over his forehead. "The pain is gone, but I feel very tired."
"It's always the case in hypnotism."