Both were sensitive, we might even say, jealous, because they realized their presence was no longer necessary to her happiness. She sought seclusion, throwing them more and more into companionship, but both were too proud to own the keen agony they felt, and as they realized more and more deeply this lack of the necessity of their affections to her, a common instinct seemed to draw them closer and closer together.
Augustus, like his father, was peculiarly sensitive and loved to be made much of, but they both feared to intrude themselves upon her. It was not because she loved them less, however, she sought seclusion, nor could she have told why she wished to be alone. She only knew she desired complete solitude, where, unmolested by anyone, she questioned and requestioned facts she knew to be true. She was as irresponsible for her actions as a person bereft of mind or consciousness.
Being shut so much from her presence, William came to confide more and more in Augustus, who opened his heart toward his father in corresponding measure, and each finding the other was not preferred more than himself, they joined in mutual resistance.
As Clarissa drew herself further and further from her husband and her child, she clung more closely to Mrs. Millard and Alice, and it seemed as though she either desired to be entirely alone or in their company. She only sang when begged to do so, and even then did not do herself justice. Dr. Baxter and others of her husband's friends who had been most agreeable to her at first, seemed now to only irritate her—she could not herself tell why.
She had never loved William and Augustus more than now, still they caused her much irritation, and although she meant to be patient and loving, she was the exact opposite, and the more congenial and pleasant and agreeable she endeavored to be, the more her strength deserted her. She was an enigma to herself as well as to her family. Had anyone told her she could ever be wearied or exhausted by Augustus she would a short time before have resented it, now she found his very voice and presence often vexing.
She fought with herself valiantly, and William watched, sad and distressed as her infirmity gained upon her. It was a condition that, with all his skill, he could not meet. He worked patiently and lovingly, picturing her in his mind to represent health, vigor, cheerfulness and happiness, but the harder he worked, the greater became the ravages of nervousness upon her. He had tried mesmeric sleep, but despite his confident thoughts she would wake with calmness, peace and contentment, he could clearly see before she vented her feelings in words that she awoke nervous and irritable, and shrank from his love and embraces. It was inexplicable.
Once he would have hastened to the conclusion she did not love him, and jealousy would have forced him into unkind measures with her, but when he saw Augustus suffering a like banishment, the boy's suffering was so acute, he felt he must amuse him, and think of him and until Clarissa should again be herself, be both father and mother to him. They were almost continuously together; both suffered, each pitied the other, and tried to make the other forget.
William gave up his scientific researches completely; he had no heart nor interest for it while Clarissa continued in her present state, and despite his vast experience with nervous difficulties, he could not account for the peculiar phases of her sickness. Had she shunned him and clung to Augustus, it would have seemed less inexplicable. In a way he would have suffered more, for his keenest suffering now was modified by the fact that he must amuse Augustus and save him from suffering.
The boy could not understand why he was forbidden his mother's presence, as he had been taught from earliest infancy to expect his wishes to be regarded as law by her and the servants. Now Clarissa, although still kind, no longer made him the center of her attention or interest. He was sensitive, and his pride as well as his affections was hurt.