“Thank heaven!” I cried. “We must save her.”
Opening her eyes, he took the candle and looked intently into them. They still had a fixed, stony stare, and there seemed a film upon them.
Then the doctor, with his forefinger and thumb, stroked her forehead in a downward direction, pressing her temples, saying—
“You shall now awake and feel exactly as you were before that villain placed you under his influence. Come, rouse yourself! Rouse yourself!”
Several times he repeated this, until at length her eyes twitched, her face flushed, and she gradually became perfectly conscious, answering the doctor’s questions quite rationally. But at me she glanced shyly, and blushed.
“She remembers nothing distinctly since she was hypnotised,” Ferguson said, “therefore you are a stranger.”
I endeavoured to explain that I had delivered the letter she entrusted to me; but she shook her head, saying—
“I only saw you once, in the Dominique Restaurant in Petersburg, when you drank the wine over which Petrovitch Délianoff had made passes during the few moments you were absent.”
Ferguson, who was one of the greatest English authorities on hypnotism and a student of the occult, eagerly asked what the man had done.
“He touched my forehead quickly in a curious way,” she answered, “and he afterwards dipped his finger in the wine, saying, ‘Your sensibility and soul will now leave you and be transferred to this glass of wine. In future you will feel nothing.’ Since that time I—I seem to have been in a long dream; I can remember nothing distinctly.”