The Parasite: A Story

halfan hour or so. Science is so exacting that it is difficult to give asatisfying test, but I am convinced that this at least will be anaction which she would be most unlikely to do of her own free will.Forget any thing that she may have said, as she has really nothingwhatever to do with it, and will certainly not recollect any thingabout it. I write this note to shorten your anxiety, and to beg you toforgive me for the momentary unhappiness which my suggestion must havecaused you. "Yours faithfully; "HELEN PENCLOSA.

  Really, when I had read the note, I was too relieved to be angry. Itwas a liberty. Certainly it was a very great liberty indeed on thepart of a lady whom I had only met once. But, after all, I hadchallenged her by my scepticism. It may have been, as she said, alittle difficult to devise a test which would satisfy me.

  And she had done that. There could be no question at all upon thepoint. For me hypnotic suggestion was finally established. It tookits place from now onward as one of the facts of life. That Agatha,who of all women of my acquaintance has the best balanced mind, hadbeen reduced to a condition of automatism appeared to be certain. Aperson at a distance had worked her as an engineer on the shore mightguide a Brennan torpedo. A second soul had stepped in, as it were, hadpushed her own aside, and had seized her nervous mechanism, saying: "Iwill work this for half an hour." And Agatha must have beenunconscious as she came and as she returned. Could she make her way insafety through the streets in such a state? I put on my hat andhurried round to see if all was well with her.

  Yes. She was at home. I was shown into the drawing-room and found hersitting with a book upon her lap.

  "You are an early visitor, Austin," said she, smiling.

  "And you have been an even earlier one," I answered.

  She looked puzzled. "What do you mean?" she asked.

  "You have not been out to-day?"

  "No, certainly not."

  "Agatha," said I seriously, "would you mind telling me exactly what youhave done this morning?"

  She laughed at my earnestness.

  "You've got on your professional look, Austin. See what comes of beingengaged to a man of science. However, I will tell you, though I can'timagine what you want to know for. I got up at eight. I breakfastedat half-past. I came into this room at ten minutes past nine and beganto read the 'Memoirs of Mme. de Remusat.' In a few minutes I did theFrench lady the bad compliment of dropping to sleep over her pages, andI did you, sir, the very flattering one of dreaming about you. It isonly a few minutes since I woke up."

  "And found yourself where you had been before?"

  "Why, where else should I find myself?"

  "Would you mind telling me, Agatha, what it was that you dreamed aboutme? It really is not mere curiosity on my part."

  "I merely had a vague impression that you came into it. I cannotrecall any thing definite."

  "If you have not been out to-day, Agatha, how is it that your shoes aredusty?"

  A pained look came over her face.

  "Really, Austin, I do not know what is the matter with you thismorning. One would almost think that you doubted my word. If my bootsare dusty, it must be, of course, that I have put on a pair which themaid had not cleaned."

  It was perfectly evident that she knew nothing whatever about thematter, and I reflected that, after all, perhaps it was better that Ishould not enlighten her. It might frighten her, and could serve nogood purpose that I could see. I said no more about it, therefore, andleft shortly afterward to give my lecture.

  But I am immensely impressed. My horizon of scientific possibilitieshas suddenly been enormously extended. I no longer wonder at Wilson'sdemonic energy and enthusiasm. Who would not work hard who had a vastvirgin field ready to his hand? Why, I have known the novel shape of anucleolus, or a trifling peculiarity of striped muscular fibre seenunder a 300-diameter lens, fill me with exultation. How petty do suchresearches seem when compared with this one which strikes at the veryroots of life and the nature of the soul! I had always looked uponspirit as a product of matter. The brain, I thought, secreted themind, as the liver does the bile. But how can this be when I see mindworking from a distance and playing upon matter as a musician mightupon a violin? The body does not give rise to the soul, then, but israther the rough instrument by which the spirit manifests itself. Thewindmill does not give rise to the wind, but only indicates it. It wasopposed to my whole habit of thought, and yet it was undeniablypossible and worthy of investigation.

  And why should I not investigate it? I see that under yesterday's dateI said: "If I could see something positive and objective, I might betempted to approach it from the physiological aspect." Well, I havegot my test. I shall be as good as my word. The investigation would,I am sure, be of immense interest. Some of my colleagues might lookaskance at it, for science is full of unreasoning prejudices, but ifWilson has the courage of his convictions, I can afford to have italso. I shall go to him to-morrow morning--to him and to MissPenclosa. If she can show us so much, it is probable that she can showus more.