Part 1

_The Hypnotic Experiment of Dr. Reeves_

_And other Stories_

THE HYPNOTIC EXPERIMENT OF DR. REEVES And other Stories

BY

_CHARLOTTE ROSALYS JONES_

London BLISS, SANDS AND FOSTER CRAVEN STREET, STRAND 1894

I. The Hypnotic Experiment of Dr. Reeves.

Dr. Edward Reeves, the celebrated Rheumatism Specialist, is not a favourite with the members of his profession. His methods of treatment being unknown, coupled with his refusal as yet to divulge them, have given his enemies and rivals a chance to accuse him of charlatanism; but to the great rheumatic public he has become a demi-god; and as long as our changeable climate continues to nurture this disease, his idiosyncrasies will be overlooked by the multitudes whom he relieves.

In his genial moods, the doctor tells many curious anecdotes, and how some of his daring experiments were made under rather romantic circumstances. One of the strangest of them can best be told in his own language:

“Some time ago, I had, among my patients, a young man who interested me from the first. He came to my private hospital for treatment of a severe form of rheumatism of the heart; he was attended by a younger brother, whose devotion struck me as remarkable, until I became better acquainted with the invalid, and discovered how worthy he was of it all. He seldom spoke of himself, except his one great desire to get rid of the subtle disease that overshadowed his life, and he seemed anxious to aid me in every way with the treatment Evidently wealthy, gifted, and just about eight-and-twenty, it seemed almost impossible to believe his bright young life was constantly threatened by the convulsive attacks which had become more and more frequent.

“Unlike most of my patients afflicted by the same trouble, he did not respond to the usual remedies; and I realized that if his life were saved at all it must be by employing heroic measures. However, sure that the disease was lessening its hold in general, and only needed driving away from a vital point, I awaited developments.

“Late one evening, as I was seated in my study, puzzling my brain with some questions of hypnotic influence over patients at critical moments, my night bell rang. I went to the door myself, and found there the nurse of my young friend, who told me my presence was desired at once, as the most alarming symptoms had reappeared. Stepping back for my hat, my eyes fell upon the book of _Experiments in Hypnotism_, which an old Professor in Paris had sent me, remembering my absorbing interest in Charcot’s specialty, and a certain power I had developed when a student in the Latin quarter. This power I had used to tranquillise nervous patients, or to play practical jokes on my friends, after the manner of most young medical students who discover they have any skill in this direction. An idea occurred to me—Why not inoculate my patient with the powerful amount of virus required to drive the disease finally from the dangerous region of the heart, _while he is in a hypnotic condition_?

“In an instant after, all the perils of the situation presented themselves: Do remedies act if the patient is under this influence? Will the final result be the desired one? Providing the pain be temporarily stilled, would it re-occur after the hypnotic influence had been removed?

“These and other doubts so disturbed me, that on my way to the hospital I determined to avoid taking any such measures, unless I found the patient actually dying.

“As I entered, I was met by the brother. He seemed plunged in despair.

“‘He is going fast, doctor,’ he said. ‘Can you do nothing?’

“Without a word I stepped to the bedside. I found my worst fears realized. At a glance I saw he would not survive the night unless the frightful spasms that were fast sapping his strength were arrested.

“As I took his hand and felt his pulse, he looked up past me at his brother, and gasped the one word ‘Annie.’

“‘Whom does he want?’ I asked.

“‘His _fiancée_, doctor. My brother was to have been married in a month; but when he knew that he was threatened with a probably fatal disease, he begged me to help him quite secretly to try this last chance for recovery; and so, although he is within a mile of his own house and that of his intended wife, no one but myself and his faithful servant is aware of it. To all our friends we are hundreds of miles away, looking after business interests. And now it has grown worse and worse, until he is dying, absolutely within reach of Annie, to whom he is madly devoted.’

“‘Will you be calm, and help me to make one last great trial?’ I asked.

“‘Great heavens! What can I do?’ he replied.

“‘Take my carriage; it is at the door; tell the coachman to drive his fastest to Annie’s house. Bring her back with you; and, above all, explain to her the situation, so that I can count on perfect calmness.’”

“Without a word he was gone, and as I heard the wheels leaving the door, I turned back to collect my thoughts for a moment before returning to the sick-room. I had to count on at least half-an-hour’s delay, and meanwhile to quiet this horrible pain and wait for Annie to help me.

“Once back in my patient’s presence, I took his hand, looked fixedly at him until his eyes caught mine. Then I said, ‘You must sleep now; Annie is coming, and you must be strong to see her.’

“At once a look of surprise, of joy, followed by one of despair, passed over his face. ‘I am dying, and you have sent for her,’ he murmured.

“‘Sleep,’ I said, this time completely fixing his gaze. Almost instantly the spasms ceased, and he sank back among his pillows like a tired child. Not noticing the look of astonishment in the face of the nurse (who was a faithful old valet of the invalid), I ordered him to send me the assistant-surgeon and a bright young woman nurse, whom I often selected for urgent cases. They came at once. It was the work of a few moments to inoculate the greatest quantity of the powerful poison that I had ever used at any one time. I then made the usual passes, and awoke the patient, resolved not to risk any unnecessary complications. I knew if his strength could be kept up for three, or at the most four hours, the battle was ours. But could he fight it out alone? I did not dare to guarantee the usual result of the virus if he were asleep. I could only count on Annie’s support to help him out, for he seemed at last ready to give up the fight. Even now the impression that his sweetheart was coming, added to the rest secured by the little respite from pain, seemed to be sustaining him, and all I dreaded was that he would be too feeble to bear the effects of the remedy in its later processes, when the convulsive attacks were liable to be especially violent, as if they knew they were losing their power over their victim.

“A half hour passed, then three quarters, and I heard the wheels stop outside. I opened the door, went softly into the hall, and met the brother, pale, anxious, and—alone!

“‘She is not at home, doctor. She is at a ball, believing my brother well and hundreds of miles away. I explained all to her father. He has gone to fetch her. Am I too late?’

“Just then a moan from the adjoining room told that my patient was suffering. I returned quickly to his bedside, and found the old symptoms reviving. Again the temptation beset me. I argued: ‘I influenced him easily, he certainly feels no pain while hypnotised, he cannot live unaided through another convulsive attack. To be sure, I have to fear that he can never be awakened, and that the final effects of the remedy may be lessened. At least two hours must elapse before he is safe, providing no new complications set in; and meanwhile what an opportunity to see if hypnotism prevents or aids inoculation! He has no other chance. The plan of fighting it out on natural lines, aided by his own desire to live for his love’s sake, has failed.’

“I hesitated no longer. Again taking his hand, I uttered the magic word ‘sleep,’ and he sank back as before.

“‘Now for the great _coup_,’ I said, and, turning to my young nurse, I ordered her to take off her cap, put on a hat and cloak, and follow exactly the few directions I gave her. She seemed to grasp my idea, and left me free to follow out my experiment.

“‘Annie is coming,’ I said, looking straight into the poor fellow’s eyes. ‘In a few minutes she will be here.’ I hesitated even as I spoke. Can a hypnotised patient be made to believe that a _substituted_ person is the one he expects to see? But even as the thought flashed across my mind the door opened and the brother entered, with the young nurse on his arm dressed in walking costume.

“‘Here is Annie,’ I said. There was a moment of horrible suspense. Then at a sign from me the young woman approached the bed, sank down on her knees, and took both his hands in hers. A look of incredulity, of wonder, of hope, and then one of ineffable peace shone on his face.

“‘Annie, dearest, I tried to keep it from you and to come back to you free from this terrible trouble,’ he whispered.

“‘Yes, dear. You must not talk to me. See, I am with you, I shall not stir.’

“‘Kiss me once,’ he murmured.

“The woman reached gently over and kissed him, and with his hands still in hers he relapsed into unconsciousness. In an hour more the danger would be over, but I must then awaken him, and unless the real Annie were present the shock might ruin everything. The moments went by—the sick man sleeping, the tireless nurse kneeling in her strained position by his bed, the brother pacing up and down outside the door, and I, watch in hand, dreading the last act in this exciting night’s drama.

“Fifteen minutes more and I heard a rustle, a murmur of voices broken by sobs, and then silence. Suddenly and quickly the door opened; a beautiful woman in ball costume, with jewels gleaming in her hair and on her neck, glided like a spirit to the bedside. The nurse, with a woman’s quick intuition, softly withdrew her hands; the other knelt and took her place, and with her eyes fixed on the face of him whom she had thought far away and in perfect health, she waited. ‘She is worthy of him,’ I thought, as I saw her attitude and her wonderful self-possession.

“Now for the test. Motioning the others to leave the room, I awoke the sleeper. His gaze instantly fell upon his Annie’s loved face. ‘Hush!’ she said; ‘you have been very ill; I know all about it; but the danger is over; all will be well, and I shall not leave you.’ A puzzled look swept over his countenance. Then he feebly whispered, ‘I was dreaming you were here; but you had your hat on, dear; you had just come in from the street and found me.’

“‘I am _really_ here,’ Annie replied, ‘and you must reward me by not saying another word.’ She smiled at him, a brave smile, through the tears that were coming now. This time, with a satisfied look, he fell into a natural sleep. I knew the danger was over, and that I could safely leave him with his own.

“As I passed out into the early misty morning, I confess the thought of the success of my part of the experiment was rather swallowed up by my admiration for that woman, and for the love, the great unselfish, protecting love, she had won from that man. Visions of lost happiness came before me, and it seemed to me I had missed something which might have been mine, had I been less absorbed in other ways; but just then I reached my own door, and caught sight of the name on the small silver plate, _Dr. Edward Reeves_. And I thought of the material I had collected for a medical paper on that night’s work, so I dropped the sentiment, and went in to make a record of the facts in the case (which has interested the scientific world ever since) of a patient actually getting the full benefit of a remedy while in an undisturbed, hypnotized state, despite all theories to the contrary.”

II. An International Courtship.

In seven minutes the great steamer _Lahn_ would slip her moorings and sail for Southampton.

Already the more cautious friends of the departing passengers had left the ship, and were finding places on the dock whence they might wave their final messages. The decks were clearing fast, leaving mournful groups of travellers, who were beginning to realize how soon they would form a little world of their own; and so they were making quiet observations of each other.

A tall, sturdy, young Englishman was leaning over the rail, looking a trifle amused at the scene about him, and occasionally waving his hand to two men on the wharf, who were evidently “seeing him off.” He did not look particularly sad, or as if he had any especial interest in the voyage beyond reaching his destination. That he was distinctly a well-bred Englishman, who knew his London well, one could not doubt; that he was also a trifle obstinate, might be surmised from the pose of the intellectual head upon the square shoulders, and the determined look about the firm, well-shaped mouth. Just now, he has screwed an eye-glass into his eye, and is looking at two ladies who have crossed the plank, and are being greeted by two elderly gentlemen, each of whom presents them with bunches of flowers.

Something about them strikes the young man’s fancy; perhaps he is interested in seeing that they seem quite oblivious of the fact that the warning bell is ringing, and he is wondering if the two men are to sail also, when suddenly, just as the gangway is to be removed, he sees them all shake hands, and the two women are left standing alone.

After a final look at his friends on the dock, he takes a turn about the steamer, and far off on the side, quite removed from the harbour, he sees the younger woman standing, looking out—not behind, at what she is leaving, but before her. _Why_ it is that he cares at all what a perfectly unknown young woman is doing or thinking puzzles Mr. Gordon-Treherne. In his five-and-thirty years, he has known a great many of the fair sex; he has had several rather close love affairs—with various results. He was rescued from what might have terminated in an unfortunate marriage when in Cambridge. The Gordon-Trehernes considered that the heir of the family had no right to throw himself away upon a modest little English girl, even if she were the daughter of the rector, and deeply in love with the fascinating young collegian.

After that experience, young Mr. Gordon-Treherne, or “The Arab,” as his chums called him, from his love of travel, determined not to hurry himself about marrying. One or two charming Frenchwomen almost destroyed this resolution, and once he was decidedly fascinated with the daughter of an English general out in India. But he had travelled the length and breadth of the United States, and never felt inclined to fall in love with an American girl. Several of his friends had married American belles; and when young Lord Clanmore’s engagement was announced to the beautiful and wealthy Miss Lawson, of New York, everyone envied him; but Treherne had not cared to enter the lists, although he knew Miss Lawson well. Women said he was a man with a history, but he was all the more fascinating for that. Men called him a good fellow, and said “The Arab” was the best shot and the coolest rider in the club, only he was always running off to some outlandish place, where his accomplishments were lost.

Just now his friends might have been surprised to see him arranging a steamer chair for the elder of the two women who had caught his attention on the dock. The steamer has left the quay only a half hour, and already an opportunity has presented itself to make their acquaintance. Etiquette at sea is very elastic, and it only needed the usual attentions to the comfort of the elder woman to attract the notice of the younger. She has turned now, and with her hands still full of flowers, comes toward them—a tall, slim girl, possibly four-and-twenty he thinks. He is dimly conscious that both ladies are quietly but elegantly dressed. Americans, he fancies; and then the elder woman speaks,—“Thanks, so much.” The voice is low and musical. She must be French, he thinks. She is a brunette, and he decides that she cannot be the mother of the tall, fair girl who seats herself next to her.

“Let me arrange your rug also,” Mr. Gordon-Treherne says, as he raises his hat.

“Oh, thank you; that is very comfortable.”

And again he is struck with the well-modulated tones, which he scarcely associates with American voices.

Still they must be Americans, the young man argues to himself, but no longer finding an excuse to tarry in their vicinity, he moves off, and they meet no more till dinner-time.

Meanwhile, with the philosophy of an old traveller, Mr. Gordon-Treherne has interviewed the head steward, and, foregoing the honour of sitting at the captain’s table, he has asked to be placed at a small one with a sofa-seat. Experience during previous voyages has taught him that there are certain comforts not to be despised in a side seat under a strong light. He sees several prospective lonely evenings, when he may not feel inclined to hunt about for a good place to read.

At dinner Mr. Gordon-Treherne notices two elderly men and a small boy at his table, and remarks two vacant places. Presently his two interesting acquaintances of the morning appear, and he has just time to read the cards on the plates on either side of him—“Mrs. Barry” on one, and “Miss Stuyvesant” on the other—and to comprehend that by some blunder he is separating them, and that he can only remedy the matter by giving up his cherished seat, when the two ladies arrive at their places. There is a moment’s hesitation, and Mr. Gordon-Treherne remarks, “Allow me to change my place.” Suiting the action to the word, he steps past and allows Mrs. Barry to take his seat, which brings him opposite Miss Stuyvesant. Both ladies express their thanks, and then, naturally, they fall into conversation. They speak of the steamers; Mr. Gordon-Treherne prefers a larger boat, and refers to several “ocean greyhounds” he has personally known. Curiously enough the ladies have made the same crossings, but prefer even smaller steamers than the _Lahn_. “Americans, surely; ‘Globe Trotters,’” he thinks.

He mentions that he has just been to the Exhibition at Chicago. Miss Stuyvesant says that in point of exhibits she preferred the Paris Exposition of ’89, and so on, until it seems as if there were no place this young woman had not seen and about which she had not formed her conclusions. He doesn’t care for it though, Arab that he is; he likes to travel, but the women of his family have never expressed a desire to go beyond Paris, and he thinks promiscuous sight-seeing outside a woman’s province. He shows a little of this in his manner, for as he leaves the table, the elder woman says:

“How glad I am, Helen, that you do not believe in International marriages. Now here is a well-bred, intelligent Englishman, yet he shows insensibly what narrow ideas he has about women. I admit he is polite, and careful in small details of manner, but an American girl of spirit could never be happily married to him. Their ideas of life are too opposed.”

Miss Stuyvesant has evidently not thought much about him, for she only smiles in a vague way, and says she has learned not to quarrel with the old-fashioned notions of English people.

“Why, I pride myself in actually leading them, when they start in a tirade against the very things I do myself!” she said.

“You are a sadly worldly young woman,” Mrs. Barry rejoins, “and I wish you would marry and settle in your own country.”

Meanwhile Mr. Gordon-Treherne was idly pacing the deck, smoking his cigar, and wondering if the self-possessed young woman would appear later on. “If ever I marry,” he resolves, “it will be to some woman who has _not_ been everywhere and seen everything. I should feel as if I were travelling with an animated guide-book. I wonder if that girl has a home?”

Then it occurred to him that Miss Stuyvesant had merely answered his questions, and as these had been restricted to quite impersonal topics, he only knew her name after all.

That she was good-looking, agreeable, and witty, he had already observed, but she did not seem to thrust any information about herself upon him, as he had supposed an American girl would. He did not see her again that day, nor till the next afternoon, when she was walking up and down the deck with the captain of the steamer, and as she passed him with a little nod of recognition he heard her speaking German.

“Surely American,” he thinks, “knows the captain already, and speaks his language.”

At dinner Mrs. Barry was missing, but Miss Stuyvesant appeared looking as calm and “well-groomed” as if a heavy sea were not tossing everything about, and obliging the passengers to eat over racks.

“You are an old sailor, I see,” began Mr. Gordon-Treherne, “but I fear Mrs. Barry is ill.”

“Yes, quite seriously ill,” Miss Stuyvesant replied. “It is always an ordeal for her to cross the ocean.”

“And has she done so frequently?” he asked.

“Nine times with me,” the young woman coolly replied.

“Really,” he said with a smile, “one might infer you had some designs on her life, did you not look so anxious about her.”

“Oh, no, we usually have some excellent reason, we do not take this voyage in order to martyrize Mrs. Barry,” she replied.

“I shall have to ask her nationality outright,” he thought.

“Then you do not live in America all the time?” he said.

“Not now, we are ‘birds of passage,’ and, like them, follow the spring-time; our habitation is usually settled by the climate.”

“And do you know England?” he asked.

“Quite well, I was at school in England, and some of my dearest friends are living there.”

“Some church school,” he mentally remarked.

“Ah, then, perhaps you do not altogether despise our little island, and look down upon us from your bigness with the scorn that most of your compatriots do?”

“He is trying to make sport. I shall foil him,” she thought, and quite calmly said—

“Look down upon a country upon whose possessions ‘the sun never sets’? Besides, the fact that I stay so much in England ought to prove how much I admire most of its institutions.”

“Clever girl!” he thought, “trying to be a little satirical, and doesn’t commit herself as to _all_ of our ‘institutions.’ I must make her angry to get her real opinion.”

And then he said, “You should see our English home-life. I am sure _that_ appeals to every American woman.”

There was a patronising tone about this remark that Mr. Gordon-Treherne felt would effect his purpose.

“Indeed,” she said slowly, and went on eating, as if the conversation were beginning rather to bore her. Now, why Mr. Gordon-Treherne should assume that Miss Stuyvesant had not seen this phase of England as well as others cannot be imagined; but there he overstepped the line, and soon after the decidedly cool “Indeed,” Miss Stuyvesant left the table to look after her _chaperone_.

“An egotistical man,” she thought, as she went to her state-room. She had liked Mr. Gordon-Treherne’s appearance, and being a cosmopolitan young woman, was prepared to find him agreeable. Now she thinks him distinctly aggressive, with his old conservative ideas of women and English superiority.

He, for his part, feels he does not understand this American girl, who refused to quarrel with him, but suddenly turned and left him. He knows he has not shown himself in his most brilliant colours.