"First of all," I asked, "would you tell me whether you
have collected any cases where the mesmerist has gained
a command over the subject and has used it for evil
purposes?"

"Dozens!" he cried exultantly. "Crime by
suggestion----"

"I don't mean suggestion. I mean where a sudden
impulse comes from a person at a distance--an
uncontrollable impulse."

"Obsession!" he shrieked, in an ecstasy of delight.
"It is the rarest condition. We have eight cases, five
well attested. You don't mean to say----" His
exultation made him hardly articulate.

"No, I don't," said I. "Good-evening! You will excuse
me, but I am not very well to-night." And so at last
I got rid of him, still brandishing his pencil and his
note-book. My troubles may be bad to hear, but at
least it is better to hug them to myself than to have
myself exhibited by Wilson, like a freak at a fair. He
has lost sight of human beings. Every thing to him is
a case and a phenomenon. I will die before I speak to
him again upon the matter.

April 12. Yesterday was a blessed day of quiet, and I
enjoyed an uneventful night. Wilson's presence is a
great consolation. What can the woman do now? Surely,