University of Virginia Library

11. CHAPTER XI.
VEXED WITH A DEVIL.

IT was necessary at once to summon a physician to advise
as to the treatment of Myrtle, who had received a
shock, bodily and mental, not lightly to be got rid of, and
very probably to be followed by serious and varied disturbances.
Her very tranquillity was suspicious, for there
must be something of exhaustion in it, and the reaction
must come sooner or later.

Old Dr. Lemuel Hurlbut, at the age of ninety-two, very
deaf, very nearly blind, very feeble, liable to odd lapses of
memory, was yet a wise counsellor in doubtful and difficult
cases, and on rare occasions was still called upon to exercise
his ancient skill. Here was a case in which a few words
from him might soothe the patient and give confidence to
all who were interested in her. Miss Silence Withers
went herself to see him.

“Miss Withers, father, wants to talk with you about
her grand-niece, Miss Hazard,” said Dr. Fordyce Hurlbut.

Miss Withers, Miss Withers? — O, Silence Withers,
— lives up at The Poplars. How 's the Deacon, Miss
Withers?” [Ob. 1810.]

“My grandfather is not living, Dr. Hurlbut,” she
screamed into his ear.

“Dead, is he? Well, it is n't long since he was with
us; and they come and go, — they come and go. I remember
his father, Major Gideon Withers. He had a

great red feather on training-days, — that was what made
me remember him. Who did you say was sick and
wanted to see me, Fordyce?”

“Myrtle Hazard, father, — she has had a narrow escape
from drowning, and it has left her in a rather nervous
state. They would like to have you go up to The
Poplars and take a look at her. You remember Myrtle
Hazard? She is the great-granddaughter of your old
friend the Deacon.”

He had to wait a minute before his thoughts would
come to order; with a little time, the proper answer
would be evolved by the slow automatic movement of the
rusted mental machinery.

After the silent moment: “Myrtle Hazard, Myrtle
Hazard, — yes, yes, to be sure! The old Withers stock,
— good constitutions, — a little apt to be nervous, one or
two of 'em. I 've given 'em a good deal of valerian and
assafœtida, — not quite so much since the new blood came
in. There is n't the change in folks people think, — same
thing over and over again. I 've seen six fingers on a
child that had a six-fingered great-uncle, and I 've seen
that child's grandchild born with six fingers. Does this
girl like to have her own way pretty well, like the rest of
the family?”

“A little too well, I suspect, father. You will remember
all about her when you come to see her and talk with
her. She would like to talk with you, and her aunt wants
to see you too; they think there 's nobody like the `old
Doctor.”'

He was not too old to be pleased with this preference,
and said he was willing to go when they were ready.
With no small labor of preparation he was at last got to

the house, and crept with his son's aid up to the little
room over the water, where his patient was still lying.

There was a little too much color in Myrtle's cheeks,
and a glistening lustre in her eyes that told of unnatural
excitement. It gave a strange brilliancy to her beauty,
and might have deceived an unpractised observer. The
old man looked at her long and curiously, his imperfect
sight excusing the closeness of his scrutiny.

He laid his trembling hand upon her forehead, and then
felt her pulse with his shrivelled fingers. He asked her
various questions about herself, which she answered with
a tone not quite so calm as natural, but willingly and intelligently.
They thought she seemed to the old Doctor
to be doing very well, for he spoke cheerfully to her, and
treated her in such a way that neither she nor any of
those around her could be alarmed. The younger physician
was disposed to think she was only suffering from
temporary excitement, and that it would soon pass off.

They left the room to talk it over.

“It does not amount to much, I suppose, father,” said
Dr. Fordyce Hurlbut. “You made the pulse about ninety,
— a little hard, — did n't you, as I did? Rest, and
low diet for a day or two, and all will be right, won't it?”

Was it the feeling of sympathy, or was it the pride of
superior sagacity, that changed the look of the old man's
wrinkled features? “Not so fast, — not so fast, Fordyce,”
he said. “I 've seen that look on another face of the same
blood, — it 's a great many years ago, and she was dead
before you were born, my boy, — but I 've seen that look,
and it meant trouble then, and I 'm afraid it means trouble
now. I see some danger of a brain fever. And if she
does n't have that, then look out for some hysteric fits that

will make mischief. Take that handkerchief off of her
head, and cut her hair close, and keep her temples cool,
and put some drawing plasters to the soles of her feet, and
give her some of my pilulœ compositœ, and follow them
with some doses of sal polychrest. I 've been through it
all before in that same house. Live folks are only dead
folks warmed over. I can see 'em all in that girl's face,
— Handsome Judith, to begin with. And that queer
woman, the Deacon's mother, — there 's where she gets
that hystericky look. Yes, and the black-eyed woman
with the Indian blood in her, — look out for that, — look
out for that. And — and — my son, do you remember
Major Gideon Withers?” [Ob. 1780.]

“Why no, father, I can't say that I remember the
Major; but I know the picture very well. Does she
remind you of him?”

He paused again, until the thoughts came slowly straggling
up to the point where the question left him. He
shook his head solemnly, and turned his dim eyes on his
son's face.

“Four generations — four generations, man and wife, —
yes, five generations, for old Selah Withers took me in his
arms when I was a child, and called me `little gal,' for I
was in girl's clothes, — five generations before this Hazard
child I 've looked on with these old eyes. And it seems
to me that I can see something of almost every one of 'em
in this child's face, — it 's the forehead of this one, and it 's
the eyes of that one, and it 's that other's mouth, and the
look that I remember in another, and when she speaks,
why, I 've heard that same voice before — yes, yes — as
long ago as when I was first married; for I remember
Rachel used to think I praised Handsome Judith's voice

more than it deserved, — and her face too, for that matter.
You remember Rachel, my first wife, — don't you, Fordyce?”

“No, father, I don't remember her, but I know her
portrait.” (As he was the son of the old Doctor's second
wife, he could hardly be expected to remember her predecessor.)

The old Doctor's sagacity was not in fault about the
somewhat threatening aspect of Myrtle's condition. His
directions were followed implicitly; for with the exception
of the fact of sluggishness rather than loss of memory, and
of that confusion of dates which in slighter degrees is often
felt as early as middle-life, and increases in most persons
from year to year, his mind was still penetrating, and his
advice almost as trustworthy, as in his best days.

It was very fortunate that the old Doctor ordered Myrtle's
hair to be cut, and Miss Silence took the scissors and
trimmed it at once. So, whenever she got well and was
seen about, there would be no mystery about the loss of
her locks, — the Doctor had been afraid of brain fever, and
ordered them to cut her hair.

Many things are uncertain in this world, and among
them the effect of a large proportion of the remedies prescribed
by physicians. Whether it was by the use of the
means ordered by the old Doctor, or by the efforts of
nature, or by both together, at any rate the first danger
was averted, and the immediate risk from brain fever soon
passed over. But the impression upon her mind and body
had been too profound to be dissipated by a few days' rest.
The hysteric stage which the wise old man had apprehended
began to manifest itself by its usual signs, if anything
can be called usual in a condition the natural order of
which is disorder and anomaly.

And now the reader, if such there be, who believes in
the absolute independence and self-determination of the
will, and the consequent total responsibility of every human
being for every irregular nervous action and ill-governed
muscular contraction, may as well lay down this narrative,
or he may lose all faith in poor Myrtle Hazard, and all
patience with the writer who tells her story.

The mental excitement so long sustained, followed by
a violent shock to the system, coming just at the period
of rapid development, gave rise to that morbid condition,
accompanied with a series of mental and moral perversions,
which in ignorant ages and communities is attributed to the
influence of evil spirits, but for the better-instructed is the
malady which they call hysteria. Few households have
ripened a growth of womanhood without witnessing some
of its manifestations, and its phenomena are largely traded
in by scientific pretenders and religious fanatics. Into
this cloud, with all its risks and all its humiliations, Myrtle
Hazard is about to enter. Will she pass through it unharmed,
or wander from her path, and fall over one of
those fearful precipices which lie before her?

After the ancient physician had settled the general plan
of treatment, its details and practical application were left
to the care of his son. Dr. Fordyce Hurlbut was a widower,
not yet forty years old, a man of a fine masculine
aspect and a vigorous nature. He was a favorite with his
female patients, — perhaps many of them would have said
because he was good-looking and pleasant in his manners,
but some thought in virtue of a special magnetic power to
which certain temperaments were impressible, though there
was no explaining it. But he himself never claimed any
such personal gift, and never attempted any of the exploits

which some thought were in his power if he chose to exercise
his faculty in that direction. This girl was, as it were,
a child to him, for he had seen her grow up from infancy,
and had often held her on his knee in her early years.
The first thing he did was to get her a nurse, for he saw
that neither of the two women about her exercised a quieting
influence upon her nerves. So he got her old friend,
Nurse Byloe, to come and take care of her.

The old nurse looked calm enough at one or two of his
first visits, but the next morning her face showed that
something had been going wrong. “Well, what has been
the trouble, Nurse?” the Doctor said, as soon as he could
get her out of the room.

“She 's been attackted, Doctor, sence you been here,
dreadful. It 's them high stirricks, Doctor, 'n' I never see
'em higher, nor more of 'em. Laughin' as ef she would
bust. Cryin' as ef she 'd lost all her friends, 'n' was a
follerin' their corpse to their graves. And spassums, —
sech spassums! And ketchin' at her throat, 'n' sayin'
there was a great ball a risin' into it from her stommick.
One time she had a kind o' lockjaw like. And one time
she stretched herself out 'n' laid jest as stiff as ef she was
dead. And she says now that her head feels as ef a nail
had been driv' into it, — into the left temple, she says, and
that 's what makes her look so distressed now.”

The Doctor came once more to her bedside. He saw
that her forehead was contracted, and that she was evidently
suffering from severe pain somewhere.

“Where is your uneasiness, Myrtle?” he asked.

She moved her hand very slowly, and pressed it on her
left temple. He laid his hand upon the same spot, kept it
there a moment, and then removed it. She took it gently

with her own, and placed it on her temple again. As he
sat watching her, he saw that her features were growing
easier, and in a short time her deep, even breathing showed
that she was asleep.

“It beats all,” the old Nurse said. “Why, she 's been a
complainin' ever sence daylight, and she hain't slep' not a
wink afore, sence twelve o'clock las' night! It 's jes' like
them magnetizers, — I never heerd you was one o' them
kind, Dr. Hulburt.”

“I can't say how it is, Nurse, — I have heard people
say my hand was magnetic, but I never thought of its
quieting her so quickly. No sleep since twelve o'clock
last night, you say?”

“Not a wink, 'n' actin' as ef she was possessed a good
deal o' the time. You read your Bible, Doctor, don't you?
You 're pious? Do you remember about that woman in
Scriptur' out of whom the Lord cast seven devils? Well,
I should ha' thought there was seventy devils in that gal
last night, from the way she carr'd on. And now she lays
there jest as peaceful as a new-born babe, — that is, accordin'
to the sayin' about 'em; for as to peaceful new-born babes,
I never see one that come t' anything, that did n't screech
as ef the haouse was afire 'n' it wanted to call all the fireingines
within ten mild.”

The Doctor smiled, but he became thoughtful in a moment.
Did he possess a hitherto unexercised personal
power, which put the key of this young girl's nervous
system into his hands? The remarkable tranquillizing
effect of the contact of his hand with her forehead looked
like an immediate physical action. It might have been a
mere coincidence, however. He would not form an opinion
until his next visit.

At that next visit it did seem as if some of Nurse Byloe's
seventy devils had possession of the girl. All the strange
spasmodic movements, the chokings, the odd sounds, the
wild talk, the laughing and crying, were in full blast. All
the remedies which had been ordered seemed to have been
of no avail. The Doctor could hardly refuse trying his
quasi magnetic influence, and placed the tips of his fingers
on her forehead. The result was the same that had followed
the similar proceeding the day before, — the storm
was soon calmed, and after a little time she fell into a
quiet sleep, as in the first instance.

Here was an awkward affair for the physician, to be
sure! He held this power in his hands, which no remedy
and no other person seemed to possess. How long would
he be chained to her, and she to him, and what would be
the consequence of the mysterious relation which must
necessarily spring up between a man like him, in the
plenitude of vital force, of strongly attractive personality,
and a young girl organized for victory over the calmest
blood and the steadiest resistance?

Every day after this made matters worse. There was
something almost partaking of the miraculous in the influence
he was acquiring over her. His “Peace, be still!”
was obeyed by the stormy elements of this young soul, as
if it had been a supernatural command. How could he
resist the dictate of humanity which called him to make his
visits more frequent, that her intervals of rest might be
more numerous? How could he refuse to sit at her bedside
for a while in the evening, that she might be quieted,
instead of beginning the night sleepless and agitated?

The Doctor was a man of refined feeling as well as of
principle, and he had besides a sacred memory in the

deepest heart of his affections. It was the common belief
in the village that he would never marry again, but that
his first and only love was buried in the grave of the wife
of his youth. It did not easily occur to him to suspect
himself of any weakness with regard to this patient of his,
little more than a child in years. It did not at once suggest
itself to him that she, in her strange, excited condition,
might fasten her wandering thoughts upon him, too far removed
by his age, as it seemed, to strike the fancy of a young
girl under almost any conceivable conditions.

Thus it was that many of those beautiful summer evenings
found him sitting by his patient, the river rippling and
singing beneath them, the moon shining over them, sweet
odors from the thickets on the banks of the stream stealing
in on the soft air that came through the open window, and
every time they were thus together, the subtile influence
which bound them to each other bringing them more and
more into inexplicable harmonies and almost spiritual identity.

But all this did not hinder the development of new and
strange conditions in Myrtle Hazard. Her will was losing
its power. “I cannot help it” — the hysteric motto — was
her constant reply. It is not pleasant to confess the truth,
but she was rapidly undergoing a singular change of her
moral nature. She had been a truthful child. If she had
kept her secret about what she found in the garret, she
thought she was exercising her rights, and she had never
been obliged to tell any lies about it.

But now she seemed to have lost the healthy instincts
for veracity and honesty. She feigned all sorts of odd
symptoms, and showed a wonderful degree of cunning in
giving an appearance of truth to them. It became next to

impossible to tell what was real and what was simulated.
At one time she could not be touched ever so lightly without
shrinking and crying out. At another time she would
squint, and again she would be half paralyzed for a time.
She would pretend to fast for days, living on food she had
concealed and took secretly in the night.

The nurse was getting worn out. Kitty Fagan would
have had the priest come to the house and sprinkle it with
holy water. The two women were beginning to get nervous
themselves. The Rev. Mr. Stoker said in confidence
to Miss Silence, that there was reason to fear she might
have been given over for a time to the buffetings of Satan,
and that perhaps his (Mr. Stoker's) personal attentions
might be useful in that case. And so it appeared that the
“young doctor” was the only being left with whom she
had any complete relations and absolute sympathy. She
had become so passive in his hands that it seemed as if
her only healthy life was, as it were, transmitted through
him, and that she depended on the transfer of his nervous
power, as the plant upon the light for its essential living
processes.

The two young men who had met in so unexpected a
manner on board the ship Swordfish had been reasonably
discreet in relating their adventures. Myrtle Hazard may
or may not have had the plan they attributed to her; however
that was, they had looked rather foolish when they
met, and had not thought it worth while to be very communicative
about the matter when they returned. It had
at least given them a chance to become a little better acquainted
with each other, and it was an opportunity which
the elder and more artful of the two meant to turn to advantage.

Of all Myrtle's few friends only one was in the habit of
seeing her often during this period, namely, Olive Eveleth,
a girl so quiet and sensible that she, if anybody, could be
trusted with her. But Myrtle's whole character seemed
to have changed, and Olive soon found that she was in
some mystic way absorbed into another nature. Except
when the physician's will was exerted upon her, she was
drifting without any self-directing power, and then any one
of those manifold impulses which would in some former
ages have been counted as separate manifestations on the
part of distinct demoniacal beings might take possession of
her. Olive did little, therefore, but visit Myrtle from time
to time to learn if any change had occurred in her condition.
All this she reported to Cyprian, and all this was got out
of him by Mr. William Murray Bradshaw.

That gentleman was far from being pleased with the
look of things as they were represented. What if the
Doctor, who was after all in the prime of life and younger-looking
than some who were born half a dozen years after
him, should get a hold on this young woman, — girl now,
if you will, but in a very few years certain to come within
possible, nay, not very improbable, matrimonial range of
him? That would be pleasant, would n't it. It had happened
sometimes, as he knew, that these magnetizing tricks
had led to infatuation on the part of the subjects of the
wonderful influence. So he concluded to be ill and consult
the younger Dr. Hurlbut, and incidentally find out how the
land lay.

The next question was, what to be ill with. Some not
ungentlemanly malady, not hereditary, not incurable, not
requiring any obvious change in habits of life. Dyspepsia
would answer the purpose well enough; so Mr. Murray

Bradshaw picked up a medical book and read ten minutes
or more for that complaint. At the end of this time he
was an accomplished dyspeptic; for lawyers half learn a
thing quicker than the members of any other profession.

He presented himself with a somewhat forlorn countenance
to Dr. Fordyce Hurlbut, as suffering from some of the
less formidable symptoms of that affection. He got into a
very interesting conversation with him, especially about
some nervous feelings which had accompanied his attack of
indigestion. Thence to nervous complaints in general.
Thence to the case of the young lady at The Poplars whom
he was attending. The Doctor talked with a certain reserve,
as became his professional relations with his patient;
but it was plain enough that, if this kind of intercourse
went on much longer, it would be liable to end in some
emotional explosion or other, and there was no saying how
it would at last turn out.

Murray Bradshaw was afraid to meddle directly. He
knew something more about the history of Myrtle's adventure
than any of his neighbors, and, among other things,
that it had given Mr. Byles Gridley a peculiar interest in
her, of which he could take advantage. He therefore artfully
hinted his fears to the old man, and left his hint to
work itself out.

However suspicious Master Gridley was of him and his
motives, he thought it worth while to call up at The Poplars
and inquire for himself of the nurse what was this new
relation growing up between the physician and his young
patient.

She imparted her opinion to him in a private conversation
with great freedom. “Sech doin's! sech doin's! The
gal 's jest as much bewitched as ever any gal was sence

them that was possessed in Scriptur'. And every day it 's
wus and wus. Ef that Doctor don't stop comin', she won't
breathe without his helpin' her to before long. And, Mr.
Gridley, — I don't like to say so, — but I can't help thinkin'
he 's gettin' a little bewitched too. I don't believe he
means to take no kind of advantage of her; but, Mr. Gridley,
you 've seen them millers fly round and round a
candle, and you know how it ginerally comes out. Men is
men and gals is gals. I would n't trust no man, not ef he
was much under a hundred year old, — and as for a
gal —!”

“Mulieri ne mortuæ quidem credendum est,” said Mr.
Gridley. “You would n't trust a woman even if she was
dead, hey, Nurse?”

“Not till she was buried, 'n' the grass growin' a foot
high over her,” said Nurse Byloe, “unless I 'd know'd her
sence she was a baby. I 've know'd this one sence she was
two or three year old; but this gal ain't Myrtle Hazard no
longer, — she 's bewitched into somethin' different. I 'll
tell ye what, Mr. Gridley; you get old Dr. Hulburt to come
and see her once a day for a week, and get the young doctor
to stay away. I 'll resk it. She 'll have some dreadful
tantrums at fust, but she 'll come to it in two or three
days.”

Master Byles Gridley groaned in spirit. He had come
to this village to end his days in peace, and here he was
just going to make a martyr of himself for the sake of a
young person to whom he was under no obligation, except
that he had saved her from the consequences of her own
foolish act, at the expense of a great overturn of all his
domestic habits. There was no help for it. The nurse
was right, and he must perform the disagreeable duty of

letting the Doctor know that he was getting into a track
which might very probably lead to mischief, and that he
must back out as fast as he could.

At 2 P. M. Gifted Hopkins presented the following note
at the Doctor's door: —

“Mr. Byles Gridley would be much obliged to Dr.
Fordyce Hurlbut if he would call at his study this evening.”

“Odd, is n't it, father, the old man's asking me to come
and see him? Those old stub-twist constitutions never
want patching.”

“Old man! old man! Who 's that you call old, — not
Byles Gridley, hey? Old! old! Sixty year, more or
less! How old was Floyer when he died, Fordyce?
Ninety-odd, was n't it? Had the asthma though, or he 'd
have lived to be as old as Dr. Holyoke, — a hundred year
and over. That 's old. But men live to be a good deal
more than that sometimes. What does Byles Gridley want
of you, did you say?”

“I 'm sure I can't tell, father; I 'll go and find out.”
So he went over to Mrs. Hopkins's in the evening, and was
shown up into the study.

Master Gridley treated the Doctor to a cup of such tea
as bachelors sometimes keep hid away in mysterious caddies.
He presently began asking certain questions about
the grand climacteric, which eventful period of life he was
fast approaching. Then he discoursed of medicine, ancient
and modern, tasking the Doctor's knowledge not a little,
and evincing a good deal of acquaintance with old doctrines
and authors. He had a few curious old medical books in
his library, which he said he should like to show Dr.
Hurlbut.

“There, now! What do you say to this copy of Joannes
de Ketam, Venice, 1522? Look at these woodcuts, —
the first anatomical pictures ever printed, Doctor, unless
these others of Jacobus Berengarius are older! See this
scene of the plague-patient, the doctor smelling at his
pouncet-box, the old nurse standing square at the bedside,
the young nurse with the bowl, holding back and turning
her head away, and the old burial-hag behind her, shoving
her forward, — a very curious book, Doctor, and has the
first phrenological picture in it ever made. Take a look,
too, at my Vesalius, — not the Leyden edition, Doctor, but
the one with the grand old original figures, — so good that
they laid them to Titian. And look here, Doctor, I could
n't help getting this great folio Albinus, 1747, — and the
nineteenth century can't touch it, Doctor, — can't touch it
for completeness and magnificence, — so all the learned
professors tell me! Brave old fellows, Doctor, and put
their lives into their books as you gentlemen don't pretend
to do now-a-days. And good old fellows, Doctor, — high-minded,
scrupulous, conscientious, punctilious, — remembered
their duties to man and to woman, and felt all the
responsibilities of their confidential relation to families.
Did you ever read the oldest of medical documents, — the
Oath of Hippocrates?”

The Doctor thought he had read it, but did not remember
much about it.

“It 's worth reading, Doctor, — it 's worth remembering;
and, old as it is, it is just as good to-day as it was when it
was laid down as a rule of conduct four hundred years
before the Sermon on the Mount was delivered. Let me
read it to you, Dr. Hurlbut.”

There was something in Master Gridley's look that made

the Doctor feel a little nervous; he did not know just what
was coming.

Master Gridley took out his great Hippocrates, the
edition of Foesius, and opened to the place. He turned
so as to face the Doctor, and read the famous Oath aloud,
Englishing it as he went along. When he came to these
words which follow, he pronounced them very slowly and
with special emphasis.

“My life shall be pure and holy.”

“Into whatever house I enter, I will go for the good of the
patient: I will abstain from inflicting any voluntary injury,
and from leading away any, whether man or woman, bond
or free.”

The Doctor changed color as he listened, and the moisture
broke out on his forehead.

Master Gridley saw it, and followed up his advantage.
“Dr. Fordyce Hurlbut, are you not in danger of violating
the sanctities of your honorable calling, and leading astray
a young person committed to your sacred keeping?”

While saying these words, Master Gridley looked full
upon him, with a face so charged with grave meaning, so
impressed with the gravity of his warning accents, that
the Doctor felt as if he were before some dread tribunal,
and remained silent. He was a member of the Rev. Mr.
Stoker's church, and the words he had just listened to were
those of a sinful old heathen who had never heard a sermon
in his life; but they stung him, for all that, as the
parable of the prophet stung the royal transgressor.

He spoke at length, for the plain honest words had
touched the right spring of consciousness at the right moment;
not too early, for he now saw whither he was tending,
— not too late, for he was not yet in the inner spirals

of the passion which whirls men and women to their doom
in ever-narrowing coils, that will not unwind at the command
of God or man.

He spoke as one who is humbled by self-accusation, yet
in a manly way, as became his honorable and truthful
character.

“Master Gridley,” he said, “I stand convicted before
you. I know too well what you are thinking of. It is
true, I cannot continue my attendance on Myrtle — on
Miss Hazard, for you mean her — without peril to both of
us. She is not herself. God forbid that I should cease to
be myself! I have been thinking of a summer tour, and I
will at once set out upon it, and leave this patient in my
father's hands. I think he will find strength to visit her
under the circumstances.”

The Doctor went off the next morning without saying a
word to Myrtle Hazard, and his father made the customary
visit in his place.

That night the spirit tare her, as may well be supposed,
and so the second night. But there was no help for it:
her doctor was gone, and the old physician, with great
effort, came instead, sat by her, spoke kindly to her, left
wise directions to her attendants, and above all assured
them that, if they would have a little patience, they would
see all this storm blow over.

On the third night after his visit, the spirit rent her sore,
and came out of her, or, in the phrase of to-day, she had a
fierce paroxysm, after which the violence of the conflict
ceased, and she might be called convalescent so far as that
was concerned.

But all this series of nervous disturbances left her in a
very impressible and excitable condition. This was just the

state to invite the spiritual manipulations of one of those
theological practitioners who consider that the treatment
of all morbid states of mind short of raving madness belongs
to them and not to the doctors. This same condition
was equally favorable for the operations of any professional
experimenter who would use the flame of religious excitement
to light the torch of an earthly passion. So many
fingers that begin on the black keys stray to the white ones
before the tune is played out!

If Myrtle Hazard was in charge of any angelic guardian,
the time was at hand when she would need all celestial influences;
for the Rev. Joseph Bellamy Stoker was about
to take a deep interest in her spiritual welfare.