To a young and vigorous frame such slight indispositions would be comparatively unimportant, but the weak body of the old man, with its worn-out-organization, was able to develop these disorders in a most alarming tanner. The flame of life was very feeble, and it was only by the utmost watchfulness that it could be kept alive at all.
In spite of his settled conviction regarding incarnation in a new body, the squire seemed remarkably loth to leave his old one, and obeyed the doctor's orders in a most slavish manner, dreading lest by some chance his soul should slip away into the next world. He had accumulated a large fortune, which according to his delusion he hoped to enjoy when his soul had become incarnate in a new body, so he had no trouble on that score. His great desire was now to get his portrait finished, and to this end, in spite of his ill-health, he insisted upon leaving his bed and sitting to Beaumont according to his regular custom.
Basil having once more brought Nestley under his dominating will, determined to proceed at once in his hypnotic experiment, and at this final sitting judged it an admirable time to carry out his idea. All he wanted was an opportunity to introduce the subject without rousing the squire's suspicions, and the old man, during their conversation, speedily afforded him an opportunity of doing so.
They were in the drawing-room as usual, and the squire, looking more wrinkled and worn than ever, was seated in his arm-chair, while the artist dexterously put a line here and there on the painted face before him.
"You don't seem well this morning, Mr. Garsworth," said Beaumont, as the old man moved wearily in his chair.
"No, sir, I don't," retorted the squire in his harsh voice. "I don't expect I'll leave my bed again when I once go back to it."
"Oh, things are surely not so bad as that."
"I'm afraid they are," replied Garsworth, shaking his head. "I am anxious to go into a new body and leave this worn-out frame with its incessant pain."
"Are you in pain now?" asked Beaumont, sympathetically.
"Yes--I have a bad attack of neuralgia--the east wind always affects me more or less that way."
"I am not the rose, but I've lived near it, my dear sir," said Beaumont equably, "and I know something of therapeutics."