They resumed their reading, and it was ten minutes later when Beverton, aroused by the unusual quiet, looked again at his wife. The book lay on her lap, held open by her hands, but she was not reading--she was staring up at the hardware glistening in the lamplight, with eyes that were wide-open, but almost as lightless as the eyes of a corpse. And as Beverton looked at them, the eyelids fluttered together and closed in sleep. Beverton watched, and in a moment they opened, with an expression in them that he had never seen before--so strange, hard, and murderous it seemed. "Grace," said the startled man, rising to his feet, "are you awake?" "Awake," she screamed--"screech" better describes the hard, raspy tone with which she answered him. "Aye, awake and ready--for eighteen hours, come eight bells; and all guns o' the port battery down the mizzen hatch, and all hands drunk but the cook. What's to do?" "Wake up, Grace," he commanded. A convulsive shiver passed through her, she uttered a little gasp, then closed her eyes, and opened them with her natural smile. "Why, I did go to sleep, after all, didn't I?" she asked, softly. "Yes, and talked and looked like the very deuce. Let's see what you are reading." He took the book from her hands, but neither on the open page nor upon any preceding could he find words similar to those she had spoken. "What were you dreaming of when I spoke to you?" he inquired. "I didn't dream--at least, I don't remember. Did you speak?" She yawned and arose. "I'll go to bed, Tom," she said. "Lock me up." Beverton read the book, after she had retired, from the beginning to the opened page; then sat down and pondered far into the night. Next evening, on his way home, he visited a physician--a personal friend, who had once met Mrs. Beverton--and to him he stated the trouble. "Self-hypnotized," said the doctor, "by the usual method--staring at a bright object. Practically in the same condition as when sleep-walking. You can cure her by suggestion." "How--what do you mean?" "Don't you know that a somnambulist will always obey orders--will believe anything that is spoken in a firm, commanding tone, the same as though hypnotized?" "She didn't look and act like it. And where did she get that sailor talk? It wasn't in the book she was reading." "The book suggested the train of thought, nevertheless. The subconscious memory is absolute. She read those words at some time in her life, or heard them spoken--possibly in infancy." "Well, it's too much for me. Can you take charge of her case?" "No--although there is not, perhaps, a man in town more studied in this subject than myself. But there is no one more unfit to operate. I am too subjective, as the phrase is--too good a subject, easily hypnotized, and thus unable to control even a self-hypnotized person. As there is not a professional hypnotist in town it devolves upon you." "But I know nothing about it."