John Huish's breakfast was on the table in his snug room, and the coffee, French rolls, and delicately-brown ham looked enticing, but they did not tempt him. He had made several beginnings, such as taking off the cover that concealed the ham, opening his napkin, pouring out the steaming amber coffee, and the like; but he had touched nothing, for a letter he had received from Gertrude that morning had taken away his appetite. "Poor girl!" he mused; "suffering agonies, and I seem as if I can do nothing to help her. Money! Why have I not plenty of money? I always felt well enough off till this happened, and then all at once I discovered that I was a poor man." He wrinkled up his brow, and let his cheek down upon his hand, with his elbow in dangerous proximity to his coffee. "I was dreaming of going up to Stonor's again last night. Good heavens! Is it likely that I shall ever become like one of those poor fellows-- unhinged, doing all kinds of things involuntarily? There must be something wrong with me; only Stonor spoke as he did, like all doctors do, to take one's thoughts away from one's malady. It is so strange, that perhaps I ought not to think any more of my poor darling; only Stonor encouraged me so. It would be a sin against her to marry if I really am wrong. But am I? Let me think. "Robson, for some reason, cut me dead yesterday; but then he is one of Lady Millet's intimates. Then Rock Anderson apologised for not paying me that money. What money? I remember no debt. It's softening of the brain, that's what it is--memory gradually going; and yet I think of Gertrude and dare--Well, the doctor said I was all right; he ought to know. He said it was only a lapse of memory now and then. "But there are so many things which are so puzzling. Friends seem to be dropping away from me. Man after man with whom I used to be intimate cuts me dead. "No, no, no!" he cried impatiently; "I will not think of it. And as to that woman who came to me and made me worry my brains, it must have been some town trick." But the cloud hung over him still, various little matters connected with his daily life clinging together like snowflakes from that cloud, till the recollection of his position with regard to Gertrude came back, and her face shone through the darkness to dissipate the mental mist. "Yes!" he cried, brightening up; "the doctor must be right. He encouraged me in my ideas; and my darling will keep away all these wretched morbid fancies. But what am I to do?