And the more he thought of it, the more terrified was he at the idea. Familiarity with mental disease, intercourse with those labouring under it, had by no means softened its terrors to George Wainwright. True, he had no physical fear in connection with the mere vulgar fright which is usually felt with "mad people." He had no experience of that; but he had seen so much of the gradual growth of the disorder; had so often marked the helpless, hopeless state into which those suffering under it fell--silently indeed, but surely--that he had come to regard it with greater terror than the fiercest fever or the deadliest plague. And now, when for the first time in his life he had fixed his affections on a girl who seemed likely to return his passion, and who in every other way was calculated to form the charm of his home and the happiness of his fireside, he had to acknowledge to himself that she was afflicted with this dreadful malady. It was impossible to palter with the question; he had tried to do so a thousand times; but his strong common sense would not be juggled with. And there the dread fact remained--the girl he loved was frequently liable to attacks of insanity. He must face that, look at it steadily, and see what could be done. Could she be cured? Ah! how well he knew the futility of such a hope! How many instances had he seen in his father's house of patients whose disease was not of nearly such long standing as Annette's, had indeed only just begun, and who were in a few days, or weeks, or months at the farthest, to be restored, with all their faculties calmed and renewed, to their anxious friends!--and how many of them remained there now, or had been removed to other asylums, in the hope that change might effect that restoration which skill and science had failed in bringing about! The last day of their stay had arrived, and on the morrow George was to accompany his friend back to London. The Captain was out for his usual ramble, Paul was closeted with his mother, and George was sitting in the little room which, owing to the few books possessed by the family gathered together in it, was dignified by the name of a "study," and which overlooked a splendid view of the bay. He was standing at the window, gazing out over the broad expanse of water, thinking how strangely the usually calm-flowing current of his life had been vexed and ruffled since his arrival there, wondering what steps he could take towards the solution of the difficulty under which he laboured, and what would be the final end of it all, when he heard a door close gently behind him, and looking round, saw Annette by his side.