Assisted by these resolutions, and perhaps not quite unconscious that he would have been slow to credit any other person who might have formed them with the courage to maintain them, George Wainwright presented himself before his father. The Doctor received him kindly, and listened to the account of his fruitless journey without any evidence of surprise. "I am glad the old man is still living," said Dr. Wainwright, when George had finished his story; "but sorry to find he is not so great a man as I had believed him to be. No great man allows a personal feeling, prejudice, or pique to interfere with his theories or hamper his actions. The idea of his declining such a case because _I_ had been unsuccessful with the patient! Why, that ought, even according to his own distorted notions, to be the strongest reason for his going at it with a will. However," and the "mad doctor" laughed a low laugh and rubbed his hands gently together, "there are queer freaks and cranks of the human mind to be seen outside of lunatic asylums." George was a little impatient of his father's attention being rather given to Dr. Hildebrand than to his feelings under the circumstances, and he recalled it by the abrupt question: "What is to be done now?" "Nothing," replied Dr. Wainwright; "nothing in the sense of cure, nothing additional in the way of treatment." "May I--may I safely continue to see her?" The son knew well how thoroughly, under the habitual professional composure of his manner, the father comprehended and felt the deep importance of the reply he was about to make. "The question of safety," he said, "mainly concerns _you_. Do you think you would do wisely in continuing to seek the society of this poor girl, feeling as you do towards her, and knowing she cannot be your wife?" "My dear father," replied George with deliberation, "I do not think, I do not say it would be wise; I only say it is one of those foolish things which are inevitable. Put me aside in the matter, and tell me only about _her_." "Then," said the Doctor, "I have no hesitation in saying I do not think you can harm her. Your society cheers and amuses her. In her state there is little danger of the awakening of any deep and permanent feeling. Should such a danger arise, I should be sure to perceive and prevent it."