Upon this occasion, he remarked that he would show them about in person; but he little imagined what the hour would reveal. Neither had Dr. Winthrop the slightest suspicion that there was any one in the institution that he had ever seen before. He was intent only upon learning something new—upon studying different phases of insanity and their treatment. He had therefore been greatly shocked when his attention was attracted to that figure in the nun’s dress, and the attendant had told him that Sister Angela had become an inmate of that great tomb for the dead in life; to learn that the faithful nurse to whom he owed so much, had lost her mind, with no hope of its ever being restored. He could not understand it either, since the mother-superior and the sisters at the convent appeared to be ignorant of her condition or whereabouts. Still, it was possible, he thought, that they did know, but were unwilling to have her condition known; it might even be that they had sent her there to be secretly cared for. His first impulse, as we know, had been to rush to her side—to greet her kindly, and say something pleasant to her. Then it suddenly occurred to him how unwise such a proceeding would be and though it required great effort to control his feelings, he turned back to seek Dr. Arnot’s advice and counsel, telling him that he knew the girl, and asking his permission to speak with her. But the physician, who was greatly startled by the information, decidedly refused to allow him to hold any conversation with her. He volubly expressed both surprise and sympathy, upon being told how faithfully and bravely she had worked during the prevalence of the plague which had lately passed over Paris—how she had even saved Dr. Winthrop’s own life; still he insisted that it would be very unwise to arouse memories of the past, and finally said that he could not permit him to address her. “Mademoiselle was exceedingly violent when she was brought here, monsieur,” he remarked with deep anxiety, lest something should occur to deprive him of his profitable patient. “The sight of a familiar face might cause all her former madness to return. She is quiet and docile just now, and much as I may desire to oblige monsieur, my judgment warns me to refuse his request. Messieurs,” with a polite bow, which included both gentlemen, “shall we now pass on to another ward?” Dr. Winthrop, though saddened and disappointed by this adverse decision, could only acquiesce in its apparent wisdom, and so turned to follow his friend from the room. But as he was about to cross the threshold, he could not refrain from bestowing one regretful backward glance upon the unfortunate who had spent so much of her time and strength for the good of others.