t as great
fear for her life as we had been for Annie's.

At twilight Annie roused from her sleep again. She was perfectly tranquil,
but too weak to lift even her little hand, which had grown so thin and so
wrinkled that it looked like a wilted white flower lying on the white
counterpane.

Hour by hour she gained strength under the powerful restoratives which
were used, and still more from the wonderful elasticity of her
temperament. From the very first day, however, an indefinable terror of
misgiving seized me as often as I heard her voice or looked into her eyes.
In vain I said to myself: "It is the weakness after such terrible
illness;" "it is only natural." I felt in the bottom of my heart that it
was more.

On the fourth day she said suddenly, looking up at the picture of George
Ware,--

"Why! Why is Cousin George's picture in here? Where is the Madonna?"

I replied: "I moved it in here, dear, for you. I thought you would like
it."

"No," she said, "I like the Madonna best: the dear little baby! Please
carry George back into my room where he belongs."

My heart stood still with terror. She had never called George Ware her
cousin since their engagement. She especially disliked any allusion to
their relationship. This was her first mention of his name, and it was in
all respects just what it would have been a year before. Dr. Fearing had
forbidden us to allude to him, or to her wedding-day, or, in fact, to any
subject calculated to arouse new trains of thought in her mind. I wondered
afterward that we did not understand from the first how he had feared that
her brain might not fully recover itself, as the rest of her exquisitely
organized body seemed fast doing.

Day after day passed. Annie could sit up; could walk about her room; she
gained in flesh and color and strength so rapidly that it was a marvel.
She was gentle and gay and loving; her old rare, sweet self in every
little way and trait and expression; not a look, not a smile, not a tone
was wanting; but it was the Annie of last year, and not of this. She made
no allusion to her wedding, the day for which had now passed. She did not
ask for George. The whole year had dropped out of her memory; part of her
brain was still diseased. No human touch could venture to deal with it
without the risk of the most terrible consequences.

Dr. Fearing's face grew day by day more and more anxious; he was baffled;
he was afraid. He consulted the most eminent physi