"Dear Hubert," she cried, with a catch, "I cannot help it:
forgive me!"
It was the first time she had ever called me by my Christian name. The
mere sound of the word made me unspeakably happy.
Yet she waved me away. "Must I go?" I asked, quivering.
"Yes, yes: you must go. I cannot stand it. I must think this thing out,
undisturbed. It is a very great crisis."
That afternoon and evening, by some unhappy chance, I was fully engaged
in work at the hospital. Late at night a letter arrived for me. I
glanced at it in dismay. It bore the Basingstoke postmark. But, to
my alarm and surprise, it was in Hilda's hand. What could this change
portend? I opened it, all tremulous.
"DEAR HUBERT,--" I gave a sigh of relief. It was no longer "Dear Dr.
Cumberledge" now, but "Hubert." That was something gained, at any rate.
I read on with a beating heart. What had Hilda to say to me?
"DEAR HUBERT,--By the time this reaches you, I shall be far away,
irrevocably far, from London. With deep regret, with fierce searchings
of spirit, I have come to the conclusion that, for the Purpose I have
in view, it would be better for me at once to leave Nathaniel's.
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