I am so thankful, doctor! I have always had such a
dread of looking woe-begone, and making everybody around me
uncomfortable. I think that's a sin, if one can possibly help it."

And by no sudden surprise of remark or question, could the doctor ever
come any nearer to Hetty's trouble than this. Her words always glanced
off from direct personal issues, as subtlely and successfully as if she
had been a practised diplomatist. Sometimes these perpetual evadings and
non-committals seemed to Dr. Macgowan like art; but they were really
the very simplicity of absolute unselfishness; and, gradually, as he
came to perceive and understand this, he came to have a reverence for
Hetty. He began to be ashamed of the curiosity he had felt as to the
details of the sorrow which had driven her to this refuge of isolation
and hard work. He began to feel about her as Father Antoine did, that
there was a certain sacredness in her vocation which almost demanded a
recognition of title, an investiture of office. Hetty would have been
astonished, and would have very likely laughed, had she known with what
a halo of sentiment her daily life was fast being surrounded in the
minds of people. To her it was simply a routine of good, wholesome work;
of a kind for which she was best fitted, and which enabled her to earn a
comfortable living most easily to herself, and most helpfully to others;
and left her "less time to think," as she often said to herself, "than
any thing else I could possibly have done." "Time to think" was the one
thing Hetty dreaded. As resolutely as if they were a sin, she strove to
keep out of her mind all reminiscences of her home, all thoughts of her
husband, of Raby. Whenever she gave way to them, she was unfitted for
work; and, therefore, her conscience said they were wrong. While she
was face to face with suffering ones, and her hands were busy in
ministering to their wants, such thoughts never intruded upon her. It
was literally true that, in such hours, she never recollected that she
was any other than Hibba Smailli, the nurse. But, when her day's work
was done, and she went home to the little lonely cottage, memories
flocked in at the silent door, shut themselves in with her, and refused
to be banished. Hence she formed the habit of lingering in the street,
of chatting with the villagers on their door-steps, playing with the
children, and often, when there was illness in any of the houses, going
into them, and volunteerin