been good to them; that's all: but usually
they call me only 'Tantibba.'"

"Why did you call yourself 'Hibba'?" he said.

"I don't know," replied Hetty. "It came into my head."

"Don't they know your last name?" asked her husband, earnestly.

"Oh!" said Hetty, "I changed that too."

Dr. Eben stopped short: his face grew stern.

"Hetty," he said, "do you mean to tell me that you have put my very name
away from you all these years?"

Tears came to Hetty's eyes.

"Why, Eben," she replied, "what else could I do? It would have been
absurd to keep my name. Any day it might have been recognized. Don't you
see?"

"Yes, I see," answered Dr. Eben, bitterly. "You are no longer mine, even
by name."

Hetty's tears fell. She was dumb before all resentful words, all
passionate outbreaks, from her husband now. All she could say was:

"Oh, Eben! Eben!" Sometimes she added piteously: "I never meant to do
wrong; at least, no wrong to you. I thought if there were wrong, it
would be only to myself, and on my own head."

When they parted, Dr. Eben said:

"At what hour are you free, Hetty?"

"At six," she replied. "Will you wait for me at the house? Do not come
here."

"Very well," he answered; and, making a formal salutation as to a
stranger, he turned away.

XVI.

With a heavy heart, in midst of all her joy, Hetty went about her
duties: vague fears oppressed her. What would Eben do now? What had he
meant when he said: "You are no longer mine, even in name"?

Now that Hetty perceived that she had been wrong in leaving him; that,
instead of providing, as she had hoped she should, for his greater
happiness, she had only plunged him into inconsolable grief,--her one
desire was to atone for it; to return to him; to be to him, if possible,
more than she had ever been. But great timidity and apprehension filled
her breast. He seemed to be angry with her. Would he forgive her? Would
he take her home? Had she forfeited her right to go home? Hour after
hour, as the weary day went on, she tortured herself with these
thoughts. Wistfully her patients watched her face. It was impossible for
her to conceal her preoccupation and anxiety. At last the slow sun sank
behind the fir-trees, and brought her hour of release. Seeking Dr.
Macgowan, she told him that she would send Sister Catharine on the next
day "to take my place for the present, perhaps altogether," said Hetty.

"Good heavens! Mrs. Smailli!" exclaimed the doctor.