ed 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. Where I
go, or what I mean to do, I do not wish to tell you. Of your charity,
I pray, refrain from asking me. I am aware that your kindness and
generosity deserve better recognition. But, like Sebastian himself, I am
the slave of my Purpose. I have lived for it all these years, and it is
still very dear to me. To tell you my plans would interfere with that
end. Do not, therefore, suppose I am insensible to your goodness....
Dear Hubert, spare me--I dare not say more, lest I say too much. I dare
not trust myself. But one thing I MUST say. I am flying from YOU quite
as much as from Sebastian. Flying from my own heart, quite as much as
from my enemy. Some day, perhaps, if I accomplish my object, I may tell
you all. Meanwhile, I can only beg of you of your kindness to trust me.
We shall not meet again, I fear, for years. But I shall never forget
you--you, the kind counsellor, who have half turned me aside from my
life's Purpose. One word more, and I should falter.--In very great
haste, and amid much disturbance, yours ever affectionately and
gratefully,

"HILDA."

It was a hurried scrawl in pencil, as if written in a train. I felt
utterly dejected. Was Hilda, then, leaving England?

Rousing myself after some minutes, I went straight to Sebastian's
rooms, and told him in brief terms that Nurse Wade had disappeared at a
moment's notice, and had sent a note to tell me so.

He looked up from his work, and scanned me hard, as was his wont. "That
is well," he said at last, his eyes glowi