She had an attack of syncope that night, for which no pack or sitz proved a remedy; and it was about that time that the long and painful affection of the ulnar nerve began which almost destroyed her usefulness as a surgeon.

CHAPTER XIII.

That evening, as Miss Muller sat alone with Hero in her room (just as the neuralgia was beginning), the door opened and Miss Vogdes entered.  The girl turned a harassed, worn countenance toward Maria, and stumbled awkwardly over her words.  It was not, certainly, because she was conscious that she had used William Muller cruelly.  She had forgotten that William Muller lived.

She had been thinking of Maria all day.  She was the woman whom Doctor McCall loved.  By the time night came Kitty had a maddening desire to see again this woman that he loved—­to touch her, hear her speak.  She had been used to regard her as a disagreeable bore, but now she looked on her as a woman set apart from all the world.  She had made a poor excuse to come up to the Water-cure:  now that she was there she half forgot it.  Maria’s delicate face, her quick grace of motion, her clear, well-bred voice, were so many stabs to Kitty, each of which touched the quick.  Maria’s hair hung loosely over her shoulders:  it was very soft and thick.  She wondered if Doctor McCall had ever touched it.  “Though what right have I to know?” For some reason this last was the pang that tugged hardest at Kitty’s heart.

“I brought a message for Doctor McCall,” she said, fumbling in her pocket—­“that is, for you to deliver to him, Maria.”

Miss Muller turned her shoulder to her:  “Doctor McCall is gone—­I don’t know where.”

She started forward:  “Gone?  To come again, you mean?”

“No—­never to come back!” vehemently.

Kitty stood by her silent a moment:  “William told me that you sent for him, that he loved you, Maria—­that you would be married some of these days.”

Miss Muller hesitated:  there was no use in revealing her humiliation to this girl:  “There was an obstacle in the way.  Doctor McCall is peculiarly hedged in by circumstances.”

“And you could not find the way of escape?”

“No.”  She did not see the flash of triumph on the girl’s face, or notice when she went out.

Kitty was human.  “At least,” she muttered going down the hill, “I shall not have to see her his wife.”  When she had reached the Book-shop she took from her pocket a coarse yellow envelope containing a telegram directed to Hugh Guinness in his father’s care.  She turned it over.  This was a bond between them which even Maria did not share:  she alone knew that he was Hugh Guinness.

“What am I to do with this?”

Doctor McCall was gone, never to come back.  It was like touching his hand far off to read this message to him.  Besides, Kitty was curious.  She opened the envelope.