In a hospital Miriam’s defect was one of the deadly sins, and many were the admonitions which she received from Miss Dashwood.  One evening, after a day in which they had been more frequent than usual, she went to bed, but lay awake.  She was obliged to confess to herself that the light of three months ago, which had then shone round her great design, had faded.  To conceive such a design is one thing, to go down on the knees and scour floors week after week is something different.

She did not intend, however, to give up.  When she rose in the morning she looked out over the London tiles and through the smoke with a miserable sinking of heart, hoping, if she hoped for anything, for the end of the day, and still more for the end of life; but still she persevered, and determined to persevere.

One day a new case came into the ward.  It was evidently serious.  A man returning home late at night, drunk or nearly so, had fallen under a cart in crossing a road and had been terribly crushed.  He had received some injury to the head and was unconscious.  Miriam, to whom such events were now tolerably familiar, took no particular notice until her work brought her near the bed, and then she saw to her amazement and horror that the poor wretch was Montgomery.  Instantly all that had slumbered in her, as fire slumbers in grey ashes, broke out into flame.  She continually crept as well as she could towards him, and listened for any remark which might be dropped by nurse or doctor upon his condition.  Three days afterwards he died, without having once regained his reason save just one hour before death.  He then opened his eyes—­they fell upon Miriam; he knew her, and with a faint kind of astonishment muttered her name.  Before she could come close to him he had gone.

Another month passed, and as Miriam’s constitutional failings showed no sign of mitigation, Miss Dashwood found herself obliged to take serious notice of them.  The experienced, professional superintendent knew perfectly well that the smart, neat, methodical girl, with no motive in her but the desire of succeeding and earning a good living, was worth a dozen who were self-sacrificing but not soldierly.  One morning, after Miss Dashwood’s patience had been more than usually tried, she sent for Miriam, and kindly but firmly told her that she was unsuitable for a hospital and must prepare to leave.  She was not taken by surprise; she had said the same thing to herself a dozen times before; but when it was made certain to her by another person, it sounded differently.