Harry forgot to take it.

She greeted Mrs.White, whom she had met on former visits, and kissed Maria.

Maria had been named for her, and been given a silver cup with her name inscribed thereon, which stood on the sideboard, but she had never been conscious of any distinct affection for her.

There was a queer, musty odor, almost a fragrance, about Aunt Maria's black clothes.
"Take the trunk up the stairs, to the room at the left," said Harry Edgham, "and go as still as you can." The man obeyed, shouldering the little trunk with an awed look.
Aunt Maria drew Mrs.White and Maria's father aside, and Maria was conscious that they did not want her to hear; but she did overhear--"...one chance in ten, a fighting chance," and "Keep it from Maria, her mother had said so." Maria knew perfectly well that that horrible and mysterious thing, an operation, which means a duel with death himself, was even at that moment going on in her mother's room.

She slipped away, and went up-stairs to her own chamber, and softly closed the door.