aid May, softly. "In which case we may
find the answer on the other side."

Never had May appeared so beautiful or gracious as that evening when
she sat listening to the story of all that had occurred in Rudham since
she and her mother had gone to London.

"I'm so glad to be back," she said. "Mother thinks me half-crazed for
coming, and threw a dozen obstacles in my way. But I've brought Rose
Lancaster with me, and the servants who are left in charge can manage
for us; and, as for carriages it will do me good to walk for a little
bit."

Paul left the talk almost entirely to the two girls; it was enough for
him to sit and watch the play of May's beautiful features, and hear the
sound of her voice. What could this sudden return of hers mean, he
wondered? Was it a passing whim, or was it?---- He left even the
thought unfinished, and called himself a presumptuous fool!

The next morning he received a note from the rector asking him to call.

"There is a matter of extreme importance that I cannot decide until I
have seen you, so will you kindly look in this evening?" he wrote.

Paul found him in his study, and noticed that the handsome face was
thinner, and the dark lines under the eyes betrayed the suffering
through which he had passed.

"I wanted you to come for many reasons," he said, pushing an easy-chair
near to the fire. "To thank you, first of all, for the kindness you
have poured on my Kitty from the day of your coming until now. There
are not many men who would have taken so much trouble about a delicate
little girl."

"You need not thank me," Paul answered with tears in his eyes. "She
was a friend I shall sorely miss."

"And there is this letter I wish to show you," continued the rector,
not daring to talk further of Kitty.

It was a letter from the Bishop of the diocese, suggesting that Mr.
Curzon should accept the living of Norrington, a populous town some
thirty miles away. In money value it was less than Rudham, but "the
needs of the place are great," wrote the Bishop. "You are in the
heyday of your strength, and I believe you to be the man for the place.
Unless there be any very urgent reason for your refusing to move, I
greatly wish you to undertake it."

"Why can't the Bishop let well alone?" said Paul, as he returned the
letter. "Of course, you will not go. I don't pretend to constitute
myself a judge of a clergyman's work, but I should say that you have
this place as well in hand