as any man could. To move you, will be
equal loss to yourself and Rudham."

"I cannot decide it so quickly. I do not believe in things happening
by chance," said Mr. Curzon. "This letter came the day that Kitty
passed away, and I telegraphed to the Bishop that I could decide
nothing for a day or two; the one urgent reason that would have kept me
here is gone, you see."

"Kitty?" questioned Paul.

"Yes; I could not have taken her to live in the heart of a town."

"Then you really had decided to leave us before you wrote to me."

"Several things point to it: a less strong man than I could undertake
the work here. If it is God's voice that calls, I would not disobey
it. One thought holds me back. What will happen here? Is it
impertinent to ask? The presentation to the living is yours."

Paul smiled involuntarily. "And you scarcely think me the man to
appoint to a cure of souls. I confess I don't myself feel I know
enough about it. I should do as my godfather did before me, hand over
the nomination of a successor to the Bishop. I believe this offer
jumps with your own inclination."

"Only for one thing," said the rector, quietly, "that my house is 'left
unto me desolate.'"

"And yet you call the God, who took your Kitty from you, a God of love."

"Yes. Who, looking at her pitiful little frame, can doubt it? My
selfish heart cries out for her yet; but what could her life have been
but one of constant suffering."

"But, I suppose, she was born like that?" said Paul, more to himself
than to the rector.

Mr. Curzon's face twitched a little. "Oh no; she was the brightest,
healthiest little child you have ever seen; and then she was dropped.
And the girl who dropped her did not tell any one about it for months
after--not until the child's back began to grow out."

"How did you find it out at last?" asked Paul, deeply interested.

"The girl came of her own accord to confess it. She was pretty well
heart-broken when she discovered that Kitty was injured for life."

"I would never have forgiven her!" said Paul, bitterly.

"Yes, you would. You would have done much as I did, I expect; I let
her work out her repentance. She is the nurse who has devoted herself
to Kitty like a mother, and who mourns for her like one, too. We can
never be separated; where I go she will go. And now she has not Kitty
she will help me to look after some of the sick children in my parish."

"So you have decided to go?"