“The church must come to them,” said Mr. Wilmot. “Could the school be made fit to be licensed for service.”
“Ask our architect,” said Dr. May. “There can be little doubt.”
“I have been settling that I must have a curate specially for Cocksmoor,” said Mr. Wilmot. “Can you tell me of one, Ethel—or perhaps Margaret could?”
Margaret could only smile faintly, for her heart was beating.
“Seriously,” said Mr. Wilmot, turning to Dr. May, “do you think Richard would come and help us here?”
“This seems to be his destiny,” said the doctor, smiling, “only it would not be fair to tell you, lest you should be jealous—that the Town Council had a great mind for him.”
The matter was explained, and Mr. Wilmot was a great deal more struck by Dr. May’s conduct than the good doctor thought it deserved. Every one was only too glad that Richard should come as Cocksmoor curate; and, though the stipend was very small—since Mr. Wilmot meant to have other assistance—yet, by living at home, it might be feasible.
Margaret’s last words that night to Ethel were, “The last wish I had dared to make is granted!”
Mr. Wilmot wrote to Richard, who joyfully accepted his proposal, and engaged to come home as soon as his present rector could find a substitute.
Dr. Spencer was delighted, and, it appeared, had already had a view to such possibilities in designing the plan of the school.