Dr Kenn smiled. “I hope I’m going to have you as a permanent parishioner now, Miss Tulliver; am I? You have been at a distance from us hitherto.”
“I have been a teacher in a school, and I’m going into another situation of the same kind very soon.”
“Ah? I was hoping you would remain among your friends, who are all in this neighbourhood, I believe.”
“Oh, I must go,” said Maggie, earnestly, looking at Dr Kenn with an expression of reliance, as if she had told him her history in those three words. It was one of those moments of implicit revelation which will sometimes happen even between people who meet quite transiently,—on a mile’s journey, perhaps, or when resting by the wayside. There is always this possibility of a word or look from a stranger to keep alive the sense of human brotherhood.
Dr Kenn’s ear and eye took in all the signs that this brief confidence of Maggie’s was charged with meaning.
“I understand,” he said; “you feel it right to go. But that will not prevent our meeting again, I hope; it will not prevent my knowing you better, if I can be of any service to you.”
He put out his hand and pressed hers kindly before he turned away.
“She has some trouble or other at heart,” he thought. “Poor child! she looks as if she might turn out to be one of
‘The souls by nature pitched too high,
By suffering plunged too low.’
“There’s something wonderfully honest in those beautiful eyes.”