At length the Curate broke the silence. The fire had gone out of his voice, and the light from his eye, as he said in a low voice—
“Mr Mallow, I am very, very sorry that this should have occurred.”
“And at a time when I am fighting so hard to win these erring people to a better way, Mr Paulby,” said the Rector, sternly.
“And I have tried so hard too, Mr Mallow,” said the Curate, plaintively. “When they all seem bent on going to one or the other of the chapels here.”
“I do not wonder, sir,” said the Rector, “but I do wonder that my own curate should turn against me.”
“No, do; not turn against you, sir. I wished to help.”
“Mr Paulby, I regret it much, but I shall be obliged to ask you to resign.”
“No, no, sir; I beg you will not,” cried the Curate, excitedly. “I have grown to love the people here, and—”
“Mr Paulby,” said the Rector, “our opinions upon the duties of a priest are opposite. You will excuse me—I wish to be alone.”
The Curate stood for a moment or two with his hand extended, then he let it fall to his side.