“But—you’ll be coming back, Mr. Black?” she questioned, anxiously. “You’re only going for—a while? I’ll—you’ll—I wanted to speak for the place again, if I might, when—you come back, sir.”
Black’s softening face hardened suddenly. “No, I don’t expect to come back to this parish, Mrs. Hodder,” he said. “I’m resigning to-morrow.”
“What’s that?”
A deep voice boomed from the hall outside, and Black and Mrs. Hodder turned together. Red appeared in the doorway of the study, having met the telegraph messenger coming away just outside the house. He was, by now, the sort of friend who follows up a telegraph messenger on the chance that he may be needed.
Mrs. Hodder knew her place, if momentarily her master himself had caused her to forget it. She withdrew her hand from Black’s and left the room hurriedly; and the tears which flowed the moment she was out of sight were not wholly unhappy ones. As for her hand—the hand he had held so warmly in both his—well, it was a very precious hand to her now. Like Jane Ray, she had “something to remember!”
“What’s that you say?” demanded Red, coming in like a gathering tornado. “I know you’ve got your orders, or you wouldn’t be found holding your housekeeper’s hand. But—what in thunder do you mean by saying you’re resigning your church?”
Black sat down on the edge of his desk—he was rather glad to sit down on something if an argument with R. P. Burns in his present mood was to take place. Not that there could be any argument, but he knew the signs of warfare when he saw them.
“Why, there’s nothing else to do,” he replied, quietly.
“Nothing else to do! Do you mean to say they’re not giving you a leave of absence?”
Black shook his head. “I’ve not asked for any.”