"You need not thank me," Paul answered with tears in his eyes. "She was a friend I shall sorely miss."
"And there is this letter I wish to show you," continued the rector, not daring to talk further of Kitty.
It was a letter from the Bishop of the diocese, suggesting that Mr. Curzon should accept the living of Norrington, a populous town some thirty miles away. In money value it was less than Rudham, but "the needs of the place are great," wrote the Bishop. "You are in the heyday of your strength, and I believe you to be the man for the place. Unless there be any very urgent reason for your refusing to move, I greatly wish you to undertake it."
"Why can't the Bishop let well alone?" said Paul, as he returned the letter. "Of course, you will not go. I don't pretend to constitute myself a judge of a clergyman's work, but I should say that you have this place as well in hand 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."