"And then I heard Mr. Paul's voice down in the hall, and I thought he said something about fire. But Nurse said I was silly, and must go to sleep; but I couldn't till I knew you were safe."
"What from, little one?"
"The fire," said Kitty, with a suppressed sob. "I thought you might be burned, and nobody would tell me."
"Well, that was very silly, certainly," said her father, with a little laugh that had a singularly reassuring effect upon Kitty.
"And I tried to think of the three men with long names that the fire did not hurt; but it did not do me a bit of good, daddy."
"Because you forgot about the fourth one who stood by them, even in the fire, whose form was like the Son of God," said the rector, gently. "And He was close by you, Kitty, although you were so frightened—by you, and me too. There! think of that and go to sleep now."
But though Mr. Curzon spoke so cheerfully, there were tears in his eyes as he kissed his little daughter and tucked her into bed with strong, gentle hands.
"Poor little soul! She's bound to suffer, with her crippled body and over-sensitive brain," he thought.
The next morning at breakfast he told Kitty the story of the previous evening, quite simply, without any terrifying details.
"I should think Mr. Paul is very brave—almost as brave as you are, daddy," said Kitty, whose terror seemed to have vanished into thin air with the light of day.