"And will you go?"
"What do you counsel?"
"I do not know the people"—said Diana, breathless.
"Nor I, as yet. The church that calls me is itself a rich little church, which has been accustomed, I am afraid, for some time, to a dead level in religion."
"They must want you then, badly," said Diana. "That was how Pleasant
Valley was five years ago."
"But round the church lies on every hand the mill population, for whom hardly any one cares. They need not one man, but many. Nothing is done for them. They are almost heathen, in the midst of a land called Christian."
"Then you will go?" said Diana, looking at Mr. Masters, and wishing that he would speak to her with a different expression of face. It was calm, sweet, and high, as always; but she knew he thought his wife was lost to him for ever. "And yet, I told him, last night!" she said to herself. Really, she was thinking more of that than of this other subject Basil had unfolded to her.
"I do not know," he answered. "How would you like to run over there with me and take a look at the place? I have a very friendly invitation to come and bring you,—for the very purpose."
"Run over? Why, it must be more than one day's journey?"
"One runs by railway," said Basil simply. "What do you think? Will you go?"