Part 22 (1/2)

”It is coming to that, my child; but blood is thicker than water, you know, and after all----”

It was at this moment the footman entered the room to ask if the canon could see Mr. Storm.

”Ah, the man himself!” said the canon, rising. ”Jenkyns, remove the tray.” Dropping his voice: ”Felicity, I will ask you to leave us together. After what occurred this morning at the hospital anything like a scene----” Then aloud: ”Bring him in, Jenkyns.--Say something, my dear. Why don't you speak?--Come in, my dear Storm.--You'll see to that matter for me, Felicity. Thanks, thanks! Sorry to send you off, but I'm sure Mr. Storm will excuse you. Good-bye for the present.”

Felicity went out as John Storm came in. He looked excited, and there was an expression of pain in his face.

”I am sorry to disturb you, but I need not detain you long,” he said.

”Sit down, Mr. Storm, sit down,” said the canon, returning to the sofa.

But John did not sit. He stood by the chair vacated by Felicity, and kept beating his hat on the back of it.

”I have come to tell you, sir, that I wish to resign my curacy.”

The canon glanced up with a stealthy expression, and thought: ”How clever of him! To resign before he is told plainly that he has to go--that is very clever.”

Then he said aloud: ”I am sorry, very sorry. I'm always sorry to part with my clergy. Still--you see I am entirely frank with you--I have observed that you have not been comfortable of late, and I think you are acting for the best. When do you wish to leave me?”

”As soon as convenient--as early as I can be spared.”

The canon smiled condescendingly. ”That need not trouble you at all.

With a staff like mine, you see---- Of course, you are aware that I am ent.i.tled to three months' notice?”

”Yes.”

”But I will waive it; I will not detain you. Have you seen your uncle on the subject?”

”No.”

”When you do so please say that I always try to remove impediments from a young man's path if he is uncomfortable--in the wrong place, for example.”

”Thank you,” said John Storm, and then he hesitated a moment before stepping to the door.

The canon rose and bowed affably. ”Not an angry word,” he thought. ”Who shall say that blood does not count for something?”

”Believe me, my dear Storm,” he said aloud, ”I shall always remember with pride and pleasure our early connection. Perhaps I think you are acting unwisely, even foolishly, but it will continue to be a source of satisfaction to me that I was able to give you your first opportunity, and if your next curacy should chance to be in London, I trust you will allow us to maintain the acquaintance.”

John Storm's face was twitching and his pulses were beating violently, but he was trying to control himself.

”Thank you,” he said; ”but it is not very likely----”

”Don't say you are giving up Orders, dear Mr. Storm, or perhaps that you are only leaving our church in order to unite yourself to another. Ah!

have I touched on a tender point? You must not be surprised that rumours have been rife. We can not silence the tongues of busybodies and mischief-makers, you know. And I confess, speaking as your spiritual head and adviser, it would be a source of grief to me if a young clergyman, who has eaten the bread of the Establishment, and my own as well, were about to avow himself the subject and slave of an Italian bishop.”

John Storm came back from the door.

”What you are saying, sir, requires that I should be plain spoken. In giving up my curacy I am not leaving the Church of England; I am only leaving you.”