A dead silence fell upon the little group when Mr Paulby had done speaking, and both the Curate and Tom Morrison watched the Rector, expecting him to make some reply, but none came. At last the silence was broken by the wheelwright, out of whose voice every tinge of anger had now gone, and he spoke in tones which sounded deep, and trembled exceedingly at first, but gained strength as he went on:-- "Mr Paulby, sir," he said, "I thank you. I can't say all I feel, sir, but my poor wife and I thank you with all our hearts for what you've just said for us. I'm only a poor ignorant man, sir, but if I couldn't feel that what you've said is just and true, I should be ready to do what so many here have done--go to the chapel. That wouldn't be like the Morrisons though, sir. We've been church-folk, sir, for a couple of hundred years, and if you go round the churchyard, sir, you will see stone after stone marked with the name of Morrison, sir; some just worn out with age, and others growing plainer, till you come to that new one out by the big tower, where my poor old father was laid five years ago. There's generations and generations of my people, sir, lying sleeping there--the whole family of the Morrisons, sir, save them as left their bones in foreign lands, or were sunk in the deep seas, sir, fighting for their country. And now my little one is to be kept out. Oh, parson, it's too bad, and you'll repent all this. Mr Paulby, sir, God bless you for your words. Good-bye!" He strode out of the room, and the two clergymen stood listening to his heavy feet as he crossed the hall and passed out of the house. For a few minutes neither spoke. At length the Curate broke the silence. The fire had gone out of his voice, and the light from his eye, as he said in a low voice-- "Mr Mallow, I am very, very sorry that this should have occurred." "And at a time when I am fighting so hard to win these erring people to a better way, Mr Paulby," said the Rector, sternly. "And I have tried so hard too, Mr Mallow," said the Curate, plaintively. "When they all seem bent on going to one or the other of the chapels here." "I do not wonder, sir," said the Rector, "but I do wonder that my own curate should turn against me." "No, do; not turn against you, sir. I wished to help." "Mr Paulby, I regret it much, but I shall be obliged to ask you to resign." "No, no, sir; I beg you will not," cried the Curate, excitedly. "I have grown to love the people here, and--" "Mr Paulby," said the Rector, "our opinions upon the duties of a priest are opposite. You will excuse me--I wish to be alone." The Curate stood for a moment or two with his hand extended, then he let it fall to his side. "As you will, sir," he said, sadly. "But there, you will think about this. Let me come over to-morrow, and see you. Will you be at home? Let us talk the matter over." No response.