o be it. If with all
your heart, then is the necessity so much the greater. You go tomorrow.
Shall we say farewell now?'

'Patience, I am not going to be lectured.'

'Certainly not by me. Shall we say farewell now?'

'Yes, if you are determined.'

'I am determined. Farewell, Captain Broughton. You have all my wishes
for your happiness.' And she held out her hand to him.

'Patience!' he said. And he looked at her with a dark frown, as though
he would strive to frighten her into submission. If so, he might have
saved himself any such attempt.

'Farewell, Captain Broughton. Give me your hand, for I cannot stay.' He
gave her his hand, hardly knowing why he did so. She lifted it to her
lips and kissed it, and then, leaving him, passed from the summer-house
down through the wicket-gate, and straight home to the parsonage.

During the whole of that day she said no word to anyone of what had
occurred. When she was once more at home she went about her household
affairs as she had done on that day of his arrival. When she sat down to
dinner with her father he observed nothing to make him think that she
was unhappy, nor during the evening was there any expression in her
face, or any tone in her voice, which excited his attention. On the
following morning Captain Broughton called at the parsonage, and the
servant-girl brought word to her mistress that he was in the parlour.
But she would not see him. 'Laws miss, you ain't a quarrelled with your
beau?' the poor girl said. 'No, not quarrelled,' she said; 'but give him
that.' It was a scrap of paper containing a word or two in pencil. 'It
is better that we should not meet again. God bless you.' And from that
day to this, now more than ten years, they have never met.

'Papa,' she said to her father that afternoon, 'dear papa, do not be
angry with me. It is all over between me and John Broughton. Dearest,
you and I will not be separated.'

It would be useless here to tell how great was the old man's surprise
and how true his sorrow. As the tale was told to him no cause was given
for anger with anyone. Not a word was spoken against the suitor who had
on that day returned to London with a full conviction that now at least
he was relieved from his engagement. 'Patty, my darling child,' he said,
'may God grant that it be for the best!'

'It is for the best,' she answered stoutly. 'For this place I am fit;
and I much doubt whether I am fit for any other.'

On that day she did no