forgive, Aunt Hester. I 'm sorry I 've
spoiled your plans."

"I 'm glad, fur mebbe God 'll have a chance now to work His own plans.
But pore little 'Lizabeth!"

Brent's heart hurt him as he heard the familiar name, and he turned
abruptly and went to his room. Once there, he had it out with himself.
"But," he told himself, "if I had the emergency to meet again, I should
do the same thing."

The next morning's mail brought him a little packet in which lay the
ring he had given Elizabeth to plight their troth.

"I thank you for this," he said. "It makes my way easier."

CHAPTER XIV

The story of the altercation between the young minister and a part of
his congregation was well bruited about the town, and all united in
placing the fault heavily on the young man's shoulders. As for him, he
did not care. He was wild with the enjoyment of his new-found freedom.
Only now and again, as he sat at the table the morning after, and looked
into the sad faces of Eliphalet and his guardian, did he feel any sorrow
at the turn matters had taken.

In regard to Elizabeth, he felt only relief. It was as if a half-defined
idea in his mind had been suddenly realised. For some time he had
believed her unable either to understand him or to sympathise with his
motives. He had begun to doubt the depth of his own feeling for her.
Then had come her treatment of him last Sunday, and somehow, while he
knew it was at her father's behest, he could not help despising her
weakness.

He had spent much of the night before in packing his few effects, and
all was now ready for his departure as they sat at breakfast. Mrs.
Hodges was unusually silent, and her haggard face and swollen eyes told
how she had passed the night. All in a single hour she had seen the work
of the best part of her life made as naught, and she was bowed with
grief and defeat. Frederick Brent's career had really been her dream.
She had scarcely admitted, even to herself, how deeply his success
affected her own happiness. She cared for him in much the same way that
a sculptor loves his statue. Her attitude was that of one who says,
"Look upon this work; is it not fair? I made it myself." It was as much
her pride as it was her love that was hurt, because her love had been
created by her pride. She had been prepared to say, exultingly, "Look
where he came from, and look where he is;" and now his defection
deprived her for ever of that sweet privilege. People had questione