"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 any one 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 never have
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 any one. Not a word