"Yes," the father answered. "Try to think of her as a dear, foolish child who has made a grave mistake. She has sent me to break off her engagement with you, Morgan. She begs you, through me, to forgive her for any pain that she may cause you. She wants you to remember her kindly always, but neither to write to her, nor seek to see her again." The curate was silent for some moments. No suspicion of the truth crossed his mind. He concluded, not unnaturally, that he had been too quiet and grave a lover for the bright girl. That was all. When he spoke, his words were very few. Perhaps Nelly's father respected him none the less because he made no pretence of great sorrow. His face was pale, and his voice trembled a little, as he said quietly,-- "If you will come into my lodging, Mr. Channell, I will give you Nelly's letters and her portrait. She may like to have them back again without delay." They walked out of the churchyard, and down the lane to the sexton's cottage. And then Morgan left Mr. Channell sitting in the little parlour, while he went upstairs to his room. The hour of release had come. He took out a plain gold locket, which had always been worn unseen, and detached it from its guard. He opened it, and looked long and sadly at the fair face that it contained. It was a delicately-painted photograph, true to life; and locket and portrait had been Nelly's first gift. The smile was her own smile, frank and bright; the brown eyes seemed to look straight at the gazer. "O Nelly," he said, kissing the picture, "why couldn't I love you better? Thank God for this painless parting! No wonder that you wearied of me, dear; you will be a thousand times freer and happier without me." Presently he came downstairs, and entered the parlour with the locket and a little packet of letters. These he gave silently into Mr. Channell's hands. "Morgan," said Robert Channell, "I am heartily sorry for this. Don't think that I shall cease to feel for you as a friend, because I cannot have you for a son-in-law." "I shall never forget all your kindness," Morgan answered, in a low voice. "But I shall soon leave this place, Mr. Channell." "Better so, perhaps," Robert responded. "You ought to labour in a larger sphere. You have great capacities for hard work, Morgan." Then the two men parted with a close hand-shake. And Mr. Channell looked back to say, almost carelessly,-- "My family have migrated to Southsea for a month or two. I follow them to-morrow." It would be too much to say that the curate "regained his freedom with a sigh." Yet certain it is that this unlooked-for release set his heart aching; it might be that his _amour propre_ was slightly wounded, for was it not a little hard to find that the girl for whom he had been making a martyr of himself could do very well without him? He had climbed the height of self-sacrifice only to find deliverance. The spirit of sacrifice had been required of him, but the crowning act was not demanded.