'Margaret, dear!' said he, drawing her closer, 'think of the

early martyrs; think of the thousands who have suffered.' 'But, father,' said she, suddenly lifting up her flushed,

tear-wet face, 'the early martyrs suffered for the truth, while

you--oh! dear, dear papa!' 'I suffer for conscience' sake, my child,' said he, with a

dignity that was only tremulous from the acute sensitiveness of

his character; 'I must do what my conscience bids. I have borne

long with self-reproach that would have roused any mind less

torpid and cowardly than mine.' He shook his head as he went on.

'Your poor mother's fond wish, gratified at last in the mocking

way in which over-fond wishes are too often fulfilled--Sodom

apples as they are--has brought on this crisis, for which I ought

to be, and I hope I am thankful. It is not a month since the

bishop offered me another living; if I had accepted it, I should

have had to make a fresh declaration of conformity to the Liturgy

at my institution. Margaret, I tried to do it; I tried to content

myself with simply refusing the additional preferment, and

stopping quietly here,--strangling my conscience now, as I had

strained it before. God forgive me!' He rose and walked up and down the room, speaking low words of

self-reproach and humiliation, of which Margaret was thankful to

hear but few. At last he said, 'Margaret, I return to the old sad burden we must leave

Helstone.' 'Yes! I see. But when?' 'I have written to the bishop--I dare say I have told you so, but

I forget things just now,' said Mr. Hale, collapsing into his

depressed manner as soon as he came to talk of hard

matter-of-fact details, 'informing him of my intention to resign

this vicarage. He has been most kind; he has used arguments and

expostulations, all in vain--in vain. They are but what I have

tried upon myself, without avail. I shall have to take my deed of

resignation, and wait upon the bishop myself, to bid him

farewell. That will be a trial, but worse, far worse, will be the

parting from my dear people. There is a curate appointed to read

prayers--a Mr. Brown. He will come to stay with us to-morrow.

Next Sunday I preach my farewell sermon.' Was it to be so sudden then? thought Margaret; and yet perhaps it

was as well. Lingering would only add stings to the pain; it was

better to be stunned into numbness by hearing of all these

arrangements, which seemed to be nearly completed before she had

been told. 'What does mamma say?' asked she, with a deep sigh.




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