Some such thoughts as these occupied the mind of Mr. Armstrong as he mounted his horse and rode slowly to town on the second morning after Mary's return to Lime Grove. How little he guessed that before they met at dinner his power over his daughter would be weakened by a painful discovery!

Mrs. Armstrong during the warm weather generally put off her walk till about four o'clock. The doctor had recommended walking exercise; and her husband to encourage this had delayed the purchase of an open carriage for his wife. The arrangement suited his purpose, and he was not far wrong in adhering to the old-fashioned opinion that walking is more truly conducive to health than driving.

Mrs. Armstrong enjoyed the country walk with Mary on the afternoon of which we write. The July day had been hot and sultry; but as they turned their steps homeward a pleasant breeze sprung up which was very exhilarating, and seemed to give Mrs. Armstrong additional strength.

As they pa.s.sed Englefield Grange the schoolroom clock struck five, and almost at the same moment Mary saw coming towards them in an opposite direction an invalid chair, which she knew belonged to Mrs. Halford.

More than once Mary and her mother had met the poor lady, now so completely a wreck of her former self, accompanied by Kate Marston, who in the midst of the tenderest care of her aunt could still manage to glance at the fair girl who had so fascinated her cousin Henry with genuine admiration.

Hitherto a kind inquiry respecting Mrs. Halford's health had been replied to by Kate with distant politeness; but to-day both mother and daughter saw with troubled surprise, that instead of her usual lady-friend, Mrs. Halford was accompanied by her son. Mrs. Armstrong intended to bow and pa.s.s on, for she had not forgotten her husband's angry remarks respecting the young man, nor her daughter's acknowledged admiration of his acquirements and talents.

To her astonishment, as they drew nearer, she saw the invalid lean forward and speak, and in a few moments the chair stopped, and Mrs.

Halford held out her hand to Mrs. Armstrong, but her palsied head shook and her voice trembled as she said, "I am so glad to be able to speak to you again, Mrs. Armstrong; I am better, but I have been terribly shaken, as you can see."

All other emotions were lost in regret and sympathy, as Mrs. Armstrong for the first time saw the painful change which illness had made in the mother of Henry Halford; she pressed the offered hand, and spoke her commiserations in a tearful voice. The invalid, while she retained Mrs.

Armstrong's hand, described her sufferings and sorrows, and spoke of her daughter's death; and her listener noticed with pain that not only the physical but the mental powers of Mrs. Halford had received a shock from which it was scarcely possible they could ever recover. Presently, as Mrs. Armstrong withdrew her hand and moved to glance at her daughter, the invalid said--

"I have my son with me now; he came home from Oxford last week. He looks pale, Mrs. Armstrong. Don't you think so?"

Mrs. Armstrong turned and bowed to Henry Halford.

She almost started at his white face and trembling lips as he raised his hat and said--

"Good afternoon, Mrs. Armstrong."

Then she turned and looked at her daughter. Never in her life had she seen her so pale.

Quickly recovering herself for the sake of the young people, she said in a cheering tone--

"Mr. Halford is perhaps studying too closely, so we must expect him to look pale and----"

"Yes, yes," interrupted the invalid, "but that is not all; he has never been well since your husband's reply to his letter about your daughter."

"Mother, mother, hush! you forget.--Forgive her, Mrs. Armstrong," he added, in a lower tone. "Her heart is broken about poor f.a.n.n.y, she scarcely knows what she is talking about."

"But have any letters pa.s.sed between you and Mr. Armstrong?" she asked with painful eagerness.

Mary had heard the invalid's words, and her pale cheeks flushed as she listened for Henry Halford's reply.

"One only from me," he said, "and Mr. Armstrong's answer, in which he refuses----" he stopped abruptly, and then said hurriedly, "But it is all past now. Pray excuse us, Mrs. Armstrong, it is time my mother was at home."

"Henry, I am very sorry, I did not mean it," exclaimed the poor broken-hearted mother, as she saw by her son's face and manner that he was painfully annoyed.

Mrs. Armstrong saw it also. She took the trembling hand in hers and said--

"Don't make yourself uneasy, my dear friend, it will all come right in time. We must trust and hope."

"Thank you, Mrs. Armstrong," said Henry, "you have helped me to trust and hope. I will never forget those words."

He took off his hat to the ladies as they turned to continue their walk, while the pallor which had so startled them had given place to the flush of hope which Mrs. Armstrong's words had excited.

For some moments neither mother nor daughter spoke, both were reflecting anxiously on what they had just heard. Mrs. Armstrong, although at first taken by surprise, could quite understand her husband's wish to conceal even from her the correspondence between himself and Henry Halford.

Her indignation at the evident pain it had caused to both mother and son made her utter those cheering words, which, however, she did not wish unsaid. She knew too well how bitterly her husband could write on a subject which irritated him, and she shrunk from the thought of what insults that letter might have contained.

But the daughter's feelings on the matter were far more intense and painful, not because Henry Halford had offered and been refused, not from any fear of what her father's letter might have said to cause pain, but from surprise and distress at the concealment.

Children whose parents are able to support parental authority have generally the greatest faith in their knowledge, their opinions, and their judgment.

"My father says so," "My mamma knows best," are often uttered or thought by young people; and on this account children who live entirely at home grow up narrow-minded, and under the influence of certain opinions which they consider right in contradistinction from all others.

Mary Armstrong had very narrowly escaped from such an influence, still her confidence in her father had been unbounded. He had taught her to be open, candid, straightforward, and truthful; and now she had found that while speaking of the schoolmaster as having forgotten the young lady to whom he had been so polite at Oxford, and now and then indulging in a joke about the impossibility of a student being able to love anything but his books, he had known of this young man's love for his daughter, and refused him without one word of reference to herself.

She had yet to learn the hardening effects produced by a growing love of money and the acquirement of wealth.

They had nearly reached the gate entrance to Lime Grove, when her mother said--

"Mary dear, what pa.s.sed between you and Mr. Halford, while I was talking to his mother?"

"Only a few polite inquiries after my health, and remarks on the weather; indeed, I could scarcely make a commonplace reply, for his white face frightened me; but I understand it all now. Oh, mamma, I cannot tell you how distressed I feel at the discovery we have made, because it lowers my father in my estimation. Oh, if he had only told me!"

Mrs. Armstrong sighed as they entered the gate; she had tried for years to believe that her husband was the soul of honour; and though she could account for the concealment of Mr. Halford's letter from his daughter, yet she knew too well that he was not the strictly honourable man in many matters which he wished to appear.

Mother and daughter entered the dining-room on that memorable evening totally unprepared for the scene which was about to take place.

Mr. Armstrong appeared in the most exuberant spirits; he joked with his daughter, complimented his wife, and during dinner made himself altogether so very agreeable, that Mary's anger against him was fast fading from her heart, in which filial love had so long found a place.

The cloth had been removed, and the wine and dessert of summer fruit placed on the table in the style of olden times, before Mr. Armstrong ventured to refer to the subject which had so raised his spirits.

"I had a visitor in Dover Street to-day, Maria," he said, addressing his wife, "and I have asked him to dine with us to-morrow."

"Uncle Herbert, papa?" said Mary.

"No, my dear, but a friend of his who inquired very kindly after you."

"After me, papa? Who can it be? a lady or a gentleman?"

"Is there any gentleman friend of your uncle's who you think would be likely to inquire after you?"

"Well, papa, yes; several I met at Park Lane would ask for me, I daresay." Then suddenly she added, "Oh, perhaps it was Captain Fraser; he told me he should pay you a visit some day."

"Why did you not mention, this, Mary?"

"I forgot it, papa, till your remark reminded me of it. I never cared to remember Captain Fraser's sayings."

"You are not kind then, Mary, for he speaks of you in the highest terms.

He has not forgotten you, most certainly."

"I am very sorry, papa," she replied, "but I cannot appreciate his praise as it deserves; he is so very effeminate and weak-minded, that had he not been the guest of uncle and aunt Herbert I should scarcely have been even civil to him."