"But they are as much gentlemen as your wife is a lady, Edward; I can tell by your manner that you dislike them, but why?"

"Why?" he asked impetuously, "because they are poor, and the son had the audacity to ask me for Mary."

"And you refused him."

"Of course I did; do you suppose I was fool enough to give up to him the money I have worked so hard for, as my daughter's marriage portion? and no doubt that was all he wanted."

"Does Mary know of this?"

"Unfortunately she does, although I kept it from her as long as I could; but it slipped out in some way."

"Ah! then now I can understand what has changed her so much," said cousin Sarah, quietly.

With a startled expression Mr. Armstrong turned and looked at the speaker.

"What!" he exclaimed, but, before she could reply, Mrs. Armstrong, Mary, and Jack joined them. Cousin Sarah noticed at a glance that Mary had recovered her colour, but there was a quivering of the lip very painful to see.

On reaching home Mary hastily escaped to her room. She stood for a moment, with her hands clasped and her eyes uplifted, asking for help and strength; realising Montgomery's description of prayer:--

"The upward glancing of the eye, When none but G.o.d is near."

"I must expect it," she said to herself; "I ought to have been prepared.

How can I be so selfish--so dog in the manger like; I cannot be his wife myself, and ought I to object to his choosing any one else? But ah! it is very painful to think of," and then as she sunk into a chair the restrained tears burst forth unchecked.

In a few minutes she remembered the visitors; the tears had relieved her, and hastily preparing for an early dinner she bathed her eyes, controlled her feelings, and joined the rest in the drawing-room. So like herself did she seem that no stranger would have discovered the traces of tears, but the keen anxious eyes of the mother and cousin Sarah were not to be deceived. Mrs. Armstrong, however, knew too well what had happened to distress her patient and much loved daughter, and for her sake made no remark on her looks.

CHAPTER XXVI.

AT THE STATION.

The three years of Mr. Armstrong's residence at Kilburn had produced great changes in this suburb which bid fair after a time to destroy its rural aspect. The London and North-Western Company had opened a station, and around it a town of bricks and mortar had risen with almost as much rapidity as at Bayswater. Lime Grove and Englefield Grange, however, were at least a mile from the station, and for the present, therefore, safe from the invasion of the pickaxe and the hod.

A few days after the arrival of cousin Sarah and her son at Kilburn, Mr.

Armstrong proposed that they should accompany him to town to make the necessary arrangements for leaving Jack in London. Inquiries had been made, and interviews had taken place with the head of the firm, who had offered a situation to the youth, and his friends were as anxious to place him in such a respectable house as the firm were to receive him.

"Mary, my dear," said her father while at breakfast one morning, "you can drive us to the station in the pony carriage if you like."

"I should like to do so, papa;" she replied, and glancing at her mother she added, "the ponies will not be too tired for mamma's drive when they return, I suppose."

Mr. Armstrong laughed. "Certainly not," he said, "after a mile to the station and back, unless you intend to take them a twenty miles'

journey."

"Twenty miles, papa! no, indeed, not more than four," she replied.

"Six miles altogether; well, the st.u.r.dy little animals will manage that I daresay without very great fatigue or inconvenience; so ring at once, and order the pony carriage to be ready in half an hour."

"I have not yet seen this pony carriage, Mary," said cousin Sarah.

"No," she replied, "you have been such business people since you arrived in London, going off in the morning by the omnibus, and returning with papa in the evening, so I have had no opportunity to offer to drive you; and even this morning you are going on matters of business."

"I shall enjoy the drive all the same," said cousin Sarah, "and so, I am sure, will Jack."

"You can come and meet us at the station by the 5.20 train this afternoon, Mary," said her father, with a smile; "another two miles wont hurt the ponies. I have not yet ventured upon the expense of an open carriage," he continued, addressing cousin Sarah, "princ.i.p.ally because the doctor advises walking exercise for Maria. Besides, till my elder boys are out in the world I am unwilling to increase my expenses. I must have a groom for the saddle horses, and Mary can drive a pony carriage without the expense of coachman and footman."

"A very wise arrangement," replied cousin Sarah, "but," she added, rising, "I think it is time to get ready, if you will excuse us, Mrs.

Armstrong." She had not yet been able to address her cousin Edward's lady-wife by her Christian name.

Mrs. John Armstrong, while dressing for a drive on that pleasant May morning, recalled a statement made by Mary that her father had bought this pony carriage as a present to herself.

"He is trying to bribe that dear girl into forgetting the superior young man we met on Sunday, but she never will," was cousin Sarah's reflection.

The spirited white ponies and pretty low carriage attracted all eyes as they trotted along the Kilburn Road lashing their tails and shaking their fat sides as if eager to perform their work to the best of their ability. After setting down her companions at the door of the station Mr. Armstrong dismissed his daughter; and, although foolishly proud of the admiring gaze cast upon her by pa.s.sengers, he more than once regretted not having listened to his wife's suggestion:--"Had you not better let the groom drive you, Edward? I do not like the idea of my daughter acting the part of coachman to a railway station; it is all very well in country roads."

Mr. Armstrong laughed at his wife's scruples, but he afterwards saw the justice of her remark--at least in those days before young ladies had acquired the habits of independence which so distinguish them in the present day.

One, however, of the party had greatly enjoyed his drive; Jack would have felt no surprise at any admiration his cousin Mary excited. He watched her as she skilfully turned her ponies out of the station-yard, and then, while following his mother and Mr. Armstrong into the station, he said to himself, "I don't believe there's another girl in London so clever and so pretty as cousin Mary."

Mrs. Armstrong was ready to join her daughter in her morning excursion as she drove up to the gate, and when they were fairly off Mary said--

"Why, mamma, I believe these little animals are enjoying their work as much as we shall our ride. I have to keep a tight rein to prevent them from going too fast. No fear of fatigue on their part, I can see."

"I suppose you have perfect command over them, my dear," said Mrs.

Armstrong, rather nervously.

"Oh yes, mamma, I hope what I said in joke has not alarmed you; they are the most docile little creatures in the world." And to prove her words and calm her mother's fears she checked the rapid trot, and for some distance allowed them to go at an easy pace.

When Mrs. Armstrong regained confidence in her daughter, Mary loosened her hold on the reins, to the great satisfaction of the spirited ponies, and when the groom took charge of them on their return to the Limes, they showed no signs of fatigue.

It wanted a very few minutes to five when cousin Sarah and her son met Mr. Armstrong at the Euston terminus. They were walking up and down the platform waiting for the train, which was being shunted from a siding, when they saw a lady and gentleman come hastily from the booking office.

"You have hurried me for nothing, Arthur," said the lady, almost gasping for breath, and yet angrily; "you see we are in plenty of time."

"My watch must be fast," he replied, "and I knew how important it was for us to catch this train in order to meet Mr. Norton at the appointed time."

"You might have waited till to-morrow," she said; "I cannot understand the motive for all this haste. But see, the pa.s.sengers are taking their places; let us get into a carriage at once, for running so quickly has exhausted me."

Arthur Franklyn--for it was he--hastily a.s.sisted his wife into a first-cla.s.s carriage, already occupied by Mr. Armstrong, cousin Sarah, and her son. Arthur placed his wife in the centre seat, and seated himself next her, near the window, and opposite Jack. The other corner, facing Mr. Armstrong, was the only vacant seat, the two centre divisions being now occupied by Mrs. Franklyn and cousin Sarah.

Kilburn was the first station at which this train usually stopped, and for some minutes after it started, no one spoke. Arthur almost turned his back on his wife, and looked out of the window with a very gloomy face. He was, in fact, brooding over her remark. "She thinks I have some motive for all this haste," he said to himself; "of course I have; does she suppose I should have chosen a woman so utterly selfish and proud, so unfit to be a mother to the children of my dear lost f.a.n.n.y, if it had not been for her money? Of course I have a motive. I cannot tell her of my difficulties. And if I don't get a thousand pounds very quickly I shall be a ruined man."

Mrs. Franklyn on entering the carriage had thrown herself into the seat and leaned back with closed eyes. Cousin Sarah was attracted to watch her. The evident want of cordiality in the manner of husband and wife towards each other, the pain the latter appeared to suffer from the effects of hurrying to the station, and her husband's apparent indifference, aroused the pity of the warm-hearted countrywoman. She was about to ask her if she felt ill, when a sudden pallor spread over her face, she stretched out her arms and exclaimed convulsively, "Arthur, Arthur, save me!"

There was a sudden rush forward of both gentlemen, but cousin Sarah, had already caught the drooping figure in her arms as she exclaimed, "Open the windows, stop the train, she is dying!"