After a while Arthur Franklyn became calm enough to walk with his brother-in-law to Englefield Grange, dreading the ordeal in which a detail of what had happened would involve him. Of other and more painful consequences to him which would result from his wife's death he could speak to no one, although he knew they would cause him a sleepless night.

Mr. Armstrong's first words as he and his two companions made their appearance relieved Mary of a certain dread. She could not control her fears that her father would be a little angry with her for sending a message by Mr. Henry Halford.

"My darling," he said, "I am so sorry! I forgot I had asked you to come for us; have you been waiting long?"

"Nearly half an hour; but, papa, what has happened?"

"I will tell you presently, Mary; drive home quickly, your mother will be getting anxious."

The sad story was soon told in a few words during the drive, and Mary became silent from awe and sympathy.

Presently her father asked,--"What brought Mr. Halford to the station, Mary?"

"I had not time to ask him," said Mary, gently, "neither had I any right to do so. The instant I saw him I begged him to go and find out what detained you."

"No doubt he came to meet his brother-in-law," said cousin Sarah. "I heard the gentleman whose wife has died so sadly speak of his father-in-law as Dr. Halford of Englefield Grange."

Mr. Armstrong did not notice this remark, and the silence at last became so painful to Mary, that she was about to break it by attracting notice to her ponies, who seemed by their rapid movements to look upon a journey of eight miles a day as merely an amusing pastime.

Cousin Sarah diverted her from her purpose by a sudden remark.

"Jack, my boy, you look pale; in the midst of the confusion and sorrow I almost forgot you were present."

"Oh, I'm all right, mother," he replied, "but I own I did feel queer at the time."

"Don't talk about the affair too strongly at home, Jack," said Mr.

Armstrong, "at least not in the presence of Mrs. Armstrong."

At this moment Mary drew up her ponies at the gate. Mr. Armstrong and his companions entered the house, the painful event of the last hour occupying every thought, more especially from its connexion with the residents at Englefield Grange.

CHAPTER XXVII.

TEMPTED.

"Man is the creature of circ.u.mstances," is a remark that few will deny.

Those, however, who remember that "not a sparrow falls to the ground without our heavenly Father's knowledge" name these said circ.u.mstances "providences." If even a sparrow cannot fall unnoticed, will not the great Creator trouble Himself about the movements and actions of His creatures in a higher state of being, and for whom Christ died?

It was a mysterious providence which in so sudden and painful a manner removed the second wife of Arthur Franklyn from the evil to come, but it led to important results, and influenced the future of more than one of the persons mentioned in our story.

The _pendule_ on the mantelpiece of the drawing-room pointed to ten minutes to six on the day of this sad occurrence, and Mrs. Armstrong, who had still some misgivings about Mary and her pony carriage, began to feel very anxious. She rose and entered the dining-room, where the parlourmaid was laying the cloth. "Margaret," she said, "I fear something has happened to detain your master and Miss Mary. Where is Rowland? send him at once to the station; they ought to have been home half an hour ago."

The girl turned to obey, but she had scarcely left the room, when Mrs.

Armstrong saw the pony carriage drive to the gate, and hastened out to meet its occupants. "What has detained you? Oh, how glad I am to see you here safe and well!"

"Of course we are all safe and well," said her husband, in a cheerful voice, as he led her to the drawing-room, "but the fact is, a lady was taken ill in our railway carriage, and this caused some delay; so make yourself comfortable, dearest, while we get ready for dinner; you shall hear all about it by-and-by."

Jack had recovered himself during the drive home, but he hastened at once to his room, and remained there till he heard his mother go downstairs, for he feared being questioned by Mrs. Armstrong after her husband's caution to him.

Although unaccustomed to give way to fine lady nervousness, Mr.

Armstrong knew that his wife had not quite lost the natural timidity which once nearly cost Maria St. Clair her life.

But Mary knew her mother best: after the rest had left the drawing-room she placed her arm tenderly round her neck, and said, "Mamma darling, you need not wait for 'by-and-by,' I will tell you the worst at once. A poor lady who sat opposite cousin Sarah in the railway carriage was taken ill on the journey and died before they arrived at the station."

"Oh, how very shocking!" said Mrs. Armstrong. "Was she alone?"

"No, her husband was with her, but he appeared too stunned to do anything, so cousin Sarah held the poor dying lady in her arms till the train stopped, and then papa went to find a doctor."

"I am glad you have told me, my dear," said Mrs. Armstrong, "anything is better than suspense, and I should have pictured to myself all sorts of horrors."

"Yes, mamma, I knew that, or I should not have told you, but I must go and prepare for dinner; I have only three minutes, so it is well I changed my dress before I started for the station."

No one at the table noticed the effects on cousin Sarah of the shock she had received; yet she was a woman of warm deep feelings, railway travelling was a comparative novelty to her, and the terrible delay from the impossibility of stopping the train, added to the awe she felt when the poor woman died in her arms, had greatly shaken her nerves.

Very little, however, was said on the subject during dinner, but in the evening, when Mrs. Armstrong listened with painful interest to her description of what had occurred, she could perceive how acutely cousin Sarah felt the effects of the scene she had witnessed.

By degrees the conversation turned upon the persons mixed up with these sad circ.u.mstances, and then Mrs. Armstrong heard with surprise the name of the messenger Mary had sent to look for her father, and his close relationship to the husband of the lady so suddenly deprived of life.

"Mr. Henry Halford had but one sister living when we first became acquainted with his family," remarked Mrs. Armstrong, "and she died in Australia two years ago."

"This must be a second wife, then," said cousin Sarah, who had her own reasons for wishing to know all that could be learnt respecting Mr.

Halford's family; "do you remember the name of Miss Halford's husband, Mary?"

"Here is his card," said Mr. Armstrong, looking up from his newspaper and throwing the harmless missive on the table as he spoke; "you will receive a visit from him to-morrow, no doubt; he asked to be allowed to call and thank me for my kindness, and so forth; so you can accept these thanks, cousin Sarah, they belong to you by right."

"Franklyn," said Mrs. Armstrong, taking up the card and reading it, "is that the name, Mary?"

"Yes, mamma," she replied, in a quiet voice, for her father held his paper on one side to look at her while she spoke. "I read a notice of Mrs. Franklyn's death in the _Times_, and it also stated that she was the daughter of Dr. Halford of Englefield Grange."

Mr. Armstrong then continued his reading. Cousin Sarah had noticed the look of fierce inquiry on his face as his daughter spoke, and recalling Mary's troubled countenance and her father's remarks about the Halfords, she felt more than ever determined to interfere.

She made one remark, however, which brought a sudden flush to Mary's face--

"This Mr. Franklyn told Dr. West in my presence that he and his wife had recently arrived in England from Melbourne, and that they were on their way to visit the father of his first wife, Dr. Halford, at Englefield Grange, with whom his children were now staying, so no doubt this gentleman was the husband of Dr. Halford's daughter, and the father of the young people we saw on Sunday."

In spite of a look of disgust which pa.s.sed over the countenance of Mr.

Armstrong, his wife could not resist a few approving remarks about the young people referred to, till at length Mr. Armstrong exclaimed, "Come, Mary, give us a little music, we have heard quite enough of our unfortunate fellow-pa.s.senger and his antecedents; if he comes to-morrow you can treat him with politeness, and there the matter will end."

Mary rose hastily to obey, she was glad to turn her back on those present, for the explanation respecting the young visitors at Englefield Grange had lifted a weight from her heart and made her eyes brighter, and the colour on her cheeks deeper than they had been for months. Yes, she could sing now; and as Jack listened, and remembered that this was his last evening at the Limes, he inwardly resolved that when he was old enough, and had made a fortune like Cousin Armstrong, he would marry a wife exactly like Cousin Mary.

Altogether it had been a day of excitement; and when Mary entered her bedroom a feeling of hope--the foundation of which she could scarcely account for--seemed to fill her heart. She lay awake for some time, trying to realise certain causes from which this hope seemed to spring.

Her meeting with Henry Halford at the station--the absence of displeasure in her father's manner, which she dreaded would follow her sudden impulse to send him as a messenger--above all, the discovery that she had mistaken one of Mr. Henry Halford's nieces for perhaps his intended wife--and last, but not least, an impression that Cousin Sarah was favourable to the Halfords, and in some way able to influence her father--these reflections, added to the certainty in her own mind that Henry Halford had taken his degree and would soon go up for ordination, seemed so full of hope that they acted with a soothing influence on the young girl's heart, till at length she slept.

Very different from the innocent hopes of Mary Armstrong were the reflections that haunted the chamber of Arthur Franklyn that night at Englefield Grange. The painful event of his second wife's sudden death, and the necessity for an inquest, had spread consternation over the household, and excited great sympathy.