"Then why not go?" said Arthur; "the change will be of benefit to you, and brace up your nerves for the ordeal on Sunday week."

"It seems so ungracious to leave you in your trouble for the gratification of myself; perhaps, however, I may run down to Oxford to-morrow and return on Monday."

"No, Henry, pray do not shorten your visit on my account; I shall very likely be in London nearly all next week--go in, Mabel," he added, observing his little daughter's earnest face; and as she obeyed, Henry replied earnestly to his remark: "Indeed, Arthur, you ought not to think of leaving us yet--you require a week or two longer of perfect rest before returning to business. I suppose there is nothing that requires immediate attention?" he asked, without a shadow of suspicion that the question would inflict a pang on the heart of his brother-in-law.

Controlling himself, he replied, "Nothing more important than examining poor Louisa's papers. I have put off the ordeal for a week, I had not sufficient fort.i.tude even to think of it. But it must be done very shortly, and her desk and other matters are at our apartments in London.

I shall perhaps only stay a few days this time, but I must rouse myself soon and return to business for the sake of my children."

"Then shall I find you at the Grange on my return?" said Henry.

"I shall no doubt remain in town at least a week," replied Arthur, "therefore you need not put off your visit on my account; and there is the summons to tea," he exclaimed as Mabel reappeared. "Your uncle and I are coming presently, my dear; go in and tell Miss Marston," and then, in a low hurried voice as soon as they were alone, he said: "Henry, pray don't speak of my visit to London before your father or Kate; I could not endure to discuss the subject with them."

Henry promised to be silent, yet wondering at the request. To him no relief could be greater than to unburden his heart to a true friend in any pressing anxiety. But Arthur's anxiety was not of a nature to be confided to another, and as they walked to the house he inwardly resolved that he would escape as quickly as possible from the scrutiny of the anxious eyes at the Grange, and from the memories which were revived by its a.s.sociations, and rendered more painful by recent sad events.

CHAPTER XXVIII.

COUSIN SARAH.

Arthur Franklyn had not been in a mood to call upon Mr. Armstrong during that sad week, nor, indeed, to pay visits anywhere. But he wrote an appropriate letter, saying all that was necessary of grateful thanks for the kindness and sympathy he had experienced, especially from Mrs. John Armstrong.

Perhaps, on the whole, this was a more satisfactory proceeding in Mr.

Armstrong's estimation, but Cousin Sarah was disappointed. She had been introduced to Mr. Henry Halford at the inquest, by his brother-in-law, and the half-hour during which she had conversed with him confirmed her good opinion of his manners and character.

Cousin Sarah was a few years older than Edward Armstrong; they had known each other from children, and in spite of the pride which had grown out of his increased wealth and aristocratic connexions, he had still a great deference for cousin Sarah's opinions. She possessed that very rare quality, plain common sense, and notwithstanding her homeliness she had intellectual tastes sufficient to enable her to appreciate knowledge and learning in its higher developments, as seen in her cousin Edward and Henry Halford. That a man of such intellectual power as Edward Armstrong could prefer for his daughter's husband the weak-minded captain whose history had been told to her to the intellectual young schoolmaster, because the former was rich and the latter poor, was to her a mystery.

Cousin Sarah, with all her good sense, had yet to learn the hardening, withering effects on the human heart which a love of gold produces.

She was brave, however, and she determined before she left Kilburn to bring the matter face to face with Edward Armstrong, and plead the cause of the young girl whom she was convinced by various signs was really attached to the intellectual young schoolmaster.

She had quickly discovered Mrs. Armstrong's opinion on the subject, and when she mentioned her wish to be alone with cousin Edward, she found in Mary's mother a strong ally. Soon after dinner, on this the last evening of her visit, cousin Sarah found herself alone in the drawing-room at Lime Grove, with a man who prided himself upon his indomitable will and unbending opinions.

But she was not daunted. There were two strong points in her favour, and upon these she rested her hopes of success. One was Edward Armstrong's love for his daughter, and the other his often acknowledged confidence in cousin Sarah's judgment. She sat at work near the open window. May was pa.s.sing into June, and the open country which still held sway near Lime Grove seemed redolent of summer. The sun, still high above the horizon, was tinting the fleecy clouds that softened his brightness with crimson and gold, and from myriads of little throats came the warbling songs of joyous birds waking the echoes with their sweet melody.

"So you leave us to-morrow, cousin Sarah," said Mr. Armstrong, laying down his newspaper, and placing himself at the window near which she sat.

"Yes," she said, "and I do so with great reluctance; it has been a most happy fortnight excepting that sad affair in the train, but I shall never forget your kindness and your wife's."

"I don't forget your care and attention to my poor father," he replied, in a tone of deep emotion; "no kindness on our part can ever repay that, Sarah."

There was silence for a few moments, and then Mr. Armstrong spoke again:--

"I suppose you will leave Jack with perfect confidence?"

"Yes, quite; he seems very happy, and I think he will try to do well and get on in his business. He is delighted at the prospect of spending his monthly holiday here as you have proposed."

"Yes, poor fellow, it will be a change for him; I am glad Maria thought of it."

With all cousin Sarah's bravery, she found some little difficulty in commencing the subject uppermost in her thoughts, but there occurred another pause, and then Edward Armstrong led the way to it himself.

"Do you think Mary is looking well, Sarah?" he said, "you told me last Sunday week that she appeared changed, but I have not yet had an opportunity to ask you in what way."

"I must tell you the truth, Edward; Mary is as pretty and graceful as ever, but there is a delicacy of complexion, and at times a sad look, which makes me fancy she is not quite happy."

"They have been telling you a fine tale, I suppose, about my cruelty in not allowing my daughter to marry a man who has not a sixpence to call his own;" and as he spoke cousin Sarah could detect the old boyish temper, and the will that would brook no opposition. "I thought the girl had more sense," he went on; "why, she has refused offers that were unexceptionable, all because of that boy,--you have seen him, Sarah."

"I do not consider Mr. Henry Halford a boy, Edward," she replied, for now the ice was broken the impetuous tone did not daunt her. "He told me on Wednesday that he was going up for ordination on Trinity Sunday, the rector of Kilburn having given him what he called a t.i.tle to orders."

"Yes, yes, I daresay; however, that is of little importance to me, but what has been told you, Sarah, about this matter?"

"Mary has told me nothing, Edward; Mrs. Armstrong certainly described the splendid offers her daughter had refused, and acknowledged that her refusals were no doubt caused by her attachment to Henry Halford;" and cousin Sarah spoke in that calm, quiet manner which so often carries weight with it.

"Absurd nonsense!" exclaimed Mr. Armstrong; "I thought my daughter was above such lovesick foolery, to refuse a man with 12,000_l._ a year, and the nephew of a duke, for a penniless schoolmaster, descended from n.o.body knows who."

"Have you no anxiety for your daughter's future happiness, Edward?"

"Happiness! There's no happiness in the world without money."

"Oh, Edward, how you are changed! money was not the source of your dear father's happiness, you never learnt that opinion from him; besides, your own wife was without fortune."

"Ah yes, I had the money, and I chose Maria St. Clair for that sweet character which has never changed; besides, she was well born and well connected, which the Halfords are not."

"Who gave you that information, Edward?"

"Why, I formed the opinion from my own judgment. Who would be a schoolmaster if he could help it?"

"At all events a schoolmaster is equal to a tradesman in position, and often far above one in education, but for once, cousin Edward, you have failed in your judgment. Henry Halford, you must own, is a gentleman, and a man of education, and I _know_ that both his parents are as well born and as well connected as your own wife."

"I may ask _you_ now where you obtained that information?" said Mr.

Armstrong, in a sneering tone.

"You remember my father's farm, Edward?"

"Of course I do," he replied wonderingly; "I am not likely to forget the pleasant old homestead where you and John and I spent so many happy days in our childhood."

"And you remember Englefield, the beautiful estate of Lord Rivers, about two miles distant from Holmwood Farm, which my father tenanted from his lordship?"

"You are bringing back childish memories, Sarah, that are painful yet pleasant, but what has all this to do with the Halfords?"

"Dr. Halford was tutor to the present Lord Rivers in his young days, and from that circ.u.mstance he named his house at Kilburn, Englefield Grange.

I had a long talk with young Mr. Halford on Wednesday, when we were waiting in the inquest-room at the hotel for you and the coroner. Mr.

Franklyn introduced us. I was speaking of the beautiful scenery between Farnham and Basingstoke, and he asked me if I knew Englefield, and so one thing led to another----"

"But this has nothing to do with Mr. Halford's birth or connexions."