He had seen at a glance as he entered the pulpit the figure in white standing by Mr. Armstrong in the gallery near him. The unexpected appearance at the evening service of any of the family took him by surprise, and it required all the self-control he possessed to bring himself to a proper frame of mind by the time the congregation were ready to listen to him.

But the effort was successful, and as the full-toned young voice gave out the text his natural power of concentration resumed its sway, the glorious subject before him absorbed all his thoughts, and the natural fluency with which Henry Halford expressed his ideas did not forsake him now.

He had determined, long before his ordination, that he would adopt extemporaneous preaching, and as the subject he had chosen fired the intellectual powers and Christian principles of the young clergyman, his hearers sat mute with surprise and admiration.

The sermon might have been styled an exposition of the thirteenth chapter of the First of Corinthians, for not one of the attributes of charity did he omit to notice; but his text contained only these words--"The greatest of these is charity."

For more than half an hour did the congregation sit in breathless attention to the sound reasoning, the clear explanations, and the bursts of eloquence which almost electrified them; and when they rose as he finished his sermon, there was not one who did not feel sorry it was over.

But we are forgetting our friends in the front pew of the gallery. When Mary Armstrong bowed her head in the short prayer before the sermon, she had not particularly noticed the face of the new curate, as she supposed him to be. The voice, at first low and indistinct, presently sounded familiar. Yes, she had heard it before, but where? It ceased, and as she rose from her knees and directed her attention to the preacher, she recognised in the pale young clergyman before her, Henry Halford! One glance at her father, and she saw by his returned glance, that he also knew the name of the stranger who now as the servant of G.o.d stood forth fearlessly as the instructor of the man who loved his money better than his child's happiness.

Mary in her startled surprise felt the colour forsaking cheek and lips, and a tendency to faint; but with a strong effort she roused herself. To be carried out of church fainting was an ordeal she dreaded, and therefore struggled against with all her strength.

More than once Mr. Armstrong looked at her anxiously, but she did not flinch. No; she would stay and brave it all.

The conduct of Henry Halford also tended to restore her self-possession, and before long she as well as her father became too deeply interested in the sermon and the subject to think much of their surprise at finding who was the preacher.

The attentive congregation, the summer evening a.s.sociations to which reference has been made, all had an influence upon the young girl's mind, and for years after she never attended a summer evening service in a country church without recalling this evening at Kilburn.

But when they rose to leave the church, there was a dread at Mary's heart of what her father might say or suspect.

Mr. Armstrong, as we know, had a foolish prejudice about clergymen, and although he attended church for the sake of appearances, and respected the old rector because he could not help it, still he did not cultivate his acquaintance, nor indeed the acquaintance of any families in Kilburn, except the Drummonds and one or two others.

But for this exclusiveness he would have heard not only that the rector had parted with his late curate, but also that he had engaged another, and that other the son of his old friend Dr. Halford. More than this, had not the heat formed an excuse for Mr. Armstrong, and a reason for his wife to remain at home on that Sunday morning, they would have heard Henry Halford read the forms which are necessary at the introduction of a newly ordained curate, and also the prayers as his first clerical act.

"Did you know young Halford was going to preach this evening, Mary?" was her father's first question as they proceeded homewards.

"No, papa; I did not even know that Mr. Halford was ordained."

Mr. Armstrong said no more, although while he asked the question he suddenly remembered Cousin Sarah's information, and knew that Mary was too truthful for him to doubt her a.s.sertion for an instant. The remainder of the walk was continued in silence, both father and daughter busied with their own reflections.

"Cousin Sarah is right," said the money-loving father to himself; "there is great intellect, and a wonderful power of language and argument in that young schoolmaster, and he knows how to take up a text too, and interest his hearers. Once or twice in his definition of charity I fancied he was preaching _at_ me, and in truth his arguments were very strong, although rather Utopian in theory. What would become of trade, and commerce, and money-getting in England or elsewhere, if we were to possess the 'charity that seeketh not her own, that thinketh no evil, or that suffereth long and is kind?' Where are the men of business who seek not their own? What would be thought of the tradesman who trusted those with whom he dealt without suspicion of evil? How would such conduct agree with the maxim, that 'every man is a rogue till you have proved him honest?' Where is the man, even with thousands at his banker's, who 'suffers long and is kind' to a debtor, before he punishes him with legal proceedings? And yet these are the words of the Bible, which we as Christians profess to believe. There must be something wrong at the root of _our_ Christianity, if it cannot carry out the precepts of its Founder." And then the memory of Edward Armstrong presented to him a real proof that the precepts he had that evening heard were not so directly opposed to the spirit and tenor of good business habits and conduct as he imagined. No example of the charity spoken of by St. Paul more truly existed with active business habits than in the character of his own father; and then by a common a.s.sociation of ideas he remembered that in a few weeks Mary would be of age, and ent.i.tled to receive the legacy of 1000_l._ left her by her grandfather. "Why, even that sum would help her and the young parson to marry in comfort," he reflected.

"It would at least insure a partnership for him in his father's school, and I have made Mary domestic enough, even for a schoolmaster's wife; and after she is of age I shall have no right to interfere with her."

Mr. Armstrong sighed as the approach to his own gates put a stop to these reflections, yet he could not help saying to himself, "It would be a terrible downfall to all my ambitious projects for my daughter; I do not think I can give my consent after all."

The reader will understand what must have been the influence of Henry Halford's first sermon, to produce such reflections in the mind of Edward Armstrong.

The secret thoughts of his daughter may be summed up in a few words.

"Will my father change his mind now he sees how very clever Henry Halford is?" said the young girl to herself, in the pride and joy of her heart at his evident success in securing the attention of his hearers.

"Can he ever expect I could give him up, even for a duke with 50,000_l._ a year?"

And then as she followed her father in, and listened with surprise as he described what had occurred to her mother, and even praised the subject and style of the sermon, a new feeling of hope arose in her heart which flushed her cheek and brightened her eye for the rest of the evening.

Mrs. Armstrong noticed the look of happiness on her daughter's face, and when she wished her good night she whispered--

"You must tell me all about the sermon to morrow, darling."

But there were others in a quiet pew under the gallery at church who were really more personally interested in the first efforts of the young clergyman than even our friends at Lime Grove.

Kate Marston, Clara, Mabel, and James Franklyn were delighted listeners to the sermon which had so roused Mr. Armstrong. But to the aged father of Henry Halford came the memory of his dear wife's words, when they had consulted on the means and advisability of educating him for the Church.

"We may hope to live to see our son a useful minister in the church,"

had been the mother's words, and that privilege had been denied her.

Mrs. Halford had gone to her rest, and the old man's first words when he reached home and shook his son's hand warmly were, "In the midst of my gratification, Henry, I have only one cause for regret, and that is that your mother did not live to see this day."

"Better perhaps as it is, father," he replied. "You would not wish my dear mother back, especially when such trouble has fallen upon Arthur."

"No, no; ah, I forgot, you are right, it is all for the best, 'He doeth all things well.'"

Kate Marston stood by with tears of joy in her eyes; a true daughter and sister was she in heart to the bereaved husband and only child of her dear aunt Clara.

They had scarcely seated themselves at the supper-table, when a ring at the front gate startled every one, and presently the housemaid appeared with a pale face, and beckoned Henry Halford from the room.

"Oh, please sir, it's a telegraph boy, and he's brought this and he's to wait for an answer."

Henry closed the dining-room door as she spoke, and took the missive in his hand, feeling almost as alarmed as herself.

It was still twilight out of doors, and the hall gas not being lit, Henry walked to the gla.s.s door entrance to read the telegram, dreading he scarcely knew what.

He gave one hasty glance at the words, and read--

"Dr. Gordon, Guy's Hospital, to Mr. Henry Halford, Englefield Grange.

"A gentleman, with the initials A. F. on his clothes, is here dangerously ill; has asked for you. Come at once."

In a kind of bewilderment he looked round the hall, and saw the boy who waited for the answer.

"There is no answer necessary, my boy," he said, "you need not wait."

Then as the telegraph messenger sallied out at the still open door, Henry Halford turned hastily to the housemaid:--

"Go in quietly and tell Miss Marston she is wanted, Rebecca."

The girl obeyed, and presently that lady appeared with a startled look on her face.

"What is it, Henry?" she asked anxiously.

"Something that must not be mentioned suddenly before my father or Arthur's children," he replied; "read that, Kate."

He placed the telegram in her hands, and lighted the gas that she might read it.

"Rebecca," he said, as the girl pa.s.sed from the dining-room, "I can trust to you, not to say one word to alarm any of the young people until Miss Marston has given a reason for my absence. I am going to London to-night; Mr. Franklyn is ill."

"I wont say a word to any one, Mr. Henry, I promise you," she replied.

"What can have happened?" said Kate Marston when they were again alone.

"It is impossible to say," he replied, "but I must not delay a moment; break the news gently to my father and the children, while I put a few things together in a carpet bag."