Had the young people been entirely separated, Mary had strength of character sufficient to school her heart to forget Henry Halford. But Sunday after Sunday to have to recognise each other as mere distant acquaintance, and to be required to sit and listen to him with indifference, while others were never tired of showing or expressing their admiration of the talented young clergyman, was indeed an act of positive cruelty on the part of her father to which he seemed quite oblivious.

Mary appeared as submissive now as to his wishes in the past. She was loving and attentive as usual to his requests and his comforts, at times even gay and cheerful, and always contented. She might be a little changed, as cousin Sarah said; but what of that? She was a woman now, and not a child. Why should he notice such whims and fancies? So reasoned Mr. Armstrong. But this strain on the nerves could not last.

One evening during dessert she suddenly fell back in her chair and fainted away. Then Mr. Armstrong was aroused to a sense of danger. Dr.

West's opinion carried the day.

"Send your daughter into the country for a month, she wants change of air and scene; there is nothing the matter with her yet to cause alarm.

Has she anything on her mind, friend Armstrong?" added the doctor, significantly.

"Some silly love affair, I suppose you mean," was the reply; "my daughter, Dr. West, is above giving way to such nonsense."

"Possibly so," said Dr. West; "I know Miss Armstrong well enough to understand that she possesses a strong amount of self-control; but, my dear sir, a young girl's nerves are not iron, so the sooner you send her into the country the better."

The proposal that she should pay a visit to cousin Sarah was hailed with such delight by Mary, that her father could not help saying to himself--

"I hope Sarah will not encourage any nonsensical talk about this young parson who seems to be turning the heads of all the young people in the parish, and the old ones too."

But other circ.u.mstances were occurring at the time our chapter commences which drew Mr. Armstrong's thoughts from his daughter's health to matters, in his opinion, of equal importance.

He had an office in the city now, as well as in Dover Street, and went more frequently to the former. One morning, when Mary had been absent a week, he was met on his arrival at the office by his head clerk with a very rueful face.

"Have you heard, sir, what has happened?" he asked.

"No," was the hasty reply; "I've not seen the _Times_ yet. Is there anything serious, Wilson?"

"I'm afraid it is, sir; Overton and Boyd have stopped payment."

Mr. Armstrong sank back into his chair as if a thunderbolt had fallen at his feet, while every vestige of colour forsook his cheeks.

"I am sorry I told you so suddenly, sir," said Mr. Wilson; "will it affect you very greatly?"

Mr. Armstrong, though for a moment surprised out of his usual self-possession, quickly recovered himself and said, "Not to cause me any serious injury; Wilson, but I have several thousands in the hands of these bankers, and that is too much to lose."

"Indeed it is, sir; but perhaps the reports have been exaggerated, and there may be an official letter amongst your correspondence explaining matters more correctly."

Mr. Armstrong turned to his letters.

"All right, Wilson, I daresay there is; don't wait, I'll call you if I find that any letters require attention."

Left to himself, Mr. Armstrong quickly opened letter after letter. Yes, there it was, from Overton and Boyd. Obliged from a sharp run on the bank to suspend payment; hoped to be able to recover themselves in a few days, and so on.

Edward Armstrong laid the notice on one side, looked over his other letters, wrote a few particulars on each, then sounded the gong for Mr.

Wilson, who quickly made his appearance.

"Answer these letters, Wilson," he said; "two or three have evidently heard of this stoppage, and are alarmed for the safety of their money. I have written cheques to the amount of the debts of these parties, which you can enclose to them."

The clerk took the letters and left the room, and then Mr. Armstrong put on his hat and went out to ascertain the effect of this stoppage of Overton and Boyd on the corn exchange and elsewhere.

During the day many persons looked in at the office to ask the opinion of Mr. Armstrong, and to give him details of the present and probable consequences likely to result from this disastrous bank failure. Before the hour came for closing the office it was evident that a panic had arisen in the City, threatening destruction and ruin to more than one long-established house of business.

Mr. Armstrong, as he entered his splendidly furnished house at Kilburn, felt thankful for the absence of his daughter. At the same time he hastened to his dressing-room, anxious to remove, if possible, the pale and haggard look of his face before meeting his wife at dinner.

But the quick eye of affection was not to be deceived. Mrs. Armstrong waited till the dinner was removed, and the wine and dessert placed on the table.

The April evenings were cold enough for a fire, and the wife, whose mental powers her husband considered so inferior, soon proved herself a true comforter.

"Come and sit by the fire, Edward," she said, placing a tempting arm-chair near it; "you look anxious, dearest, has anything happened in the City to trouble you?"

"I do not wish to annoy you with business matters, darling," was the reply; "go and make yourself comfortable in the drawing-room, I will come to you presently;" and her husband as he spoke placed his elbows on the table and rested his forehead on his hands.

Mrs. Armstrong rose and advanced to where her husband sat; placing her arm across his shoulders she said--

"Edward, I am sure there is something wrong. I know I am not clever enough to advise you in business matters, but if you will only tell me what grieves you it will lose half its bitterness and relieve your mind."

"Maria my dearest wife," said Edward Armstrong, rising and throwing himself into the easy-chair she had placed for him, "my troubles are about money; do you care to hear about them?"

"I care to hear anything," she said, "if telling me will relieve your mind."

"Then I will tell you the worst at once. Overton and Boyd have stopped payment, and the 20,000_l._ which I placed with them was to have been Mary's marriage portion."

"And will she lose it all?"

"I fear so. The bank talk of recovering themselves, but I doubt if they will."

"Do you think this will trouble Mary?"

"I cannot say; at all events it will interfere with her future prospects. She will have nothing but the 1000_l._ left by her grandfather. What man worth anything would marry her with that paltry sum for a marriage portion?"

"You married me with less, Edward, and Mary is quite as attractive as I was, and I know one to whom Mary's little dowry of a thousand pounds would be a fortune."

Mr. Armstrong did not reply, and his wife, thinking she had said enough, rose and left him to himself.

No greater trial could have happened to this man than the loss of money.

Year after year his wealth had increased; loss, at least to any great amount, had been unknown to him. Arrogance, ambition, self-sufficiency, and pride had grown with his growing wealth. His ambitious schemes for his daughter had more of the ostentatious display of wealth than paternal love. And now--now when he had treated with scorn the offer of the young schoolmaster--now she had nothing for her dowry beyond a paltry 1000_l._;--he had no hope that Overton and Boyd would recover themselves. He could not, without some injury to his business, draw out another 20,000_l._ for his daughter's marriage portion; and was it likely, even if he gave his consent, that the young parson would be anxious to marry his daughter with not more for her dowry than the young man's sister had taken to her husband? No, it was out of the question.

So admired, so flattered and sought after, as the young curate of Kilburn undoubtedly was, Mary with her paltry thousand pounds would stand a poor chance.

So reasoned the money-getting man of the world, while the deepest mortification added poignancy to the loss he had sustained.

"I can never give my consent now," he said to himself; "indeed, it will never be asked when the loss I have met with is known. So hard as I have worked all my life to enable me to purchase a position for my only daughter, and this is the end!"

And yet this 20,000_l._ was to Edward Armstrong but as a mere bauble compared to the wealth which he really possessed. A love of money, a thirst for wealth, grows upon the man of riches, till like the horse-leech he cries "Give, give," and is never satisfied.

The days of that anxious week pa.s.sed away, but still the panic in the City gained ground. One firm after another sunk under the crash. Only men of ample means such as Mr. Armstrong could battle with the waves and weather the storm, but even he had great difficulty in doing so.

Reports spread respecting his losses, which, however, in the City did not injure his credit. Westward their influence was felt with greater results.

He usually rode Firefly when proceeding to his office in Dover Street, and on more than one occasion he had encountered those who had either asked him for the hand of his daughter or courted his acquaintance. Now they pa.s.sed him by with scarcely a recognition. And so the time pa.s.sed on, till one morning about a fortnight after the reports that Overton and Boyd had stopped payment.

The affair had exceeded the time of the proverbial "nine days' wonder,"