"I fear I must be satisfied with what I have heard for the present, for I have still some distance to walk. Pray excuse my leaving you so suddenly," he added, as he placed a silver coin in the old man's hand, "and thank you very much for your information."

The gentleman raised his hat to the homely countryman with such true politeness, that the old man stood with uncovered head for some moments while the wind scattered his white locks, watching the stranger's departure.

"He be a true genelman, he be; us doan't get much o' they foine manners hereabouts, 'cepting wi' the reel gentry."

At a turn of the ascent leading from the station to the coach road appeared a board fastened to a tree, and upon it the representation of a hand with the finger pointing, and the words "To Meadow Farm." This information was at the time of which we write very little needed to tell the residents in the locality the whereabouts of the old homestead, yet it still remained in its half-decayed state, fastened to the trunk of a tree.

Decayed as it might be, it was very useful to the railway traveller, who, following its friendly finger, turned into the high road a few minutes after Mary and her cousin Sarah had entered it from the fields by climbing the stile.

At a bend in the road the gentleman came suddenly in sight of the two ladies as they advanced towards him--not near enough, however, for him to discover whether they were strangers or acquaintances.

Perhaps the change from winter to spring attire in Mary Armstrong's dress, and her unexpected appearance at such a distance from Meadow Farm, caused an impression that the younger lady was a stranger, and of the elder he had no recollection.

Yet a something familiar in their appearance made him look at them earnestly, and as they drew nearer neither the plain cotton gown nor the coa.r.s.e straw hat could disguise the graceful movements and dignified carriage of Mary Armstrong. It seemed as if the recognition was simultaneous, for at the moment the stranger made the discovery, Mary exclaimed, with a deep flush, "Cousin Sarah, there is a young clergyman coming towards us exactly like Mr. Henry Halford!" And the nas the flush faded to paleness, she added, in a suppressed voice, "Cousin Sarah, it _is_ Mr. Halford."

Even as she spoke Henry advanced hastily to meet them--not, however, with his usual self-possession.

"Mrs. John Armstrong," he exclaimed, as he held out his hand to that lady, and bowed nervously to Mary, "I am glad to have met you. I am on my way to pay a visit to Meadow Farm."

"I am very happy to hear such good news, Mr. Halford; we will turn and walk back with you."

"Oh, pray do not let me deprive you of your walk," he replied, glancing at Mary, who was too greatly surprised and mystified to speak.

"We have had our walk," said cousin Sarah, "and were thinking of returning home by another road, which is longer than the way we came. It will be pleasanter for you than the dusty road, Mr. Halford, to return through the fields, and Mary is looking tired already."

"Miss Armstrong appears to me much improved in health," he said, placing himself by cousin Sarah as they turned with him to retrace their steps, and looking inquiringly at Mary, as if asking her to confirm the truth of his remark.

With an effort at self-control to steady her voice, she said with a smile, "Appearances are not fallacious in my case, Mr. Halford; my health is much better than when I left home."

Yet the efforts of the young people to regain their accustomed ease signally failed. Mary was confused and agitated by Henry Halford's presence in that locality, and he from his eager anxiety to account for it.

He turned to cousin Sarah, and plunged at once into the object of his visit.

"When I had the pleasure of meeting you, Mrs. Armstrong, last summer,"

he said, "you kindly expressed a hope that I would visit you at Meadow Farm. I travelled yesterday in the train with Mr. Armstrong, and as he entrusted me with a message for his daughter, I thought that instead of writing I would take advantage of your kind invitation, and bring the message myself."

"We are most happy to see you, Mr. Halford," replied cousin Sarah, "and I hope you will be able to spend a few days or a week with us now you have found your way here."

"I fear not," he replied, "but if the result of my message is favourable, I shall gladly remain with you till to-morrow."

"Are they all well at home, Mr. Halford?" said Mary, in a constrained voice, and addressing him to conceal the emotion which his mysterious words excited.

"I believe so, Miss Armstrong; from your papa's replies to my inquiries for his family, my impression is that Mrs. Armstrong and your brothers are quite well."

Just at this moment the gable roofs of Meadow Farm appeared in sight in the distance, and cousin Sarah endeavoured to break through the restraint under which the young people were evidently trying to disguise their feelings, by calling their attention to surrounding objects.

The attempt was successful, Mary's unnatural reserve vanished when in sight of the old farm. She could point out the varied features of the landscape, direct Henry Halford's attention to the fields and meadows surrounding the farm, now in their delicate spring verdure, and excite his interest by explaining that Meadow Farm obtained its name from these rich cornfields and pasture-lands through which they pa.s.sed.

Before they reached the pleasant homestead Mary had to a certain degree recovered her self-possession; while Henry, when shown to his room to refresh himself after his journey, felt his hopes of a favourable reception of his message raised to almost a certainty. Mary at once escaped to her room. Much as she loved her cousin Sarah, she could not open her heart to her as she did to her mother, and she longed to be alone.

What could this visit mean? What message could her father possibly have to send to her by such a messenger?

He and Mr. Halford must have been on very friendly terms in the railway carriage to talk about _her_, or even to talk on any subject. Could it be possible that her father had changed his mind respecting Mr. Halford?

And at the thought, the blush that covered the young girl's face would have relieved that gentleman from any further anxiety, had he seen it, and known the emotions from which it arose.

Cousin Sarah, although at first surprised at the appearance of the young clergyman on his way to the farm, had no such perplexing doubts. She recalled her conversation with Mr. Armstrong, and therefore readily accounted for this visit. "Mr. Halford can only have been sent for one purpose," she said to herself, "and I must contrive an opportunity for him to deliver his message to Mary before we meet at the tea-table; until that is done the young people will not be at ease in each other's society." Full of this determination, she hastily removed her walking dress and descended the stairs; yet with all her quickness Henry Halford had found his way down before her, and now stood looking out over garden and orchard to the distant prospect from the garden entrance.

He turned quickly at the sound of footsteps, and as Mrs. John Armstrong advanced he said--

"This is truly a country landscape, Mrs. Armstrong, and your gardens and orchards promise great things from their present appearance."

"Are you too tired to walk through the garden?" she asked. "Our spring flowers are in great profusion this year."

"No, indeed," he replied, "it will be a pleasure to do so."

But as they pa.s.sed down the steps cousin Sarah saw him cast a hasty glance behind him, as if hoping for and expecting another companion.

She opened the gate for him to pa.s.s through, and then said--

"Will you excuse me one moment, Mr. Halford? I can soon overtake you if you walk on slowly." The next moment he was alone. Hastily returning to the house, she ascended the stairs to Mary's bedroom. Her knock brought Mary to the door.

"My dear," she said, "Mr. Halford is in the garden alone, pray do not allow him to feel himself neglected; will you join him while I tell cousin John and the boys that he is here, and get the tea ready."

"Certainly I will, cousin Sarah," she replied, with a slight blush as she followed her cousin downstairs, feeling ill-concealed agitation at the prospect of being informed of her father's message. On entering the garden she saw the tall, manly figure, slowly pacing the centre path in front of her, as if in deep thought; yet the usually self-possessed Mary Armstrong had not the courage to hasten her steps.

Presently, however, her dress was caught by a currant bush, and the rustling sound caused the gentleman to turn, expecting to see cousin Sarah. A few steps brought him to her side, and then Mary's natural ease came to her aid.

"My cousin is detained by household duties, Mr. Halford; she has sent me to supply her place, and to show you the wonders of Meadow Farm."

He greeted her with one of those smiles which so greatly improved his features as he replied--

"I am glad of any circ.u.mstances which have obliged Mrs. Armstrong to send me such a subst.i.tute."

For a few moments they moved on side by side in silence, each too agitated to speak. At length Henry Halford determined to plunge at once into the matter. Why should he hesitate? Was there a possibility that after all he might be mistaken? The thought gave him courage. If such a possibility existed, it must be discovered quickly, for to remain at Meadow Farm under the ban of a refusal was out of the question.

"Miss Armstrong," he said, "do you remember the subjects we discussed when we met three years ago at Mr. Drummond's dinner-party?"

He! Henry Halford remembered that day. How the heart of the patient, enduring, and obedient daughter bounded with joy at the thought! but she did not reply, for her companion gave her no opportunity, as he continued--

"We have a very different and far more pleasant subject to discuss now, and we need not refer to the past. I am well aware that your father with his great wealth could reasonably expect a splendid settlement for his only daughter, and therefore I was not surprised when he refused the offer of a man in my position, and without even----"

"Oh, pray do not go on, Mr. Halford," said Mary, interrupting him. "I cannot endure to think that----" She paused suddenly, and added, "Forgive me, I must not presume to pa.s.s judgment on the conduct of my own father."

"I entreat you to excuse me for referring to it," he said; "not for worlds would I utter a word to pain you; and, indeed, Mr. Armstrong has made ample amends for any pain his refusal may have cost me; he yesterday gave me not only permission unasked to write to his daughter, but also promised to agree to whatever her decision might be. I could not wait for an answer to a letter, so I have come myself to plead my own cause."

There was a pause, and the two walked on in silence for some moments.

Although in a measure prepared for the object of Mr. Halford's visit, Mary Armstrong was taken by surprise at hearing of this wonderful change in her father. Henry Halford, in referring to his letter, and the refusal which followed, had touched upon a tender string. Shame, regret, and a loss of confidence in her father, had resulted from her discovery of the circ.u.mstances, and to hear it spoken of by Henry Halford caused her double pain. She was about to say, when she so abruptly paused, "I cannot bear to think that he has acted so cruelly to you," but the reflection that by so saying she should not only too openly show her interest in himself, but blame her father, made her conclude her reply as we have described.

The contrast presented to her by Henry Halford's description of her father's behaviour to him now, also added to the confusion of her ideas, and she literally had not power to speak.