"You are silent, Miss Armstrong," he said at last. "Do you remember what I once said to you in Christchurch Meadows at Oxford? Nearly three years have pa.s.sed since then, and I am quite as ready now to devote my life to your future happiness as then. Only answer me one question: shall I go back to Kilburn at once, and tell Mr. Armstrong that I have asked his daughter to be my wife, and that her decision is 'No'?"

"I am not prepared to decide yet, Mr. Halford," said Mary, with an effort controlling herself, "for after all my father's objections, this sudden change has taken me by surprise." Yet as she spoke, with the consciousness of those earnest eyes looking into her face, her voice faltered, and the changing colour and tightened breath too plainly evinced deep emotion. It gave the young man courage as he gazed, he raised her hand and placed it on his arm, saying with a smile and a gentle pressure of the captive hand--

"And now Mr. Armstrong's objections are all removed, do any remain on the part of his daughter?"

Another pause, and then the straightforward candid character of the young girl a.s.serted itself. She glanced modestly in the face of her companion, and said with a smile--

"I did not suppose you would think such a question necessary, Mr.

Halford."

A summons to tea interrupted the conversation, and as they turned to retrace their steps, he could only say as he pressed the hand that rested on his arm--"My darling, you have made me so happy."

Cousin Sarah met them at the garden gate, and said--

"We have made no stranger of you, Mr. Halford. Mary is always so happy in the portioned-off corner of our farm kitchen, that I think you also will prefer it to the best parlour."

"Indeed I shall," was the reply.

"Perhaps you will be as well pleased with this apartment as with the beauties of the gardens and orchards," she added, with a smile.

"I fear I have monopolised Miss Armstrong's attention too much on another subject," he replied, smiling also, "but as I am about to accept your kind invitation to remain till to-morrow, I shall hope to become better acquainted with this pleasant spot before I leave."

When Mary seated herself at the tea-table, cousin Sarah required no words to tell her what her father's message had been. It was not so much the brilliant colour in the young girl's cheeks, or the brightness of her eyes which attracted notice, as the expression of calm happiness which had replaced a sad, and at times a constrained look in her face, showing to those interested in her how firm a control she had exerted over herself.

All this had disappeared, and yet the memory of the past increased Mary's happiness. She had submitted to her father's wishes, and subdued her own will to his. Neither by word or thought had she disobeyed him, except in refusing to marry those whom she could neither respect nor love. And now unasked he had given his consent from, as she fully believed, his own unbia.s.sed opinion of Henry Halford's real character and real worth.

CHAPTER x.x.xVIII.

THE NEW RECTOR OF BRIARSLEIGH.

The summer of the year which had brought such happiness to Mary Armstrong was fading into autumn. At the door of the parish church at Kilburn appeared a goodly array of carriages, the coachmen wearing white favours indicating a wedding, and attracting a crowd of lookers-on.

A stranger pa.s.sed, and observing the police endeavouring to force a pa.s.sage though the crowd for the bride and bridegroom, whose carriage stood at the gates, also remained as a spectator, and inquired of those around him the name of the bridegroom.

"It's our curate, sir," said a respectable woman who stood near; "leastways he was our curate, but he's got a church of his own now down in Hampshire; it's been given him by a great lord. And the lady, sir, she's the daughter of a rich gentleman as lives here at Kilburn, and he's given her I can't tell how many thousand pounds for her fortune, and here they come, sir," she added, as the bells rang out a merry peal, and the congregation, hastening from the church, increased the crowd outside.

In a few minutes the bride appeared leaning on her husband's arm, the folds of her white satin dress swaying gracefully as she moved, and the bright hair glinting beneath the lace veil and orange blossoms, while the brilliant colour on her cheeks made more than one exclaim, "Doesn't she look beautiful!"

Henry Halford's tall, manly figure, dignified carriage, dark hair, and full whiskers formed a pleasing contrast to his fair bride, heightened not a little by his pale face. In fact the young clergyman could not yet realise his happiness and good fortune, but felt as if in a dream from which he must shortly awaken to the realities of life.

And yet the scene at the church was too real and too attractive in its surroundings to be mistaken for a vision by commonplace individuals who are not afflicted with vivid imaginations. Edward Armstrong could not conceal a feeling of exultation as he contemplated the brilliant company who had a.s.sembled to do honour to his daughter on her marriage.

As carriage after carriage drives up to receive them we will point out those whose names appear in our story.

Colonel Herbert and his son, their uniform contrasting with the bridesmaids' dresses of white and blue, while a.s.sisting them into the carriages form one great point of attraction to the crowd. Among the bridesmaids we can distinguish the womanly figure and handsome features of Clara Franklyn, to whom Charles Herbert is very attentive. She is accompanied by her sister Mabel, whose gentle and delicate features bear the same childlike expression, although she has reached her fifteenth year. Kate Marston and Arthur Franklyn are a.s.sisting the venerable Dr.

Halford into another carriage. His health has, to a certain extent, improved since the happy results described in the last chapters have completed the happiness of his son, and placed him in a position even beyond his father's brightest hopes. He is now on his way to Lime Grove, to be present at the wedding breakfast, and with dear grandpapa and Kate Marston in the carriage are James and little Albert Franklyn, the latter, in his blue velvet dress and golden curls falling over the lace-collar, has attracted general admiration. James, a steady, quiet youth of thirteen, is looking forward to the time when he shall leave school, and become a clerk in his father's office. Quite as worthy of notice as any present are the two brothers of the bride, Edward and Arthur Armstrong--the former a manly youth of nineteen, whose dark eyes and hair and strongly marked features made his resemblance to his father very striking. In the latter, whose fair delicate face and tall slight figure prove that he is growing beyond his strength, can be too surely seen that a powerful intellect is chafing the slight frame which encloses it. The boy's studious habits had been encouraged by his father till he one day expressed a wish to enter the Church. Mr. Armstrong, at that time irritated with the discovery of his only daughter's predilection for a "parson," harshly forbade the boy to speak to him again on the subject.

That objection had been during the last few months removed, but with the father's consent came the doctor's cautious prohibition--

"Mr. Armstrong, your son's mind must lie fallow for a few years, till he has ceased growing and regained his strength. He is scarcely seventeen yet, time enough when he reaches twenty-one to send him to the university." And with a promise from his father that his wishes should then be gratified, Arthur was learning to wait patiently.

These two were making themselves popular among the ladies by their active and polite attentions, yet not more so than the gentleman who now lifts his little Albert into the carriage and kisses him fondly.

Arthur Franklyn, while escorting the various lady visitors through the crowd, has lost none of the pleasing, attractive manner which made him so courted and flattered in Melbourne. And yet those who knew him in his gay and thoughtless days, can detect a calm steadiness of purpose in the still handsome face indicating a change, not, however, to his disadvantage. Arthur Franklyn had risen from his bed of sickness humbled and subdued. By the advice of his first wife's friends he devoted a portion of the 2000_l._, which so unexpectedly became his legally after his wife's death, to the liquidation of his debts in Melbourne.

Released from debt, and, above all, from the tortures of conscience and the consequences of his sin, he quickly recovered his health and spirits.

The remainder of the 2000_l._ he invested in a partnership with a rising firm in the city, and so steadily and cleverly have his business habits and tact been carried out, that the prospects of the firm are brighter than ever.

With relief from debt, that foe to peace of mind, a quiet conscience, and hopes of prosperity in business, his const.i.tution, though greatly shaken, has recovered its elasticity, and the glow of health adds no little to the changed appearance of Arthur Franklyn.

He and his children still reside at Kilburn, indeed, now that they are about to lose Henry, neither Kate Marston nor her uncle can endure the thought of parting with them, and the children cling to her as to a second mother. Kate is still supreme manager of the domestic arrangements, in which she is willingly a.s.sisted by Clara, when not occupied with her sisters at their usual studies. A graduate of the university has been engaged to supply the place of Henry Halford, and the old Grange will subside into its usual routine when the bustle caused by this wedding shall be over.

Three carriages are still waiting for their occupants--Mr. Armstrong's and two others.

One of them bears on its panels the coronet of an earl, and on another may be seen the mitre of a bishop.

Mr. Armstrong's carriage is the first to draw up, and he himself appears in a vainly suppressed state of elation and excitement. His morning costume is faultless, and although a large sprinkling of white is observable in his dark hair, yet he bears his fifty-four years well. He had failed in his attempts to form an alliance with the aristocracy through his increasing wealth by the marriage of his daughter. Yet had he carried his point, such a marriage could scarcely have been attended with greater _eclat_ than on the present occasion. This Mr. Armstrong now understood and acknowledged to himself without reservation. The bishop who had just married his daughter to Henry Halford, had been vice-princ.i.p.al of the young man's college at Oxford; the n.o.bleman who had presented the living to his son-in-law--were both to be his guests at the wedding breakfast.

Lord Rivers had known the name of Armstrong from his boyhood. And the purse-proud merchant, who had been almost ashamed to acknowledge cousin Sarah before his clerks in Dover Street, stood back in surprise while the earl a.s.sisted that lady into his own carriage, where he had already placed Mrs. Armstrong. He then entered himself, and the carriage drove off on its way to Lime Grove.

Mr. Armstrong's own carriage was quickly filled with a party of young people; two juvenile bridesmaids, with their aunt Edith Longford, soon to be Mrs. Maurice, and Arthur and Freddy Armstrong, now a merry laughter-loving boy of eleven. There remained now only three gentlemen to accompany the bishop in his drive to Lime Grove, the rector of Kilburn, Horace Wilton, Henry's best man, and Mr. Armstrong. Perhaps the latter's foolish prejudices about clergymen were never more completely shaken than when he found himself seated in the bishop's carriage with that high church dignitary and the two gentlemen we have named. In fact, he wondered at himself that he could feel proud of the position. And now what can be said of the wedding breakfast, laid out in Mr. Armstrong's splendidly furnished dining-room? For this occasion Mrs. Herbert had obtained _carte blanche_ from her sister to make any alterations she pleased, and the introduction of flowers and other ornaments, according to that lady's taste, had greatly improved the elegant appearance of the table and satisfied the hired waiters, who succ.u.mbed to that lady's superior knowledge at once and without a demur.

And what shall we say of the numerous yet select party who a.s.sembled around that elegant table? It was like all other wedding breakfasts, a medley of smiles and tears, of joyful hopes and sad regrets, painful memories and bright prospects. And yet there was something in the gathering round Mr. Armstrong's table which made it differ from similar a.s.sociations. The preponderance of the clerical element did not cast a damper on the young and buoyant spirits then present. The bishop's genial, yet dignified manner, resembled that of the lamented Dr.

Wilberforce. The rector, an old man approaching his eightieth year, belonged to the cla.s.s of polished and refined gentlemen of olden times, who would take off their hats to the meanest of their female parishioners, or enter bareheaded the humblest cottage in the parish.

Horace Wilton, as we know, had not learned to regard with a cynical eye the happiness which he had himself so nearly grasped, and Frank Maurice found himself taking lessons in the present ordering of an event which was so soon to be realised in his own experience. As to the bridegroom, who, strange to say, is very often looked upon as the least important person present on such an occasion, an overflow of happiness kept him silent. It was not till called upon to return thanks in the name of his bride and himself, that the natural powers of eloquence and oratory possessed by Henry Halford astonished and delighted the wedding guests.

The speech scarcely occupied five minutes. His words were well chosen, and to the point; his allusions pleasant and in good taste; his quotations, in one or two instances cla.s.sical, were suitable and attractive; while through all could be detected the oratorical powers of the speaker, although subdued and restrained to suit the room and the occasion. When the clear young voice ceased there was a burst of applause, hushed, however, in a moment, as Lord Rivers rose and exclaimed--

"Thank you, Mr. Henry Halford, for showing me that I have not made any mistake in my choice of a rector for Briarsleigh."

But the wedding chapter is extending itself beyond the prescribed limits. We must pa.s.s over the speeches and the toasts which followed.

We, who know the love of mother and daughter in that hour, now so joyous with the voices and symbols of happiness, can understand how both are dreading the hour of parting.

It came at last; and when Mary, accompanied by her bridesmaids, hastened to the room to prepare for her journey, Mrs. Armstrong followed her upstairs, and seating herself in her own room waited nervously till her daughter was ready.

She heard the door open, and the young voices in gay conversation as they approached. Then she rose and stood near the door, to be quickly observed by her daughter.

"Mamma! oh, I'm so glad. Wait a few minutes, Kate and Clara." Then she turned, and throwing herself on her mother's bosom, she exclaimed, "Mother, dearest mother, how can I leave you? Who will take care of you when I am gone?"

The mother's arms closed around her child, and for some moments neither spoke, but the tears were silently flowing from Mrs. Armstrong's eyes, as she listened to the scarcely restrained sobs of her daughter.

A tear dropped on Mary's forehead; she raised her face quickly--