COUNTRY COUSINS.
Mr. Armstrong was seated in his private room one afternoon two days
after the arrival of Mr. Franklyn and his family at Englefield Grange.
So deeply was he absorbed in calculating the profit and loss of some
recent speculations that a knock at the door startled him, and he
answered, in an impetuous tone, "Come in!"
The young clerk who obeyed the impatient command could only falter out,
"A lady wishes to see you, sir," and the very next moment a middle-aged
lady, with a youth of sixteen entered the room and stood before its
irritable occupant.
Edward Armstrong rose from his chair too bewildered at first to
recognise his visitor, whose attire, though good and expensive, could
scarcely give her the right, in appearance to him at least, to be
described as a lady.
"Cousin Edward, how glad I am to find you here," and Mrs. John
Armstrong, as she spoke, advanced and seized her relation's hand in the
demonstrative style he had learnt to consider a breach of good manners.
He flushed deeply, but in the midst of his false shame and proud
annoyance, he had presence of mind to return the warm hand-shake, and
lead his cousin to a chair.
"I am very glad to see you, cousin Sarah. Sit down, my boy; why, is it
really Jack? How you are grown, lad! When did you arrive in London?"
"About an hour ago," replied cousin Sarah, who detected beneath all
those courteous inquiries ill-concealed annoyance. "We have come to
London very unexpectedly on business, and at the Waterloo Station I felt
so lost and bewildered that I could only take a cab and ask the man to
bring us here; but if you will tell us where to find lodgings the cab is
still waiting and we can go directly."
Now while cousin Sarah spoke there had been passing through Edward
Armstrong's mind the memory of many happy days at his old home, in which
the homely relative before him and her husband had loaded him with
attentions and hospitalities. Could he hesitate to invite her and her
son to his house at Kilburn? Had he any fear of the reception they would
meet with from his wife and daughter?--No, not for a moment. Before the
visitor had ceased speaking the foolish pride which exists so often in
those who have risen from an inferior position was crushed down, and he
said quickly and earnestly: "Sarah, what are you talking about? Do you
think I should expect you to take lodgings? No, no, you must go down to
Kilburn with me this afternoon, and then you can tell us the cause of
this unexpected visit to London. I will have no refusal," he added,
seeing her shake her head and attempt to speak. "Is your luggage in the
cab? Stay, I'll send the man away, and manage all that for you." He
sounded a gong as he spoke, and when one of the clerks appeared, he
said, "Have this lady's boxes brought into the office, and pay the cab,
Williams; it has come from the Waterloo Terminus."
"There is one box and a carpet bag," exclaimed Mrs. John, rising in
haste.
"All right, Williams will manage. You'll remember, Williams, a box and a
carpet bag," said Mr. Armstrong, as the young man turned away.
"Yes, sir," was the reply; and then Mr. Armstrong, turning to his cousin
with a smile said--
"I'll find you apartments, Sarah, in my own house. What do you think
Maria and Mary would say if I shut you up in dingy London lodgings after
their pleasant visits at Meadow Farm? And now, tell me what has brought
you to London so suddenly."
"Well, we've heard of a situation for Jack," she replied; "but, Edward,
do listen to me for a moment, I never meant to intrude upon your
lady-wife and fine house. Jack and I are too countrified and homely, but
it's very kind of you to ask us," and the tears stood in the eyes of the
sensitive woman as she spoke.
"Not another word, Sarah, I am sure of the warm welcome you will receive
from my wife and Mary, and I should like to hear any one speak with
disrespect of my father's relatives."
There was pride in the remark still, but Cousin Sarah passed it over,
and entered at once into the matter that had brought her and Jack to
London.
Mr. Armstrong listened with interest, and promised to make all necessary
inquiries as to the standing and respectability of the firm in the house
of business in which Jack had been offered an appointment.
"So you do not wish to be a farmer, Jack," said Mr. Armstrong, noticing
with pleasure the refined face and erect bearing of the dark-eyed youth.
"No, sir," he replied, "I should prefer to be in a business."
"He is fond of figures, and his master at school speaks of him as a
first-rate arithmetician," said the proud mother, "besides, Tom is just
the boy for a farm, and one son will be enough to help his father for
years to come, if he lives. Tom is a strong sturdy boy, who cares very
little for books. But I'm taking up your time, Edward," she exclaimed,
suddenly, "do you go to Kilburn every day?"
"Certainly I do," he replied laughing, "I generally leave here about
five o'clock."
"And you must have business matters to finish, and I've been hindering
you all this time; but if you will tell me how to get to Kilburn
by-and-by, I'll take Jack out in the meantime and show him a little of
London and the parks."
"I have very little more to attend to to-day," he replied, "but if you
feel inclined to walk about for a while and return here by five o'clock,
we can start together and reach home in time for dinner. If you lose
yourselves call a cab and tell the man to bring you here."
Mr. Armstrong accompanied his visitors to the street entrance, treating
them before his clerks with the most deferential and yet familiar
politeness. As he returned to his counting-house he called one of his
porters and said--
"Go to the livery stable, Milson, and tell them I shall leave Firefly
till to-morrow, and order a carriage and pair to be here at five
punctually, as I have friends who will accompany me to Kilburn this
evening."
There was in Mr. Armstrong's manner a mixture of ostentatious pride with
a real anxiety to show his visitors every attention and set them at
their case. Plain and homely as they might appear in the eyes of his
clerks, his manner and actions were intended to show that he considered
these country cousins worthy of respect and attention.
Mary Armstrong stood at the window of her mother's dressing-room on the
afternoon in which the arrival of visitors at Dover Street had caused
such a commotion.
Nearly a year had passed since she made the discovery that her father
had refused one offer for her, and she had refused another. More than
once since then had the hand of the accomplished daughter of Mr.
Armstrong been sought by men of wealth and position, but while it pained
Mary to refuse them, she still held firm to her purpose.
Her father's displeasure was at times very hard to bear, but her patient
and gentle endurance blunted the edge of his wrath, and often silenced
him for very shame.
"You expect to induce me to give way at last, I suppose," he said one
day, angrily, "but I never will consent to your marrying that parson
fellow; you will be of age in a few months, I know, and then may do as
you like, but you will find your name erased from my will if you do."
"Father, I will never marry without your consent, I have told you so
often, and you cannot mistrust my word," was the gentle but firmly
uttered reply, which silenced the angry father.
With all these excitements and anxieties, we cannot wonder that the nine
or ten months which have passed away since she stood at the window in
Park Lane, have changed her appearance.
Mary Armstrong, however, has lost nothing by this change. The face,
though slightly thinner, still retains its delicate oval. The eyes are
as large and bright, and the hair as glossy and luxuriant as ever. The
rich colour on her check is softened down to the bloom of a peach, and
the figure, though more fully developed, is still slender and graceful
in every movement.
Mary Armstrong was happy in having a mother as her confidential friend;
she was not likely to
"Let concealment like a worm i' the bud,
Feed on her damask cheek;"
and she possessed too much good sense to allow herself to become the
victim of disappointed affection. She knew that the best remedy against
such a disease was active employment of mind and body--consequently her
books, her music, her studies were diligently followed, as well as more
active domestic duties.
No day passed without a quick walk alone or a quieter one with her
mother. The books she read were principally those requiring deep
thought, and the study of languages was varied by scientific subjects.
Poetry for a time she set aside, it too often touched upon a tender
string, which she felt must not be allowed to vibrate, even her
favourite Milton lay unnoticed on the shelf, its pages awoke memories
too painful to be encouraged. Sometimes she would bring out her
"Algebra" or "Euclid," and induce her father to work a few sums or
problems with her during the evening.
There was a sad gratification when after one of these occasions, her
father closed the book, and as she rose and wished him good night, he
drew her towards him, and said--
"Ah, if my daughter would only be guided by me in other matters, as she
has been in her studies, I should have nothing left to wish for."
Poor Mary, the kind and gently expressed words cost her sleepless hours
of anxious thought while trying to satisfy her conscience that she was
acting rightly towards her father. Only at last, when she answered the
question, "Ought I to marry a man alone for the sake of money or
position?" with an emphatic "No," could she close her eyes in sleep. She
was ready to give up Henry Halford--her unselfish affection made her
hope not only that he was learning to forget her, but also that he might
soon meet with some one to supply the place of his dear mother in his
heart, but to marry any one else herself, she felt to be an
impossibility.
More than once lately they had met and bowed to each other as mere
passing acquaintances. Often on leaving church on a Sunday Mr. Armstrong
had raised his hat to the amiable and stricken old man, who passed them
leaning on the arm of his son, but farther approach to intimacy was felt
to be impossible.
And so the months had passed, and now the early summer was decking
gardens, orchard, and meadow with its sweetest blossoms. Through the
open window at which Mary stood on this May afternoon of which we write
came the fragrant perfume of lilac and May blossom. The birds were
tuning their little throats for a chorus of song, and a stillness in the
soft air seemed to produce a feeling in the heart of Mary of calm
submission to the will of "Him who orders all things in heaven and
earth."
Suddenly she started; a carriage was approaching, and instead of passing
by as she expected, it drew up and stopped at the gate.
"Mamma," she said, entering her mother's room from the dressing-room,
"there is a carriage at the gate, whose can it be?"
Mrs. Armstrong joined her daughter at the window. They saw with surprise
Mr. Armstrong and a youth alight, and then turn to assist a lady.
"Who can it be, Mary?"
"Mamma! I can see her face, it is cousin Sarah; oh, how glad I am, shall
we go down and receive her, mamma, and I suppose that is one of her
sons."
The ladies were in the hall to receive the guest, who forgot her
surprise at the appearance and style of the house, in her pleasure at
meeting Mrs. Armstrong and Mary.
They both drew her into the drawing-room followed by Jack, who seemed
more surprised at the cordial and even affectionate welcome his mother
received from these elegant ladies than by the luxuriantly furnished
room into which they had been taken. In fact poor Sarah was quite
overcome by her reception, and when Mary offered to take her upstairs
and to show Jack into her brother Edward's room, she said, "My dear, I
never expected you would be so pleased to see such a homely old body as
I am."
"But we are pleased to see you, cousin Sarah, and I don't forget how
very nice it is to be homely as you call yourself at Meadow Farm--and is
it Jack you have brought with you?"
"Yes, my dear, he has been offered a situation in London, and that is my
reason for coming."
"I am very glad something has brought you here at last, cousin Sarah,
and I'm sure mamma is also, we so often talk about you; but you want
your box, I daresay--Oh, here it is," continued Mary, opening the door
in answer to a knock; "and now I'll leave you, and when dinner is nearly
ready I'll come for you, it wants twenty minutes to six."
Cousin Sarah, when left to herself, quietly opened her box, feeling glad
that she had brought a best dress, in which she might venture to show
herself amidst all this elegance. She glanced round the bedroom, so
luxuriously furnished, with large Arabian bedstead and silken hangings,
marble washstands, rich carpet, luxurious sofa, massive wardrobe and
numerous mirrors, and said to herself, "all these are bought with
Edward's money; but money does not bring happiness even to such a
charming girl as Mary Armstrong. She is as beautiful as ever, I can see
that, but there's a look in her sweet face that no young girl with all
these comforts and luxuries around her ought to have; I'll find out what
it means while I'm here, and see if I can't set matters straight."
Cousin Sarah dressed quickly, and then found her way to her son's room.
"I've put on my best suit, mother," he said; "why how rich cousin
Armstrong must be; I never was in such a fine house in my life. I hope I
shall behave properly at dinner."
Cousin Sarah laughed, but finding her son ready she turned towards the
stairs and met Mary coming to fetch them. Mary Armstrong saw at a glance
that with all Mrs. John Armstrong's homeliness she had natural good
taste in dress. Her grey silk dress, though not very fashionable, was
well made, and of rich material; while the real lace of which cap,
collar and sleeves were made, might have excited the envy of a duchess.
Jack, too, in his new black suit, was a son of whom a mother might well
feel proud, and Mary, passing by his mother, held out her hand, saying,
pleasantly, "I must shake hands with you, cousin Jack; I have often
heard cousin Sarah talk about you, but we never have met till to-day,
and now I hope we shall be friends."
"There is no doubt of that," said his mother, coming to the rescue, for
Jack seemed unable to speak, such a fairy vision as cousin Mary, in her
pale blue silk and lace, was something new to the youth of sixteen, and
so different to the buxom damsels on his father's farm, that he was for
a time struck dumb.
Mr. Edward Armstrong led his father's niece into the dining-room with no
little satisfaction at her appearance.
Mary took the shy youth under her care so effectually, that in a very
short time his shyness had vanished, and he could reply to the remarks
addressed to him with intelligence and ease.
She was amused to observe the strong likeness in the youth to her own
father, and greatly interested in finding that he possessed the same
mathematical and scientific tastes. This was discovered after dinner
when Mr. Armstrong examined the boy, and delighted cousin Sarah by his
commendations, not only of the correctness of his answers to various
questions, but also for the intelligence and modesty with which they
were given.
Jack never forgot that happy evening, everything around him was new,
strange, and delightful.
The nicely furnished dining-room, the table glittering with plate and
glass, the dinner itself, Mr. Armstrong's kind notice, the soft voice
and manners of Mrs. Armstrong, of whom he felt a kind of awe, his
fairy-like cousin, and last, but not least, the beautiful music and
singing with which she entertained them, all combined to make this
evening the happiest of the happy week he spent at Lime Grove.
On Sunday cousin Sarah and her son accompanied the family to church, and
circumstances occurred which gave her the opportunity she sought in her
anxiety about Mary.
Dr. Halford's boys occupied the two front seats in the gallery in front
of the organ, and on each side the clock, for the church was very
old-fashioned, Mr. Armstrong's family sat in a front seat of the side
gallery, and under that gallery was the private pew of Dr. Halford's
family.
Henry generally sat with his father, the boys being always under the
supervision of two of the masters, but now the pew was occupied by poor
Fanny's children.
On this Sunday, therefore, Mary saw with surprise and uneasiness, Mr.
Henry Halford seated at the end of a pew occupied by the boys, and only
one of the masters present.
She could not avoid seeing him, and she knew that her parents must have
noticed him also.
The presence of two strangers in Mr. Armstrong's pew attracted for a few
moments Henry Halford's looks towards them, to Mary's great
discomposure; but when the service began these two young people seemed
to remember that they were present to join in the sacred services of
God's house, and not to look about them.
There was something in the manner, not only of Mr. Armstrong, but also
of Mary and her mother, which directed cousin Sarah's eyes more than
once to the gentleman seated with those superior-looking schoolboys,
many of whom appeared older than her son. Jack also seemed so fascinated
to watch them, that more than one glance from his mother was necessary
to remind him of the place and the hour.
Altogether it was a most perplexing position, and Mary was glad to see
her father rise quickly when the service ended, as if anxious to avoid a
meeting with the schoolmaster and his son, but he failed in the attempt.
Henry Halford, remembering that his nieces now required attention as
well as his aged father, left the boys to be marshalled home by the
assistant, and hastened to the lower door to meet them.
Another surprise therefore awaited Mary. On reaching the church entrance
they met face to face Old Doctor Halford, supported on one side by the
arm of his son, and on the other by a tall handsome girl, apparently
about eighteen years of age. Mary did not at first notice another
younger girl, dressed in exactly the same manner, who walked behind Dr.
Halford and his supporters, with a boy nearly as tall as herself.
The usual formal courtesies passed between them as they met; but the
sudden shock at seeing, as she thought, a strange young lady on such
friendly terms with the doctor and his son, deprived Mary for a moment
of self-possession. Recovering herself with an effort she returned the
notice of the gentlemen, and hurried on to join her mother with an
aching at her heart.
Cousin Sarah had seen the fair face turn white even to the lips, and she
drew Mr. Armstrong forward, leaving Mary with her mother and Jack.
"Who is that very pleasing looking young man, Edward?" was her first
question.
"What young man?" was the half-irritated reply.
"I am speaking of the gentleman we met just now, who was supporting, I
suppose, his aged father; Edward, he reminded me of dear uncle."
Edward Armstrong winced. The good and intelligent old yeoman, his own
father, was in position and education far inferior to Dr. Halford, and
yet he despised the latter because he was a schoolmaster and poor. He at
last replied with an effort,--"Father and son are schoolmasters, and the
son is going to be a parson."
"But they are as much gentlemen as your wife is a lady, Edward; I can
tell by your manner that you dislike them, but why?"
"Why?" he asked impetuously, "because they are poor, and the son had the
audacity to ask me for Mary."
"And you refused him."
"Of course I did; do you suppose I was fool enough to give up to him the
money I have worked so hard for, as my daughter's marriage portion? and
no doubt that was all he wanted."
"Does Mary know of this?"
"Unfortunately she does, although I kept it from her as long as I could;
but it slipped out in some way."
"Ah! then now I can understand what has changed her so much," said
cousin Sarah, quietly.
With a startled expression Mr. Armstrong turned and looked at the
speaker.
"What!" he exclaimed, but, before she could reply, Mrs. Armstrong, Mary,
and Jack joined them. Cousin Sarah noticed at a glance that Mary had
recovered her colour, but there was a quivering of the lip very painful
to see.
On reaching home Mary hastily escaped to her room. She stood for a
moment, with her hands clasped and her eyes uplifted, asking for help
and strength; realising Montgomery's description of prayer:--
"The upward glancing of the eye,
When none but God is near."
"I must expect it," she said to herself; "I ought to have been prepared.
How can I be so selfish--so dog in the manger like; I cannot be his wife
myself, and ought I to object to his choosing any one else? But ah! it
is very painful to think of," and then as she sunk into a chair the
restrained tears burst forth unchecked.
In a few minutes she remembered the visitors; the tears had relieved
her, and hastily preparing for an early dinner she bathed her eyes,
controlled her feelings, and joined the rest in the drawing-room. So
like herself did she seem that no stranger would have discovered the
traces of tears, but the keen anxious eyes of the mother and cousin
Sarah were not to be deceived. Mrs. Armstrong, however, knew too well
what had happened to distress her patient and much loved daughter, and
for her sake made no remark on her looks.