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 passed, and observing the police endeavouring to force a
passage 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 assembled 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 assisting 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 assisting 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 constitution, 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 assisted 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-principal of the young man's college at Oxford; the nobleman 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 assisted 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 succumbed to that lady's
superior knowledge at once and without a demur.
And what shall we say of the numerous yet select party who assembled
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
associations. 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 class 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 classical, 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 pass 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--
"Mamma, I am causing you unnecessary pain; pray forgive me. I cannot
help it; I shall miss you so much."
"No, darling," said the mother, with a smile, as she wiped the tears
which she tried to restrain; "you belong to your husband now; he will
more than supply my place to you; besides, we shall not be so very far
away from each other after all, and Martha will take care of me."
"That I will Miss--Ma'am, I beg your pardon," and the faithful old
servant entered hastily as she spoke; "They are calling out for you,
Mrs. Halford; the carriage is waiting."
"Once more, darling mother, good-by," said the young bride, who had
started with a smile at the matronly title; and after one more kiss and
fond embrace, the mother and daughter descended the stairs together.
Mrs. Armstrong had nerved herself to witness her child's departure.
One more ordeal awaited Mary.
After kisses and farewells from the bridesmaids, and more formal adieus
to the visitors, Mary turned to her father. Mr. Armstrong clasped his
daughter to his heart, and as he fondly kissed her, whispered, "Forgive
me, darling, for all the sorrow I have caused you." Controlling her
emotion, she playfully placed her gloved hand on his lips, and
exclaimed, "Hush, papa, it has made my happiness all the greater."
In a few moments the lawn beneath the lime trees was glittering with
tarlatan, lace, and ribbons, as the juvenile portion of the company
followed Mary and her husband to the gate. At length, after one last
kiss had been given to the bride, to be succeeded by another, the rector
of Briarsleigh's carriage drove off amid a shower of old slippers, only
one of which reached its destination.
That evening, when alone, and reflecting on the events of the day,
Edward Armstrong discovered that with all his self-confidence in his own
superior judgment, he had during his life made more than one mistake.
In all his successes he had forgotten God, and worshipped riches and
position. He had despised those possessing high, noble, and intellectual
qualities, because they lacked those advantages which he so highly
valued.
His prejudices and his pride had made him unkind to his only daughter,
and only when at last alarmed by discovering that "riches can take to
themselves wings," did he allow these foolish prejudices to be set
aside. To his surprise he was now obliged to admit that the honours this
day conferred upon him arose from his daughter's alliance with the
family he had once despised for their profession and supposed poverty.
To them he owed the presence of the bishop and the earl as his guests.
While the family he had despised had been honouring God, he had been
honouring gold; and as these facts became clear to his mind, the words
of a text he had read when a child at his mother's knee came back on his
memory with full force--"Them that honour Me I will honour, and they
that despise Me shall be lightly esteemed."
THE END