Englefield Grange Part 46

As they walked to the station Horace said--

"I should like to introduce you to Mr. Halford if there is time, Reginald, but not against your wish."

"I shall be glad to know any of your friends," replied the young man, who was quite unacquainted with the fact that this friend of Wilton's had been a.s.sociated with Mary Armstrong during her visit to Oxford. "Is this Mr. Halford an Oxford man?"

"Yes, he took his degree about a year ago, and is going up for ordination on Trinity Sunday. The rector of Kilburn had given him his t.i.tle to orders."

"Kilburn!" exclaimed Reginald; "why, that is where Mr. Armstrong resides. Is he acquainted with the family?"

"I believe he has met some of them, but I do not imagine there is any great intimacy," replied Horace, inwardly blaming himself for having mentioned the name of Kilburn--"but here we are at the station."

Only just in time, however, for as the two gentlemen reached the platform, the train by which Henry Halford travelled came slowly into the station.

Amidst the numbers who alighted, Horace Wilton could not at first distinguish his friend; but Henry's quick eye singled him out almost immediately, and making his way through the crowd, he advanced towards him.

"How kind of you to come and meet me!" he exclaimed, as they shook hands. "How could you relinquish your beloved books for such a purpose?"

"I must not take more credit to myself than I deserve," he replied, with a laugh. "The truth is, I had to welcome the coming as well as speed the parting guest;" and as Wilton spoke he turned towards Reginald, who stood at a little distance, and said, "My friend, Captain Fraser,--Mr.

Henry Halford."

The former advanced and bowed, but Henry, while returning the salutation, held out his hand, saying--

"I am sorry to hear you are a parting guest, Captain Fraser. I have heard of you so often from my friend Mr. Wilton, that I should have been glad of the opportunity to improve our acquaintance;" and while he spoke the unconscious rivals shook hands warmly with each other.

As usual when introduced to a stranger Reginald Fraser, though attracted by the genial manner and pleasant smile of his new acquaintance, suffered from an attack of nervousness which was greatly increased by the sound of the five minutes bell announcing the approach of the train for London.

"I--aw--am sorry--aw--I must--aw--leave you so soon," he stammered out, "but my train goes--aw--from the other side, and I--I have--aw--to cross the bridge."

"Oh, pray excuse me for detaining you," said Henry; "Wilton, do not leave your friend on my account," he added; "I will wait here, or walk on slowly while you see him off."

"No, no--aw--I could not--aw--allow you to do so," cried the young officer, with such painful nervousness that Henry Halford drew back in surprise, and Horace Wilton came to the rescue.

"We will not detain you any longer, Reginald," he said; "you have only just time to cross the bridge. Good-by, good-by," he added, as they hurriedly shook hands, while Henry, who had been taken aback by the young officer's manner, merely raised his hat in token of farewell. The two gentlemen stood for a few moments watching his progress till he was lost to sight among the pa.s.sengers on the opposite platform. Then Horace Wilton took the arm of his friend, and as they left the station together Henry remarked--

"Your friend's manner is peculiar; does it arise from pride or nervousness?"

"Pride!" exclaimed his companion, "what in poor nervous Reginald Fraser?

no, indeed, yet to-day he appeared worse than usual; I cannot account for it."

"This young officer, then, is identical with the timid child at Eton, of whom I have heard you speak," said Henry. "He has evidently not outgrown his nervous timidity. I hope I did not offend him by what I said."

"No, indeed, he is as amiable as ever, and not easily offended. This nervousness is const.i.tutional, and is always less under control in the presence of a stranger."

"Will not this interfere with his duties as a soldier!"

"I think not, for Reginald is far from deficient in physical courage. I have told you of the harsh treatment he received in early childhood: I wonder the boy was not made an idiot."

"His grandfather intended to atone for this, I suppose, by leaving him all his wealth; I have been told he has done so; is this a fact?" asked Henry.

"It is a fact which, after the early training of the boy, might have proved a curse to his manhood instead of a blessing," and then to the young officer's unconscious rival Horace Wilton detailed his history, his position, his wealth, and all the circ.u.mstances with which the reader is already acquainted, save and except his hopes and aspirations respecting Mary Armstrong.

But while Horace Wilton carefully preserved from Henry Halford the secret which had been confided in him, he little imagined how much pain one incautious word of his had occasioned to his nervous friend Reginald Fraser.

It is said with truth that one distinguishing mark between men and women is that the latter possess quicker perception, and the former clearer judgment. In the almost feminine character of Reginald Fraser existed a keenness of perception which resembled what is termed instinct; and this instinctive power often caused him great mental pain from his extreme sensitiveness, more especially so because he concealed his opinions from those with whom he a.s.sociated, even while these opinions increased an outward display of nervousness.

Something of all this occasioned the strange manner which had so surprised Henry Halford. The incautious mention of Kilburn by his friend had been like a stone cast into the water; it caused a tumult in the young man's mind which did not cease during the whole journey to London.

The fact that Wilton's friend resided at Kilburn had aroused in his heart new ideas, which had scarcely time to form themselves into a tangible shape before he was introduced to Henry Halford. As he encountered that genial, easy manner and smiling intellectual face, at once like a lightning flash came the firm conviction that the man before him was the cause of Mary Armstrong's refusal to himself.

He had therefore, as we know, met him with painful nervousness. Like one who walks in his sleep, he had crossed the bridge and waited for the train. Still absorbed with the same conviction he chose an empty first-cla.s.s carriage, threw himself back on its cushions, and gave himself up to an hour of mental torture.

Mortification, regret, and a depreciation of his own qualities when compared to Henry Halford agitated him much more strongly than a feeling of jealousy, although this for a time so powerfully affected him that even the tears rushed to his eyes.

At length he regained control over himself. Other pa.s.sengers entered the carriage, gentler thoughts arose in his heart--yes, he would give up all hope; if Mary Armstrong really loved another, could he not deny himself to secure her happiness?

Perhaps this young clergyman would have only his stipend as a curate to live upon, and should he with all his wealth wish to deprive him, not only of such a wife as Mary Armstrong would make him, but also of the fortune which her father proposed to give her?

No! The conflict was over, it had been a sharp discipline for the amiable but weak-minded young officer, but it was necessary; it had not only deepened the effect of Horace Wilton's advice, but when Reginald Fraser left the train at Paddington, he felt like one who has pa.s.sed through a fierce conflict and gained strength by victory.

CHAPTER x.x.xI.

THE NEW CURATE.

There is something in the calm of a Sunday evening in summer which seems to cast a halo over the worshippers in a country church. The gradual decline of daylight, the perfume of flowers which pervades the building through open doors and cas.e.m.e.nts, the slanting beams of the setting sun shining through the western windows, radiant in crimson and gold, and the joyous song of the birds chanting their evening hymn of praise, all combine to impress the spirit with a sense of the presence of G.o.d, not only among those who do not neglect the a.s.sembling of themselves together to worship and to praise Him, but also in His "glorious works."

On such an evening two days after the Friday which had been so fatal to Arthur Franklyn's schemes, Mr. Armstrong proposed to accompany his daughter to the old parish church at Kilburn, which was at that period merely a country village.

It was not often that Mr. Armstrong attended the evening service, therefore excepting during her brother's holidays Mary was obliged to remain at home also, for she could not go to church alone. Most readily therefore she hailed the opportunity offered by her father, and hastily arrayed herself in walking costume, a process by no means so troublesome to a lady in summer as in winter.

They had scarcely taken their usual places in their pew when the chimes ceased and the single five minutes bell began to toll.

Mr. Armstrong's pew was in the north gallery; therefore when the organ pealed forth its introductory music, and the clergymen issued from the vestry, Mary could see that one of them entered the reading desk and the other within the communion rails, seating himself on the north side and therefore hidden from their pew by the pulpit.

She paid but little attention to this circ.u.mstance, except to feel glad that the old rector would have help for this evening at least, the whole of the preceding Sunday services having been performed by him alone.

The fact of it being the first Sunday after Trinity suggested to Mary Armstrong no cause for Henry Halford's absence from the boys' pew at church. With all her cleverness in other subjects, she had very little knowledge of clerical matters. The prayers used in what is called Ember Week she had noticed and understood, but of their connexion with certain Sundays in the year, among others Trinity Sunday, she knew nothing.

Following the service as it proceeded with true devotional feeling, neither Mary Armstrong nor her father was prepared for the surprise that awaited them.

During the singing of the hymn, and while standing in the pew, she could see that as the rector left the reading desk to proceed to the vestry, he was joined by a stranger; but only his white surplice was visible, the vestry being on the same side as the gallery on which she stood, and the entrance under it.

Those were the days when clergymen changed the surplice for the black academical gown for preaching. Mary, quite engrossed with the music and the words of the last verse of the hymn, did not glance towards the pulpit till the preacher raised his head from his hands, and faced the congregation.

He was very pale, this strange young clergyman, and as he laid his Bible on the desk his hand trembled perceptibly.