This year of Mary's life had indeed been an eventful one. The first meeting with Henry Halford, the second at Mr. Drummond's, the visit to Meadow Farm, and the happy week with her dear old grandfather, that never-to-be-forgotten time at Oxford, her father's angry suspicions and threats, and a few weeks afterwards the hasty summons of his father's death-bed—all these events, following each other so rapidly, were to be also deeply impressed on Mary's memory by future results.
To Englefield Grange in February of the following year came the overwhelming sorrow caused by the news of poor Fanny's death. So completely had Arthur Franklyn's light-hearted letters removed all anticipation of danger, that the shock was the more terrible, and poor Mrs. Halford's health for a time completely gave way.
Mr. Armstrong's family also saw a notice of it in the
Times obituary, and Mary and her mother were both surprised when her father suggested that a message of condolence and kind inquiry should be sent to Englefield Grange. The messenger brought back a formal acknowledgment, and also the information that Mrs. Halford was dangerously ill.
How Mary grieved over the conviction that she could not go and offer her services to soothe and tend the mother of Henry Halford in her terrible griefs! She had never heard of Kate Marston, Henry's cousin, who had for so many years supplied to him and his parents the place of sister and daughter. In spite of what appeared to Mary something like neglect and indifference on the part of the schoolmaster's son, she would have been glad to show him and his family that no proud or resentful feeling on her part could raise a barrier between them as neighbours and acquaintance.
Mary Armstrong possessed a good share of what is called common sense. She had reflected deeply on the occurrences at Oxford, and she reasoned thus with herself:—
"I daresay Mr. Henry Halford is sorry for what he said to me at Oxford, or perhaps he meant nothing but a compliment. He is sensible enough not to think of being married till he is ordained, and so perhaps he keeps away for fear I should learn to love him;" and the young girl blushed as this thought arose in her heart, even when alone. "And besides, after what papa said that night in his passion, I am very, very glad he has not paid us a visit. I could not marry any man without papa's consent, but I hope he wont ask me to marry any one else. I shall be twenty next July, but that doesn't matter; I should like to stay at home always, and there is nothing very dreadful to me in the prospect of being an old maid."
And so the young girl schooled her heart to try to forget that she had met her beau idéal of what a husband should be, and that her father had forbidden her to associate with him or to notice the family until their time of trouble called for neighbourly inquiries. How little poor Mary guessed that her father had effectually put a stop to any farther acquaintance, and that even this formal attention would have been withheld had he not supposed her to be quite indifferent to this schoolmaster's son who had presumed to ask him for the hand of his daughter! Perhaps Mr. Armstrong would have been very much surprised had he been told that another influence was at work in Mary's heart which would prevent her from disobeying her father by marrying against his wishes; an influence which had first made itself felt while listening to the teachings of her grandfather, and which would prove her support in the future through weary days of sorrow and trial.
During this twelve months other changes had also taken place; Charles Herbert's regiment had been ordered to Canada, and his mother in her loneliness petitioned Mr. Armstrong for his daughter's company. Sir James and Lady Elston had given up their house in Portland Place, and were now residing in the south of France on account of the old admiral's health.
"You see, Edward, I am quite alone now," said Mrs. Herbert when asking for Mary to be allowed to spend a month with them in Park Lane during the season; "and Mary has seen nothing of society yet, you have made her too much of a bookworm and a homebird."