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-class 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 passengers 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 passed through a fierce conflict and gained strength by victory.
CHAPTER XXXI.
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 casements, 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 God, not only among those who do not neglect the assembling of themselves together to worship and to praise Him, but also in His "glorious works."