The affair had exceeded the time of the proverbial "nine days' wonder," and it was only in the City or to those deeply interested that the good news became really known. Overton and Boyd had recovered from the shock, and were ready to meet all demands.
Mary's fortune was safe, but the alarm and the changed manners of his sunshine friends had taught her father a deep lesson. When the notice arrived he was alone in the private room of his office in Dover Street. He had been schooling himself to endure the loss of money and friends patiently. More than once during that terrible fortnight the words he had heard read by his father sounded in his ears, "Riches make themselves wings; they fly away;" "The love of money is the root of all evil." And now the certainty that he had, after all, lost nothing, caused a revulsion of feeling scarcely endurable.
He sat for some time resting his head on his hands, and his elbows on the table, absorbed in thought.
"Those sunshine friends," he said to himself, "who turned their backs upon the corn merchant when they thought he was poor, shall never know that my position is unaltered. And these are the men to either of whom I would have given my cherished daughter! My losses are known at Kilburn, no doubt, and the schoolmaster and his son are of course congratulating themselves on the escape of the latter." And as Edward Armstrong thus thought there passed over his mind recollections of the holy truths, tho Christian principles, and the first sermon from 1st Cor. xiii. 13: "The greatest of these is charity," which he had heard from the lips of the schoolmaster's son.
Was he different from these sunshine friends? could he possibly love his daughter still, when, as was supposed, not only her fortune, but great part of her father's wealth had disappeared with the commercial crash?
It was impossible, he could not believe it. True, he had done so himself, but then it was under most peculiar circumstances. There was nothing of romance in the commencement of the acquaintance which had arisen between young Halford and his daughter. Should he try him? should he endeavour to find out whether it was money or Mary herself that he sought for? Yes, he would do it, and if he proved that the latter alone had actuated him to write that letter after Mary's visit to Oxford, then he should have the 20,000l. after all.
"Poor darling," he said to himself, as he thought of her patient endurance and filial obedience, "she had nearly lost all I could give her. It is not too late to make amends, at least if the young parson is really worthy of such a superior and accomplished girl as my daughter. Better secure the 20,000l. to her at once than risk its loss by-and-by."
Edward Armstrong had been roused from a false security in riches by a prospect of their loss. He felt that he had been like the man in the parable, who had said, "I will pull down my barns, and build greater;—soul take thine ease."
But from this he had been painfully aroused; he would endeavour to discover whether the young people cared for each other still. The glamour which the acquisition of wealth had thrown around the man of business was removed. His ambition now appeared as mockery, his pride a disgrace, and his conduct to his daughter refined cruelty. Well may the awakening of the human heart from the influence of the god of this world, who blinds the eyes of his votaries, be called in the Bible, "arising from the dead."
Time passed on, and Mrs. Armstrong received a letter from Mary expressing a wish to return home the following week. "Something must be done quickly if done at all," said Mr. Armstrong to himself as Rowland drove him to the station in Mary's pony carriage on that morning. Not even to Mrs. Armstrong had he given a hint of his intentions.