There was a pause, and the two walked on in silence for some moments. Although in a measure prepared for the object of Mr. Halford's visit, Mary Armstrong was taken by surprise at hearing of this wonderful change in her father. Henry Halford, in referring to his letter, and the refusal which followed, had touched upon a tender string. Shame, regret, and a loss of confidence in her father, had resulted from her discovery of the circumstances, and to hear it spoken of by Henry Halford caused her double pain. She was about to say, when she so abruptly paused, "I cannot bear to think that he has acted so cruelly to you," but the reflection that by so saying she should not only too openly show her interest in himself, but blame her father, made her conclude her reply as we have described.
The contrast presented to her by Henry Halford's description of her father's behaviour to him now, also added to the confusion of her ideas, and she literally had not power to speak.
"You are silent, Miss Armstrong," he said at last. "Do you remember what I once said to you in Christchurch Meadows at Oxford? Nearly three years have passed since then, and I am quite as ready now to devote my life to your future happiness as then. Only answer me one question: shall I go back to Kilburn at once, and tell Mr. Armstrong that I have asked his daughter to be my wife, and that her decision is 'No'?"
"I am not prepared to decide yet, Mr. Halford," said Mary, with an effort controlling herself, "for after all my father's objections, this sudden change has taken me by surprise." Yet as she spoke, with the consciousness of those earnest eyes looking into her face, her voice faltered, and the changing colour and tightened breath too plainly evinced deep emotion. It gave the young man courage as he gazed, he raised her hand and placed it on his arm, saying with a smile and a gentle pressure of the captive hand—
"And now Mr. Armstrong's objections are all removed, do any remain on the part of his daughter?"
Another pause, and then the straightforward candid character of the young girl asserted itself. She glanced modestly in the face of her companion, and said with a smile—
"I did not suppose you would think such a question necessary, Mr. Halford."
A summons to tea interrupted the conversation, and as they turned to retrace their steps, he could only say as he pressed the hand that rested on his arm—"My darling, you have made me so happy."
Cousin Sarah met them at the garden gate, and said—
"We have made no stranger of you, Mr. Halford. Mary is always so happy in the portioned-off corner of our farm kitchen, that I think you also will prefer it to the best parlour."