Horace Wilton, as we know, had not learned to regard with a cynical eye the happiness which he had himself so nearly grasped, and Frank Maurice found himself taking lessons in the present ordering of an event which was so soon to be realised in his own experience. As to the bridegroom, who, strange to say, is very often looked upon as the least important person present on such an occasion, an overflow of happiness kept him silent. It was not till called upon to return thanks in the name of his bride and himself, that the natural powers of eloquence and oratory possessed by Henry Halford astonished and delighted the wedding guests.
The speech scarcely occupied five minutes. His words were well chosen, and to the point; his allusions pleasant and in good taste; his quotations, in one or two instances classical, were suitable and attractive; while through all could be detected the oratorical powers of the speaker, although subdued and restrained to suit the room and the occasion. When the clear young voice ceased there was a burst of applause, hushed, however, in a moment, as Lord Rivers rose and exclaimed—
"Thank you, Mr. Henry Halford, for showing me that I have not made any mistake in my choice of a rector for Briarsleigh."
But the wedding chapter is extending itself beyond the prescribed limits. We must pass over the speeches and the toasts which followed. We, who know the love of mother and daughter in that hour, now so joyous with the voices and symbols of happiness, can understand how both are dreading the hour of parting.
It came at last; and when Mary, accompanied by her bridesmaids, hastened to the room to prepare for her journey, Mrs. Armstrong followed her upstairs, and seating herself in her own room waited nervously till her daughter was ready.
She heard the door open, and the young voices in gay conversation as they approached. Then she rose and stood near the door, to be quickly observed by her daughter.
"Mamma! oh, I'm so glad. Wait a few minutes, Kate and Clara." Then she turned, and throwing herself on her mother's bosom, she exclaimed, "Mother, dearest mother, how can I leave you? Who will take care of you when I am gone?"
The mother's arms closed around her child, and for some moments neither spoke, but the tears were silently flowing from Mrs. Armstrong's eyes, as she listened to the scarcely restrained sobs of her daughter.
A tear dropped on Mary's forehead; she raised her face quickly—
"Mamma, I am causing you unnecessary pain; pray forgive me. I cannot help it; I shall miss you so much."