But she was not daunted. There were two strong points in her favour, and upon these she rested her hopes of success. One was Edward Armstrong's love for his daughter, and the other his often acknowledged confidence in cousin Sarah's judgment. She sat at work near the open window. May was passing into June, and the open country which still held sway near Lime Grove seemed redolent of summer. The sun, still high above the horizon, was tinting the fleecy clouds that softened his brightness with crimson and gold, and from myriads of little throats came the warbling songs of joyous birds waking the echoes with their sweet melody. "So you leave us to-morrow, cousin Sarah," said Mr. Armstrong, laying down his newspaper, and placing himself at the window near which she sat. "Yes," she said, "and I do so with great reluctance; it has been a most happy fortnight excepting that sad affair in the train, but I shall never forget your kindness and your wife's." "I don't forget your care and attention to my poor father," he replied, in a tone of deep emotion; "no kindness on our part can ever repay that, Sarah." There was silence for a few moments, and then Mr. Armstrong spoke again:-- "I suppose you will leave Jack with perfect confidence?" "Yes, quite; he seems very happy, and I think he will try to do well and get on in his business. He is delighted at the prospect of spending his monthly holiday here as you have proposed." "Yes, poor fellow, it will be a change for him; I am glad Maria thought of it." With all cousin Sarah's bravery, she found some little difficulty in commencing the subject uppermost in her thoughts, but there occurred another pause, and then Edward Armstrong led the way to it himself. "Do you think Mary is looking well, Sarah?" he said, "you told me last Sunday week that she appeared changed, but I have not yet had an opportunity to ask you in what way." "I must tell you the truth, Edward; Mary is as pretty and graceful as ever, but there is a delicacy of complexion, and at times a sad look, which makes me fancy she is not quite happy." "They have been telling you a fine tale, I suppose, about my cruelty in not allowing my daughter to marry a man who has not a sixpence to call his own;" and as he spoke cousin Sarah could detect the old boyish temper, and the will that would brook no opposition. "I thought the girl had more sense," he went on; "why, she has refused offers that were unexceptionable, all because of that boy,--you have seen him, Sarah." "I do not consider Mr. Henry Halford a boy, Edward," she replied, for now the ice was broken the impetuous tone did not daunt her. "He told me on Wednesday that he was going up for ordination on Trinity Sunday, the rector of Kilburn having given him what he called a title to orders." "Yes, yes, I daresay; however, that is of little importance to me, but what has been told you, Sarah, about this matter?"