"Too true, Dora; and if you were to read the letters I have received from friends on behalf of curates situated as you have described, you would understand the difficulties in which owners of Church livings are placed. These gentlemen are equally talented, and as truly well born and bred as Dr. Halford's son, but I cannot give the living to all of them, and my promise to my old tutor is binding. I must not go from my word. I hope to pay the family a visit next week, and make the young man an offer of the living personally. I do not suppose he will belie the promise of his boyhood. And perhaps I may contrive to hear him preach at Kilburn on Sunday." "I am very glad to hear your decision, papa," replied Lady Dora; "and at all events one curate will be saved from poverty and starvation." "Well," replied the earl, laughing, "that is scarcely true in Henry Halford's case: he could still follow the profession of a schoolmaster, and secure a good income; but I do not think a clergyman can conscientiously perform both duties well or with comfort to himself." "And what income will he have as rector of Briarsleigh?" she asked again. "Seven hundred a year, Dora. And now, my dear, as we have to travel to-morrow, perhaps we had better say 'Good night.'" And so, while Mr. Armstrong was mourning the loss of his daughter's marriage portion, the young "parson" he despised was about to obtain an income of his own. But of this good fortune neither he nor his young companion knew anything when they met in the train on its way to Kilburn. CHAPTER XXXVII. AT MEADOW FARM. Clear and bright rose the sun on the morning of the earl's dinner-party, and Mary Armstrong, who stood at the window looking out over field and meadow, orchard and garden, belonging to Meadow Farm, was conscious of a sense of happiness to which for months she had been a stranger. There are few in this cold, dark world of ours who have not experienced at times such a feeling, although unable to account for it, and yet at no period is it more likely to occur than in the season of spring. As Mary Armstrong now gazed upon the scene before her, the dewdrops on field and meadow sparkling like diamonds in the sunshine, the delicate green foliage trembling in the morning breeze, orchard and garden fragrant and lovely with flowers, buds, and blossoms, the fleecy clouds streaking the pale blue of an April sky, and amid and around all, the song of joyous birds, the lowing of cattle, the bleating of sheep, and other familiar sounds that betoken a farmyard; in the young girl's heart arose a calm feeling of happiness and trust, for she could say with the poet-- "My Father made them all." Presently she saw cousin Sarah making her way as usual to the farmyard, and although this locality had ceased to be a novelty, she hastily descended the stairs to join her. "Why, Mary dearest, you are looking quite blooming this morning. I shall be afraid to spare you next week for fear of a relapse."