Chapter V.

Dr. Grant Prosecutes His Suit With Caution And Success, And Brandon Finds His Love-Making All To Do Over Again

Harriett Phillips could not come out quite so strong in her contempt for colonial ways and colonial people, arriving when she did, as if she had landed ten or a dozen years before, but still there was a great deal that was open to criticism. Mr. Phillips and Mr. Brandon thought the colony had made rapid strides towards civilization and comfort since the great influx of wealth consequent on the gold discoveries had attracted to Victoria much that was unattainable before. Even during their absence in England there had been a great deal of building going on in Melbourne, and many other improvements had been introduced. The houses were better, and better furnished; the shops seemed to contain everything that enterprise could import or money procure; the ladies were handsomely and expensively dressed, and there were public amusements such as were never heard of in the early colonial days.

But still there was much even in Melbourne that was un-English and strange to a new comer.

Melbourne did not at all come up to Harriett's expectations, though what she had expected it would have been difficult to tell. She had wished to go to Victoria because it would be a novelty to her—it would be so different from England that it would be amusing—but every difference that she observed, and she was very quick in observing such things, was always for the worse. There was, of course, the difference of climate, which led to many alterations in dress and manner of living, and which would reasonably lead to more if the English colonist was not so much wedded to old customs and costumes. The heat and dust Harriett found to be insupportable, and the dress which was most suited to it was so unbecoming, particularly the gentlemen's dress, with the endless variety of hats for head-covering. Dr. Grant, who stood a good deal on the dignity of his profession, when in Melbourne wore dark clothes and a black hat even in the heat of summer, and that weighed in his favour with Harriett. The noise and bustle of Melbourne was so different from what she had been accustomed to in Derbyshire—indeed it was more like Liverpool than any part of London she had seen—a poor edition of Liverpool; and that was the city of which the Victorians were so proud. She could not enter into the natural liking of a people for a town that they have seen with their own eyes grow from a mere hamlet of rude huts to a handsome, paved, lighted, commercial city like Melbourne—who identify themselves with its progress, having watched the growth of every improvement. They wonder that it does not strike strangers as being as astonishing as it appears to be to themselves.

Mrs. Phillips had no acquaintances in Melbourne; but Mr. Phillips and Dr. Grant knew a good many people, who were disposed to be very friendly to Harriett, but she did not feel very grateful for such kindness. She fancied that her position and education, and her being recently out from England ought to give her an overpowering prestige in these half-savage lands, and though she lost no chance of laughing or censuring anything which she thought colonial, she could not bear being talked of as a new chum, whose opinions should be kept for two years at least before they were worth anything, and whose advice was probably worth nothing at any time.

Amongst other subjects for censure, the great freedom of manners, particularly amongst young people of different sexes towards each other, struck Miss Phillips forcibly. She had observed at evening parties, at picnics, and at places of public amusement, the very unrestrained way in which they talked and behaved, and she thought the colonial girls were badly trained, and that they ought to be more carefully watched by mothers and chaperones. At the same time she took full latitude herself, and did many things on the strength of her being in Australia, where people might do as they liked, that surprised even the colonial girls themselves.

If she remarked on their flirtations with their old friends, they could not help observing Miss Phillips's prepossession towards her new acquaintance, and laughing at the manner in which the two seemed wrapped up in each other. How could she endure his returning to Ben More, and leaving her, perhaps, for another month in Melbourne without his society, was a question which they frequently put to each other; but she solved that difficulty to her own satisfaction and as much to their amusement.

"I am very sorry to leave you," said Dr. Grant one day to the object of his attentions, "but I must go. Business must not be neglected. I cannot be flying about like Brandon, letting my affairs go to ruin. I hope you will not be long in coming to Wiriwilta, Miss Phillips."

"Not very long I suppose," said Harriett. "Indeed, I think there is nothing to prevent Mrs. Phillips from going home now, if she would only believe so."

"Nothing whatever," said Grant.

"I am quite wearying to see Wiriwilta," said Harriett: "the children's letters are quite rapturous about its beauties, and Miss Melville, too, seems very much pleased. You will like Miss Melville, I am sure. You like Scotch people, I know."

"If I do not like Miss Melville better than her sister, my liking will not go very far," said Grant.

"Do you know Stanley thought Alice quite pretty at first—I don't see it. Miss Melville is what people call plain, but I prefer her appearance to Alice's, and she is very clever and strong-minded. I quite expect you to fall in love with Miss Melville," said Harriett, with a little laugh.

"No fear of that. I have no fancy for strong-minded women. Not but what I like a good understanding and good sense in a lady, but let each sex keep to its own department. But, Miss Phillips, if you really want to go to Wiriwilta, I can drive you up—or, better still, you could ride. You are an admirable horsewoman, as I know, and I have an excellent horse in town that would carry you easily that distance without fatiguing you. It would be a beautiful ride. You would see the country so well as you go along."

"I should like to go, of all things," said Harriett; "but what would Stanley say?"

"Oh, I will tell him it was quite unnecessary for you to stay with Mrs. Phillips, and it will be the easier for his horses to bring up the rest of them, if you have gone before," said Grant.

"Well, I am really tired of Melbourne; I think I have seen all that is to be seen, and I dare say there are some preparations and arrangements I could make before Mrs. Phillips comes up, so as to make her more comfortable, though I dare say Miss Melville has done her best. Still, there are things that one of the family can do which strangers cannot be expected to attend to."

"Certainly," said Dr. Grant; "I can imagine your presence at Wiriwilta will make things more comfortable for all parties."

"And, by-the-by, Emily and Harriett will be neglecting their music, and I engaged to see to that so long as I remained in Victoria, as Miss Melville knows no music."

"No music!" said Dr. Grant; "that is a singular sort of governess to engage for young ladies up the country."

"She is wonderfully clever about other things, and brings on the children very nicely. When I compare them with the girls of their own age whom I have seen in Melbourne, I cannot help congratulating my brother on having brought out a governess with him. It would have been better, of course, if she had been English, but Miss Melville is not painfully Scotch."

"I hope you have no dislike to Scotch people," said Grant. "I myself glory in my country."

"Oh, I quite understand your feelings. If I had been born in Scotland, I should have felt the same, I dare say," said Harriett.

"But, with regard to this drive or ride to Wiriwilta?" said Grant.

"How long should we be on the road?" asked Harriett.

"Two days, I think. We would stay all night at Mrs. Ballantyne's, a very old friend of mine, and an acquaintance of your brother. Ballantyne and I were fellow-passengers when we first came out. They will receive you with bush hospitality. I should like to introduce you to Scotch bush hospitality, and it is a pretty place, too; rather romantically situated."

"I should really like to see it, for I want to study Australian scenery and Australian manners during my short stay in the colony, to see as much as I can while I am among you savages."

"Then, shall it be a ride or a drive?" asked Dr. Grant.

"I think I should prefer driving," said Harriett; "but I must first consult Mrs. Phillips. I do not suppose that she can enlighten me much, but as Stanley's wife I owe her that courtesy." So Harriett, with a condescending smile, took leave of her admirer.

Mrs. Phillips was in an exceedingly bad humour, but she made no objection to Harriett's going away. She did not quite believe in the zeal for the children's music or for her comfort, which Miss Phillips professed, but she was tired of having the name of her society without the reality of it. As for the impropriety of her sister-in-law's travelling all that distance with a single gentleman, either riding or driving, Mrs. Phillips had never decided any question of the kind for herself or others since she had been married. She had always acted as her husband thought proper, that is to say, she might often have made mistakes or done wrong if he had not prevented her, and the proposition did not strike her as at all objectionable. Elsie wondered if there was an engagement between her and Dr. Grant, when a young lady of such strict principles proposed so singular an expedition. Harriett was not at all quick at reading countenances, and was particularly dull in the interpretation of Elsie's; but as some idea of the kind had dimly occurred to herself, she gave it voice and explained her views on the subject, in Elsie's hearing, to Mrs. Phillips.

"Of course I should never think of such an adventurous journey in England, but here it seems the fashion to do just as is most convenient to ourselves; and for your sake and that of the children, I think it is better that I should go first. Dr. Grant being a professional man, and such an old friend of my brother's, will be an excellent escort, and I am really desirous of seeing a little of the roughness of colonial life. We will stay all night at Mr. Ballantyne's, and reach Wiriwilta in good time the second day. I will see to have everything comfortable for you, Lily, my dear, before you come up. I wish you could accompany me. Dr. Grant says you could go up now, if you were disposed."

"I am not going to Wiriwilta till Stanley comes himself to fetch me, for I am so timid with any one else driving on these dreadful roads; and as for what Dr. Grant says about my being fit for the journey, he is not my medical man this time, so I won't go by his advice. Besides, he don't understand my constitution as Dr. M—— does," said Mrs. Phillips.

"I feel very sorry to leave you, Lily," said Harriett.

"Oh, I dare say I'll get on very well, even without you. Alice and nurse will do for me until Stanley comes. Tell him how I weary to see him the very first thing you say when you see him. Whenever he's done with going over the stations, beg him to come down. Alice has written for me to tell him to make haste. I am not strong enough yet to sit up to write."

The idea that Harriett might hasten her husband's return to her, helped to reconcile Mrs. Phillips to the very cavalier treatment she received from that young lady.

Harriett enjoyed her drive exceedingly. Dr. Grant knew who lived in a great many houses that they passed, and they carried with them the great subject of agreeable conversation in themselves. The Derbyshire country and the Highland scenery was compared and contrasted with the Victorian, very much to the disadvantage of the latter, which, indeed, did not look its best, but its very worst at this time. Mr. Ballantyne's station Harriett confessed to be rather prettily situated; but things in the house were much rougher than she had expected, and the house itself was of a very irregular and primitive style of architecture—the slab hut enlarged so as to be tolerably commodious; yet, still, the very house that the squatter had built, partly with his own hands, in the early days of the colony. He had not been a fortunate man, but he had got his head above water since the gold discoveries; and he was not so imprudent as to involve himself again by building a handsome house so long as the old one would do. Mrs. Ballantyne had an overweening opinion of the advantages of English society and English education, and received Miss Phillips with an amount of adulation quite beyond anything she had ever met with in her life; which was all the more effective from its being perfectly sincere. Her own children were but half educated, and very deficient in acquired manner; and they too looked with awe on Mr. Phillips's English sister, who was so self-possessed and so fashionably dressed. To a person less conscious of her own superiority, Mrs. Ballantyne's profuse apologies for everything and everybody would have been rather painful; but Harriett received them graciously, and told Dr. Grant that she felt quite delighted with this first specimen of bush hospitality, and with his Scotch friends.

Dr. Grant on his side was exceedingly proud of his companion, and felt quite sure of his success with her; he never had been so agreeable as during this long drive, and when they appeared at Wiriwilta, on the second day, in time for an early tea, both travellers were full of spirits, and not at all tired. Mr. Phillips was not at home, and not expected for some days. Jane was somewhat surprised by the appearance of Miss Phillips under such care, but received her politely and kindly.

Dr. Grant had to go home to attend to business, but promised to ride across to Wiriwilta, as soon as possible, to see if Miss Phillips had not suffered any fatigue from the long journey over such rough roads.

It was rather flat at the station for Harriett on the following day. She was disappointed with the house, for though it was a great deal better than Mrs. Ballantyne's, it was not so large or so convenient as she had expected. She could not take any interest in the many things which the children showed her, which they thought so beautiful—their pet animals, the few wild flowers they could find at this season of the year, their dear old trees, their pretty walks, the native boy Jim, Mrs. Bennett's baby, and the curious windmill that Mr. Tuck had made for them with his clasp knife and some twigs. She could not be troubled with such childish talk; she wanted rational conversation; but when Jane Melville sat beside her, and conversed in her own quiet sensible way, she felt even that to be unsatisfactory.

A new element had entered into Miss Phillips's life. She was, after her fashion, in love; and she was restless and dissatisfied without the presence of the beloved object. Dr. Grant was just long enough away to be very welcome when he came; and Jane was a little amused at the manner in which Harriett threw off her languid air of indifference, and talked to this (to Jane) most uninteresting Scotchman, who was so full of national pride and personal vanity. Jane was very cosmopolitan in her ideas, both by nature and by education. Her uncle had always had more pride in being a Briton than a North Briton, and never had fired up with indignation at Scotland being included or merged in England. She did not think Scotchmen intrinsically more capable than English; there was a greater diffusion of elementary knowledge in the northern part of the island, but she thought that in society Englishmen were more agreeable than Scotch, as a general rule, because they were more certain of their own position. Scotch and Irish people are apt to be afraid that they are looked down upon, and are too often on the look-out for slights to be resented, whereas Englishmen, who do not know much of continental feelings and habits of thought, have a comfortable conviction that the greatest country in the world belongs to them, and that nobody can dispute it. Dr. Grant was surprised at Jane's want of nationality, and confided to Harriett that he was greatly disappointed in her; and in spite of Harriett's professed regard for Jane, she could not help seeing the faults which this keen-sighted observer pointed out.

One day when Dr. Grant and Harriett were in the enjoyment of each other's company, and flirting in their own interesting manner, and Jane was sitting beside them with the children, Mr. Brandon and Edgar made their appearance. Emily and little Harriett met Brandon with acclamations, and the little ones rejoiced over him in a very noisy manner, too. Jane gave him a hearty welcome, for she was really delighted to see his face again, but Miss Phillips and Dr. Grant were scarcely so affectionate.

"Well, here comes the recreant knight," said Miss Phillips. "What have you got to say for yourself, Mr. Brandon?"

"To say for myself! Oh! I have a great deal to say for myself. I have seen a great deal since we parted in London."

"But why have you left your own business and my brother's, and gone wool-gathering in South Australia?"

"I have just gone wool-gathering, and that must be my excuse. Phillips will admire the sheep, I am sure. They have just got home in first-rate condition; easy travelling and plenty of time. But where is Mr. Phillips and Mrs. Phillips?"

"Oh, mamma is in Melbourne, and we have got a new little brother, and his name is to be Vivian, after uncle Vivian, you know; and papa is out over the runs, and will be back on Saturday; and I am sure he will be very glad to see you, and Edgar too, I dare say," said Emily.

"And where is your sister, Miss Melville? Has she come out to Australia with you? Is she quite well?" asked Brandon.

"Quite well," said Harriett; "she is in Melbourne with Mrs. Phillips. We expect them out in a week or two, or perhaps as much as three weeks, for Mrs. Phillips fancies she cannot stand the journey for some time."

"Alice has not seen Wiriwilta yet," said Emily. "I know she will think it very pretty; Miss Melville likes it very much."

"And you have got quite strong, Emily?" said Brandon.

"Quite strong again. I can walk to the water-holes near the grove of young gum-trees and back again without being a hit tired. We have such lovely walks every day with Miss Melville. And do you know Mr. Brandon, my dear old Cockey died just after you and Edgar went away to Adelaide; but I have got another—such a beauty—and two such lovely parrots. Jim got them for me. You can't think how glad Harriett and I were to see Jim. And Mrs. Bennett has got another baby, and I'm to be godmother, and it's to be called Emily; and Mrs. Tuck has got another too, ever so fat. We have not seen our own baby brother yet."

"But how does it happen that you did not write to me? I got one letter telling me little Eva was dead, and that you were getting better; but next month I did not hear a syllable, good or bad, from any of you."

"Because we were on board ship by that time, before the mail from Australia came in. Papa thought we would be all here sooner than we were—but it was a delightful voyage. We had Mr. Dempster—you know Mr. Dempster—and such a lot of nice Adelaide children. I was so sorry to bid good-bye to Rose; she was my friend all the voyage; and there were some very nice gentlemen, too. It was quite as nice a voyage as the last, only that Miss Melville made us do lessons all the time; and perhaps after all it was as well that she did."

"I never heard such a chatterbox as you are, Emily," said her aunt.

"Did you find the voyage pleasant, Miss Phillips?" asked Brandon.

"Oh, yes, very pleasant indeed."

"I did not think you would condescend to visit our rude latitudes," said Brandon.

"Oh, I am really quite enjoying my visit. Stanley was greatly pleased at my proposal to come out, for he thought it such an excellent thing for the family. I am only on a visit, you know. I cannot say how I should like Victoria for a permanence, but I like the novelty for the present."

"And your cousin is in Parliament, I hear, and likely to distinguish himself, Miss Melville," said Brandon. "I hope that you and your sister do not despise us poor colonial people."

"Certainly not," said Jane; "indeed, Francis says that he got most of his best ideas from Mr. Sinclair, who had been in Canada and the United States, and from a conversation between you and Mr. Phillips and Mr. Dempster the first day he dined with us in London. He says nothing sharpens an Englishman up like intercourse with such pushing, energetic, straightforward people as colonists."

"That is high praise from a British member of Parliament. I owe him something for that. But did you see Peggy before you left?"

"Yes; we went up to bid her good-bye. I think she will not be long in joining us," said Jane.

"Well," said Grant, who, as well as Harriett, felt that Miss Melville was receiving more than her fair share of Brandon's conversation, "you have not given at all a satisfactory account of yourself. You have been figuring away in Adelaide, I suppose, and enjoying yourself, and leaving your own affairs and Mr. Phillips's affairs to mind themselves."

"And you have been figuring away in Melbourne, Dr. Grant," said Emily—she could not bear any aspersion to be cast on her friend, Brandon—"and then you brought Aunt Harriett away; so you leave no one with poor mamma but Alice. I am wearying so to see mamma and the baby boy."

"Suppose you go with me," said Brandon; "for I am going to Melbourne to-morrow to see them, and I have some business there besides."

"Oh! that would be delightful. Miss Melville, may I go?"

"I think not, Emily," said Jane. "Your mamma will be soon here, and your papa will be disappointed to find you gone when he comes here. I should not wonder that he will take you with him when he goes himself, and that would be better, I think."

"Much better," said Miss Phillips. "I wonder that you could think of such a thing as troubling Mr. Brandon to take care of you all that long way."

Emily made rather a pertinent remark as to her aunt showing her the example, at which Miss Phillips blushed, and Grant looked conscious but delighted. He could not conceive what was taking Brandon to Melbourne immediately on his return from Adelaide; he did not believe his assertion that he had business to attend to there. It was another sign of his being spoiled by his visit to England—it had completely unsettled him.

Now that Brandon had heard that his letter had never reached Elsie, and consequently that he had not been treated by her with discourtesy or unkindness, he felt relieved; but, at the same time, a little sorry that all his trouble had been wasted, and that it was all to do over again. A few months ago he had lamented that he could not have it out by word of mouth; but now he regretted this letter had not, at least, broken the ice, and inclined her to listen to his suit. However, things had come to such a pass that he could not wait an indefinite time; he must go to Melbourne and learn his fate without delay. He left Edgar at Wiriwilta, where Emily thought him very much improved, and where the boy was exceedingly happy. He took a great fancy to Miss Melville, who was very different from the fond anxious women who had brought him up, but whose experiences with the Lowries had given her great interest in boys of that age, and who knew so much on all subjects that she never failed to win upon them, if they were tolerably intelligent and well disposed.



Chapter VI.

Mrs. Peck's Progress

All things continued favourable to Mrs. Peck's plans—she met with no disaster by sea in her voyage from Adelaide to Melbourne; the 'Havilah' brought her to her destination in three days, and she landed on the familiar shores with a light and hopeful heart. She was not long in discovering where Mrs. Phillips lived, which was in East Melbourne; and as no time was to be lost, she repaired to the house on the very day on which she landed, dressed decently and respectably, like the wife of an artisan, or perhaps with more of the appearance of a monthly nurse.

The girl who opened the door asked her name when she requested to see Mrs. Phillips, and she announced herself, not as Mrs. Peck, but as Mrs. Mahoney, under which name she had taken out her passage, and begged to see the missis by herself for a few minutes. Mrs. Phillips was then sitting in an easy-chair in the drawing-room, the nurse was engaged with the baby, and Elsie busy in Mrs. Phillips's room; so the stranger was introduced to have a quiet interview with her daughter.

"Well, Betsy, do you not recollect me?" said Mrs. Peck, in a subdued but intensely earnest voice, whenever the girl was out of hearing. "Have you forgotten your own mother?"

Mrs. Phillips grew deadly pale, and was about to scream.

"Hush! Betsy, be quiet," said her mother. "I've only come to pay you a friendly visit. I've longed so to see you again all these years, and now I heard you was by yourself, I thought I must run all risks to get a look at you. Why, how handsome you've grown, and everything handsome about you, too;" and Mrs. Peck gazed with wondering admiration at the beautiful, well-dressed, queen-like woman whom she had parted with when a mere girl, and had never seen since her marriage. "Rings on your fingers, and a gold chain round your neck, and everything you can wish for. Oh, Betsy, I made your fortune, and you never take a thought for me. I might be dead and buried, and you'd never care a straw. I have had a hard life, a very hard life—tossed about from place to place, and often in want of many things that at my time of life I need to get—and you in such luxury. My pretty girl, my beautiful daughter!"

Whatever might have been the resemblance between mother and daughter, there were but slight traces of it now. Mrs. Peck might have been beautiful at sixteen, but her life had not been so conservative of her charms as Mrs. Phillips's was; besides, Mrs. Phillips resembled her father much more than her mother, and he had been of a much more lymphatic temperament, and was at the same time a remarkably handsome man. Mrs. Peck was not yet sixty, but she looked old for her years, and more like the grandmother than the mother of Mrs. Phillips, whose easy circumstances, indulgent husband, and indolent, self-regarding life, with no emotion and little excitement, had kept her face free from a single line of care or anxiety. Her mother's face was ploughed up with innumerable lines, and her features seemed to work with every varying passion, while her expression was hungry, eager, and wolf-like, without showing anything more intellectual than cunning, even in its calmest moments.

"Oh!" said Mrs. Phillips, "if Stanley was to find you here, he would never forgive me."

"Is it your fault that I could not rest till I saw you again? I never thought he'd be so cruel and unreasonable as to blame you for what I'd do."

"But I heard you was in Adelaide, and Mr. Phillips says that, as long as you stay in Adelaide, he will see that you know no want. Oh, mother, you had better go back to Adelaide!" said Mrs. Phillips.

"Is that my girl as is talking?" said Mrs. Peck, disdainfully,—"my girl as I loved so dear, and was so proud of—that now, when I've come all the way from Adelaide, and risked all I've got to depend upon, just to please my old eyes with the sight of her handsome face, and my poor old ears with the sound of her voice, would banish me the minute I come! That's a pretty husband you've got—that you're so afeard of him. You deserve that your children should turn against you when they grow up. Oh, Betsy, how can you talk so cruel?" and the old woman caught her daughter's hand, and kissed it with much apparent, and no doubt some real feeling. "You're not expecting of him home for a while; let me come and let me go while he is away—my name is Mrs. Mahoney. Say as how I am an old servant of your mother's, or an old servant you had at Wiriwilta, or the mother of some one you know—call me what you like, but let me just have the liberty to come and see you and the baby, and then I will go back to Adelaide, and Mr. Phillips need never know nothing about it?"

Invention was not one of Mrs. Phillips's talents, but her mother revelled in it, as I have said before. She delighted to go amongst people who did not know her, where she could give out an entirely fictitious history of herself quite new. Even to her intimate acquaintances her narrations were singularly inconsistent. When her interest demanded that she should speak the truth she did so, but it was with an effort; when the balance lay the other way she had no hesitation and no scruple.

"I ain't good at these stories, mother," said Mrs. Phillips, "and I don't just see what good it will do me to get into trouble with Stanley on your account. It is just the one thing he is unreasonable about. When he married me he said he made only one stipulation, and that was, that I should have nothing to do with you or with Peck, and I said I wouldn't."

Mrs. Peck here began to sob, and Elsie who was sewing in the next room, hearing a little noise, and afraid that Mrs. Phillips was not well, came in at this moment. Mrs. Phillips was quite at a loss to account for the emotion of her visitor, but her mother was equal to the emergency.

"I am sure, Mrs. Phillips, I cannot say what I feel," said she, "but your goodness really overpowers me. To think as the little girl as I knowed when she played with my poor Susan as is now no more should recollect me now she's growed up so beautiful, and had such a fine house of her own, and should help me in my troubles! It is quite too much for me. But all I want is just a little to start me in a way of business, and I'll be sure to pay it back again if I get on—and I have got a good connection, a capital connection—your liberality I can never forget;" and Mrs. Peck fumbled with her purse, and looked very hard at Elsie. This was the person whom she wished to see, even more than her ungrateful daughter, from whom she had expected a kinder reception. Elsie looked simple-minded enough—there was no doubt she would be easily dealt with, and much better by speech than by letter.

"This is your maid, I suppose?"

Mrs. Phillips assented.

Mrs. Peck turned to Elsie and said, "I think as how the missis wants some sal volatile; she looks a bit faint—she don't seem to be strong yet."

Elsie fetched the sal volatile, and gave Mrs. Phillips a little of it, and then returned to her work. She was puzzled at the stranger's speaking of Mrs. Phillips's liberality—for she was not generally liberal—and at her fumbling at her purse as if she had received money, for she knew that Mrs. Phillips had left her purse in her bedroom.

"You must let me come and go for the few days I am to stay in Melbourne, Betsy," said her mother.

"Oh, I'd rather give you money, if you need it—at least, all I've got."

"I fear I will need money to take me back, for I made such an effort to get across, but I could not help it. But I won't hurt you, Betsy, and I may do you good. What sort of girl is it that you've got?"

"Oh, a very clever milliner, and a handy girl enough. Stanley says he thinks her pretty, but I don't see it. He makes a great fuss over both her and her sister, but Jane is plain."

"If he says he thinks her pretty, I'd not keep her in the house if I was you. I know what men are," said Mrs. Peck.

"I don't think you know what Stanley is," said Mrs. Phillips, with some dignity. "I did not like it at first, but I ain't frightened now; and besides, they are both so badly off it's quite a charity to keep them."

"If she is a milliner, I know of a capital situation," said Mrs. Peck.

"Stanley would be in a pretty state if I let her go to a situation of your recommending," said Mrs. Phillips.

"Oh, I don't mean to meddle with your affairs; but young people are very unwary. You think as how you're too handsome for your husband to think of looking at another woman; but I know the world better nor that. Howsomever, that is neither here nor there. But you know I am risking my annuity from Mr. Phillips by coming here to see you; but I heard in Adelaide that for the first time since you was married I might have the chance of seeing you, without making dispeace, which is the last thing I would wish to do. So, Betsy, if you will be reasonable, and let me come again, as Mrs. Mahoney (an old neighbour in New South Wales), and help me, as you say, with money to take me away, I will be as quiet as a mouse. It is a pleasure to see you, and to speak to you. Give me a little needlework, and let me sit with your maid, and just have a look at you now and then, and at the baby. I ain't seen none of your children, Betsy. Because you've been so well off, and had no cares, you shouldn't turn off your mother in that unfeeling way."

"Oh, I wish I dare do it. But if Stanley was to come—he may come suddenly. I've sent him a message to hurry home. You can't think what a good, kind husband he is to me, mother. But he'd be furious if he found you here."

"Oh, if he comes home you do not need me to work any longer; and you can give the girl that message; and you can drop me a hint if I happen to be in the house. Even if he was to see me here, I know I could find some reason. I am never without an excuse."

Mrs. Phillips was not particularly fond of her mother, who had been very harsh and violent-tempered to her in her childish days, while she was as fond of her husband as she could be of any one but herself, and she knew with what abhorrence he regarded this fierce, cunning old woman. She wished Mrs. Peck to be satisfied with this one visit and to come back no more, for she feared that Alice and the other servants might suspect something, and she had no confidence in her own powers of concealment. But Mrs. Peck had more ammunition in her chest; she again began to sob, and showed symptoms of going into violent hysterics, and bewailed her own hard lot and the cruelty of her ungrateful daughter so loudly, that she was glad to agree to her demands to make her keep quiet for the present.

Mrs. Peck then saw the baby, which she admired exceedingly, and accepted of some refreshments. Mrs. Phillips got her purse, and really gave her some money; and shortly after, her mother took leave, engaging to come back on the following morning to do some needlework, and uttering many blessings on Mrs. Phillips for her kindness and generosity in Alice's hearing. Mrs. Phillips looked greatly relieved when she was out of the house, but the apprehension of her return weighed considerably on her mind.



Chapter VII.

Business Interrupted By Love

Mrs. Peck appeared on the following day, according to promise, carrying a little black bag, containing scissors, yard-measure, and a few other implements of needlework, all perfectly new; and after a short conversation with Mrs. Phillips and a little refreshment, she sat down beside Elsie to ingratiate herself with that young lady. Elsie thought she had never seen any one so ignorant of the work she had set about as Mrs. Mahoney appeared to be. She confessed that she was not skilful, and it showed all the more kindness in Mrs. Phillips to give her work when she had had so little practice, and did it so badly. She had been accustomed to go out as a nurse, she said; but she had got too old for that, and could not stand the sitting up of nights; and then she branched off into accounts of dreadful experiences in nursing, and deathbeds, and awful operations, that were enough to make Elsie's hair stand on end. She found fault with Mrs. Phillips's nurse as being too much of the fine lady, and told Elsie what she considered to be a nurse's duties, which she would like to do if she was only fit for it. Then she threw herself on Elsie's good nature for a little lesson in needlework, admired her quickness and taste and skill, wished she could do anything half as well, and asked her to be good enough to cut out and place her work for her, and to lend her patterns, and altogether behaved with the most insinuating affability.

Although Elsie Melville looked simple-minded, she was by no means wanting in observation, and her situation with Mrs. Phillips and her sister-in-law had taught her a wonderful amount of prudence. She thought there was some inconsistency in Mrs. Mahoney's fluent narratives, and something very peculiar in her relations with Mrs. Phillips, who appeared to be restless and uncomfortable whenever she was in the house. Elsie was, however, good-natured enough to give her some instruction, for which great gratitude was expressed. On the third day of her visits, when apparently occupied in learning how to do featherstitch for trimming baby's pinafores, Mrs. Peck looked up from her work, and asked Elsie if she did not come from ——shire.

"That was my native county," said Elsie.

"Do you know Cross Hall at all?" asked Mrs. Peck.

"I was brought up there," said Elsie.

"I come from that county, too," said Mrs. Peck.

"I did not think you had been Scotch," said Elsie.

"I have been in these colonies for thirty-four years, and seen but few of my own country folks; but the English say they'd know me to be Scotch by my accent."

"Well, perhaps your accent is a little like that of ——shire, when I come to think of it; but the turn of your expressions is not Scotch at all," said Elsie. "Thirty-four years is a long time, however; I may, perhaps, get rid of some of my own Scotticisms by that time."

"I knew Hogarth of Cross Hall, very well, when I was young," said Mrs. Peck. "Do you mean to say you was brought up there?"

"Mr. Hogarth was my uncle," said Elsie.

"Oh, you must be a daughter of his sister Mary's; I fancy there was only the one daughter that lived to grow up. But if Cross Hall was your uncle, how came you to be in this situation?" said Mrs. Peck, with feigned astonishment.

"My sister and I were educated by him; he was exceedingly kind to us as long as he lived."

"But his property did not come to you;—the heir-at-law swallowed up all," said Mrs. Peck, with a fierce glare in her eyes that she could not quite subdue. "It is very hard on you."

"We have felt it rather hard," said Elsie; "but still things have been worse for us at one time than they are now. Jane and I can earn our own living, and that is the position of most people in the world."

"What would you give now," said Mrs. Peck, "if you could get back to Cross Hall, and be just as you used to be?"

"I cannot say what I would give," said Elsie. "But it is impossible. Unless we could restore my poor uncle to life, things could never be again as they used to be."

"And the new man might have helped you, and not have driven you to seek service at the ends of the earth. Would you not like to serve him out?" said Mrs. Peck with the same subdued fierceness as before.

Elsie's instinctive sincerity would have led her to justify Francis, by explaining about the will, but she felt reluctant to say anything to this strange woman that she could help. Besides, though she knew nothing of the letter that had been sent by Mrs. Peck to her cousin, and left unanswered, at Mr. Phillips's earnest request, she was beginning to suspect something of the truth. Mrs. Peck's courting her so assiduously had puzzled her; and now the interest she felt in this story, which was all the more apparent to a keen observer from the efforts she made to conceal it, showed that she knew more about the matter than she liked at once to disclose.

Elsie had a good eye for likenesses, and could see family resemblances where no one else could; and it had always struck her as very remarkable that there was not the slightest resemblance between Francis and her uncle, nor between him and any other member of the family whom she had seen or whose portraits had been preserved. Not merely were the features and complexion unlike, but there was not a trick of the countenance or of the gait reproduced, as is generally the case with the sons of fathers who had such marked characteristics as Henry Hogarth. Though she had not heard of Mrs. Peck's letter, Jane had told her about Madame de Vericourt's to her uncle, and in her own heart she had fancied that the reason why he had been so cold to Francis was, that he had been doubtful of the paternity; the very indifferent character of the woman he had married was not calculated to inspire him with confidence, and the absolute absence of all family likeness was an additional cause of distrust. He must have been satisfied on that point, however, in later years, or he would not have been so strong in his prohibition of his marriage with Jane or Elsie on account of his cousinship; but, in early life, he must, in Elsie's opinion, have had grave doubts on the subject.

She looked again more careful than before at Mrs. Peck. She was of the age to be Francis's mother, but otherwise she was quite at fault; there was not any likeness there either. A conformation of the little finger was rather peculiar, but it was an exaggeration of a little defect on Mrs. Phillips's otherwise very handsome hand, but not of Francis Hogarth's.

"If Francis has no right to the property, and we have, of course we should like to have our rights," said Elsie.

"It was a Scotch marriage, you know," said Mrs. Peck.

"Yes, but a binding one; he is received everywhere as my uncle's lawful son."

"Yes, as his lawful son, no doubt. Do you know if he has brought forward his mother at all?" said Mrs. Peck.

"No; I suppose she is dead, or we should certainly have heard of her."

"Dead, you suppose!" said Mrs. Peck, indignantly; "that is the easy way of getting quit of relations that has got claims on you—just Suppose them dead?"

"I do not know anything of the matter, except that she has not been heard of. If she were alive and heard of his inheriting this property, she would be sure to write claiming him, and probably asking for assistance, which I have no doubt she would at once receive, for he has ample means, and has the character of being both just and liberal."

"And you think she would apply; and you have no doubt that she ought to have got it? Any one would have thought that," said Mrs. Peck, between her set teeth.

"Yes, certainly," said Elsie; "but perhaps she did not go the right way to work?"

"She did," said Mrs. Peck, indignantly. "I knowed her well, and heard all about it."

This was to throw Elsie off her guard, for she did not wish to be identified at once; but it had not the effect desired, for Elsie felt convinced that this was the person who claimed to be Francis's mother.

Mrs. Phillips came in at this interesting poise in the conversation, and began to give Elsie directions as to some alterations in a dress.

"There's some buttons and trimmings to get to make it up with. Alice, you had better go to town and get them for me. You need a walk, at any rate; I do not think you've had your walk at all regularly of late," said Mrs. Phillips.

"Indeed," said Mrs. Peck, "she has had no walk since here I've been, whatever she might have had before. It's trying work sitting still all day; I feel it myself, and all the more that I'm not used to it. If you'd be so good as excuse me for a hour or two; I'd take it as a great kindness if you'd let me go with Alice for a walk to do her bit of shopping, and to show her round Melbourne a bit. If I don't know Melbourne well, I ought to. I don't think I ever saw so good a hand as Alice has. I think I could make her fortune, if she'd only give me a little commission."

"Oh, I don't think Alice is inclined to leave me," said Mrs. Phillips; "and, indeed, I am very well satisfied with her."

"But this ain't exactly her sphere. She was a telling me as she was brought up with great expectations," said Mrs. Peck.

"She has got over her disappointment about that, I think," said Mrs. Phillips.

"I dare say you think it shabby in me to try to entice your maid from you; and really, after all, a comfortable home with a lady, as it must be a pleasure to serve and to wait upon, is perhaps the best thing after all. But as I was saying, Mrs. Phillips, I would be glad to get out for an hour or two with Alice. I'll not do much work without her, for I'm sure to go wrong if she is not at my elbow. There's not many ladies so generous as you, to pay me for my blundering work; and Alice is wonderful patient too. I don't know how to thank her for the pains she takes with me, and I can't help being very stupid. After being used to active life, one don't take well to this sitting still. So I'll just put on my bonnet and shawl and go out a bit with Alice."

Mrs. Phillips did not at all like this proposal, for she had an idea that her husband would very much disapprove of it, and would be still more angry at that than at her having her mother in her house; but then Mr. Phillips was away, and her mother was there, and the present terror conquered the distant one. She never knew what her mother might or might not say, if she thwarted her in anything: she had distant recollections of terrible punishments that always followed the slightest act of disobedience, or even carelessness, in her childish days; and though now she knew her mother would not strike her with her hands, she was in constant dread of her tongue. So that now Mrs. Peck took it for granted that she would be allowed to accompany her daughter's maid—she dared not refuse it. Alice scarcely liked the idea of going to walk to town with this strange woman; but at the same time her curiosity as to what she might have to say was very great. She felt that this Mrs. Mahoney had intelligence to give that was of great importance, and that she wished to be secure from interruption. Mrs. Phillips was constantly going in and out, for she was afraid to leave her mother long with any one, and always looked suspicious of what they might be talking about. Mary, the housemaid, and the nurse, too, seemed to be curious about this old needlewoman, and were often coming in unexpectedly.

When Mrs. Peck had put on her bonnet and shawl, and dropped her veil over her face, she looked sufficiently respectable for a companion to one so little known in Melbourne as Alice Melville, so she thought there could be no harm in going out for an hour or two with her for the sake of ascertaining if she had any light to throw on the dark subject of Francis's birth.

When they got out of doors, Mrs. Peck appeared at first to be rather anxious to resume the conversation which her daughter had interrupted; but as they were pretty closely followed by two other pedestrians all the way into town, she made up her mind to attend to Mrs. Phillips's business first, so they went to Collins Street and bought the trimmings. Then Mrs. Peck went to a bookseller's shop and purchased a shilling novel that she said she had been told was very interesting, but she appeared scarcely to know the name of it, and took the first one the shopman gave to her.

Elsie thought she was a good deal more stared at than was agreeable, and also that the shopmen in both establishments addressed her with a good deal of familiarity. She had heard Miss Phillips complain of the great freedom and the want of politeness of Melbourne tradespeople and the inhabitants generally; but this was her first personal experience of anything of the kind, and she rightly attributed it to the company she was in. She felt, now, that she had made a great mistake in going out with this Mrs. Mahoney, whose rather loud remarks and vulgar appearance seemed to attract general attention, and she could only wish fervently that, with or without her secret, she could get back safely to East Melbourne. As they returned, Mrs. Peck proposed a detour by the Botanic Gardens, which Elsie had never seen. Mrs. Phillips would not expect them home soon, for she had proposed to show Miss Melville all about Melbourne; and the gardens were well worth seeing. On a week day they were quiet, and one could get a seat to have a little comfortable talk. Much as Elsie wished for the talk, she would not on any account lengthen her walk for it, so she declined the proposal.

"Then," said Mrs. Peck, "let us go out of the regular road we came by, and go round Fitzroy Square, and have a look round at all the churches and chapels that are built on the Eastern Hill."

Fitzroy Square was not at that time enclosed or planted. It was merely a vacant space, intersected by numerous footpaths in various directions, and covered where there was no beaten path with very dusty withered-looking grass. Elsie had no objection to go out of the thoroughfare; but, instead of pointing out the churches or anything else, as soon as Mrs. Peck had got safe out of any third party's hearing, she slackened her pace, and eagerly opened the subject which was nearest to her heart.

"I said, Miss Melville, that I could make your fortune if you'd only give me a handsome commission. Are you willing to drive a bargain?" said Mrs. Peck.

"If I can see my way clear to the fortune, I should, of course, be glad to pay you for the information; but I must know what you have got to say before I can guess what it is worth," said Elsie.

"And I must know what you are willing to give, before I can tell what I know," said Mrs. Peck.

"But I have really got nothing to offer," said Elsie; "you know how poor I am."

"But suppose you and your sister was to get Cross Hall through means of me, what would you give me for that?" asked Mrs. Peck.

Elsie felt sure that this woman could not give the property to Jane and herself, for it had been left to Francis distinctly by will, by name and description; but yet she wanted very much to find out if he was really their cousin or not, so she said——

"I must consult with my sister on this matter, for it concerns her as much as myself, and also with Mr. Phillips, who has been to both of us the kindest and best of friends, before I could make you any definite offer."

"No, no," said Mrs. Peck; "I want no interference of strangers, and I ain't got no time to waste here while you write up the country to anybody. I must go back to Adelaide in a few days, and surely your sister will see the advantages of your acting for her. What do you say to 2,000 pounds."

To be asked 2,000 pounds for what Elsie knew to be worth nothing, in a money point of view, appeared to her rather absurd. "That is a very large sum," said she.

"A year's income is not too much for such a secret as I've got. Cross Hall must be worth 2,000 pounds a year now, and more than that, and I must have something handsome to cover my risk."

"Then you put yourself under the grasp of the law by what you have to reveal?" said Elsie.

"You must let me get clear off before you publish it," said Mrs. Peck. "I have been treated with the greatest ingratitude by Frank, and I'd like a little revenge. I'd like to pull him down from his high horse, and set him working for his bread as you have had to do; but at the same time I am a poor woman, and I must live."

"I cannot tell what we would give you," said Elsie, "until I have something more distinct than these vague threats; but you may be sure that we will give you as much as it is worth. Trust to our honour for that."

"Trust to a fiddlestick's end! I am too old a bird to be caught with such chaff as that. No, I must have it down in black and white. See, here is a paper that I want you to fill up and sign before I'll open my mouth on the subject." So Mrs. Peck drew out of her black bag a paper containing an agreement to pay her 2,000 pounds on condition that the estate of Cross Hall should be recovered for her and her sister through Mrs. Peck's information. She laid the paper open on the book she had bought, then she took a pen and a portable ink-bottle from the same repository, dipped the pen in the ink, and demanded Elsie's signature then and there.

Her eager eyes watched the girl's countenance as she read the agreement and weighed the pros and cons of the bargain she was making, and neither of them were aware, in their preoccupation, that they were observed. When Elsie looked up, puzzled as to what she was to do, and Mrs. Peck was putting her pen into her hand, she saw the figure of Walter Brandon approaching her with the appearance of haste and agitation. Mrs. Peck snatched the paper from Elsie's hand, and replaced it in the black bag, along with the other writing materials and the extempore desk.

"Alice Melville!" said Brandon, "what in Heaven's name are you doing here in such company as this?"

Elsie turned as pale as death; she could not utter a syllable.

"Come with me—let me take you home. I heard from Mrs. Phillips that you had gone out; but I could not have imagined you to have such a companion."

"Such a companion, indeed!" said Mrs. Peck, indignantly. "I have been in these colonies more nor thirty years, and I'm good enough company for any fine lady's-maid as ever walked on shoe leather."

"Oh, Mr. Brandon!" said Elsie, who had recovered her powers of speech; "she was doing needlework at Mrs. Phillips's, and I was sent out on an errand, and she would come with me."

"And we was just a looking over the bill, and seeing as our money was all right," said Mrs. Peck, in the most plausible manner.

"No; it was not a bill," said Elsie, who hated the idea of this woman telling lies for her.

"Did Mrs. Phillips actually send you out walking with this person?" said Brandon, with a look of the most intense contempt and disgust at Mrs. Peck.

"She said nothing against it; but she did not send me; it was all my own fault," said Elsie, weeping bitterly. "I rather wished to go with her."

"My dear Miss Alice, you must have seen that this was no fit person for you to associate with. You are an innocent girl, ignorant of the world, as all girls ought to be; but you are not so easily deceived in character as not to see in this woman's face, language, and manners, that she is to be avoided as you would avoid death and destruction," said Brandon.

Elsie only wept more bitterly than before. Brandon must despise her for ever now. She had been glad to come out to Victoria, because she thought if he still loved or cared for her she should hear of it. She had treasured his parting words and his parting looks in her heart; and now to meet him again in this way—to feel that he must look down on her as in the old days of his pity he never could have done—was dreadful. How was he to guess at the almost irresistible temptation that had led her to compromise herself so far?

"You had better go home now to your own dwelling, Mrs. Peck," said Brandon; "for if Mr. Phillips were to know that you had been visiting his wife in his absence you would come by the worst of it. Needlework, indeed! Mrs. Phillips is a fool, certainly; but the idea of your doing needlework for her is very absurd. So you had better never show face there again."

"Perhaps you'd like to know where I live, Miss Melville," said Mrs. Peck, glaring angrily at Brandon. "I lodge at No.—, Little Bourke Street, and can be heard of there, either as Mrs. Mahoney or Mrs. Peck. You can come there to see me."

"Like to know where YOU live—go to see YOU!" said Brandon, in towering indignation. "Now Miss Melville knows your real character she will keep away from you for ever. So now go off with you, as quickly as you can."

"Good-bye, Miss Melville," said Mrs. Peck, as she slowly went on her way to her own lodgings. She found she must go, but she would not be hurried by Brandon's wrath.

He waited till she was out of hearing before he tried to soothe the feelings of the agitated girl she had left under his care.

"Now where can I take you to? If Mrs. Phillips allowed you to do such a thing as walk through Melbourne with Mrs. Peck, she is not to be trusted with you. Oh, if Peggy were only here—but she is not: your sister told me she had not left Edinburgh."

"Take me back to Mrs. Phillips; she will be as glad to get rid of this woman as you can possibly be," said Elsie.

"But she must have known there was something wrong, for she looked confused and ashamed when I asked for you, and when I settled down to wait till your return, she seemed quite restless till I went away. Indeed, she sent me on an errand in quite a different direction; but I wished to come this way, and thought there was no hurry about her commission. I always knew her to be a fool, but not so wicked and false as this proves her to be."

"I think this woman frightens her," said Elsie.

"She has some hold on her, no doubt. Poor Phillips! we had better say nothing to him about it. So you would really prefer going home to her," said Brandon.

"Yes, certainly," said Elsie; and she paused for a little. "But, Mr. Brandon, I am in want of advice and assistance more than I ever was in my life. I must have it, and have it immediately. Can I rely on you as a friend?"

"Yes, as a friend;—certainly, as a friend," said Brandon, who wondered what revelation was about to be made. Surely no love affair with some one else!

"I believe this woman is the person who calls herself my cousin Francis's mother," said Elsie. "I think she came to Mrs. Phillips's for the express purpose of ingratiating herself with me, in hopes of selling me a secret which she knows, and which she declares will give to Jane and myself the possession of Cross Hall."

"Ah!" said Brandon, slowly; "and is this her little game at present?"

"Now, I have often thought that Francis was not my uncle's son—there is not the slightest family likeness; and she is capable of any fraud or deception. I really knew she was not good when I went out with her, but we had no chance to speak without interruption in the house, and I did not think she was so well known in Melbourne as she appears to be. I know I have done very wrong, but I really had some excuse. If she can prove this——" and Elsie paused, in hopes that Brandon would say something to show that he felt for the greatness of her temptation.

"But, my dear Miss Alice," said Brandon, "she cannot take the property from your cousin. Was it not left to him by will, and left to him because he had proved himself worthy of it?—at least, I believe that is what your sister and Peggy have told me. She tries this game of hers with a girl who knows nothing about business. It is of no use whatever."

"She has no idea about the will, and thinks that Francis got the estate as heir-at-law. But my view of the matter is this, that if Francis is proved not to be our cousin, he might marry Jane, and not lose the property. That is what I aim at, for they love each other, I am quite sure."

"If they do, I wonder he did not throw up the fortune, and set about earning one for himself. It was a good deal to give up, too—a seat in parliament, and such a career as appears before him. But what are wealth and fame compared to love?" said Brandon, who had got rather into heroics.

"I do not like to say much to Jane about it, for it only distresses her; but I think—I am almost sure—that he offered to make the sacrifice, but that Jane would not accept of it. She rejoiced in his useful and honourable life. She would not consent to be his drag and stumbling-block. She must have felt it very hard, too; for I feel she loves him dearly. It was for their sakes that I was so anxious to discover this woman's secret. She wants to be revenged on Francis, who has not answered her letters, and has sent her no money. I am a little surprised at that; but yet I believe that he must have had good reasons for his conduct, for there never was any one more thoroughly conscientious and liberal than the cousin I want to lose—the brother I wish to gain. Would it not be a glorious revenge if this Mrs. Peck, in her spite, were to give him all he wants—the only thing missing in his cup of happiness?"

"Perhaps, then, it is a pity I interrupted you so soon," said Brandon, admiring the generous enthusiasm of the girl; "but you were too dear to me, too precious, to be left in such suspicious company a moment longer than I could help. I came to Melbourne with one purpose—and that was, to entreat you to reconsider the answer you gave to me in the railway carriage."

"I did not know you so well then," said Elsie. "I thought you only pitied me; and now I fear I have given you cause to despise me."

"Nothing of the kind," said Brandon; "nothing of the kind. I love you far more now than I did then; and though I was so stupid and idiotic as to fancy that Miss Phillips would suit me as well, whenever I saw you together her faults came out, and your virtues. I do not wish to take you at a disadvantage. Do not think it ungenerous in me to ask so much just when you are in trouble and perplexity, and need advice and assistance."

"And just when I have appeared in such an unfavourable light," said Elsie, in her low, sweet voice, a little tremulous with the excitement of the scene.

"But I will give you the best help I can, and the best advice my poor head can supply, whether you return my love or not. Do not let that weigh with you for a moment. Nothing I can do can make me deserve you. If I am not bodily on my knees before you—for in a public place like this it would be absurd, and you would not like it—I am mentally on my knees, willing to accept whatever you may choose to give me—love, if possible; but if your heart is otherwise engaged, or if you cannot love such a commonplace fellow as myself, then I will TRY to be contented with friendship. Which shall it be, my dearest Alice?"

"Will you have any objection to accepting of both?" said Alice, in the same tremulous tone.

"None," said Brandon, delighted, "none whatever; indeed, one implies the other, though the other does not imply the one. I cannot express myself distinctly, you see, but you know what I mean. I am not at all a genius, and even this happiness cannot inspire me with fine language. But what can I DO for you?—there is where I hope to show my sense of what I owe to you."

"First, then, we must leave this place and walk home, for I think people are looking at us," said Elsie, trying to collect her thoughts; "and then you must tell me what I am to do with Mrs. Peck, if that is her name. Mrs. Phillips calls her Mrs. Mahoney. The paper you saw in my hand, which she snatched away, was an agreement to pay a sum of money if we were put in possession of Cross Hall. If I had signed it, it would have been of no value to her; but I hesitated about it, for I did not like cheating even her, and making her risk bringing herself to justice for nothing."

"I will go to see her myself, and negotiate for you. I do not think I should have much scruple in outwitting her, for she really deserves it, and it is only letting her over reach herself. Will you give me full powers to act for you?"

"Oh, yes," said Elsie; "if she will only deal with you it will be so much better."

"Upon the footing on which we stand together at present it is quite right and proper that I should do so," said Brandon, accepting the responsibilities of his position with great satisfaction. "You did not get my letter. Emily and your sister told me you sailed before the mail come in, which contained that painful work of composition. I wrote to you whenever I got out to Barragong, and saw that I really had not been so nearly ruined as I thought. I determined to do it on the occasion when I parted with you in the nursery."

"Shall I say, like Miss Harriett Phillips, that I conquered you by making a ballad in your praise? for these men can be led by nothing so well as by vanity and selfishness. No, I will not say it, for I do not think you are either vain or selfish. I should not like you if you were," said Elsie.

"Say LOVE, Alice, it sounds much sweeter, and goes more to my heart. You like your cousin, or no-cousin Francis, but you must LOVE me."

"Well, love be it," said Alice; "but I really love Francis a good deal, too—not as I love you, or as I intend to love you, for I really don't know how I feel just yet, but still not mere liking."

"I am not at all jealous," said Brandon, "though all his literary talents and tastes should make me feel my own inferiority."

"Even Jane never would allow me to say that you were inferior to Francis; she said your talents lay in a different direction. She was sorry that I refused you, and when I came to know you better I was very sorry myself."

"When did you begin to soften to me?" asked Brandon.

"When you said Peggy had taught you so much—when you expressed yourself so warmly and so truly about her."

"Had she not prejudiced you against me in the first place?" said Brandon, hesitatingly.

"Yes, she had," said Elsie, with still greater hesitation.

"By something that she said of me? It was too true I deserved it; but the lesson she taught me has never been forgotten. I do not say that I deserve you, but I mean to try my best to deserve you. But was that your only reason for refusing me?"

"No; I had several. I thought myself a very unfit wife for you, and that you would be cruelly disappointed to get a low-spirited, sickly, useless girl who did not love or esteem you. I really thought I was dying, and it would have been wrong to have thought of marrying under such circumstances; and besides, you could not have cared much about me, or you would not have transferred your affection so easily to a woman so very different in every way."

"Well, it does appear very inconsistent," said Brandon. "When my letter is returned from England, you will see two pages of apologies, and reasons why I was so foolish; but I really thought there was somebody whom you liked better, until that very moment when I caught your eye and your expression when I praised our excellent old friend. Your glance at that time restored me to my allegiance; but the bad news of my affairs next day put love and marriage out of my head, till I came to part from you, and I felt how hard it was. But I am glad to see that I have not seriously injured Miss Phillips by trifling with her affections. She has met with her match at last. I never thought she could have been so well suited."

"I really think they will get on very comfortably."

"How could I ever fancy that woman amiable?" said Brandon. "I thought her really an exceedingly agreeable and clever woman in Derbyshire: when I went out shopping with her on that memorable day, I saw spots on the sun; and the day before yesterday, at Wiriwilta, she appeared to be quite insufferable. I Cannot think enough of my own good luck; I might have been her husband by this time instead of being your lover, which is much pleasanter. What an insipid slow life it would have been, though Grant, I dare say, looks forward to it with complacency. He always used to look down on the colonial girls that our neighbours married, and threatened to go home for a thoroughly accomplished wife; and now one of that stamp has come out to him, and saved him time and money. And Miss Phillips looks far more kindly on him than she ever did on me."

"I do not call it merely good luck," said Elsie; "I think our affairs are in wiser hands than our own."

"And that I should be grateful for that wise guidance, instead of idly congratulating myself that things have turned out so well," said Brandon. "I only know that I feel grateful, though I am in want of words to express it. A man living alone, as I have done for so many years, feels at a loss to speak about these matters. I need a dear good woman like you by my side to teach me to open my heart, for I know I never will be ashamed to speak to you as I feel—though I might stand in some awe of a poetess, too."

"Don't speak about my poetry," said Elsie.

"Am I never to hear that song of Wiriwilta, in which I play such a conspicuous part?" said Brandon.

"Oh, I have forgotten it, for the children got tired of it, and asked for new songs and stories; it was never written down, and I never can recollect my own verses. It shows that they are not genuine poetry, for I have a tenacious memory for anything good of other people's. So, as it is lost for ever, you may imagine it to have been as beautiful as you please."



Chapter VIII.

Mrs. Phillips Is Relieved

Mrs. Phillips had been much alarmed at the sight of Mr. Brandon almost immediately after Elsie and Mrs. Peck had gone out. He asked for Miss Alice Melville as soon as he entered, saying he had a letter from her sister and messages from the children for her, so that he would stay with Mrs. Phillips till she returned, and sat down before the window looking steadily out to catch the first sight of her. Not having her mother's inventive turn, she was at a loss how to get rid of him. Brandon must not see Mrs. Peck, and Elsie must be warned to say nothing about her to him. She sat in torture for some time, and at last in despair she asked him in an awkward embarrassed way to be good enough to go for a nosegay for her, that she had been promised by a mutual friend at Richmond, that she wished very much to have. He could not help thinking something was wrong. Mrs. Phillips had always been very inconsiderate to Alice, and no doubt she had been sent to town on some errand that she was ashamed he should know about—probably to fetch a heavy parcel. So, instead of going to Richmond, he took the road on which he would be most likely to meet her, so as to assist her if possible, and as he came up to the square where Mrs. Peck and Elsie were talking, he met with a bush acquaintance, who, after the usual greetings to the returned Brandon, pointed to the two female figures, and remarked—"There's Mrs. Peck back again to Melbourne, and a very pretty girl with her. I wonder if she brought her from Adelaide. I thought Melbourne had lost that ornament for ever, but here she is as large as life again."

Something in the attitude and form of the girl in the distance reminded him of a person he had seen. He was sorry for the poor thing, and walked quickly towards the place where they were standing engrossed with their important business. To his surprise and horror he found she was really the person he thought she slightly resembled, and he lost no time in coming forward to stop the conversation.

Mrs. Phillips was astonished and distressed to see Elsie return with Brandon without Mrs. Peck. Where they had met, and how they had got rid of her, she could not imagine. Elsie went to take off her bonnet and return to her work, and Mrs. Phillips was left alone with Brandon. At his first word, his first question, how could she let Alice Melville go out of her house with a woman so well known in Melbourne as Mrs. Peck, Mrs. Phillips burst into tears.

"I could not help it; indeed, I could not help it. Stanley will be so angry if you tell him, and I am sure I did all I could to keep her away, but she would come, and she would take a fancy to Alice, and sit with her, and then when I sent Alice out for the buttons, she would go with her."

"But why have you her here at all, Mrs. Phillips?" said Brandon, gravely. "You must know that she is no fit person to be in your house, particularly in Mr. Phillips's absence. Confide in your good husband. If there is any part of your past life that you are afraid of her telling, believe me you will not better yourself by keeping in her power—tell your husband everything, and shake yourself free of this dangerous woman."

"Stanley knows everything—everything about me—but he said I never was to speak to her again; and I am sure I never wished to; but how can I help it when she will come—and she is my own mother? But don't tell anybody, for Stanley would be so vexed. I don't keep anything from him; don't blame me with that, Mr. Brandon."

"Your mother?" said Brandon. "Oh, that alters the case."

"I know that she is not good, and not respectable, and all that; but she went on so that I was terrified to refuse her leave to come here to do some sewing. If Stanley had not thought she was in Adelaide, he would never have left me here. Everything goes wrong when he leaves me. There, when he went to America, we had the scarlet fever, and I lost my dear little Eva, and now there is all this trouble. Oh! I wish I had gone up to Wiriwilta—I would have done just as well there. But don't tell Mr. Phillips about this; I would rather tell him myself. He has been good to me—so very good to me;—you cannot think how good he has always been to me;—I do not keep things from him—indeed I don't, Mr. Brandon."

Brandon felt more liking to poor Mrs. Phillips in her distress and in her tears than he had ever felt before. With such a mother, and such training as she had had in her early years, much could not be expected from her, and now her expressions of gratitude to her good husband touched him greatly. He had always thought her too insensible of her extraordinary good fortune—and in a general way, so she was; but during these last few days, seeing her mother, and shrinking from her, had made Mrs. Phillips have some idea of what her life might have been if Stanley had not been so fond of her, and so generous as to marry her, and take her away from what was likely to be her fate in such hands as those of her mother and Peck, and keep her so quiet and comfortable, and give her every luxury he could afford, and bear with her temper, her ignorance, and her stupidity; for in a vague way she knew that she had these faults. Was there ever a wish of hers that he could grant that he had refused? Even this unlucky stay in Melbourne had been at her own earnest request, and it had turned out so miserably, just because he was away. Never had she loved her husband so much as at this time when she had been displeasing him so grievously; how she had longed for courage to drive away the invader!—and now, though humbled before Mr. Brandon, she was grateful to him when she thought that he could stay with her till her husband came, and that, so protected, her mother could not again visit her.

"No doubt Phillips will forgive you readily when you tell him the truth; and I forgive you too, under the very distressing circumstances in which Mrs. Peck placed you, though I did feel very indignant at your allowing the girl whom I love, and whom I mean to marry, to go to Melbourne with such a person," said Brandon.

"You mean to marry Alice?" said Mrs. Phillips.

"Yes, and she has consented to have me."

"Well, she is a good girl," said Mrs. Phillips, "and I am sure I wish you happy with her. I know you will get on better with her than with Harriett, for she is always so much taken up with herself, and never thinks about other people. The way she treated me when I was left here with her was shameful; but I'll not tell Stanley about it if I can help it, for I have got enough to vex him about without grumbling at his sister that he thinks so much of. But I like both of the Melvilles, and they were both very good to my poor little baby as died in scarlet fever, you know. We'll never get a husband for Miss Melville, for the gentlemen are all frightened of her; but it is just as well, for she is a capital governess, Stanley says, and the children like her—but they like Alice best."

"And Miss Phillips and Dr. Grant appear to be making it up as fast as possible," said Brandon, "if I may judge from what I saw and heard at Wiriwilta."

"I am sure, Mr. Brandon, you never saw such goings on all the time he was in town. They were together continually, and when he left Melbourne, she said she would like to go up the country too. I really don't think Stanley would have liked it."

"Perhaps they are engaged," suggested Brandon.

"Perhaps they were; but I think Harriett would have told me that, for she'd have been so proud of it, and I really think it was my dues to hear the first thing besides."

"I have told you the first thing," said Brandon. "I have not been more than half an hour accepted."

"Well, I am glad you have told me. I will miss Alice dreadfully, though. I suppose it will be soon?" said Mrs. Phillips.

"As soon as I can persuade her to take me for better for worse," said Brandon.

"Oh, she won't need much persuading, such a good marriage for her as it is," said Mrs. Phillips, who fancied she knew something of human nature. "Emily will want to be bridesmaid, she is so fond of both Alice and you."

"Of course she will wish it, and of course she will have her own way, as usual; but with regard to Mrs. Peck, will you or shall I tell Alice the relation between you and her? I should like you to be justified to her."

"Oh, I'll tell her: I must wish her joy, and then I will tell her. And, Mr. Brandon, will you be good enough to stay in the house as much as you can till Stanley comes down from Wiriwilta, and then you will be able to send Mrs. Peck away, for I am too frightened of her to do it myself. I'll go and speak to Alice now."

"Do; and send her in to speak to me, for I have got some business of hers that I must attend to, and I must have some directions from her."

"Business!" said Mrs. Phillips, incredulously; "I dare say you have got plenty to say to her, but I don't think as it's business."

At the sight of Alice, Mrs. Phillips's tears burst forth afresh, and for the second time in her life (the first was on the occasion of Eva's death, when she had felt Alice so very kind), she threw her arms round one of her own sex for sympathy and consolation.

"My dear Alice, forgive me—I could not help it, I was so frightened. You must not tell anybody, not even your sister, about it; but that woman is my own mother, and I could not get her to go away. I did not like your being so much with her, but I could not help it, for she would do it. Do forgive me."

"Certainly, I forgive you from my heart," said Elsie.

"And Mr. Brandon has told me all about you and him, and I really wish you joy. You are going to have a good husband—not so good a one as mine, but still a very good one."

"Thank you, Mrs. Phillips. I hope to be able to make him happy—at least I will try my very best to do so." said Elsie.

"And you must make allowances for me, for you can see how I was brought up. I know I have been very often cross with you, but you must forgive all these old things; and I suppose it had better be before we leave Melbourne. We must write for Emily to come down, for she will want to be bridesmaid, and Mr. Brandon says she shall, and we must set to get your things all in a hurry."

"There's time enough to talk of all these matters," said Elsie. "I have scarcely begun to believe that I am engaged yet."

"Oh, but Mr. Brandon wants to speak to you on business, and what other business can there be? So go into the drawing-room, and he will perhaps show you that there is some need to think of these things."

But Mr. Brandon did not bewilder Elsie with asking her to fix any time, though he was determined to be married before going out of town, if possible; but he had to get from her extracts from her uncle's will, which she recollected nearly word for word, and instructions as to how to proceed with Mrs. Peck; also, as much as she knew of Mr. Hogarth's letters to Madame de Vericourt, to show the relations between him and Elizabeth Ormistown, so far as she knew of them. There was also a good deal of other talk to go through on subjects personal to themselves, which they both thought exceedingly interesting, and Brandon would not believe till he looked at his watch that he had kept Mrs. Phillips out of her own drawing-room for two hours.



Chapter IX.

Mrs. Peck's Communication

Mrs. Peck was surprised and a little disconcerted when, on the evening of the day on which she had so nearly confided her secret to Elsie, Mr. Brandon walked into her lodgings unannounced; but she concealed her chagrin with her usual duplicity. Though she was desirous of further communication with Elsie, she preferred it to be with herself, and not through a person who had spoken so uncivilly to her.

"You did not think it worth while for me to give Miss Melville and you my address, but I see that you are making use of it without delay," said she.

"Yes, I am, for I want to know if I cannot transact the business which I interrupted," said Brandon.

"You! No; certainly not. I only deal with principals."

"Miss Alice Melville empowers me to act for her in this matter, and this letter from her to me should satisfy you of that. It will not do for a girl to treat personally with a woman who compromises her by her company."

"Oh, is that it?" said Mrs. Peck, who disliked the exchange of a simple young girl for a man of the world in the bargain she wished to make. "Well, if I must deal with you, what do you offer?"

"If you can give the inheritance of Cross Hall to Jane and Alice Melville, a thousand pounds," said Brandon.

"Say two thousand," said Mrs. Peck; "I will not take less than that. Are you a sweetheart of that girl's—or of her sister's? If you are, you can easily see that Cross Hall is worth far more than that."

"I do not think you can give information that will be worth the money I offer," said Brandon. "Even supposing you were married before your irregular marriage with Mr. Hogarth, you will have difficulty in proving that marriage; and after so many years spent in New South Wales and Victoria under another name, it will be almost impossible to prove your identity."

"I can prove that," said Mrs. Peck, taking out of her black bag several letters of old date, generally with remittances, signed "H. Hogarth." There had been an annuity paid regularly after she had gone to Australia; but the last payment had been of a large sum 1,500 pounds which she had accepted in lieu of all future annual remittances, and that had been sent more than thirteen years before.

"I was a fool and a idiot to take the money, for it went as fast as my money always did; but Peck wanted to start in the public line, and persuaded me to ask for that sum, and then in a year and a half it was all gone, and I had no annuity to fall back on," said Mrs. Peck.

"Were you married to Peck or to Mrs. Phillips's father?" asked Brandon.

"No, not exactly married. I kept out of bigamy. I always kept that hold on Cross Hall; I would not marry any one right out, you know."

"He might have had a divorce from you," said Brandon.

"If he had known, perhaps he might; but nobody made it none of their business to tell him, and I said nothing about it."

"It is rather difficult to tell when you are speaking the truth, and when you are not," said Brandon; "but I believe that you really are Elizabeth Ormistown, and I believe also that Francis Hogarth is not the son of old Cross Hall, as you call him; but I fear you cannot prove it, and without that the information is of no use to us, and worth no money."

"If I can prove it, how much is it worth?"

"How much have you had already on the strength of it? You are first handsomely paid for the lie, and now you want to be bribed into telling the truth. I myself think 1,000 pounds far too much, for if the case were taken to court, there would be very heavy law expenses before possession could be obtained. I offer, on Miss Melville's behalf, a thousand whenever they get the property."

"Far too little. I'll not speak a word for the chance of a sum like that; I must have 2,000 pounds. What is 1,000 pounds?"

"Why, at your years, it would buy you a very handsome annuity, or you could lend it out at interest, and get ten per cent. for it, and have the principal to leave to any one you liked; or you might start in business with such a capital. Many handsome fortunes have been made in Melbourne on a smaller beginning; but if you think it insufficient, I can go away. My clients are not so very anxious about the property as to accede to such a demand as yours, and Francis Hogarth may be left in peaceable possession of the estate," said Brandon, coolly.