Chapter XVI.

Another Good-Bye

Emily brightened up wonderfully at the prospect of a return to her old

home. She seemed to gain strength every day, and no objection could be

made to her going up to Edinburgh to pay her long-promised visit to

Peggy Walker before she left England. Mr. and Mrs. Phillips and little

Harriett accompanied her, and they took Jane Melville with them, for

Elsie could not be spared from the needlework, and she did not wish so

much to go to Scotland as Jane did.

Peggy was delighted to see her two nurslings, and also to see the young

lady to whom she had given a home when she most needed one. Tom eagerly

showed Jane what he had done in her absence, and received the

commendation he deserved for his industry and his success. Grandfather

was very weak, but in very tolerable spirits; this visit from Peggy's

friends would be something for him to think on for the short remainder

of his life. Mrs. Phillips's beauty and her fine clothes were something

new to him; and the liveliness of the girls, and the politeness of

their father, and Miss Jean's kind inquiries and kind looks all did him

good.

Francis Hogarth met, by appointment, his cousin Jane at Peggy Walker's,

where she meant to bid him good-bye, but he was not disposed to do so.

"You MUST come to Cross Hall, just to give a look at it before you bid

the country farewell for ever. Mr. Phillips, do come round by Cross

Hall, and let Jane see her old home once more."

"I want so much to see Cross Hall, that Alice tells us such pretty

stories about," said Emily.

"Cross Hall! is that the name of your place?" said Mrs. Phillips. "I

would like to see it too, very much. Mr. Phillips will go, of course,

if we all wish it."

Jane expected to suffer something in this farewell visit. It was not to

be long, but it must be trying. Francis was cruel to ask it, and Mr.

Phillips inconsiderate to accept of his invitation. There were some

things to be done that were not painful. When they left the train and

got into Francis' carriage--which was her uncle's old one, in which she

had been used to ride--for a five-miles drive, they passed the gates of

Moss Tower, and saw William Dalzell and his young wife riding out, and

bowed to both. Then they went to Allendale, for Miss Thomson had

expressed the strongest wish to see Miss Melville before her departure

for Australia, and Jane, too, was very much pleased to see again one

whom she held in such high esteem. There, for the first time, she saw

Mr. Sinclair, whose appearance and conversation were quite equal to her

expectations; but even he was not so great an object of curiosity to

her as Mary Forrester--a niece of Miss Thomson's several years older

than the girl who had got her new frock at Mrs. Dunn's, in Elsie's

time. Mary was then on a visit to her aunt, and apparently had the

charge of two lovely children, cousins of her own, and grand-nephew and

niece of Miss Thomson's. Their parents had gone a voyage in search of

health, and Aunt Margaret had invited them to spend the winter at

Allendale, and cousin Mary to keep them company. Jane thought she had

never seen a more charming girl than Mary, who was evidently a great

favourite with her aunt and Mr. Sinclair. Frank, intelligent, and

graceful, she looked like a sunbeam in the house. The little Phillipses

knew at once that she liked children, and wondered if she knew any of

the delightful stories and ballads for which Elsie was famed. The

little Munroes would take the Australians out of doors to see the

poultry and the wonderful peacock, so Mary and Jane accompanied their

charges. Mary had heard so much of Jane that she was disposed to be

interested in her, while a new tide of ideas flowed into Jane's mind in

relation to this stranger. In all probability this was the girl to whom

Francis was likely to become attached when she left the country. And

now that it was no unseen, and perhaps impossible, person whom she was

to fancy as his wife, but a really pretty and amiable girl, did the

thought now give her pain or awaken any sharp pang of jealousy? Her

heart filled with many emotions at the thought, agitating and painful

enough, but there was no jealousy. The more she fancied that Francis

could love her, the more Jane felt that she must love her too.

"I really half envy you, Miss Melville," said Mary. "I wish I could do

something for myself. You cannot think how anxiously I watched and

wondered how you and your sister got on, and how delighted I was when

you got the situation with Mrs. Phillips. Your cousin too--it must have

been a sad weight off his mind. A generous man like him must have felt

the terms on which he got the property very cruel."

"Yes," said Jane, "I know he felt it very much. We have great cause to

thank God that things have turned out so well as they have done."

"Well, Miss Melville, do you know I feel quite ashamed to think of the

amount of money which our family has cost Aunt Margaret; and after all

she has spent on my education, and I really did try my best to learn

too, I feel almost guilty in looking for a situation. There are so many

wanting employment, that it seems like taking bread out of their

mouths; and here am I, a full-grown woman, dependent on other people

for mine. There are four girls of us, and only Grace at school now, but

yet none of us are doing anything for ourselves. I spoke to Aunt

Margaret about taking a situation, but she said she must have me at

Allendale for the winter, on account of Archie and Maggie. After that

is over, I may speak of it again. You are going to Melbourne, where I

have got a brother doing pretty well; but one does not like to be

dependent even on a brother. If you think there is any opening there

for us, will you let us know through your cousin? we see him very

often."

"Then you stay at Allendale for all this winter?" said Jane.

"Yes, and it will be very pleasant. I like living with Aunt Margaret so

much, and John and I were always the two who drew together most of the

family; and then Mr. Sinclair is the dearest old gentleman in the

world."

"My cousin seems to be a favourite of your aunt's," said Jane.

"I never saw aunt take to any one at once as she did to him. What a

pity your uncle did not take him home; it would have added very much to

his happiness and to yours."

It was not like the parting of strangers that took place between Jane

Melville and Mary Forrester.

"Will you let me kiss you?" said Jane, timidly, as she said good-bye.

This was rather a remarkable proceeding on Jane's part, for she was not

addicted to the promiscuous osculation so common among young ladies,

but she felt for Mary Forrester no common interest.

Mary frankly granted the little request, and they parted to meet

again--when, and where, and how?

The party then went to Cross Hall, which was unaltered since Jane had

left it; and while Mrs. Phillips and the children were resting after

their journey, Francis took Mr. Phillips and Jane to look at the

cottages he had built, and she mounted her old horse to ride out to see

the allotments, which, even in this short time, showed signs of

improvement. There were words of greeting to be said to everybody and

to every animal about the place. The old servants were eager to tell

her of all that had been done, and all that was to be done; they were

glad to see her in good health, and apparently in good spirits. Many

sad reports had reached Cross Hall about their straitened circumstances

when in Edinburgh, and about poor Miss Elsie falling into a decline;

and to see and hear that all was so well with the sisters was a

pleasant thing for all who were attached to them. After all this had

been gone through, and she went into the room which had been hers and

Elsie's for fifteen years, to dress for dinner, the past, the present,

and the future all came upon her at once, and she felt as if she could

have given the world for the opportunity to give way. Everything was

exactly as she had left it; all the furniture which had been taken to

Edinburgh had been brought back and placed as it used to be.

"Can I help you, any way, Miss Jane?" said Susan, the upper housemaid,

tapping at the door.

"No, thank you," said Jane: then recollecting herself, and hoping that

the presence of the girl might help to steady her nerves--"but stop, do

come in for a little, and brush my hair. I am too tired, I think, to do

it; and my head aches a little."

"Is everything right here? The master said I was to tell him exactly

how things used to be, that ye should see nae change."

"All is right," said Jane. "If Elsie were here I might forget that I

ever had left Cross Hall; and I see that our people have no cause to

miss us, so that we can go to Australia with lighter hearts."

But for all this talk about a light heart, the tears would come into

Jane's eyes slowly as she looked out to the familiar scene and heard

the well-known voices, and thought that to-morrow she must leave Cross

Hall and Scotland and Francis for ever.

Mr. Phillips helped her well to keep up conversation at dinner and

during the evening, but after the children had gone to bed and Mrs.

Phillips had retired, he thought the cousins might wish to have their

quiet talk by themselves, and wished them good-night.

"You have not been in the library yet Jane," said Francis; "shall we

adjourn there? I have a little, a very little business to talk over

with you, and I am going to bid you our real farewell tonight, for I am

not going to see you on board ship. I dare not."

Jane followed him to the library. She had not been in it since they had

searched through her uncle's papers, and had read the letters of Madame

de Vericourt together. Francis took from the drawer, which still

contained those yellow letters, a paper on which was some writing and

figures, and a parcel of bank-notes.

"You recollect that you asked me to store the furniture that you left

in your room till you saw fit to claim it. After Elsie decided on

staying at Mrs. Phillips's, I sent to Peggy's for what you had there,

as I think I wrote to you, and Susan saw that everything was placed

just as it used to be. Was it so?"

"Yes; exactly so."

"I do not want to part with any of it, but I got a valuation taken of

it the other day, which you see here, and I give you the market price

for all the things. There is no favour in such a commercial transaction

as that surely, so here is a little addition to your slender capital.

You will find the money all right, I think, odd shillings and all."

"All right," said Jane, compelling herself to count the notes according

to her old methodical way.

"And you like my cottages, Jane, and you hope great things from the

allotments, and you were pleased with my two speeches in parliament?

Oh! Jane, if I am ever worth anything I will owe it to you, and now you

are going to put half the globe between us, I feel as if I had lost

more than half of myself."

Jane could scarcely trust herself to speak.

"It is better so, Francis."

"If you miss me as I know I will miss you, write and tell me so. You

KNOW, Jane, I love you," said Francis.

"I feared it."

"Why should you fear it? Is it not the most natural, the most

reasonable thing I could do? If you loved me you would not fear it."

"I thought that in all your many avocations, and especially in public

life, that you would forget this fancy, but it is well that I must

leave the country, for then I may hope that you will form another

attachment. Write to me when you do so, that I may know I have not

permanently deprived you of domestic happiness, and that I may pray for

you both. You think you owe me much, but to you I owe still more. Till

I knew you I had no religion, I never knew the privilege of prayer.

Even though we may never meet again on earth, we can look forward to a

happy meeting in heaven."

"Now, Jane, when you women bid good-bye to a friend of your own sex, as

dear to you as I am to you--for in a sense I am dear to you, am I not?"

"Yes, very dear to me," was wrung out of Jane, by Francis' earnest

looks and words.

"Well, when you bade farewell to Peggy this morning, she took you in

her arms and kissed you--you kissed Mary Forrester, a stranger to

you--and you are going to leave me--perhaps for ever--me, who would

give my life to serve you, who would give up fortune, fame, almost duty

for your sake, and you will shake hands coldly, and say--'Good-bye,

Francis.'"

"Not coldly, my friend--my brother. Do not think I can part from you

so," and by an irresistible impulse, she turned to her cousin, and felt

herself folded for a few seconds in his arms, and kissed with

passionate tenderness.

"This is what might have been ours for life, but for this accursed

will, and your notions of what is best for me, and perhaps a natural

disinclination towards my suit. Reflect--think--before it is too late

make your choice;--love in poverty and obscurity, perhaps--but still

love."

"Love is not all life, either for you or for me;--it is better for us

to part."

"Then you make your choice;--but Jane, if you change your mind, write

to me, and let me know. I tried to leave off writing at one time; but

it did no good, for I could do nothing that did not remind me of you.

Then it must be good-bye. May God bless you, my beloved one, now and

for ever!"

"May God bless you, my dear Francis, and now farewell!"

Another sort of farewell from her dismissal of William Dalzell!

Centuries had seemed to have passed over her since that first eventful

day of her life. She scarcely could identify herself with the woman who

had so calmly and so kindly extinguished a fancied partiality, as she

sat down in her own room and trembled from head to foot at the thought

of the pain she had given, and the love she had rejected. In the one

case she was perfectly certain that she had done right, in this she was

not by any means so clear. As she heard her cousin restlessly pacing up

and down the library, she felt tempted to go to him and say she would

share his fortunes, and even destroy them for him if he wished it. She

looked at the mirror, and wondered at her being able to excite such an

attachment; she looked into her own soul, and did not see anything in

it to warrant a man in giving her such a power over him. Duty was clear

as to the dismissal of William Dalzell, and the result had proved that

she was in the right; and now, when duty was so terribly difficult,

surely time, that tardy, but certain adjuster of life's inequalities,

would justify her both to Francis and herself. William Dalzell's love

had appeared to evaporate; but Francis' had grown more intense and

passionate till she felt she could scarcely look at him.

But it was true that she had admired his speeches, and that she was

ambitious for his success in all his plans. Every one who knew anything

about the subject said that Francis Hogarth was the most promising

young man who had entered the walls of parliament at this recent

general election. He had given great attention to public business; he

had mastered the details with ease; and the principles seemed to be

intuitive with him.

He had become acquainted with a small band of outsiders like himself,

men of independence and originality, who kept aloof from party, but

whose votes were of importance to both parties, and whose approbation

was of far more value than that of the strongest partizan. No one could

tell to what height he might not rise from such a beginning; the

ministry had noticed him favourably, and he was as likely as not to be

offered office before the parliament had expired.

Mr. Sinclair had told her how his hopes rested on the new member for

the burghs, and how many public matters and reforms they talked over

together with constant reference to first principles.

Jane was proud of the conquest she had made, and proud of her influence

over a man so able, and so upright; but now she felt it was dangerous

to see too much of him, and his parliamentary life had brought him into

far more frequent contact with her now than ever before. She had led

him so far in the right direction, but now she feared for her own

resolution; she knew she could not withstand many such scenes as she

had just gone through, and she saw that there was great wisdom and

propriety in her leaving the country that he lived in. From her distant

home across the ocean, she could hear of his labours and his triumphs,

and, she hoped, after a time, of his happiness. But while she reasoned

with herself as to the propriety of leaving him, she felt all the

bitterness of the lifelong separation. She could no longer disguise the

truth from herself--he was as truly half of her as she was of him--and

she shivered at the thought of a life to be gone through in which she

should never more see his face, or hear his voice. It was as sad a

night, and as sleepless, as that she had spent in her cousin's house in

Edinburgh, when all doors had seemed to be shut against her, except the

faint chance of a sub-matronship in a lunatic asylum. Now, two doors

were open to her--one to a life of toil and dependence for herself and

probably a happy life for Elsie, at the antipodes; and the other, a

life of love with the man who had all her heart, and who deserved it

all, with a dependent life for Elsie. Even though her own hand had

closed the door, she could not help lingering at the threshold, and

grieving that she was shut out from the only paradise she cared for.

So the good ship sailed next week, bearing Jane from the man who loved

her, and whom she loved, and Elsie and Miss Harriett Phillips towards

the man whom they both thought loved them.

Volume III.

Chapter I.

Mr. Brandon's Second Proposal To Elsie, And Its Fate

On Mr. Brandon's arrival at Melbourne after a longer voyage than he had

expected in a ship with such a high character as the one he sailed in,

he hurried up to Barragong, and was much gratified to find things there

did not look so badly as he had been led to expect. It was his

overseer's want of confidence in himself that had made him exaggerate

everything that was going wrong, or was likely to go wrong. In fact Mr.

Phillips's affairs were suffering much more from the want of the

master's eye than his; but Dr. Grant had a better opinion of his own

management, and wrote more cheerful accounts. Brandon regretted that

Powell had left his employment, for if he had been in charge of

Barragong there might have been three more happy months in England for

his master.

As his affairs were really in a sufficiently satisfactory state, he

felt that he must write to Elsie Melville, renewing his offer of

marriage, and endeavouring as far as he could to give her confidence in

the stability of his character. How exceedingly awkward he felt it to

be to have to write this instead of saying it. How incomparably better

such things are done by word of mouth, particularly when one is not a

ready and clever letter-writer. He would in the personal interview have

felt the effect of one sentence before he ventured on another--he would

have assisted his halting phrases by all the advantages of tone,

gesture, and expression of countenance. Though he had failed once in

his attempt to win her affections, he had been far more stupid than he

was now, and he was now more anxious for success. The more he had

thought over the person, the manners, and the character of Elsie

Melville, the more convinced he was that she was the one woman in the

world for him; but he was by no means so sanguine of being accepted as

he had been, particularly when he had only the pen to trust to. There

was no saying what so clever and so literary a girl as Elsie Melville

was would think of his blundering declaration. The paper looked cold

and blank and uninviting--it really was hard to make it the only means

of telling her how much he loved her. No kind wishes towards the

overseer whose fears and scruples had hurried him away, or towards Miss

Phillips, who had interrupted him when he was about to say something he

had hoped Elsie could not mistake, accompanied the half-dozen different

attempts at a love-letter, which were written before he could please

himself. Emily was his friend; Jane, he thought, would be his friend

too. Elsie was really a kind-hearted girl, and if he could only

convince her that he would be miserable if she refused him, she might

pity him a little. He had not the same objections to a little pity that

she had on that day in the railway carriage, when he had been so

confident of success. But when he reflected on what Peggy might have

said with truth about him, and when he put to that the fact that

immediately after his refusal by Elsie he had devoted himself to Miss

Phillips, there was no doubt that Elsie had some cause to suspect the

steadiness of his principles. It was difficult by writing to hint at

these things without saying too much, but they must not be passed over

in silence either.

At last the letter was written and committed to the country post-office

nearest to Barragong--not that he was satisfied with it, but he must

not lose the mail. If she was good enough to accept of him, she was to

draw upon him for a specified sum for passage-money and outfit, and

come out in the mail steamer following her answer. It was not a

brilliant letter, but it was honest and straightforward. However, as

Elsie had sailed for Melbourne before it reached England, it was of the

less consequence what it was.

Pending her answer, Brandon felt very unsettled. He could not set

himself to work systematically, and all the neighbours said that his

visit to England had spoiled him for a colonist, as it did with most

people. He missed his pleasantest neighbour, Mr. Phillips, and he

missed the children. Though Dr. Grant in one direction, and Mr.

M'Intyre in another, thought they were ten times better than the

Phillipses, Brandon did not feel that they could make up to him for

their absence.

Dr. Grant was certainly mismanaging, to a considerable extent, Mr.

Phillips's business, and muddling it as he did his own affairs. He had

now been many years in the sheep-farming line, and in the best of

times, for he had bought very cheap--much cheaper than either Phillips

or Brandon, and he had quite as large a capital to start with; but he

had a bad way of managing the men on his stations; he gave the same

wages as other people, certainly, for he could not help that, but he

always gave them with a grudge, and seemed to think his employes were

picking his pocket. He had a harsh and dictatorial way of giving

orders--very different from Brandon's and Phillips's pleasant

manner--and he consequently had never been well served. His men had

been the first to leave at the time of the diggings, and the

consequences had been most disastrous. From sheer want of hands, he had

sacrificed one of his runs with the sheep on it to Powell, and now he

grudged to see how very handsomely Powell had been repaid for his money

and time in this transaction. The fortune that Powell had made ought to

have been his--Dr. Grant's own--instead of filling the pockets of a man

who had only sprung from the ranks.

The same style of mismanagement was carried into Mr. Phillips's

affairs; and yet when Brandon relieved Dr. Grant of the burden he had

so unwillingly taken up, the latter felt rather hurt, for he had had a

handsome salary for the charge of Wiriwilta and the other stations, and

he would certainly miss the money; and, besides, he thought it showed a

want of confidence in himself on Phillips's part.

At Wiriwilta, however, there was a feeling of pleasure at the exchange,

and Brandon had the satisfaction of really benefiting his friend

without taking any very great deal of trouble.

In this restless state of his mind he had great pleasure in the society

of Edgar, who attached himself to his uncle with quiet fidelity. He

soon learned to ride, and to ride fearlessly and far; he learned too to

use his limbs, his ears, and his eyes, so that Brandon found he really

had a head on his shoulders, which he had been rather doubtful of when

the lad had been kept so constantly at his books.

One day when the boy had been talking with enthusiasm of Australian

life, and expressing his longing after more adventures, his uncle, who

also was eager for change, proposed to Edgar an overland journey

together to Adelaide. He had heard that some particularly fine sheep

were to be had in South Australia, and he wished to add this variety to

his own flocks as well as to those of Mr. Phillips. He had always had a

great wish to see the Adelaide side, and this journey would amuse and

employ him till he could get his answer from Elsie. If she accepted

him, and came out, as he wished, without delay, he might never have

another opportunity for making the visit, for he would not be inclined

to leave her, for a while at any rate.

Edgar was delighted with the proposal, and helped his uncle with the

few simple preparations for their long ride with a vigour and despatch

that showed he had the stuff in him for a good bushman. How his tender

mother would have trembled at the thought of the perils and hardships

of such a journey but as she knew nothing about it till it was safely

over, she was spared all anxiety. Brandon was not altogether insincere

when he told Elsie and the Edinburgh ladies that the finest prospect he

ever saw in Victoria was the prospect of getting out of it, but the

present pleasure made him forget many past ones. He had a real

enjoyment in the bush life he then talked so contemptuously about.

Camping out was to him no hardship, and to Edgar it was a delightful

novelty. It was varied by nights spent at sheep stations, where a

hospitable welcome generally awaited them, and an amount of comfort

varying according to circumstances. When they crossed the Victorian

border, and came to the South Australian side, the welcome appeared to

be equally hearty. Edgar Holmes could not help admiring the want of

suspicion and the liberality of these absolute strangers.

Brandon went about his purchase of sheep on his way to Adelaide, and

made what he thought a very satisfactory bargain. It was to be a joint

speculation between himself and Mr. Phillips, and he was sure it would

turn out very well. When he had left directions as to delivery, he and

his nephew went down to Adelaide, to see what they thought of that

little colonial capital. Edgar was charmed with Adelaide, and preferred

it out-and-out to Melbourne, but as he had only passed through the

latter, and had got acquainted with none of the people there, his

preference was perhaps not worth much. Brandon, however, could not help

confessing that the Adelaide men had some cause for the patriotism so

strongly, and, as he had thought, so tiresomely expressed at the time

of the diggings. It had less bustle than Melbourne, and certainly was

not so wealthy; but it was a quiet, cheap, and hospitable place, and

its prosperity rested on a very solid basis. The amount of cultivation,

both agricultural and horticultural, contrasted favourably with that of

Melbourne, which had been almost exclusively pastoral till the gold

diggings broke out, and had had many drawbacks, in the shape of land

regulations, to its becoming a corn and wine bearing country.

Brandon took up his abode at the York Hotel, of course, and met with

some pleasant people in and about Adelaide. Some of them he had known

in London, and they introduced him to others. If his heart had not been

fixed at this present time on Elsie Melville, he might have taken a

fancy to one of the Adelaide girls whom he met. They were not so

formidable in the array of their accomplishments and acquirements as

the modern English young lady; they were frank, agreeable, and not

ignorant of domestic matters, and they had no apparent horror of the

bush. But Brandon's affections were really engaged, and he put

considerable restraint on his flirting powers during this visit, which

all engaged men ought to do, but which, I must say, I have found very

few engaged men do; they feel so perfectly safe themselves that they

care very little for what construction other people may put on their

attentions, or their polite speeches.

Brandon had sent directions for Mr. Talbot to get his letters and

forward them to him in Adelaide, for he was now daily expecting Elsie's

answer. In case of his being accepted, he would cross over to Melbourne

in time to receive her from the next mail-steamer, would marry her

there, and take her home to Barragong, and thus save himself two long

land journeys.

But the mail-steamer had come with the Adelaide mails, and the next

after that with his own letters, but not a word from Elsie or from any

of the Phillipses. He had had a few lines from Emily the preceding

month, to say that dear little Eva was dead, and that they were all

getting better. The address was either in Jane's hand writing or in

Elsie's, but he took if for granted that it was Elsie's, and had

treasured it up in consequence of that supposition. But this month

there was not a word from any of them. There had been plenty of time

for an answer, for his letter had been sent via Marseilles, so that

Elsie had had ten days clear to make up her mind and reply to what she

ought to have thought an important communication.

It was using him extremely ill to treat his letter with so much

contempt. He was never more near being very angry in his life. It was

strange that Elsie Melville, whose manner was so remarkably gentle and

winning, should on two important occasions have treated him with such

marked discourtesy. No doubt, his letter was not worth very much in

itself; but to him it was great consequence. If she wanted a month for

consideration, why not write and tell him so? Or, if she feared to

commit herself, she might have got Jane to write. Could she have taken

the fever? That was a solution--but a very sad one--of her conduct.

Jane would have certainly written in that case if she had not got the

fever too. He would alter his plans: he would go back overland; or,

rather, he would sail up the Murray, and not pass through Melbourne at

all. So he took his passage and Edgar's by one of the Murray steamers,

and felt that if he was not a very ill-used man, he ought to feel a

very unhappy one.

Chapter II.

Mrs. Peck

In a poor-looking room of a small wayside public-house, about twenty

miles out of Adelaide, were seated one evening, shortly after Brandon's

departure up the Murray, a man and a woman, neither of them young or

handsome or respectable-looking. If they had been so once they had

outgrown them all. The woman certainly had what is called the remains

of a fine woman about her, but her face had so many marks of care, of

evil passions, and of irregular living, that it was perhaps more

repulsive than if it had been absolutely plain in features; her dress

was slatternly and ill-fitting, her gray hair untidily gathered under a

dingy black cap, with bright, though soiled yellow flowers stuck in it;

her eyes, which had still some brightness, had a fierce, hungry

expression; and the very hands, thin and long, and with overgrown

nails, had less the appearance of honest work than of dishonest

rapacity. The man was a rougher-looking person, more blackguardly,

perhaps, in appearance, but not so dangerous. He had been at the

nearest post-office, and brought a letter addressed to Mrs. Peck, which

the woman tore open and read with impatient eagerness.

"This is from Mr. Talbot at last," said the man. "Long looked for--come

at last. I hopes as how it is worth waiting for."

"Worth waiting for!" said she, stamping on the letter with her foot,

and standing up, with such a look of frenzy that her companion moved a

little out of the way. "Hang him, and his clients too!"

"Won't this man come down with the ready, Liz? Does he send to make

inquiries? A cool hand--cooler than the old man. Won't out with the

blunt till he knows what he's paying for."

"It's not about him at all," said Mrs. Peck. "Not a word has he ever

said, good or bad--taken no notice of my letters, no more nor if I had

not been such a mother to him. I should have had an answer to my second

letter by this time, and I know it was directed all right; he must have

got them both. I'll have it out of him, though. I'll have my revenge,

as sure as I am a living woman."

"Don't go into such a scot, woman. Then, if it is not from young Cross

Hall, what has that lawyer said to put you into such a tantrum?"

"Oh! just a request to keep on this side of the border, or he'll not

warrant my getting a farthing out of Phillips. He offers three pound a

quarter more if I don't show my face in Melbourne! Such a beggarly sum

it is after all! To think that I should only have two children, and

them turning out such ungrateful cubs to me!"

"Two children, Liz?" said the man with a sneer. "Well, if I was

Phillips I'd like to keep you at a civil distance just at present, for

you look as like to brain him as not."

"There's the both of them rolling in wealth. Frank got all Cross Hall's

property, and all through me; and Betsy, with her London establishment

and her carriage, no doubt, and her children dressed like duchesses,

and herself, too--and look at me!"

"Well, just look at you, Liz. I fancy that the sight of you would do

them no credit. You're well enough off with Phillips. I think this is a

very handsome offer. Though we're both sick of Adelaide, we can stop

here a bit longer--at least, till we can see our way clear to get out

of it."

"Do you think I don't care for my liberty? and I hate the Adelaide

side. It was all your doings coming across here at all, and a precious

mull you've made of it. I fancy they must be thinking of coming back to

Melbourne, from this notice to me to keep out of the way. And do you

think I don't want to see my own daughter? Did not I put her in the way

of all her good fortune? Did not I dress her the day she first saw

Phillips, and did not she look like a angel?"

"And he was spoon enough to marry her, which was more than either you

or me expected. As for the girl, she was glad enough to go away from

you; you never cared so much for her."

"Did I not, when I saw she was growing up so handsome and a credit to

me?"

"Yes, yes; we both wanted to make our own of her, and I think we did

not do amiss, considering," said Peck. "We've had bad luck in Adelaide,

but things may change--money goes farther here."

"Money never goes far with us," said Mrs. Peck, "and Melbourne is the

place where we can get on best. If I had Frank's money, which I must

and shall get out of him somehow, we could manage to rub along here,

but without it we never could. The black-hearted scoundrel, not to send

me a farthing--me who could----"

"You had better threaten him with what you can do in your next letter.

I always thought that style of working the oracle would pay best; but

perhaps the motherly affectionate dodge was the best to try first.

Threaten him in your next."

"I don't think I'll condescend to threaten him; I don't care to save

him from what he deserves for his shameful ingratitude to me. I could

make better terms with Cross Hall's nieces than I could do with Frank.

Surely they would give me more for my secret than he would do to keep

me quiet. They were left beggars, I know, and the estate is worth a

great deal to them."

"Hang it, Mrs. Peck, that is a glorious idea, but don't be too hurried

in your movements. You don't care about your own share in the business

being known?" said Peck.

"I care for nothing if I could only get my revenge on him, and if I

could only get as much out of the Melville girls as would allow me to

snap my fingers at Phillips. I would rather relish publishing my

connection with him. I would like to bring down Betsy a peg."

"There's where you always make a mull of it, Liz. Your infernal temper

always gets the better of you. Revenge and spite are very good things

in their way, but I don't see that they pay. I think you would be very

mad to give up so much a year for the pleasure of vexing Phillips and

Betsy; and as for the Melville girls, how are you to get at them? There

is not shot in the locker to take you to England, and letters are very

risky things to write. You're sure to let out more than is safe, and if

you let out too little the girls will see no advantage in it."

"I hate letters," said Mrs. Peck, moodily; "but I would like to get at

the girls by word of mouth."

As this interesting pair were engaged in conversation, a traveller of a

very different description alighted at the door of the inn, and

requested lodgings for the night. He was well-dressed and

respectable-looking; he was probably as old as either of them, but his

face and air gave tokens of a quieter life and a calmer temper. His

horse was knocked up, so that he could not go on to a larger and

better-appointed inn than this, which was five miles nearer town; but

when he saw the name over the door and the host and hostess, he was

reconciled to the inferior accommodation. But he rather objected to the

company that he found in the inn parlour, and did not seem pleased with

the proposal that he should take supper with them.

"Oh, Mr. Dempster," said the host, "I fancy you have got nice since you

were in England. These people are decent enough, I reckon, though

rather down in their luck, like some others of us. I wish I had such a

house to receive you in as that I built on the--Road. I had plenty

rooms there; but you see it was not licensed, and I was ruined--at

least brought down to this."

"Well, Frankland, I suppose I must submit," said Mr. Dempster, "as you

say you have no other place for me; but I never would have thought

these were particularly decent people."

Whether from spiritual influences or not, Mr. Dempster felt a great

repugnance to this man and woman. The influence might have been partly

spirituous, for there was a considerable fragrance of strong liquor

about them both.

In spite of the unpromising appearance of the house, the hostess

produced a very tempting-looking supper for hungry people. She sat down

herself to make tea for the company, and was delighted to see Mr.

Dempster, and to have a little talk with him about old colonists and

old times. She was a very old colonist herself, and had known many ups

and downs, generally in the same line of life.

Active, civil, and much-enduring, she was an admirable hostess, but her

husband was rather idle and speculative, and had invested the savings

of many years in the erection of a large hotel in a place where, in the

opinion of the Bench of Magistrates, it was not wanted, and the licence

was refused, so they had come down in the world in consequence, and had

taken this small inn, where they could just make ends meet. Mrs.

Frankland missed the old customers who used to call, and felt this

visit from Mr. Dempster something like a revival of old days, and asked

him as to the changes he saw in Adelaide; and as Mr. and Mrs. Peck were

Melbourne people, who did not know anything about the old colonists,

Mr. Dempster spoke to her with freedom.

"You have been visiting your married daughter, I suppose," said Mrs.

Frankland.

"Yes, that is the first thing I had to do on my return."

"A fine family she is getting about her, I hear; but I have not seen

her for awhile. This house is not good enough for her to stay a night

in."

"Yes, she has a very fine family--another little fellow since I left

Adelaide."

"You must feel it lonesome now," said the hostess.

"Yes: it is the way of the world, and one should not murmur at it; but

yet a man must feel it very much when his only daughter, and one so

much his companion as my girl was, chooses a home for herself, and

surrounds herself with new ties and new cares."

"You should see and get some one to take care of you," said Mrs.

Frankland, cheerily;--"a pleasant, kindly body--not too young. You must

have met many such in England, who would have been glad of the chance."

"Yes, and who would have grumbled at the colony whenever she came out,

and given me no peace till I took her home again. Now my business and

my interests are all in South Australia. Besides, I like the young

women best, and they would never look at an old fogie like me; so I

must content myself with my memories of the past and my hopes for a

future life. My home is not so lonely as you fancy it, Mrs. Frankland.

Even here I feel the departed ones are near me. The veil that separates

this world from the next is a very thin one; and if our intercourse

with each other is less complete than in the days when we were together

in the flesh, it is none the less real. I have become a spiritualist

since I went to England."

"A what?" asked the hostess.

"You must have heard of table-turning, and all those strange

manifestations?"

"La! Mr. Dempster, I never thought of YOU giving in to a pack of

nonsense like that. I beg your pardon for my rudeness, but really you

DO surprise me."

"What would you think of spirits who can read unseen letters--tell the

names of persons whom none of the company knew--find out the secrets of

every one in the room? You recollect Tom Bean, who was lost in the bush

twelve years ago, and more; his spirit appeared to me in London, and

gave me a message to his old mother, to say he was expecting her soon;

and the old lady did not live three months after."

"Well, that is strange, but I would be very hard to convince. But yet,

Mr. Dempster, that is no reason why you should not get a nice tidy body

to make you comfortable. The spirits would not surely begrudge you

that. And so you had a pleasant voyage, and went round by Melbourne so

as to see all that was to be seen. Did any of the old colonists come

out with you?"

"We had a large party altogether--Mr. and his family, who had just been

home to finish their education."

"And you admired the young ladies, of course, but really they are too

young for you. Have they grown up handsome?"

"Not particularly handsome, but very pleasant-looking; but if you talk

of beauty, it was a Melbourne lady who bore off the palm on board ship.

Unfortunately, she was married, and it would have been very improper to

take a fancy to her, but Mrs. Phillips is superb."

"Mrs. Phillips of Wiriwilta?" said Mrs. Peck, eagerly.

"Yes, I fancy that is the name of the place; at least the children used

to talk about it by that name. Mr. Phillips is a sheep-farmer on the

Victoria side," said Mr. Dempster.

"And you say she is handsome?" said Mrs. Peck.

"Perfectly beautiful!--but uneducated, and somewhat capricious. I fancy

her face must have captivated her husband, who is a very intelligent,

agreeable man."

"I suppose they are rich now?" said Mrs. Peck.

"Oh! very well to do, I fancy. I visited them a good deal when I was in

London."

"How many children have they?" asked Mrs. Peck. "I knew them long ago."

"They lost one with scarlet fever before they sailed. There were four

on board ship; but there are five by this time, for Mrs. Phillips

stayed in Melbourne for her confinement, and had a little boy within a

week of landing."

"Is her husband with her?" asked Mrs. Peck, eagerly.

"Oh, no! I think Phillips went up to his stations; he had a number of

things to see to. What do you know about them?" asked Mr. Dempster,

rather surprised at Mrs. Peck's curiosity.

"I was once in their employment at Wiriwilta, and Mrs. Phillips was

uncommonly good-looking then. There was not so much style in those days

as I suppose there is now."

"Probably not; we have all had to work hard for what we have earned in

these colonies and Phillips must have made his way like the rest of us.

They had a very pretty little establishment in London."

"Kep' their carriage, no doubt," said Mrs. Peck, with a

thinly-disguised sneer.

"No, they did not; but if it's any satisfaction to you to know it, Mrs.

Phillips has had a tour on the Continent, and has had a lady's-maid."

"A lady's-maid," said Mrs. Peck; "well! well! and the children, I

suppose, are being educated up to the nines?"

"They took both the governess and the lady's-maid with them to

Melbourne," said Mr. Dempster. "They were sisters, and very superior

young ladies. In fact, to my taste, Mrs. Frankland, the lady's-maid was

more charming than the mistress; not so regularly handsome--but very

lovely--while as to intelligence and refinement there was no

comparison. If she had been a dozen of years older I might have been a

little presumptuous."

"Was this Mrs. Phillips so very far behind as that her maid was so

superior to her?" asked Mrs. Frankland.

"It happened that these sisters were the young ladies of whom, even in

these distant parts, you may have heard something; who were brought up

to inherit a large property in the south of Scotland, by a very

eccentric uncle, who left everything he had to a son whom nobody had

ever heard of before, and left the girls absolutely penniless."

"Was not their name Melville?" asked Mrs. Peck, eagerly and fiercely.

"Yes," replied Mr. Dempster, astonished to find his chatty

communications to his old friend, Mrs. Frankland, taken up in this way

by this unprepossessing-looking stranger. "Yes, their name was

Melville, and I never in my life met with more amiable, more

intelligent, or better-principled girls."

"I saw about it in the papers," said Mrs. Peck, endeavouring to subdue

her delight and exultation at the idea of the girls she wished so much

to come in contact with being so near her as Melbourne. "I took a great

interest in it. I like these romances of real life. And so, Mrs.

Phillips is up, and these girls are down, and glad to eat the bitter

bread of service. It is very amusing. Was Mrs. Phillips much taken up

with them on account of their misfortunes?"

"I do not know," said Mr. Dempster, drily. "If you have served Mrs.

Phillips you will know that she is not the same at all times."

"Then there was a large party of them on board; a servant, no doubt,

and these two Melville girls, and the children?" said Mrs. Peck.

"There was also a sister of Mr. Phillips's--rather a fine woman,

too--come out on a visit."

"And a fine lady, too, I dare say," said Mrs. Peck. "Mr. Phillips holds

his head pretty high. I warrant his sister and Mrs. Phillips would have

some sparring. And the children are good-looking, I suppose? I saw none

of them since the first was a baby. What are they like?"

"They are very pretty children, and getting on well with their studies.

The eldest Miss Melville is the most thoroughly cultivated woman I ever

saw."

"Oh, leave Cross Hall alone for that," said Mrs. Peck. "He was always

crazy about education, and that sort of thing."

"Cross Hall!" said Mr. Dempster. "I suppose you will say next that you

know Francis Hogarth, of Cross Hall, member of Parliament for the

Swinton burghs?"

"Member of Parliament, too!" said Mrs. Peck, with the same subdued

fierceness as when she first took Mr. Dempster up about the Melvilles.

"Member of Parliament! Ungrateful dog!" she said, under her breath; but

her expression of vindictiveness was not altogether lost on Mr.

Dempster. "Oh yes! I know him; or at least I know all about him. Nobody

did know anything of him till he came into the property, you know; but

I really know more about him than most folks. There are some people

that would give their ears to know what I do; but there is a saying in

the north, where I was born, 'Least said is soonest mended;' at any

rate, least said to them as it don't concern."

"If I had you at a seance", said Mr. Dempster, "I could get all your

secrets out of you, whether you liked it or not. Yes, Mrs. Frankland, I

really could."

"I don't think it can be right," said the timid hostess, who, though

she was very fond of hearing the news, preferred to get them from

living persons and not disembodied spirits. "Mrs. Peck, you are taking

nothing."

"I got bad news just before tea, and that took away my appetite; but I

have got over that now, so I'll trouble you for a mutton chop, Mr.

Dempster, and Peck, just pass me the pickles, and be good enough to

give me a hot cup of tea, Mrs. Frankland, for this one is as cold as a

stone;" so Mrs. Peck felt inclined to make up for lost time, and made a

very hearty supper. She wound up with two glasses of brandy-and-water

hot, and she got Peck out of the way, for she wished to have a quiet

talk with Mr. Dempster.

Mr. Dempster was not disposed to encourage her confidence; her strange

inquiries about people he had been greatly interested in, recalled the

seance which had so much startled Francis Hogarth, and he suspected

that this must be the person who had written the letter the spirit had

been questioned about, and, consequently, that she was Hogarth's

mother; no mother, certainly, to be proud of! The spirit said that her

son ought to have nothing whatever to do with her, and Mr. Dempster was

disposed to obey all spiritual communications. Besides this, all his

instincts were strong against any intercourse with a woman so

disreputable-looking, with an expression of countenance alternately

fierce and fawning.

Now the fawning manner was put on. Mrs. Peck had an object in view--she

wanted money to take her to Melbourne, and to take her immediately, and

this easy-going, benevolent-looking Adelaide gentleman seemed to be the

most likely victim she could meet with.

She had long wished to see her daughter apart from her husband, and

there never had been such a chance since she was married; and to get

hold of one or both of the Melville girls at the same time was a

conjunction of circumstances absolutely and marvellously favourable.

Her last remittance from Mr. Phillips had been received a month before,

and was spent as soon as it was got. Peck, with whose fortunes she had

for many years connected herself, had not been lucky of late. He had

come to Adelaide at race time, and had not got on well with his bets.

He had done a little in gambling, but had got into a sort of row at a

low public-house, and been taken up and fined for being drunk and

disorderly, and dismissed with a caution; so he had gone up to the

sheep-shearing, and then had worked a little at the hay-harvest, and

again at the wheat-harvest. He could work pretty hard at such times,

and make good wages; but he had no turn for steady, regular work, and

neither had she. If she had been in Melbourne, she could have borrowed

the ten or twelve pounds needed for her passage-money, and a

decent-looking outfit from people who knew her there, and guessed that

she had some hidden means, either from friends or foes; but in Adelaide

she was unknown except from her connection with Peck, which did not

inspire confidence.

This Adelaide gentleman had just come from London, and could know

nothing about her, so she was determined to use her plausible tongue,

and get the money out of him.

As Mr. Phillips said, she was possessed with the spirit of falsehood.

She always had a disinclination to speak the truth, unless when it was

very decidedly for her own interest to do so, or when she was enraged

out of all prudence. So now, when she wanted to get an advance from Mr.

Dempster, she forgot the agitation and the eagerness which she had

shown about the Phillipses, the Melvilles, and the Hogarths, and opened

up a quite new mine of anxieties and fears. Her secret, such as it was,

should not be told to any one but the parties to whom it was valuable,

and who would pay her handsomely for it, so she must now prevent this

friend of the family from even guessing at what her schemes were.

Chapter III.

Raising The Wind

As Mrs. Peck sipped her brandy-and-water, putting a constraint on

herself in so doing--for her natural taste would have led her to

swallow it in large gulps, but that would not have answered her purpose

of impressing Mr. Dempster--she began to talk of the letter she had

received from Melbourne, which had distressed her so much. Her daughter

was ill and dying, and her son-in-law had written to her to beg that if

she possibly could she would come across to see poor dear Mary before

she was no more; but, poor fellow, he was always hard up--a decent

well-meaning fellow he was--but he wanted push, and things had never

gone rightly with him.

"They have never had the doctor out of the house since they have been

married, and many births and many deaths keep a man always poor, Mr.

Dempster, as well you must know; and it's many's the five-pound note as

I've given to them out of my small means to help them through at a hard

pinch, and he thinks, of course, as how I can just put my hand in my

pocket and pay my passage in the first steamer as quick as he thinks

for to ask me; and so I would, and would never have begrudged it, for

my poor Mary's sake, but things has gone so contrary with me and Peck

for this year back that I ain't got a penny to lay out. And there's the

poor soul laying so bad, and thinking as I'm on the road, I dare say,

and me can no more get to her without wings nor she can to get me."

"What is your son-in-law by trade?" asked Mr. Dempster.

"Why, he ain't got no trade to speak of, but he's warehouseman to

Campbell and Co., in Melbourne, the merchants, you know," said Mrs.

Peck.

"Then he must have a good situation and regular payment--he ought not

to be so badly off," said Mr. Dempster.

"There's such expenses with a family in Melbourne, where there's much

sickness especially. A very decent, good-tempered fellow he is, and

don't spend his wages away from his home. Poor Mary! I well remember

the day she was married, and how pretty she looked in her white gown,

and how she says to me, 'Oh, my mother! I can't abear to leave you,

even for James,' and now she is agoing to leave all of us. And when

little Betsy was born, and I was a nursing of her, she looked up and

says she, 'Oh, mother! I don't think as I'm long for this world;' but I

roused her, and said she wasn't a-dying then, and my words was true,

for she was not going then; but now to think my being so far from her

and her so bad."

Then Mrs. Peck wiped her eyes energetically and sobbed a little. Mr.

Dempster seemed to be soft-hearted and simple-minded. She thought she

had made an impression, and she endeavoured to deepen it.

"I am a very old colonist. I have been in Australia this thirty year

and more, travelling about from place to place. When you and Mrs.

Frankland were talking about changes and ups and downs, I thought on a

many as I have seen in the other colonies. There's them as I remember

without a sixpence as is now rolling in gold. I don't know the Adelaide

gentry so well, but I reckon they chop and change just like the others.

It is very unlucky for me to be here just at this present time, for I

know of a many in Sydney that I might have applied to for a little

loan, and they'd have been glad to give me assistance; but,

unfortunately, I am on the Adelaide side, where nobody knows me.

There's the Hunters, of Sydney, that I was nurse in the family."

"And the Phillipses, of Wiriwilta, too, who I dare say, would be most

happy to help you if you were straitened on the Melbourne side," said

Mr. Dempster, drily. "Mr. Phillips is a more liberal man than Mr.

Hunter."

"It is not Mr. Hunter I'd look to, but his wife; she has the generous

spirit," said Mrs. Peck.

"The Hunters are at present in London--at least, Mr. Hunter and the

family are. Mrs. Hunter died four years ago," said Mr. Dempster.

"That's a pity. Oh, dear, dear! I am sorry to hear that news. Poor,

dear lady; but in the midst of life we are in death," said Mrs. Peck.

"No doubt we are," said Mr. Dempster. "No one knows that better than I

do, for I am always living amongst the dead, and they occasionally help

me to judge of people. I get a good deal of insight into character

through their means; and my impression is, that there is not a word of

truth in all you have just been telling me. You want to go to

Melbourne, no doubt, but it is not to see a dying daughter. You have

other plans in view which cannot be carried out here."

Mrs. Peck was somewhat taken aback by this blunt expression of opinion

coming from a man apparently so suave and gentle.

"Indeed, sir," said she, "I never heard nobody doubt my word afore; but

this comes of leaving the place where you are known. It is to see my

daughter that I am most wishful to go to Melbourne. No doubt I might

have other reasons, for I don't like Adelaide; but it's this letter and

this bad news that has made me so set on going. But I was asking no

favour of you. If I did want a loan of a trifle, I'd have paid back

every farthing of it with good interest. But I think I had better draw

on a friend of mine in Melbourne. I suppose that if I did that, I could

get the draft cashed at any of the banks?"

"You could get it cashed anywhere, provided you showed your authority

to draw, and convinced the person to whom you applied that your friend

was good for the money. Under these conditions I should not mind

advancing it for you myself."

"But you'd be rather hard to convince, I fancy," said Mrs. Peck. "After

the unhandsome way you have doubted my true story, I would not like to

apply to you. But any advance that any one would make to me would be as

safe as the bank. I have an annuity, and have had it for many years."

"No," said Mr. Dempster, "you have no annuity; you got a sum of money

instead."

Mrs. Peck started at this confident assertion, and coloured

indignantly. "How can you speak so positive about things you can know

nothing about? I have an annuity from another quarter."

"For valuable services, I suppose," said Mr. Dempster. "Well, if you

can prove that you are still in receipt of an annuity, and if you can

lodge an order to forestall it, I dare say you can get an advance from

any Adelaide bill discounter; but I myself would rather not do business

with a person who I feel is not to be relied on."

To put an end to the revelations, true or false, of this unpleasant old

woman, Mr. Dempster asked to be shown to bed, as he was tired; and he

found his room, though small, was as clean and comfortable as Mrs.

Frankland had been used to give to him in her more prosperous days.

Mrs. Peck's first attempt had failed, though it had appeared very

promising. She thought she would next try Frankland, who, though he was

poor, might be victimized to the extent of ten pounds. She did not

think she could affect him by dwelling much on the desire she felt to

see her dying daughter, though for the sake of consistency it was

mentioned as her motive to get to Melbourne just at this time; but she

had several sums of money due to her in Melbourne, and she was afraid,

from the letter she had just received, that she would lose them if she

kept out of the way; there was nothing like being on the spot--nothing

like prompt measures when one wants to get in money. Mr. Talbot's

letter was sufficient warrant for her to raise money on Mr. Phillips's

annuity, but not for the purpose of going to Melbourne, which she had

unluckily betrayed. It was also rather disagreeable in its tone, and

not likely to inspire confidence in any one who read it. So she had

only her own representations to trust to, and she certainly gave a very

minute, and at the same time glowing account of her debtors and her

expectations from them; but what with one thing and another she had

really never been so hard up in her life. Peck had not got all his

wages for harvesting, and she had been so foolish as to lend a little

money in Adelaide, which she feared she could not get back. Indeed,

they had a score at the inn that had lain too long; but if she could

only get her own she could pay all and be quite easy. She spoke of a

rate of interest for a trifling advance that rather dazzled Frankland,

and he was wondering if he could not manage to raise it, when his wife

came into the room, and stopped their talk by saying it was bed-time.

When she was told of Mrs. Peck's wishes and her offers, Mrs. Frankland

peremptorily refused to listen to them, saying they had no money to

advance to any one. Frankland had brought them down low enough in the

world by being so free in lending and in spending. If she had not taken

care of the business, and worked early and late, and looked after the

money so far as she had it in her power, they would not have had a roof

over their heads by this time. What with the licence that had just been

paid, and the rent that must be paid before the end of the month, they

would be cleared out, without advancing money to strangers that were in

their debt already. As Mrs. Frankland was really the bread-winner, and

at their present low water the purse-keeper also, Mrs. Peck saw it was

of no use to press her offers on her husband in the face of such

formidable opposition.

On the following day she started early in the mail conveyance for

Adelaide, leaving Peck behind as a pledge for the settlement of the

bill, and determined to raise ten or twelve pounds somehow.

With Mr. Talbot's letter in her hand she presented herself to a

bill-discounter in Adelaide. He understood her position at once; that

she was somehow connected with, but very obnoxious to a wealthy client

of Mr. Talbot's, for Mr. Phillips's name was not mentioned in the

letter; and also that, like most people of her class and habits, she

had spent her money before she got it. Of course she said nothing of

wanting to go to Melbourne, in which case, by the body of the letter,

it would be almost certain that her annuity would cease, but the

discounter wanted some security against such a contingency, and asked

her if she meant to stay in South Australia, according to agreement.

Mrs. Peck was willing to say anything, to swear anything, and to sign

anything, for his satisfaction on this point, but her very fluency made

him suspicious.

"I cannot advance this money," said he, "even on the deposit of your

order to arrest what is coming to you, unless I have some collateral

security, or some other name, in case of your going to Victoria."

Mrs. Peck could get no one to corroborate her statements but Peck, who

could be of no service to her. She felt rather in a fix.

"What should take me to Melbourne?" said she, in accents of great

surprise. "It is so much against my interest to go there, that I would

never be such a fool as to quarrel with my bread and butter; but it so

happens I am much in need of money just at the present. I am expecting

money from Scotland every mail. Indeed, it was trusting to that as put

me so back this quarter. I never doubted that I'd get a handsome sum

from Scotland; I've got the rights to it, and if it don't come by next

mail, I will prosecute. You are sure to get your money well paid, with

good interest, if you do run just a little risk."

"That may be all very well," said the bill discounter; "but, in the

meantime, can you not get any one to back you in this? I like good

interest, but I cannot lend without better security."

"There's the best of security. Mr. Talbot's next payment is due in two

months, and I make it over to you; and if that does not satisfy you, I

would give you something more next pay day, as much as would cover your

risk and your trouble, and your interest, handsome enough."

"Not at all handsome, if I chance to lose it all. One needs to keep

one's weather eye open, in dealing with old hands like you, Mrs. Peck."

"Then you won't do this for me--such a trifling accommodation as it is?"

"Not without some one to back you," said the money-lender.

"I daresay I can easily find that, if you are so stiff," said Mrs.

Peck, as she flounced off in great indignation, and with very little

hope of succeeding in what was required.

Here was she in possession of a secret worth so much to her, and unable

to turn it to account for want of a beggarly ten or twelve pounds. The

bill discounter was too sharp for her; she must try a good-natured man

next, one who would be willing to do her a kindness--but here again,

Mr. Talbot's letter, her only authority to give any security, would

injure her more than with the keen man of the world. There was a

steamer to sail on the morrow for Melbourne, and no other for a week or

ten days; every day was of the greatest consequence, for now that she

had made up her mind not to make terms with Francis, but to do so with

his cousins, she was eager to carry her resolution into practice, and

she must get on board the Havilah, if possible.

She had lived some weeks in Adelaide in rather a poor way, and in

rather a poor neighbourhood, when she and Peck had come first across.

She had made acquaintance with a very few people, and had left Adelaide

slightly in debt, but in her eagerness she was inclined to overlook

those circumstances, and to hope that some one or other of her late

neighbours might be prevailed on to be a guarantee to the money-lender

merely as a matter of form, and he might be induced to accept of it; so

she turned her steps in the direction of her old residence.

She looked into the shop where she had been accustomed to make her

purchases of groceries, with an intention of paying the eleven

shillings which she owed if things looked promising, and if it would be

a good speculation.

"Well Mrs. Smith, and how are you?" said she to the woman who kept the

establishment with the favourite old Adelaide sign of "General Store."

"Much as usual, Mrs. Peck. You went away rather in a hurry," said Mrs.

Smith.

"Oh! Peck had to go off to the sheep-shearing, and I had the offer of a

good nursing in the country, so I had to move at a minute's warning,

you see. But how are you getting on here?"

"Much as usual, Mrs. Peck; but the news is, that my man came home last

night, after being at them diggings for four years, and not writing me

a word, good or bad, for three and more; and now he expects me to be as

sweet as sugar to him after serving me so; and me had all his children

to keep and do for, and got no help from him no more nor if he was

dead; and now he says as how I give him the cold shoulder."

"Well, to be sure, and no wonder either! When a woman's been served so,

she has the right to look a bit stiff," said Mrs. Peck, who had heard

during her stay in Adelaide that Mrs. Smith had passed judgment by

default, and was going to take to herself another mate, which was

nothing more than the absent Smith deserved.

"Well, to be sure, that beats cock-fighting; and what does Harris say

to all this?"

"Why, in course, he's off, and I'm in such a quandary," said Mrs. Smith.

"You wasn't married to Harris, out and out, was you?" said Mrs. Peck,

who had a keen relish for such interesting news as this.

"No; there was two or three things as put it off; but the banns was

gave in last Sunday, and I had got my gown for the wedding, and lovely

it looks--and here's Smith as savage as if he had been writing to me

every month and sending me money."

"I suppose he's come home as poor as a rat, like the rest of them?"

said Mrs. Peck.

"No, no, I cannot just say that," said Mrs. Smith, relenting a little,

"He says he never had no luck till the last six months, and now he has

come back with three hundred pounds; and he's been behaving very

genteel with it, I must say, and brought presents for me and for the

children--there's a shawl for me as is quite a picter--so rich in the

colours; but I can't say I feel quite pleased at the way he neglected

me so long. And poor Harris, too; I can't just get him out of my head

all at once."

"That's natural enough," said Mrs. Peck with a sympathizing sigh.

Here Mr. Smith came into the shop, and started at the sight of Mrs.

Peck.

"Well! who'd have thought of seeing you here, Mrs.? I don't rightly

recollect your name, but I know you as well as possible," said he.

"Mrs. Peck is my name," said she impressively. "I recollect you well on

Bendigo."

"Many's the time I've seen you there," said Smith, in an embarrassed

tone of voice. "I hope as how you have your health, Mrs. Peck. Susan,

my dear, you'd better give Mrs. Peck some refreshments. Step in, Mrs.

Peck, I'm just a day home, and I ain't come back too soon, neither, as

it appears. Susan, my dear, get out the spirit bottle. Will you have

brandy with hot water or cold, Mrs. Peck?"

"With cold this hot day. I've been half baked travelling in that mail

omnibus twenty miles, and the wind blowing through it like a flaming

furnace; and now your Adelaide dust is making me as grimy as I'm not

fit to be seen," said Mrs. Peck, wiping her face with her handkerchief,

and watching how Smith mixed her brandy and water. "There's nothing

pleases me like meeting with an old friend."

"Nor me," said Smith, "if so be as she is friendly. Now, Susan, sit

down and have a glass with us. Why, the woman looks handsomer nor the

day I married her. I don't wonder at the risk I ran of being choused

out of you; but it was rather too bad, too, was it not, Mrs. Peck? If

my letters hadn't a miscarried you would never have thought of such a

thing, Susan," said he, with an insinuating smile, handing his wife a

mixture similar to that he presented to his old friend.

"If they had been written there would have been no fear of their

miscarrying," said she rather sulkily.

"Here's Mrs. Peck--my good friend, Mrs. Peck--who will be a warrant how

often I used to be a speaking of you, and a wondering what made me give

up writing."

"That I will," said Mrs. Peck, who felt this little bit of romance was

quite in her line. "Many's the time I've heard him speaking about you

and the children."

"Take another drop of brandy, Mrs. Peck," said her newly-found friend.

"Thank you," said she; "it's better brandy than we used to get at

Bendigo, but really I am in too much trouble just now to enjoy it, and

I won't take no more nor the single glass. It's a bad world and a sad

one, and I seem to have more than my share of trouble."

"Dear me! Mrs. Peck, I am sorry to hear that; and I am sure I wish I

could do anything to help you," said Smith.

"I don't like imposing on people that I haven't no claims on, but I am

in great need of twelve pounds just for a little while. I have an

annuity, as I dare say you heard at Bendigo."

"Yes, I heerd on it," said Smith, who appeared indisposed to contradict

or doubt anything that Mrs. Peck said.

"But we have been tried with the sickness and doctors' bills--Peck and

me--and I am very backward with the world just at present. If anybody

could lend me twelve pounds for two months, they'd get principal and

interest handsome. You being an old friend turned up, and me knowing

you so well at Bendigo, makes me bold enough to ask you for this little

temporary assistance. I would deposit an order for the money with you

if you will be so good as to advance it."

"Certainly, Mrs. Peck, I am not the one to be backward when a friend is

in need, and I know it will be safe enough to be paid. Susan, it is

perfectly safe. Mrs. Peck had money regular every quarter, to my

knowledge; and if she wants the money now, it shall be paid down on the

nail." And Smith told out the twelve pounds into Mrs. Peck's hands, and

received an order for repayment on Mr. Talbot, which was not to be

presented for two months.

Mrs. Peck was overjoyed at her unexpected good luck in meeting with

this returned digger, whom she had known very well at Bendigo under

another name, and where he passed himself off as the husband of another

woman. She perceived that now he had found his wife in Adelaide, doing

very well in business, he would rather that she heard nothing of his

own little infidelities, particularly in the first days of meeting, and

his probable loss of the money he advanced was not too high a price to

pay to purchase silence.

Everything had turned out most propitiously for Mrs. Peck, so far. The

information from Mr. Dempster showed that all her objects of interest

were collected in one spot, and this recognition of Smith put into her

hands the means to get to them while Mr. Phillips was absent. She was

flushed with hope and confident expectation when she made her purchases

of some articles of ready-made clothing, and took out her passage in

Melbourne in the 'Havilah,' to prosecute her plans for revenge on

Francis and advantages to herself.

Chapter IV.

Miss Phillips Meets With A Congenial Spirit In Victoria

As Mr Dempster had reported there had been a division in the family of

the Phillipses shortly after they landed. Mrs. Phillips wished to

remain in Melbourne for a month or two, as she did not feel able to

stand the long land journey at this particular time. Neither her

husband nor herself had much confidence in Dr. Grant's skill, and she

could have better attendance in town. Mr. Phillips having ascertained

that Mrs. Peck was in Adelaide, and having, through Mr. Talbot, sent a

request that she should remain there, which her own interest was likely

to make her attend to, had less objection to her staying in Melbourne

than he ever had before; so he took a suite of furnished apartments for

her and those of the family who remained in town.

Jane Melville went at once to Wiriwilta with the children, who all

longed to be there, and who disliked Melbourne more than London. Miss

Phillips had her choice to remain in town or to go up to the station,

and she decided on the former alternative, for she began to fear the

station would be very dull, and would contrast unfavourably with the

voyage, which had been lively and pleasant. There were some of her

fellow-passengers whom she was unwilling to lose sight of; and Mr.

Brandon was not at Barragong, but in Adelaide, so, on the whole, she

thought it would be preferable to stay. She gave as her ostensible

reason for the choice, her wish to be with Mrs. Phillips during her

brother's necessary absence. Mr. Phillips stayed with his wife till she

presented him with a second son, and then, as she was doing very well,

he left her in the care of his sister and Elsie.

He had been rather annoyed to find that Brandon had been amusing

himself by taking a journey to Adelaide so soon after coming out to the

colony again. Dr. Grant came down to meet Phillips, and represented

that a great deal had gone amiss at Wiriwilta since he (Dr. Grant) had

been supplanted in the charge of the stations; so that he thought it

indispensable to go up with the least possible delay to look to all the

flocks and the out-stations.

"It was the wildest thing in Brandon to start off in that way," said

Grant, "with a poor lad of a nephew who did not know a wattle from a

gum-tree when he came, and scarcely a sheep from a cow. I never would

have done such a thing."

"But he has gone to buy some new sheep, I hear," said Phillips. "Have

they been delivered at Wiriwilta?"

"No, not yet," said Grant; "and I think that was the most insane part

of the business. I am sure our Victorian flock-masters have always kept

ahead of the Adelaide lot; and to go to the Adelaide side for sheep

would be the last speculation I should care to enter into for myself,

not to speak of implicating you in such a thing. The long overland

journey will pull them down so much that you are likely to lose a third

of them on the road, and what you do save will be in wretched order.

Brandon was fairly ruined by going home to England."

"Ruined!" said Harriett Phillips. "He said he was ruined, or something

like it, before he left. Are his affairs really in such a bad state?"

"Oh, it's not exactly his affairs, but he got unsettled and would not

work as he used to do. He overturned most of my arrangements at

Wiriwilta; and I am sure Mr. Phillips will not find himself any the

better for his alterations. He is so foolishly confiding. Now, I like

to look sharply after my people, and then I see what work I get out of

them."

"I think you are quite right, Dr. Grant. I have remarked the want of

that prudence in both Mr. Brandon and my brother. They think it

proceeds from benevolence, but I attribute it more to indolence and the

dislike to give themselves any trouble they can avoid," said Harriett.

Dr. Grant was piqued at being deprived of Mr. Phillips's agency, for

though he had protested against taking it, he had found it very

lucrative; he was also piqued at Mrs. Phillips staying in town for her

confinement, though he always declared that he detested practising, and

only did it as an accommodation to his neighbours; but both things had

added alike to his emolument and his importance, and he was extremely

jealous of any slight being cast either on his business knowledge or

his professional skill.

On this occasion he offered to stay in Melbourne for a week or so after

Phillips left, merely as a friend, to see how Mrs. Phillips was going

on, and to take up a full and satisfactory account to the station.

Though he was not her medical attendant, he was as much in the house,

and far more than he had ever been before. When the week was over, he

appeared to be in no hurry to go away, but wrote to Phillips instead;

and hung about the house, went errands for her or her sister-in-law,

took Harriett out for walks and drives, brought all his Melbourne

acquaintances to call on her, and to inquire for Mrs. Phillips and the

baby, and was himself engaged for several hours of every day in

conversation with Harriett.

He had come to Melbourne determined to fall in love with Miss Phillips,

whose likeness he had seen and admired at Wiriwilta years ago, and

whose face and figure, when seen in reality quite came up to his

expectations, while her air and manners were exactly suited to his

taste. He knew that she had a fortune--not large, certainly, but

tempting to a man who was not exactly poor, but always more or less

embarrassed. Her perfect self-possession, her good education, her

musical talents, her excellent connections, her stylish way of

dressing, her very egotism, were all charming to a man who wanted a

wife who would do him credit.

His Scotch family was a good one; he was connected with many noble

houses; he could tell long traditional stories of the feats of the

Grants and the Gillespies, his father's and mother's ancestors; and it

was wonderful how much the history of Scotland, and indeed that of the

world generally, seemed to hang on the exploits of those ancient clans.

Though Harriett was not a Scotchwoman (it was the only drawback to

their perfect suitability), she appreciated these anecdotes wonderfully

well. Dr. Grant laid himself out to please her in a much more marked

manner than Brandon had ever done, and his success was much greater. He

had a subdued feeling that his neighbour at Barragong was his rival, as

he had seen so much of Harriett in England, so he lost no opportunity

of mentioning anything that would tell against him.

Then he was of the same profession as her father and brother Vivian,

and liked to hear her talk of them. Indeed, provided he got time and

opportunity to speak about his own relations, connections, and

friends--to give anecdotes of his schoolboy and college days, more

interesting to his mother than to any one else heretofore--to describe

how he had felt the colonial hardships at first, and how he had

gradually made himself very comfortable at Ben More (which was the name

he had given to his station, so much more suitable for a Scottish

squatter than such native names as Brandon and Phillips had retained

for theirs);--he would allow Harriett to give her school and society

reminiscences too, to describe her home in Derbyshire--the furniture,

the ornaments, the lawn, and the greenhouse--the county Stanleys, and

the county balls. As they were generally TETE-A-TETE four or five hours

a day, they had ample time for descanting on all these interesting

topics. Any visitors who might drop in, or any visit that they might

pay together only gave fresh food for further comparison of their own

personal tastes and predilections. Miss Phillips's avowed contemptuous

compassion for everything colonial did not at all offend Dr. Grant. He

had never been thoroughly acclimatized himself, and he had vowed never

to marry any of the second-rate colonial girls, who, as he thought, had

no manner and no style. It was surprising how well these two new

friends agreed about everything and everybody.

Dr. Grant, from his education and his habits, considered himself a

reading man, and a very well informed one. Miss Phillips, too, had

thought Brandon greatly her inferior in literary acquirements, as in

all other things; but it was singular to observe how little these two

people, who were so congenial to each other, and who enjoyed each

other's company so much, and had so much of it, talked about the many

books they must have read. As for religion, politics, or any other of

the great concerns of life, they never seemed to rise even on the

surface of conversation; and when a book happened to be mentioned, it

was dismissed with a casual remark, such as "I read it," or "I did not

read it," or "I liked it," or "I thought it stupid," and then they

turned to things which more nearly interested them, and these were

things in which they themselves or some one related to them made some

figure. If any of Miss Phillips's, or any of Dr. Grant's relations had

published a book, that would have been mentioned and extolled, but they

had not. Vivian's scientific attainments, which Harriett had thought

rather a bore at home, were however something to boast of here; and Dr.

Grant had an uncle who had made some improvements in agriculture in the

north of Scotland, of whom he was never tired of talking.

Miss Phillips had remained in Melbourne to be with her sister-in-law,

but she was very little beside her. Besides Dr. Grant, there were

fellow-passengers who visited at the house, and whose visits Miss

Phillips was bound to return, and there were also public places to go

to with them; for she wished to see all that was to be seen in

Melbourne while she was there; and though she generally criticised all

the Melbourne concerts, and theatres, and balls, and private parties

very severely, she accepted every invitation and joined every party

that was made up for the theatre.

Elsie and the nurse had the care of Mrs. Phillips and the baby, though

Elsie would have preferred being at Wiriwilta, with Jane and the elder

children, for she missed their cheerful society, but she could not be

spared. Miss Phillips was in exceedingly good-humour at this time, and

did not exact so much from Elsie as she had expected; but Mrs. Phillips

missed her husband, and was rather petulant and capricious. She had

been considerably kinder to Elsie since the death of her little girl.

This first sorrow had done her good; but now, in her husband's absence,

a good deal of the old spirit returned, particularly as she was much

offended at the little attention which Harriett paid to her. Elsie was

the real housekeeper, though Miss Phillips had the credit of it, and

she was delighted to find how well she could manage. Her old

experiences at Cross Hall had not been altogether thrown away; she had

grown more thoughtful, and she felt she must depend on herself, for

there was no Jane now to fall back upon.

Elsie was apprehensive that the coolness between the sisters-in-law

would lead to an open rupture, for Mrs. Phillips had not been

accustomed to be considered as nobody in her own house; but there

appeared hope for peace in the fact that Dr. Grant must leave

Melbourne; and then those long conversations must have an end, and at

least three-fourths of the rides and gaieties which served as an excuse

for her neglect. During the short absences from day to day which

necessarily took place, and during the few angel's visits, 'short, and

far between,' which were paid to her sister-in-law's sick room, Dr.

Grant's sayings and doings, his compliments to herself, and his

criticisms of other people, were the staple of Harriett's conversation

to the invalid. If the absence of the one and the visits to the other

were prolonged, it was just possible that Mrs. Phillips might be more

fatigued; but she could not be so much ignored as she was at present.

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.