"But could you not look up in old newspapers to see if there was any

stir made at the time about a changed child?" said Mrs. Peck, trembling

with excitement and disappointment. She had been so long accustomed to

look on this secret as capital to herself: her mother, and Peck, and

herself had always thought that in case of Mr. Hogarth's death a good

deal might be got out of the heir; and she had not parted with the

certificate of her marriage, or of her child's baptismal register, in

case he had left no will, and the heirat-law had to be found. She had

sent copies of these documents, very admirably executed by a Sydney

friend, who had been sent across the ocean for similar instances of

skill, to Mr. Hogarth, so that he did not think she had any proof to

bring forward to support her claims to be Francis' mother; but it was

only recently that she had thought of making more favourable terms with

regard to her other secret with the disinherited nieces than with the

ungrateful heir, and their coming so near just when she was exasperated

at Francis' neglect, had made her overlook the want of proof. She had

now fatally injured herself with Francis, with a very faint chance of

success with the Melvilles. She therefore repeated nervously, "Look

over the old newspapers--the mother must have known the

difference--there must have been some inquiry about it that would prove

my statement, which is all true, every word of it, as I hope for

salvation."

"Yes, that might be of some use; that might be seen to," said Brandon,

doubtfully. "Our data are meagre enough. Your mother is dead, I

suppose, and she is the only person besides yourself who knew of the

crime you both committed."

"She is dead and gone a dozen years ago, and it was her as committed

the crime, as you call it, and not me. I won't answer for it to nobody."

"Well, we must make inquiry in the house, though I fear that is

hopeless, and in the newspapers. If you had had the sense to have got

the mother's name, we might advertise in America; but I suppose you

thought then that the less you knew about it the better. Though you

cannot expect the thousand pounds----"

"But you promised it," said Mrs. Peck. "I'll say nothing more, unless I

can get something first. You have basely deceived me. I never heard of

a more scoundrelly action than getting me to tell you all that old

story, and put myself into such a wrong box, on the pretence that I was

to get a thousand pounds, and now you say that what you signed is waste

paper. I'll get my own statement from you back again, before you leave

this," and Mrs. Peck, with eyes of fury, planted herself at the back of

the door. The next thing you'll do will be go and give information, I

fancy.

"Be cool, Mrs. Peck; I do not mean to injure you. As I said, though

there is no chance of our depriving Mr. Hogarth of property left to him

so clearly as this, I think I may take it upon me to say, as his

friend----"

"His friend!" interrupted Mrs Peck. "Oh, how you have deceived me! And

you call yourself a gentleman, I suppose; and serve an old woman like

that."

"Yes; as his friend," said Brandon, firmly, "I think I may say that he

would be disposed to reward you, if you can prove that you are not his

mother. I do not hesitate to say that he would give you five hundred

pounds for such information as would hold in a court of law that he is

not your son."

Mrs. Peck brightened up a little at this offer, though she could

scarcely imagine any valid reason for it. "I think I could prove that;

I really think I could prove that. There was my cousin that we lived

with in Edinburgh, Violet Strachan, one of the witnesses to my

marriage. She saw a great deal of my child, for, till we went to

London, we lived in her house, and Frank was born there. She knew that

he took convulsion fits very badly, and that he had a brown mole on his

shoulder that this boy cannot have. I don't know of any other

birth-mark," said Mrs. Peck.

"And this woman lived in Edinburgh. Do you think she is alive? Was she

older or younger than you?"

"Oh, older by ten years," said Mrs. Peck, feeling the ground give way

under her. "I hope she is not dead--she lived in 57, New Street,

leading down to the Canongate, up three pair of stairs; her husband was

a saddler, and she kept lodgers. His name was George. He would

recollect something about Frank. Peck could swear that I have told him

over and over again that my boy was dead, and that the boy Cross Hall

brought up was none of mine."

"But Peck's word is worth nothing," said Brandon.

"Betsy could say something of the kind. I am sure she must have heard

us hint at it often, but she is not sharp. Perhaps she did not notice."

"Does no one else know anything about it?" said Brandon, in despair.

"No one;--but surely I ain't got no cause to take such blame on myself,

if it was not true," said Mrs. Peck, sulkily.

"You unfortunately had a motive--two strong motives. A deathbed

confession, for no hope of gain or revenge, might have carried

weight--but this carries none. The only accomplice of your crime is

dead. The mother from whom you stole the child is probably dead also,

and at any rate gone out of England--you do not even know her name, or

that of the ship she sailed in. The witness who you think could prove

the non-identity of the present possessor of Cross Hall is most likely

dead also, and if alive must be an old woman who has probably forgotten

the trifling circumstance of the existence of a mole on a child after

thirty-five years and more--and people outgrow these peculiarities. You

have not the ghost of a case for the Melvilles. Hogarth might give you

something for the chance that you are speaking truth, to get rid of

your claims for ever, and the satisfaction of feeling that you are

nothing to him."

"That's what I ought to have done. Peck always said I was too hasty;

and his words has come true," said Mrs. Peck. "I might have got

something handsome out of the heir--and but for your interference I

might have got something out of the Melvilles."

"Nonsense!" said Brandon; "they have nothing to give, unless you gave

the property to them; and you cannot do that."

"I'm glad you're to get nothing with your sweetheart," said Mrs. Peck,

maliciously. "My daughter's maid, I suppose, is the person Half of

Cross Hall would have been a good fortune, but you're not to get it."

"You must not come to Mrs. Phillips's again. I am going to stay in the

house till her husband returns, and will protect her from you," said

Brandon.

"Protect her from her own mother!" said Mrs. Peck. "Let them hold their

heads as high as they like, they can't get out of that. I am her

mother, and if I like I will publish it. Her father was a gentleman. I

was in clover when I lived with him; but he married, and then he died

and left no provision for us; and then I fell in with Peck, and have

stuck by him ever since. He is in Adelaide now, where I wish I had

stopped with him with all my heart. Do you think as Phillips would

overlook this if I went back quiet, and keep sending me the poor little

allowance as I need to keep soul and body together, for I'm an old

woman now, and past working?"

"I do not know. I will speak to him on the subject, and will probably

see you again in a few days. If you can think of any collateral

evidence in the meantime, it will be as well that you tell me. In the

meantime, I must go to communicate to Miss Melville what you have told

me."

Elsie was sadly disappointed at the doubtful nature of the evidence

which Mrs. Peck had to give. She had had such brilliant visions of the

happiness which Jane and Francis might have together if it could only

be proved that they were not cousins; and she could not help seeing

with Brandon that the chance of establishing it was very small. Brandon

told Mrs. Phillips the reason why Mrs. Peck had so assiduously courted

Elsie, and then asked if she could recollect anything which she had

heard from her mother, her grandmother, or Peck, which would

corroborate these unsupported statements.

"I cannot say anything--I will not say a word till Stanley comes home,

and then I will tell him. He would not like my mixing myself up with

her in any way when he was gone, and I never will keep anything from

him," said Mrs. Phillips.

"You are quite right," said Brandon, who, nevertheless, was rather

impatient for any information she might give, and thought it might be

valuable, from her hesitation about the matter. He had not long to

wait, however, for Mr. Phillips came down on the following day, and

heard all his wife had to say and all Brandon had to say.

"You know, Brandon, that it would be horrible to me to have my wife's

name brought into a court of justice as the daughter of that

woman--cognizant, even in a very vague way, of such a serious crime,"

said Mr. Phillips. "And what purpose can it serve? You can neither

enrich Jane or Alice Melville by proving that the crime was committed.

Mr. Hogarth is as worthy a successor as the old man could have found,

and neither of the Melvilles grudges him his good fortune. Alice will

be as comfortable as you can make her, and I wish you both joy from all

my heart, and I believe you will be happy. Miss Melville will be as

comfortable and happy as we can make her till she chooses a home for

herself. Why wish to rake up old stories for no good end whatever? I

dare say the story is true. I said to Hogarth when he and Miss Melville

consulted me about the first letter she wrote, that for the very reason

she claimed to be his mother I believed she was not. I advised him not

to write to her or send her money, and requested Miss Melville never to

mention her name."

"Out of consideration for you, then, he did not answer her letter, and

this has been the result of it. But we have no wish to deprive him of

his property; and the only end we aim at is to prove that he is not

Miss Melville's cousin. Alice tells me they love each other; but their

marriage is forbidden by the will, unless at the sacrifice of the

property, which in that case goes to some benevolent societies."

"Ah," said Phillips, thoughtfully, "in that case, if I thought Mrs.

Phillips's evidence could establish it, it would perhaps be right to

give it; but it cannot--I see it cannot. Mere vague hints, half

recollected now that the subject has been brought prominently forward,

though they may convince you and me, could not stand before a court of

law. I think when you hear what Mrs. Phillips has to say you will

confess that it would be wrong to put her and me to such distress, for

so little good purpose. I am sure Miss Melville would be the first to

dissuade you from such a course. It is for the sake of our children

that I am so anxious to conceal the connection. I can trust to you and

to Alice, I hope, never to mention it."

Brandon felt the justice of Mr. Phillips's reasoning, and yet was very

sorry that he could not gratify his promised wife by anything

satisfactory in the way of collateral evidence.

"Now, Elsie," said Brandon, who now took the privilege of love, and

called her by her pet name, "what do you mean to do with this

information? I think it quite useless for the end you wish to gain. Is

it worth while to disturb Hogarth's mind, to lead him to make fruitless

inquiries, to wear himself out in attempting to prove what I fear

cannot be proved, to make him feel that he has robbed you with even

less semblance of justice than before? Can you not leave him to his own

life, which will be a useful and a distinguished one? Let us keep this

vexatious confession, at least till you consult Jane."

"No, no; I think as we have done everything without consulting Jane, we

will make up our minds on this matter too for ourselves. I know Jane

will say with you that we should not communicate the news to Francis;

for anything that appears to sacrifice herself and to save other people

is what she thinks she ought to do."

"I don't think she can be very fond of Hogarth, after all."

"But she is," said Elsie, "in her own quiet, deep way. She could give

her own life for his; but she could not feel that she was worth the

sacrifice he offered to make."

"I feel I could throw up everything for you, Elsie," said Brandon.

"But I should not like to see you do it, so I am very glad you have not

got it to do. Poor Francis!"

"Well, I suppose he will marry some one else, and she will do the same,

and they will always be very excellent friends," said Brandon.

"But then the wrong is to the somebody else," said Elsie. "It seems

quite wicked to think of such a thing. Can they not keep single for a

purpose, as Peggy Walker did? Francis may immerse himself in politics

to his heart's content; and Jane, she will be very happy in my

happiness. You must love her; you must not be jealous of her. She has

been everything in the world to me--my sister, my mother, my friend;

and if she cannot have a home of her own, let her always be welcome to

ours."

"Always," said Brandon. "We must try to do our best to make up for what

we cannot give to her. But you say that Jane would be disposed to keep

back this?"

"Yes; but I will send it, and write to him besides. If I were in his

circumstances I should think I had a right to know. I would rather hear

the truth so far as it can be ascertained about my parentage, than have

it concealed for fear of hurting my feelings. He may act upon the

information as he sees fit; so I will send him a certified copy of this

confession, and write him a few lines besides. I want to tell him how

happy I am: he was a friend to us in our sorrows, and he ought to know

when any prosperity, or pleasure, or happiness, comes to either of us.

I must tell him I can confide in you now."

"That is a very pleasant piece of news, I am sure," said Brandon.

"Jane will write to him from Wiriwilta, but she cannot know of our

engagement till too late for the mail."

"I think Jane formed a very shrewd guess as to my intentions, and, if

she writes fully to Hogarth, will mention them. But, by-the-by, you

must write a few lines to my mother. She will be delighted to hear this

good news; and, as for Fanny, the idea that there will be some one at

Barragong to take a motherly care of Edgar, and make him change his

clothes when he gets wet, and see that he wears flannel in winter, will

be very soothing to her maternal anxiety."

Chapter XI.

Elsie Melville's Letter

Francis Hogarth had devoted himself to public life even more

assiduously after the departure of Jane than before, and had made

himself more prominent in Parliament as practice strengthened his

powers of debate and study increased his stock of information. He was

invaluable on a committee to those who really wanted to elicit the

truth; while those who had anything to conceal dreaded his searching

questions and careful weighing of conflicting testimony. His own

peculiar crotchet--the reconstruction of electoral districts, so as to

secure the rights of minorities--to increase the purity and diminish

the expense and the bitterness of elections in the meantime, and to

pave the way for the elevation of the masses by the gradual extension

of the suffrage, by securing that the new voters should not have all

political power in their hands--was one that, of course, found little

sympathy within the walls of Parliament.

"There never has yet been," says Mr. J. S. Mill, "among political men

in England any real and serious attempt to prevent bribery, because

there has been no real desire that elections should not be costly.

Their costliness is an advantage to those who can afford the expense by

excluding a multitude of competitors; and anything, however noxious, is

cherished as having a conservative tendency if it limits the access to

Parliament to rich men. This is a rooted feeling among our legislators

of both political parties, and is about the only point on which I

believe them to be really ill-intentioned. They care comparatively

little who votes, so long as they feel assured that none but persons of

their own class can be voted for. They know that they can rely on the

fellow-feeling of one of their own class with another, while the

subservience of NOUVEAUX ENRICHIS, who knocking at the door of the

class, is a still surer reliance, and that nothing very democratic need

be apprehended under the most democratic suffrage, as long as

democratic persons can be prevented from being elected to Parliament."

But outside of the walls of the House of Commons, Francis had found

many who agreed with him as to the necessity for some great change. All

accounts from America, and even those from Australia, proved that the

wide extension of the suffrage without some precaution to secure the

minorities from extinction, tended to political degeneration, even in

countries where there was great material prosperity, abundance of land,

considerable advantages of education, and greater equality of condition

than in Britain. The march of affairs was all steadily towards more

democratic institutions, and Francis was not deceived by temporary and

partial reactions. The extension of the suffrage must come, and England

ought to be prepared to meet it. He was willing to take advantage of

every suggestion and every discovery that might be made; and when a

scheme more comprehensive than that of Sir Rowland Hill for our first

Adelaide Corporation, and incomparably better than Lord John Russell's,

was first launched into the world, amid many sneers that it was

utopian, crotchety, and un-English, he adopted it with an enthusiasm

which he knew Jane Melville would approve of. The criticism and the

ridicule only strengthened his conviction of the feasibility of the

scheme, and his hopes of its success. Jane was sure to be proud if he

could be the means of bringing about so great a reform. They had often

talked on the subject, but had never been able to devise anything

comparable to this. Mr. Sinclair, with whom the matter had been gone

over most carefully, was quite as enthusiastic about it as the

discoverer himself, and Francis wished more than ever that the entrance

to Parliament was less expensive and less difficult, so that he might

have so good a coadjutor.

Old Thomas Lowrie was dead, and Peggy and her young folks were all full

of preparations for the outward voyage to Australia. Tom hoped to serve

out his time to as great advantage in Melbourne as in Edinburgh; and he

really was as clever and as skilful as if he had been seven instead of

less than two years at the engineering. Francis had visited much at

Miss Thomson's, and had Seen a great deal of Mary Forrester, but not

with the result that Jane had anticipated; and now, before she had made

any impression on him beyond the conviction that she was an exceedingly

amiable girl, the plans of the whole family were changed, and they,

too, were going to Australia. As Mary had said, they had cost Aunt

Margaret a great deal of money first and last. Mr. Forrester had been

indolent, and perhaps unlucky; Mrs. Forrester had been occupied with

the cares of a very large family, and had not the force of character of

her single sister. Her eldest son had gone to Australia some time

before, and though he had not made a fortune, he had done pretty well;

and he was perhaps ashamed that so much had been done for his family by

his aunt and so little by himself. So he wrote advising them to come

out to Melbourne, at least all but John, who was now of service to Miss

Thomson; and James, if he thought his business was worth staying for.

If Margaret and Mary were inclined to take situations as governesses,

he had no doubt they could obtain them. Robert and Henry could work for

themselves, and with his help could assist their parents to better

advantage than in Scotland. The family council met on this proposal,

and it was ultimately acceded to, and the family were busy with their

preparations to go in the same ship as Peggy and the Lowries. It seemed

to Francis as if everybody was going to Australia.

He had dined out one day, and had brushed against some of the greatest

men of the age, and felt himself brightened by the collision. He sat

beside the most benevolent, the most enlightened, and the most

sober-minded of political economists, on the one hand; on the other by

the most brilliant of French conversationalists. He--Francis Hogarth,

the obscure bank clerk, who had had no name, no position, and, he used

to think, no ability--was admitted on equal footing with such men as

these. He had not felt so much on the occasion of his dining with the

Earl, and meeting with people there of title and political influence.

After an evening passed in conversation on the subjects which

especially interested him, Francis returned to his club. He sat down

before going to bed with a cigar, and took up his letters. An

Australian mail was in, and a letter from Jane and from Elsie. Jane's

was first taken up and read. It described her life at Wiriwilta, the

house, and the scenery, so far as she could do it justice; Miss

Phillips's relations with Dr. Grant, and Jane's hopes that Brandon and

Elsie would come to an understanding, for his manner had been very much

like that of a man in love. How cautious, yet how affectionate were her

expressions to himself! How she seemed to live in others, and to care

for the happiness of everyone in the world, while regardless of her own

and of his.

"Ah, Jane," said he, half aloud, "how different it would be to come

home, after such an evening as this, to you; to see your dear eyes

brighten at the recital of all I have seen and all I have heard; to

hear your beloved voice inspiring me to more exertion and more

patience. After sitting through so many party debates, so much

transparent self-seeking, and so much ungenerous opposition as I cannot

help seeing in Parliament, how refreshing to see, among such men as I

have met to-day, the pure, genuine public spirit which Jane first

showed me the example of in the midst of her hardest trials. This

reform does not bring personal advantage to one of these people, and

yet they are as enthusiastic about it as if their lives depended on it.

It may bring fame; but, as M. ---- says, 'The laurels will be late, and

we will have lost the care for them by the time they fall on our

heads.' The pleasure is in the work--the disinterested work itself--as

Jane used to say. There is one half the globe between us. I cannot

fancy that she is sitting over the fire thinking of me at this moment;

it is morning with her; and she is up and busy. But in my business, and

in my pleasure, or my trouble, she is always in the background--if not

in the foreground--of my thoughts. But then she does not love me as I

love her." And a long fit of silent musing, with the letter in his

hand, followed these half-spoken regrets.

"But I must read Elsie's letter too; it appears to be long, and the

first she has written to me--later in date than Jane's, which is posted

in the country, and I suppose asking for congratulations--well, she

shall have them."

As he opened the envelope, and saw the curious legal-looking document

enclosed, containing the certified copy of Mrs. Peck's confession, his

curiosity was strongly aroused; he read it through first with surprise

and agitation. Elsie's own letter was not long; it ran as follows:----

"My dear Francis,--I enclose you this, because I think you ought to

know that Mrs. Peck is not your mother. I think you must have had good

parents, though you may never be able to find them out. You are still

as much entitled to Cross Hall, and all that my uncle left you, for you

know it was given to you because you deserved it, and I am sure that he

could have found no worthier heir. I had hoped very much that the

evidence would have been sufficient to prove that you are not Jane's

cousin, because you might then have done as you pleased without losing

the property, and the position and the opportunities you make such good

use of; but I fear--and Mr. Brandon fears--that it cannot be

conclusively proved. We have sent you all the information we can get

from Mrs. Peck. You will observe a few additional memoranda at the end

of the confession. I am quite convinced that what she says is true, for

I have often remarked that you were not at all like my uncle or any of

his family, and you are still more unlike Mrs. Peck. Consult your own

judgment about making inquiries; I know you will do rightly and well.

"You will be very glad to hear that I am engaged to Mr. Brandon, who

has taken all the trouble about this affair, and I think elicited all

that Mrs. Peck knows. It is most unfortunate that she is so little to

be believed, and that she wanted to get money for her information, as

well as revenge on you for not answering her letter or letters. I

believe I am going to be very happy, and I only wish I could make

everybody as happy as myself. Give my love to Peggy when you see her,

and say that I should have liked to have been married from her house

rather than from any other, but I do not think Mr. Brandon will let me

wait so long. Jane will be writing you all the Wiriwilta news, and

about Miss Phillips and Dr. Grant. Mrs. Phillips has been very kind to

me, kinder than ever she was before; and as for Mr. Phillips, you know

how good he has always been to both Jane and myself. We both like

Australia, even more than we expected, and I am going to try to make a

good bush wife to one who loves me very much. He desires me to send his

kindest regards to you; and believe me

"Always, your very affectionate friend,

"Elsie Melville."

"Well," said Francis, "here is one person who cares about my happiness.

If I cannot prove that Jane is not my cousin, I can at least give up

the property, which never would have been left to me unless Henry

Hogarth had believed me to be his son. Jane must love me--her sister

must know it, or she would never have written to me thus. I will have

her after a time. If I can combine the public duty and the career I

have entered on with happiness, so much the better; if not, farewell

ambition! She cannot blame me for such a course. Henry Hogarth wronged

his nieces to enrich me, supposing me to be his son: he must have

supposed it, or he would not have forbidden our marriage on account of

the cousinship. If I can restore it to Jane by marriage, well and good;

but otherwise I cannot keep it. To-morrow for inquiries. First a file

of the TIMES for 18-; the police reports, the coroner's inquests, the

passenger-list of the Sydney ship and of the American ship, inquiries

at the lodging-house near the wharf--then to Edinburgh to inquire at

the house in New Street, and consult with MacFarlane and Sinclair. I

surely can work through it--at least I will try."

Chapter XII.

What Can Be Made Of It?

Early on the following morning Francis began his researches; but the

TIMES and other journals of the date Mrs. Peck mentioned, which he

searched through, proved quite barren of intelligence. The

passenger-lists he could not find complete anywhere; the newspapers

more especially devoted to these matters contained the passenger-list

of the 'Lysander' bound for Sydney, for the first and second cabin, and

in the latter the names of Mrs. Ormistown and Miss E. Ormistown were

mentioned; but for the American ship, in which he supposed his real

mother had sailed, there was no mention of any passengers except those

in the first cabin; and in all probability, she being a poor woman,

would sail in the steerage. There were also three vessels sailing for

New York very close upon one another at the time, and he could not be

sure in which the passage had been taken. Mrs. Peck said the ship was

to sail the next day; but her own vessel had been rather hurried to go

with the tide, and there was no saying whether that was the case with

the American one. But in all the American ships there was no mention of

the names of the fore-cabin passengers. Then the police reports gave no

account of any complaint having been made about an exchanged child, and

when he eagerly turned to the coroner's inquests there was nothing to

be seen there either. The mother had probably been too distressed with

grief to observe the substitution, or too anxious not to lose her

passage to stop to make inquiries if she had had any

suspicion--teething convulsions are not at all uncommon among children

of that age, and a stranger in London was likely to get no redress

under such circumstances, even if she had the courage to attempt it

There was so little likely motive for any one to take away a living

child and leave a dead one, that she was sure to have been laughed to

scorn if she had suggested such a thing to the landlady of the house.

Francis, disappointed in the newspapers, next went to the

lodging-house, but it had been pulled down and another substituted in

its place, and of course no one could tell anything about the obscure

woman who had kept it. A London Directory for 18--gave her name as Mrs.

Martha Stubbs, which did not agree with the name which Mrs. Peck

reported, which was Mrs. Dawson. This was a bad beginning to his search

for corroborative evidence; but he put an advertisement in the TIMES

and WEEKLY DISPATCH for her under both names, in hopes that she might

recollect something about a child dying in convulsions in her house, in

the absence of its mother, just before a lodger left her house to go to

Sydney with another child of the same sex and age. This, after a lapse

of thirty-five years, was a desperate chance, but it was the only

course open to Francis, and he took it.

Next he went to Edinburgh and inquired in New Street, in the old town,

for the woman, Violet Strachan, who had let the lodgings where the real

Francis Hogarth was born, and where the irregular marriage had also

taken place. Thirty-five years in a city like Edinburgh, with an

eminently migrating population, is a far more unmanageable period than

in a country town, where people inhabit the same houses from one

generation to another, and where, even if the persons whom you wish to

discover are dead, there are neighbours who recollect about them. This

second search was fruitless, so he could only advertise for Violet

Strachan, and that he also did.

Next he went to his friend Sinclair, and opened his budget of news to

him. Sinclair had been in America, and he might have chanced to have

heard something of some one who had had a doubtful baby found dead on

the bed just before its mother sailed. If this had been a sensation

novel, Mr. Sinclair would have been sure to have known all about it,

and have turned out to be the father or the uncle of his friend--he was

of the age to be either; but as this is not a sensation novel, he could

not throw any light on the dark subject, and could only give his

sympathy, and offer to take any amount of trouble on Francis's behalf.

His only advice was that he should advertise in the States' leading

papers, if he really wanted to know, for some one who emigrated in May

18-, in one of the three ships which had sailed about that time, who

had lost a child in convulsions that might not have been her own;

requiring some particulars about the age and the house at which the

death was believed to have taken place.

"It is a thousand to one against your getting an answer," said Mr.

Sinclair. "But what makes you so anxious to prove this? It can do no

good."

"Only this, that if Jane Melville can be proved not to be my cousin, I

can marry her and keep Cross Hall and my seat in Parliament. If it

cannot be proved, then I must give up everything, and go to Melbourne

and ask if she will have me without a penny."

"Oh, is that it?" said Sinclair. "I am the more bound to do all I can

to help you. We cannot spare you from the House, nor from the country.

But, after all, Hogarth, one woman is as good as another, and your

career should not be lightly sacrificed."

"One woman as good as another!" exclaimed Francis.

"Not exactly so; but there are many women as good as Miss Melville. I

grant that she is a fine woman, and one of excellent principles and

understanding; but not just the sort of person one could go into

heroics about. I do not say that as a companion and friend her place

could be filled up to you by such women as Miss Crichton or any of the

Jardine girls, or even by Eliza Rennie. But Mary Forrester--what do you

think of Mary Forrester? You should not let such a girl leave the

country. She is handsomer, younger, and every bit as good as Miss

Melville."

"She is a very fine girl, no doubt, but do not speak of her in the same

breath with Jane Melville. I owe so much to Jane: if it had not been

for her, I would never have been so valuable even to you."

"Well, then, let us see what is to be done to suit your wishes. Shall I

go with you to MacFarlane's?"

"I will be very glad indeed of your company," said Francis.

Mr. MacFarlane was very much surprised at the strange business which

had brought Hogarth from his parliamentary duties to consult him upon.

He read carefully the document which Alice had forwarded, and listened

to Francis's account of the inquiries he had made so unsuccessfully,

before he ventured on giving any opinion.

"This is very possibly true, Mr. Hogarth," said he, at last; "indeed

very probably true. I think with you that this woman, Elizabeth

Ormistown, and her mother, were capable of doing anything that would

bring them in money; but the secret has been kept too long--much too

long. They did their work skilfully, without accomplices, and without

leaving any traces of their proceedings. This confession is not worth

the paper it is written on in a court of law, and you have failed in

all your efforts to get corroborative evidence. There is no use in

inquiring about Violet Strachan; she is dead three years ago. I paid

her, on Hogarth's account, a small weekly sum, that she used to come to

my office for to keep her from destitution, but that payment is at an

end. The other witness could only prove the irregular marriage, which

there is no doubt about, as Henry Hogarth owns to it in his will. The

only evidence that would be worth anything is that of your real mother,

and there is no saying if she is not dead too. I think the chances are

that she is," said Mr. MacFarlane, turning up the annuity tables for

the chances of life at the supposed age of thirty-two, which Mrs. Peck

had given as the probable age of her neighbour in the lodging-house,

after a period of thirty-four years. "If alive, there is no getting at

her, and after all--CUI BONO?"

"I am attached--very deeply attached--to my supposed cousin, Jane

Melville. I want to be free to marry her. I am convinced that she is

not my cousin, and you know the will said that it was on condition of

not marrying or assisting either of my cousins that I was to hold the

property. If I have convinced you of the feasibility of the case--that

I am not related in the slightest degree to the Misses Melville--would

not the benevolent societies to which Mr. Hogarth left his property, in

case of my disobeying his injunctions, see it also?"

"One man, or one society of men, might be convinced," said Mr.

MacFarlane, "and would make a compromise with you on very easy terms;

but I doubt if five distinct corporations would do so."

"There is no one who has any right to object, except these societies,"

said Francis, "or any object in doing so."

"Those clauses forbidding marriage as a condition of inheriting

property, or of receiving yearly incomes, are always mischievous," said

Sinclair; "they are contrary to public morals."

"Henry Hogarth," said Mr. MacFarlane, "who was a clever man, and in

some respects a wise man, did the foolishest things in important

matters that ever I heard of. First, his marriage with that girl. I saw

her once at the house he lodged in; and a glaikit lassie I thought her.

Next, the education of his nieces, which was absolutely nonsensical;

and then putting such a clause into his will, as if he meant that you

should take a fancy to each other--for prohibitions of that kind just

put mischief into young folks' heads."

"Then do you see the absence of family likeness that Elsie relies so

much upon? You knew Elizabeth Ormistown when she was young--she saw her

an old woman."

"I am no hand at likenesses," said MacFarlane, "and did not pay much

attention to the girl; but I think both she and Henry were fair and

low-featured, and you are dark and high-featured. But that is of no use

either, as you know."

"Then, by a rigid interpretation of the will, you think the societies

would be able to dispossess me, if I married Jane, and could not prove

this story of Mrs. Peck's to be true."

"I think I know it pretty well by heart, but we had better turn to it,"

said Mr. MacFarlane, and he looked out the document he had himself

drawn out, and read it aloud to Francis and Mr. Sinclair.

"Now you see that the great purpose and bent of Mr. Hogarth's will was

to impoverish his nieces, to force them to act and work for themselves.

Not merely marriage, but any other way of assisting them was forbidden.

He certainly meant to enrich you, because he thought you deserved it,

but in case of your not co-operating with him in his principal object,

the property was to go away from you altogether. The Misses Melville

have made their way in the world remarkably well--much better than I

could have thought possible. I think he acted both cruelly and unjustly

to them, but as they have so well conquered their difficulties, the

matter had better be left as it is."

"Then," said Francis, "you think that even if I had satisfactory proof

from my real mother to corroborate Elizabeth Ormistown's confession,

and could make it incontestably plain that I am not related to Miss

Melville, so that I do not, in marrying her, marry my cousin, it would

be considered in law as invalidating my right to the property--that by

doing so I am assisting Jane Melville, which was forbidden as clearly

as the marriage."

"It is a very strong point. If I were the legal adviser of any one of

these benevolent associations, I certainly would recommend them to

contest it; at the same time, with the proof which you speak of, I

would enjoy fighting it out with them. In a court of law the decision

would be against you, under the most favourable circumstances; but if

we took it to the Equity Courts I think your chance would be better,

for there is a growing feeling there that it is not right for people to

bequeath property clogged with vexatious restrictions. Yet, at the same

time, all who think well of these five charitable institutions--and

they are the very best-managed of the kind in Scotland--Mr. Hogarth

showed judgment in his selection--will think taking the property from a

man who had, according to his own showing, no right to it, for the sake

of the poor and afflicted, really a good work. Public feeling will be

against you where you are not personally known."

"God knows it is not for myself that I wish to keep Cross Hall, nor yet

for Jane herself," said Francis. "But my life lies out before me so

clearly that at no period have I had more to give up than now."

"If you had the evidence you wish for (which I see very little chance

of your getting), and married Miss Melville, then, of course, the

societies would come upon you. You have got possession, you might keep

them at bay for years, and in the meantime you might have interest

enough with your political friends to get something good in the way of

a government appointment. We hear you well spoken of in the House as a

man likely to distinguish himself."

"Not in the way of getting government appointments," said

Francis--"quite in a contrary direction. But without the evidence,

then, what would you advise?"

"To let the matter rest. Indeed, I think it is useless to disquiet

yourself about discovering your real parents. These long-lost relations

never amalgamate well. I have seen several instances of it, and they

were very disappointing."

"Then," said Francis, "I suppose the only thing for me to do is to make

out a deed of gift to each of these societies in the order in which Mr.

Hogarth left the property to them. The personal estate I have certainly

trenched upon a little, but all to the benefit of the heritable estate.

Cross Hall is in better condition now than when I succeeded to it. If I

have given away on the very easiest terms some of the worst land on the

estate, I have improved the better, and I have spent a large sum in new

cottages. I have lived within my means; even my election expenses were

saved out of the current income."

"You do not mean to say," said Mr. MacFarlane, "that you are going to

take so wild a step as this? What good end can you secure by throwing

up your handsome fortune in this way?"

"Don't propose such a thing yet; think a little, Hogarth," said

Sinclair.

"I am sure the figure you are making in the House would delight my old

friend Harry's heart," said Mr. MacFarlane; "just in the way he would

have liked to do himself; getting in in such an honourable way too. I

heard Prentice say that he never saw anything so open and above board

and so pure as your canvassing. If you are not Harry's son, you deserve

to be, and it is no fault of yours. You are like a chip of the old

block in your ways of thinking. It is quite possible you are his son

after all: this woman is not to be believed one way or another. To give

up all this for the sake of a pair of grey eyes, and a pair of

healthy-looking cheeks that nobody ever even thought handsome, is a

young man's folly."

"Yes, and a head and a heart, and a few other things," said Francis.

"She would never be so unreasonable as to wish or expect you to do it,"

said Mr. Sinclair.

"She would not expect me to do it, I know. I cannot regret my career

more than she will do; but I love her, and I believe she loves me; and,

please God, we will begin the world together."

"I was sorry for the girls," said MacFarlane, "very sorry. You could

see that when I read the will to you; but they have really done very

creditably. In spite of the most absurd education in the world, one of

them got a capital situation as a governess; and the other did very

well indeed, I hear, at some sort of woman's work. It's the youngest

that is going to be well married in Australia, and very likely the

other will do the same."

"I think it is very likely she will," said Francis.

"But if she is married to some one else before you go out--they do

these things very quickly at the antipodes," said Mr. MacFarlane.

"There--the first mail after their arrival, we hear of Alice Melville

being engaged to be married."

"I will trust her," said Francis. "She will surely wait till she hears

how I receive this news. Even at the worst I can console myself with

your friend, Mr. Sinclair; she will be at hand, and that is a great

matter."

"Don't give it up so rashly. I'd rather fight it out to the death than

that. At any rate, you might keep possession of Cross Hall for a while

till you made your way in public life," said Mr. MacFarlane.

"The plan of action I had laid out for myself was not likely to succeed

for ten or twenty years, in all probability; and the lawsuit, if

protracted to the utmost, would likely go against me at last--I see it

would; and the only effect would be that the benevolent societies would

come to the property when it had been reduced about one half by

litigation. With all due respect for you personally, Mr. MacFarlane, I

think money spent in law the very worst investment for all parties

concerned, and for the world in general. No, it shall be given up at

once."

"But," said Sinclair, "it would be unfair to yourself to begin the

world at greater disadvantage than before you were left the property."

"Yes, I think it would," said Francis. "I might represent the case to

them in that light. I am satisfied with your opinion, Mr. MacFarlane;

but on a question of such importance, you will, of course, have no

objection to my consulting another adviser--the Lord Advocate, I think."

"Certainly, you could not have a better man," said Mr. MacFarlane.

"Give me the will or a copy to show him," said Francis. "I must make a

note of the names and addresses of these societies, in case his opinion

coincides with yours, for I must write to each of them to send a

delegate or deputation to meet me. I should see them all at once, and

explain matters to them. Rather a hard matter for a shy man like myself

to bring his love affairs before five charitable associations."

"Shy!" said Sinclair. "You are as bold and frank a politician as I ever

saw."

"Oh, politics are another matter; but until I met with Jane, I never

had any one in whom I could confide--I never even knew the blessing of

friendship before. She taught me to be frank, for she had confidence in

me and felt for me. You see I am practising for the associations by

speaking to two elderly gentlemen on the subject. Another lesson at the

Lord Advocate's, and I hope to be equal to the emergency."

The Lord Advocate agreed in all points with Mr. MacFarlane as to the

legal chances of keeping the property; and although he thought it a

very quixotic thing to give it up, Francis was determined on that

subject. The letters were written to the associations, and a day was

appointed for his meeting a delegate from each of them, intrusted with

powers to decide and act. Mr. MacFarlane wished to be present, for he

had no confidence in the prudence of his client, who would be sure to

show his hand to the opposing party, and let them know too soon how

little there was in it, and Francis rather reluctantly consented. In

the mean time he worked off some of his excitement by visiting Peggy

and the Lowries to deliver Elsie's messages. She was busy, as usual,

but laid aside her work at the sight of the unexpected visitor.

"Have you any news?" said she, "for I have had no letter from Miss Jean

this month, and next mail I'll no be here to get it. You look as if

there was good news, Mr. Hogarth."

"Good and bad," said Francis; "can you guess the good?"

"Miss Elsie and Mr. Brandon," said Peggy. "I see by your eyes I'm

right."

"You are a good guesser, Peggy. She is only sorry she could not be

married from your house; but she did not think Mr. Brandon would wait

so long."

"Oh, I dare say no. But indeed I marvelled that he went to Australia

without her, for I thought it was a thing that was to be, from the

first day he spoke about her. But there's no much time lost after all.

There's to be a Mrs. Brandon at Barragong at last--and what says Miss

Jean about it?"

"It is Elsie herself who writes to me that it is a settled thing, and

that she hopes to be very happy, and sends you this message. But what

would you say if Miss Jane were to be married herself?"

"You don't say so!" said Peggy, looking surprised and puzzled. "I never

thought upon her being married. And that's the bad, is it? I wonder

what man about Wiriwilta has got the presumption to even himself to

her. I misdoubt she's throwing herself away, as many a sensible woman

has done before her. One marriage is quite enough for me at a time."

"Perhaps it is premature in me to speak of it," said Francis, "for the

Saldanha will be three months, or nearly so, on the way, and she has

not been rightly asked yet."

"The Saldanha! What in the name of wonder do you mean?"

"I mean to go with you in the Saldanha, if I finish the little matter

of business I have got to do on this side of the world before she

sails. But I see I must let you read my letters, so that you may judge

of the news."

"It's fine big writing," said Peggy. "I hope it's easier made out than

what you say," and she proceeded to read Elsie's letter and enclosure,

with a running comment.

She scarcely understood the drift of the beginning of the letter, but

when she came to Mr. Brandon's name she knew her ground. "Happy! she's

sure to be happy! Mr. Brandon will give her all her own way, and she

does not want for sense.--That's a kind message to me; but she might

have been married here if Mr. Brandon had had more gumption, and asked

her before he went away.--And Mrs. Phillips is more reasonable. I'd

like to see her show any airs to her now, when Mr. Brandon is by; he'll

let her know her place.--And they like Australia--both of them. Who, in

all the world, is it Miss Jean can have taken up with?--And so that was

the way Cross Hall got his bonny bargain of a wife; he was young and

simple to be entrapped with such a pair. Well, well! it was a

home-coming to hear such words passing between her and an old

sweetheart. I'll be bound he never wanted to see her again.--But, mercy

on us! and so it was no you that was the bairn after all, Master

Francis, and the old laird had really no call to care about you. But

that woman should be punished. Men and women have been hanged for less

guilt. I'd hurry no one into the presence of the Great Judge; but that

she should be at large, boasting of her wickedness, and hoping to make

siller of it, is a thing that should not be permitted."

"Then you believe this story, Peggy?" said Francis.

"What should ail me to believe it? It's all of a piece; no woman that

was not as wicked as that would make up so wicked a story."

"Every one that I show the narrative to believes it, yet they all say

that it would not hold in a court of justice; so I am going to give up

Cross Hall to the benevolent associations, as Mr Hogarth made them his

heirs, in case of my not obeying some of his directions, and I will

then sail with you in the Saldanha, to begin the world afresh, and to

ask Jane Melville to begin it with me."

Peggy made no doubt that that was the only thing Francis could do under

the circumstances. She did not know the value of what he lost, she only

thought of what he was likely to gain.

"Well, Mr. Francis, or whatever your name may be, if that is the

marriage you spoke of, I think that news is GOOD too. I'm not a woman

of many words, but I think you'll never repent of this, or grieve for

the loss of this world's gear; and so far as my poor judgment goes, I

think Miss Jean is not the woman to say you nay;" and she shook his

hand warmly, and entered into his plans for beginning life in

Melbourne, as neither Sinclair nor MacFarlane had done. "There's good

work to be done in Australia, Mr. Francis, and there's one there that

will help you to do it. There's no doubt Providence intends to make

something of you. After all this chopping and changing, it would be a

queer thing if you would not rise as high at the other end of the world

as you have done in this."

Chapter XIII.

Not So Bad, After All

Perhaps there never was a romantic communication made to five more

prosaic-looking people than the accredited agents of the societies.

Middle-aged and elderly men, who, if they ever took up a novel, skipped

the love passages, and in all instances preferred to read newspapers.

They were very much bewildered at the purpose of their being called

together. They had thought there must have been a codicil found to the

very strange will of which they had had a copy sent to their societies,

as being, though in a very unlikely contingency, possibly interested,

and that it was possible they were to receive a small sum IN ESSE,

instead of the large one IN POSSE. But when Mr. MacFarlane produced no

codicil, but read to them gravely Mrs. Peck's confession instead, and

paused at the conclusion, as if he expected them to express an opinion,

they looked at each other for a few seconds, unwilling to commit

themselves by initiating any remark whatever. At last the boldest of

the number observed that it was a strange story, which the others

agreed to unanimously.

"Do you think it is true?" said Francis.

"Perhaps it is," said the director of the Blind Asylum; "there is no

saying."

"Of course it does not at all invalidate Mr. Hogarth, my client's right

to the estate, moveable and heritable, of the late Hogarth, of Cross

Hall," said Mr. MacFarlane, "for you know that was left to him by will."

"Of course not," said the director of the Blind Asylum; "one can see

that."

"But what was the use of calling us all here," said the representative

of the Deaf and Dumb Asylum, "to tell us that Cross Hall left his

property perhaps by a mistake? Had he claimed as heir-of-entail or as

heir-at-law the case would have been different; but it would have been

our business to have found out that, or the next heir's, and certainly

not the present possessor's."

"You will observe," said Francis, "that I hold the property under

conditions--one is, that I shall not marry either of my cousins. If

Jane Melville is not my cousin, marrying her, and restoring her to the

property, which she has a better right to than I have--should not

invalidate my right by this will."

"Oh, that is a very different affair," said the Deaf and Dumb delegate.

"You want to marry Miss Melville, and to keep the estate too."

"Yes, if I can legally. I know that if Mr. Hogarth was alive at this

day, and could see this confession, he would believe it, and he would

no longer see any bar to my marriage with his niece. If he could see

how well and how bravely his nieces have battled with the world he

would require no further trial of their fortitude or patience."

"We would never think of disturbing you in possession of Cross Hall, so

long as you fulfil the conditions of the will," said the delegate from

the Blind Asylum.

"Certainly, you need never think of it, for you cannot," said

MacFarlane.

"But such a step as you contemplate is so flagrant a violation of the

spirit and purport of Mr. Hogarth's will--for, right or wrong, he never

meant Jane Melville to be mistress of Cross Hall--that we must claim

our just rights. This confession, given with the hope of extorting

money from the supposed heirs of Mr. Hogarth, is worthless,

particularly considering the character of the person who makes it. I

think you have no case whatever: do not you agree with me?" said the

director of the Deaf and Dumb Asylum--one who took the greatest

possible interest in the working and the prosperity of that charity,

the funds of which were rather at a low ebb at this time. "We cannot be

supposed to be actuated by selfish motives; we are perfectly

disinterested trustees for great public interests; but if property is

left to these institutions, we would be wanting in our duty if we did

not claim it."

The other four directors took the same view of the case. None of them

would agree to leave Francis unmolested, if he took the step he

meditated.

"But you observe," said Francis, "that this will has been the cause of

great injustice. In the first place, Mr. Hogarth's two nieces had been

brought up as his heirs, and they were left to struggle with

difficulties and hardships which were harder and more severe than any

man has to go through--and for which the education their uncle had

given them had not made them more fitted. In the second place, he left

the property to me as supposing me to be his son. If this confession is

true, I am not his son; but if I marry the woman who in that case is

not my cousin, you will not allow me to keep the estate for her, so I

am forced to----"

"Stop, Mr. Hogarth," said Mr. MacFarlane, eagerly.

"I am forced to make a deed of gift to each of you, as I am really in

possession of the estate. I save you all the expense and trouble of

litigation, and I have to begin the world again at far greater

disadvantage than when I was taken from my bank-desk and my 250 pounds

a year two years ago. I have acquired expensive habits; I am two years

older, and I shall have a wife and probably a family to maintain."

"There is a great deal of truth in what you say," said the director of

the Institution, for the sub-matronship of which Jane Melville had

applied in vain. The other four were speechless with astonishment at

the extraordinary proposition which Francis made to them. "Litigation

is long and expensive. I may say, for my body of directors, that we

would be very happy to give some consideration for the very handsome,

the very generous, offer you make to us. It is not right to marry

without being a little beforehand with the world; and it would be very

unfair to accept of all you gained by the will without making a little

compensation for what you have lost. Any personal property, books, and

furniture, that you would like to keep, to the value of 200 pounds, or

thereabouts, and a sum of 400 pounds from each of us, I think would be

fair, to give you a start in a new country. I believe Miss Melville is

a very deserving lady. If it had not been for her youth we should have

had her with us. I hope my friends here will agree with me that this is

reasonable and just."

"You get the estate too cheaply," said Mr. MacFarlane, with warmth.

"Think that Mr. Hogarth might have kept it for ever if it had not been

for this romantic crotchet; think that he might marry Miss Melville,

and having possession might defy you to oust him, and drag you through

court after court, and run you up 10,000 pounds of costs, and after all

the Chancery Courts would decide that he should keep it. Public feeling

is against these restrictions, for they lead to people living PAR

AMOURS if they are forbidden to marry; and Mr. Hogarth's position and

character would be all in his favour. You get property worth 50,000

pounds divided amongst you, and you offer my client a paltry 2,000

pounds out of consideration for his generosity and forbearance."

"I am satisfied with it," said Francis; "and I think Jane will be the

same."

"It IS too little," said the director of the Infirmary, who had never

spoken before. "We must make it 500 pounds each; and we are very much

obliged to Mr. Hogarth; and we should not limit him so much with regard

to the personal property. Cross Hall library was valued at more than

1,000 pounds; and as they are all such reading folk, they might take

200 pounds of books alone. Let us be liberal, and say 700 pounds for

what he may like to take from Cross Hall."

"If I have any voice in the administration of the property I make over

to you, I should like to have it applied specially to paying your

officers better--particularly in those situations which are filled by

women. I know you think it right to economize your funds; and I believe

that all Scotch charities are much better managed, and much more

honestly administered than those on the other side of the Tweed. But I

think you pay your surgeons and your matrons very shabbily. You say you

get so many applications, that it shows you do not underpay them. But

it would be much better to demand better qualifications, and to pay

them more highly. Out of sixty applications for a matronship worth 30

pounds a year, there is perhaps one or two only fit for the work; and

if they are fit for it, they are well worth 70 pounds," said Francis.

"We have raised THAT salary," said the director of the ---- Institution.

"I am glad to hear it--very glad to hear it," said Francis.

"We will take what you say into consideration," said the director of

the Deaf and Dumb Institution, who was speculating on all that could be

done with a sum amounting to more than 9,000 pounds.

"I object to specify sums in making the deed of gift, or I should make

some special provision on that score; but the value of money changes so

much that what is a fair salary in one generation is not a fair one the

next, and if salaries are fixed too high they are apt to lead to

favoritism and jobbing. I dare say it would be better to trust to your

own sense of honour on the matter."

"I think you may safely do so, Mr. Hogarth. With regard to the

property, I suppose we should advertise it for sale and then divide the

proceeds. The payments to Mr. Hogarth must be made at once, however, as

I suppose he is bound for Australia," said the director of the Deaf and

Dumb Asylum.

"Yes, in the first ship, in which some friends of mine are going," said

Francis.

"I am sure we wish you all prosperity and all happiness in the marriage

you contemplate, which has been so fortunate for those in whom we are

interested," said the last speaker, and the sentiment was echoed by all

the others.

"Could not you buy Cross Hall?" said Francis to Miss Thomson on the day

after this matter was settled. "I should feel half my sorrow at parting

with it removed if I knew you could have it."

"No, no; I am not going to buy a property that I cannot pay for. My

father did something of the kind once, and all the time he was a laird

we were poor. He sold the property at a great loss, and then things

looked up again with him. I'd rather be a rich farmer than a poor

proprietor."

"If I could see you in possession of Cross Hall, and Mr. Sinclair in my

seat in Parliament, I should really have very little to give up; but it

appears I cannot. I have accepted the stewardship of Her Majesty's

Chiltern Hundreds to-day, and the burghs will be declared vacant

directly. But Mr. Sinclair cannot afford it; and he could not carry the

election. His manner is not good enough; he does not conciliate people.

If our scheme were carried there would be no fear of Sinclair getting

in, for he is a man really wanted. He could get a sufficient number of

votes here to carry him half in, and the remainder of the quota would

be attracted by his original genius and upright character, which he

could show by his speeches and addresses; and we hope to make a seat in

Parliament a much less costly affair--50 pounds or 100 pounds should

cover it all. But I fear the burghs must fall back on either the Duke's

nominee or the Earl's."

"Then are you more sorry to leave your people at Cross Hall, or your

parliamentary duties?" said Miss Thomson.

"The people at Cross Hall I think are really in a much better position

than when I came; and, perhaps, it is as well for them to be left to

work out things for themselves. I have become much attached to them,

but perhaps if I stayed there, they would depend too much upon me. But

in Parliament, I have not yet broken ground in the work I had set

myself to do: and I confess that I do regret it, both for my own sake,

for the sake of my friends who depended on me, and for the sake of the

dear old country itself. There may be more able men and more energetic

men in Parliament; but I am sure there are none whose heart was more in

the work than mine. But that was Jane's doing. I know if she had not

urged these matters on me, I would very likely have spent my life in

indolent enjoyment. Without the one drop of bitter in my cup, in the

sufferings of Jane and Elsie, I never could have felt the

responsibilities of wealth. I should have made a fine picture-gallery

at Cross Hall, and probably acquired a name as a man of good taste, but

the higher objects of life would have been lost sight of."

The farewell address to his constituents was next written and read,

with genuine sorrow on both sides. The farewells at Cross Hall were

taken, and the establishment broke up; but Susan (the housemaid), when

she heard that the master was going to Australia, with the purpose of

marrying Miss Jane, begged to go with Peggy Walker's family, in hopes

of being engaged in the service of the best master and the best

mistress she ever saw. And her request was acceded to.

Next came the journey to London, and the preparations for the voyage,

and the hardest task of all--the parting from the friends and the

objects he had so much at heart there.

He had written a full explanation of his conduct to his coadjutors in

London on his resigning his seat; and, though there was no reproach,

there was a great deal of regret, for there was not another man either

able or willing to take the part which Francis had purposed to hold for

any number of years in which he might be in Parliament.

Chapter XIV.

Meeting

Jane Melville was very much surprised at the extraordinary news that

Elsie wrote to her with regard to Mrs. Peck's revelations to herself

and Mr. Brandon. Though she was quite prepared for a very interesting

letter on their own private affairs, she felt this touch her still more

nearly. She was sorry that Elsie had written to Francis on the subject

without consulting her, and that she had to wait a whole month before

she could assure him that this confession made no difference in her

feeling of regard and affection towards him, or in her pride in his

career, saying that she hoped he was now satisfied that he was the son

of honest and loving parents, though unknown ones; rejoicing that he

had got quit of such a mother as Mrs. Peck; and expressing the pleasure

with which she read his speeches, and her interest in the objects with

which he had in a measure identified himself. She tried to think that

all was with them as before, and that, though no longer his cousin, she

might continue to be his affectionate and sympathizing friend.

Elsie s marriage gave to her sister great and unmixed pleasure. It took

place very shortly after Brandon had obtained her consent, and Emily

and Jane went to Melbourne to act as bridesmaids; and Edgar, too, was

needed on such an occasion as this. Although there were twenty miles

between Wiriwilta and Barragong, the sisters contrived to see a good

deal of each other. Mrs. Phillips was kinder and more cordial to the

Melvilles than before; and now that Elsie had an ascertained position

as Brandon's wife, even Miss Phillips could not condescend quite so

much to her.

During Brandon's honeymoon, Dr. Grant had got matters in such excellent

train that he made his proposal in due form, and was accepted; but

there could not be such promptitude in carrying it out as in Brandon's

case, for he could never think of taking a lady of Miss Phillips's

pretensions to Ben More without making considerable additions and

improvements on it, and the masons and carpenters were very slow about

their work. The pangs occasioned by delay were sweetened by frequent

and long visits; and the plan of his house, and of the garden which he

was laying out and planting, was constantly in the hands of the

betrothed lovers for mutual suggestions and admiration. At last the day

was fixed, and it was to be a very grand affair. There was to be a

special licence, and she was to be married from her brother's house, as

there was no English church within reasonable distance. The Lord Bishop

of Melbourne was to come out to perform the ceremony, and all the

neighbours from far and near were invited;--the Ballantynes and some of

their town acquaintance besides. There were to be thirty-five at

breakfast; and little or nothing could be had from town, so there was

an extraordinary amount of cooking going on at Wiriwilta. Mrs. Bennett,

who was worth any two of the women servants in the house, was going

hither and thither, and surpassing herself in her culinary successes.

Emily was instructing Harriett how she was to behave on the following

day as bridesmaid, for the two little girls were to support their aunt

on the trying occasion; and after officiating in that capacity at the

marriage of her favourites, Brandon and Alice, Emily felt quite

experienced on the subject. Their dresses were very pretty; and as for

Miss Phillips's, it was magnificent, for she thought, if there ever was

an occasion on which one should be richly dressed, it was on an

occasion like this. Mrs. Phillips had been persuaded for once to allow

her sister-in-law to outshine her, at least so far as she could do so.

Jane was as busy in the kitchen as any one; when she was called away by

Miss Phillips, to be consulted as to how her veil should be disposed

of, for Mrs. Phillips had declined to give an opinion--and there were

two modes of arranging it that she was doubtful about. Could not Miss

Melville settle that knotty point?

"I really cannot say; one seems to me to look as well as the other,"

said Jane.

"That is very unsatisfactory," said Harriett. "I know they are not

equally becoming."

"Elsie will be here this evening," said Jane, "or early to-morrow

morning; and I am sure she will be most happy to give the last touches

to your dress. Her taste is good, and you know how wretched mine is."

"Well, I suppose I must trust to that; but I should prefer to have

everything settled to-day, so that my mind might be quite easy. I

should not like to look flurried to-morrow. I must ask Dr. Grant when

he comes in. Perhaps he will give me an idea. Your sister's dress was

very simple, she told me; but then the affair was so hurried--there was

no time to make preparations. We have not that excuse, thanks to those

tiresome tradespeople. But Alice and Brandon seem to get on pretty

comfortably."

"Very happily, I think," said Jane.

"Oh, yes, he is good-natured enough, and I dare say, very kind to her,

and she seems quite satisfied. But I have been just thinking how

difficult it would have been for me to have been suited in such a

colony as this if I had not been so fortunate as to meet with Dr.

Grant. Being a professional man, he is necessarily an educated man, and

you know how much that weighs with me; and he has the manners of a

gentleman, which are also indispensable to my happiness in marriage.

None of your rough, boorish bushmen, who can only talk of sheep and

cattle, could possibly have done for me. Then, his family connections

are most unexceptionable; my own relations cannot feel in any way

compromised by such an alliance. The near neighbourhood (as I suppose

it must be called) to Wiriwilta, and even to Barragong, makes it very

pleasant. I should not have at all liked marrying to be at distance

from my brother and his family. Coming out, as I did, on their account

principally, it would be dreadful for all of us if we were separated. I

am sure I am quite pleased, too, to have your sister and Brandon as

neighbours. Alice looks quite a different person now she has a house of

her own. I don't call her pretty--I never did; but she looks very well

indeed at Barragong, and seems to get on wonderful well, considering."

"Considering what?" was about to come from Jane's lips, for she had

never liked Miss Phillips's condescending way of talking about her

sister; but she checked herself, for it was no use to argue with the

bride on the eve of her wedding-day, and gave an indifferent and

conciliatory reply; but the conversation was here interrupted by the

entrance of two old friends, not any of the party invited for the

morrow, but two large beautiful dogs, who ran up to Jane with the

wildest expressions of canine delight.

"Oh, Nep! oh Flora!" said Jane, "where have you come from? Who can have

brought you here? Poor old fellows! dear old fellows!" And the

favourites from Cross Hall laid their happy heads in her lap, and

rejoiced in their old mistress's caresses.

"What beauties!" said Miss Phillips; "but I do not like dogs in the

drawing-room."

"I will take them out," said Jane, trembling with wonder and agitation.

She went out of the room, and at the hall door, which stood (bush

fashion) hospitably open, she saw Francis standing, allowing Nep and

Flora, who seemed to know there was a friend in the house, to make an

entrance and introduce themselves. She extended her hand, but he

clasped her in his arms.

"Not farewell this time, dearest Jane. I have come for you, and I will

not be refused. When we parted I said you knew I loved you, and now I

believe you love me. I have given up everything--the property, the seat

in Parliament; and now that I have no career to relinquish, perhaps you

will acknowledge that you love me?"

"Oh, Francis, I have always loved you! but I could have lived without

you all my life if I had thought it for your good and your happiness. I

could not bear to be your stumbling-block. But is it really the case?

did you believe that strange story? have you given up what you made

such good use of?"

"Come out into the garden with me, and I will tell you all about it;"

and Francis led Jane where they were more secure from interruption.

Flora and Nep followed them in the greatest exuberance of spirits.

"I had to stay one day in Melbourne, and found that I could get a

situation there as accountant in a merchant's office, at 300 pounds to

begin with. I had Mr. Rennie's testimonial to speak for me. It is not

so much as my 50 pounds in Edinburgh; but will you marry me on that?"

said Francis.

"I would marry you on less," said Jane, "for my own part of it; but you

care more for comfort and luxury than I do. If you will consent to be

cheerfully without what we cannot afford, I will do my best."

"I have been roughing it a little on board ship; you may ask Peggy and

Mary Forrester if I have not. But I hope to get on, for your sake, if

not for my own. I feel just like a boy again beginning the world, and

feeling it is all his for the winning."

"But your plans--your ambitions--are they all given up? You know the

property was really yours--as much yours without a name as with my

uncle's. I am sorry you were so rash."

"No, Jane, don't be sorry; don't be anything but very glad. I never was

so happy in my life. I left all my regrets on the other side of the

world. Now, when I have your hand in mine, your heart in my keeping,

when you have promised to give yourself to me, I will not feel that I

have cause for anything but devout gratitude to our Heavenly Father,

and humble but confident hope that He will bless our union. My dearest

love, do look in my face and say you are happy."

"Yes, I am happy," said Jane, "very happy. Thank God for all his

goodness."

"But what are we to do for a name? I ought not to be Hogarth, or

Ormistown, or Francis either. Can you give me a new name to begin our

new life with?"

"I think we will still call you Francis Hogarth; it is the name I

learned to love you by, and I think if my poor dear uncle saw us now,

and saw how we love each other, he would be pleased that my husband

should have his name. Then you have really given up everything?" said

Jane, who could not at once believe in the fact.

"To the benevolent societies. But they behaved very handsomely, and

gave to me--or rather, to you--a sum of money sufficient to better our

position. I have not only the 300 pounds a-year--I have 2,500 pounds

besides, and a lot of things from Cross Hall to furnish a cottage with.

I had to leave the horses, but I thought you and Elsie would like the

dogs. Susan helped to pack the furniture; and I have brought her out to

go into your service in any capacity. I suppose we can afford to keep

one domestic on our small means, even in Melbourne."

"I suppose the rest of the establishment were sorry to lose a good

master," said Jane; "and the labourers, too--what about your

arrangements there?"

"The cottages were built and the allotments made over securely, and I

think they are the better, and not the worse, for my two years' tenure

of Cross Hall. As for the political and social reforms, I have no doubt

that there are five hundred men in England as good as me. Sinclair is

as good an apostle of my crotchets as I could be, only he is not in the

House. I will not be so insincere as to say that I did not give up my

parliamentary life with the greatest regret. That really was THE

sacrifice. You must be very, very kind to me on that account; but you

know that I could not, as an honest man, keep property which had been

bequeathed to me under such a mistake. You would not have done it under

the circumstances. I tried to save it for you, to whom it ought to have

been left; but after consulting the best authorities I found I could

not do so, for your uncle's will was so distinct in excluding you from

any benefit from his estate. So, Jane, you must say that you are glad.

Don't look as if you were anything but my guiding-star--the life of my

life--all the world to me. A hindrance, a stumbling-block! Without you

I should have had no high aims, no noble ambition. If I had done little

or nothing, I have learned a great deal; so

"'Love me for the sake of what I am,

And not of what I do.'"

"You know that I will be only too happy to be your wife, Francis," said

Jane.

"And perhaps if I get on well here I may go into political life in the

colony and do the work I was sent into the world for at the other end

of it. Then when are you going to give yourself to me?"

"As soon as I can possibly leave this family. We must let Mr. Phillips

know immediately. How surprised Elsie will be!"

"Not so much as you are, I fancy. Bless her for writing me that letter;

there is not one of yours that I prize more. But with regard to the

Phillipses, Miss Marry Forrester, I think, would be very happy to take

your place; and, from all I can see of her, she will do admirably. Did

you really want me to fall in love with her?"

"I wanted you to be happy, and I thought she could make you so. You do

not understand how unselfish a woman's love can be. Then, if Miss

Forrester can take my place here, there need be no delay."

"You make none on your part, like a good, honest girl, as you are."

"Why should I? We have loved each other for two years. Our wedding will

be the simplest affair possible. Why should I pretend to wish to delay

what will be my happiness as well as yours? Oh, Francis! though I could

not have wished you to make the sacrifices you have made for my poor

sake, yet, now that it is done, it is not a half-heart I give you. I

will try to give you no cause to regret what I have cost you. Oh, how

glad I am to be able to tell you frankly how dear you are to me!"

Epilogue

It is Christmas-day, 186-. Jane Hogarth is busy making arrangements for

a quiet family dinner party, in her pretty house, not far from

Melbourne, a little annoyed because the season is so backward that no

fruit is to be had for love or money; but, on the whole, certain that

things will go off very well without it. Francis has succeeded very

well in Victoria. His talents and industry made him very valuable to

the mercantile house he went into. In the course of a few years he put

his capital into it, and got a partnership, which, now that the

principal was absent on a visit to England, was on equal terms. The

Brandons and Hogarths exchange Christmas visits with each other, and

this year it is Jane's turn to be the entertainer, and Elsie with her

husband and children have come down from the bush to have a little

gaiety in Melbourne.

This occasion was one to be especially remarked on, for there was a

bride to be honoured in the person of pretty Grace Forrester, whom Tom

Lowrie, now a rising engineer, had succeeded in winning as his wife.

All the Lowries had made good colonists; the eldest girl had married

respectably; the second assisted her aunt in the shop, which she had

recently enlarged and improved; but Tom's prospects were better than

those of any other of the family, and fully justified Jane's hopes and

expectations. There is no saying where he may stop in his colonial

career. Peggy, now called Miss Walker universally, except by one or two

old friends, was to accompany her nephew and his wife. Is it really

Peggy whom we see at Mrs. Hogarth's door with the dress of rich black

silk, destitute of crinoline, and the bonnet, in these days of tall

bonnets, flattened down in contempt of fashion, but still of excellent

materials?

She is a better-looking woman in her older days than when she was

younger. Brandon declares that in time she will turn out quite a

beauty, and takes more interest in the caps that his wife makes as a

regular thing for Peggy--four every year (nobody can make them to

please her as Mrs. Brandon can do)--than in any other of her attempts

at millinery.

Another member of the party was Mr. Dempster, who had just come over

from Adelaide. He had been seized on by Francis, and begged to accept

of a little corner of their somewhat crowded house. There are a number

of very bright faces collected round the table. How many recollections

of early difficulties faithfully wrestled with and overcome, throng

upon our friends at such an hour of meeting!

Peggy was disposed to improve the occasion. "Well," said she, "to think

of us all being together in this way after all we've come through! I'm

not speaking of you, Mr. Dempster, for I know none of your

harassments--but when I mind of the night when Miss Jean and Miss Elsie

sat in my little room, so downcast, and so despairing, and I told them

about all my troubles just to hearten them up a bit, and to show what

God had enabled me to win through, little did I think of how the

Almighty was leading us all! You mind well of how I spoke of Miss

Thomson that night, and of the money she gave for my help when I was in

sore straits how to provide for my bairns. And to think of my Tam being

married on her niece! It's no for worms like us to be proud, but to be

connected with such as Miss Thomson is a cause of thanksgiving."

"And I have had a letter from Aunt Margaret, and so has Tom," said

Grace, "and she is quite pleased with our engagement. She says she

knows that as Tom has raised himself so far by his own industry and

abilities, helped by the education his good aunt gave to him, that

there is no fear of his ever falling; and she said Tom's letter to her

is the best thing of the kind she ever read."

"Mrs. Hogarth taught him to write letters," said Peggy; "and really

when he reads out anything to me that he has written, it reads like a

printed book. As for Miss Thomson's own letter, it deserves to be

printed in letters of gold; but mind, you young folk, not to be

overmuch set up about being married, and all your friends being so

satisfied. It is a great good Providence that you have happened so

well; but all folk have not your good luck. You must not look down on

your sister Mary--who is the best of the whole bunch of you, I

reckon--because she is six years older than you and not married yet."

"Oh, auntie!" said Grace,--"with such a maiden aunt as I have, and such

a maiden aunt as Tom has, you never could dream of my looking down on

old maids, or fancying I can be compared to Mary."

"Bravo! Mrs. Lowrie," said Brandon; "I wish I could find any one good

enough for Miss Forrester, but I cannot."

"Mr. Sinclair cannot comprehend my going off before Mary. He says, if

he does not hear news of her in two years' time, he must come to

Australia for her himself," said Grace.

"There is likely to be another wedding ere long, at Wiriwilta,

however," said Brandon.

"Emily," said Peggy, "Grace was getting word of it from her sister.

She's young yet."

"So she is, and so is Edgar; but it is a settled thing. A year's

engagement--or something of that sort. Mr. and Mrs. Phillips have

consented very handsomely, but Mrs. Grant thinks that, with Emily's

beauty and education (for Miss Forrester has certainly brought her on

wonderfully), she should make a better marriage."

"But, for my part, Frank," said Brandon, addressing his brother-in-law.

"I do like to see young people falling in love in this natural way, and

willing to begin life not just as their fathers leave off. I talked to

Emily like a father, and told her what she could expect until they

worked for it; and she gave me a kiss, and said that she knew quite

well that she could not have everything just as it was at Wiriwilta,

but if there was twice as much to give up she would do it; for, as she

said very charmingly, 'I am very fond of Edgar, and Edgar is very fond

of me.' To see people beginning life in a love-marriage so young as the

happy pair in company, or even younger, as in the case of Edgar and

Emily, is very refreshing to old fogies like you and me, Frank, who

began our married life a good deal on the wrong side of thirty, and

whose eldest children look out for white hairs in our heads. The only

consolation I have for not being happy younger is, that if I had

married before I should have married some one else, and that would

never have done. Elsie might have taken me a year before she did,

however. I have never quite forgiven her."

"And the young people are very fond of each other," said Peggy. "All

very right, but I don't like to see them make too much fuss. Tom and

Grace are very ridiculous whiles."

"Well, I must say I like to see it," said Brandon. "I quite enjoy

seeing Emily stealing out with Edgar in the gloaming, and meeting him

in the hall when she hears his knock, and getting into corners with

him. Harriett, who has some notion what the thing means, has patience

with it, but Constance, who is younger, despises all this philandering.

I said to her the other day, when she was expressing her disgust at

these proceedings, 'Ah, Constance! three years or so, and you will be

doing just the same. I have another nephew coming out next month, and a

fine fellow he is said to be. You'll be just as foolish.' 'You'll see

me boiled first!' said Constance, with a vehemence which startled her

aunt Harriett, and brought down a serious rebuke, though she herself

thought the young people rather ridiculous, to use Peggy's phrase. But

I know very well that one great reason for Emily's fancy for Edgar is

her wish to call Elsie and myself aunt and uncle. I think it likely

that that weighed with you, Mrs. Lowrie."

"None of your nonsense, Mr. Brandon," said Peggy. "Who would care to be

connected with an old woman like me?" and yet she was pleased with

Brandon's remark, notwithstanding.

"Well, joking apart, I think it is really a great thing for a girl to

marry into a family where they are prepared to love her, and to put the

most charitable construction on all she does and all she does not do,"

said Brandon.

"But, Mr. Hogarth," said Mr. Dempster, "you promised at this family

party to tell me the whole story of which I have got some separate

threads. You recollect that we had some curious revelations one evening

at a seance at my house in London. Shortly after I returned to

Adelaide, I met in a wayside inn an old woman whom I took to be your

mother, who entered into conversation with me; but as the spiritual

directions had been to have nothing to do with her, I did not inquire

sufficiently to get much information from her. Some time after that, I

heard of your giving up your property in Scotland, sailing for

Australia, marrying your cousin, and settling here; but what connection

these three things have with each other, I never knew. Will you be good

enough to explain?"

"The spirit was in the wrong on that occasion in two important

particulars. The letter I had in my pocket was from Mrs. Peck, but she

was not my mother; Mr. Hogarth was not my father," said Francis.

"Not your mother! not your father!" said Mr. Dempster; "can you prove

that?"

"No; but I am quite convinced of it," said Francis.

"I would believe the spirits always, if I had no positive proof to the

contrary," said Mr. Dempster.

"Mrs. Peck confessed to Brandon that as her own child died suddenly she

had picked up another, with the view of imposing on Mr. Hogarth and

getting a handsome allowance from him; but when he saw me he preferred

keeping me out of her hands, and educated me, but never loved me," said

Francis.

"I would not believe that woman on her oath," said Mr. Dempster; "and I

know her motive. She wanted to get something out of your cousins, and

for that purpose invented this confession. That would never shake my

belief in the spirits. Look at the way in which those names were

spelled out--you were convinced of the truth of it at the time."

"My dear sir," said Francis, "I certainly heard and saw a great many

things which I could not explain. They seemed to echo my own thoughts

marvellously correctly, but whenever I was at fault, they, too, were

misinformed. Elsie had been suspicious beforehand that I was not Henry

Hogarth's son. Mrs. Peck's confession was consistent and probable; she

stuck to it as being true, to her dying day. I went to see her on her

death-bed, and she declared that, as she hoped for forgiveness, I was

not her child or Mr. Hogarth's; so that, though I never got any clue to

my real parents--for she did not know my name, and the advertisements

which I put into American papers were never answered--thirty-five years

being a lapse of time in which such matters cannot be traced--I am

morally certain that I am not Jane's cousin, and consequently that the

spirit was wrong. It might be mesmerism, or extraordinary quickness of

sight; for though I tried to pass over the letters which spelled out

the names, a very practised eye might observe an infinitesimal

hesitation over the particular letter;--but of one thing I am certain,

that if Henry Hogarth had been there in the spirit, he would have been

able to tell me both that he was not my father, and also whose son I

really was, which information I wished to obtain."

"But did not the spirit say you were to have happiness after a time,"

said Mr. Dempster, triumphantly, "and have you not got it?"

"Certainly I have; and if it had any hand in bringing it about I am

very grateful to it," said Francis, looking at his wife with pride and

pleasure; "but I think we owe our happiness very much to each other.

The will, which was as unjust and absurd a one as could have been made,

indirectly did us service. I am quite sure that but for the singular

relations in which I was placed I never could have known Jane, and

could not have loved her."

"If Elsie had been left 20,000 pounds I never should have dared to have

looked up to her," said Brandon; "and what a loss that would have been

to her, not speak of myself! It is a hundred chances to one against two

heiresses getting two such good husbands, and keeping all such capital

friends as we do."

"It is quite true," said Jane; "my uncle's will has resulted in more

happiness than even he could have hoped for."

"Though he certainly would not have contemplated with equanimity the

passing of Cross Hall into the hands of Mrs. William Dalzell, whose

trustees invested her fortune in it when it was sold by the benevolent

societies to whom I relinquished the inheritance," said Francis.

"Dalzell does not make so bad a landlord as we expected, particularly

as he has not much in his power. The proceeds of the sale are doing

good to the sick and afflicted, while we are quite as comfortable

without it."

"I cannot think enough of the Providence that has made good come out of

evil," said Jane. "But with regard to the rappings, Mr. Dempster, the

oracular sentences that all would be well in the end, and that Francis

should be happy after a time, were of the vaguest description, while on

positive matters they were decidedly misinformed."

"It might have been a lying or mocking spirit," said Mr. Dempster; "my

faith in the truth of these manifestations is not to be shaken by what

you say."

"I wonder if your spirits could tell us if Grant is in for ----, and

his majority? The election must have taken place, but no one in the

room knows of it; that would be a crucial test, as Jane calls it," said

Brandon.

"In such a company of unbelievers," said Mr. Dempster, "we could not

get up a seance, and what is more, we have no medium."

"It is well that Grant goes out of his own district," said Brandon,

"for he would not stand a chance there; and now he is promising to

those strangers anything and everything. With all Grant's aristocratic

feelings, and his wife's too, which are still stronger, their desire

that he should have a seat in the Assembly, now that McIntyre is in,

seems to drag him into as low depths as any one. I cannot see why they

should be so anxious about it, unless it is that, since they cannot

afford to go home, they want to take as good a position here as any of

their neighbours. Grant's affairs will suffer if he has to be so much

in Melbourne, and at best he will make a very fourth-rate legislator."

"I think he is naturally 'indifferent honest,'" said Francis. "At

least, he is disposed to be honest, but canvassing is very different

work here as well as in Britain."

"You should really get into our Assembly, Frank," said Brandon, "to

give the natives here the benefit of your experience. How great you

would be on a point of order or a question of privilege!"

"I wish Francis had time to give to parliamentary duties," said Jane.

"I live in hopes that when Mr. ---- returns, he may try his fortune in

the political world here. If representative assemblies would limit

themselves to what really concerns such bodies, it would not be so

heavy a tax upon people in business to give their time to the public;

but they will meddle with things that ought to be let alone, and

endless floods of talk on such matters take up much valuable time."

"Then Mr. Hogarth's public spirit has not been gently smothered by a

happy marriage and a fine family of children? That is the modern view

of the case," said Mr. Dempster. "Nothing great is done by married men,

unless they are unhappily mated."

"A most ignoble view of a wife's duties," said Jane.

"My wife would never smother any public spirit I may have," said

Francis. "She had too much to do with the birth of it, not to cherish

it as fondly as any of her other babies; but I fear that, till my

friend Mr. Hare's scheme is carried, I could not get a majority in

Victoria. We want the reform very much here, and in all the colonies;

and as yet, it has been failure, failure, failure."

"And if such men as you do not get in, Frank, it will never be carried.

Grant is stupid--thoroughly stupid. I talked to him for four mortal

hours on the subject, and made it plain to the meanest capacity, that

though we wanted a representation of minorities, the minority in the

House would faithfully represent the minority out of doors, and not be

able to defeat the majorities, as he was convinced it would do. I put

it down in black and white--proved it with figures. Elsie and I made

fancy voting-papers, and I acted as returning officer, and showed the

thing as clear as day; but though he drank a bottle and a half of

sherry during the process, he was just as wise at the end as at the

beginning. Now I don't call myself at all clever, but when Frank

explained the method of voting to me, I saw it all in a minute--and

you, Tom--did not you, too? but then you are rather a genius."

"It is as plain as a pikestaff," said Tom Lowrie.

"Walter thinks, because he has not read very much, that we must think

him stupid," said Elsie, "when he really has the quickest apprehension

of all sorts of things."

"Dr. Grant will, perhaps, take up the meaning of Hare's scheme when the

newspapers have advocated it for years, and it has been familiar to all

the people around him," said Francis, "or he may vote for it without

understanding it, when it becomes a popular cry."

"But to have to stir such a dish of skimmed milk to honourable action!"

said Brandon. "Frank, you really must stand for our district. I fancy

McIntyre will go home by the time your partner comes back, so we will

have a vacancy. I will canvass for you, and so will Edgar. It would be

a credit to us to have a real British M.P. as our representative, and

then you could push your grand idea, as you intended to have done in

England, before love routed ambition. As you say, the result has

hitherto been a failure in the colonies, but the contest should not be

abandoned."

"I hear that the movement makes slow progress in Britain," said

Francis, "but still it makes progress. It is too great a change there,

and there are so many vested interests which consider such a reform

would interfere with their prescriptive rights. On the Continent it

makes more way; and, perhaps, as my French friends say, the discovery

may be first carried into practice there; but I had hopes of its

success in the colonies. There is so much less to disturb here that a

change from exclusively local to general elections would not be

difficult, if we could only make the idea familiar. All we see in

America, all we see in political matters here, only show how much

easier it is to reform before abuses go too far. I should very much

like to try your district, Brandon, and will be very glad of your

services when the time comes; and so I should feel that my work had

been postponed, but not altogether given up."

"If we could carry the measure by a COUP DE MAIN in any one of the

colonies, and bring it into working, the whole world would be the

better for it," said Brandon.

"There can be no carrying it by a COUP DE MAIN," said Francis. "Every

inch of the ground must be fought here, as in Britain, but the extent

of ground is shorter."

"I have grown much more patriotic since I was married," said Brandon.

"The place where you have a real home--the birthplace of your

children--and where you hope to see them grow up--becomes very dear to

you. And here are the youngsters!"

Little Maggie Brandon (so called in compliment to Peggy) seemed to know

by intuition that there was something for her in the pocket of the

worthy woman, and went to her at once; and the others distributed

themselves according to their several likings.

"Well," said Peggy, "I've often thought to ask you before, Mrs.

Hogarth, but how are you going to educate your lassies? What are you

going to do with them? and you favour lassies in both families--two to

one in each of them."

"Very much as we were educated ourselves," said Jane; "with more care

taken for the cultivation of their natural tastes, but the groundwork

will be the same."

"That education has certainly turned out admirable wives," said Francis.

"Speak for yourself, Frank," said Brandon; "but my wife spoils me, and

everybody in the house. There is a sad want of vinegar in her

composition. She cannot scold her servants--the mildest approach to it

that she ever makes is by saying, 'Mr. Brandon does not like such a

thing,' or that 'Mr. Brandon would be displeased if they do not attend

to such another.' The idea of making a bugbear of me is very ingenious,

but I fear not very efficacious, for I know they see through it. As for

me, a penitent recollection of a conversation in an English railway

carriage has stopped her mouth for ever, and she never gives me a hard

word, however I may deserve it; and for the children, the less we say

of them the better."

"But, Walter, I can keep my servants, and they really do very well; and

the children are good enough, and so are you; so there is no need to

scold."

"That is where the dangerous part of this subtle flattery lies; it is

so perfectly sincere. But I suppose we get along pretty well,

considering, as Mrs. Grant would say; and I really think her household

would be more comfortable if she took a leaf out of my wife's book. Her

servants will not stay three months with her, and she has three of the

most spoiled, exacting children I ever saw--far worse than their

cousins at Wiriwilta were in their worst days. The Phillipses had

spirit, but the Grants have none, except perhaps the spirit of

discontent. I think we might do worse, Peggy, than educate our girls to

resemble their mothers."

"But," said Jane, "we must make some provision for them also, if we

can. I suppose that I could have got on as well as you, Francis, if I

had been a man."

"Yes, there is nothing I have done that you could not have done as

well. I have as much perseverance as you, but not so much energy. It is

likely you would have made a better figure in the world than I have

done."

"But I could get nothing to do but to take a governess's situation; and

wonderfully lucky I was to get it. Mary Forrester is a much better

governess for Mr. Phillips's family than I was. Elsie could only

maintain herself as a milliner or as a lady's maid; and yet Elsie,

placed as a clerk or bookkeeper in a bank or merchant's office, would

have filled the situation as satisfactorily as half the young men I

know."

"Then you have not quite given up your notions of woman's rights?" said

Mr. Dempster. "For my part, I think the best right a woman has is the

right to a husband."

"That is a right she cannot assert for herself," said Jane, smiling.

"One would think, to hear people talk on this subject, that the

entreaties for work and independence come from those who in their youth

disdained faithful lovers, and perversely and unnaturally refused to

love, honour, and obey. I think, on the contrary, that the women of our

century are only too easily won, and cannot be charged with any

unnecessary cruelty to lovers. I do not think that you increase the

number of happy marriages or lessen the number of mercenary unions by

making the task for a single woman to maintain herself honestly and

usefully such very uphill work."

End of Project Gutenberg's Mr. Hogarth's Will, by Catherine Helen Spence