 15 Mrs. Phillips' First Grief Mrs. Phillips was somewhat annoyed at her husband's treating Elsie Melville on their continental tour more as a travelling companion than as a paid dependent. Where was to be the glory of this journey through France and Italy, of which she would have to boast all her life, if her maid and herself were to be on such terms of equality? In vain Mr. Phillips said he had disliked the difference that was made between the two sisters, and had only submitted to it in London on account of the servants, and that he was glad to take this opportunity of treating Elsie as her birth and education deserved. In vain he pointed out that French ladies conducted themselves to their dependence with less distance and hauteur than English women, and that in France it was proper to do as the French did. Mrs. Phillips felt offended, and for the first time in her life a little jealous. Not very jealous, for she was so conscious of her own beauty and so unconscious of her defects of mind and temper that she had a strong substratum of confidence in her husband's affection. But at this time Elsie was looking really very pretty, her movements were quick and graceful, a great contrast to Mrs. Phillips' slow, dignified, Juno-like deportment, and her conversation so sparkling and amusing that she thought Mr. Phillips looked at her too much, and talked to her too much. When they spoke French together, for Mr. Phillips was trying to revive his more than half-forgotten schoolboy French, and found he could do it more easily with Alice than with the foreigners, Mrs. Phillips had a vague sense that they were talking about something that they did not want her to hear. Elsie would have enjoyed this trip exceedingly, but for Mrs. Phillips unreasonableness and caprices, but even in spite of them she brought away many delightful recollections of scenes and people. And on this tour she felt as if she could write verses again, if she only had time and quiet. When in Paris she called on Madame L'Onoir with a letter of introduction from her cousin. She received Elsie very kindly, and asked her and the Phillips' to her at home. But as all the people there talked French, Mrs. Phillips did not find them at all entertaining, and she thought French hospitality a very shabby affair. They did not remain long in Paris, but went down to Italy and visited Florence and Rome. Mr. Phillips wished he had his two eldest girls with him in Italy, and promised to himself that next time he took the journey they should accompany him. When they returned to London they found that all had gone well in their absence. Francis had won his election, Jane appeared to be in excellent spirits, and the children had made good progress with their lessons. Mr. Phillips appeared to miss his old friend and neighbor Brandon very much, and could not find any one of his colonial acquaintances who could Phillips a blank which his departure from London had made. Besides, they were always losing somebody out of their pleasant circle. Every male steamer and every fine clippership that sailed for Australia seemed to take one or more from them, and though new people did come, they did not appear to be so agreeable as those who went away. Mr. Phillips could not remain contented in London, so he proposed a trip to America with his wife and Alice as before. But Mrs. Phillips disliked the sea, and did not feel very well, so she said she would rather stay in London with the family, though it was getting rather late in the season for London. She did not care to go to Darbyshire without him, far less to go to Scotland, so if he could be so cruel as to leave her she would prefer London. If Emily had been a little older Mr. Phillips would have taken her with him, for he disliked travelling alone, but she was too young as he himself acknowledged. Elsie could not understand the cause of Mrs. Phillips's peculiarly disagreeable conduct to herself lately, and she was almost on the point of leaving her and taking another situation, when the children, one after the other, took scarletina, and in such a house of sickness she, their favourite, could not be spared. All lessons, of course, were at an end, and said how sorry she was to see the children so ill, and how she suffered from her anxiety about them, but it was Jane and Elsie who took the real charge of the little patients. Some other did not seem really alarmed, though the children were really very ill. The only thing she did that appeared like apprehension was making Jane right to Mr. Phillips to return to England without delay, as soon as the children were seized with the fever. Jane also wrote to Dr. Phillips, and Vivian hurried to London, and stayed with his brother's family until his return, which was a great lightning of the load of responsibility which the sisters felt rested on them. In spite of every care and all that either doctor or nurses could do, little Eva fell a victim to the disease, and after her death Mrs. Phillips, for the first time, seemed to realise the danger of the others. Everything had gone so prosperously with her since her marriage, and she had known no sorrow and little annoyance. She had always had her husband at her side to smooth everything for her, so that she really scarcely knew what the contingencies and trials of life were. But this death, happening when the father who loved his children so dearly was absent, affected the indolent and generally unimpressable woman very strongly. She felt that she was somehow to blame about it. What will Stanley say when he comes home? Oh, what will he say to me for losing his darling child? Oh, why did he go to America and leave me with such a charge? And the others will be sure to die too, were her constant lamentations. Her grief made her quite unfit to take any charge of the survivors, and yet she was incredulous when she was told by her brother-in-law, or by the Mrs. Melville, that they were really recovering. It was not till her husband returned, which was as soon as he possibly could, and assured her that they were quite out of danger, that she gave any credit to it. Mr. Phillips felt the loss of one of his children more keenly than most men, but he was grateful to see that he was likely to save the others, and he did full justice to the care and attention which they had received from Vivian and Jane and Elsie. Miss Hogarth was in London, attending a short parliamentary session when the children were so ill, and was constant in his inquiries as to their health. Dr. Vivian Phillips forced Jane and Elsie out to hear their cousin make his first speech one evening, when the patients were decidedly convalescent. Jane was very much pleased with Francis's debut, and though Elsie thought it rather tame, because it was not on an important subject and was very calmly delivered, she was glad that he had not broken down, for it seemed a most imposing assembly for a stranger to address. Francis had visited the Derbyshire Phillipses, according to promise, after his election was over, and had been a good deal interested in Dr. Vivian, both on account of his own qualifications and because Jane Melville had been interested in him. He now felt that Jane and the young physician were placed in very intimate relations with each other, and naturally enough fancied that what he so much wished for himself would appear desirable to a man so acute and sensible as Vivian Phillips. Her calm temper, her promptitude, her method, were all shown to great advantage in a sick room. He forgot that Elsie's gentle, tender ways and her overflowing sympathy might be equally attractive, but Dr. Vivian was quite used to all sorts of sick rooms and to all sorts of nursing, and nothing was very striking to him, so that he fell in love with neither sister, though he liked them both very much. Jane in particular was one of those women who may count herself fortunate if she meets with one real lover in her lifetime. Some dowzel was not to be counted, except perhaps as a blank, but by means of the most favoring circumstances she had taken Frances Hogarth's heart into her possession, at least for a time, and this was her one prize in the strange lottery of love. No other attachment she was likely to inspire, as she felt herself, but her lover was not so clear-sided. Dr. Vivian Phillips had a great respect for her, and enjoyed her society now and then as a pleasant change from the more insipid company of his sisters or their female acquaintances. But to spend a life with her would be too fatiguing. She seemed always to require him to think his best, to say his best, and to do his best in her company. Now a wife just intelligent enough to appreciate his own abilities, but willing in all things to be guided by him, was a desirable thing, but once so thoroughly his equalest Jane Melville would allow him no repose. The children did not gain strength rapidly, and Emily in particular made a most tardy recovery. Her illness threatened permanently to weaken her constitution, particularly as winter was fast approaching, and she had felt that season in England very trying during the preceding year. Her uncle Vivian strongly recommended that she should winter in a milder climate to re-establish her health, and Mr. Phillips thought going to the south of France, where the girls might acquire the language without much trouble, would be a good arrangement, but when he mentioned it to Emily herself as an excellent idea the child languidly put it aside. Why not take us back to dear old Marie Welta, said she. We were never ill there. It is warmer and drier than France, and if Miss Melville and dear Aliska with us we can learn lessons just as well there as here. I am tired of this great London, with its smoke and its noise. Mr. Phillips was not a man to disregard a sick child's longing at any time, and when his brother said that, though he would regret the departure of the family from England, her native air was probably the very best she could have, and the long voyage in a good ship would benefit all the children, he turned his thoughts towards Australia, as he could not have believed possible three months before. The accounts he received from Dr. Grant as to his affairs were satisfactory enough, but the returns were not at all what he had expected, and he found that his London establishment was very costly. He might return to England in a few years, but the children were so young they might go on with Miss Melville very well at Wilta for some time. A fine ship was on the berth, Mr. Dempster was going in it, and several other acquaintances, so that, though he would have preferred waiting for Brandon's report of how things were going on, he decided on leaving England before the season was so far advanced on Emily's account. Mrs. Phillips was in consternation at hearing her husband say he was really going to return. I thought she was never going back to Australia again, Stanley. You promised me you would not. What will you do about the children's education? We will take Miss Melville with us, and I have no fear but that they will all do very well. Their music certainly is not provided for, but something may turn up for that. Our first business is to get them into good health. But Miss Melville will never go without Alice, said Mrs. Phillips. Probably not, but we can take Alice, too. I thought she said we was spending too much money, and that we must retrench, said Mrs. Phillips. Our children's education is the last thing I should think of her trenching on, answered her husband. I have heard you say that Alice saves her salary in your milliner's bills. I have scarcely seen that proved, however, Lily, but Miss Melville saves me two hundred a year. That is clear enough in black and white. It would be false economy to grudge her salary. Besides, Emily would be brokenhearted to part with Alice, so that I will offer to take both sisters with us if they will come. We don't need such a housekeeper as Miss Melville at Wary-Wilta. The house used to keep itself, said Mrs. Phillips. I know I had more trouble with it than was pleasant or convenient, said her husband. I think things will go on much more comfortably there if Miss Melville continues with us, and after all their exceeding kindness and care of our poor, dear children doing their illness, I know you, too, must be disinclined to leave them behind us. Oh, yes! Really, they were very good to the children. I was not strong enough to do much for them myself, and I don't feel inclined for the voyage just at this time. Let us go overland, and it will be sooner over. No, we cannot go overland. There is very little pleasure going overland with four young children, and as I suppose you will want one servant, as well as Miss Melville and Alice, you must think of the expense. I hate the sea, and you know I must be on shore before the end of February, and you recollect Mr. Brandon for all his difficulties, saying he was ruined in all that sort of thing, would have gone overland if he had only had his letters soon enough. Because he was only one or two with Edgar, and time was of more importance to him than the difference of passage money. A fine long voyage will restore our children to health, and it does not matter to me being a month or two longer on the voyage. I think we are sure to be in Melbourne time enough for you. If it were only you and myself, Lily, there is nothing I should like so much as the overland route. There is so much that I should like to see and to show you, but under present circumstances it is impossible. No arrangement could have suited Jane and Elsie so well as Mr. Phillips's proposal, as a personal favour to himself that they should accompany his family to Melbourne. It was the destination they had long aimed at, and as they were neither of the station nor qualifications to obtain free passages on any immigrant ship, they joyfully agreed to his liberal offer. But, said Jane, we must be perfectly frank with you. We have had a great desire to begin business in Melbourne together. We must tell you that we have often planned to join our savings to those of Peggy Walker when she returns to Melbourne, as she will probably do ere long. Plans, of course, may not be carried out, but if ours are, we may leave you when you depend most on us. I am quite satisfied with my position in your family, but neither you nor I are quite satisfied with your sisters, interposed Mr. Phillips. It was the best arrangement that at the time could have been made, but she would never consent to go with us to Australia and leave Alice to work here by herself. So if she sees anything either in Melbourne or in the bush that will suit her better, she is quite free to accept of it and to leave Mrs. Phillips. Her services and your services to our children in this recent affliction can never be forgotten by us. I assure you Mrs. Phillips feels deeply indebted to both of you. The party to Australia was increased from an unexpected quarter. Harriet Phillips had found that she made no impression whatever on Mr. Hogarth. He had paid his visit to her father, but had taken almost no notice of her, who had been the person who invited him. In fact, he had markedly preferred her elder sister. His head had apparently been so full of politics or something else that he had not been half so agreeable as when she had met him in London, so that she was now very sorry that she had treated Mr. Brandon so cruelly during the last days of his stay in England. He certainly would have proposed if she had not discouraged him so much. It was really almost wrong on her to try to make him jealous and she had succeeded only too well. After having entertained the idea that she could be married to him if she pleased for several months, she missed the pleasing excitement of a lover when she returned to her flat country life. Now that her brother had actually made up his mind to leave England, she would also miss the change and the gaiety of a London winter, which she reckoned on having every year. So she astonished him by saying that she should like of all things to accompany them to Melbourne and to see a little of Bush life at that dear weary will to that Emily was always talking about. She did not think that she would care to stay long, but for a year or two she really thought the life would be very pleasant for a change, just to see how things were done in these outlandish, uncivilized places. She said too to her brother that she thought she could be of service to Mrs. Phillips and the children. The Society of Victoria was so indifferent that it would be desirable to form a pleasant little coterie of one's own. The children's music should be really kept up, and she would be most happy to give them lessons. If her papa and Georgiana and Vivian could only spare her for a year or two, she should really like extremely to go. She would feel it so sad when Stanley left for an indefinite period again. Mr. Phillips was pleased with the proposal. It showed a more friendly feeling towards his wife and family than she had ever evinced before, so he offered to pay all her outward bound expenses at any rate for her. If she liked Australia, perhaps she might stay there with them altogether, or indeed she might find a home for herself there and settle in the colony. Harriet said such a thing had never entered her head that she went merely on a visit, but she said about getting her outfit in a very business-like way. It was exceedingly busy fortnight for Jane and Elsie, but by dent of great applications to ready-made warehouses, everything was really got ready in time, and Mr. Phillips had again to admire the thoughtfulness, the foresight, the methods which Miss Melville showed in all her arrangements, while Elsie's busy fingers were employed from morning to night in doing an endless variety of little things that were needed to supplement the ready-made stock of clothes. CHAPTER XVI. Emily brightened up wonderfully at the prospect of a return to her old home. She seemed to gain strength every day, and no objection could be made to her going up to Edinburgh to pay her long-promised visit to Peggy Walker before she left England. Mr. and Mrs. Phillips and Little Harriet accompanied her, and they took Jane Melville with them, for Elsie could not be spared from the needlework, and she did not wish so much to go to Scotland as Jane did. Peggy was delighted to see her two nurselings, and also to see the young lady to whom she had given a home when she most needed one. Tom eagerly showed Jane what he had done in her absence, and received the commendation he deserved for his industry and his success. Grandfather was very weak, but in very tolerable spirits. This visit from Peggy's friends would be something for him to think on for the short remainder of his life. Mrs. Phillips' beauty and her fine clothes were something new to him, and the liveliness of the girls and the politeness of their father, and Miss Jean's kind inquiries and kind looks all did him good. Francis Hogarth met, by appointment, his cousin Jane at Peggy Walkers, where she meant to bid him good-bye, but he was not disposed to do so. You must come to Cross Hall, just to give a look at it before you bid the country farewell for ever. Mr. Phillips do come round by Cross Hall, and let Jane see her old home once more. I want so much to see Cross Hall that Alice tells us such pretty stories about, said Emily. Cross Hall, is that the name of your place? said Mrs. Phillips. I would like to see it, too, very much. Mr. Phillips will go, of course, if we all wish it. Jane expected to suffer something in this farewell visit. It was not to be long, but it must be trying. Francis was cruel to ask it, and Mr. Phillips inconsiderate to accept of his imitation. There were some things to be done that were not painful. When they left the train and got into Francis' carriage, which was her uncle's old one in which she had been used to ride, for a five-miles drive, they passed the gates of Moss Tower and saw William Dalzel and his young wife riding out and bowed to both. Then they went to Allendale, for Miss Thompson had expressed the strongest wish to see Miss Melville before her departure for Australia, and Jane, too, was very much pleased to see again one whom she held in such high esteem. There, for the first time, she saw Mr. Sinclair, whose appearance and conversation were quite equal to her expectations, but even he was not so great an object of curiosity to her as Mary Forrester, a niece of Miss Thompson several years older than the girl who had got her new frock at Mrs. Dunn's in Elsie's time. Mary was then on a visit to her aunt, and apparently had the charge of two lovely children, cousins of her own, and grand-nephew and niece of Miss Thompson's. Their parents had gone a voyage in search of health, and Aunt Margaret had invited them to spend the winter at Allendale, and cousin Mary to keep them company. Jane thought she had never seen a more charming girl than Mary, who was evidently a great favourite with her aunt and Mr. Sinclair. Frank, intelligent and graceful, she looked like a sunbeam in the house. The little Philipses knew at once that she liked children, and wondered if she knew any of the delightful stories and ballads for which Elsie was famed. The little men rose would take the Australians out of doors to see the poultry and the wonderful peacock, so Mary and Jane accompanied their charges. Mary had heard so much of Jane that she was disposed to be interested in her, while a new tide of ideas flowed into Jane's mind in relation to this stranger. In all probability this was the girl to whom Francis was likely to become attached when she left the country. And now that it was no unseen, and perhaps impossible person, whom she was to fancy as his wife, but a really pretty and amiable girl, did the thought now give her pain or awaken any sharp pain of jealousy? Her heart filled with many emotions of the thought, agitating and painful enough, but there was no jealousy. The more she fancied that Francis could love her, the more Jane felt that she must love her too. I really half envy you, Miss Melville, said Mary. I wish I could do something for myself. You cannot think how anxiously I watched and wondered how you and your sister got on, and how delighted I was when you got the situation with Mrs. Philips. Your cousin, too, it must have been a sad wait off his mind. A generous man like him must have felt the terms on which he got the property very cruel. Yes, said Jane, I know he felt it very much. We have great cause to thank God that things have turned out so well as they have done. Well, Miss Melville, do you know I feel quite ashamed to think of the amount of money which our family has cost Aunt Margaret, and after all she has spent on my education, and I really did try my best to learn, too, I feel almost guilty in looking for a situation. There are so many wanting employment that it seems like taking bread out of their mouths, and here am I, a full grown woman dependent on other people for mine. There are four girls of us, and only grace at school now, but yet none of us are doing anything for ourselves. I spoke to Aunt Margaret about taking a situation, but she said she must have me at Allendale for the winter, on account of Archie and Maggie. After that is over I may speak of it again. You are going to Melbourne, where I have got a brother doing pretty well, but one does not like to be dependent even on a brother. If you think there is any opening there for us, will you let us know through your cousin? We see him very often. Then you stay at Allendale for all this winter, said Jane. Yes, and it will be very pleasant. I like living with Aunt Margaret so much, and John and I were always the two who drew together most of the family, and then Mr. Sinclair is the dearest old gentleman in the world. My cousin seems to be favourite of your aunts, said Jane. I never saw Aunt take to any one at once as she did to him. What a pity your uncle did not take him home. It would have added very much to his happiness and to yours. It was not like the parting of strangers that took place between Jane Melville and Mary Forrester. Will you let me kiss you? said Jane timidly as she said goodbye. This was rather a remarkable proceeding on Jane's part, for she was not addicted to the promiscuous oscillation so common among young ladies, but she felt for Mary Forrester no common interest. Mary frankly granted the little request, and they parted to meet again—when, and where, and how. The party then went to Cross Hall, which was unaltered since Jane had left it, and while Mrs. Phillips and the children were resting after their journey, Frances took Mr. Phillips and Jane to look at the cottages he had built, and she mounted her old horse to ride out to see the allotments, which even in this short time showed signs of improvement. There were words of greeting to be said to everybody and to every animal about the place. The old servants were eager to tell her of all the good that had been done, and all that was to be done. They were glad to see her in good health and apparently in good spirits. Many sad reports had reached Cross Hall about their straightened circumstances when in Edinburgh, and about poor Miss Elsie falling into a decline, and to see and hear that all was so well with the sisters was a pleasant thing for all who were attached to them. After all this had been gone through, she went into the room which had been hers and Elsie's for fifteen years to dress for dinner. The past, the present, and the future all came upon her at once, and she felt as if she could have given the world for the opportunity to give way. Everything was exactly as she had left it. All the furniture which had been taken to Edinburgh had been brought back and placed as it used to be. Can I help you anyway, Miss Jane? said Susan, the upper house maid tapping at the door. No, thank you, said Jane, then recollecting herself and hoping that the presence of the girl might help to steady her nerves. But stop! Do come in for a little and brush my hair. I am too tired, I think, to do it, and my head aches a little. Is everything right here? The Master said I was to tell him exactly how things used to be, that you should see no change. All is right, said Jane, if Elsie were here I might forget that I had ever left Cross Hall, and I see that people have no cause to miss us so that we can go to Australia with lighter hearts. But for all this talk about a light heart the tears would come into Jane's eyes slowly as she looked out to the familiar scene and heard the well-known voices and thought that tomorrow she must leave Cross Hall and Scotland and Francis forever. Mr. Phillips helped her well to keep up conversation at dinner and during the evening. But after the children had gone to bed and Mrs. Phillips had retired, he thought the cousins might wish to have their quiet talk by themselves and wish them good night. You have not been in the library yet, Jane, said Francis. Shall we adjourn there? I have a little—a very little business to talk over with you, and I am going to bid you our real farewell tonight, for I am not going to see you on board ship. I dare not. Jane followed him to the library. She had not been in it since they had searched through her uncle's papers and had read the letters of Madame de Veracourt together. Francis took from the drawer, which still contained those yellow letters, a paper on which was some writing and figures, and a parcel of banknotes. You recollect that you asked me to store the furniture that you left in your room till you saw fit to claim it. After Elsie decided on staying at Mrs. Phillips's, I sent to Peggy's for what you had there, as I think I wrote to you, and Susan saw that everything was placed just as it used to be. Was it so? Yes, exactly so. I do not want to part with any of it, but I got a valuation taken of it the other day, which you see here, and I give you the market price for all the things. There is no favour in such a commercial transaction as that, surely. So here is a little addition to your slender capital. You will find the money all right, I think, odd shillings and all. All right, said Jane, compelling herself to count the notes according to her old methodical way. And you like my cottages, Jane, and you hope great things from the allotments, and you are pleased with my two speeches in Parliament? Oh, Jane, if I am ever worth anything I will owe it to you, and now you are going to put half the globe between us. I feel as if I had lost more than half of myself. Jane could scarcely trust herself to speak. It is better so, Francis. If you miss me as I know I will miss you, write and tell me so. You know, Jane, I love you, said Francis. I feared it. Why should you fear it? Is it not the most natural, the most reasonable thing I could do? If you loved me, you would not fear it. I thought that in all your many avocations, and especially in public life, that you would forget this fancy, but it is well that I must leave the country, for then I may hope that you will form another attachment. Write to me when you do so, that I may know I have not permanently deprived you of domestic happiness, and that I may pray for you both. You think you owe me much, but to you I owe still more. Till I knew you had no religion, I never knew the privilege of prayer. Even though we may never meet again on earth, we can look forward to a happy meeting in heaven. Now, Jane, when you women bid goodbye to a friend of your own sex, as dear to you as I am to you, for in a sense I am dear to you, am I not? Yes, very dear to me, was rung out of Jane by Francis's earnest looks and words. Well, when you bade for well to Peggy this morning, she took you in her arms and kissed you. You kissed Mary Forester, a stranger to you, and you are going to leave me, perhaps for ever. Me, who would give my life to serve you, who would give up fortune, fame, and almost duty for your sake, and you will shake hands coldly and say, Goodbye, Francis. Not coldly, my friend, my brother, do not think I can part from you so. And by an irassistible impulse she turned to her cousin, and felt herself folded for a few seconds in his arms, and kissed with passionate tenderness. This is what might have been hours for life, but for this accursed will, and your notions of what is best for me, and perhaps a natural disinclination towards my suit. Reflect, think, before it is too late. Make your choice. Love in poverty and obscurity, perhaps, but still love. Love is not all, either for you or for me. It is better for us to part. Then you make your choice. But Jane, if you change your mind, write to me, and let me know. I tried to leave off writing at one time, but it did no good, for I could do nothing that did not remind me of you. Then it must be good-bye. May God bless you, my beloved one, now and forever. May God bless you, my dear Francis, and now farewell. Another sort of farewell from her dismissal of William Dalzel. Centuries had seemed to have passed over her since that first eventful day of her life. She scarcely could identify herself with the woman who had so calmly and so kindly extinguished a fancy partiality, as she sat down in her own room and trembled from head to foot at the thought of the pain she had given, and the love she had rejected. In the one case she was so perfectly certain that she had done right. In this she was not by any means so clear. As she heard her cousin restlessly pacing up and down the library she felt tempted to go to him and say she would share his fortunes and even destroy them for him if he wished it. She looked at the mirror and wondered at her being so able to excite such an attachment. She looked into her own soul and did not see anything in it to warrant a man in giving her such a power over him. Duty was clear as to the dismissal of William Dalzel, and the result had proved that she was in the right. And now, when duty was so terribly difficult, surely time, that tardy but certain adjuster of life's inequalities would justify her both to Francis and herself. William Dalzel's love had appeared to evaporate, but Francisus had grown more intense and passionate till she felt she could scarcely look at him. But it was true that she had admired his speeches and that she was ambitious for his success in all his plans. Everyone who knew anything about the subject said that Francis Hogarth was the most promising young man who had entered the walls of Parliament at this recent general election. He had given great attention to public business, he had mastered the details with ease, and the principles seemed to be intuitive with him. He had become acquainted with a small band of outsiders, like himself, men of independence and originality, who kept aloof from party, but whose votes were of importance to both parties, and whose approbation was of far more value than that of the strongest partisan. No one could tell to what height he might not rise from such a beginning. The Ministry had noticed him favourably, and he was as likely as not to be offered office before the Parliament had expired. Mr. Sinclair had told her how his hopes rested on the new member for the boroughs, and how many public matters and reforms they talked over together with constant reference to first principles. Jane was so proud of the conquest she had made, and proud of her influence over a man so able and so upright. But now she felt it was dangerous to see too much of him, and his parliamentary life had brought him into far more frequent contact with her now than ever before. She had led him so far in the right direction, but now she feared for her own resolution. She knew she could not withstand many such scenes as she had just gone through, and she saw that there was great wisdom and propriety in her leaving the country that he lived in. From her distant home across the ocean, she could hear of his labours and his triumphs, and she hoped after a time of his happiness. But while she reasoned with herself as to the propriety of leaving him, she felt all the bitterness of the life-long separation. She could no longer disguise the truth from herself. He was as truly half of her as she was of him, and she shivered at the thought of a life to be gone through in which she should never more see his face or hear his voice. It was as sad a night and as sleepless as that she had spent in her cousin's house in Edinburgh when all doors had seemed to be shut against her except the faint chance of a sub-matronship in a lunatic asylum. Now two doors were open to her, one to a life of toil and dependence for herself and probably a happy life for Elsie at the antipodes, and the other a life of love with the man who had all her heart and who deserved it all with a dependent life for Elsie. Even though her own hand had closed the door, she could not help lingering at the threshold and grieving that she was shut out from the only paradise she cared for. So the good ship sailed next week, bearing Jane from the man who loved her and whom she loved, and Elsie and Miss Harriet Phillips towards the man whom they both thought loved them. CHAPTER I. Mr. Brandon's second proposal to Elsie and its fate. When Mr. Brandon's arrival at Melbourne after a longer voyage than he had expected in a ship with such a high character as the one he had sailed in, he hurried up to bear gong and was much gratified to find things there did not look so badly as he had been led to expect. It was his overseer's want of confidence in himself that had made him exaggerate everything that was going wrong, or was likely to go wrong. In fact, Mr. Phillips's affairs were suffering much more from the want of the master's eye than his, but Dr. Grant had a better opinion of his own management, and wrote more cheerful accounts. Brandon regretted that Powell had left his employment, for if he had been in charge of bear gong, there might have been three more happy months in England for his master. As his affairs were really in a sufficiently satisfactory state, he felt that he must write to Elsie Melville, renewing his offer of marriage and endeavouring as far as he could give her confidence in the stability of his character. How exceedingly awkward he felt it to be to have to write this instead of saying it. How incomparably better such things are done by word of mouth, particularly when one is not a ready and clever letter-writer. He would in the personal interview have felt the effect of one sentence before he ventured on another. He would have assisted his halting phrases by all the advantages of tone, gesture, and expression of countenance. Though he had failed once in his attempt to win her affections, he had been far more stupid than he was now, and he was now more anxious for success. The more he had thought over the person, the manners, and the character of Elsie Melville, the more convinced he was that she was the one woman in the world for him, but he was by no means so sanguine in being accepted as he had been, particularly when he had only the pen to trust to. There was no saying what so clever and so literary a girl as Elsie Melville was would think of his blundering declaration. The paper looked cold and blank and uninviting. It really was hard to make it the only means of telling her how much he loved her. No kind wishes towards the overseer whose fears and scruples had hurried him away, or towards Miss Phillips, who had interrupted him when he was about to say something he had hoped Elsie could not mistake, accompanied the half-dozen different attempts at a love letter, which were written before he could please himself. Emily was his friend. Jane, he thought, would be his friend, too. Elsie was really a kind-hearted girl, and if he could only convince her that he would be miserable if she refused him, she might pity him a little. He had not the same objections to a little pity that she had on that day in the railway carriage when he had been so confident of success. But when he reflected on what Peggy might have said with truth about him, and when he put to that the fact that immediately after his refusal by Elsie he had devoted himself to Miss Phillips, there was no doubt that Elsie had some cause to suspect the steadiness of his principles. It was difficult by writing to hint at these things without saying too much, but they must not be passed over in silence, either. At last the letter was written and committed to the country post-office nearest to Beargong. Not that he was satisfied with it, but he must not lose the mail. If she was good enough to accept of him, she was to draw upon him for a specified sum for passage money and outfit, and come out in the mail steamer following her answer. It was not a brilliant letter, but it was honest and straightforward. However, as Elsie had sailed from Melbourne before it reached England, it was of the less consequence what it was. Pending her answer Brandon felt very unsettled. He could not set himself to work systematically, and all the neighbors said that his visit to England had spoiled him for a columnist, as it did with most people. He missed his pleasantest neighbor, Mr. Phillips, and he missed the children. Though Dr. Grant in one direction and Mr. McIntyre in another, though they were ten times better than the Philipses, Brandon did not feel that they could make up to him for their absence. Dr. Grant was certainly mismanaging to a considerable extent Mr. Phillips's business, and muddling it as he did his own affairs. He had now been many years in the sheep-farming line, and in the best of times, for he had bought very cheap, much cheaper than either Philips or Brandon, and he had got quite as large a capital to start with, but he had a bad way of managing the men on his stations. He gave the same wages as other people, certainly, for he could not help that, but he always gave them with a grudge, and seemed to think his employees were picking his pocket. He had a harsh and dictatorial way of giving orders, very different from Brandon's and Philips's pleasant manner, and he consequently had never been well served. His men had been the first to leave at the time of the diggings, and the consequences had been most disastrous. From sheer want of hands he had sacrificed one of his runs with the sheep on it to Powell, and now he grudged to see how very handsomely Powell had been repaid for his money and time in this transaction. The fortune that Powell had made ought to have been his, Dr. Grant's own, instead of filling the pockets of a man who had only sprung from the ranks. The same style of mismanagement was carried into Mr. Phillips's affairs, and yet when Brandon relieved Dr. Grant of the burden he had so unwillingly taken up, the latter felt rather hurt, for he had a handsome salary for the charge of Wery Wilta and the other stations, and he would certainly miss the money, and besides, he thought it showed a want of confidence in himself on Philips's part. At Wery Wilta, however, there was a feeling of pleasure at the exchange, and Brandon had the satisfaction of really benefiting his friend without taking any very great deal of trouble. In this restless state of mind he had great pleasure in the Society of Edgar, who attached himself to his uncle with quiet fidelity. He soon learned to ride, and to ride fearlessly and far. He learned, too, to use his limbs, his ears, and his eyes, so that Brandon found he really had a head on his shoulders, which he had been rather doubtful of when the lad had been kept so constantly at his books. One day when the boy had been talking with enthusiasm of Australian life and expressing his longing after more adventures, his uncle, who also was eager for change, proposed to Edgar an overland journey together to Adelaide. He had heard that some particularly fine sheep were to be had in South Australia, and he wished to add this variety to his own flocks as well as to those of Mr. Philips. He had always had a great wish to see the Adelaide side, and this journey would amuse and employ him till he could get his answer from Elsie. If she accepted him and came out as he wished without delay, he might never have another opportunity for making the visit, for he would not be inclined to leave her for a while at any rate. Edgar was delighted with the proposal, and helped his uncle with the few simple preparations for their long ride with a vigor and dispatch that showed he had the stuff in him for a good bushman. How his tender mother would have trembled at the thought of the perils and hardships of such a journey, but as she knew nothing about it till it was safely over, she was spared all anxiety. Brandon was not altogether insincere when he told Elsie and the Edinburgh ladies that the finest prospect he ever saw in Victoria was the prospect of getting out of it, but the present pleasure made him forget many past ones. He had a real enjoyment in the bush life he then talked so contemptuously about. Camping out was to him no hardship, and to Edgar it was a delightful novelty. It was varied by night spent at sheep stations where a hospitable welcome generally awaited them, and an amount of comfort varying according to circumstances. When they crossed the Victorian border and came to the South Australian side, the welcome appeared to be equally hearty. Edgar Holmes could not help admiring the want of suspicion and the liberality of these absolute strangers. Brandon went about his purchase of sheep on his way to Adelaide, and made what he thought a very satisfactory bargain. It was to be a joint speculation between himself and Mr. Phillips, and he was sure it would turn out very well. When he had left directions as to delivery, he and his nephew went down to Adelaide to see what they thought of the little colonial capital. Edgar was charmed with Adelaide, and preferred it out and out to Melbourne, but as he had only passed through the latter, and had got acquainted with none of the people there, his preference was perhaps not worth much. Brandon, however, could not help confessing that the Adelaide men had some cause for the patriotism so strongly, and as he had thought so tiresomely expressed at the time of the diggings. It had less bustle than Melbourne, and certainly was not so wealthy, but it was a quiet, cheap, and hospitable place, and its prosperity rested on a very solid basis. The amount of cultivation, both agricultural and horticultural, contrasted favourably with that of Melbourne, which had been almost exclusively pastoral till the gold diggings broke out, and had many drawbacks in the shape of land regulations to its becoming a corn and wine-bearing country. Brandon took up his abode at the York Hotel, of course, and met with some pleasant people in and about Adelaide. Some of them he had known in London, and they introduced him to others. If his heart had not been fixed at this present time on Elsie Melville, he might have taken fancy to one of the Adelaide girls whom he met. They were not so formidable in the array of their accomplishments and acquirements as the modern English young lady. They were frank, agreeable, and not ignorant of domestic manners, and they had no apparent horror of the bush. But Brandon's affections were really engaged, and he put considerable restraint on his flirting powers during this visit, which all engaged men ought to do, but which I must say I have found very few engaged men do. They feel so perfectly safe themselves that they care very little for what construction other people may put on their attentions or on their polite speeches. Brandon had sent directions for Mr. Talbot to get his letters and forward them to him in Adelaide, for he was now daily expecting Elsie's answer. In case of his being accepted, he would cross over to Melbourne in time to receive her from the next mail steamer. He would marry her there and take her home to Beargong, and thus save himself two long land journeys. But the mail steamer had come with the Adelaide males, and the next after that with his own letters, but not a word from Elsie or from any of the Philipses. He had had a few lines from Emily the preceding month to say that dear little Eva was dead and that they were all getting better. The address was either in James, handwriting, or in Elsie's, but he took it for granted that it was Elsie's, and had treasured it up in consequence of that supposition. But this month there was not a word from any of them. There had been plenty of time for an answer, for his letter had been sent via Marseille, so that Elsie had had ten days clear to make up her mind and reply to what she ought to have thought an important communication. It was using him extremely ill to treat his letter with so much contempt. He was never more near being angry in his life. It was strange that Elsie Melville, whose manner was so remarkably gentle and winning, should on two important occasions have treated him with such marked discurtecy. No doubt his letter was not worth very much in itself, but to him it was of great consequence. If she wanted a month for consideration, why not write and tell him so? Or if she feared to commit herself, she might have got Jane to write. Could she have taken the fever? That was a solution, but a very sad one, of her conduct. Jane would certainly have written in that case if she had not got the fever, too. He would alter his plans, he would go back overland, or rather he would say love the Murray, and not pass through Melbourne at all. So he took his passage in Edgars by one of the Murray's steamers, and felt that if he was not a very ill-used man he ought to feel a very unhappy one. End of Volume 3, Chapter 1. In a poor-looking room of a small wayside public-house, about twenty miles out of Adelaide, were seated one evening, shortly after Brandon's departure of the Murray, a man and a woman, neither of them young or handsome or respectable-looking. If they had been so once, they had outgrown them all. The woman certainly had what is called the remains of a fine woman about her, but her face had so many marks of care, of evil passions, and of irregular living, that it was perhaps more repulsive than if it had been absolutely plain in features. Her dress was slatternly and ill-fitting, her grey hair untitledly gathered under a dingy black cap, with bright, though soiled, yellow flowers stuck in it. Her eyes, which had some brightness, had a fierce, hungry expression, and the very hands, thin and long, and with overgrown nails, had less the appearance of honest work than of dishonest rapacity. The man was a rougher-looking person, more blackeredly, perhaps in appearance, but not so dangerous. He had been at the nearest post-office, and brought a letter addressed to Mrs. Peck, which the woman tore open and read with impatient eagerness. "'This is from Mr. Talbot at last,' said the man, long looked for, come at last. I hope this is how it is worth waiting for.' "'Worth waiting for,' said she, stamping on the letter with her foot and standing up, with such a look of frenzy that her companion moved a little out of the way. Hang him and his clients, too. Won't this man come down with the ready, Liz? Does he send to make inquiries? Cool hand, cooler than the old man. Won't out with the blunt till he knows what he's paying for.' "'It's not about him at all,' said Mrs. Peck. Not a word has he ever said, good or bad, taken no notice of my letters, no more nor if I had not been such a mother to him. I should have had an answer to my second letter by this time, and I know it was directed all right. He must have got them both. I'll have it out of him, though. I'll have my revenge as sure as I'm a living woman.' "'Don't go into such a scot woman. Then if it is not from young Cross Hall, what is that lawyer said to put you into such a tantrum?' "'Oh, just a request to keep on this side of the border, or he'll not warrant my getting a farthing out of Phillips. He offers three pounds a quarter more if I don't show my face in Melbourne. Such a beggarly sum it is, after all, to think that I should only have two children, and them turning out such ungrateful cubs to me.' "'Two children, Liz,' said the man with a sneer. "'Well, if I was Phillips, I'd like to keep you at a civil distance, just at present, for you look as like to brain him as not.' "'There's the both of them rolling in wealth. Frank got all Cross Hall's property, and all through me, and Betsy, with her London establishment and her carriage, no doubt, and her children dressed like duchesses, and herself, too, and look at me.' "'Well, just look at you, Liz. I fancy that the side of you would do them no credit. You're well enough off with Phillips. I think this is a very handsome offer. Though we're both sick of Adelaide, we can stop here a bit longer, at least till we can see our way clear to get out of it. Do you think I don't care for my liberty, and I hate the Adelaide side? It was all your doings coming across here at all, and a precious mole you've made of it. I fancy they must be thinking of coming back to Melbourne from this notice to me to keep out of the way. And do you think I don't want to see my own daughter? Did I not put her in the way of all her good fortune? Did I not dress her the day she first saw Phillips, and did she not look like an angel? And he was spin enough to marry her, which was more than either you or me expected. As for the girl, she was glad enough to go away from you. You never cared so much for her. Did I not, when I saw she was growing up so handsome and a credit to me? Yes, yes, we both wanted to make our own of her, and I think we did not do a miss considering," said Peck. "'We've had bad luck in Adelaide, but things may change. Money goes farther here.' "'Money never goes far with us,' said Mrs. Peck, and Melbourne is the place where we can get on best. If I had Frank's money, which I must and shall get out of him somehow, we could manage to rub along here. But without it we never could. The black-hearted scoundrel, not to send me a farthing—me, who could—you had better threaten him with what you can do in your next letter. I always thought that style of working the oracle would pay best, but perhaps the motherly affectionate dodge was the best to try first. Threaten him in your next. I don't think I'll condescend to threaten him. I don't care to save him from what he deserves for his shameful ingratitude to me. I could make better terms with cross-halls' nieces than I could do with Frank. Surely they would give me more for my secret than he would do to keep me quiet. They were left beggars, I know, and the estate is worth a great deal to them." "'Hang it, Mrs. Peck. That's a glorious idea. But don't be too worried about it in your movements. You don't care about your own share in the business being known,' said Peck. "'I care for nothing, if I could only get my revenge on him, and if I could only get as much out of the Melville girls as would allow me to snap my fingers at Phillips. I would rather relish publishing my connection with him. I would like to bring Betsy down a peg. "'There's where you always make a mull of it, Liz. Your infernal temper always gets the better of you. Revenge and spite are very good things in their way, but I don't see that they pay. I think you would be very mad to give up so much a year for the pleasure of vexing Phillips and Betsy. And as for the Melville girls, how are you going to get at them? There is not shot in the locker to take you to England, and letters are very risky things to write. You're sure to let out more than is safe, and if you let out too little, the girls will see no advantage in it." "'I hate letters,' said Mrs. Peck mootily, but I would like to get at the girls by word of mouth.' As this interesting pair were engaged in conversation, a traveler of a very different description alighted at the door of the inn, and requested lodgings for the night. He was well dressed and respectable looking. He was probably as old as either of them, but his face and air gave tokens of a quieter life and a calmer temper. His horse was knocked up, so that he could not go on to a larger and better appointed inn than this, which was five miles nearer town. But when he saw the name over the door and his host and hostess, he was reconciled to the inferior accommodation. But he rather objected to the company that he found in the inn parlor, and did not seem pleased with the proposal that he should take supper with them. "'Oh, Mr. Dempster,' said the host, "'I fancy you have got nice since you were in England. These people are decent enough, I reckon, though rather down in their luck, like some others of us. I wish I had such a house to receive you in as that I built on the road. I had plenty of rooms there, but you see it was not licensed, and I was ruined. At least brought down to this.' "'Well, Franklin, I suppose I must submit,' said Mr. Dempster. "'As you say, you have no other place for me. But I would never have thought these were particularly decent people.' Whether from spiritual influences or not, Mr. Dempster felt a great repugnance to this man and woman. The influence might have been partly spiritous, for there was a considerable fragrance of strong liquor about them both. In spite of the unpromising appearance of the house, the hostess produced a very tempting looking supper for hungry people. She sat herself down to make tea for the company, and was delighted to see Mr. Dempster and to have a little talk with him about old colonists and old times. She was a very old colonist herself, and had known many ups and downs, generally in the same line of life. Active, civil, and much enduring, she was an admirable hostess, but her husband was rather idle and speculative, and had invested the savings of many years in the erection of a large hotel in a place where, in the opinion of the bench of the magistrates, it was not wanted, and the license was refused. So they had come down in the world in consequence, and had taken this small inn where they could just make ends meet. Mrs. Franklin missed the old customers who used to call, and felt this visit for Mr. Dempster something like a revival of old days, and asked him as to the changes he saw in Adelaide. And as Mr. and Mrs. Peck were Melbourne people, who did not know anything about the old colonists, Mr. Dempster spoke to her with freedom. You have been visiting your married daughter, I suppose, said Mrs. Franklin. Yes, that is the first thing I had to do on my return. A fine family she is getting about her I hear, but I have not seen her for a while. This house is not good enough for her to stay a night in. Yes, she has a very fine family, another little fellow since I left Adelaide. You must feel it lonesome now, said the hostess. Yes, it is the way of the world, and one should not murmur at it. But yet a man must feel it very much when his only daughter, and one so much as companion as my girl was, chooses a home for herself and surrounds herself with new ties and new cares. You should see and get someone to take care of you, said Mrs. Franklin cheerily. A pleasant, kindly body, not too young. You must have met many such in England who would have been glad of the chance. Yes, and who would have grumbled at the colony whenever she came out, and given me no peace till I took her home again. Now my business and my interests are all in South Australia. Besides, I like the young women best, and they would never look at an old fogey like me, so I must content myself with my memories of the past and my hopes for a future life. My home is not so lonely as you fancy it, Mrs. Franklin. Even here I feel the departed ones are near me. The veil that separates this world from the next is a very thin one, and if our intercourse with each other is less complete than in the days when we were together in the flesh, it is none the less real. I have become a spiritualist since I went to England. A what? asked the hostess. You must have heard of table-turning in all those strange manifestations. La! Mr. Dempster, I never thought of you giving into a pack of nonsense like that. I beg your pardon for my rudeness, but really you do surprise me. What would you think of spirits who can read unseen letters? Tell the names of persons whom none of the company know. Find out the secrets of every one in the room. You recollect Tom Bean, who was lost in the bush twelve years ago, and more. His spirit appeared to me in London and gave me a message to his old mother to say he was expecting her soon, and the old lady did not live three months after. Well, that is strange, but I would be very hard to convince. But yet, Mr. Dempster, that is no reason why you should not get a nice tidy body to make you comfortable. The spirits would not surely begrudgy that. And so you had a pleasant voyage and went round by Melbourne so as to see all that was to be seen. Did any of the old colonists come out with you? We had a large party altogether, Mr. and his family, who had just been home to finish their education. And you admired the young ladies, of course, but really they are too young for you. Have they grown up handsome? Not particularly handsome, but very pleasant looking. But if you talk of beauty it was a Melbourne lady who bore off the palm on board ship. Unfortunately she was married, and it would have been very improper to take a fancy to her. But Mrs. Phillips is superb. Mrs. Phillips of Weary-Wilta, said Mrs. Peck eagerly. Yes, I fancy that is the name of the place, at least the children used to talk about it by that name. Mr. Phillips is a sheep farmer on the Victoria side, said Mr. Dempster. And you say she is handsome, said Mrs. Peck. Perfectly beautiful, but uneducated and somewhat capricious. I fancy her face must have captivated her husband, who is a very intelligent, agreeable man. I suppose they are rich now, said Mrs. Peck. Oh, very well to do, I fancy. I visited them a good deal when I was in London. How many children have they? asked Mrs. Peck. I knew them long ago. They lost one with scarlet fever before they sailed. There were four on board ship, but there are five by this time, for Mrs. Phillips stayed in Melbourne for her confinement, and had a little boy within a week of landing. Miss her husband with her, asked Mrs. Peck eagerly. Oh, no! I think Phillips went up to his stations. He had a number of things to see to. What do you know about them? asked Mr. Dempster, rather surprised at Mrs. Peck's curiosity. I was once in their employment at Werrywilte, and Mrs. Phillips was uncommonly good-looking then. There was not so much style in those days as I suppose there is now. Probably not. We have all had to work hard for what we have earned in these colonies, and Phillips must have made his way like the rest of us. They had a very pretty little establishment in London. Keep their carriage, no doubt, said Mrs. Peck, with a thinly disguised sneer. No, they did not. But if it's any satisfaction to you to know it, Mrs. Phillips has had a tour of the Continent, and has had a ladies-maid. A ladies-maid, said Mrs. Peck. Well, well. And the children, I suppose, are being educated up to the nines. They took both the governess and the ladies-maid with them to Melbourne, said Mr. Dempster. They were sisters and very superior young ladies. In fact, to my taste, Mrs. Franklin, the ladies-maid was more charming than the mistress. Not so regularly handsome, but very lovely. While, as to intelligence and refinement, there was no comparison. If she had been a dozen of years older, I might have been a little presumptuous. Was this Mrs. Phillips so very far behind as that her maid was so superior to her? asked Mrs. Franklin. It happened that these sisters were the young ladies of whom, even in these distant parts, you may have heard something, who were brought up to inherit a large property in the south of Scotland, by a very eccentric uncle, who left everything he had to a son whom nobody had ever heard of before, and left the girls absolutely penniless. Was not their name Melville? asked Mrs. Peck, eagerly and fiercely. Yes, replied Mr. Dempster, astonished to find his chatty communications to his old friend Mrs. Franklin, taken up in this way by this unprepossessing looking stranger. Yes, their name was Melville, and I never in my life met with more amiable, more intelligent, or better principled girls. I saw about it in the papers, said Mrs. Peck, endeavouring to subdue her delight and exultation at the idea of the girls she wished so much to come in contact with, being so near her as Melbourne. I took a great interest in it. I like these romances of real life. And so Mrs. Phillips is up, and these girls are down, and glad to eat the bitter bread of service. It is very amusing. Was Mrs. Phillips much taken up with them on account of their misfortunes? I do not know, said Mr. Dempster dryly. If you have served Mrs. Phillips you will know she is not the same at all times. Then there was a large party of them on board, a servant no doubt, and these two Melville girls and the children, said Mrs. Peck. There was also a sister of Mr. Phillips's, a rather fine woman, too, come out on a visit. And a fine lady, too, I daresay, said Mrs. Peck. Mr. Phillips holds his head pretty high. I warrant his sister and Mrs. Phillips would have some sparring. And the children are good looking, I suppose. I saw none of them since the first was a baby. What are they like? They are very pretty children, and getting on well with their studies. The eldest Miss Melville is the most thoroughly cultivated woman I ever saw. Oh, leave Cross Hall alone for that, said Mrs. Peck. He was always crazy about education and that sort of thing. Cross Hall, said Mr. Dempster, I suppose you will say next that you know Francis Hogarth of Cross Hall, Member of Parliament for the Swinton boroughs. Member of Parliament, too, said Mrs. Peck, with the same subdued fierceness as when she first took Mr. Dempster up about the Melvills. Member of Parliament. Ungrateful dog, she said, under her breath, but her expression of vindictiveness was not altogether lost on Mr. Dempster. Oh, yes, I know him, or at least I know all about him. Nobody did know anything of him till he came into the property, you know. But I really know more about him than most folks. There are some people that would give their ears to know what I do, but there is a saying in the North where I was born, least said as soon as amended, at any rate, least said to them as it don't concern. If I had you at a seance, said Mr. Dempster, I could get all your secrets out of you whether you liked it or not. Yes, Mrs. Franklin, I really could. I don't think it can be all right, said the timid hostess, who though she was very fond of hearing the news, preferred to get them from living persons and not disembodied spirits. Mrs. Peck, you are talking nothing. I got bad news just before tea and that took away my appetite. But I've got over that now, so I'll trouble you for a mutton-chop, Mr. Dempster. And Peck just passed me the pickles and be good enough to give me a hot cup of tea, Mrs. Franklin, for this one is as cold as a stone. So Mrs. Peck felt inclined to make up for lost time and made a very hearty supper. She wound up with two glasses of brandy and water, hot, and she got Peck out of the way, for she wished to have a quiet talk with Mr. Dempster. Mr. Dempster was not disposed to encourage her confidence. Her strange inquiries about people he had been greatly interested in recalled the séance which had so much startled Francis Hogarth, and he suspected that this must be the person who had written a letter the spirit had been questioned about, and consequently that she was Hogarth's mother, no mother certainly to be proud of. The spirit said that her son ought to have nothing whatever to do with her, and Mr. Dempster was disposed to obey all spiritual communications. Besides this, all his instincts were strong against any intercourse with a woman so disreputable-looking, and with an expression of countenance alternately fierce and fawning. Now the fawning manner was put on. Mrs. Peck had an object in view. She wanted money to take her to Melbourne and to take her immediately, and this easygoing, benevolent-looking Adelaide gentlemen seemed to be the most likely victim she could meet with. She had long wished to see her daughter apart from her husband, and there never had been such a chance since she was married, and to get hold of one or both of the Melville girls at the same time was a conjunction of circumstances absolutely and marvelously favourable. Her last remittance for Mr. Phillips had been received a month before, and was spent as soon as it was got. Peck, with whose fortune she had for many years connected herself, had not been lucky of late. He had come to Adelaide at race-time, and had not got on well with his bets. He had done a little in gambling, but had got into a sort of row at a low public-house, and been taken up and fined for being drunken disorderly, and dismissed with a caution. So he had gone up to the sheep-shearing, and then had worked a little at the hay-harvest, and again at the wheat harvest. He could work pretty hard at such times and make good wages, but he had no turn for steady regular work, and neither had she. If she had been in Melbourne she could have borrowed the ten or twelve pounds needed for her passage money, and a decent looking outfit from people who knew her there, and guessed that she had some hidden means, either from friends or foes, but in Adelaide she was unknown except from her connection with Peck, which did not inspire confidence. This Adelaide gentleman had just come from London and could know nothing about her, so she was determined to use her plausible tongue and get the money out of him. As Mr. Phillips said she was possessed with the spirit of falsehood. She always had a disinclination to speak the truth, unless when it was very decidedly for her own interest to do so, or when she was enraged out of all prudence. So now, when she wanted to get an advance for Mr. Dempster, she forgot the agitation and the eagerness which she had shown about the Philipses, the Melvils, and the Hogarths, and opened up quite a new mind of anxiety and fears. Her secret, such as it was, should not be told to anyone but the parties to whom it was valuable, and who would pay her handsomely for it, so she must now prevent this friend of the family from even guessing at what her schemes were. CHAPTER III. As Mrs. Peck sipped her brandy in water, putting a constraint on herself in so doing, for her natural taste would have led her to swallow it in large gulps. But that would not have answered her purpose of impressing Mr. Dempster. She began to talk of the letter she had received from Melbourne, which had distressed her so much. Her daughter was ill and dying, and her son-in-law had written to her to beg that if she possibly could, would she come across to see poor dear Mary before she was no more. But poor fellow he was always hard up, a decent well-meaning fellow he was, but he wanted push, and things had never gone rightly with him. They have never had the doctor out of the house since they had been married, and many births and many deaths keep a man always poor. Mr. Dempster, as you must know, and it's many's the five-pound note as I've given to them out of my small means to help them through at a hard pinch, and he thinks, of course, as how I can just put my hand in my pocket and pay my passage in the first steamer as quick as he thinks for to ask me, and so I would, and would never have begrudged it for my poor Mary's sake. But things has gone so contrary with me and Peck for this year back that I ain't got a penny to lay out. And there's the poor soul laying out so bad, and thinking as I'm on the road, I dare say, and me can no more get to her without wings nor she can get to me. What's your son-in-law by trade? asked Mr. Dempster. Why, he ain't got no trade to speak of, but he's a warehouseman to Campbell and Company and Melbourne. The merchants, you know, said Mrs. Peck. Then he must have a good situation and regular payment. He ought not to be so badly off, said Mr. Dempster. There's such expenses with a family in Melbourne, where there's much sickness especially. A very decent, good-tempered fellow he is, and don't spend his wages away from his home. Poor Mary, I well remember the day she was married, and how pretty she looked in her white gown, and she says to me, Oh, my mother, I can't bear to leave you, even for James, and now she is the going to leave us all. And when little Betsy was born and I was nursing ever, she looked up and she says, Oh, mother, I don't think as I'm long for this world. But I roused her, and said she wasn't a dying then, and my words was true, for she was not going then, but now to think my being so far from her and her so bad. Then Mrs. Peck wiped her eyes energetically and sobbed a little. Mr. Dempster seemed to be soft-hearted and simple-minded. She thought she had made an impression and she endeavored to deepen it. I am a very old colonist. I've been in Australia this thirty year and more, traveling about from place to place. When you and Mrs. Franklin were talking about changes and ups and downs, I thought on a many as I had seen in the other colonies. There's them as I remember without a six pence as is now rolling in gold. I don't know the Adelaide gentry so well, but I reckon they chop and change just like the others. It is very unlucky for me to be here just at this present time, for I know of a many in Sydney that I might have applied to for a loan, and they'd been glad to give me assistance. But unfortunately I'm on the Adelaide side where nobody knows me. There's the hunters of Sydney that I was a nurse in the family. And the Philipses of Wery Wilta, too, who I dare say would be most happy to help you if you were straightened on the Melbourne side, said Mr. Dempster-Dryley. Mr. Philips is a more liberal man than Mr. Hunter. It is not Mr. Hunter I'd look to, but his wife. She has the generous spirit, said Mrs. Peck. The hunters are at present in London. At least Mr. Hunter and the family are. Mrs. Hunter died four years ago, said Mr. Dempster. That's a pity. Oh, dear, dear. I am sorry to hear that news. Poor dear lady, but in the midst of life we are in death, said Mrs. Peck. No doubt we are, said Mr. Dempster. No one knows that better than I do, for I am always living amongst the dead, and they occasionally help me to judge a people. I get a good deal of insight into character through their means, and my impression is that there is not a word of truth in all you have just been telling me. You want to go to Melbourne, no doubt, but it is not to see a dying daughter. You have other plans in view which cannot be carried out here. Mrs. Peck was somewhat taken aback by this blunt expression of opinion, coming from a man apparently so suave and so gentle. Indeed, sir, said she, I never heard nobody doubt my word afore, but this comes of leaving the place where you are known. It is to see my daughter that I am most wishful to go to Melbourne. No doubt I might have other reasons, for I don't like Adelaide, but it's this letter and this bad news that has made me so set on going. But I was asking no favor of you. If I did want a loan of a trifle I'd have paid back every farthing of it with good interest. But I think I had better draw on a friend of mine in Melbourne. I suppose that if I did that I could get the draft cashed in any of the banks. You could get it cashed anywhere, provided you showed your authority to draw, and convinced the person to whom you applied that your friend was good for the money. Under these conditions I should not mind advancing it for you myself. But you'd be rather hard to convince, I fancy, said Mrs. Peck. After the unhandsome way you have doubted my true story I would not like to apply to you. But any advance that any one would make to me would be as safe as the bank. I have an annuity, and have had it for many years. No, said Mr. Dempster, you have no annuity. You got a sum of money instead. Mrs. Peck started at this confident assertion, but colored indignantly. How can you speak so positive about things you can know nothing about? I have an annuity from another quarter. For valuable services, I suppose, said Mr. Dempster. Well, if you can prove that you are still in receipt of an annuity, and if you can lodge in order to forestall it, I daresay you can get an advance from any Adelaide bill-discounter. But I myself would rather not do business with a person who I feel is not to be relied on. To put an end to the revelations, true or false, of this unpleasant old woman, Mr. Dempster asked to be shown to bed as he was tired, and he found his room, though small, was as clean and comfortable as Mrs. Franklin had been used to give him in her more prosperous days. Mrs. Peck's first attempt had failed, though it had appeared very promising. She thought she would next try Franklin, who, though he was poor, might be victimized to the extent of ten pounds. She did not think she could affect him by dwelling much on the desire she felt to see her dying daughter, though for the sake of consistency it was mentioned as her motive to get to Melbourne just at this time. But she had several sums of money due to her in Melbourne, and she was afraid, from the letter she had just received, she would lose them if she kept out of the way. There was nothing like being on the spot, nothing like prompt measures when one wants to get in money. Mr. Talbot's letter was sufficient warrant for her to raise money on Mr. Phillips's annuity, but not for the purpose of going to Melbourne, which she had unluckily betrayed. It was also rather disagreeable in its tone and not likely to inspire confidence in any one who read it. She had only her own representations to trust to, and she certainly gave a very minute, and at the same time glowing account of her debtors and her expectations from them. But what with one thing and another she had really never been so hard up in her life. Peck had not got all his wages for harvesting, and she had been so foolish as to lend a little money in Adelaide, which she feared she could not get back. Indeed they had a score at the end that had lain too long, but if she could only get her own she could pay all and be quite easy. She spoke of a rate of interest for a trifling advance that rather dazzled Franklin, and he was wondering if he could not manage to raise it when his wife came into the room, and stopped their talk by saying it was bedtime. When she was told of Mrs. Peck's wishes and her offers, Mrs. Franklin peremptorily refused to listen to them, saying they had no money to advance to any one. Franklin had brought them down low enough in the world by being so free in lending and in spending. If she had not taken care of the business, and worked early and late, and looked after the money so far as she had it in her power, they would not have had a roof over their heads by this time. What with the license that had just been paid, and the rent that must be paid before the end of the month, they would be cleared out, without advancing money to strangers that were in their debt already. As Mrs. Franklin was really the breadwinner, and at their present low water the pursekeeper also, Mrs. Peck saw it was of no use to press her offers on her husband in the face of such formidable opposition. On the following day she started early in the mail conveyance for Adelaide, leaving Peck behind as a pledge for the settlement of the bill, and determined to raise ten or twelve pounds somehow. With Mr. Talbot's letter in her hand she presented herself to a bill discount in Adelaide. He understood her position at once, that she was somehow connected with, but very obnoxious to a wealthy client of Mr. Talbot's, for Mr. Phillips's name was not mentioned in the letter, and also that, like most people of her class and habits, she had spent her money before she got it. Of course she said nothing of wanting to go to Melbourne, in which case, by the body of the letter, it would be almost certain that her annuity would cease, but the discounter wanted some security against such a contingency, and asked her if she meant to stay in South Australia, according to agreement. Mrs. Peck was willing to say anything, to swear to anything, and to sign anything, for his satisfaction on this point, but her very fluency made him suspicious. I cannot advance this money, said he, even on the deposit of your order to arrest what is coming to you, unless I have some collateral security, or some other name, in case of your going to Victoria. Mrs. Peck could get no one to corroborate her statements but Peck, who could be of no service to her. She felt rather in a fix. What should take me to Melbourne, said she, in accents of great surprise? It is so much against my interest to go there, that I would never be such a fool as to quarrel with my bread and butter. But it so happens that I am much in need of money just at the present. I am expecting money from Scotland every mail. Indeed, it was trusting to that as put me back so this quarter. I never doubted that I'd get a handsome sum from Scotland. I've got the rights to it, and if it don't come by next mail I will prosecute. You are sure to get your money well paid with good interest, if you do run just a little risk. That may be all very well, said the billed discounter. But in the meantime, can you not get any one to back you in this? I like good interest, but I cannot lend without better security. There's the best of security. Mr. Talbot's next payment is due in two months, and I make it over to you. And if that does not satisfy you, I would give you something more next payday, as much as would cover your risk and your trouble and your interest, handsome enough. Not at all, handsome, if I chance to lose it all. One needs to keep one's weather eye open in dealing with old hands like you, Mrs. Peck. Then you won't do this for me, such a trifling accommodation as it is? Not without someone to back you, said the moneylender. I dare say I can easily find that, if you're so stiff, said Mrs. Peck, as she flounced off in great indignation, and with very little hope of succeeding what was required. Here she was in possession of a secret worth so much to her, and unable to turn it to account for want of a beggarly ten or twelve pounds. The bill-discounter was too sharp for her. She must try a good-natured man next, one who would be willing to do her kindness. But here again, Mr. Talbot's letter, her only authority to give any security would injure her more than with the keen man of the world. There was a steamer to sail on the morrow for Melbourne, and no other for a week or ten days. Every day was of the greatest consequence, for now that she had made up her mind not to make terms with Francis, but to do so with his cousins. She was eager to carry her resolution into practice, and she must get on board the Havila, if possible. She had lived some weeks in Adelaide in rather a poor way, and in rather a poor neighborhood, when she and Peck had come first across. She had made acquaintance with very few people, and had left Adelaide slightly in debt. But in her eagerness she was inclined to overlook those circumstances, and to hope that some one or other of her late neighbors might be prevailed on to guarantee to the moneylender merely as a man or a form, and he might be induced to accept of it. So she turned her steps in the direction of her old residence. She looked into the shop where she had been accustomed to make her purchases of groceries, with an intention of paying the eleven shillings which she owed if things looked promising, and if it would be a good speculation. Well, Mrs. Smith, and how are you? she said to the woman who kept the establishment with the favourite old Adelaide sign of general store. Much as usual, Mrs. Peck, you went away rather in a hurry, said Mrs. Smith. Oh, Peck had to go off to the sheep shearing, and I had the offer of a good nursing in the country, so I had to move in a minute's warning, you see. But how are you getting on here? Much as usual, Mrs. Peck, but the news is that my man came home last night, after being at them diggings for four years and not writing me a word, good or bad, for three and more, and now he expects me to be as sweet as sugar to him after serving me so, and me had all his children to keep and do for, and got no help from him, no more nor if he was dead, and now he says as how I give him the cold shoulder. Well, to be sure, no wonder, either. When a woman's been served so, she has the right to look a bit stiff, said Mrs. Peck, who had heard, during her stay in Adelaide, that Mrs. Smith had passed judgment by default, and was going to take to herself another mate, which was nothing more than the absence Smith deserved. Well, to be sure, that beats cop-fighting, and what does Harris say to all this? Why, in course, he's off, and I'm in such a quandary, said Mrs. Smith. You wasn't married to Harris out and out, was you, said Mrs. Peck, who had a keen relish for such interesting news as this. No, there was two or three things, as put it off, but the bands was gave in last Sunday, and I had got my gown for the wedding, and lovely it looks, and here's Smith as savage as if he had been writing to me every month and sending me money. I suppose he's come home as poor as a rat like the rest of them, said Mrs. Peck. No, no, I cannot just say that, said Mrs. Smith, relenting a little. He says he never had no luck till the last six months, and now he has come back with three hundred pounds, and he's been behaving very genteel with it, I must say, and brought presents for me and for the children. There's a shawl for me as is quite a picture, so rich in colors. But I can't say I feel quite pleased at the way he neglected me so long, and poor Harris, too. I can't just get him out of my head all at once. That's natural enough, said Mrs. Peck with a sympathizing sigh. Here Mr. Smith came into the shop and started at the side of Mrs. Peck. Well, who'd have thought of seeing you here, Mrs.—I don't rightly recollect your name, but I know you as well as possible, said he. Mrs. Peck is my name, said she impressively. I recollect you well on Bendigo. Many's the time I've seen you there, said Smith, in an embarrassed tone of voice. I hope as you have your health, Mrs. Peck. Susan, my dear, you'd better give Mrs. Peck some refreshments. Step in, Mrs. Peck, I'm just a day home, and I ain't come back too soon, neither, as it appears. Susan, my dear, get out the spirit bottle. Will you have brandy with hot water or cold, Mrs. Peck? With cold this hot day. I've been half-baked traveling in that male omnibus twenty miles, and the wind blowing through it like a flaming furnace. And now your Adelaide desk is making me as grimy as I'm not fit to be seen, said Mrs. Peck, wiping her face with her handkerchief, and watching how Smith mixed her brandy in water. There's nothing pleases me like meeting with an old friend. Nor me, said Smith, if so be as she is friendly. Now, Susan, sit down and have a glass with us. Why, the woman looks handsomer, the northern day I married her. I don't wonder at the risk I ran of being chased out of you, but it was rather too bad, too, was it not, Mrs. Peck? If my letters hadn't been miscarried you would have never thought of such a thing, Susan, said he, with an insinuating smile, handing his wife a mixture similar to that he presented to his old friend. If they had been written there would have been no fear of their miscarrying, she said rather socally. Here's Mrs. Peck, my good friend, Mrs. Peck, who will be a warrant for me how often I used to be speaking of you, and wondering what made me give up writing. That I will, said Mrs. Peck, who felt this little bit of romance was quite in her line. Many's the time I've heard him speaking about you and the children. Take another drop of brandy, Mrs. Peck, said her newly found friend. Thank you, said she. It's better brandy than we used to get at Bendigo, but really I am in too much trouble just now to enjoy it, and I won't take no more nor the single glass. It's a bad world and a sad one, and I seem to have more than my share of trouble. Dear me! Mrs. Peck, I am sorry to hear that, and I am sure I wish I could do anything to help you, said Smith. I don't like imposing on people that I haven't no claims on, but I am in great need of twelve pounds just for a little while. I have an annuity, as I dare say you heard at Bendigo. Yes, I heard it, said Smith, who appeared indisposed to contradict or doubt anything that Mrs. Peck said. But we have been tried with the sickness and doctor's bills, Peck and me, and I am very backward with the world just at present. If anybody could lend me twelve pounds for two months they'd get principal and interest handsome. You being an old friend turned up and me knowing you so well at Bendigo makes me bold enough to ask you for this little temporary assistance. I would deposit an order for the money with you if you will be so good as to advance it. Certainly, Mrs. Peck, I am not the one to be backward when a friend is in need, and I know it will be safe enough to be paid. Susan, it is perfectly safe. Mrs. Peck had money regular every quarter to my knowledge, and if she wants the money now it shall be paid down on the nail. And Smith told out the twelve pounds into Mrs. Peck's hands and received an order for repayment on Mr. Talbot, which was not to be presented for two months. Mrs. Peck was overjoyed at her unexpected good luck in meeting with this returned digger, whom she had known very well at Bendigo under another name, and where he passed himself off as the husband of another woman. She perceived that now he had found his wife in Adelaide doing very well in business he would rather that she heard nothing of his own little infidelities, particularly in the first days of meeting, and his probable loss of the money he advanced was not too high a price to pay to purchase silence. Everything had turned out most propitiously for Mrs. Peck so far. The information from Mr. Dempster showed that all her object of interest were collected in one spot, and this recognition of Smith put into her hands the means to get to them, while Mr. Phillips was absent. She was flushed with hope and confident expectation when she made her purchases of some articles of ready-made clothing, and took out her passage to Melbourne in the Havila to prosecute her plans for revenge on Francis and advantages to herself. CHAPTER IV Miss Phillips meets with a congenial spirit in Victoria. As Mr. Dempster had reported, there had been a division in the family of the Philipses shortly after they landed. Mrs. Phillips wished to remain in Melbourne for a month or two, as she did not feel able to stand the long journey at this particular time. Neither her husband nor herself had much confidence in Dr. Grant's skill, and she could have better attendance in town. Mr. Phillips, having ascertained that Mrs. Peck was in Adelaide, and having, through Mr. Talbot, sent a request that she should remain there, which her own interest was likely to make her attend to, had less object to her staying in Melbourne than he had ever had before. So he took a suite of furnished apartments for her, and those of the family who remained in town. Jane Melville went at once to wear Wilta with the children, who all longed to be there, and who disliked Melbourne more than London. Miss Phillips had her choice to remain in town or to go up to the station, and she decided on the former alternative, for she began to fear the station would be very dull, and would contrast unfavorably with the voyage, which had been lively and pleasant. There were some of her fellow passengers whom she was unwilling to lose sight of, and Mr. Brandon was not at Barragang, but in Adelaide, so on the whole she thought it would be preferable to stay. She gave, as her ostensible reason for the choice, her wish to be with Mrs. Phillips during her brother's necessary absence. Mr. Phillips stayed with his wife till she presented him with the second son, and then, as she was doing very well, he left her in the care of his sister and Elsie. He had been rather annoyed to find that Brandon had been amusing himself by taking a journey to Adelaide so soon after coming out to the colony again. Dr. Grant came down to meet Phillips and represented that a great deal had gone amiss at wear Wilta since he, Dr. Grant, had been supplanted in the charge of the stations, so that he thought it indispensable to go up with the least possible delay to look to all the flocks and the out stations. It was the wildest thing in Brandon to start off in that way, said Dr. Grant, with a poor lad of a nephew who did not know a wattle from a gum-tree when he came, and scarcely a sheep from a cow. I never would have done such a thing. But he has gone to buy some new sheep, I hear, said Phillips. Have they been delivered at wear Wilta? No, not yet, said Grant. And I think that was the most insane part of the business. I am sure our Victorian flockmasters have always kept ahead of the Adelaide lot, and to go to the Adelaide side for sheep would be the last speculation I should care to enter into for myself, not to speak of implicating you in such a thing. The long overland journey will pull them down so much that you are likely to lose a third of them on the road, and what you do save will be in wretched order. Brandon was fairly ruined by going home to England. Ruinned, said Harriet Phillips, he said he was ruined or something like it before he left. Are his affairs really in such a bad state? Oh, it's not exactly his affairs, but he got unsettled and would not work as he used to. He overturned most of my arrangements at wear Wilta, and I am sure Mr. Phillips will not find himself any the better for his alterations. He is so foolishly confiding. Now I like to look sharply after my people, and then I see what work I get out of them. I think you are quite right, Dr. Grant. I have remarked the want of that prudence in both Mr. Brandon and my brother. They think it proceeds from benevolence, but I attribute it to more indolence and the dislike to give themselves any trouble they can avoid, said Harriet. Dr. Grant was peaked at being deprived of Mr. Phillips's agency, for though he had protested against taking it, he had found it very lucrative. He was also peaked at Mrs. Phillips staying in town for her confinement, though he always declared that he detested practising, and only did it as an accommodation to his neighbors. But both things had added a like to his emolument and to his importance, and he was extremely jealous of any slight being cast either on his business knowledge or on his professional skill. On this occasion he offered to stay in Melbourne for a week or so after Phillips left, merely as a friend, to see how Mrs. Phillips was going on, and to take up a full and satisfactory account to the station. Though he was not her medical attendant, he was much in the house, and far more than he had ever been before. When the week was over he appeared to be in no hurry to go away, but wrote to Phillips instead, and hung about the house, went errands for her or her sister-in-law, took Harriet out for walks and drives, brought all his Melbourne acquaintances to call on her, and to inquire for Mrs. Phillips and the baby, and was himself engaged for several hours of every day in conversation with Harriet. He had come to Melbourne determined to fall in love with Mrs. Phillips, whose likeness he had seen and admired at where he willed a years ago, and whose face and figure, when seen in reality, quite came up to his expectations, while her air and manners were exactly suited to his taste. He knew that she had a fortune, not large, certainly, but tempting to a man who was not exactly poor, but always more or less embarrassed. Her perfect self-possession, her good education, her musical talents, her excellent connections, her stylish way of dressing, her very egotism were all charming to a man who wanted a wife who would do him credit. His Scotch family was a good one. He was connected with many noble houses. He could tell long, traditional stories of the feats of the Grants in the Gillespie's, his father's and mother's ancestors, and it was wonderful how much the history of Scotland, and indeed that of the world generally, seemed to hang in the exploits of those ancient clans. Though Harriet was not a Scotch woman, it was the only drawback to their perfect suitability, she appreciated these anecdotes wonderfully well. Dr. Grant laid himself out to please her in a much more market manner than Brandon had ever done, and his success was much greater. He had a subdued feeling that his neighbor at Barragong was his rival, as he had seen so much of Harriet in England, so he lost no opportunity of mentioning anything that would tell against him. Then he was of the same profession as her father and brother Vivian, and liked to hear her talk of them. Indeed, provided he got time and opportunity to speak about his own relations, connections and friends, to give anecdotes of his schoolboy and college days, more interesting to his mother than to any one else here to fore, to describe how he had felt the colonial hardships at first, and how he had gradually made himself very comfortable at Benmore, which was the name he had given to his station, so much more suitable for a Scottish squatter than such names as Brandon and Philips had retained for theirs, he would allow Harriet to give her school and society reminiscences, too, to describe her home in Derbyshire, the furniture, the ornaments, the lawn, and the greenhouse, the tree-standleys, and the country-balls. As they were generally terr-a-tette four or five hours a day, they had ample time for descanting on all these interesting topics. Any visitors who might drop in, or any visit that they might pay together, only gave fresh food for further comparison of their own personal tastes and predilections. Miss Philips's avowed, contemptuous compassion for everything colonial did not at all offend Dr. Grant. He had never been thoroughly acclimatized himself, and he had vowed never to marry any of the second-rate colonial girls, who, as he thought, had no manner and no style. It was surprising how well these two new friends agreed about everything and everybody. Dr. Grant, from his education and his habits, considered himself a reading man and a very well-informed one. Miss Philips, too, had thought Brandon greatly her inferior in literary requirements, as in all other things, but it was singular to observe how little these two people, who were so congenial to each other, and who enjoyed each other's company so much, and had so much of it, talked about the many books they must have read. As for religion, politics, or any other of the great concerns of life, they never seemed to rise even on the surface of conversation. And when a book happened to be mentioned, it was dismissed with a casual remark such as, I read it, or I did not read it, or I liked it, or I thought it stupid, and then they turned to things which more nearly interested them, and these were things in which they themselves or someone related to them had made some figure. If any of Miss Philips's, or any of Dr. Grant's relations had published a book, that would have been mentioned and extolled, but they had not. Vivian scientific attainments, which Harriet had thought rather abhor at home, were, however something to both stuff here, and Dr. Grant had an uncle who made some improvements in agriculture in the north of Scotland, of whom he was never tired of talking. Miss Philips had remained in Melbourne to be with her sister-in-law, but she was very little beside her. Besides Dr. Grant there were fellow passengers who visited at the house, and whose visits Miss Philips was bound to return, and there were also public places to go with them, for she wished to see all that was to be seen in Melbourne while she was there, and though she generally criticised all the Melbourne concerts, and theatres, and balls, and private parties, very severely, she accepted every invitation and joined every party that was made up for the theatre. Elsie and the nurse had the care of Mrs. Philips and the baby, though Elsie would have preferred being at Weary Wilta with Jane and the elder children, for she missed their cheerful society, but she could not be spared. Miss Philips was an exceedingly good humour at this time, and did not exact so much from Elsie as she had expected, but Mrs. Philips missed her husband, and was rather petulant and capricious. She had been considerably kinder to Elsie since the death of her little girl. This first sorrow had done her good, but now in her husband's absence a good deal of the old spirit returned, particularly as she was much offended at the little attention which Harriet paid to her. Elsie was the real housekeeper, though Miss Philips had the credit of it, and she was delighted to find how well she could manage. Her old experiences at Cross Hall had not been all together thrown away. She had grown more thoughtful, and she felt she must depend on herself, for there was no Jane now to fall back upon. Elsie was apprehensive that the coolness between the sisters in law would lead to an open rupture, for Mrs. Philips had not been accustomed to be considered as nobody in her own house, but there appeared hope for peace in the fact that Dr. Grant must leave Melbourne, and then those long conversations must have an end, and at least three-fourths of the rides and gaities which served as an excuse for her neglect. During the short absences from day to day which necessarily took place, and during the few angels' visits, short and far between, which were paid to her sister-in-law's sick room, Dr. Grant's sayings and doings, his compliments to herself, and his criticisms of other people, were the staple of Harriet's conversation to the invalid. If the absence of the one and the visits to the other were prolonged, it was just possible that Mrs. Philips might be more fatigued, but she could not be so much ignored as she was at present. CHAPTER V Dr. Grant prosecutes his suit with caution and success, and Brandon finds his love-making all to do over again. Harriet Philips could not come out quite so strong in her contempt for colonial ways and colonial people, arriving when she did, if she had landed ten or a dozen years before, but still there was a great deal that was open to criticism. Mr. Philips and Mr. Brandon thought the colony had made rapid strides towards civilization and comfort, since the great influx of wealth consequent on the gold discoveries had attracted to Victoria much that was unattainable before. Even during their absence in England there had been a great deal of building going on in Melbourne, and many other improvements had been introduced. The houses were better and better furnished, the shops seemed to contain everything that enterprise could import or money procure, the ladies were handsomely and expensively dressed, and there were public amusements such as were never heard of in the early colonial days. But still there was much even in Melbourne that was un-English and strange to a newcomer. Melbourne did not at all come up to Harriet's expectations, though what she had expected would have been difficult to tell. She had wished to go to Victoria because it would be a novelty to her. It would be so different from England that it would be amusing. But every difference that she observed, and she was very quick in observing such things, was always for the worse. There was of course the difference of climate which led to many alterations in dress and manner of living, and which would reasonably lead to more if the English colonist was not so much wedded to old customs and costumes. The heat and dust Harriet found to be insupportable, and the dress which was most suited to it was so unbecoming, particularly the gentleman's dress, with the endless variety of hats for head covering. Dr. Grant, who stood a good deal on the dignity of his profession, when in Melbourne wore dark clothes and a black hat even in the heat of summer, and that weighed in his favour with Harriet. The noise and bustle of Melbourne was so different from what she had been accustomed to in Derbyshire, indeed it was more like Liverpool than any part of London she had seen, a poor addition of Liverpool, and that was the city of which the Victorians were so proud. She could not enter into the natural liking of a people for a town that they have seen with their own eyes grow from a mere hamlet of rude huts to a handsome, paved, lighted, commercial city like Melbourne, who identify themselves with its progress, having watched the growth of very improvement. They wonder that it does not strike strangers as being as astonishing as it appears to be to themselves. Mrs. Phillips had no acquaintances in Melbourne, but Mr. Phillips and Dr. Grant knew a good many people, who were disposed to be very friendly to Harriet, but she did not feel very grateful for such kindness. She fancied that her position in education and her being recently out from England ought to give her an overpowering prestige in these half-savage lands, and though she lost no chance of laughing or censuring anything which she thought colonial, she could not bear to be talked of as a new chum, whose opinions should be kept for two years at least, before they were worth anything, and whose advice was probably worth nothing at any time. Amongst other subjects for censure, the great freedom of manners, particularly amongst young people of different sexes towards each other, struck Mrs. Phillips forcibly. She had observed at evening parties, at picnics, and at places of public amusement the very unrestrained way in which they talked and behaved, and she thought the colonial girls were badly trained, and that they ought to be more carefully watched by mothers and chaperones. At the same time she took full latitude herself, and did many things on the strength of her being in Australia, where people might do as they liked, that surprised even the colonial girls themselves. If she remarked on their flirtations with their old friends they could not help observing Miss Phillips's prepossession towards her new acquaintance, and laughing at the manner in which the two seemed wrapped up in each other. How could she endure his returning to Bendmore, and leaving her perhaps for another month in Melbourne, without his society, was a question which they frequently put to each other, but she solved that difficulty to her own satisfaction and as much to their amusement. I am very sorry to leave you, said Dr. Grant one day to the object of his attentions, but I must go. Business must not be neglected. I cannot fly about like Brandon, letting my affairs go to ruin. I hope you will not be long in coming to wear Wilta, Miss Phillips. Not very long, I suppose, said Harriet. Indeed, I think there is nothing to prevent Mrs. Phillips from going home now, if she would only believe so. Nothing whatever, said Grant. I am quite worrying to see where he Wilta, said Harriet. The children's letters are quite rapturous about its beauties, and Miss Melville, too, seems very much pleased. You will like Miss Melville, I am sure. You like scotch people, I know. If I do not like Miss Melville better than her sister, my liking will not go very far, said Grant. Do you know Stanley thought Alice quite pretty at first? I don't see it. Miss Melville is what people call plain, but I prefer her appearance to Alice's, and she is very clever and strong-minded. I quite expect you to fall in love with Miss Melville, said Harriet, with a little laugh. No fear of that. I have no fancy for strong-minded women. Not but what I like a good understanding and good sense in a lady, but let each sex keep to its own department. But Miss Phillips, if you really want to go to where he Wilta, I can drive you up. Or, better still, you could ride. You are an admirable horsewoman, as I know, and I have an excellent horse in town that would carry you easily that distance without fatiguing you. It would be a beautiful ride. You would see the country so well as you go along. I should like to go of all things, said Harriet, but what would Stanley say? Oh, I will tell him it was quite unnecessary for you to stay with Mrs. Phillips, and it will be the easier for his horses to bring up the rest of them if you have gone before, said Grant. Well, I am really tired of Melbourne. I think I have seen all that is to be seen, and I dare say there are some preparations and arrangements I could make before Mrs. Phillips comes up, so as to make her more comfortable, though I dare say Miss Melville has done her best. Still, there are things that one of the family can do which strangers cannot be expected to attend to. Certainly, said Dr. Grant, I can imagine your presence at where he Wilta will make things more comfortable for all parties. And by the by Emily and Harriet will be neglecting their music, and I engage to see to that, so long as I remain in Victoria, as Miss Melville knows no music. No music, said Dr. Grant, that is a singular sort of governance to engage for young ladies up the country. She is wonderfully clever about other things, and brings on the children very nicely. When I compare them with the girls of their own age whom I have seen in Melbourne, I cannot help congratulating my brother on having brought out a governance with him. It would have been better, of course, if she had been English, but Miss Melville is not painfully Scotch. I hope you have no dislike to Scotch people, said Grant. I am myself glory in my country. Oh, I quite understand your feelings. If I had been born in Scotland, I should have felt the same way, I daresay, said Harriet. But with regard to this drive or ride to where he Wilta, said Grant. How long should we be on the road? asked Harriet. Two days, I think. We would stay all night at Mrs. Valentines, a very old friend of mine and an acquaintance of your brother. Valentine and I were fellow passengers when we first came out. They will receive you with bush hospitality. I should like to introduce you to Scotch bush hospitality, and it is a pretty place, too, rather romantically situated. I should really like to see it, for I want to study Australian scenery and Australian manners during my short stay in the colony to see as much as I can while I am among you savages. Then shall it be a ride or a drive? asked Dr. Grant. I think I should prefer driving, said Harriet, but I must first consult Mrs. Phillips. I do not suppose that she can enlighten me much, but as Stanley's wife I owe her that courtesy. So Harriet, with a condescending smile, took leave of her admirer. Mrs. Phillips was in an exceedingly bad humour, but she made no objection to Harriet's going away. She did not quite believe in the zeal for the children's music or for her comfort, which Miss Phillips professed, but she was tired of having the name of her society without the reality of it. As for the impropriety of her sister-in-law's travelling all that distance with a single gentleman, either riding or driving, Mrs. Phillips had never decided any question of the kind for herself or others since she had been married. She had always acted as her husband thought proper. That is to say, she might often have made mistakes or done wrong if he had not prevented her, and the proposition did not strike her as at all objectionable. Elsie wondered if there was an engagement between her and Dr. Grant, when a young lady of such strict principles proposed so singular an expedition. Harriet was not at all quick at reading countenances, and was particularly dull in the interpretation of Elsie's, but as some idea of the kind had dimly occurred to herself, she gave it voice and explained her views on the subject in Elsie's hearing to Mrs. Phillips. Of course I should never think of such an adventurous journey in England, but here it seems the fashion to do just as is most convenient to ourselves, and for your sake and that of the children I think it is better that I should go first. Dr. Grant, being a professional man and such an old friend of my brothers, will be an excellent escort, and I am really desirous of seeing a little of the roughness of colonial life. We will stay all night at Mr. Valentines, and reach Wherry Wilta in good time the second day. I will see to have everything comfortable for you, Lily, my dear, before you come up. I wish you could accompany me. Dr. Grant says you could go up now, if you were disposed. I am not going to Wherry Wilta till Stanley comes himself to fetch me, for I am so timid with anyone else driving on these dreadful roads, and as for what Dr. Grant says about my being fit for the journey, he is not my medical man this time, so I won't go by his advice. Besides, he don't understand my constitution as Dr. M. does, said Mrs. Phillips. I feel very sorry to leave you, Lily, said Harriet. Oh, I dare say I'll get on very well even without you. Alice and nurse will do for me until Stanley comes. Tell him how I weary to see him the very first thing you say when you see him. Whenever he's done with going over the stations, beg him to come down. Alice has written for me to tell him to make haste. I am not strong enough yet to sit up to write. The idea that Harriet might hasten her husband's return to her helped to reconcile Mrs. Phillips to the very cavalier treatment she received from that young lady. Harriet enjoyed her drive exceedingly. Dr. Grant knew who lived in the great many houses that they passed, and they carried with them the great subject of agreeable conversation in themselves. The Darbyshire country and the Highland scenery was compared and contrasted with the Victorian, very much to the disadvantage of the latter, which indeed did not look its best, but it's very worse at this time. Mr. Ballantine's station Harriet confessed to be rather prettily situated, but things in the house were very much rougher than she had expected, and the house itself was of a very irregular and primitive style of architecture. The slab hut enlarged so as to be tolerably commodious, yet still the very house that the squatter had built, partly with his own hands, in the early days of the colony. He had not been a fortunate man, but he had got his head above water since the gold discoveries, and he was not so imprudent as to involve himself again by building a handsome house so long as the old one would do. Mrs. Ballantine had an overweening opinion of the advantages of English society and English education, and received Miss Phillips with an amount of adulation quite beyond anything she had ever met with in her life, which was all the more effective from its being perfectly sincere. Her own children were but half educated and very deficient in a quiet manner, and they too looked with awe on Mr. Phillips's English sister, who was so self-possessed and so fashionably dressed. To a person less conscious of her own superiority, Mrs. Ballantine's perfused apologies for everything and everybody would have been rather painful, but Harriet received them graciously, and told Dr. Grant that she felt quite delighted with this first specimen of Bush hospitality and with his scotch friends. Dr. Grant, on his side, was exceedingly proud of his companion, and felt quite sure of his success with her. He never had been so agreeable as during this long drive, and when they appeared at Wery Wilta, on the second day in time for an early tea, both travelers were full of spirits and not at all tired. Mr. Phillips was not at home, and not expected for some days. Jane was somewhat surprised by the appearance of Miss Phillips under such care, but received her politely and kindly. Dr. Grant had to go home to attend to business, but promised to ride across to Wery Wilta as soon as possible, to see if Miss Phillips had not suffered any fatigue from the long journey over such rough roads. It was rather flat at the station for Harriet on the following day. She was disappointed with the house, for, though it was a great deal better than Mrs. Ballantine's, it was not so large or so convenient as she had expected. She could not take any interest in the many things that the children showed her, which they thought so beautiful, their pet animals, the few wildflowers they could find at this season of the year, their dear old trees, their pretty wops, the native boy Jim, Mrs. Bennet's baby, and the curious windmill that Mr. Tuck had made for them with his knife clasp and some twigs. She could not be troubled with such childish talk. She wanted rational conversation, but when Jane Melville sat beside her, and conversed in her own quiet, sensible way, she felt even that to be unsatisfactory. A new element had entered into Miss Phillips's life. She was, after her fashion, in love, and she was restless and dissatisfied without the presence of the beloved object. Dr. Grant was just long enough away to be very welcome when he came, and Jane was a little amused at the manner in which Harriet threw off her languid air of indifference and talked to this, to Jane, most uninteresting scotchman, who was so full of national pride and personal vanity. Jane was very cosmopolitan in her ideas, both by nature and by education. Her uncle had always had more pride in being a Britain than a North Britain, and had never fired up with indignation at Scotland being included or merged in England. She did not think scotchmen intrinsically more capable than English. There was a greater diffusion of elementary knowledge in the northern part of the island, but she thought that in society Englishmen were more agreeable than scotch, as a general rule, because they were more certain of their own position. Scotch and Irish people are too apt to be afraid that they are looked down upon, and are too often on the lookout for slights to be resented, whereas Englishmen, who did not know much of continental feelings and habits of thought, have a comfortable conviction that the greatest country in the world belongs to them, and that nobody can dispute it. Dr. Grant was surprised at Jane's want of nationality, and confided to Harriet that he was greatly disappointed in her, and in spite of Harriet's professed regard for Jane, she could not help seeing the faults which this keen-sighted observer pointed out. One day, when Dr. Grant and Harriet were in the enjoyment of each other's company, and flirting in their own interesting manner, and Jane was sitting beside them with the children, Mr. Brandon and Edgar made their appearance. Emily and little Harriet met Brandon with acclamations, and the little ones rejoiced over him in a very noisy manner, too. Jane gave him a hearty welcome, for she was really delighted to see his face again, but Miss Phillips and Dr. Grant were scarcely so affectionate. "'Well, here comes the Recreant Knight,' said Miss Phillips. "'What have you got to say for yourself, Mr. Brandon?' "'To say for myself.' "'Oh, I have a great deal to say for myself. I have seen a great deal since we parted in London.' "'But why have you left your business and my brothers and gone wool-gathering in South Australia?' "'I have just gone wool-gathering, and that must be my excuse. Phillips will admire the sheep, I am sure. They have just got home in first-rate condition, easy travelling in plenty of time. But where is Mr. Phillips and Mrs. Phillips?' "'Oh, Mama is in Melbourne, and we have got a new little brother, and his name is to be Vivian, after Uncle Vivian, you know, and Papa is out over the runs, and will be back on Saturday. And I am sure he will be very glad to see you, and Edgar, too, I dare say,' said Emily. "'And where is your sister, Miss Melville? Has she come out to Australia with you? Is she quite well?' asked Brandon. "'Quite well,' said Harriet. She is in Melbourne with Mrs. Phillips. We expect him out in a week or two, or perhaps as much as three weeks, for Mrs. Phillips fancies she cannot stand the journey for some time.' "'Alice has not seen where he will to yet,' said Emily. "'I know she will think it very pretty. Miss Melville likes it very much.' "'And you have got quite strong, Emily,' said Brandon. "'Quite strong again. I can walk to the water-holes near to the grove of young gum-trees and back again without being a bit tired. We have such lovely walks every day with Miss Melville.' "'And do you know, Mr. Brandon, my dear old cockney died just after you and Edgar went away to Adelaide. But I have got another, such a beauty, and two such lovely parrots. Jim got them for me. You can't think how glad Harriet and I were to see Jim. And Mrs. Bennett has got another baby, and I am to be Godmother, and it's to be called Emily. And Mrs. Tuck has got another, too, ever so fat. We have not seen our own baby-brother yet.' "'But how does it happen that you did not write to me? I got one letter telling me little Eva was dead, and that you were getting better. But next month I did not hear a syllable, good or bad, from any of you. Because we were on board ship by that time, before the mail from Australia came in. Papa thought we would all be here sooner than we were, but it was a delightful voyage. We had Mr. Dempster, you know Mr. Dempster, and such a nice lot of Adelaide children. I was so sorry to bid goodbye to Rose. She was my friend all the voyage, and there were some very nice gentlemen, too. It was quite as nice a voyage as the last, only that Miss Melville made us do lessons all the time, and perhaps after all it was as well that she did. "'I never heard such a chatterbox as you are, Emily,' said her aunt. "'Did you find the voyage pleasant, Miss Phillips?' asked Brandon. "'Oh, yes, very pleasant indeed. I did not think you would condescend to visit our rude latitudes,' said Brandon. "'Oh, I am really quite enjoying my visit. Stanley was greatly pleased at my proposal to come out, for he thought it such an excellent thing for the family. I am only on a visit, you know. I cannot say how I should like Victoria for a permanence, but I like the novelty for the present.' "'And your cousin is in Parliament, I hear, and likely to distinguish himself, Miss Melville,' said Brandon. "'I hope that you and your sister do not despise us poor colonial people.' "'Certainly not,' said Jane. Indeed, Francis says that he got most of his best ideas from Mr. Sinclair, who had been in Canada and the United States, and from a conversation between you and Mr. Phillips and Mr. Dempster the first day he dined with us in London. He says nothing sharpens an Englishman up like intercourse with such pushing, energetic, straightforward people as colonists. That is high praise from a British member of Parliament. I owe him something for that. But did you see Peggy before you left?' "'Yes, we went up to bid her good-bye. I do not think she will be long in joining us,' said Jane. "'Well,' said Grant, who as well as Harriet felt that Miss Melville was receiving more than her fair share of Brandon's affection. You have not given at all a satisfactory account of yourself. You have been figuring away an Adelaide, I suppose, and enjoying yourself, and leaving your own affairs in Mr. Phillips's affairs to mind themselves.' "'And you have been figuring away in Melbourne, Dr. Grant,' said Emily. She could not bear any aspersion to be cast on her friend Brandon. And then you brought it Harriet away, so you leave no one with poor Mamma but Alice. I am wearying so to see Mamma and the baby boy.' "'Suppose you go with me,' said Brandon. For I am going to Melbourne to-morrow to see them. And I have some business there besides.' "'Oh, that would be delightful. Miss Melville, may I go?' "'I think not, Emily,' said Jane. Your Mamma will be here soon, and your papa will be disappointed to find you gone when he comes here. I should not wonder that he will take you with him when he goes himself. And that would be better, I think.' "'Much better,' said Miss Phillips. I wonder that you could think of such a thing as troubling Mr. Brandon to take care of you all that long way.' Emily made a rather pertinent remark as to her aunt showing her the example, at which Miss Phillips blushed, and Grant looked conscious but delighted. He could not conceive what was taking Brandon to Melbourne immediately on his return from Adelaide. He did not believe his assertion that he had business to attend to there. It was another sign of his being spoiled by his visit to England. It had completely unsettled him. Now that Brandon had heard that his letter had never reached Elsie, and consequently that he had not been treated by her with discourtesy or unkindness, he felt relieved. But at the same time a little sorry that all his trouble had been wasted, and that it was all to do over again. A few months ago he had lamented that he could not have it out by word of mouth, but now he regretted this letter had not, at least, broken the ice, and inclined her to listen to his suit. However, things had come to such a past that he could not wait an indefinite time. He must go to Melbourne and learn his fate without delay. He left Edgar at where he was with Henry Wilta, where Emily thought him very much improved, and where the boy was exceedingly happy. He took a great fancy to Miss Melville, who was very different from the fond, anxious women who had brought him up, but whose experiences with the Lowries had given her great interest in boys of that age, and who knew so much on all subjects that she never failed to win upon them, if they were tolerably intelligent and well disposed. Book 3, Chapter 5