Mrs. Peck appeared on the following day, according to promise, carrying a little black bag, containing scissors, yard-measure, and a few other implements of needlework, all perfectly new; and after a short conversation with Mrs. Phillips and a little refreshment, she sat down beside Elsie to ingratiate herself with that young lady. Elsie thought she had never seen any one so ignorant of the work she had set about as Mrs. Mahoney appeared to be. She confessed that she was not skilful, and it showed all the more kindness in Mrs. Phillips to give her work when she had had so little practice, and did it so badly. She had been accustomed to go out as a nurse, she said; but she had got too old for that, and could not stand the sitting up of nights; and then she branched off into accounts of dreadful experiences in nursing, and deathbeds, and awful operations, that were enough to make Elsie's hair stand on end. She found fault with Mrs. Phillips's nurse as being too much of the fine lady, and told Elsie what she considered to be a nurse's duties, which she would like to do if she was only fit for it. Then she threw herself on Elsie's good nature for a little lesson in needlework, admired her quickness and taste and skill, wished she could do anything half as well, and asked her to be good enough to cut out and place her work for her, and to lend her patterns, and altogether behaved with the most insinuating affability.
Although Elsie Melville looked simple-minded, she was by no means wanting in observation, and her situation with Mrs. Phillips and her sister-in-law had taught her a wonderful amount of prudence. She thought there was some inconsistency in Mrs. Mahoney's fluent narratives, and something very peculiar in her relations with Mrs. Phillips, who appeared to be restless and uncomfortable whenever she was in the house. Elsie was, however, good-natured enough to give her some instruction, for which great gratitude was expressed. On the third day of her visits, when apparently occupied in learning how to do featherstitch for trimming baby's pinafores, Mrs. Peck looked up from her work, and asked Elsie if she did not come from ——shire.
"That was my native county," said Elsie.
"Do you know Cross Hall at all?" asked Mrs. Peck.
"I was brought up there," said Elsie.
"I come from that county, too," said Mrs. Peck.
"I did not think you had been Scotch," said Elsie.
"I have been in these colonies for thirty-four years, and seen but few of my own country folks; but the English say they'd know me to be Scotch by my accent."
"Well, perhaps your accent is a little like that of ——shire, when I come to think of it; but the turn of your expressions is not Scotch at all," said Elsie. "Thirty-four years is a long time, however; I may, perhaps, get rid of some of my own Scotticisms by that time."
"I knew Hogarth of Cross Hall, very well, when I was young," said Mrs. Peck. "Do you mean to say you was brought up there?"
"Mr. Hogarth was my uncle," said Elsie.
"Oh, you must be a daughter of his sister Mary's; I fancy there was only the one daughter that lived to grow up. But if Cross Hall was your uncle, how came you to be in this situation?" said Mrs. Peck, with feigned astonishment.
"My sister and I were educated by him; he was exceedingly kind to us as long as he lived."
"But his property did not come to you;—the heir-at-law swallowed up all," said Mrs. Peck, with a fierce glare in her eyes that she could not quite subdue. "It is very hard on you."
"We have felt it rather hard," said Elsie; "but still things have been worse for us at one time than they are now. Jane and I can earn our own living, and that is the position of most people in the world."
"What would you give now," said Mrs. Peck, "if you could get back to Cross Hall, and be just as you used to be?"
"I cannot say what I would give," said Elsie. "But it is impossible. Unless we could restore my poor uncle to life, things could never be again as they used to be."
"And the new man might have helped you, and not have driven you to seek service at the ends of the earth. Would you not like to serve him out?" said Mrs. Peck with the same subdued fierceness as before.
Elsie's instinctive sincerity would have led her to justify Francis, by explaining about the will, but she felt reluctant to say anything to this strange woman that she could help. Besides, though she knew nothing of the letter that had been sent by Mrs. Peck to her cousin, and left unanswered, at Mr. Phillips's earnest request, she was beginning to suspect something of the truth. Mrs. Peck's courting her so assiduously had puzzled her; and now the interest she felt in this story, which was all the more apparent to a keen observer from the efforts she made to conceal it, showed that she knew more about the matter than she liked at once to disclose.
Elsie had a good eye for likenesses, and could see family resemblances where no one else could; and it had always struck her as very remarkable that there was not the slightest resemblance between Francis and her uncle, nor between him and any other member of the family whom she had seen or whose portraits had been preserved. Not merely were the features and complexion unlike, but there was not a trick of the countenance or of the gait reproduced, as is generally the case with the sons of fathers who had such marked characteristics as Henry Hogarth. Though she had not heard of Mrs. Peck's letter, Jane had told her about Madame de Vericourt's to her uncle, and in her own heart she had fancied that the reason why he had been so cold to Francis was, that he had been doubtful of the paternity; the very indifferent character of the woman he had married was not calculated to inspire him with confidence, and the absolute absence of all family likeness was an additional cause of distrust. He must have been satisfied on that point, however, in later years, or he would not have been so strong in his prohibition of his marriage with Jane or Elsie on account of his cousinship; but, in early life, he must, in Elsie's opinion, have had grave doubts on the subject.
She looked again more careful than before at Mrs. Peck. She was of the age to be Francis's mother, but otherwise she was quite at fault; there was not any likeness there either. A conformation of the little finger was rather peculiar, but it was an exaggeration of a little defect on Mrs. Phillips's otherwise very handsome hand, but not of Francis Hogarth's.
"If Francis has no right to the property, and we have, of course we should like to have our rights," said Elsie.
"It was a Scotch marriage, you know," said Mrs. Peck.
"Yes, but a binding one; he is received everywhere as my uncle's lawful son."
"Yes, as his lawful son, no doubt. Do you know if he has brought forward his mother at all?" said Mrs. Peck.
"No; I suppose she is dead, or we should certainly have heard of her."
"Dead, you suppose!" said Mrs. Peck, indignantly; "that is the easy way of getting quit of relations that has got claims on you—just Suppose them dead?"
"I do not know anything of the matter, except that she has not been heard of. If she were alive and heard of his inheriting this property, she would be sure to write claiming him, and probably asking for assistance, which I have no doubt she would at once receive, for he has ample means, and has the character of being both just and liberal."
"And you think she would apply; and you have no doubt that she ought to have got it? Any one would have thought that," said Mrs. Peck, between her set teeth.
"Yes, certainly," said Elsie; "but perhaps she did not go the right way to work?"
"She did," said Mrs. Peck, indignantly. "I knowed her well, and heard all about it."
This was to throw Elsie off her guard, for she did not wish to be identified at once; but it had not the effect desired, for Elsie felt convinced that this was the person who claimed to be Francis's mother.
Mrs. Phillips came in at this interesting poise in the conversation, and began to give Elsie directions as to some alterations in a dress.
"There's some buttons and trimmings to get to make it up with. Alice, you had better go to town and get them for me. You need a walk, at any rate; I do not think you've had your walk at all regularly of late," said Mrs. Phillips.
"Indeed," said Mrs. Peck, "she has had no walk since here I've been, whatever she might have had before. It's trying work sitting still all day; I feel it myself, and all the more that I'm not used to it. If you'd be so good as excuse me for a hour or two; I'd take it as a great kindness if you'd let me go with Alice for a walk to do her bit of shopping, and to show her round Melbourne a bit. If I don't know Melbourne well, I ought to. I don't think I ever saw so good a hand as Alice has. I think I could make her fortune, if she'd only give me a little commission."
"Oh, I don't think Alice is inclined to leave me," said Mrs. Phillips; "and, indeed, I am very well satisfied with her."
"But this ain't exactly her sphere. She was a telling me as she was brought up with great expectations," said Mrs. Peck.
"She has got over her disappointment about that, I think," said Mrs. Phillips.
"I dare say you think it shabby in me to try to entice your maid from you; and really, after all, a comfortable home with a lady, as it must be a pleasure to serve and to wait upon, is perhaps the best thing after all. But as I was saying, Mrs. Phillips, I would be glad to get out for an hour or two with Alice. I'll not do much work without her, for I'm sure to go wrong if she is not at my elbow. There's not many ladies so generous as you, to pay me for my blundering work; and Alice is wonderful patient too. I don't know how to thank her for the pains she takes with me, and I can't help being very stupid. After being used to active life, one don't take well to this sitting still. So I'll just put on my bonnet and shawl and go out a bit with Alice."
Mrs. Phillips did not at all like this proposal, for she had an idea that her husband would very much disapprove of it, and would be still more angry at that than at her having her mother in her house; but then Mr. Phillips was away, and her mother was there, and the present terror conquered the distant one. She never knew what her mother might or might not say, if she thwarted her in anything: she had distant recollections of terrible punishments that always followed the slightest act of disobedience, or even carelessness, in her childish days; and though now she knew her mother would not strike her with her hands, she was in constant dread of her tongue. So that now Mrs. Peck took it for granted that she would be allowed to accompany her daughter's maid—she dared not refuse it. Alice scarcely liked the idea of going to walk to town with this strange woman; but at the same time her curiosity as to what she might have to say was very great. She felt that this Mrs. Mahoney had intelligence to give that was of great importance, and that she wished to be secure from interruption. Mrs. Phillips was constantly going in and out, for she was afraid to leave her mother long with any one, and always looked suspicious of what they might be talking about. Mary, the housemaid, and the nurse, too, seemed to be curious about this old needlewoman, and were often coming in unexpectedly.
When Mrs. Peck had put on her bonnet and shawl, and dropped her veil over her face, she looked sufficiently respectable for a companion to one so little known in Melbourne as Alice Melville, so she thought there could be no harm in going out for an hour or two with her for the sake of ascertaining if she had any light to throw on the dark subject of Francis's birth.
When they got out of doors, Mrs. Peck appeared at first to be rather anxious to resume the conversation which her daughter had interrupted; but as they were pretty closely followed by two other pedestrians all the way into town, she made up her mind to attend to Mrs. Phillips's business first, so they went to Collins Street and bought the trimmings. Then Mrs. Peck went to a bookseller's shop and purchased a shilling novel that she said she had been told was very interesting, but she appeared scarcely to know the name of it, and took the first one the shopman gave to her.
Elsie thought she was a good deal more stared at than was agreeable, and also that the shopmen in both establishments addressed her with a good deal of familiarity. She had heard Miss Phillips complain of the great freedom and the want of politeness of Melbourne tradespeople and the inhabitants generally; but this was her first personal experience of anything of the kind, and she rightly attributed it to the company she was in. She felt, now, that she had made a great mistake in going out with this Mrs. Mahoney, whose rather loud remarks and vulgar appearance seemed to attract general attention, and she could only wish fervently that, with or without her secret, she could get back safely to East Melbourne. As they returned, Mrs. Peck proposed a detour by the Botanic Gardens, which Elsie had never seen. Mrs. Phillips would not expect them home soon, for she had proposed to show Miss Melville all about Melbourne; and the gardens were well worth seeing. On a week day they were quiet, and one could get a seat to have a little comfortable talk. Much as Elsie wished for the talk, she would not on any account lengthen her walk for it, so she declined the proposal.
"Then," said Mrs. Peck, "let us go out of the regular road we came by, and go round Fitzroy Square, and have a look round at all the churches and chapels that are built on the Eastern Hill."
Fitzroy Square was not at that time enclosed or planted. It was merely a vacant space, intersected by numerous footpaths in various directions, and covered where there was no beaten path with very dusty withered-looking grass. Elsie had no objection to go out of the thoroughfare; but, instead of pointing out the churches or anything else, as soon as Mrs. Peck had got safe out of any third party's hearing, she slackened her pace, and eagerly opened the subject which was nearest to her heart.
"I said, Miss Melville, that I could make your fortune if you'd only give me a handsome commission. Are you willing to drive a bargain?" said Mrs. Peck.
"If I can see my way clear to the fortune, I should, of course, be glad to pay you for the information; but I must know what you have got to say before I can guess what it is worth," said Elsie.
"And I must know what you are willing to give, before I can tell what I know," said Mrs. Peck.
"But I have really got nothing to offer," said Elsie; "you know how poor I am."
"But suppose you and your sister was to get Cross Hall through means of me, what would you give me for that?" asked Mrs. Peck.
Elsie felt sure that this woman could not give the property to Jane and herself, for it had been left to Francis distinctly by will, by name and description; but yet she wanted very much to find out if he was really their cousin or not, so she said——
"I must consult with my sister on this matter, for it concerns her as much as myself, and also with Mr. Phillips, who has been to both of us the kindest and best of friends, before I could make you any definite offer."
"No, no," said Mrs. Peck; "I want no interference of strangers, and I ain't got no time to waste here while you write up the country to anybody. I must go back to Adelaide in a few days, and surely your sister will see the advantages of your acting for her. What do you say to 2,000 pounds."
To be asked 2,000 pounds for what Elsie knew to be worth nothing, in a money point of view, appeared to her rather absurd. "That is a very large sum," said she.
"A year's income is not too much for such a secret as I've got. Cross Hall must be worth 2,000 pounds a year now, and more than that, and I must have something handsome to cover my risk."
"Then you put yourself under the grasp of the law by what you have to reveal?" said Elsie.
"You must let me get clear off before you publish it," said Mrs. Peck. "I have been treated with the greatest ingratitude by Frank, and I'd like a little revenge. I'd like to pull him down from his high horse, and set him working for his bread as you have had to do; but at the same time I am a poor woman, and I must live."
"I cannot tell what we would give you," said Elsie, "until I have something more distinct than these vague threats; but you may be sure that we will give you as much as it is worth. Trust to our honour for that."
"Trust to a fiddlestick's end! I am too old a bird to be caught with such chaff as that. No, I must have it down in black and white. See, here is a paper that I want you to fill up and sign before I'll open my mouth on the subject." So Mrs. Peck drew out of her black bag a paper containing an agreement to pay her 2,000 pounds on condition that the estate of Cross Hall should be recovered for her and her sister through Mrs. Peck's information. She laid the paper open on the book she had bought, then she took a pen and a portable ink-bottle from the same repository, dipped the pen in the ink, and demanded Elsie's signature then and there.
Her eager eyes watched the girl's countenance as she read the agreement and weighed the pros and cons of the bargain she was making, and neither of them were aware, in their preoccupation, that they were observed. When Elsie looked up, puzzled as to what she was to do, and Mrs. Peck was putting her pen into her hand, she saw the figure of Walter Brandon approaching her with the appearance of haste and agitation. Mrs. Peck snatched the paper from Elsie's hand, and replaced it in the black bag, along with the other writing materials and the extempore desk.
"Alice Melville!" said Brandon, "what in Heaven's name are you doing here in such company as this?"
Elsie turned as pale as death; she could not utter a syllable.
"Come with me—let me take you home. I heard from Mrs. Phillips that you had gone out; but I could not have imagined you to have such a companion."
"Such a companion, indeed!" said Mrs. Peck, indignantly. "I have been in these colonies more nor thirty years, and I'm good enough company for any fine lady's-maid as ever walked on shoe leather."
"Oh, Mr. Brandon!" said Elsie, who had recovered her powers of speech; "she was doing needlework at Mrs. Phillips's, and I was sent out on an errand, and she would come with me."
"And we was just a looking over the bill, and seeing as our money was all right," said Mrs. Peck, in the most plausible manner.
"No; it was not a bill," said Elsie, who hated the idea of this woman telling lies for her.
"Did Mrs. Phillips actually send you out walking with this person?" said Brandon, with a look of the most intense contempt and disgust at Mrs. Peck.
"She said nothing against it; but she did not send me; it was all my own fault," said Elsie, weeping bitterly. "I rather wished to go with her."
"My dear Miss Alice, you must have seen that this was no fit person for you to associate with. You are an innocent girl, ignorant of the world, as all girls ought to be; but you are not so easily deceived in character as not to see in this woman's face, language, and manners, that she is to be avoided as you would avoid death and destruction," said Brandon.
Elsie only wept more bitterly than before. Brandon must despise her for ever now. She had been glad to come out to Victoria, because she thought if he still loved or cared for her she should hear of it. She had treasured his parting words and his parting looks in her heart; and now to meet him again in this way—to feel that he must look down on her as in the old days of his pity he never could have done—was dreadful. How was he to guess at the almost irresistible temptation that had led her to compromise herself so far?
"You had better go home now to your own dwelling, Mrs. Peck," said Brandon; "for if Mr. Phillips were to know that you had been visiting his wife in his absence you would come by the worst of it. Needlework, indeed! Mrs. Phillips is a fool, certainly; but the idea of your doing needlework for her is very absurd. So you had better never show face there again."
"Perhaps you'd like to know where I live, Miss Melville," said Mrs. Peck, glaring angrily at Brandon. "I lodge at No.—, Little Bourke Street, and can be heard of there, either as Mrs. Mahoney or Mrs. Peck. You can come there to see me."
"Like to know where YOU live—go to see YOU!" said Brandon, in towering indignation. "Now Miss Melville knows your real character she will keep away from you for ever. So now go off with you, as quickly as you can."
"Good-bye, Miss Melville," said Mrs. Peck, as she slowly went on her way to her own lodgings. She found she must go, but she would not be hurried by Brandon's wrath.
He waited till she was out of hearing before he tried to soothe the feelings of the agitated girl she had left under his care.
"Now where can I take you to? If Mrs. Phillips allowed you to do such a thing as walk through Melbourne with Mrs. Peck, she is not to be trusted with you. Oh, if Peggy were only here—but she is not: your sister told me she had not left Edinburgh."
"Take me back to Mrs. Phillips; she will be as glad to get rid of this woman as you can possibly be," said Elsie.
"But she must have known there was something wrong, for she looked confused and ashamed when I asked for you, and when I settled down to wait till your return, she seemed quite restless till I went away. Indeed, she sent me on an errand in quite a different direction; but I wished to come this way, and thought there was no hurry about her commission. I always knew her to be a fool, but not so wicked and false as this proves her to be."
"I think this woman frightens her," said Elsie.
"She has some hold on her, no doubt. Poor Phillips! we had better say nothing to him about it. So you would really prefer going home to her," said Brandon.
"Yes, certainly," said Elsie; and she paused for a little. "But, Mr. Brandon, I am in want of advice and assistance more than I ever was in my life. I must have it, and have it immediately. Can I rely on you as a friend?"
"Yes, as a friend;—certainly, as a friend," said Brandon, who wondered what revelation was about to be made. Surely no love affair with some one else!
"I believe this woman is the person who calls herself my cousin Francis's mother," said Elsie. "I think she came to Mrs. Phillips's for the express purpose of ingratiating herself with me, in hopes of selling me a secret which she knows, and which she declares will give to Jane and myself the possession of Cross Hall."
"Ah!" said Brandon, slowly; "and is this her little game at present?"
"Now, I have often thought that Francis was not my uncle's son—there is not the slightest family likeness; and she is capable of any fraud or deception. I really knew she was not good when I went out with her, but we had no chance to speak without interruption in the house, and I did not think she was so well known in Melbourne as she appears to be. I know I have done very wrong, but I really had some excuse. If she can prove this——" and Elsie paused, in hopes that Brandon would say something to show that he felt for the greatness of her temptation.
"But, my dear Miss Alice," said Brandon, "she cannot take the property from your cousin. Was it not left to him by will, and left to him because he had proved himself worthy of it?—at least, I believe that is what your sister and Peggy have told me. She tries this game of hers with a girl who knows nothing about business. It is of no use whatever."
"She has no idea about the will, and thinks that Francis got the estate as heir-at-law. But my view of the matter is this, that if Francis is proved not to be our cousin, he might marry Jane, and not lose the property. That is what I aim at, for they love each other, I am quite sure."
"If they do, I wonder he did not throw up the fortune, and set about earning one for himself. It was a good deal to give up, too—a seat in parliament, and such a career as appears before him. But what are wealth and fame compared to love?" said Brandon, who had got rather into heroics.
"I do not like to say much to Jane about it, for it only distresses her; but I think—I am almost sure—that he offered to make the sacrifice, but that Jane would not accept of it. She rejoiced in his useful and honourable life. She would not consent to be his drag and stumbling-block. She must have felt it very hard, too; for I feel she loves him dearly. It was for their sakes that I was so anxious to discover this woman's secret. She wants to be revenged on Francis, who has not answered her letters, and has sent her no money. I am a little surprised at that; but yet I believe that he must have had good reasons for his conduct, for there never was any one more thoroughly conscientious and liberal than the cousin I want to lose—the brother I wish to gain. Would it not be a glorious revenge if this Mrs. Peck, in her spite, were to give him all he wants—the only thing missing in his cup of happiness?"
"Perhaps, then, it is a pity I interrupted you so soon," said Brandon, admiring the generous enthusiasm of the girl; "but you were too dear to me, too precious, to be left in such suspicious company a moment longer than I could help. I came to Melbourne with one purpose—and that was, to entreat you to reconsider the answer you gave to me in the railway carriage."
"I did not know you so well then," said Elsie. "I thought you only pitied me; and now I fear I have given you cause to despise me."
"Nothing of the kind," said Brandon; "nothing of the kind. I love you far more now than I did then; and though I was so stupid and idiotic as to fancy that Miss Phillips would suit me as well, whenever I saw you together her faults came out, and your virtues. I do not wish to take you at a disadvantage. Do not think it ungenerous in me to ask so much just when you are in trouble and perplexity, and need advice and assistance."
"And just when I have appeared in such an unfavourable light," said Elsie, in her low, sweet voice, a little tremulous with the excitement of the scene.
"But I will give you the best help I can, and the best advice my poor head can supply, whether you return my love or not. Do not let that weigh with you for a moment. Nothing I can do can make me deserve you. If I am not bodily on my knees before you—for in a public place like this it would be absurd, and you would not like it—I am mentally on my knees, willing to accept whatever you may choose to give me—love, if possible; but if your heart is otherwise engaged, or if you cannot love such a commonplace fellow as myself, then I will TRY to be contented with friendship. Which shall it be, my dearest Alice?"
"Will you have any objection to accepting of both?" said Alice, in the same tremulous tone.
"None," said Brandon, delighted, "none whatever; indeed, one implies the other, though the other does not imply the one. I cannot express myself distinctly, you see, but you know what I mean. I am not at all a genius, and even this happiness cannot inspire me with fine language. But what can I DO for you?—there is where I hope to show my sense of what I owe to you."
"First, then, we must leave this place and walk home, for I think people are looking at us," said Elsie, trying to collect her thoughts; "and then you must tell me what I am to do with Mrs. Peck, if that is her name. Mrs. Phillips calls her Mrs. Mahoney. The paper you saw in my hand, which she snatched away, was an agreement to pay a sum of money if we were put in possession of Cross Hall. If I had signed it, it would have been of no value to her; but I hesitated about it, for I did not like cheating even her, and making her risk bringing herself to justice for nothing."
"I will go to see her myself, and negotiate for you. I do not think I should have much scruple in outwitting her, for she really deserves it, and it is only letting her over reach herself. Will you give me full powers to act for you?"
"Oh, yes," said Elsie; "if she will only deal with you it will be so much better."
"Upon the footing on which we stand together at present it is quite right and proper that I should do so," said Brandon, accepting the responsibilities of his position with great satisfaction. "You did not get my letter. Emily and your sister told me you sailed before the mail come in, which contained that painful work of composition. I wrote to you whenever I got out to Barragong, and saw that I really had not been so nearly ruined as I thought. I determined to do it on the occasion when I parted with you in the nursery."
"Shall I say, like Miss Harriett Phillips, that I conquered you by making a ballad in your praise? for these men can be led by nothing so well as by vanity and selfishness. No, I will not say it, for I do not think you are either vain or selfish. I should not like you if you were," said Elsie.
"Say LOVE, Alice, it sounds much sweeter, and goes more to my heart. You like your cousin, or no-cousin Francis, but you must LOVE me."
"Well, love be it," said Alice; "but I really love Francis a good deal, too—not as I love you, or as I intend to love you, for I really don't know how I feel just yet, but still not mere liking."
"I am not at all jealous," said Brandon, "though all his literary talents and tastes should make me feel my own inferiority."
"Even Jane never would allow me to say that you were inferior to Francis; she said your talents lay in a different direction. She was sorry that I refused you, and when I came to know you better I was very sorry myself."
"When did you begin to soften to me?" asked Brandon.
"When you said Peggy had taught you so much—when you expressed yourself so warmly and so truly about her."
"Had she not prejudiced you against me in the first place?" said Brandon, hesitatingly.
"Yes, she had," said Elsie, with still greater hesitation.
"By something that she said of me? It was too true I deserved it; but the lesson she taught me has never been forgotten. I do not say that I deserve you, but I mean to try my best to deserve you. But was that your only reason for refusing me?"
"No; I had several. I thought myself a very unfit wife for you, and that you would be cruelly disappointed to get a low-spirited, sickly, useless girl who did not love or esteem you. I really thought I was dying, and it would have been wrong to have thought of marrying under such circumstances; and besides, you could not have cared much about me, or you would not have transferred your affection so easily to a woman so very different in every way."
"Well, it does appear very inconsistent," said Brandon. "When my letter is returned from England, you will see two pages of apologies, and reasons why I was so foolish; but I really thought there was somebody whom you liked better, until that very moment when I caught your eye and your expression when I praised our excellent old friend. Your glance at that time restored me to my allegiance; but the bad news of my affairs next day put love and marriage out of my head, till I came to part from you, and I felt how hard it was. But I am glad to see that I have not seriously injured Miss Phillips by trifling with her affections. She has met with her match at last. I never thought she could have been so well suited."
"I really think they will get on very comfortably."
"How could I ever fancy that woman amiable?" said Brandon. "I thought her really an exceedingly agreeable and clever woman in Derbyshire: when I went out shopping with her on that memorable day, I saw spots on the sun; and the day before yesterday, at Wiriwilta, she appeared to be quite insufferable. I Cannot think enough of my own good luck; I might have been her husband by this time instead of being your lover, which is much pleasanter. What an insipid slow life it would have been, though Grant, I dare say, looks forward to it with complacency. He always used to look down on the colonial girls that our neighbours married, and threatened to go home for a thoroughly accomplished wife; and now one of that stamp has come out to him, and saved him time and money. And Miss Phillips looks far more kindly on him than she ever did on me."
"I do not call it merely good luck," said Elsie; "I think our affairs are in wiser hands than our own."
"And that I should be grateful for that wise guidance, instead of idly congratulating myself that things have turned out so well," said Brandon. "I only know that I feel grateful, though I am in want of words to express it. A man living alone, as I have done for so many years, feels at a loss to speak about these matters. I need a dear good woman like you by my side to teach me to open my heart, for I know I never will be ashamed to speak to you as I feel—though I might stand in some awe of a poetess, too."
"Don't speak about my poetry," said Elsie.
"Am I never to hear that song of Wiriwilta, in which I play such a conspicuous part?" said Brandon.
"Oh, I have forgotten it, for the children got tired of it, and asked for new songs and stories; it was never written down, and I never can recollect my own verses. It shows that they are not genuine poetry, for I have a tenacious memory for anything good of other people's. So, as it is lost for ever, you may imagine it to have been as beautiful as you please."
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