Chapter XIII.

Not So Bad, After All

Perhaps there never was a romantic communication made to five more prosaic-looking people than the accredited agents of the societies. Middle-aged and elderly men, who, if they ever took up a novel, skipped the love passages, and in all instances preferred to read newspapers. They were very much bewildered at the purpose of their being called together. They had thought there must have been a codicil found to the very strange will of which they had had a copy sent to their societies, as being, though in a very unlikely contingency, possibly interested, and that it was possible they were to receive a small sum IN ESSE, instead of the large one IN POSSE. But when Mr. MacFarlane produced no codicil, but read to them gravely Mrs. Peck's confession instead, and paused at the conclusion, as if he expected them to express an opinion, they looked at each other for a few seconds, unwilling to commit themselves by initiating any remark whatever. At last the boldest of the number observed that it was a strange story, which the others agreed to unanimously.

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

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

"Of course it does not at all invalidate Mr. Hogarth, my client's right to the estate, moveable and heritable, of the late Hogarth, of Cross Hall," said Mr. MacFarlane, "for you know that was left to him by will."

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

"But what was the use of calling us all here," said the representative of the Deaf and Dumb Asylum, "to tell us that Cross Hall left his property perhaps by a mistake? Had he claimed as heir-of-entail or as heir-at-law the case would have been different; but it would have been our business to have found out that, or the next heir's, and certainly not the present possessor's."

"You will observe," said Francis, "that I hold the property under conditions—one is, that I shall not marry either of my cousins. If Jane Melville is not my cousin, marrying her, and restoring her to the property, which she has a better right to than I have—should not invalidate my right by this will."

"Oh, that is a very different affair," said the Deaf and Dumb delegate. "You want to marry Miss Melville, and to keep the estate too."

"Yes, if I can legally. I know that if Mr. Hogarth was alive at this day, and could see this confession, he would believe it, and he would no longer see any bar to my marriage with his niece. If he could see how well and how bravely his nieces have battled with the world he would require no further trial of their fortitude or patience."

"We would never think of disturbing you in possession of Cross Hall, so long as you fulfil the conditions of the will," said the delegate from the Blind Asylum.

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

"But such a step as you contemplate is so flagrant a violation of the spirit and purport of Mr. Hogarth's will—for, right or wrong, he never meant Jane Melville to be mistress of Cross Hall—that we must claim our just rights. This confession, given with the hope of extorting money from the supposed heirs of Mr. Hogarth, is worthless, particularly considering the character of the person who makes it. I think you have no case whatever: do not you agree with me?" said the director of the Deaf and Dumb Asylum—one who took the greatest possible interest in the working and the prosperity of that charity, the funds of which were rather at a low ebb at this time. "We cannot be supposed to be actuated by selfish motives; we are perfectly disinterested trustees for great public interests; but if property is left to these institutions, we would be wanting in our duty if we did not claim it."

The other four directors took the same view of the case. None of them would agree to leave Francis unmolested, if he took the step he meditated.

"But you observe," said Francis, "that this will has been the cause of great injustice. In the first place, Mr. Hogarth's two nieces had been brought up as his heirs, and they were left to struggle with difficulties and hardships which were harder and more severe than any man has to go through—and for which the education their uncle had given them had not made them more fitted. In the second place, he left the property to me as supposing me to be his son. If this confession is true, I am not his son; but if I marry the woman who in that case is not my cousin, you will not allow me to keep the estate for her, so I am forced to——"

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

"I am forced to make a deed of gift to each of you, as I am really in possession of the estate. I save you all the expense and trouble of litigation, and I have to begin the world again at far greater disadvantage than when I was taken from my bank-desk and my 250 pounds a year two years ago. I have acquired expensive habits; I am two years older, and I shall have a wife and probably a family to maintain."

"There is a great deal of truth in what you say," said the director of the Institution, for the sub-matronship of which Jane Melville had applied in vain. The other four were speechless with astonishment at the extraordinary proposition which Francis made to them. "Litigation is long and expensive. I may say, for my body of directors, that we would be very happy to give some consideration for the very handsome, the very generous, offer you make to us. It is not right to marry without being a little beforehand with the world; and it would be very unfair to accept of all you gained by the will without making a little compensation for what you have lost. Any personal property, books, and furniture, that you would like to keep, to the value of 200 pounds, or thereabouts, and a sum of 400 pounds from each of us, I think would be fair, to give you a start in a new country. I believe Miss Melville is a very deserving lady. If it had not been for her youth we should have had her with us. I hope my friends here will agree with me that this is reasonable and just."

"You get the estate too cheaply," said Mr. MacFarlane, with warmth. "Think that Mr. Hogarth might have kept it for ever if it had not been for this romantic crotchet; think that he might marry Miss Melville, and having possession might defy you to oust him, and drag you through court after court, and run you up 10,000 pounds of costs, and after all the Chancery Courts would decide that he should keep it. Public feeling is against these restrictions, for they lead to people living PAR AMOURS if they are forbidden to marry; and Mr. Hogarth's position and character would be all in his favour. You get property worth 50,000 pounds divided amongst you, and you offer my client a paltry 2,000 pounds out of consideration for his generosity and forbearance."

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

"It IS too little," said the director of the Infirmary, who had never spoken before. "We must make it 500 pounds each; and we are very much obliged to Mr. Hogarth; and we should not limit him so much with regard to the personal property. Cross Hall library was valued at more than 1,000 pounds; and as they are all such reading folk, they might take 200 pounds of books alone. Let us be liberal, and say 700 pounds for what he may like to take from Cross Hall."

"If I have any voice in the administration of the property I make over to you, I should like to have it applied specially to paying your officers better—particularly in those situations which are filled by women. I know you think it right to economize your funds; and I believe that all Scotch charities are much better managed, and much more honestly administered than those on the other side of the Tweed. But I think you pay your surgeons and your matrons very shabbily. You say you get so many applications, that it shows you do not underpay them. But it would be much better to demand better qualifications, and to pay them more highly. Out of sixty applications for a matronship worth 30 pounds a year, there is perhaps one or two only fit for the work; and if they are fit for it, they are well worth 70 pounds," said Francis.

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

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

"We will take what you say into consideration," said the director of the Deaf and Dumb Institution, who was speculating on all that could be done with a sum amounting to more than 9,000 pounds.

"I object to specify sums in making the deed of gift, or I should make some special provision on that score; but the value of money changes so much that what is a fair salary in one generation is not a fair one the next, and if salaries are fixed too high they are apt to lead to favoritism and jobbing. I dare say it would be better to trust to your own sense of honour on the matter."

"I think you may safely do so, Mr. Hogarth. With regard to the property, I suppose we should advertise it for sale and then divide the proceeds. The payments to Mr. Hogarth must be made at once, however, as I suppose he is bound for Australia," said the director of the Deaf and Dumb Asylum.

"Yes, in the first ship, in which some friends of mine are going," said Francis.

"I am sure we wish you all prosperity and all happiness in the marriage you contemplate, which has been so fortunate for those in whom we are interested," said the last speaker, and the sentiment was echoed by all the others.

"Could not you buy Cross Hall?" said Francis to Miss Thomson on the day after this matter was settled. "I should feel half my sorrow at parting with it removed if I knew you could have it."

"No, no; I am not going to buy a property that I cannot pay for. My father did something of the kind once, and all the time he was a laird we were poor. He sold the property at a great loss, and then things looked up again with him. I'd rather be a rich farmer than a poor proprietor."

"If I could see you in possession of Cross Hall, and Mr. Sinclair in my seat in Parliament, I should really have very little to give up; but it appears I cannot. I have accepted the stewardship of Her Majesty's Chiltern Hundreds to-day, and the burghs will be declared vacant directly. But Mr. Sinclair cannot afford it; and he could not carry the election. His manner is not good enough; he does not conciliate people. If our scheme were carried there would be no fear of Sinclair getting in, for he is a man really wanted. He could get a sufficient number of votes here to carry him half in, and the remainder of the quota would be attracted by his original genius and upright character, which he could show by his speeches and addresses; and we hope to make a seat in Parliament a much less costly affair—50 pounds or 100 pounds should cover it all. But I fear the burghs must fall back on either the Duke's nominee or the Earl's."

"Then are you more sorry to leave your people at Cross Hall, or your parliamentary duties?" said Miss Thomson.

"The people at Cross Hall I think are really in a much better position than when I came; and, perhaps, it is as well for them to be left to work out things for themselves. I have become much attached to them, but perhaps if I stayed there, they would depend too much upon me. But in Parliament, I have not yet broken ground in the work I had set myself to do: and I confess that I do regret it, both for my own sake, for the sake of my friends who depended on me, and for the sake of the dear old country itself. There may be more able men and more energetic men in Parliament; but I am sure there are none whose heart was more in the work than mine. But that was Jane's doing. I know if she had not urged these matters on me, I would very likely have spent my life in indolent enjoyment. Without the one drop of bitter in my cup, in the sufferings of Jane and Elsie, I never could have felt the responsibilities of wealth. I should have made a fine picture-gallery at Cross Hall, and probably acquired a name as a man of good taste, but the higher objects of life would have been lost sight of."

The farewell address to his constituents was next written and read, with genuine sorrow on both sides. The farewells at Cross Hall were taken, and the establishment broke up; but Susan (the housemaid), when she heard that the master was going to Australia, with the purpose of marrying Miss Jane, begged to go with Peggy Walker's family, in hopes of being engaged in the service of the best master and the best mistress she ever saw. And her request was acceded to.

Next came the journey to London, and the preparations for the voyage, and the hardest task of all—the parting from the friends and the objects he had so much at heart there.

He had written a full explanation of his conduct to his coadjutors in London on his resigning his seat; and, though there was no reproach, there was a great deal of regret, for there was not another man either able or willing to take the part which Francis had purposed to hold for any number of years in which he might be in Parliament.

Chapter XIV.

Meeting

Jane Melville was very much surprised at the extraordinary news that Elsie wrote to her with regard to Mrs. Peck's revelations to herself and Mr. Brandon. Though she was quite prepared for a very interesting letter on their own private affairs, she felt this touch her still more nearly. She was sorry that Elsie had written to Francis on the subject without consulting her, and that she had to wait a whole month before she could assure him that this confession made no difference in her feeling of regard and affection towards him, or in her pride in his career, saying that she hoped he was now satisfied that he was the son of honest and loving parents, though unknown ones; rejoicing that he had got quit of such a mother as Mrs. Peck; and expressing the pleasure with which she read his speeches, and her interest in the objects with which he had in a measure identified himself. She tried to think that all was with them as before, and that, though no longer his cousin, she might continue to be his affectionate and sympathizing friend.

Elsie s marriage gave to her sister great and unmixed pleasure. It took place very shortly after Brandon had obtained her consent, and Emily and Jane went to Melbourne to act as bridesmaids; and Edgar, too, was needed on such an occasion as this. Although there were twenty miles between Wiriwilta and Barragong, the sisters contrived to see a good deal of each other. Mrs. Phillips was kinder and more cordial to the Melvilles than before; and now that Elsie had an ascertained position as Brandon's wife, even Miss Phillips could not condescend quite so much to her.

During Brandon's honeymoon, Dr. Grant had got matters in such excellent train that he made his proposal in due form, and was accepted; but there could not be such promptitude in carrying it out as in Brandon's case, for he could never think of taking a lady of Miss Phillips's pretensions to Ben More without making considerable additions and improvements on it, and the masons and carpenters were very slow about their work. The pangs occasioned by delay were sweetened by frequent and long visits; and the plan of his house, and of the garden which he was laying out and planting, was constantly in the hands of the betrothed lovers for mutual suggestions and admiration. At last the day was fixed, and it was to be a very grand affair. There was to be a special licence, and she was to be married from her brother's house, as there was no English church within reasonable distance. The Lord Bishop of Melbourne was to come out to perform the ceremony, and all the neighbours from far and near were invited;—the Ballantynes and some of their town acquaintance besides. There were to be thirty-five at breakfast; and little or nothing could be had from town, so there was an extraordinary amount of cooking going on at Wiriwilta. Mrs. Bennett, who was worth any two of the women servants in the house, was going hither and thither, and surpassing herself in her culinary successes. Emily was instructing Harriett how she was to behave on the following day as bridesmaid, for the two little girls were to support their aunt on the trying occasion; and after officiating in that capacity at the marriage of her favourites, Brandon and Alice, Emily felt quite experienced on the subject. Their dresses were very pretty; and as for Miss Phillips's, it was magnificent, for she thought, if there ever was an occasion on which one should be richly dressed, it was on an occasion like this. Mrs. Phillips had been persuaded for once to allow her sister-in-law to outshine her, at least so far as she could do so. Jane was as busy in the kitchen as any one; when she was called away by Miss Phillips, to be consulted as to how her veil should be disposed of, for Mrs. Phillips had declined to give an opinion—and there were two modes of arranging it that she was doubtful about. Could not Miss Melville settle that knotty point?

"I really cannot say; one seems to me to look as well as the other," said Jane.

"That is very unsatisfactory," said Harriett. "I know they are not equally becoming."

"Elsie will be here this evening," said Jane, "or early to-morrow morning; and I am sure she will be most happy to give the last touches to your dress. Her taste is good, and you know how wretched mine is."

"Well, I suppose I must trust to that; but I should prefer to have everything settled to-day, so that my mind might be quite easy. I should not like to look flurried to-morrow. I must ask Dr. Grant when he comes in. Perhaps he will give me an idea. Your sister's dress was very simple, she told me; but then the affair was so hurried—there was no time to make preparations. We have not that excuse, thanks to those tiresome tradespeople. But Alice and Brandon seem to get on pretty comfortably."

"Very happily, I think," said Jane.

"Oh, yes, he is good-natured enough, and I dare say, very kind to her, and she seems quite satisfied. But I have been just thinking how difficult it would have been for me to have been suited in such a colony as this if I had not been so fortunate as to meet with Dr. Grant. Being a professional man, he is necessarily an educated man, and you know how much that weighs with me; and he has the manners of a gentleman, which are also indispensable to my happiness in marriage. None of your rough, boorish bushmen, who can only talk of sheep and cattle, could possibly have done for me. Then, his family connections are most unexceptionable; my own relations cannot feel in any way compromised by such an alliance. The near neighbourhood (as I suppose it must be called) to Wiriwilta, and even to Barragong, makes it very pleasant. I should not have at all liked marrying to be at distance from my brother and his family. Coming out, as I did, on their account principally, it would be dreadful for all of us if we were separated. I am sure I am quite pleased, too, to have your sister and Brandon as neighbours. Alice looks quite a different person now she has a house of her own. I don't call her pretty—I never did; but she looks very well indeed at Barragong, and seems to get on wonderful well, considering."

"Considering what?" was about to come from Jane's lips, for she had never liked Miss Phillips's condescending way of talking about her sister; but she checked herself, for it was no use to argue with the bride on the eve of her wedding-day, and gave an indifferent and conciliatory reply; but the conversation was here interrupted by the entrance of two old friends, not any of the party invited for the morrow, but two large beautiful dogs, who ran up to Jane with the wildest expressions of canine delight.

"Oh, Nep! oh Flora!" said Jane, "where have you come from? Who can have brought you here? Poor old fellows! dear old fellows!" And the favourites from Cross Hall laid their happy heads in her lap, and rejoiced in their old mistress's caresses.

"What beauties!" said Miss Phillips; "but I do not like dogs in the drawing-room."

"I will take them out," said Jane, trembling with wonder and agitation. She went out of the room, and at the hall door, which stood (bush fashion) hospitably open, she saw Francis standing, allowing Nep and Flora, who seemed to know there was a friend in the house, to make an entrance and introduce themselves. She extended her hand, but he clasped her in his arms.

"Not farewell this time, dearest Jane. I have come for you, and I will not be refused. When we parted I said you knew I loved you, and now I believe you love me. I have given up everything—the property, the seat in Parliament; and now that I have no career to relinquish, perhaps you will acknowledge that you love me?"

"Oh, Francis, I have always loved you! but I could have lived without you all my life if I had thought it for your good and your happiness. I could not bear to be your stumbling-block. But is it really the case? did you believe that strange story? have you given up what you made such good use of?"

"Come out into the garden with me, and I will tell you all about it;" and Francis led Jane where they were more secure from interruption. Flora and Nep followed them in the greatest exuberance of spirits.

"I had to stay one day in Melbourne, and found that I could get a situation there as accountant in a merchant's office, at 300 pounds to begin with. I had Mr. Rennie's testimonial to speak for me. It is not so much as my 50 pounds in Edinburgh; but will you marry me on that?" said Francis.

"I would marry you on less," said Jane, "for my own part of it; but you care more for comfort and luxury than I do. If you will consent to be cheerfully without what we cannot afford, I will do my best."

"I have been roughing it a little on board ship; you may ask Peggy and Mary Forrester if I have not. But I hope to get on, for your sake, if not for my own. I feel just like a boy again beginning the world, and feeling it is all his for the winning."

"But your plans—your ambitions—are they all given up? You know the property was really yours—as much yours without a name as with my uncle's. I am sorry you were so rash."

"No, Jane, don't be sorry; don't be anything but very glad. I never was so happy in my life. I left all my regrets on the other side of the world. Now, when I have your hand in mine, your heart in my keeping, when you have promised to give yourself to me, I will not feel that I have cause for anything but devout gratitude to our Heavenly Father, and humble but confident hope that He will bless our union. My dearest love, do look in my face and say you are happy."

"Yes, I am happy," said Jane, "very happy. Thank God for all his goodness."

"But what are we to do for a name? I ought not to be Hogarth, or Ormistown, or Francis either. Can you give me a new name to begin our new life with?"

"I think we will still call you Francis Hogarth; it is the name I learned to love you by, and I think if my poor dear uncle saw us now, and saw how we love each other, he would be pleased that my husband should have his name. Then you have really given up everything?" said Jane, who could not at once believe in the fact.

"To the benevolent societies. But they behaved very handsomely, and gave to me—or rather, to you—a sum of money sufficient to better our position. I have not only the 300 pounds a-year—I have 2,500 pounds besides, and a lot of things from Cross Hall to furnish a cottage with. I had to leave the horses, but I thought you and Elsie would like the dogs. Susan helped to pack the furniture; and I have brought her out to go into your service in any capacity. I suppose we can afford to keep one domestic on our small means, even in Melbourne."

"I suppose the rest of the establishment were sorry to lose a good master," said Jane; "and the labourers, too—what about your arrangements there?"

"The cottages were built and the allotments made over securely, and I think they are the better, and not the worse, for my two years' tenure of Cross Hall. As for the political and social reforms, I have no doubt that there are five hundred men in England as good as me. Sinclair is as good an apostle of my crotchets as I could be, only he is not in the House. I will not be so insincere as to say that I did not give up my parliamentary life with the greatest regret. That really was THE sacrifice. You must be very, very kind to me on that account; but you know that I could not, as an honest man, keep property which had been bequeathed to me under such a mistake. You would not have done it under the circumstances. I tried to save it for you, to whom it ought to have been left; but after consulting the best authorities I found I could not do so, for your uncle's will was so distinct in excluding you from any benefit from his estate. So, Jane, you must say that you are glad. Don't look as if you were anything but my guiding-star—the life of my life—all the world to me. A hindrance, a stumbling-block! Without you I should have had no high aims, no noble ambition. If I had done little or nothing, I have learned a great deal; so

"'Love me for the sake of what I am,
And not of what I do.'"

"You know that I will be only too happy to be your wife, Francis," said Jane.

"And perhaps if I get on well here I may go into political life in the colony and do the work I was sent into the world for at the other end of it. Then when are you going to give yourself to me?"

"As soon as I can possibly leave this family. We must let Mr. Phillips know immediately. How surprised Elsie will be!"

"Not so much as you are, I fancy. Bless her for writing me that letter; there is not one of yours that I prize more. But with regard to the Phillipses, Miss Marry Forrester, I think, would be very happy to take your place; and, from all I can see of her, she will do admirably. Did you really want me to fall in love with her?"

"I wanted you to be happy, and I thought she could make you so. You do not understand how unselfish a woman's love can be. Then, if Miss Forrester can take my place here, there need be no delay."

"You make none on your part, like a good, honest girl, as you are."

"Why should I? We have loved each other for two years. Our wedding will be the simplest affair possible. Why should I pretend to wish to delay what will be my happiness as well as yours? Oh, Francis! though I could not have wished you to make the sacrifices you have made for my poor sake, yet, now that it is done, it is not a half-heart I give you. I will try to give you no cause to regret what I have cost you. Oh, how glad I am to be able to tell you frankly how dear you are to me!"