“Since you ask my advice, I will give it, such as it is.  I think I should in your circumstances make some inquiries; and you have come to the place where you are most likely to have them answered.  I dare say Mr. Phillips knows Mr. Talbot, for I have heard his name in conversation; and if you have no objections to telling him about this letter, he could write—­or, better still, Mr. Brandon, who talks of returning very soon, could make personal inquiries about this Mrs. Peck.  It is quite possible she may be an impostor; for a good deal has been said in the newspapers about your inheriting Cross Hall, and she evidently has not got the right account of the story.  She supposes you get it as heir-at-law, and not by will.  It is an easy way of extorting money, to give out that one is a near relation of yours, and especially one of whom you have cause to be ashamed.  Her story of a yearly allowance does not agree with Mr. McFarlane’s impression either; but that may be policy—­not positive unfounded fabrication.  The orthography of this letter is not good; but the expressions are more like vulgar English than Scotch.  Your mother’s name was Scotch; and it was, at all events, a Scotch marriage.  Will you speak to Mr. Phillips on this subject.  He is kind, sensible, and discreet.”

“Yes, I will.  You think I ought to do so?”

“He is at home just now.  Suppose I ask him to come to see you?”

Francis agreed, and was pleased with the kind reception which Jane’s employer gave to him, as her cousin.  He praised Miss Melville very highly, and said that in every point of view she was a treasure in his house.  He then gave slighter praise to Elsie; but still spoke very feelingly of the position of both girls.

After a few such remarks, Francis asked Mr. Phillips if he knew Mr. Talbot, a solicitor in Melbourne.

“Yes, by sight and by reputation very well; but he was not a personal acquaintance of mine.  Mr. Brandon was a client of his, and so was Peggy Walker; they could give you any information about him you might require.”

“I suppose it is of no use asking you such a question—­but do you know anything of a woman called Mrs. Peck—­Elizabeth Peck, a client of-----?”

The expression of Mr. Phillips’s face stopped Francis’ hesitating disclosure.

“Have nothing to do with her,” said he—­“a bad one, if ever there was one on this earth.  Good Heavens! what am I to hear next?”

“She says she is my mother,” said Francis.

“Perhaps it is not the same woman,” said Mr. Phillips.  “Your mother! that must be a very old story; you look to be forty, or thereabouts.  It must be a different person.”

The trouble of Mr. Phillips’s manner was undergoing some improvement.  He walked across the room two or three times, and then said more steadily: 

“Has she written to you?  Would you let me see the hand writing?” The address was in a different hand from the letter itself, so Francis could not but show Mr. Phillips the body of the letter.