Chapter II.

Mrs. Peck

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 up 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 gray hair untidily gathered under a dingy black cap, with bright, though soiled yellow flowers stuck in it; her eyes, which had still 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 blackguardly, 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 hopes as 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?  A 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 am a living woman.”

“Don’t go into such a scot, woman.  Then, if it is not from young Cross Hall, what has 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 pound 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!”