“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.