Miss Merivales Mistake | Page 9

mother that a lady wanted her, and she sat down on a chair near
the door, trembling all over.
The room was the ordinary lodging-house sitting-room; but though
there was a litter of toys on the worn carpet, it had evidently been
carefully swept and dusted that morning, and there was a brown jug
filled with fresh daffodils on the centre table. On the side table near
Miss Merivale there was a pile of books. She looked at the titles as she
waited for a step on the stairs--The Civil Service Geography, Hamblin
Smith's Arithmetic, one or two French Readers, a novel by George
MacDonald, and a worn edition of Longfellow's Poems. Miss Merivale
wondered if they all belonged to Rhoda.
She was not kept waiting very long. Almost before she had finished
looking at the books she heard someone coming down the stairs, and
the door opened to admit a tall, angular woman, whose brown hair was
thickly streaked with grey. Miss Merivale found herself unable to begin
at once to make the inquiries she had come to make, and fell back on
the programmes she wanted typewritten. Mrs. M'Alister eagerly
promised that Rhoda would undertake the work. She had not a
typewriter of her own, but a friend would lend the use of hers, and Miss
Merivale might rely on the work being done punctually.

"It is very kind of Miss Desborough to recommend Rhoda," she said in
her anxious voice. "It is difficult to get work in London, we find."
"You have lately come from Australia, have you not?" asked Miss
Merivale gently.
Mrs. M'Alister was too simple-minded to discern the profound agitation
that lay beneath Miss Merivale's quiet manner. And the kind voice and
kind, gentle face of her visitor led her to be more confidential than was
her wont with strangers.
"Yes, we came back just before Christmas. When my husband died, I
felt I must come home. My brothers offered to help me with the boys.
Rhoda has taken the youngest down to one of his uncles to-day. But it's
only in Essex; she will be back to-night."
She said the last words hurriedly, as if afraid of wearying her visitor.
She little knew how Miss Merivale was hanging on her words.
"Your niece must be a great comfort to you," Miss Merivale said, after
a moment's pause. "Has she always lived with you?"
"As good as always. She wasn't five when we had her first. Her father
was our nearest neighbour; we were living up in the hills then, fifty
miles from a town. She used to stay with us for days together while her
father went off after cattle. And when he died we brought her home for
good. I haven't a girl of my own, but I've never known what it is to
miss one. Rhoda's no kith or kin to us, but she has been a daughter to
me, all the same, and a sister to the boys. We've had a hard fight since
we came home, for my brothers have been unfortunate lately, and are
not able to help us as they wanted to; but Rhoda hasn't lost heart for a
moment."
Mrs. M'Alister had been drawn into making this long speech by the
eager look of interest she saw in Miss Merivale's face; but now she
stopped short, her pale face flushing a little. She felt afraid lest Miss
Merivale might think she was asking for help.

"Then I suppose she had no relatives of her own?" asked Miss Merivale,
after a pause, in which she had been struggling for her voice.
"She had some on her mother's side. I never heard their names. But her
father seemed certain that they would be unkind to the child, and he
was thankful when we promised to keep her. He was a queer, silent sort
of man. We never knew much about him, except that he had lived in
Adelaide. But he was mother and father both to Rhoda. He was just
wrapped up in her. It was a pretty sight to see them together."
There were many questions Miss Merivale would have liked to ask, but
she had not the courage to. She was afraid of betraying herself. She no
longer felt any doubt about Rhoda's parentage. James Sampson had not
perished in the bush, but had hidden himself in that lonely spot up
among the hills, where either no news of the will had reached him, or
he had deliberately refrained from communicating with England.
Perhaps he thought that his girl would be happier with the kind
M'Alisters than with her rich English relatives.
But the most probable supposition was that he had never heard of the
will. Mrs. M'Alister had said that they were living fifty miles from a