Within twenty-four hours after Peggy got back to her old home, it

was known all over the mountains that she meant business, and would

make a claim on William Grant's estate. Rumour, of course, supplied

all the needful details. It was said, and even sworn to, that

Peggy had her marriage lines put by in a big iron box, ready to

be produced at the proper time. Other authorities knew for a fact

that she had no proofs, but that the family at Kuryong were going

to give her any sum from a thousand pounds to a million, to cancel

her claim and save exposure.

As a matter of fact, none of those who talked knew anything

whatever. Peggy confided in no one but Red Mick, and that worthy

had had enough legal experience of a rough and ready sort to know

that things must be kept quiet till the proper time. But by way of

getting ready for action Red Mick and his sister one fine morning

rode up to Gavan Blake's office to consult him as to what they

should do.

Blake was not at all surprised to see them. He, of course, had heard

all the rumours that were afloat, and knew that if Peggy brought

forward any claim he would be asked to act for her professionally.

He had not quite decided whether he would act or not. In his hard

commonsense mind he saw next to no possibility of Peggy having a

bona fide case. He did not suppose for a moment that William Grant

would have run his neck into a bigamy noose; and it would put the

young lawyer in a very awkward position with Mary Grant if, after

saving her life and posing as her friend, he carried on a blackmailing

suit against her. At the same time, he felt that it could do no

harm to either side to investigate Peggy's case; there might be

awkward things that he could help to suppress. So with expectancy

and not a little amusement he saw his clients ride up and tie their

horses to the fence outside his office, and watched Peggy straighten

her ruffled plumage before entering.

They came in at the door with a seriousness worthy of the occasion.

Peggy heaved a subdued sigh and settled in a chair. Red Mick opened

the conversation.

"Mornin' to you, Gavan," he said.

By virtue of his relationship Mick was privileged to call his

brilliant nephew by his Christian name. To the rest of the clans

Gavan was Mr. Blake.

"Good-morning, Mick. Good-morning, Peggy. Have you had any rain?"

In the bush no one would think of introducing discussion without

a remark about the weather.

"Jist a few drops," said Red Mick gloomily. "Do us no good at

all. Things is looking terrible bad, so they are. But we want to

see ye--" and here he dropped his voice, rose, and cautiously closed

the door--"Peggy here, Mrs. Grant, d'ye see,"--Mick got the name

out without an effort--"she wants to see ye about making a claim

on the estate. 'Tis time she done somethin'. All these years left

to shift for herself--"




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