“I will make myself honoured, obeyed, perhaps even loved, by means of that one talisman that has survived the ages, and can still work efficiently in this extremely practical world in which I find myself. Money alone will give me the social position which will make life worth living. I will strive to make myself rich.” This had been the young lady’s keynote of thought and action since the day when she found herself dependent upon an uncle’s generosity. Much had it marred the original beauty of her pure, æsthetic soul.
In addition to her duties as hostess and commander-in-chief over the native contingent of her widower-uncle’s household, Lileth was also his secretary.
The ladies of an up-country squatter’s family very often act in this capacity, for they are generally better educated than the ‘boss,’ and, moreover, have plenty of leisure time.
Miss Mundella was glad to find herself in this position of trust, for it afforded her the means she sought of strengthening her hands for the ambitious coup d’état, that she intended to put into practice some day. Already Giles’s niece had profited by the opportunities her secretaryship gave her, by learning far more of her uncle’s past career than that jolly-looking, selfishly-cunning, middle-aged gentleman had any idea.
Wilson Giles was afraid of his niece. A fast youth had enervated his mental powers considerably, and without knowing it, he fell by degrees nearly entirely under the almost mesmeric influence of Lileth’s dark eyes and powerful will, whilst yet he fondly half-flattered himself that he was only acting the part of the “generous relation.” The two had only had one serious struggle for supremacy: it was in reference to Miss Mundella’s brother. This young man had held a position in a southern bank for some years, but being discovered in running a nice little private discount and loan business over the “teller’s counter” at which he presided, he was forced to seek fresh fields of labour.
Lileth won the battle with her uncle, “hands down,” and her brother became a “rouse about” (apprentice on a run) at Murdaro station.
That her uncle was indebted to a large amount to the late Dr. Dyesart she knew well; she believed the two men, also, to be partners in the run. But this was one of the few things she found herself unable to pry fully into. Miss Mundella had taken charge of the letter from the dead explorer, which faithful Billy had curiously brought to the very station his late master had been so much interested in. She had, moreover, carefully opened the packet which contained the message from the dead; not from idle curiosity, but with the idea that it probably contained something that would assist her in her plans. The words of the letter she saw at once clearly pointed to three things: firstly, a reparation or gift to be made to some one through the nephew; secondly, a command to this nephew to visit the grave of the writer; thirdly, a suspicion of the honesty of squatters,—possibly a concealed distrust of her uncle Wilson Giles himself.
Miss Mundella’s first thoughts were to destroy the letter, but upon consideration she thought she saw in it a means of obtaining further command over her uncle, and so sent it on its road to New Zealand.
She must act, and act quickly, for her brother had informed her from Sydney of young Angland’s departure for the north; but before she could move in the matter she must know more of the relations that had existed between Dyesart and her uncle.
The young lady is sitting wrapped in these cogitations, oblivious of the snake-hunting cats and meteoric lizards, when we first see her, rocking herself gently under the cool and shady verandah. Presently a light step is heard in the large room whose French windows open upon Miss Mundella’s leafy retreat, and the little figure of an aboriginal girl appears, her dark limbs and cream-coloured gown making her resemble one of those composite statues of bronze and marble.