Tom did not feel called upon to answer this. He was determined to find out at once how much Mr. Harding knew about Rhoda’s father and mother. “My aunt and I were talking about you yesterday, Mr. Harding, but we had no idea that you were in England.”
Mr. Harding turned his keen black eyes upon him. “No, I only landed last week.”
“My aunt has some reason to believe that Miss Sampson is related to her,” Tom hurried on. “You knew her father well, I believe?”
Mr. Harding’s answer was emphatic. “I should say I did, sir. Poor old Jack and I were boys together. Why, he married a cousin of mine, as good as a sister. And we should have been partners now if he hadn’t died. Some people never understood Jack, and after Jenny died he got queerer than ever; but he and I never had a cloud between us.”
Tom had stopped still in the road. The ground seemed to be swaying under his feet, and something caught him in the throat so that he could scarcely speak. “Was your cousin Rhoda’s mother?” he asked.
“Yes; she was their only child. I knew she was safe and happy with the M’Alisters, or I would have looked after her more. I’ve no chick nor child of my own, and I mean Rhoda to have a big slice of what I’ve got to leave.”
Tom did not catch the last words clearly. “My aunt’s sister married a Mr. James Sampson,” he hurried to say. “Was he related to Miss Sampson’s father?”
“Ah, that was Jim. He got lost in the bush, poor fellow. He had his girl with him. Yes, he was Jack’s brother. They lived close together in Melbourne. I fancy Rhoda was named after Jim’s little girl. They were about the same age; but Jenny died when Rhoda was a year old, and Jack left Melbourne for Adelaide.”
When Tom and Mr. Harding reached the house, he went hastily in search of his aunt. He found her in her own room, her eyes dim with weeping. She started up at the sight of his face.
“Oh, Tom, what have you come to tell me?”