"Would you settle this case if they offered you something?" he
said.
"I'll do whatever you say," said Peggy, rising. "'Tis for you to
say what I ought to do. 'Tis not for the like of me, that is no
scholar."
"Leave it to me," said Blake. "I'll do what is best for you. Send
Martin Doyle in to see me, Martin that was the witness. And about
this copy of the certificate, tell Mick to bring it in here. Now
you go home, and don't you say to one living soul one word of what
has passed in here. Tell them you are going on with the case, but
don't say any more, or you may land yourself in gaol. Do you hear
me?"
And the cowed and flustered Peggy hurried away to join her brother,
who was far too wise to ask questions.
"Least said soonest mended," he said, when told that Blake required
silence.
After his clients had gone, Gavan Blake sat for half an hour almost
dazed. If Peggy's story was true, then Mary Grant was an outcast
instead of a great heiress. And while he had become genuinely fond
of her (which he never was of Ellen Harriott), he had no idea of
asking her to share his debts with him. He puzzled over the affair
for a long time, and at last his clear brain saw a way out of all
difficulties. He would go over to the old station, put the whole
case before Mary Grant, and induce her for peace' sake to give
Peggy money to withdraw her claim. Out of this money he himself
would keep enough to pay all his pressing debts. He would be that
much to the good whatever happened, and afterwards would have an
added claim on Mary Grant's sympathies for having relieved her of
a vast lawsuit in which her fortune, and even her very name, were
involved.
This plan seemed to him the best for all parties--for himself
especially, which was the most important thing. If he could get a
large sum to settle the case, he could make Peggy give him a big
share for his trouble, and then at last be free from the haunting
fear of exposure and ruin. He felt sure that he was doing quite
right in advising Mary Grant to pay.
Again and again he ran over Peggy's case in his mind, and could
see no flaw in it. In the old days haphazard marriages were rather
the rule than the exception, and such things as registers were
never heard of in far-out parts. His trained mind, going through
the various questions that a cross-examiner would ask, and supplying
the requisite answers, decided that, though it might seem a trifle
improbable, there was nothing contradictory about Peggy's story.
A jury would sympathise with her, and the decisions of the Courts
all leaned towards presuming marriage where certain circumstances
existed. By settling the case he would do Mary Grant a real
kindness. And afterwards--well, she would probably be as grateful
as when he had saved her life. He saw himself the hero of the hour:
ever prompt to decide, he saddled a horse, and at once rode off to
Kuryong to put the matter before her.