Volume Four—Chapter Eleven.The Doctor Gives Way.The doctor was up there soon after sunrise to find Mrs Hallam and Julia by Eaton’s couch, they having come down to take Crellock’s place shortly after daybreak.“Good-morning. How is he?” said the doctor, quickly. “Mrs Hallam, you look ill yourself.”“Nervous excitement. This trouble,” said Mrs Hallam, quietly; and she left the room with Julia, after answering a few questions.The doctor examined the injury to the head, which was sufficiently grave, and then proceeded to re-bandage the shoulder that had been dislocated, watching the young man’s face, however, the while.He felt the strained sinews, pressed on this bone, then on that, causing intense pain, and making his patient wince again and again; but though the muscles of his face twitched, and his lips involuntarily tightened, he did not even moan till, passing one hand beneath his shoulder, the doctor pressed on the bones again, when, with a sharp cry, Eaton drew in his breath.“Hang it, doctor,” he whispered, quickly, “it’s like molten lead.”“Ah, I thought that would make you speak, Phil. You confounded young humbug! I saw you were shamming.”“No, no, doctor, not shamming. My head aches frightfully, and I can’t move my arm.”“But you could get up and walk down to barracks to breakfast?”“No, indeed I couldn’t, doctor.”“It’s a lie, sir. If the enemy were after you, I’ll be bound to say you would get up and run.”“By George, I wouldn’t!” whispered Eaton.“Well, get up and have a go at them, my boy.”“Perhaps I might do that,” said the young man, with the blood coming in his white face.“Pretty sort of a soldier, lying here because you’ve had your shoulder out, and a crack on the head. Why I’ve seen men behave better after a bullet wound, or a bayonet thrust.”“But there is no need for me to behave better, as you call it, and one gets well so much more quickly lying still.”“With a couple of women paddling about you, and making you gruel and sop. There, get up, and I’ll make you a sling for that arm.”“No, no, doctor. Pray, don’t.”“Get up, sir.”“Hush! Don’t speak so loudly,” whispered Eaton.“Ah-h-h! I see,” said the doctor, “that’s it, is it? Why how dense I am! Want to stop a few days, and be nursed, eh?”Eaton nodded.“Fair face to sympathise. White hands to feed you with a spoon. Oh, I say, Phil Eaton! No, no! I’ve got my duty to do, and I’m not going to back up this bit of deceit.”“I wouldn’t ask you if there was anything to call for me, doctor,” pleaded Eaton; “but I am hurt, there’s no sham about that.”“Well, no; you are hurt, my lad. That’s a nasty crack on the head, and your shoulder must be sore.”“Sore!” said Eaton. “You’ve made it agonising.”“Well, well, a few days’ holiday will do you good. But no; I’m not going to be dragged up here to see you.”“I don’t want to see you, doctor. I’m sure I shall get well without your help. Pray don’t have me fetched down.”“I say, Phil,” said the doctor; “look me in the face.”“Yes.”“Is it serious? You know—with her.”“Very, doctor.”“But it’s awkward. The young lady’s father!”“Miss Hallam is not answerable for her father’s sins,” said Eaton warmly.“But the young lady—does she accept?”Eaton shook his head.“Not yet,” he said; “and now that the opportunity serves to clinch the matter you want to get me away. Doctor, for once—be human.”Doctor Woodhouse sat with his chubby face pursed up for a few minutes, gazing down in the young man’s imploring countenance without speaking.“Well, well,” he said, “I was a boy myself once, and horribly in love. I’ll give you a week, Phil.”“And I’ll give you a life’s gratitude,” cried the young man joyfully.“Why, by all that’s wonderful,” cried the doctor, with mock surprise, “I’ve cured him on the spot! Here, let me take off your bandages, so that you may get up and dance. Eh? Poor lad, he is a good deal hurt though,” he continued, as he saw the colour fade from the young man’s face, and the cold dew begin to form. “A few days will do him good, I believe. He is, honestly, a little too bad to move.”He bathed his face, and moistened his lips with a few drops of liquid from a flask, and in a few minutes Eaton looked wonderingly round.“Easier, boy? That’s it. Yes, you may stay, and you had better be quiet. Feel so sick now?”“Not quite, doctor. Oh! I am so glad I really am ill.”The doctor smiled, and summoned Mrs Hallam, who came in with Julia.“I must ask you to play hostess to my young friend here. He shan’t die on your hands.”Julia turned pale, and glanced from one to the other quickly.“Mr Eaton shall have every attention we can give him,” said Mrs Hallam, smiling; and the doctor looked with surprise at the way her pale, careworn face lit up with tenderness and sympathy as she laid her hand upon the young man’s brow.“I’m sure he will,” said the doctor, “and I’ll do my best,” he added, with a quick look at his patient, “to get him off your hands, for he will be a deal of trouble.”“It will be a pleasure,” said Mrs Hallam, speaking in all sincerity. “English women are always ready to nurse the wounded,” she added with a smile.“I wish I could always have such hands to attend my injured men, madam,” said the doctor with formal politeness. “There, I must go at once. Good-bye, Eaton, my boy. You’ll soon be on your legs. Don’t spoil him, ladies; he is not bad. I leave him to you, Mrs Hallam.”She followed the doctor to the door to ask him if he had any directions, received his orders, and then, with a bright, hopeful light in her eyes, she went softly back towards the dining-room. A smile began to glisten about her lips, like sunshine in winter, as she laid her hand upon the door. Then she looked round sharply, for in the midst of that dawning hope of safety for her child there was a heavy step, and the study-door opened.She turned deadly pale, for it was Stephen Crellock’s step; and the words that came from the study were in her husband’s voice.
The doctor was up there soon after sunrise to find Mrs Hallam and Julia by Eaton’s couch, they having come down to take Crellock’s place shortly after daybreak.
“Good-morning. How is he?” said the doctor, quickly. “Mrs Hallam, you look ill yourself.”
“Nervous excitement. This trouble,” said Mrs Hallam, quietly; and she left the room with Julia, after answering a few questions.
The doctor examined the injury to the head, which was sufficiently grave, and then proceeded to re-bandage the shoulder that had been dislocated, watching the young man’s face, however, the while.
He felt the strained sinews, pressed on this bone, then on that, causing intense pain, and making his patient wince again and again; but though the muscles of his face twitched, and his lips involuntarily tightened, he did not even moan till, passing one hand beneath his shoulder, the doctor pressed on the bones again, when, with a sharp cry, Eaton drew in his breath.
“Hang it, doctor,” he whispered, quickly, “it’s like molten lead.”
“Ah, I thought that would make you speak, Phil. You confounded young humbug! I saw you were shamming.”
“No, no, doctor, not shamming. My head aches frightfully, and I can’t move my arm.”
“But you could get up and walk down to barracks to breakfast?”
“No, indeed I couldn’t, doctor.”
“It’s a lie, sir. If the enemy were after you, I’ll be bound to say you would get up and run.”
“By George, I wouldn’t!” whispered Eaton.
“Well, get up and have a go at them, my boy.”
“Perhaps I might do that,” said the young man, with the blood coming in his white face.
“Pretty sort of a soldier, lying here because you’ve had your shoulder out, and a crack on the head. Why I’ve seen men behave better after a bullet wound, or a bayonet thrust.”
“But there is no need for me to behave better, as you call it, and one gets well so much more quickly lying still.”
“With a couple of women paddling about you, and making you gruel and sop. There, get up, and I’ll make you a sling for that arm.”
“No, no, doctor. Pray, don’t.”
“Get up, sir.”
“Hush! Don’t speak so loudly,” whispered Eaton.
“Ah-h-h! I see,” said the doctor, “that’s it, is it? Why how dense I am! Want to stop a few days, and be nursed, eh?”
Eaton nodded.
“Fair face to sympathise. White hands to feed you with a spoon. Oh, I say, Phil Eaton! No, no! I’ve got my duty to do, and I’m not going to back up this bit of deceit.”
“I wouldn’t ask you if there was anything to call for me, doctor,” pleaded Eaton; “but I am hurt, there’s no sham about that.”
“Well, no; you are hurt, my lad. That’s a nasty crack on the head, and your shoulder must be sore.”
“Sore!” said Eaton. “You’ve made it agonising.”
“Well, well, a few days’ holiday will do you good. But no; I’m not going to be dragged up here to see you.”
“I don’t want to see you, doctor. I’m sure I shall get well without your help. Pray don’t have me fetched down.”
“I say, Phil,” said the doctor; “look me in the face.”
“Yes.”
“Is it serious? You know—with her.”
“Very, doctor.”
“But it’s awkward. The young lady’s father!”
“Miss Hallam is not answerable for her father’s sins,” said Eaton warmly.
“But the young lady—does she accept?”
Eaton shook his head.
“Not yet,” he said; “and now that the opportunity serves to clinch the matter you want to get me away. Doctor, for once—be human.”
Doctor Woodhouse sat with his chubby face pursed up for a few minutes, gazing down in the young man’s imploring countenance without speaking.
“Well, well,” he said, “I was a boy myself once, and horribly in love. I’ll give you a week, Phil.”
“And I’ll give you a life’s gratitude,” cried the young man joyfully.
“Why, by all that’s wonderful,” cried the doctor, with mock surprise, “I’ve cured him on the spot! Here, let me take off your bandages, so that you may get up and dance. Eh? Poor lad, he is a good deal hurt though,” he continued, as he saw the colour fade from the young man’s face, and the cold dew begin to form. “A few days will do him good, I believe. He is, honestly, a little too bad to move.”
He bathed his face, and moistened his lips with a few drops of liquid from a flask, and in a few minutes Eaton looked wonderingly round.
“Easier, boy? That’s it. Yes, you may stay, and you had better be quiet. Feel so sick now?”
“Not quite, doctor. Oh! I am so glad I really am ill.”
The doctor smiled, and summoned Mrs Hallam, who came in with Julia.
“I must ask you to play hostess to my young friend here. He shan’t die on your hands.”
Julia turned pale, and glanced from one to the other quickly.
“Mr Eaton shall have every attention we can give him,” said Mrs Hallam, smiling; and the doctor looked with surprise at the way her pale, careworn face lit up with tenderness and sympathy as she laid her hand upon the young man’s brow.
“I’m sure he will,” said the doctor, “and I’ll do my best,” he added, with a quick look at his patient, “to get him off your hands, for he will be a deal of trouble.”
“It will be a pleasure,” said Mrs Hallam, speaking in all sincerity. “English women are always ready to nurse the wounded,” she added with a smile.
“I wish I could always have such hands to attend my injured men, madam,” said the doctor with formal politeness. “There, I must go at once. Good-bye, Eaton, my boy. You’ll soon be on your legs. Don’t spoil him, ladies; he is not bad. I leave him to you, Mrs Hallam.”
She followed the doctor to the door to ask him if he had any directions, received his orders, and then, with a bright, hopeful light in her eyes, she went softly back towards the dining-room. A smile began to glisten about her lips, like sunshine in winter, as she laid her hand upon the door. Then she looked round sharply, for in the midst of that dawning hope of safety for her child there was a heavy step, and the study-door opened.
She turned deadly pale, for it was Stephen Crellock’s step; and the words that came from the study were in her husband’s voice.
Volume Four—Chapter Twelve.Mrs Otway on Love.“Ah! Phil, Phil, Phil!” exclaimed Mrs Otway as she sat facing Eaton some mornings later, while he lay back in a Chinese cane chair, propped up by pillows. “Come, this will not do.”He met her gaze firmly, and she went on.“This makes five days that you have been here, tangling yourself more and more in the net. It’s time I took you by the ears and lugged you out.”“But you will not?” he said, lifting his injured arm very gently with his right hand, sighing as he did so, and rearranging the sling.Mrs Otway jumped up, went behind him, untied the handkerchief that formed the sling, and snatched it away.“I won’t sit still and see you play at sham in that disgraceful way, Phil,” she cried. “It’s bad enough, staying here as you do, without all that nonsense.”“You are too hard on me.”“I’m not,” she cried. “I’ve seen too many wounded men not to know something about symptoms. I knew as well as could be when I was here yesterday, but I would not trust myself, and so I attacked Woodhouse about you last night, and he surrendered at once.”“Why, what did he say?”“Lit a cigar, and began humming, ‘Oh, ’tis love, ’tis love that makes the world go round!’”Eaton clapped his hands upon the arms of his chair, half raised himself, and then threw himself back, and began beating the cane-work with his fingers, frowning with vexation.“There, you see what a lot of practice it takes to make a good impostor,” said Mrs Otway.“What do you mean?”“How bad your arm seems!”“Pish!” exclaimed the young man, beginning to nurse it, then ceasing with a gesture of contempt, and looking helplessly at his visitor. “The pain’s not there,” he said dolefully.“Poor boy! What a fuss about a pretty face! There, I’m half ready to forgive you. It was very tempting.”“And I’ve been so happy: I have indeed.”“What, with those two men?”“Pish!—nonsense! It’s dreadful that those two sweet ladies should be placed as they are.”“Amen to that!”“Mrs Hallam is the sweetest, tenderest-hearted woman I ever met.”“Indeed.”“No mother could have been more gentle and loving to me.”“Except Lady Eaton,” said Mrs Otway dryly.“Oh! my mother, of course; but then she was not here to nurse me.”“I’d have nursed you, Phil, if you had been brought into quarters.”“Oh, I know that!” cried Eaton warmly; “but, you see, I was brought on here.”“Where mamma is so tender to you, and mademoiselle sits gazing at you with her soft, dark eyes, thinking what a brave hero you are, how terribly ill, and falling head-over-ears more in love with you. Phil, Phil, it isn’t honest.”“What isn’t honest?” he said fiercely. “No man could have resisted such a temptation.”“What, to come here and break a gentle girl’s heart?”“But I’m not breaking her heart,” said Eaton ruefully.“I’ve written and told your mother how things stand.”“You have?”“Yes; and that you have taken the bit in your teeth, and that I can’t hold you in.”“Well, it doesn’t matter,” said Eaton gloomily. “I don’t want to hurt my dear mother’s feelings; but when she knows Julia and Mrs Hallam—”“And the convict father and his friend.”“For Heaven’s sake don’t!” cried Eaton, striking the chair and wincing hard, for he hurt his injured shoulder.“I must, my dear boy. Marriage is a terrible fact, and you must look at it on all sides.”“I mean to get them both away from here,” said Eaton firmly. “Their present life is horrible.”“Yes; it is, my boy.”“My gorge rises every time I hear that drinking scoundrel of a father speak to Julia, and that other ruffian come and fetch her away.”“Not a very nice way of speaking about the father of your intended,” said Mrs Otway dryly—“about your host.”“No, and I would not speak so if I did not see so much. The man has served part of his time for his old crime, of which he swears he was innocent, and I’d forget all the past if I saw he was trying to do the right thing.”“And he is not?”“He’s lost,” said Eaton bitterly. “The greatest blessing which could happen to this house would be for him to be thrown back into the gang. He’d live a few years then, and so would his wife. As it is he is killing both. As for poor Julia—ah! I should be less than man, loving her as I do, if I did not determine to throw all thoughts of caste aside and marry her, and get her away as soon as I can.”“I wish she were not so nice,” said Mrs Otway thoughtfully.“Why?”“Because, like the silly, stupid woman I am, I can’t help sympathising with you both.”“I knew you did in your heart,” cried Eaton joyfully.“Gently, gently, my dear boy,” continued Mrs Otway. “I may sympathise with the enemy, but I have to fight him all the same. Have you spoken to the young lady—definitely offered marriage?”“No, not yet.”“But you’ve taught her to love you?”“I don’t know—yet—”“Judging from appearances, Phil, I’m ready to say I do know. What about mamma?”“Ah! there I feel quite satisfied.”“What, have you spoken to her?”“No, but she sits and talks to me, and I talk to her.”“About Julia?”“Yes; and it seems as if she can read my heart through and through. Don’t think me a vain coxcomb for what I am about to say.”“I make no promises: say it.”“I think she likes me very much.”“Why?”“She comes into the room sometimes, looking a careworn woman of sixty; and when she has been sitting here for a few minutes, there’s a pleasant smile on her face, as if she were growing younger; her eyes light up, and she seems quite at rest and happy.”“Poor thing!” said Mrs Otway sadly. “But, there, I can’t listen to any more. I am on your mother’s side.”“And you are beaten, so you may give up. It’s fate. My mother must put up with it. So long as I am happy she will not care. And, besides, who could help loving Julie? Hush!”There was a tap at the door, and Julia entered.“Not I, for one,” said Mrs Otway aside, as she rose and held out her hands, kissing the young girl warmly. “Why, my dear, you look quite pale. This poor bruised boy has been worrying you and your mother to death.”“Indeed, no,” cried Julia eagerly. “Mr Eaton has been so patient all the time, and we were so glad to be able to be of service. Sir Gordon Bourne is in the other room with mamma. May he come in and see you?”“I shall be very glad,” said Eaton, looking at her fixedly; and Mrs Otway noted the blush and the downcast look that followed.“Phil’s right. He has won her.”“He proposes driving you home with him, and taking you out in his boat. He thinks it will help your recovery.”“Oh no, I couldn’t move yet,” said Eaton quickly.“I think it would do you good,” said Mrs Otway. “What do you say, Miss Hallam?”“We should be very sorry to see Mr Eaton go,” said Julia quietly; “but I think you are right.”“Phil’s wrong,” said Mrs Otway to herself.At this moment Sir Gordon entered the room with Mrs Hallam and proposed that Eaton should return with him, but only to find, to his annoyance, that the offer was declined.“You will have to make the offer to my husband, Sir Gordon,” said Mrs Otway merrily. “You will not find him so ungrateful.” And then she turned to Eaton, leaving the old man free to continue a conversation begun with Mrs Hallam in another room.“I do not seem to find much success in my offers,” he said, in a low voice; “but let me repeat what I have said. Should necessity arise, remember that I am your very oldest friend, and that I am always waiting to help Millicent Hallam and her child.”“I shall not forget,” said Mrs Hallam, smiling sadly.“If I am away, there is Bayle ready to act for me, and you know you can command him.”“I have always been the debtor of my friends,” replied Mrs Hallam; “but no such emergency is likely to arise. I have learnt the lesson of self-dependence lately, Sir Gordon.”“But if the emergency did occur?”“Then we would see,” replied Mrs Hallam.“Well, Philip, my dear boy,” cried Mrs Otway loudly, “in three days we shall have you back.”“Yes, in three days,” he replied, glancing at Julia, who must have heard, but who went on with a conversation in which she was engaged with Sir Gordon, unmoved.“Then good-bye,” she cried, “Mrs Hallam, Miss Hallam, accept my thanks for your kindness to my boy here. Lady Eaton appointed me her deputy, but I’m tired of my sorry task. Good-bye. Are we to be companions back, Sir Gordon?”“Yes—yes—yes,” said the old gentleman, “I am coming. Remember,” he said, in a low tone to Mrs Hallam.“I never forget such kindness as yours, Sir Gordon,” she replied.“Good-bye, Julia, my child,” he said, kissing her hands. “If ever you want help of any kind, come straight to me. Good-bye.”“If she would only make some appeal to me,” he muttered. “But I can’t interfere without. Poor things! Poor things!”“Ibeg your pardon, Sir Gordon,” said Mrs Otway. “What are poor things?”“Talking to myself, ma’am—talking to myself.”“You don’t like Philip Eaton,” she said quickly.“Eh? Well, to be frank, ma’am, no: I don’t.”“Because he likes your littleprotégée?”“I’m sorry to say, madam, that she is not myprotégée. Poor child!”“Hadn’t we better be frank, Sir Gordon? Suppose Philip Eaton wanted to marry her—what then?”“Confound him! I should like to hand him over to the blacks!”“What if she loved him?”“If she loved him—if she loved him, Mrs Otway?” said the old man dreamily. “Why, then—dear me! This love’s one of the greatest miseries of life. But, there, ma’am, I have no influence at all. You mustgoto her father, not come to me.”
“Ah! Phil, Phil, Phil!” exclaimed Mrs Otway as she sat facing Eaton some mornings later, while he lay back in a Chinese cane chair, propped up by pillows. “Come, this will not do.”
He met her gaze firmly, and she went on.
“This makes five days that you have been here, tangling yourself more and more in the net. It’s time I took you by the ears and lugged you out.”
“But you will not?” he said, lifting his injured arm very gently with his right hand, sighing as he did so, and rearranging the sling.
Mrs Otway jumped up, went behind him, untied the handkerchief that formed the sling, and snatched it away.
“I won’t sit still and see you play at sham in that disgraceful way, Phil,” she cried. “It’s bad enough, staying here as you do, without all that nonsense.”
“You are too hard on me.”
“I’m not,” she cried. “I’ve seen too many wounded men not to know something about symptoms. I knew as well as could be when I was here yesterday, but I would not trust myself, and so I attacked Woodhouse about you last night, and he surrendered at once.”
“Why, what did he say?”
“Lit a cigar, and began humming, ‘Oh, ’tis love, ’tis love that makes the world go round!’”
Eaton clapped his hands upon the arms of his chair, half raised himself, and then threw himself back, and began beating the cane-work with his fingers, frowning with vexation.
“There, you see what a lot of practice it takes to make a good impostor,” said Mrs Otway.
“What do you mean?”
“How bad your arm seems!”
“Pish!” exclaimed the young man, beginning to nurse it, then ceasing with a gesture of contempt, and looking helplessly at his visitor. “The pain’s not there,” he said dolefully.
“Poor boy! What a fuss about a pretty face! There, I’m half ready to forgive you. It was very tempting.”
“And I’ve been so happy: I have indeed.”
“What, with those two men?”
“Pish!—nonsense! It’s dreadful that those two sweet ladies should be placed as they are.”
“Amen to that!”
“Mrs Hallam is the sweetest, tenderest-hearted woman I ever met.”
“Indeed.”
“No mother could have been more gentle and loving to me.”
“Except Lady Eaton,” said Mrs Otway dryly.
“Oh! my mother, of course; but then she was not here to nurse me.”
“I’d have nursed you, Phil, if you had been brought into quarters.”
“Oh, I know that!” cried Eaton warmly; “but, you see, I was brought on here.”
“Where mamma is so tender to you, and mademoiselle sits gazing at you with her soft, dark eyes, thinking what a brave hero you are, how terribly ill, and falling head-over-ears more in love with you. Phil, Phil, it isn’t honest.”
“What isn’t honest?” he said fiercely. “No man could have resisted such a temptation.”
“What, to come here and break a gentle girl’s heart?”
“But I’m not breaking her heart,” said Eaton ruefully.
“I’ve written and told your mother how things stand.”
“You have?”
“Yes; and that you have taken the bit in your teeth, and that I can’t hold you in.”
“Well, it doesn’t matter,” said Eaton gloomily. “I don’t want to hurt my dear mother’s feelings; but when she knows Julia and Mrs Hallam—”
“And the convict father and his friend.”
“For Heaven’s sake don’t!” cried Eaton, striking the chair and wincing hard, for he hurt his injured shoulder.
“I must, my dear boy. Marriage is a terrible fact, and you must look at it on all sides.”
“I mean to get them both away from here,” said Eaton firmly. “Their present life is horrible.”
“Yes; it is, my boy.”
“My gorge rises every time I hear that drinking scoundrel of a father speak to Julia, and that other ruffian come and fetch her away.”
“Not a very nice way of speaking about the father of your intended,” said Mrs Otway dryly—“about your host.”
“No, and I would not speak so if I did not see so much. The man has served part of his time for his old crime, of which he swears he was innocent, and I’d forget all the past if I saw he was trying to do the right thing.”
“And he is not?”
“He’s lost,” said Eaton bitterly. “The greatest blessing which could happen to this house would be for him to be thrown back into the gang. He’d live a few years then, and so would his wife. As it is he is killing both. As for poor Julia—ah! I should be less than man, loving her as I do, if I did not determine to throw all thoughts of caste aside and marry her, and get her away as soon as I can.”
“I wish she were not so nice,” said Mrs Otway thoughtfully.
“Why?”
“Because, like the silly, stupid woman I am, I can’t help sympathising with you both.”
“I knew you did in your heart,” cried Eaton joyfully.
“Gently, gently, my dear boy,” continued Mrs Otway. “I may sympathise with the enemy, but I have to fight him all the same. Have you spoken to the young lady—definitely offered marriage?”
“No, not yet.”
“But you’ve taught her to love you?”
“I don’t know—yet—”
“Judging from appearances, Phil, I’m ready to say I do know. What about mamma?”
“Ah! there I feel quite satisfied.”
“What, have you spoken to her?”
“No, but she sits and talks to me, and I talk to her.”
“About Julia?”
“Yes; and it seems as if she can read my heart through and through. Don’t think me a vain coxcomb for what I am about to say.”
“I make no promises: say it.”
“I think she likes me very much.”
“Why?”
“She comes into the room sometimes, looking a careworn woman of sixty; and when she has been sitting here for a few minutes, there’s a pleasant smile on her face, as if she were growing younger; her eyes light up, and she seems quite at rest and happy.”
“Poor thing!” said Mrs Otway sadly. “But, there, I can’t listen to any more. I am on your mother’s side.”
“And you are beaten, so you may give up. It’s fate. My mother must put up with it. So long as I am happy she will not care. And, besides, who could help loving Julie? Hush!”
There was a tap at the door, and Julia entered.
“Not I, for one,” said Mrs Otway aside, as she rose and held out her hands, kissing the young girl warmly. “Why, my dear, you look quite pale. This poor bruised boy has been worrying you and your mother to death.”
“Indeed, no,” cried Julia eagerly. “Mr Eaton has been so patient all the time, and we were so glad to be able to be of service. Sir Gordon Bourne is in the other room with mamma. May he come in and see you?”
“I shall be very glad,” said Eaton, looking at her fixedly; and Mrs Otway noted the blush and the downcast look that followed.
“Phil’s right. He has won her.”
“He proposes driving you home with him, and taking you out in his boat. He thinks it will help your recovery.”
“Oh no, I couldn’t move yet,” said Eaton quickly.
“I think it would do you good,” said Mrs Otway. “What do you say, Miss Hallam?”
“We should be very sorry to see Mr Eaton go,” said Julia quietly; “but I think you are right.”
“Phil’s wrong,” said Mrs Otway to herself.
At this moment Sir Gordon entered the room with Mrs Hallam and proposed that Eaton should return with him, but only to find, to his annoyance, that the offer was declined.
“You will have to make the offer to my husband, Sir Gordon,” said Mrs Otway merrily. “You will not find him so ungrateful.” And then she turned to Eaton, leaving the old man free to continue a conversation begun with Mrs Hallam in another room.
“I do not seem to find much success in my offers,” he said, in a low voice; “but let me repeat what I have said. Should necessity arise, remember that I am your very oldest friend, and that I am always waiting to help Millicent Hallam and her child.”
“I shall not forget,” said Mrs Hallam, smiling sadly.
“If I am away, there is Bayle ready to act for me, and you know you can command him.”
“I have always been the debtor of my friends,” replied Mrs Hallam; “but no such emergency is likely to arise. I have learnt the lesson of self-dependence lately, Sir Gordon.”
“But if the emergency did occur?”
“Then we would see,” replied Mrs Hallam.
“Well, Philip, my dear boy,” cried Mrs Otway loudly, “in three days we shall have you back.”
“Yes, in three days,” he replied, glancing at Julia, who must have heard, but who went on with a conversation in which she was engaged with Sir Gordon, unmoved.
“Then good-bye,” she cried, “Mrs Hallam, Miss Hallam, accept my thanks for your kindness to my boy here. Lady Eaton appointed me her deputy, but I’m tired of my sorry task. Good-bye. Are we to be companions back, Sir Gordon?”
“Yes—yes—yes,” said the old gentleman, “I am coming. Remember,” he said, in a low tone to Mrs Hallam.
“I never forget such kindness as yours, Sir Gordon,” she replied.
“Good-bye, Julia, my child,” he said, kissing her hands. “If ever you want help of any kind, come straight to me. Good-bye.”
“If she would only make some appeal to me,” he muttered. “But I can’t interfere without. Poor things! Poor things!”
“Ibeg your pardon, Sir Gordon,” said Mrs Otway. “What are poor things?”
“Talking to myself, ma’am—talking to myself.”
“You don’t like Philip Eaton,” she said quickly.
“Eh? Well, to be frank, ma’am, no: I don’t.”
“Because he likes your littleprotégée?”
“I’m sorry to say, madam, that she is not myprotégée. Poor child!”
“Hadn’t we better be frank, Sir Gordon? Suppose Philip Eaton wanted to marry her—what then?”
“Confound him! I should like to hand him over to the blacks!”
“What if she loved him?”
“If she loved him—if she loved him, Mrs Otway?” said the old man dreamily. “Why, then—dear me! This love’s one of the greatest miseries of life. But, there, ma’am, I have no influence at all. You mustgoto her father, not come to me.”
Volume Four—Chapter Thirteen.In the Toils.“So he goes to-day, eh?” said Crellock.“Yes; I’ve seen him, and he’s going to-day.”“Lucky for him, for I’ve got into a state of mind that does not promise much good for any one who stands in my way,” said Crellock, with an unpleasant look in his eyes. “And now, mind this: as soon as he is gone, and we are alone, the matter is to be pressed home. Here, I’ll be off. I don’t want to say good-bye.” He picked up his whip and stepped out into the verandah, walking along past the dining-room window, which was open, and through it came the voice of Julia in measured cadence, reading aloud.Crellock ground his teeth and half stopped; but he gave his whip a sharp crack and went on.“A row would only frighten her, and I don’t want todothat. The coast will be clear this afternoon.”He went on round to the stable, saddled and mounted his horse, and turned off by the first track for the open country.“A good ride will calm me down,” he said; and he went off at a gallop for a few miles, but with his head down, seeing neither green tree with its tints of pearly grey and pink, nor the curious tufts of grass in his path. A mob of kangaroos started before him and went off with their peculiar bounds; flock after flock of parrots, with colours bright as the most gorgeous sunset, flew screaming away; and twice over he passed spear-armed blacks, who ceased their task of hunting for grubs to stare at the man riding so recklessly through the bush.All at once he dragged his horse back upon its haunches with a furious tug at the reins, and sat staring before him as in imagination he pictured a scene in the dining-room at the Gully House.“I’m a fool,” he cried savagely; “a fool! I’ve got the fruit ready to my hand, and I’m getting out of the way so as to let some one else pluck it. Now perhaps I shall be too late.”Dragging his horse’s head round, he set spurs to its flanks, and in the same reckless manner began to gallop back. This time he was less fortunate, though. As he went he left the horse to itself, and the careful beast avoided rough parts or leaped them, carrying his rider in safety. On the return Crellock was bent upon one thing only, getting back to the Gully House at the earliest moment possible. Twice over the horse swerved at an awkward depression or piece of rock, either of them sufficient to bring both to grief, but for reward there was a savage jerk at the bit, a blow over the head from the heavy whip, and a dig from the spurs. The result was that the poor brute went on as the crow flies at a hard gallop, rushed at an awkward clump of bush, rose, caught its hoofs, and fell with a crash, sending Crellock right over its head to lie for a few minutes half-stunned, and when he did gather himself up, with the scene seeming to sail round him, the horse was standing with its head hanging, snuffing at the coarse herbage, and stamping angrily with its off hind hoof.“You awkward brute!” cried Crellock, catching at the rein, and then lashing the poor animal across the flank.The horse started to the full length of the rein, but only on three legs; one had had a terrible sprain.“My luck!” said Crellock savagely, and, taking off the bridle, he hobbled the horse’s legs, and started off to walk.Julia went on reading, with Philip Eaton drinking in every word she uttered, and at last, leaning forward from the couch upon which he lay, he felt that the time had come, and, no matter who and what her relatives might be, here was the wife of his choice.“Julia,” he said in a low voice made husky with the emotion from which he suffered.She raised her eyes from the book and coloured, for it was the first time he had called her by her Christian name.“Have you thought,” he said, “that I am going to-morrow?”“I thought it was to-day,” she said naïvely.“To-day? Yes, I suppose it is to-day, but I cannot think of anything but the one great fact that all this pleasant intercourse is to be at an end.”Julia half rose.“No, no,” he cried, trying to reach her hand, and then uttering a petulant ejaculation, for Mrs Hallam entered the room, looked eagerly from one to the other, and came forward, while Julia gave her a beseeching look, and went out.For a few minutes neither spoke, and then Eaton placed a chair for Mrs Hallam, and as she took it gazing at him searchingly, he hastily thought over what he should say, and ended by saying something else, for in a quick, blundering way, he cried:“Mrs Hallam, I cannot say what I wish. You know how I love her.”Mrs Hallam drew a long sighing breath, full of relief, and her eyes became suffused with tears.“Yes,” she said at last; “I felt that you did love her. Have you told Julie so?”“Not in words,” he cried. “She disarms me. I want to say so much, but I can only sit and look. But you will give your consent?”“Have you thought all this over?” said Mrs Hallam gravely. “You know everything—why we came here?”“Yes, yes,” he cried quickly. “I know all. I have known it from your first landing.”“Such a union would not be suitable for you,” she said gravely.“Not suitable! Mrs Hallam, I am not worthy of your child. But you are playing with me,” he cried, his words coming fast now. “You will not oppose it. You see I know all. Give me your consent.”She sat looking at him in silence for some moments, and then laid her hand in his.“Yes,” she said. “If Julie loves you I will not withhold my consent.”“And Mr Hallam, may I speak to him now? Of course he will not refuse me. You will tell him first. And Julia, where is she?”In his eagerness his words came hurriedly, and he caught Mrs Hallam’s hands to his lips and kissed them.“I will fetch Julie here,” she said gently, and with a strange look of repose coming over her troubled face.She left the room and sought her child, who looked at her wonderingly.“Come,” she said with her voice sounding broken and strange; “Mr Eaton wishes to speak to you.”“Mother!” exclaimed Julia, shrinking.At that moment they heard Hallam’s steps as he passed across the hall.Mrs Hallam’s countenance changed, and she shuddered.“Come,” she said; “you are not afraid of him?”“Of Mr Eaton? Oh, no,” cried Julia with animation; “but—”“Hush, my child! I will not leave you. Hear what he has to say before you speak.”Julia’s eyes seemed to contract, and there was a shrinking movement, but directly after she drew herself up proudly, laid her hand in her mother’s, and suffered herself to be led into the room.“At last!” cried Eaton, flushing with pleasure. “Julie, I dare speak to you now. I love you with all my heart.”He stopped short, for the window was darkened by the figure of Stephen Crellock, who looked in for a moment, and then beckoned with his hand to some one in the verandah. Hallam came forward looking flushed and angry, and the two men entered the room.“We are just in time,” said Crellock with a half laugh, but with a savage flash of the eye at Eaton. “Mr Lieutenant Eaton is bidding the ladies good-bye.”Eaton gave him an indignant look, and turned to Hallam.“Mr Hallam,” he said proudly, “Mr Crellock is wrong. I have been speaking to Mrs Hallam and—”“Mr Crellock is right,” said Crellock in a voice of thunder, “and Mr Eaton is wrong. He is saying good-bye; and now, Robert Hallam, will you tell him why?”“Yes,” said Hallam firmly; “Mr Eaton should have spoken to me, and I would have explained at once that Mr Stephen Crellock has proposed for my daughter’s hand, and I have promised that she shall be his wife.”“But this is monstrous!” cried Eaton furiously. “Julie, I have your mother’s consent. You will be mine?”Julia looked at him pityingly and shook her head.“Speak! for heaven’s sake, speak!” cried Eaton.“No,” she said in a low pained voice. “You have mistaken me, Mr Eaton. I could never be your wife.”Eaton turned to Mrs Hallam to meet her agonised, despairing eyes, and then without a word he left the room.For the blow had fallen; the shadow Millicent Hallam had seen athwart her daughter’s life had assumed consistency, and as the thought of her own fate came with its dull despairing pain, she caught Julia to her breast to protect her from Crellock, and faced him like some wild creature standing at bay in defence of her young.
“So he goes to-day, eh?” said Crellock.
“Yes; I’ve seen him, and he’s going to-day.”
“Lucky for him, for I’ve got into a state of mind that does not promise much good for any one who stands in my way,” said Crellock, with an unpleasant look in his eyes. “And now, mind this: as soon as he is gone, and we are alone, the matter is to be pressed home. Here, I’ll be off. I don’t want to say good-bye.” He picked up his whip and stepped out into the verandah, walking along past the dining-room window, which was open, and through it came the voice of Julia in measured cadence, reading aloud.
Crellock ground his teeth and half stopped; but he gave his whip a sharp crack and went on.
“A row would only frighten her, and I don’t want todothat. The coast will be clear this afternoon.”
He went on round to the stable, saddled and mounted his horse, and turned off by the first track for the open country.
“A good ride will calm me down,” he said; and he went off at a gallop for a few miles, but with his head down, seeing neither green tree with its tints of pearly grey and pink, nor the curious tufts of grass in his path. A mob of kangaroos started before him and went off with their peculiar bounds; flock after flock of parrots, with colours bright as the most gorgeous sunset, flew screaming away; and twice over he passed spear-armed blacks, who ceased their task of hunting for grubs to stare at the man riding so recklessly through the bush.
All at once he dragged his horse back upon its haunches with a furious tug at the reins, and sat staring before him as in imagination he pictured a scene in the dining-room at the Gully House.
“I’m a fool,” he cried savagely; “a fool! I’ve got the fruit ready to my hand, and I’m getting out of the way so as to let some one else pluck it. Now perhaps I shall be too late.”
Dragging his horse’s head round, he set spurs to its flanks, and in the same reckless manner began to gallop back. This time he was less fortunate, though. As he went he left the horse to itself, and the careful beast avoided rough parts or leaped them, carrying his rider in safety. On the return Crellock was bent upon one thing only, getting back to the Gully House at the earliest moment possible. Twice over the horse swerved at an awkward depression or piece of rock, either of them sufficient to bring both to grief, but for reward there was a savage jerk at the bit, a blow over the head from the heavy whip, and a dig from the spurs. The result was that the poor brute went on as the crow flies at a hard gallop, rushed at an awkward clump of bush, rose, caught its hoofs, and fell with a crash, sending Crellock right over its head to lie for a few minutes half-stunned, and when he did gather himself up, with the scene seeming to sail round him, the horse was standing with its head hanging, snuffing at the coarse herbage, and stamping angrily with its off hind hoof.
“You awkward brute!” cried Crellock, catching at the rein, and then lashing the poor animal across the flank.
The horse started to the full length of the rein, but only on three legs; one had had a terrible sprain.
“My luck!” said Crellock savagely, and, taking off the bridle, he hobbled the horse’s legs, and started off to walk.
Julia went on reading, with Philip Eaton drinking in every word she uttered, and at last, leaning forward from the couch upon which he lay, he felt that the time had come, and, no matter who and what her relatives might be, here was the wife of his choice.
“Julia,” he said in a low voice made husky with the emotion from which he suffered.
She raised her eyes from the book and coloured, for it was the first time he had called her by her Christian name.
“Have you thought,” he said, “that I am going to-morrow?”
“I thought it was to-day,” she said naïvely.
“To-day? Yes, I suppose it is to-day, but I cannot think of anything but the one great fact that all this pleasant intercourse is to be at an end.”
Julia half rose.
“No, no,” he cried, trying to reach her hand, and then uttering a petulant ejaculation, for Mrs Hallam entered the room, looked eagerly from one to the other, and came forward, while Julia gave her a beseeching look, and went out.
For a few minutes neither spoke, and then Eaton placed a chair for Mrs Hallam, and as she took it gazing at him searchingly, he hastily thought over what he should say, and ended by saying something else, for in a quick, blundering way, he cried:
“Mrs Hallam, I cannot say what I wish. You know how I love her.”
Mrs Hallam drew a long sighing breath, full of relief, and her eyes became suffused with tears.
“Yes,” she said at last; “I felt that you did love her. Have you told Julie so?”
“Not in words,” he cried. “She disarms me. I want to say so much, but I can only sit and look. But you will give your consent?”
“Have you thought all this over?” said Mrs Hallam gravely. “You know everything—why we came here?”
“Yes, yes,” he cried quickly. “I know all. I have known it from your first landing.”
“Such a union would not be suitable for you,” she said gravely.
“Not suitable! Mrs Hallam, I am not worthy of your child. But you are playing with me,” he cried, his words coming fast now. “You will not oppose it. You see I know all. Give me your consent.”
She sat looking at him in silence for some moments, and then laid her hand in his.
“Yes,” she said. “If Julie loves you I will not withhold my consent.”
“And Mr Hallam, may I speak to him now? Of course he will not refuse me. You will tell him first. And Julia, where is she?”
In his eagerness his words came hurriedly, and he caught Mrs Hallam’s hands to his lips and kissed them.
“I will fetch Julie here,” she said gently, and with a strange look of repose coming over her troubled face.
She left the room and sought her child, who looked at her wonderingly.
“Come,” she said with her voice sounding broken and strange; “Mr Eaton wishes to speak to you.”
“Mother!” exclaimed Julia, shrinking.
At that moment they heard Hallam’s steps as he passed across the hall.
Mrs Hallam’s countenance changed, and she shuddered.
“Come,” she said; “you are not afraid of him?”
“Of Mr Eaton? Oh, no,” cried Julia with animation; “but—”
“Hush, my child! I will not leave you. Hear what he has to say before you speak.”
Julia’s eyes seemed to contract, and there was a shrinking movement, but directly after she drew herself up proudly, laid her hand in her mother’s, and suffered herself to be led into the room.
“At last!” cried Eaton, flushing with pleasure. “Julie, I dare speak to you now. I love you with all my heart.”
He stopped short, for the window was darkened by the figure of Stephen Crellock, who looked in for a moment, and then beckoned with his hand to some one in the verandah. Hallam came forward looking flushed and angry, and the two men entered the room.
“We are just in time,” said Crellock with a half laugh, but with a savage flash of the eye at Eaton. “Mr Lieutenant Eaton is bidding the ladies good-bye.”
Eaton gave him an indignant look, and turned to Hallam.
“Mr Hallam,” he said proudly, “Mr Crellock is wrong. I have been speaking to Mrs Hallam and—”
“Mr Crellock is right,” said Crellock in a voice of thunder, “and Mr Eaton is wrong. He is saying good-bye; and now, Robert Hallam, will you tell him why?”
“Yes,” said Hallam firmly; “Mr Eaton should have spoken to me, and I would have explained at once that Mr Stephen Crellock has proposed for my daughter’s hand, and I have promised that she shall be his wife.”
“But this is monstrous!” cried Eaton furiously. “Julie, I have your mother’s consent. You will be mine?”
Julia looked at him pityingly and shook her head.
“Speak! for heaven’s sake, speak!” cried Eaton.
“No,” she said in a low pained voice. “You have mistaken me, Mr Eaton. I could never be your wife.”
Eaton turned to Mrs Hallam to meet her agonised, despairing eyes, and then without a word he left the room.
For the blow had fallen; the shadow Millicent Hallam had seen athwart her daughter’s life had assumed consistency, and as the thought of her own fate came with its dull despairing pain, she caught Julia to her breast to protect her from Crellock, and faced him like some wild creature standing at bay in defence of her young.
Volume Four—Chapter Fourteen.For Julie.“Where are you going?” said Crellock roughly, as prowling about the verandah, in pursuance of a determination to take care that there should be no further interference with his plans, he carefully watched the place, ready to refuse entrance, in Hallam’s name, to every one who came till he had made sure of his prize.It was very early in the morning, and he had come suddenly upon Thisbe, dressed for going out, and with a bundle under her arm.“Into town,” she said sharply.“What for?”“To stay.”“It’s a lie!” he said. “You are going to take a message to that parson, or the lieutenant. You have a letter.”“No, I haven’t,” said Thisbe, looking harder than ever.“What’s in that bundle?”“Clothes. Want to see ’em? You can look.”“Come, no nonsense, Thisbe! You don’t like me, I know.”“I hate the sight of you!” said the woman stoutly. “So you may; but look here, you may as well understand that in future I shall be master here, and for your own sake you had better be friends. Now then, where are you going?”“Into town, I tell you; and I shall send for my box. It’s corded up in my room.”“Why, what do you mean?” he said.“That I’m going, and I’m not coming back; and you two may drink yourselves to death as soon as you like.”She brushed by him, and before he had recovered from his surprise, she was going down the path towards the gate.A thought struck Crellock, and he ran upstairs to the room Thisbe had occupied, and, sure enough, there was the big chest she had brought with her, corded up tightly, and with a direction-card tacked on, addressed, “Miss Thisbe King. To be called for.”“So much the better,” he said joyously; “that woman had some influence with Mrs Hallam, and might have been unpleasant.”That day he went down the town to one of his haunts, and after a good deal of search found out that Thisbe was in the place, and had taken a small cottage in one of the outskirts. So, satisfied with his discovery, he returned, to find a man with a pony and dray on his way up to the house, where he claimed the box for its owner, and soon after bore it away.Hallam was in his room, half dozing by the open window, ready to give him a friendly nod as he entered, threw down his riding-whip, and took up his usual position, with his back to the fireplace.“Well,” said Hallam, “what news?”“Oh, she has gone, sure enough.”“So much the better,” said Hallam. “I always hated that woman.”“What news have you?”“None at all.”“Have you told your wife that I wish the marriage to take place at once?”“No.”“Then go and tell her.”Hallam shifted uneasily in his chair, but did not stir. “Look here!” cried Crellock fiercely, “do you want me to go through all our old arguments again? There it is—the marriage or the gang.”“You would have to go too!” said Hallam angrily.“Oh, no! Don’t make a mistake. I did not bring over the plunder; and not a single note you have changed can be brought home to me. Your leg is in the noose, or in the irons again, if you like it better. No nonsense! Go and see her while I prepare Julia.” Hallam rose, went to the cupboard, poured a quantity of brandy into a tumbler, gulped it down, and went to the drawing-room. Mrs Hallam, who was looking white and hollow of cheek, was seated alone, with Julia, half-way down the garden slope, gazing pensively towards the town.Mrs Hallam rose quickly, as if in alarm, but Hallam caught her hand, and then softly closed the window, in spite of her weak struggle, as she saw Crellock crossing the garden to where Julia was standing.“Now, no nonsense!” he said. “There, sit down.”Mrs Hallam took the chair he led her to, and gazed up at him as if fascinated by his eyes.“I may as well come to the point at once,” said Hallam. “You know what I said the other night about Crellock?”“Yes,” she replied hoarsely.“Well, he wishes it to take place at once, so we may as well get it over.”“It is impossible!”“It is not impossible!” he said, flashing into anger. “It is necessary for my comfort and position that the wedding should take place at once.”“No, no, Robert!” she cried in a last appeal; “for the sake of our old love, give up this terrible thought. If you have any love left for me spare our child this degradation!”She threw herself upon her knees and clasped his hands.“Don’t be foolish and hysterical,” he said coldly; “and listen to reason, unless you want to make me angry with you. Get up!”She obeyed him without a word.“Now, listen. I shouldn’t have chosen Crellock for her husband, but he is very fond of her, and I cannot afford to offend him, so it must be.”“It would kill her!” panted Mrs Hallam. “Our child! Robert—husband—my own love! don’t, don’t drive me to do this!”“I’m going to drive you to obey me in this sensible matter, which is for the good of all. There, you see the girl is listening to him quietly enough.”“It would kill her! For the sake of all the old times do not drive me to this—my husband!” pleaded Mrs Hallam again.“You will prepare her for it; you will tell her it must be as soon as the arrangements can be made; you will stop all communications with Bayle and old Sir Gordon, and do exactly as I bid you. Look here, once let Julia see that there is no other course, and she will be quiet and sensible enough.”“Once more!” cried Mrs Hallam passionately, “spare me this, Robert, and I will be your patient, forgiving wife to the end! I tell you it would break her heart!”“You understand!” he said. “There, look at her!” he cried, pointing. “Why, the girl loves him after all.”Julia was coming slowly up the path, with Crellock bending down and talking to her earnestly, till he reached the window, which Hallam unfastened, shrinking back and leaving the room, as if he could not face his child.As Julia entered, Crellock seemed to have no wish to encounter Mrs Hallam, and he drew back and went round the house to the study window, where he stopped leaning on the verandah-rail and gazing in, as Hallam stood at the cupboard, pouring himself out some more brandy.He had the glass in one hand, the bottle in the other, when he caught sight of the figure at the window, and with a start and cry of horror he dropped bottle and glass.“Bah! where is your nerve, man?” cried Crellock with a laugh of contempt. “Did you think it was a sergeant with a file of men to fetch you away?”“You—you startled me,” cried Hallam angrily. “All that brandy gone!”“A good thing too! You’ve had plenty. Well, have you told her?”“Yes.”“What did she say?”“The old thing.”“But you made her understand?”“Yes. What did Julia say?”“Oh, very little. Told me she could never love me, of course; but she’s a clever, sensible girl.”“And she has consented?”“Well, not exactly; but it’s all right. There will be no trouble there.”Meanwhile Julia had gone straight to her mother and knelt down at her feet, resting her hands upon her knees, in her old child-like position, and gazing up in the pale, wasted face for some minutes without speaking.“There is no hope, mother,” she said at last; “it must be.”Mrs Hallam sat without replying for some minutes; then, taking her child’s face between her thin hands she bent down and pressed her lips upon the white forehead.“Julie,” she whispered, “I was wrong. I thought you loved Mr Eaton, and I believed that if you married him it would have cut this terrible knot.”Julia smiled softly, and with her eyes half closed. There was a curious, rapt expression in her sweet face, as if she were dreaming of some impossible joy. Then, as if rousing herself to action, she gave her dark curls a shake, and said quietly:“If I had loved Mr Eaton it would only have cut the knot as far as I was concerned. Mother, he would have broken my heart.”“No, no; he loved you dearly.”“But he would have taken me from you. No: I did not love him, but I liked him very much. But there, we must think and be strong, for there is no hope, dear mother, now. You are right. And you will be firm and strong?”“Yes,” said Mrs Hallam, rising. “For your sake, my child—my child!”
“Where are you going?” said Crellock roughly, as prowling about the verandah, in pursuance of a determination to take care that there should be no further interference with his plans, he carefully watched the place, ready to refuse entrance, in Hallam’s name, to every one who came till he had made sure of his prize.
It was very early in the morning, and he had come suddenly upon Thisbe, dressed for going out, and with a bundle under her arm.
“Into town,” she said sharply.
“What for?”
“To stay.”
“It’s a lie!” he said. “You are going to take a message to that parson, or the lieutenant. You have a letter.”
“No, I haven’t,” said Thisbe, looking harder than ever.
“What’s in that bundle?”
“Clothes. Want to see ’em? You can look.”
“Come, no nonsense, Thisbe! You don’t like me, I know.”
“I hate the sight of you!” said the woman stoutly. “So you may; but look here, you may as well understand that in future I shall be master here, and for your own sake you had better be friends. Now then, where are you going?”
“Into town, I tell you; and I shall send for my box. It’s corded up in my room.”
“Why, what do you mean?” he said.
“That I’m going, and I’m not coming back; and you two may drink yourselves to death as soon as you like.”
She brushed by him, and before he had recovered from his surprise, she was going down the path towards the gate.
A thought struck Crellock, and he ran upstairs to the room Thisbe had occupied, and, sure enough, there was the big chest she had brought with her, corded up tightly, and with a direction-card tacked on, addressed, “Miss Thisbe King. To be called for.”
“So much the better,” he said joyously; “that woman had some influence with Mrs Hallam, and might have been unpleasant.”
That day he went down the town to one of his haunts, and after a good deal of search found out that Thisbe was in the place, and had taken a small cottage in one of the outskirts. So, satisfied with his discovery, he returned, to find a man with a pony and dray on his way up to the house, where he claimed the box for its owner, and soon after bore it away.
Hallam was in his room, half dozing by the open window, ready to give him a friendly nod as he entered, threw down his riding-whip, and took up his usual position, with his back to the fireplace.
“Well,” said Hallam, “what news?”
“Oh, she has gone, sure enough.”
“So much the better,” said Hallam. “I always hated that woman.”
“What news have you?”
“None at all.”
“Have you told your wife that I wish the marriage to take place at once?”
“No.”
“Then go and tell her.”
Hallam shifted uneasily in his chair, but did not stir. “Look here!” cried Crellock fiercely, “do you want me to go through all our old arguments again? There it is—the marriage or the gang.”
“You would have to go too!” said Hallam angrily.
“Oh, no! Don’t make a mistake. I did not bring over the plunder; and not a single note you have changed can be brought home to me. Your leg is in the noose, or in the irons again, if you like it better. No nonsense! Go and see her while I prepare Julia.” Hallam rose, went to the cupboard, poured a quantity of brandy into a tumbler, gulped it down, and went to the drawing-room. Mrs Hallam, who was looking white and hollow of cheek, was seated alone, with Julia, half-way down the garden slope, gazing pensively towards the town.
Mrs Hallam rose quickly, as if in alarm, but Hallam caught her hand, and then softly closed the window, in spite of her weak struggle, as she saw Crellock crossing the garden to where Julia was standing.
“Now, no nonsense!” he said. “There, sit down.”
Mrs Hallam took the chair he led her to, and gazed up at him as if fascinated by his eyes.
“I may as well come to the point at once,” said Hallam. “You know what I said the other night about Crellock?”
“Yes,” she replied hoarsely.
“Well, he wishes it to take place at once, so we may as well get it over.”
“It is impossible!”
“It is not impossible!” he said, flashing into anger. “It is necessary for my comfort and position that the wedding should take place at once.”
“No, no, Robert!” she cried in a last appeal; “for the sake of our old love, give up this terrible thought. If you have any love left for me spare our child this degradation!”
She threw herself upon her knees and clasped his hands.
“Don’t be foolish and hysterical,” he said coldly; “and listen to reason, unless you want to make me angry with you. Get up!”
She obeyed him without a word.
“Now, listen. I shouldn’t have chosen Crellock for her husband, but he is very fond of her, and I cannot afford to offend him, so it must be.”
“It would kill her!” panted Mrs Hallam. “Our child! Robert—husband—my own love! don’t, don’t drive me to do this!”
“I’m going to drive you to obey me in this sensible matter, which is for the good of all. There, you see the girl is listening to him quietly enough.”
“It would kill her! For the sake of all the old times do not drive me to this—my husband!” pleaded Mrs Hallam again.
“You will prepare her for it; you will tell her it must be as soon as the arrangements can be made; you will stop all communications with Bayle and old Sir Gordon, and do exactly as I bid you. Look here, once let Julia see that there is no other course, and she will be quiet and sensible enough.”
“Once more!” cried Mrs Hallam passionately, “spare me this, Robert, and I will be your patient, forgiving wife to the end! I tell you it would break her heart!”
“You understand!” he said. “There, look at her!” he cried, pointing. “Why, the girl loves him after all.”
Julia was coming slowly up the path, with Crellock bending down and talking to her earnestly, till he reached the window, which Hallam unfastened, shrinking back and leaving the room, as if he could not face his child.
As Julia entered, Crellock seemed to have no wish to encounter Mrs Hallam, and he drew back and went round the house to the study window, where he stopped leaning on the verandah-rail and gazing in, as Hallam stood at the cupboard, pouring himself out some more brandy.
He had the glass in one hand, the bottle in the other, when he caught sight of the figure at the window, and with a start and cry of horror he dropped bottle and glass.
“Bah! where is your nerve, man?” cried Crellock with a laugh of contempt. “Did you think it was a sergeant with a file of men to fetch you away?”
“You—you startled me,” cried Hallam angrily. “All that brandy gone!”
“A good thing too! You’ve had plenty. Well, have you told her?”
“Yes.”
“What did she say?”
“The old thing.”
“But you made her understand?”
“Yes. What did Julia say?”
“Oh, very little. Told me she could never love me, of course; but she’s a clever, sensible girl.”
“And she has consented?”
“Well, not exactly; but it’s all right. There will be no trouble there.”
Meanwhile Julia had gone straight to her mother and knelt down at her feet, resting her hands upon her knees, in her old child-like position, and gazing up in the pale, wasted face for some minutes without speaking.
“There is no hope, mother,” she said at last; “it must be.”
Mrs Hallam sat without replying for some minutes; then, taking her child’s face between her thin hands she bent down and pressed her lips upon the white forehead.
“Julie,” she whispered, “I was wrong. I thought you loved Mr Eaton, and I believed that if you married him it would have cut this terrible knot.”
Julia smiled softly, and with her eyes half closed. There was a curious, rapt expression in her sweet face, as if she were dreaming of some impossible joy. Then, as if rousing herself to action, she gave her dark curls a shake, and said quietly:
“If I had loved Mr Eaton it would only have cut the knot as far as I was concerned. Mother, he would have broken my heart.”
“No, no; he loved you dearly.”
“But he would have taken me from you. No: I did not love him, but I liked him very much. But there, we must think and be strong, for there is no hope, dear mother, now. You are right. And you will be firm and strong?”
“Yes,” said Mrs Hallam, rising. “For your sake, my child—my child!”
Volume Four—Chapter Fifteen.Crellock on Guard.That night, after the roughly-prepared meal that topic the place of dinner, and at which mother and daughter resumed their places as of old, Hallam sat for some time with Crellock talking in a low tone, while Mrs Hallam returned to the drawing-room with Julia, both looking perfectly calm and resigned to their fate.At last Hallam rose, and followed by Crellock, crossed the hall and opened the drawing-room door, where his wife and child were seated with the light of the candles shining softly upon their bended heads.“It will be all right,” he muttered; and he turned round and faced Crellock, who smiled and nodded.“Nothing like a little firmness,” he said, smiling.Then Crellock went into the verandah to smoke his cigar and play the part of watch-dog in case of some interruption to his plans; and, while Hallam employed himself in his old fashion, drinking himself drunk in the house of Alcohol his god, the dark calm evening became black night, and a moist, soft wind from the Pacific sighed gently among the trees.Crellock walked round the house time after time, peering in at the windows, and each time he looked there was the heavy stolid face of Hallam staring before him at vacancy; on the other side of the house Julia gazing up into her mother’s face as she knelt at her feet.It must have been ten o’clock when, as Crellock once more made his round, he saw that Hallam was asleep, and that Mrs Hallam had taken up the candle still burning, and with Julia holding her hand, was looking round the room as if for a last good-night.Then together they went to the door, hand in hand; the door closed; the light shone at the staircase window, then in their bedroom, where he watched it burn for about a quarter of an hour before it was extinguished, and all was dark.“I shan’t feel satisfied till I have her safe,” he said, as he walked slowly back to his old look-out that commanded the road.The wind came in stronger gusts now, for a few minutes, and then seemed to die quite away, while the clouds that overspread the sky grew so dense that it was hard to distinguish the trees and bushes a dozen yards from where he stood.He finished his cigar, thinking out his plans the while, and at last coming to the conclusion that it was an unnecessary task this watching, he was about to make one more turn round the verandah, and then enter by the window and go to bed, when he fancied he heard a door close, as if blown by the wind that was once more sighing about the place.“Just woke up, I suppose,” he said, and he walked towards the study window and looked in.Hallam had not moved, but was sleeping heavily in his old position.Crellock listened again, but all was perfectly still. It could not have been fancy. Certainly he had heard a door bang softly, and the sound seemed to come from this direction.He stood thinking, and then went round and tried the front door.“Fast.”He walked round to the back door, following the verandah all the way, and found that door also fast.“I couldn’t have been mistaken,” he said, as he listened again.Once more the wind was sighing loudly about the place, but the noise was not repeated, and he walked on to the dining-room window; but as he laid his hand upon the glass door and thrust it open, a current of air rushed in, and there was the same sound: a door blew to with a slight bang.Crellock closed and fastened the glass door as he stepped out and ran quickly round to the drawing-room, where it was as he suspected: the glass door similar to that he had just left was open, and blew to and fro.“There’s something wrong,” he said excitedly, his suspicions being aroused; and, dashing in, he upset a chair in crossing the room, and it fell with a crash, but he hurried on into the hall, through to the study, and caught Hallam by the arm.“Wake up!” he said excitedly. “Hallam! Wake up, man.”He had to shake him heavily before the drink stupefaction passed off, and then Hallam stood trembling and haggard, trying to comprehend his companion’s words.“Wrong?” he said. “Wrong? What’s wrong?”“I don’t know yet. Look sharp! Run up to your wife’s room. Take the candle. Quick, man; are you asleep?”In his dazed state Hallam staggered, and his hand trembled so that he could hardly keep the light anything like steady. There was the knowledge, though faintly grasped, that something was terribly wrong. He gathered that from his companion’s excited manner, and, stumbling on into the hall, blundered noisily up the stairs while Crellock stood breathing hard and listening.“Here, Millicent! Julie!” he cried hoarsely; “what’s the matter?”Crellock heard the lock handle turn, and the door thrown open so violently that it struck against the wall, but there was no reply from the voices of frightened women.“Do you hear? Milly—Julie! Why don’t you answer?” came from above, and Crellock’s harsh breathing became like the panting of some wild beast.For a few moments there was absolute silence; then the sound of stumbling, heavy steps, and Hallam came out on to the landing.“Steve!” he cried excitedly, perfectly sober now, “what is it? What does it mean? They’ve gone!”“I knew it,” cried Crellock with a furious cry. “I might have seen it if I had not been a fool. Come down quick! They’ve not gone far.”Candle in hand, Hallam came staggering down the stairs with his eyes staring and his face blotched with patches of white.“They’ve gone,” he stammered hoarsely. “What for? Where have they gone?”“Out into the dark night,” cried Crellock furiously. “There is only one way that they could go, and we must have them before they reach the town.”“Town!” faltered Hallam; “town!” for in the horror of his waking and the conscience hauntings of the moment, he seemed to see two ghastly white faces looking up at him from the black waters of the harbour.“Yes, come along, follow me as quickly as you can,” roared Crellock; and going swiftly through the dining-room he crossed the verandah and dashed out into the thick darkness that seemed to rise up as a protecting wall on behalf of those whom he pursued.
That night, after the roughly-prepared meal that topic the place of dinner, and at which mother and daughter resumed their places as of old, Hallam sat for some time with Crellock talking in a low tone, while Mrs Hallam returned to the drawing-room with Julia, both looking perfectly calm and resigned to their fate.
At last Hallam rose, and followed by Crellock, crossed the hall and opened the drawing-room door, where his wife and child were seated with the light of the candles shining softly upon their bended heads.
“It will be all right,” he muttered; and he turned round and faced Crellock, who smiled and nodded.
“Nothing like a little firmness,” he said, smiling.
Then Crellock went into the verandah to smoke his cigar and play the part of watch-dog in case of some interruption to his plans; and, while Hallam employed himself in his old fashion, drinking himself drunk in the house of Alcohol his god, the dark calm evening became black night, and a moist, soft wind from the Pacific sighed gently among the trees.
Crellock walked round the house time after time, peering in at the windows, and each time he looked there was the heavy stolid face of Hallam staring before him at vacancy; on the other side of the house Julia gazing up into her mother’s face as she knelt at her feet.
It must have been ten o’clock when, as Crellock once more made his round, he saw that Hallam was asleep, and that Mrs Hallam had taken up the candle still burning, and with Julia holding her hand, was looking round the room as if for a last good-night.
Then together they went to the door, hand in hand; the door closed; the light shone at the staircase window, then in their bedroom, where he watched it burn for about a quarter of an hour before it was extinguished, and all was dark.
“I shan’t feel satisfied till I have her safe,” he said, as he walked slowly back to his old look-out that commanded the road.
The wind came in stronger gusts now, for a few minutes, and then seemed to die quite away, while the clouds that overspread the sky grew so dense that it was hard to distinguish the trees and bushes a dozen yards from where he stood.
He finished his cigar, thinking out his plans the while, and at last coming to the conclusion that it was an unnecessary task this watching, he was about to make one more turn round the verandah, and then enter by the window and go to bed, when he fancied he heard a door close, as if blown by the wind that was once more sighing about the place.
“Just woke up, I suppose,” he said, and he walked towards the study window and looked in.
Hallam had not moved, but was sleeping heavily in his old position.
Crellock listened again, but all was perfectly still. It could not have been fancy. Certainly he had heard a door bang softly, and the sound seemed to come from this direction.
He stood thinking, and then went round and tried the front door.
“Fast.”
He walked round to the back door, following the verandah all the way, and found that door also fast.
“I couldn’t have been mistaken,” he said, as he listened again.
Once more the wind was sighing loudly about the place, but the noise was not repeated, and he walked on to the dining-room window; but as he laid his hand upon the glass door and thrust it open, a current of air rushed in, and there was the same sound: a door blew to with a slight bang.
Crellock closed and fastened the glass door as he stepped out and ran quickly round to the drawing-room, where it was as he suspected: the glass door similar to that he had just left was open, and blew to and fro.
“There’s something wrong,” he said excitedly, his suspicions being aroused; and, dashing in, he upset a chair in crossing the room, and it fell with a crash, but he hurried on into the hall, through to the study, and caught Hallam by the arm.
“Wake up!” he said excitedly. “Hallam! Wake up, man.”
He had to shake him heavily before the drink stupefaction passed off, and then Hallam stood trembling and haggard, trying to comprehend his companion’s words.
“Wrong?” he said. “Wrong? What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know yet. Look sharp! Run up to your wife’s room. Take the candle. Quick, man; are you asleep?”
In his dazed state Hallam staggered, and his hand trembled so that he could hardly keep the light anything like steady. There was the knowledge, though faintly grasped, that something was terribly wrong. He gathered that from his companion’s excited manner, and, stumbling on into the hall, blundered noisily up the stairs while Crellock stood breathing hard and listening.
“Here, Millicent! Julie!” he cried hoarsely; “what’s the matter?”
Crellock heard the lock handle turn, and the door thrown open so violently that it struck against the wall, but there was no reply from the voices of frightened women.
“Do you hear? Milly—Julie! Why don’t you answer?” came from above, and Crellock’s harsh breathing became like the panting of some wild beast.
For a few moments there was absolute silence; then the sound of stumbling, heavy steps, and Hallam came out on to the landing.
“Steve!” he cried excitedly, perfectly sober now, “what is it? What does it mean? They’ve gone!”
“I knew it,” cried Crellock with a furious cry. “I might have seen it if I had not been a fool. Come down quick! They’ve not gone far.”
Candle in hand, Hallam came staggering down the stairs with his eyes staring and his face blotched with patches of white.
“They’ve gone,” he stammered hoarsely. “What for? Where have they gone?”
“Out into the dark night,” cried Crellock furiously. “There is only one way that they could go, and we must have them before they reach the town.”
“Town!” faltered Hallam; “town!” for in the horror of his waking and the conscience hauntings of the moment, he seemed to see two ghastly white faces looking up at him from the black waters of the harbour.
“Yes, come along, follow me as quickly as you can,” roared Crellock; and going swiftly through the dining-room he crossed the verandah and dashed out into the thick darkness that seemed to rise up as a protecting wall on behalf of those whom he pursued.
Volume Four—Chapter Sixteen.The Flight.“I am so weak, my child,” sighed Mrs Hallam, “that my heart fails me. What shall I do?”Julia stood over her dressed for flight, and a chill of despair seized her.“Oh, mother, try—try,” she whispered.“I am trying, Julie. I am fighting so hard, but you cannot realise the step I am trying to take; you cannot see it, my child, as it is spread before me.”“Let us stay then,” whispered Julie, “and to-morrow I will appeal to Sir Gordon to come to our help.”“No,” said Mrs Hallam, firmly, as if the words of her child had given her strength, “we can ask help of no one in such a strait as this, Julie; the act must be mine and mine alone; but now the time has come, my child, I feel that it is too much.”“Mother!” sobbed Julie, “that man horrifies me. You heard all that my father said. I would sooner die than become his wife.”Mrs Hallam caught her arm with a sharp grip, and remained silent for a few moments. “Yes,” she said at last, “and much as I love you, my own, I would sooner see you dead than married to such a man as he. You have given me the courage I failed in, my darling. For myself, I would live and bear until the end; but I am driven to it—I am driven to it. Come.”They were standing in the dark, and now for the time being Mrs Hallam seemed transformed. Gathering her cloak about her, she went quickly to the door and listened, and then turned and whispered to Julia.“Come at once,” she said. “Follow me down.” Julia drew a long breath and followed her, trembling, the boards of the lightly-built house cracking loudly as she passed quickly to the stairs. And again in the silence and darkness these cracked as they passed down.In the hall Mrs Hallam hesitated for a moment, and then, putting her lips to Julia’s ear:“Stop!” she whispered.Julia stood listening, and with her eyes strained towards where a light shone beneath the ill-fitting study-door from which, in the stillness, the heavy stertorous breathing of Hallam could be heard. She could hear, too, the faint rustle of Mrs Hallam’s dress as she paced along the hall; and as Julia gazed in the direction she had taken, the light that streamed from beneath, and some faint rays from the side, showed indistinctly a misty figure which sank down on its knees and remained for a few moments.The silence was awful to the trembling girl, who could not repress a faint cry as she heard a loud cough coming from beyond the dining-room.But she, too, drew her breath hard, and set her teeth as if the nearness of her enemy provoked her to desperate resistance, and she stood waiting there firmly, but wondering the while whether they would be able to escape or be stopped in the act of flight by Crellock, whom she knew to be watching there.She dare not call, though she felt that her mother was again overcome by the terrors of the step they had resolved to take, and the moments seemed interminable before there was a change in the light beneath the door, and a faint rustle mingled with the heavy breathing. Then her hand was clasped by one like ice in its coldness, and, as if repeating the prayer she had been uttering, Julia heard her mother say in a faint whisper:“It is for her sake—for hers alone.”Julia drew her into the drawing-room as they had planned, and closed the door. Then Mrs Hallam seemed to breathe more freely.“The weakness has passed,” she said softly. “We must lose no time.”They crossed the room carefully to where a dim light showed the French window to be, and Mrs Hallam laid her hand upon it firmly, and turned the fastening after slipping the bolt.“Keep a good heart, my darling,” she said. “You are not afraid?”“Not of our journey, mother,” said Julia in agitated tones; “but of—a listener.”“Hist!” whispered Mrs Hallam, drawing back; and the window which she had opened swung to with a faint click, as the firm pace of Crellock was heard coming along the verandah; and as they stood there in the darkness they could see the dim figure pass the window.Had he stretched forth a hand, he would have felt the glass door yield, and have entered and found them there; and, knowing this, they stood listening to the beating of their hearts till the figure passed on and they heard the step of the self-constituted sentry grow faint on the other side of the house.“Julie, are you ready?”“Yes, mother; let us go—anywhere, so that I may not see that man again.”Mrs Hallam uttered a sigh of relief, for her child’s words had supplied her once more with the power that was failing.“It is for her sake,” she muttered again. Then, in a low whisper: “Quick! your hand. Come.” And they stepped out into the verandah, drew the door to without daring to stop to catch it, and the next minute they were threading their way amongst the trees of the garden, and making for the gate.The darkness was now intense, and though the faint twinkling of lights showed them the direction of the town, they had not gone far before they found themselves astray from the path, and after wandering here and there for a few minutes, Mrs Hallam paused in dread, for she found that there was now another enemy in her way upon which she had not counted.She spoke very calmly, though, as Julia uttered a gasp.“The wind is rising,” she said, “and it will soon grow lighter. Let us keep on.”They walked on slowly and cautiously in and out among the trees of what was, in the darkness, a complete wilderness. At times they were struggling through bushes that impeded their progress, and though time after time the track seemed to be found, they were deceived. It was as if Nature were fighting against them to keep them within reach of Hallam and his friend, and, though they toiled on, a second hour had elapsed and found them still astray.But now, as they climbed a steep slope, the wind came with a gust, the clouds were chased before it, there was the glint of a star or two, and Mrs Hallam uttered an exclamation.“There!” she cried, “to the left. I can see the lights now.”Catching Julia’s hand more firmly, she hurried on, for the night was now comparatively light, but neither uttered a word of their thoughts as they gave a frightened glance back at a dim object on the hill behind, for they awoke to the fact that they had been wandering round and about the hill and gully, returning on their steps, and were not five hundred yards away from their starting-point.At the end of a quarter of an hour the stars were out over half the vault of heaven, and to their great joy the path was found—the rough track leading over the unoccupied land to the town.“Courage! my child,” whispered Mrs Hallam; “another hour or two and we shall be there.”“I am trying to be brave, dear,” whispered back Julia as the track descended into another gully; “but this feeling of dread seems to chill me, and—oh! listen!”Mrs Hallam stopped, and plainly enough behind them there was the sound of bushes rustling; but the sound ceased directly.“Some animal—that is all,” said Mrs Hallam, and they passed on.Once more they heard the sound, and then, as they were ascending a little eminence before descending another of the undulations of the land, there came the quick beat of feet, and mother and daughter had joined in a convulsive grasp.“We are followed,” panted Mrs Hallam. “We must hide.”As she spoke they were on the summit of the slope, with their figures against the sky-line to any one below, and in proof of this there was a shout from a short distance below, and a cry of “Stop!”“Crellock!” muttered Mrs Hallam, and she glanced from side to side for a place of concealment, but only to see that the attempt to hide would be only folly.“Can you run, Julie?” she whispered.For answer Julia started off, and for about a hundred yards they ran down the slope, and then stopped, panting. They could make no further effort save that of facing their pursuer, who dashed down to them breathless.“A pretty foolish trick,” he cried. “Mercy I found you gone, and came. What did you expect would become of you out here in the night?”“Loose my hand,” cried Julia angrily; “I will not come back.”“Indeed, but you will, little wifie. There, it’s of no use to struggle; you are mine, and must.”“Julia, hold by me,” cried Mrs Hallam frantically. “Help!”“Hah!”That ejaculation was from Crellock, for as Mrs Hallam’s appeal for help rang out amongst the trees of the gully into which they had descended, there was the dull sound of a heavy blow, and their assailant fell with a crash amongst the low growth of scrub.“This way,” said a familiar voice. “Do you want to join Thisbe King?”“Yes, yes,” cried Julia, sobbing now; “but how did you know?”“How did I know!” was the reply, half sadly, half laughingly. “Oh, I have played the spy: waiting till you wanted help.”“Christie Bayle!” wailed Mrs Hallam; “my friend in need.”He did not answer. He hardly heard her words as Mrs Hallam staggered on by his side, for two little hands were clinging to his arm, Julia’s head was resting against him, as she nestled closer and closer, and his heart beat madly, for it seemed to him as if it was in his breast that Julia Hallam would seek for safety in her time of need.
“I am so weak, my child,” sighed Mrs Hallam, “that my heart fails me. What shall I do?”
Julia stood over her dressed for flight, and a chill of despair seized her.
“Oh, mother, try—try,” she whispered.
“I am trying, Julie. I am fighting so hard, but you cannot realise the step I am trying to take; you cannot see it, my child, as it is spread before me.”
“Let us stay then,” whispered Julie, “and to-morrow I will appeal to Sir Gordon to come to our help.”
“No,” said Mrs Hallam, firmly, as if the words of her child had given her strength, “we can ask help of no one in such a strait as this, Julie; the act must be mine and mine alone; but now the time has come, my child, I feel that it is too much.”
“Mother!” sobbed Julie, “that man horrifies me. You heard all that my father said. I would sooner die than become his wife.”
Mrs Hallam caught her arm with a sharp grip, and remained silent for a few moments. “Yes,” she said at last, “and much as I love you, my own, I would sooner see you dead than married to such a man as he. You have given me the courage I failed in, my darling. For myself, I would live and bear until the end; but I am driven to it—I am driven to it. Come.”
They were standing in the dark, and now for the time being Mrs Hallam seemed transformed. Gathering her cloak about her, she went quickly to the door and listened, and then turned and whispered to Julia.
“Come at once,” she said. “Follow me down.” Julia drew a long breath and followed her, trembling, the boards of the lightly-built house cracking loudly as she passed quickly to the stairs. And again in the silence and darkness these cracked as they passed down.
In the hall Mrs Hallam hesitated for a moment, and then, putting her lips to Julia’s ear:
“Stop!” she whispered.
Julia stood listening, and with her eyes strained towards where a light shone beneath the ill-fitting study-door from which, in the stillness, the heavy stertorous breathing of Hallam could be heard. She could hear, too, the faint rustle of Mrs Hallam’s dress as she paced along the hall; and as Julia gazed in the direction she had taken, the light that streamed from beneath, and some faint rays from the side, showed indistinctly a misty figure which sank down on its knees and remained for a few moments.
The silence was awful to the trembling girl, who could not repress a faint cry as she heard a loud cough coming from beyond the dining-room.
But she, too, drew her breath hard, and set her teeth as if the nearness of her enemy provoked her to desperate resistance, and she stood waiting there firmly, but wondering the while whether they would be able to escape or be stopped in the act of flight by Crellock, whom she knew to be watching there.
She dare not call, though she felt that her mother was again overcome by the terrors of the step they had resolved to take, and the moments seemed interminable before there was a change in the light beneath the door, and a faint rustle mingled with the heavy breathing. Then her hand was clasped by one like ice in its coldness, and, as if repeating the prayer she had been uttering, Julia heard her mother say in a faint whisper:
“It is for her sake—for hers alone.”
Julia drew her into the drawing-room as they had planned, and closed the door. Then Mrs Hallam seemed to breathe more freely.
“The weakness has passed,” she said softly. “We must lose no time.”
They crossed the room carefully to where a dim light showed the French window to be, and Mrs Hallam laid her hand upon it firmly, and turned the fastening after slipping the bolt.
“Keep a good heart, my darling,” she said. “You are not afraid?”
“Not of our journey, mother,” said Julia in agitated tones; “but of—a listener.”
“Hist!” whispered Mrs Hallam, drawing back; and the window which she had opened swung to with a faint click, as the firm pace of Crellock was heard coming along the verandah; and as they stood there in the darkness they could see the dim figure pass the window.
Had he stretched forth a hand, he would have felt the glass door yield, and have entered and found them there; and, knowing this, they stood listening to the beating of their hearts till the figure passed on and they heard the step of the self-constituted sentry grow faint on the other side of the house.
“Julie, are you ready?”
“Yes, mother; let us go—anywhere, so that I may not see that man again.”
Mrs Hallam uttered a sigh of relief, for her child’s words had supplied her once more with the power that was failing.
“It is for her sake,” she muttered again. Then, in a low whisper: “Quick! your hand. Come.” And they stepped out into the verandah, drew the door to without daring to stop to catch it, and the next minute they were threading their way amongst the trees of the garden, and making for the gate.
The darkness was now intense, and though the faint twinkling of lights showed them the direction of the town, they had not gone far before they found themselves astray from the path, and after wandering here and there for a few minutes, Mrs Hallam paused in dread, for she found that there was now another enemy in her way upon which she had not counted.
She spoke very calmly, though, as Julia uttered a gasp.
“The wind is rising,” she said, “and it will soon grow lighter. Let us keep on.”
They walked on slowly and cautiously in and out among the trees of what was, in the darkness, a complete wilderness. At times they were struggling through bushes that impeded their progress, and though time after time the track seemed to be found, they were deceived. It was as if Nature were fighting against them to keep them within reach of Hallam and his friend, and, though they toiled on, a second hour had elapsed and found them still astray.
But now, as they climbed a steep slope, the wind came with a gust, the clouds were chased before it, there was the glint of a star or two, and Mrs Hallam uttered an exclamation.
“There!” she cried, “to the left. I can see the lights now.”
Catching Julia’s hand more firmly, she hurried on, for the night was now comparatively light, but neither uttered a word of their thoughts as they gave a frightened glance back at a dim object on the hill behind, for they awoke to the fact that they had been wandering round and about the hill and gully, returning on their steps, and were not five hundred yards away from their starting-point.
At the end of a quarter of an hour the stars were out over half the vault of heaven, and to their great joy the path was found—the rough track leading over the unoccupied land to the town.
“Courage! my child,” whispered Mrs Hallam; “another hour or two and we shall be there.”
“I am trying to be brave, dear,” whispered back Julia as the track descended into another gully; “but this feeling of dread seems to chill me, and—oh! listen!”
Mrs Hallam stopped, and plainly enough behind them there was the sound of bushes rustling; but the sound ceased directly.
“Some animal—that is all,” said Mrs Hallam, and they passed on.
Once more they heard the sound, and then, as they were ascending a little eminence before descending another of the undulations of the land, there came the quick beat of feet, and mother and daughter had joined in a convulsive grasp.
“We are followed,” panted Mrs Hallam. “We must hide.”
As she spoke they were on the summit of the slope, with their figures against the sky-line to any one below, and in proof of this there was a shout from a short distance below, and a cry of “Stop!”
“Crellock!” muttered Mrs Hallam, and she glanced from side to side for a place of concealment, but only to see that the attempt to hide would be only folly.
“Can you run, Julie?” she whispered.
For answer Julia started off, and for about a hundred yards they ran down the slope, and then stopped, panting. They could make no further effort save that of facing their pursuer, who dashed down to them breathless.
“A pretty foolish trick,” he cried. “Mercy I found you gone, and came. What did you expect would become of you out here in the night?”
“Loose my hand,” cried Julia angrily; “I will not come back.”
“Indeed, but you will, little wifie. There, it’s of no use to struggle; you are mine, and must.”
“Julia, hold by me,” cried Mrs Hallam frantically. “Help!”
“Hah!”
That ejaculation was from Crellock, for as Mrs Hallam’s appeal for help rang out amongst the trees of the gully into which they had descended, there was the dull sound of a heavy blow, and their assailant fell with a crash amongst the low growth of scrub.
“This way,” said a familiar voice. “Do you want to join Thisbe King?”
“Yes, yes,” cried Julia, sobbing now; “but how did you know?”
“How did I know!” was the reply, half sadly, half laughingly. “Oh, I have played the spy: waiting till you wanted help.”
“Christie Bayle!” wailed Mrs Hallam; “my friend in need.”
He did not answer. He hardly heard her words as Mrs Hallam staggered on by his side, for two little hands were clinging to his arm, Julia’s head was resting against him, as she nestled closer and closer, and his heart beat madly, for it seemed to him as if it was in his breast that Julia Hallam would seek for safety in her time of need.