Volume Four—Chapter Seventeen.In Sanctuary.“Let them come if they dare, my dear,” said Thisbe stoutly. “I’ve only waited for this. You know how I’ve never said word against him, but have seen and borne everything.”“Yes, yes,” sighed Mrs Hallam.“For, I said to myself, the day will come when she will see everything in its true light, and then—”Thisbe said no more, but cut her sentence in half by closing her lips more tightly than they had ever been closed before, as, with a smile, she busied herself about Julia and her mother.“I was in a way last night,” she said cheerily, as she straightened first one thing and then another in the modest lodgings she had secured, “but I daren’t come away for fear you might get here while I was looking for you. You don’t know the relief I felt when Mr Bayle knocked at the door with you two poor tired things. There, you needn’t say a word, only be quiet and rest.”Thisbe nodded from one to the other, and smiled as if there was not a trouble in the world. Then she stood rolling up her apron, and moistening her lips, as if there was something she wanted to say but hesitated. At last she went to Mrs Hallam’s side, and took hold of the sleeve of her dress.“Let me go and ask Mr Bayle to take berths for you on board the first ship that’s going to sail, and get taken away from this dreadful place.”Mrs Hallam gazed at her wistfully, but did not answer for a few moments.“I must think, Thibs,” she said. “Imust think; and now I cannot, for I feel as if I am stunned.”“Then lie down a bit, my dear Miss Milly. Do, dear. She ought to, oughtn’t she, Miss Julie? There, I knew she would. It’s to make her strong.”It was as if old girlish days had come back, for Mrs Hallam yielded with a sigh to the stronger will of the faithful old servant, letting her lift and lay her down, and closing her eyes with a weary sigh.“Now I may go to Mr Bayle, mayn’t I?”“No,” said Mrs Hallam sternly.“Then to Sir Gordon, and ask him to help us?”“No,” said Mrs Hallam again; “I must work alone in this—and I will.”She closed her eyes, and in a few minutes seemed to have dropped off asleep, when Thisbe signed to Julia to accompany her out of the room.“Don’t you fret and trouble yourself, my darling,” she whispered. “I’ll take care no one comes and troubles you. She’s worn out with suffering, and no doctor would do her good, or we’d soon have the best in the town. What she wants is rest and peace, and your dear loving hands to hold her. If anything will ease her that’s it.”She kissed Julia, and the next moment the girl’s arms were clasped about her neck, and she sobbed upon her breast.“It’s so terrible,” she cried. “I can’t bear it! I can’t bear it! I tried so hard to love him, but—but—”“An angel with wings couldn’t have loved such a father as that, my dear.”“Thibs!”“Well, there, then, I won’t say much, my darling; but don’t you fret. You’ve both done quite right, for there’s a pynte beyond which no one can go.”“But if we could win him back to—”“Make you marry that man Crellock! Oh, my darling, there’s no winning him back. I said nothing and stood by you both to let you try, and I was ready to forgive everything; but oh, my pet! I knew how bad it all was from the very first.”“No, no, Thibs, you didn’t think him guilty when he was sent out here.”“Think, my dear! No: I knew it, and so did Sir Gordon and Mr Bayle, but for her sake they let her go on believing in him. Oh! my dear, only that there’s you here, I want to know why such a man was ever allowed to live.”“Thibs, he is my father,” cried Julia angrily.“Yes, my dear, and there’s no changing it, much as I’ve thought about it.”Julia stood thinking.“I shall go to him,” she said at last, “with you, and tell him why we have left him. I feel, Thibs, as if I must ask him to forgive me, for I am his child.”“You wait a bit, my dear, and then talk about forgiveness by-and-by. You’ve got to stay with your poor mother now. Why, if you left her on such an errand as that, what would happen if he kept you, and wouldn’t let you come back?”Julia’s eyes dilated, and her careworn face grew paler.“He would not do that.”“He and that Crellock would do anything, I believe. There, you can’t do that now. You’ve got to sit and watch by her.”“Julia!” came in an excited voice from the next room.“There, what did I tell you, my dear?” said Thisbe; and she hurried Julia back and closed the door.“They’ll go back and forgive him if he only comes and begs them to, and he’ll finish breaking her heart,” said Thisbe, as she went down. “Oh, there never was anything so dreadful as a woman’s weakness when once she has loved a man. But go back they shall not if I can help it, and what to do for the best I don’t know.”She went into the little sitting-room, seated herself, and began rolling her apron up tightly, as she rocked herself to and fro, and all the time kept on biting her lips.“I daren’t,” she said. “She would never forgive me if she knew. No, I couldn’t.”She went on rocking herself to and fro.“I will—I will do it. It’s right, for it’s to save them; it’s to save her life, poor dear, and my darling from misery.”She started from her chair, wringing her hands, and with her face convulsed, ending by falling on her knees with clasped hands.“Oh, please God, no,” she cried, “don’t—don’t suffer that—that darling child to be dragged down to such a fate. I couldn’t bear it. I’d sooner die! For ever and ever. Amen.”She sobbed as she crouched lower and lower, suffering an agony of spirit greater than had ever before fallen to her lot, and then rose, calm and composed, to wipe her eyes.“I’ll do it, and if it’s wicked may I be forgiven. I can’t bear it, and there’s only that before he puts the last straw on.”There was a loud tap at the door just then, evidently given by a hard set of knuckles.“It’s them!” cried Thisbe excitedly; “it’s them!” The door was locked and bolted, and she glanced round the room as if in search of a weapon. Then going to the window, she looked sidewise through the panes, and her hard, angry face softened a little, and she opened the window.“How did you know I was wanting you to come?”Tom Porter’s hard brown face lit up with delight. “Was you?” he cried; “was you, Thisbe? Lor’! how nice it looks to see you in a little house like this, and me coming to the door; but you might let me in. Are you all alone?”“Don’t you get running your thick head up against a wall, Tom Porter, or you’ll hurt it. And now, look here, don’t you get smirking at me again in that way, or off you go about your business, and I’ll never look at you again.”“But Thisbe, my dear, I only—”“Don’t only, then,” she said, in a fierce whisper; “and don’t growl like that, or you’ll frighten them as is upstairs into thinking it’s some one else.”“All right, my lass; all right. Only you are very hard on a man. You was hard at King’s Castor, you was harder up at Clerkenwell, while now we’re out here rocks is padded bulkheads to you.”“I can’t help it, Tom; I’m in trouble,” said Thisbe more gently.“Are you, my lass? Well, let me pilot you out.”“Yes, I think you shall,” she said, “I wanted you to come.”“Now, that’s pleasant,” said Tom Porter, smiling; “and it does me good, for the way in which I wants to help you, Thisbe, is a wonder even to me.”“Oh, yes, I know,” she said grimly. “Now then, why did you come?”“You said you wanted me.”“Yes; but tell me first why you came.”“The Admiral sent me to say that he was waiting for the missus’s commands, and might he come down and see her on very partic’lar business? He couldn’t write, his hand’s all a shake, and he ain’t been asleep all night.”“Tell him, and tell Mr Bayle, too, that my mistress begs that she may be left alone for the present. She says she will send to them if she wants their help.”“Right it is,” said Tom Porter. “Now then, what didyouwant along o’ me?”Thisbe’s face hardened and then grew convulsed, and the tears sprang to her eyes. Then it seemed to harden up again, and she took hold of Tom Porter’s collar and whispered to him quickly.“Phe-ew!” whistled Sir Gordon’s man.She went on whispering in an excited way.“Yes, I understand,” he said.She whispered to him again more earnestly than ever.“Yes. Not tell a soul—and only if—”“Yes.”“Only if—”“Yes, yes,” whispered Thisbe. “Mind, I depend upon you.”“If Tom Porter’s a living soul,” he replied, “it’s done. But you do mean it?”“I mean it,” said Thisbe King. “Now go.”“One moment, my lass,” he said. “I’ve been very humble, and humble I am; but when this trouble’s over and smooth water comes, will you?”Thisbe did not answer for a few moments, and then it was in a softened voice.“Tom Porter,” she said, “there’s one upstairs half dead with misery, and her darling child suffering more than words can tell. My poor heart’s full of them; don’t ask me now.”Tom Porter gave his lips a smart slap and hurried down the street, while Thisbe closed the window and went back to her chair, to rock herself to and fro again, with her hands busily rolling and unrolling her apron.“I’ve done it,” she said; “but it all rests on him. It’s his own doing.”Then, after a pause:“How long will it be before they find out where we are? Not long. Hah!”Thisbe King passed her hands up and down her bare brawny arms, and her face tightened for the encounter which she felt must come before long.
“Let them come if they dare, my dear,” said Thisbe stoutly. “I’ve only waited for this. You know how I’ve never said word against him, but have seen and borne everything.”
“Yes, yes,” sighed Mrs Hallam.
“For, I said to myself, the day will come when she will see everything in its true light, and then—”
Thisbe said no more, but cut her sentence in half by closing her lips more tightly than they had ever been closed before, as, with a smile, she busied herself about Julia and her mother.
“I was in a way last night,” she said cheerily, as she straightened first one thing and then another in the modest lodgings she had secured, “but I daren’t come away for fear you might get here while I was looking for you. You don’t know the relief I felt when Mr Bayle knocked at the door with you two poor tired things. There, you needn’t say a word, only be quiet and rest.”
Thisbe nodded from one to the other, and smiled as if there was not a trouble in the world. Then she stood rolling up her apron, and moistening her lips, as if there was something she wanted to say but hesitated. At last she went to Mrs Hallam’s side, and took hold of the sleeve of her dress.
“Let me go and ask Mr Bayle to take berths for you on board the first ship that’s going to sail, and get taken away from this dreadful place.”
Mrs Hallam gazed at her wistfully, but did not answer for a few moments.
“I must think, Thibs,” she said. “Imust think; and now I cannot, for I feel as if I am stunned.”
“Then lie down a bit, my dear Miss Milly. Do, dear. She ought to, oughtn’t she, Miss Julie? There, I knew she would. It’s to make her strong.”
It was as if old girlish days had come back, for Mrs Hallam yielded with a sigh to the stronger will of the faithful old servant, letting her lift and lay her down, and closing her eyes with a weary sigh.
“Now I may go to Mr Bayle, mayn’t I?”
“No,” said Mrs Hallam sternly.
“Then to Sir Gordon, and ask him to help us?”
“No,” said Mrs Hallam again; “I must work alone in this—and I will.”
She closed her eyes, and in a few minutes seemed to have dropped off asleep, when Thisbe signed to Julia to accompany her out of the room.
“Don’t you fret and trouble yourself, my darling,” she whispered. “I’ll take care no one comes and troubles you. She’s worn out with suffering, and no doctor would do her good, or we’d soon have the best in the town. What she wants is rest and peace, and your dear loving hands to hold her. If anything will ease her that’s it.”
She kissed Julia, and the next moment the girl’s arms were clasped about her neck, and she sobbed upon her breast.
“It’s so terrible,” she cried. “I can’t bear it! I can’t bear it! I tried so hard to love him, but—but—”
“An angel with wings couldn’t have loved such a father as that, my dear.”
“Thibs!”
“Well, there, then, I won’t say much, my darling; but don’t you fret. You’ve both done quite right, for there’s a pynte beyond which no one can go.”
“But if we could win him back to—”
“Make you marry that man Crellock! Oh, my darling, there’s no winning him back. I said nothing and stood by you both to let you try, and I was ready to forgive everything; but oh, my pet! I knew how bad it all was from the very first.”
“No, no, Thibs, you didn’t think him guilty when he was sent out here.”
“Think, my dear! No: I knew it, and so did Sir Gordon and Mr Bayle, but for her sake they let her go on believing in him. Oh! my dear, only that there’s you here, I want to know why such a man was ever allowed to live.”
“Thibs, he is my father,” cried Julia angrily.
“Yes, my dear, and there’s no changing it, much as I’ve thought about it.”
Julia stood thinking.
“I shall go to him,” she said at last, “with you, and tell him why we have left him. I feel, Thibs, as if I must ask him to forgive me, for I am his child.”
“You wait a bit, my dear, and then talk about forgiveness by-and-by. You’ve got to stay with your poor mother now. Why, if you left her on such an errand as that, what would happen if he kept you, and wouldn’t let you come back?”
Julia’s eyes dilated, and her careworn face grew paler.
“He would not do that.”
“He and that Crellock would do anything, I believe. There, you can’t do that now. You’ve got to sit and watch by her.”
“Julia!” came in an excited voice from the next room.
“There, what did I tell you, my dear?” said Thisbe; and she hurried Julia back and closed the door.
“They’ll go back and forgive him if he only comes and begs them to, and he’ll finish breaking her heart,” said Thisbe, as she went down. “Oh, there never was anything so dreadful as a woman’s weakness when once she has loved a man. But go back they shall not if I can help it, and what to do for the best I don’t know.”
She went into the little sitting-room, seated herself, and began rolling her apron up tightly, as she rocked herself to and fro, and all the time kept on biting her lips.
“I daren’t,” she said. “She would never forgive me if she knew. No, I couldn’t.”
She went on rocking herself to and fro.
“I will—I will do it. It’s right, for it’s to save them; it’s to save her life, poor dear, and my darling from misery.”
She started from her chair, wringing her hands, and with her face convulsed, ending by falling on her knees with clasped hands.
“Oh, please God, no,” she cried, “don’t—don’t suffer that—that darling child to be dragged down to such a fate. I couldn’t bear it. I’d sooner die! For ever and ever. Amen.”
She sobbed as she crouched lower and lower, suffering an agony of spirit greater than had ever before fallen to her lot, and then rose, calm and composed, to wipe her eyes.
“I’ll do it, and if it’s wicked may I be forgiven. I can’t bear it, and there’s only that before he puts the last straw on.”
There was a loud tap at the door just then, evidently given by a hard set of knuckles.
“It’s them!” cried Thisbe excitedly; “it’s them!” The door was locked and bolted, and she glanced round the room as if in search of a weapon. Then going to the window, she looked sidewise through the panes, and her hard, angry face softened a little, and she opened the window.
“How did you know I was wanting you to come?”
Tom Porter’s hard brown face lit up with delight. “Was you?” he cried; “was you, Thisbe? Lor’! how nice it looks to see you in a little house like this, and me coming to the door; but you might let me in. Are you all alone?”
“Don’t you get running your thick head up against a wall, Tom Porter, or you’ll hurt it. And now, look here, don’t you get smirking at me again in that way, or off you go about your business, and I’ll never look at you again.”
“But Thisbe, my dear, I only—”
“Don’t only, then,” she said, in a fierce whisper; “and don’t growl like that, or you’ll frighten them as is upstairs into thinking it’s some one else.”
“All right, my lass; all right. Only you are very hard on a man. You was hard at King’s Castor, you was harder up at Clerkenwell, while now we’re out here rocks is padded bulkheads to you.”
“I can’t help it, Tom; I’m in trouble,” said Thisbe more gently.
“Are you, my lass? Well, let me pilot you out.”
“Yes, I think you shall,” she said, “I wanted you to come.”
“Now, that’s pleasant,” said Tom Porter, smiling; “and it does me good, for the way in which I wants to help you, Thisbe, is a wonder even to me.”
“Oh, yes, I know,” she said grimly. “Now then, why did you come?”
“You said you wanted me.”
“Yes; but tell me first why you came.”
“The Admiral sent me to say that he was waiting for the missus’s commands, and might he come down and see her on very partic’lar business? He couldn’t write, his hand’s all a shake, and he ain’t been asleep all night.”
“Tell him, and tell Mr Bayle, too, that my mistress begs that she may be left alone for the present. She says she will send to them if she wants their help.”
“Right it is,” said Tom Porter. “Now then, what didyouwant along o’ me?”
Thisbe’s face hardened and then grew convulsed, and the tears sprang to her eyes. Then it seemed to harden up again, and she took hold of Tom Porter’s collar and whispered to him quickly.
“Phe-ew!” whistled Sir Gordon’s man.
She went on whispering in an excited way.
“Yes, I understand,” he said.
She whispered to him again more earnestly than ever.
“Yes. Not tell a soul—and only if—”
“Yes.”
“Only if—”
“Yes, yes,” whispered Thisbe. “Mind, I depend upon you.”
“If Tom Porter’s a living soul,” he replied, “it’s done. But you do mean it?”
“I mean it,” said Thisbe King. “Now go.”
“One moment, my lass,” he said. “I’ve been very humble, and humble I am; but when this trouble’s over and smooth water comes, will you?”
Thisbe did not answer for a few moments, and then it was in a softened voice.
“Tom Porter,” she said, “there’s one upstairs half dead with misery, and her darling child suffering more than words can tell. My poor heart’s full of them; don’t ask me now.”
Tom Porter gave his lips a smart slap and hurried down the street, while Thisbe closed the window and went back to her chair, to rock herself to and fro again, with her hands busily rolling and unrolling her apron.
“I’ve done it,” she said; “but it all rests on him. It’s his own doing.”
Then, after a pause:
“How long will it be before they find out where we are? Not long. Hah!”
Thisbe King passed her hands up and down her bare brawny arms, and her face tightened for the encounter which she felt must come before long.
Volume Four—Chapter Eighteen.The Blow Falls.It was close upon evening before the trouble Thisbe expected came. Tom Porter had been again, tapped at the door, and when Thisbe went to the window he had contorted his face in the most horrible manner, closing his left eye, and then walked off without a word.Thisbe watched till he was out of sight, and then returned to her chair.“He’s to be trusted,” she said to herself. “It’s a pity he wants to marry me. We’re much better as we are; and who knows but what he might turn wild? There’s only one thing in his favour, he ain’t a handsome man.”Now Tom Porter at fifty looked to be about the last person in the world to turn wild, but Thisbe’s experiences had done much to harden her virgin heart.At least a dozen times over she had slipped off her shoes and ascended the stairs to find that, utterly exhausted, Mrs Hallam and Julia were sleeping heavily, the latter on a chair, with her arms clasped about her mother’s neck.“Poor dears!” said Thisbe, as she descended; “I daren’t wake them, but they ought to have a cup of tea.”“Ah,” she exclaimed softly, “what would she say? I shall never dare to look her in the face again.”At last the trouble came.“I knew it,” said Thisbe, as she heard the steps at the door. “He was bound to find us. Yes, they’re both there. Well, it’s his own work and not mine. What shall I do?”She rose from her chair, looking very resolute. “I’ll face them bold. It’s the only way.”She heard the murmur of men’s voices, and then there was a rap at the door given with the handle of a whip. She went to the door, unfastened and threw it open.“What is it?” she said.Hallam and Crellock were on the threshold, and the latter exclaimed, as soon as he saw her:“I thought so.”They stepped in quickly, and Thisbe’s lips tightened as she was forced to back before them, and the door swung to.“Where is your mistress?” said Hallam sharply.“Asleep. Worn out and ill.”“Where’s my daughter?”“With her mother: upstairs.”“I’ll soon have an end of this fooling,” he exclaimed; and as Thisbe stood with her arms folded, she seemed to see a flash of the old look she remembered—the look she hated—when they were at Castor years before.Hallam threw open the door at the foot of the narrow staircase, while Crellock seated himself astride a chair with his hat on and beat his boot with his whip.“Millicent! Julie!” cried Hallam fiercely, and there were footsteps heard above, for the arrival had awakened those who slept. “Come down at once.”He let the door swing to and began to pace the little room, muttering to himself, and evidently furious with rage at his wife’s desertion.Crellock watched him from the corner of his eyes, and from time to time unconsciously applied his hand to a great discolouration on the cheek. He was evidently quite satisfied, for Hallam needed no egging on to the task, and he felt that this episode would hasten his marriage.“Are you coming?” cried Hallam, after a few minutes, and as he flung back the door, that of the bedroom was heard to open, and Mrs Hallam and Julia came down, both very pale, but with a firmness in their countenances that sent a thrill of joy through Thisbe.“There you are then,” cried Hallam, as they stood before him. “Ah! I’ve a good mind to—”He raised his hand and made a feint as if to strike the pale, suffering woman. With a cry of horror, Julia flung herself between them, her eyes flashing, her dread gone, and in its place, indignant horror sweeping away the last feeling of pity and compunction for the brutalised man to whom she owed her birth.“Now then,” cried Hallam. “You’ve both had your fool’s game out, so put on your bonnets and come home.” Mrs Hallam passed her hand round Julia and remained silent.“Do you hear?” cried Hallam. “I say, put on your things and come home. As for you, madam, you shall have a home of your own, and a husband, before you know where you are. Come; stir!” he cried, with a stamp. “This is my home,” said Mrs Hallam, sternly. “What!”“Robert Hallam, the last thread that bound me to you is broken,” she continued, in a calm, judicial voice. “We are separated for ever.”“You’re mad,” cried Hallam, with a laugh. “Come, no nonsense, ma’am! Don’t make a scene, for I’m not in the humour to put up with much. Come out of this house or—”He made a step or two towards the door, for Thisbe had thrown it open, having seen Bayle pass the window with Sir Gordon. Then he seized the door to fling it in their faces; but Thisbe held it firmly, and they walked in, Hallam himself giving way.“Coward!” snarled Crellock in his ear, as he started up, whip in hand.“Mrs Hallam,” said Sir Gordon, “you must forgive this intrusion. I am sure we are wanted here.”“Wanted here!” cried Hallam savagely; “no, you are not wanted here. I’ll have no more interferences from such as you; you’ve both been the curse of my life.”Sir Gordon turned upon him with a calm look of disgust and contempt, which at another time would have made him quail; but, fevered with brandy as he was, the effect was to make him more beside himself.“As you are here, both of you, let me tell you this: that I don’t kick you out because one of you is a weak, doddering old idiot, the other—oh, his cloth must protect Mr Bayle. Now what do you want?”“Be calm, Julia,” whispered Bayle. “No harm shall befall either of you.”Crellock advanced menacingly, but Sir Gordon interposed.“Mrs Hallam, as your father’s old friend, I must interfere for your protection now.”“Must you?” cried Hallam fiercely, “then I tell you that you won’t. This is my house, taken by my wife. That is my wife. That is my child, and in a few days she will be the wife of this gentleman, my oldest friend. Now go. Millicent—Julie—get on your things, and come, or, by all that’s holy, we’ll drag you through the streets.”Julia clung to Bayle, and turned her flushed face to him as if asking help; while, with a look of calm contempt, he patted the hand he held, and glanced at Mrs Hallam, for something seemed to warn him that the crisis had arrived.“I have told you, Robert Hallam,” she said, in a calm, firm voice, that grew in strength as she went on, “that from this hour we are separated, never to be man and wife again. I clung to you in all a woman’s proud faith in her husband. I loved you as dearly as woman could love. When you were condemned of all, I defended you, and believed you honest.”“Bah!” he exclaimed; “enough of this!” and he took a step forward, but quailed before her gaze.“You crushed my love. You made me your wretched innocent tool and slave when you brought me here, and at last you brutally told me all the cruel truth. Even then, heartbroken, I clung to you, and suffered in silence. God knows how I tried to bring you to penitence and a better life. I forgave all for the sake of our child; and in my love for her I would have gone on bearing all.”“Have you nearly done?” he said mockingly.“Nearly,” she said, in the same firm, clear tones; and she seemed to tower above him, pale and noble of aspect, while he, drink-brutalised and blotched, seemed to shrink.“I say I would have borne everything, even if you had beaten me like a dog. But when—oh, my God, judge between us and forgive me if I have done wrong!—when I am called upon to see my innocent child dragged down by you to the fate of being the wife of the villain who has been your partner in all your crimes, my soul revolts, and I say—from this hour all between us is at an end.”“And I say,” he yelled, “that you are my wife, this my child, and you shall obey me. Come; I am master here.”He made a snatch at her arm, but she raised it before him, with outstretched palm, and her voice rang out with a cry that made him shrink and cower.“Stop!”There was a moment’s utter silence, broken by the softly heard tramp of feet.“Husband no longer, father of my child no more. Robert Hallam, you are my convict servant! I discharge you. Leave this house!”Hallam took a step back, literally stunned by the words of the outraged woman, who for so long a time had been his slave, while Bayle uttered a long sighing sound as if relieved of some terrible weight.For a time no one spoke, but all turned from gazing on the prominent figure of that group, to Hallam, who stood clenching and unclenching his hands, and gasping as if trying to recover from the shock he had received.He essayed to speak as he glared at Mrs Hallam, and scowled at her as if each look were an arrow to wound and bring her to his feet humbled and appealing as of old; but the arrows glanced from the armour of indignant maternal love with which she was clothed; and, drawn up to her full height, scornful and defiant as she seemed, her look absolutely made him quail.Tramp—tramp—tramp—tramp.The regular march of disciplined men coming nearer and nearer, but heard by none within that room, as Crellock, with a coarse laugh, bent forward, and whispered in his companion’s ear:“Why, man, are you going to submit to this?”“No!” roared Hallam, as if his gang-companion’s words had broken a spell. “No! The woman’s mad! Julia, you are my child. Come here!”Julia met the eyes that were fixed fiercely upon her, and stepped forward.Bayle tried to arrest her, but she raised her hand to keep him back, and then placed it on her father’s arm, trembling and looking white. Then she reached up, and kissed him solemnly upon the cheek.“There, gentlemen,” he cried triumphantly. “You see. Now, wife—my wife, come to your convict servant—come—home.”He passed his arm round Julia’s waist, and signed to Crellock to come forward, but his child glided from his grasp.“Good-bye—father—good-bye—for ever.”He made a snatch at her hand; but she had gone, and was clinging to Bayle.Hallam uttered a fierce oath, and then listened: stopped short with his head wrenched round to gaze at the door.For at that moment the tramp of feet reached the entrance, and a voice rang out:“Halt!”There was the rattle of muskets on the path, and as, ghastly of face, and with starting eyes, Robert Hallam saw in imagination the interior of the prison, the grim convict dress, the chains, and the lash, the door was thrown open, and Captain Otway entered, followed by a sergeant and a file of the convict guard, a squad remaining outside, drawn up before the house.Otway glanced round, his brow furrowed, and his lips tightened, as his eyes fell on Mrs Hallam and her child.It was but a momentary emotion. Then the stern military precision asserted itself, and he said quickly:“Robert Hallam, number 874, assigned servant, I arrest you for breaking the terms of your pass. Sergeant, remove this man.”Two men stepped to Hallam’s side on the instant.“Curse you,” he yelled, as he started forward to reach his wife, but a strong hand on either arm stayed him. “This is your work.”She shook her head slowly, and Julia darted to her side, for the firmness that had sustained her so far was failing fast.“No,” she said slowly; “it is no work of mine.”“Then I have to thank my dear friend the Baronet here,” he cried with a vindictive look at Sir Gordon.“No, Hallam. I have known for months past that you have been living in wild excess on the money you stole from me, but I spared you for others’ sake.”“Oh, I see, then,” cried Hallam, turning to Bayle; “it was you—you beggarly professor of—”“Stay your reproaches,” cried Bayle sternly. “I could not have taken steps against you had I wished.”“If it’ll make it easier for Mr Hallam to know who gave information again him,” said a voice at the door, “it was me.”“Tom Porter!” cried Sir Gordon.“Ay, ay, sir.”“Remove your prisoner,” said Captain Otway sternly. Crellock stepped forward with a blustering swagger.“Am I included in this?” he said.“No, sir,” said Captain Otway sternly. “I have no orders about you—at present. Take my advice and go.” Crellock made a step toward Julia, but she shrank from him in horror, and the next minute he was literally forced out by the soldiers with their prisoner, the door closed, and a low, wailing voice arose:“Julia!”“Mother, dear mother, I am here,” cried Julia, kneeling and supporting the stricken woman on her breast.“Hold me, my darling, tightly,” she moaned. “It is growing dark—is this the end?”
It was close upon evening before the trouble Thisbe expected came. Tom Porter had been again, tapped at the door, and when Thisbe went to the window he had contorted his face in the most horrible manner, closing his left eye, and then walked off without a word.
Thisbe watched till he was out of sight, and then returned to her chair.
“He’s to be trusted,” she said to herself. “It’s a pity he wants to marry me. We’re much better as we are; and who knows but what he might turn wild? There’s only one thing in his favour, he ain’t a handsome man.”
Now Tom Porter at fifty looked to be about the last person in the world to turn wild, but Thisbe’s experiences had done much to harden her virgin heart.
At least a dozen times over she had slipped off her shoes and ascended the stairs to find that, utterly exhausted, Mrs Hallam and Julia were sleeping heavily, the latter on a chair, with her arms clasped about her mother’s neck.
“Poor dears!” said Thisbe, as she descended; “I daren’t wake them, but they ought to have a cup of tea.”
“Ah,” she exclaimed softly, “what would she say? I shall never dare to look her in the face again.”
At last the trouble came.
“I knew it,” said Thisbe, as she heard the steps at the door. “He was bound to find us. Yes, they’re both there. Well, it’s his own work and not mine. What shall I do?”
She rose from her chair, looking very resolute. “I’ll face them bold. It’s the only way.”
She heard the murmur of men’s voices, and then there was a rap at the door given with the handle of a whip. She went to the door, unfastened and threw it open.
“What is it?” she said.
Hallam and Crellock were on the threshold, and the latter exclaimed, as soon as he saw her:
“I thought so.”
They stepped in quickly, and Thisbe’s lips tightened as she was forced to back before them, and the door swung to.
“Where is your mistress?” said Hallam sharply.
“Asleep. Worn out and ill.”
“Where’s my daughter?”
“With her mother: upstairs.”
“I’ll soon have an end of this fooling,” he exclaimed; and as Thisbe stood with her arms folded, she seemed to see a flash of the old look she remembered—the look she hated—when they were at Castor years before.
Hallam threw open the door at the foot of the narrow staircase, while Crellock seated himself astride a chair with his hat on and beat his boot with his whip.
“Millicent! Julie!” cried Hallam fiercely, and there were footsteps heard above, for the arrival had awakened those who slept. “Come down at once.”
He let the door swing to and began to pace the little room, muttering to himself, and evidently furious with rage at his wife’s desertion.
Crellock watched him from the corner of his eyes, and from time to time unconsciously applied his hand to a great discolouration on the cheek. He was evidently quite satisfied, for Hallam needed no egging on to the task, and he felt that this episode would hasten his marriage.
“Are you coming?” cried Hallam, after a few minutes, and as he flung back the door, that of the bedroom was heard to open, and Mrs Hallam and Julia came down, both very pale, but with a firmness in their countenances that sent a thrill of joy through Thisbe.
“There you are then,” cried Hallam, as they stood before him. “Ah! I’ve a good mind to—”
He raised his hand and made a feint as if to strike the pale, suffering woman. With a cry of horror, Julia flung herself between them, her eyes flashing, her dread gone, and in its place, indignant horror sweeping away the last feeling of pity and compunction for the brutalised man to whom she owed her birth.
“Now then,” cried Hallam. “You’ve both had your fool’s game out, so put on your bonnets and come home.” Mrs Hallam passed her hand round Julia and remained silent.
“Do you hear?” cried Hallam. “I say, put on your things and come home. As for you, madam, you shall have a home of your own, and a husband, before you know where you are. Come; stir!” he cried, with a stamp. “This is my home,” said Mrs Hallam, sternly. “What!”
“Robert Hallam, the last thread that bound me to you is broken,” she continued, in a calm, judicial voice. “We are separated for ever.”
“You’re mad,” cried Hallam, with a laugh. “Come, no nonsense, ma’am! Don’t make a scene, for I’m not in the humour to put up with much. Come out of this house or—”
He made a step or two towards the door, for Thisbe had thrown it open, having seen Bayle pass the window with Sir Gordon. Then he seized the door to fling it in their faces; but Thisbe held it firmly, and they walked in, Hallam himself giving way.
“Coward!” snarled Crellock in his ear, as he started up, whip in hand.
“Mrs Hallam,” said Sir Gordon, “you must forgive this intrusion. I am sure we are wanted here.”
“Wanted here!” cried Hallam savagely; “no, you are not wanted here. I’ll have no more interferences from such as you; you’ve both been the curse of my life.”
Sir Gordon turned upon him with a calm look of disgust and contempt, which at another time would have made him quail; but, fevered with brandy as he was, the effect was to make him more beside himself.
“As you are here, both of you, let me tell you this: that I don’t kick you out because one of you is a weak, doddering old idiot, the other—oh, his cloth must protect Mr Bayle. Now what do you want?”
“Be calm, Julia,” whispered Bayle. “No harm shall befall either of you.”
Crellock advanced menacingly, but Sir Gordon interposed.
“Mrs Hallam, as your father’s old friend, I must interfere for your protection now.”
“Must you?” cried Hallam fiercely, “then I tell you that you won’t. This is my house, taken by my wife. That is my wife. That is my child, and in a few days she will be the wife of this gentleman, my oldest friend. Now go. Millicent—Julie—get on your things, and come, or, by all that’s holy, we’ll drag you through the streets.”
Julia clung to Bayle, and turned her flushed face to him as if asking help; while, with a look of calm contempt, he patted the hand he held, and glanced at Mrs Hallam, for something seemed to warn him that the crisis had arrived.
“I have told you, Robert Hallam,” she said, in a calm, firm voice, that grew in strength as she went on, “that from this hour we are separated, never to be man and wife again. I clung to you in all a woman’s proud faith in her husband. I loved you as dearly as woman could love. When you were condemned of all, I defended you, and believed you honest.”
“Bah!” he exclaimed; “enough of this!” and he took a step forward, but quailed before her gaze.
“You crushed my love. You made me your wretched innocent tool and slave when you brought me here, and at last you brutally told me all the cruel truth. Even then, heartbroken, I clung to you, and suffered in silence. God knows how I tried to bring you to penitence and a better life. I forgave all for the sake of our child; and in my love for her I would have gone on bearing all.”
“Have you nearly done?” he said mockingly.
“Nearly,” she said, in the same firm, clear tones; and she seemed to tower above him, pale and noble of aspect, while he, drink-brutalised and blotched, seemed to shrink.
“I say I would have borne everything, even if you had beaten me like a dog. But when—oh, my God, judge between us and forgive me if I have done wrong!—when I am called upon to see my innocent child dragged down by you to the fate of being the wife of the villain who has been your partner in all your crimes, my soul revolts, and I say—from this hour all between us is at an end.”
“And I say,” he yelled, “that you are my wife, this my child, and you shall obey me. Come; I am master here.”
He made a snatch at her arm, but she raised it before him, with outstretched palm, and her voice rang out with a cry that made him shrink and cower.
“Stop!”
There was a moment’s utter silence, broken by the softly heard tramp of feet.
“Husband no longer, father of my child no more. Robert Hallam, you are my convict servant! I discharge you. Leave this house!”
Hallam took a step back, literally stunned by the words of the outraged woman, who for so long a time had been his slave, while Bayle uttered a long sighing sound as if relieved of some terrible weight.
For a time no one spoke, but all turned from gazing on the prominent figure of that group, to Hallam, who stood clenching and unclenching his hands, and gasping as if trying to recover from the shock he had received.
He essayed to speak as he glared at Mrs Hallam, and scowled at her as if each look were an arrow to wound and bring her to his feet humbled and appealing as of old; but the arrows glanced from the armour of indignant maternal love with which she was clothed; and, drawn up to her full height, scornful and defiant as she seemed, her look absolutely made him quail.
Tramp—tramp—tramp—tramp.
The regular march of disciplined men coming nearer and nearer, but heard by none within that room, as Crellock, with a coarse laugh, bent forward, and whispered in his companion’s ear:
“Why, man, are you going to submit to this?”
“No!” roared Hallam, as if his gang-companion’s words had broken a spell. “No! The woman’s mad! Julia, you are my child. Come here!”
Julia met the eyes that were fixed fiercely upon her, and stepped forward.
Bayle tried to arrest her, but she raised her hand to keep him back, and then placed it on her father’s arm, trembling and looking white. Then she reached up, and kissed him solemnly upon the cheek.
“There, gentlemen,” he cried triumphantly. “You see. Now, wife—my wife, come to your convict servant—come—home.”
He passed his arm round Julia’s waist, and signed to Crellock to come forward, but his child glided from his grasp.
“Good-bye—father—good-bye—for ever.”
He made a snatch at her hand; but she had gone, and was clinging to Bayle.
Hallam uttered a fierce oath, and then listened: stopped short with his head wrenched round to gaze at the door.
For at that moment the tramp of feet reached the entrance, and a voice rang out:
“Halt!”
There was the rattle of muskets on the path, and as, ghastly of face, and with starting eyes, Robert Hallam saw in imagination the interior of the prison, the grim convict dress, the chains, and the lash, the door was thrown open, and Captain Otway entered, followed by a sergeant and a file of the convict guard, a squad remaining outside, drawn up before the house.
Otway glanced round, his brow furrowed, and his lips tightened, as his eyes fell on Mrs Hallam and her child.
It was but a momentary emotion. Then the stern military precision asserted itself, and he said quickly:
“Robert Hallam, number 874, assigned servant, I arrest you for breaking the terms of your pass. Sergeant, remove this man.”
Two men stepped to Hallam’s side on the instant.
“Curse you,” he yelled, as he started forward to reach his wife, but a strong hand on either arm stayed him. “This is your work.”
She shook her head slowly, and Julia darted to her side, for the firmness that had sustained her so far was failing fast.
“No,” she said slowly; “it is no work of mine.”
“Then I have to thank my dear friend the Baronet here,” he cried with a vindictive look at Sir Gordon.
“No, Hallam. I have known for months past that you have been living in wild excess on the money you stole from me, but I spared you for others’ sake.”
“Oh, I see, then,” cried Hallam, turning to Bayle; “it was you—you beggarly professor of—”
“Stay your reproaches,” cried Bayle sternly. “I could not have taken steps against you had I wished.”
“If it’ll make it easier for Mr Hallam to know who gave information again him,” said a voice at the door, “it was me.”
“Tom Porter!” cried Sir Gordon.
“Ay, ay, sir.”
“Remove your prisoner,” said Captain Otway sternly. Crellock stepped forward with a blustering swagger.
“Am I included in this?” he said.
“No, sir,” said Captain Otway sternly. “I have no orders about you—at present. Take my advice and go.” Crellock made a step toward Julia, but she shrank from him in horror, and the next minute he was literally forced out by the soldiers with their prisoner, the door closed, and a low, wailing voice arose:
“Julia!”
“Mother, dear mother, I am here,” cried Julia, kneeling and supporting the stricken woman on her breast.
“Hold me, my darling, tightly,” she moaned. “It is growing dark—is this the end?”
Volume Four—Chapter Nineteen.The Good that was in him.“Hi! Sir Gordon!”The old gentleman turned as a big-bearded man cantered up over the rough land by the track, some six months after the prison gates had closed upon Robert Hallam.“Oh, it’s you!” said Sir Gordon, shading his eyes from the blazing sun. “Well?”“Don’t be rough on a fellow, Sir Gordon. I’ve been a big blackguard, I know, but somehow I never had a chance from the first. I want to do the right thing now.”“Humph! Pretty well time,” said the old man. “Well, what is it?”The man hesitated as if struggling with shame, and he thought himself weak, but he struck his boot heavily with his whip, and took off his broad felt hat.“I’ll do it,” he said sharply to himself. Then, aloud: “Look here, sir, I’m sick of it.”“Humph! then you’d better leave it,” said the old man with an angry sneer. “Go and give yourself up, and join your old companion.”“That’s rough!” said Crellock with a grim smile. “How hard you good people can be on a fellow when he’s down!”“What have you ever done to deserve anything else, you scoundrel?” cried Sir Gordon fiercely. “Twenty thousand pounds of my money you and your rogue of a companion had, and I’m tramping through this blazing sun, while you ride a blood horse.”“Take the horse then,” said Crellock good-humouredly. “I don’t want it!”“You know I’m too old to ride it, you dog, or you wouldn’t offer it.”“There, you see, when a fellow does want to turn over a new leaf you good people won’t let him.”“Won’t let him? Where’s your book and where’s your leaf?”“Book? Oh, I’m the book, Sir Gordon, and you won’t listen to what’s on the leaf.”Sir Gordon seated himself on a great tussock of soft grass, took out his gold-rimmed glasses, put them on deliberately and stared up at the great, fine-looking, bronzed man.“Hah!” he said at last. “You, a man who can talk like that! Why, you might have been a respectable member of society, and here you are—”“Out on pass in a convict settlement. Say it, Sir Gordon. Well, what wonder? It all began with Hallam when I was a weak young fool, and thought him with his good looks and polished ways a sort of hero. I got into trouble with him; he escaped because I wouldn’t tell tales, and I had to bear the brunt, and after that I never had a chance.”“Ah, there was a nice pair of you.”Crellock groaned and seemed about to turn away, but the man’s good genius had him tightly gripped that day, and he smiled again.“Don’t be hard on me, Sir Gordon. I want to say something to you. I was going to your friend, Mr Christie Bayle, but—I couldn’t do that.”Sir Gordon watched him curiously.“You haven’t turned bushranger, then? You’re not going to rob me?”“No,” said Crellock grimly. “Haven’t I robbed you enough!”“Humph! Well?”“Ah, that’s better,” said Crellock; “now you’ll listen to me. The fact is, sir, I’ve been thinking, since I’ve been living all alone, that forty isn’t too old for a man to begin again.”“Too old? No, man. Why, I’m—there, never mind how old. Older than that, and I’m going to begin again. Forty! Why, you’re a boy!”“Well, Sir Gordon, I’m going to begin the square. I gave up the drink because—there, never mind why,” he said huskily. “I had a reason, and now I’m going to make a start.”“Well, go and do it, then. What are you going to do?”“Oh, get up the country, sir, stockman or shepherding.”“Wolfing, you mean, sir.”“Oh, no, I don’t, Sir Gordon,” said Crellock, laughing. “There’s plenty of work to be got, and I like horses and cattle better than I do men now.”“Well, look here,” said Sir Gordon testily; “I don’t believe you.”“Eh?”“I don’t believe you, sir. If you meant all this you’d have gone and begun it instead of talking. There, be off. I’m hot and tired, and want to be alone.” Crellock frowned again, but his good genius gave him another grip of the shoulder, and the smile came back. “You don’t understand me yet, Sir Gordon,” he said. “No, I never shall.”“I wanted to tell you, sir, that since Hallam was taken, I’ve been living up in the Gully House. I’d nowhere else to go, and I was desperate like. I thought every day that you or somebody would come and take possession, but no one did. Law seems all anyhow out here. Then the days went on. This horse had been down—sprained leg from a bad jump.”“Confound your horse, sir! I don’t want to hear your stable twaddle,” cried Sir Gordon.Crellock seemed to swallow a lump in his throat, and paused, but he went on after a while:“The poor brute was a deal hurt, and tending and bandaging his leg seemed to do me good like. Then I used to send one of the blacks to town for food.”“And drink?” said Sir Gordon acidly.“No—for tea; and I’ve lived up there with the horses ever since. There’s—”“Well, why don’t you go on, man?”“Give me time,” said Crellock, who had stopped short. “There’s Miss Hallam’s mare there, too. She was very fond of that mare,” he added huskily.Sir Gordon’s eyes seemed half shut, as he watched the man and noted the changes in his voice.“Well, sir, I’ve lived there six months now, and nobody has taken any notice. There’s the furniture and the house, and there’s a whole lot of money left yet of what Mrs Hallam brought over.”“Well?”“Well! why, Sir Gordon, it’s all yours, of course, and I’ve been waiting for weeks to have this talk to you. I couldn’t come to the cottage.”“Why not?”Crellock shook his head.“No, I couldn’t come there. I’ve laid in wait for you when you were going down to your boat for a sail, but that Tom Porter was always with you; and I didn’t want to write. I didn’t think you’d come if I did. You’d have thought it was a plant, and set the authorities after me, and I didn’t want that because I’ve had enough of convict life.”“Humph! Well, what do you want me to do?”“Come and take possession, Sir Gordon, and have the house taken care of. There’s her mare there, you see. Then there’s the money; no one but Hallam and me knows where it’s hidden. I shouldn’t like the place to fall into anybody’s hands.”“But you? You want to give all this up to me?”“Of course, sir. It’s all yours. It was the bank money that bought everything.”“And what are you going to do?”“Oh, I’m sick of it all, sir, and I want to start clear. I shall go up the country. I think I’m a clever stockman.”“And you give up everything?”The man set his teeth.“Yes, sir,” he said, firmly, as he turned and patted the horse’s neck as it stood close by, cropping the tender shoots of a bush; and it raised its head and laid its muzzle in his hand. “I should like you to see that Joey here had a good master. I threw him down once, and doctoring seemed to make him fond of me. He’s a good horse. It’s a pity you’re too old to ride.”“Confound you! how dare you?” cried Sir Gordon.“I’m not too old to ride, sir. I—I—” he started up with his lip quivering. “Here! here! sit down, Crellock. Confound you, sir, I never met with such a scoundrel in all my life!”Crellock looked at him curiously, and then, throwing the bridle on the ground, he sat down, while Sir Gordon paced up and down in a quick, fidgety walk.“Have you got anything more to say, sir?” he cried at last.Crellock was silent for a few moments, and then, drawing a long breath, he said:“How is Mrs Hallam, sir?”“Dying,” said Sir Gordon, shortly. “It is a matter of days. Well, is that all?”There was another interval before Crellock spoke.“Will you take a message for me, sir, to those up yonder?”“No!—Yes.”The words would not come for some moments, and when they did come they were very husky.“I want you to ask Mrs Hallam to forgive me my share of the past.”“Is that all?”“No, Sir Gordon. Tell Miss Julia that for her sake I did give up the drink; that I’m going up now into the bush; that for her sake I’m doing all this; and that I shall never forget the gentle face that bent over me outside the prison walls.”He turned to go, and had gone a score of yards, walking quickly, but with the horse following, when Sir Gordon called out:“Stop!”Crellock stood still, and Sir Gordon walked up to him slowly.“You are right, Crellock,” he said in a quiet, changed tone. “I believe you. You never had a chance.”He held out his hand, which the other did not take.“Shake hands, man.”“I am a convict, sir,” said Crellock proudly.“Shake hands,” cried Sir Gordon firmly; and he took the strong, brown hand, slowly raised.“There is my forgiveness for the past—and—yes—that of the truest, sweetest woman I ever knew. Now, as to your future, do as you say, go into the bush and take up land—new land in this new country, and begin your new life. I shall touch nothing at the Gully House—place, horses, money, they are yours.”“Mine?” exclaimed Crellock.“Yes; I have more than ever I shall want; and as to that money which I had always looked upon as lost, if it makes you into what you say you will strive to be, it is the best investment I ever made.”“But—”“Good-bye.”
“Hi! Sir Gordon!”
The old gentleman turned as a big-bearded man cantered up over the rough land by the track, some six months after the prison gates had closed upon Robert Hallam.
“Oh, it’s you!” said Sir Gordon, shading his eyes from the blazing sun. “Well?”
“Don’t be rough on a fellow, Sir Gordon. I’ve been a big blackguard, I know, but somehow I never had a chance from the first. I want to do the right thing now.”
“Humph! Pretty well time,” said the old man. “Well, what is it?”
The man hesitated as if struggling with shame, and he thought himself weak, but he struck his boot heavily with his whip, and took off his broad felt hat.
“I’ll do it,” he said sharply to himself. Then, aloud: “Look here, sir, I’m sick of it.”
“Humph! then you’d better leave it,” said the old man with an angry sneer. “Go and give yourself up, and join your old companion.”
“That’s rough!” said Crellock with a grim smile. “How hard you good people can be on a fellow when he’s down!”
“What have you ever done to deserve anything else, you scoundrel?” cried Sir Gordon fiercely. “Twenty thousand pounds of my money you and your rogue of a companion had, and I’m tramping through this blazing sun, while you ride a blood horse.”
“Take the horse then,” said Crellock good-humouredly. “I don’t want it!”
“You know I’m too old to ride it, you dog, or you wouldn’t offer it.”
“There, you see, when a fellow does want to turn over a new leaf you good people won’t let him.”
“Won’t let him? Where’s your book and where’s your leaf?”
“Book? Oh, I’m the book, Sir Gordon, and you won’t listen to what’s on the leaf.”
Sir Gordon seated himself on a great tussock of soft grass, took out his gold-rimmed glasses, put them on deliberately and stared up at the great, fine-looking, bronzed man.
“Hah!” he said at last. “You, a man who can talk like that! Why, you might have been a respectable member of society, and here you are—”
“Out on pass in a convict settlement. Say it, Sir Gordon. Well, what wonder? It all began with Hallam when I was a weak young fool, and thought him with his good looks and polished ways a sort of hero. I got into trouble with him; he escaped because I wouldn’t tell tales, and I had to bear the brunt, and after that I never had a chance.”
“Ah, there was a nice pair of you.”
Crellock groaned and seemed about to turn away, but the man’s good genius had him tightly gripped that day, and he smiled again.
“Don’t be hard on me, Sir Gordon. I want to say something to you. I was going to your friend, Mr Christie Bayle, but—I couldn’t do that.”
Sir Gordon watched him curiously.
“You haven’t turned bushranger, then? You’re not going to rob me?”
“No,” said Crellock grimly. “Haven’t I robbed you enough!”
“Humph! Well?”
“Ah, that’s better,” said Crellock; “now you’ll listen to me. The fact is, sir, I’ve been thinking, since I’ve been living all alone, that forty isn’t too old for a man to begin again.”
“Too old? No, man. Why, I’m—there, never mind how old. Older than that, and I’m going to begin again. Forty! Why, you’re a boy!”
“Well, Sir Gordon, I’m going to begin the square. I gave up the drink because—there, never mind why,” he said huskily. “I had a reason, and now I’m going to make a start.”
“Well, go and do it, then. What are you going to do?”
“Oh, get up the country, sir, stockman or shepherding.”
“Wolfing, you mean, sir.”
“Oh, no, I don’t, Sir Gordon,” said Crellock, laughing. “There’s plenty of work to be got, and I like horses and cattle better than I do men now.”
“Well, look here,” said Sir Gordon testily; “I don’t believe you.”
“Eh?”
“I don’t believe you, sir. If you meant all this you’d have gone and begun it instead of talking. There, be off. I’m hot and tired, and want to be alone.” Crellock frowned again, but his good genius gave him another grip of the shoulder, and the smile came back. “You don’t understand me yet, Sir Gordon,” he said. “No, I never shall.”
“I wanted to tell you, sir, that since Hallam was taken, I’ve been living up in the Gully House. I’d nowhere else to go, and I was desperate like. I thought every day that you or somebody would come and take possession, but no one did. Law seems all anyhow out here. Then the days went on. This horse had been down—sprained leg from a bad jump.”
“Confound your horse, sir! I don’t want to hear your stable twaddle,” cried Sir Gordon.
Crellock seemed to swallow a lump in his throat, and paused, but he went on after a while:
“The poor brute was a deal hurt, and tending and bandaging his leg seemed to do me good like. Then I used to send one of the blacks to town for food.”
“And drink?” said Sir Gordon acidly.
“No—for tea; and I’ve lived up there with the horses ever since. There’s—”
“Well, why don’t you go on, man?”
“Give me time,” said Crellock, who had stopped short. “There’s Miss Hallam’s mare there, too. She was very fond of that mare,” he added huskily.
Sir Gordon’s eyes seemed half shut, as he watched the man and noted the changes in his voice.
“Well, sir, I’ve lived there six months now, and nobody has taken any notice. There’s the furniture and the house, and there’s a whole lot of money left yet of what Mrs Hallam brought over.”
“Well?”
“Well! why, Sir Gordon, it’s all yours, of course, and I’ve been waiting for weeks to have this talk to you. I couldn’t come to the cottage.”
“Why not?”
Crellock shook his head.
“No, I couldn’t come there. I’ve laid in wait for you when you were going down to your boat for a sail, but that Tom Porter was always with you; and I didn’t want to write. I didn’t think you’d come if I did. You’d have thought it was a plant, and set the authorities after me, and I didn’t want that because I’ve had enough of convict life.”
“Humph! Well, what do you want me to do?”
“Come and take possession, Sir Gordon, and have the house taken care of. There’s her mare there, you see. Then there’s the money; no one but Hallam and me knows where it’s hidden. I shouldn’t like the place to fall into anybody’s hands.”
“But you? You want to give all this up to me?”
“Of course, sir. It’s all yours. It was the bank money that bought everything.”
“And what are you going to do?”
“Oh, I’m sick of it all, sir, and I want to start clear. I shall go up the country. I think I’m a clever stockman.”
“And you give up everything?”
The man set his teeth.
“Yes, sir,” he said, firmly, as he turned and patted the horse’s neck as it stood close by, cropping the tender shoots of a bush; and it raised its head and laid its muzzle in his hand. “I should like you to see that Joey here had a good master. I threw him down once, and doctoring seemed to make him fond of me. He’s a good horse. It’s a pity you’re too old to ride.”
“Confound you! how dare you?” cried Sir Gordon.
“I’m not too old to ride, sir. I—I—” he started up with his lip quivering. “Here! here! sit down, Crellock. Confound you, sir, I never met with such a scoundrel in all my life!”
Crellock looked at him curiously, and then, throwing the bridle on the ground, he sat down, while Sir Gordon paced up and down in a quick, fidgety walk.
“Have you got anything more to say, sir?” he cried at last.
Crellock was silent for a few moments, and then, drawing a long breath, he said:
“How is Mrs Hallam, sir?”
“Dying,” said Sir Gordon, shortly. “It is a matter of days. Well, is that all?”
There was another interval before Crellock spoke.
“Will you take a message for me, sir, to those up yonder?”
“No!—Yes.”
The words would not come for some moments, and when they did come they were very husky.
“I want you to ask Mrs Hallam to forgive me my share of the past.”
“Is that all?”
“No, Sir Gordon. Tell Miss Julia that for her sake I did give up the drink; that I’m going up now into the bush; that for her sake I’m doing all this; and that I shall never forget the gentle face that bent over me outside the prison walls.”
He turned to go, and had gone a score of yards, walking quickly, but with the horse following, when Sir Gordon called out:
“Stop!”
Crellock stood still, and Sir Gordon walked up to him slowly.
“You are right, Crellock,” he said in a quiet, changed tone. “I believe you. You never had a chance.”
He held out his hand, which the other did not take.
“Shake hands, man.”
“I am a convict, sir,” said Crellock proudly.
“Shake hands,” cried Sir Gordon firmly; and he took the strong, brown hand, slowly raised.
“There is my forgiveness for the past—and—yes—that of the truest, sweetest woman I ever knew. Now, as to your future, do as you say, go into the bush and take up land—new land in this new country, and begin your new life. I shall touch nothing at the Gully House—place, horses, money, they are yours.”
“Mine?” exclaimed Crellock.
“Yes; I have more than ever I shall want; and as to that money which I had always looked upon as lost, if it makes you into what you say you will strive to be, it is the best investment I ever made.”
“But—”
“Good-bye.”
Volume Four—Chapter Twenty.Overheard.Sir Gordon Bourne looked ten years younger as he walked towards the cottage on the bluff. The hill was steep to climb, and the sun was torrid in its heat; but he forgot the discomfort and climbed higher and higher till he reached the rough fence that surrounded the grounds, and there stood, with his hat off, wiping his brow and gazing at the glorious prospect of sea and land.“I feel almost like a good fairy this morning,” he said, with a laugh. “Ah! how beautiful it all is, and what a pity that such an Eden should be made the home of England’s worst.”He opened the rough gate and entered the grounds, that were admirably kept by a couple of convict servants, watched over by Tom Porter, crossed a patch of lawn, and was about to go up to the house, but a pleasantly-placed rustic seat, beneath the shelter of a gum-tree, and nearly surrounded by Austral shrubs, emitting their curious aromatic scent in the hot sunshine, tempted him to rest; and in a few minutes, overcome by the exertions of the morning, his head bowed down upon his breast, and he dropped into a light doze.He was aroused by voices—one low, deep, and earnest, the other low and deep, but silvery and sweet, and with a tender ring in it that brought up memories of a little, low-roofed drawing-room in the quiet Lincolnshire town; and a curious dimness came over the old man’s eyes.The speakers were behind him, hidden by a veil of soft grey-green leaves; and as Sir Gordon involuntarily listened, one voice said in trembling tones:“I dared not even look forward to such an end.”“But ever since others began to set me thinking of such things, I have waited, for I used to say, some day he will ask me to be his wife.”“And you loved me, Julie?”“Loved you? Did you not know?”“But like this?”“Like this? Always; for when you came, all trouble seemed to go, and I felt that I was safe.”The voices paused, and Sir Gordon sat up, leaning upon his stick and thinking aloud.“Well, I have always hoped it would be so—no, not always; and now it seems as if he were going to rob me of a child.”He sat gazing straight before him, seeing nothing of the soft blue sea and sky, nor the many shades of grey and green that rolled before his eyes, for they were filled with the face of Julia Hallam.“Yes,” he said at last. “Why not? Ah, Bayle! Where is Julie?”“With her mother now. Sir Gordon—”“Hush! I know. I’ve nought to say but this: God bless you both!”
Sir Gordon Bourne looked ten years younger as he walked towards the cottage on the bluff. The hill was steep to climb, and the sun was torrid in its heat; but he forgot the discomfort and climbed higher and higher till he reached the rough fence that surrounded the grounds, and there stood, with his hat off, wiping his brow and gazing at the glorious prospect of sea and land.
“I feel almost like a good fairy this morning,” he said, with a laugh. “Ah! how beautiful it all is, and what a pity that such an Eden should be made the home of England’s worst.”
He opened the rough gate and entered the grounds, that were admirably kept by a couple of convict servants, watched over by Tom Porter, crossed a patch of lawn, and was about to go up to the house, but a pleasantly-placed rustic seat, beneath the shelter of a gum-tree, and nearly surrounded by Austral shrubs, emitting their curious aromatic scent in the hot sunshine, tempted him to rest; and in a few minutes, overcome by the exertions of the morning, his head bowed down upon his breast, and he dropped into a light doze.
He was aroused by voices—one low, deep, and earnest, the other low and deep, but silvery and sweet, and with a tender ring in it that brought up memories of a little, low-roofed drawing-room in the quiet Lincolnshire town; and a curious dimness came over the old man’s eyes.
The speakers were behind him, hidden by a veil of soft grey-green leaves; and as Sir Gordon involuntarily listened, one voice said in trembling tones:
“I dared not even look forward to such an end.”
“But ever since others began to set me thinking of such things, I have waited, for I used to say, some day he will ask me to be his wife.”
“And you loved me, Julie?”
“Loved you? Did you not know?”
“But like this?”
“Like this? Always; for when you came, all trouble seemed to go, and I felt that I was safe.”
The voices paused, and Sir Gordon sat up, leaning upon his stick and thinking aloud.
“Well, I have always hoped it would be so—no, not always; and now it seems as if he were going to rob me of a child.”
He sat gazing straight before him, seeing nothing of the soft blue sea and sky, nor the many shades of grey and green that rolled before his eyes, for they were filled with the face of Julia Hallam.
“Yes,” he said at last. “Why not? Ah, Bayle! Where is Julie?”
“With her mother now. Sir Gordon—”
“Hush! I know. I’ve nought to say but this: God bless you both!”
Volume Four—Chapter Twenty One.Rest.There had been some talk of a speedy return to the old country, but the doctor shook his head.“Let her live her few hours in rest and peace,” he said. “It would be madness to attempt such a thing.” And so all thought of the journey home was set aside, and Mrs Hallam was borne up to the cottage.In her weakness she had protested, but Sir Gordon had quietly said:“Am I your father’s oldest friend?” And then: “Have I not a right to insist—for Julie’s sake?”She yielded, and the cottage for the next few months became their home, Bayle going down into the town, spending much of his time amongst the convicts and seeing a good deal of the Otways.“That’s how it’s going to be,” said Mrs Otway. “I always said so, Jack.”“Nonsense! he’s old enough to be her father.”“Perhaps so in years; but he’s about the youngest man in his ways I ever knew, while she is old and staid for her age.”“Time proves all things,” said Captain Otway. “Phil won’t get her, that’s certain.”“No; that’s all over, and he is not breaking his heart about her, in spite of all the fuss at first. Well, I’m glad for some things; I shall be able to look Lady Eaton in the face.”“A task you would very well have fulfilled, even if he had married Julia Hallam. It would take a very big Lady Eaton to frighten you, my dear. Been up to see Mrs Hallam to-day?”The lady nodded.“No hope?”“Not the slightest,” said Mrs Otway quietly. Then after a pause: “Jack,” she said, “do you know, I think it would be wrong to wish her to live. What has she to live for?”“Child—her child’s husband—their children.”Mrs Otway shook her head.“No; I don’t think she would ever be happy again. Poor thing! if ever woman’s heart was broken, hers was. I don’t like going up to see her, but I feel obliged. There are so few women here whom one like her would care to see. Ah, it’s a sad case!”“Does she seem to suffer much?”“She does not seem to, but who knows what a quiet, patient creature will bear without making a sign?”The months glided on, and still Millicent Hallam lingered as if loth to leave the beautiful world spread before her, and on which she loved to gaze.She had half-expected it, but it was still a surprise when Julia whispered to her, as she sat beside her couch, that she was going to be the wife of Christie Bayle.Mrs Hallam’s eyes dilated.“He has asked you to be his wife?” she said, in her low, sweet voice.“No, mother,” said Julia, as she laid her head beside her, and gazed dreamily before her; “I don’t think he asked me.”“But, my child—you said—”“Yes, mother dear,” said Julia innocently, “I hardly know how it came about. It has always seemed to me that some day I should be his wife. Why, I have always loved him! How could I help it?”Mrs Hallam laid her hand upon her child’s glossy hair, and closed her eyes, wondering in herself at the simple, truthful words she had heard. One moment she felt pained, and as if it ought not to be; the next, a flood of joy seemed to send a wave through her breast, as she thought of the days when Julia would be alone in the world, and in whose charge would she rather have left her than in that of Christie Bayle?The battle went on at intervals for days; but at last it was at an end, and she lay back calmly as she said to herself:“Yes, it is right. Now I can be at rest!”Another month passed. Doctor Woodhouse came, as was his custom, more as a friend than from the belief that his knowledge could be of any avail. One particular morning he stopped to lunch, and went up again afterwards to see Mrs Hallam, staying some little time. He left Julia with her, and came down to where Sir Gordon was seated on the lawn with Bayle.The latter started up, as he saw the doctor’s face, and his eyes asked him mutely for an explanation of his look.The doctor answered him as mutely, while Sir Gordon saw it, and rose to stand agitatedly by his chair.“Bayle,” he whispered; “I thought I was prepared, but now it has come it seems very hard to bear!”Bayle glided away into the house, to go upstairs, meeting Thisbe on the way wringing her hands, and blinded with her tears.“I couldn’t bear to stop, sir—I couldn’t bear to stop,” she whispered. “It’s come—it’s come at last.”Bayle entered the room softly, steeling his heart to bear with her he loved some agonising scene. But he paused on the threshold, almost startled by the look of peace upon the wasted face, full in the bright Southern light.Mrs Hallam smiled as she saw him there; and as he crossed the room and knelt by her side, she laid her hand in his, and feebly took Julia’s and placed them together.“The rest is coming now,” she said.Julia burst into a passion of weeping.“Mother! Mother! If you could but live!” she sobbed.“Live? No, my darling, no. I am so tired—so worn and weary. I should faint now by the way.”She closed her eyes, smiling at them tenderly, and for the space of an hour they watched her sleeping peacefully and well.And as Julia sat there with her hands clasped in Christie Bayle’s strong palms, a feeling of hopefulness and peace, to which she had long been a stranger, came into her heart. The doctor had once said that there might be a change for the better if his patient’s mind were at rest, and that rest seemed to have come at last.The afternoon had passed away, and the fast-sinking sun had turned the clear sky to gold; and as the great orb of day descended to where a low bank of clouds lay upon the horizon, it seemed to glide quickly from their view. The room, but a few moments before lit up by the refulgent glow, darkened and became gloomy; but as the glorious light streamed up in myriad rays from behind the clouds, there was still a soft flush upon the sick woman’s face.A wondrous stillness seemed to have come upon the watchers, for the hope that had been warm in Julia’s breast was now chilled as if by some unseen presence, and she turned her frightened eyes from her mother to Bayle, and back.“Christie!” she cried suddenly.“Hush!”One softly-spoken, solemn-sounding word, as Christie Bayle held fast the hand of his affianced wife, and together they sank upon their knees.The glowing purple clouds opened slowly, and once more as from the dazzling golden gates of the great city on the farther shore, a wondrous light streamed forth, filling the chamber and brightening the features of the dying woman.The pain and agony of the past with their cruel lines had gone, and the beautiful countenance shone with that look of old that he who knelt there knew so well. But it was etherealised in its sweet calm, its restfulness, as the still, bright eyes gazed calmly and trustfully far out to sea.Julia’s fingers tightened on her mother’s chilling hand, and she gazed with awe at the rapt look and gentle smile that flickered a few moments on the trembling lips.Then, as the clouds closed in once more and the room grew dark, the passionate yearning cry of the young heart burst forth in that one word, “Mother?”But there was no response—no word spoken, save that as they knelt there in the ever darkening room Christie Bayle’s lips parted to whisper, in tones so low, that they were like a sigh:”‘Come unto Me all ye that are weary and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.’”
There had been some talk of a speedy return to the old country, but the doctor shook his head.
“Let her live her few hours in rest and peace,” he said. “It would be madness to attempt such a thing.” And so all thought of the journey home was set aside, and Mrs Hallam was borne up to the cottage.
In her weakness she had protested, but Sir Gordon had quietly said:
“Am I your father’s oldest friend?” And then: “Have I not a right to insist—for Julie’s sake?”
She yielded, and the cottage for the next few months became their home, Bayle going down into the town, spending much of his time amongst the convicts and seeing a good deal of the Otways.
“That’s how it’s going to be,” said Mrs Otway. “I always said so, Jack.”
“Nonsense! he’s old enough to be her father.”
“Perhaps so in years; but he’s about the youngest man in his ways I ever knew, while she is old and staid for her age.”
“Time proves all things,” said Captain Otway. “Phil won’t get her, that’s certain.”
“No; that’s all over, and he is not breaking his heart about her, in spite of all the fuss at first. Well, I’m glad for some things; I shall be able to look Lady Eaton in the face.”
“A task you would very well have fulfilled, even if he had married Julia Hallam. It would take a very big Lady Eaton to frighten you, my dear. Been up to see Mrs Hallam to-day?”
The lady nodded.
“No hope?”
“Not the slightest,” said Mrs Otway quietly. Then after a pause: “Jack,” she said, “do you know, I think it would be wrong to wish her to live. What has she to live for?”
“Child—her child’s husband—their children.”
Mrs Otway shook her head.
“No; I don’t think she would ever be happy again. Poor thing! if ever woman’s heart was broken, hers was. I don’t like going up to see her, but I feel obliged. There are so few women here whom one like her would care to see. Ah, it’s a sad case!”
“Does she seem to suffer much?”
“She does not seem to, but who knows what a quiet, patient creature will bear without making a sign?”
The months glided on, and still Millicent Hallam lingered as if loth to leave the beautiful world spread before her, and on which she loved to gaze.
She had half-expected it, but it was still a surprise when Julia whispered to her, as she sat beside her couch, that she was going to be the wife of Christie Bayle.
Mrs Hallam’s eyes dilated.
“He has asked you to be his wife?” she said, in her low, sweet voice.
“No, mother,” said Julia, as she laid her head beside her, and gazed dreamily before her; “I don’t think he asked me.”
“But, my child—you said—”
“Yes, mother dear,” said Julia innocently, “I hardly know how it came about. It has always seemed to me that some day I should be his wife. Why, I have always loved him! How could I help it?”
Mrs Hallam laid her hand upon her child’s glossy hair, and closed her eyes, wondering in herself at the simple, truthful words she had heard. One moment she felt pained, and as if it ought not to be; the next, a flood of joy seemed to send a wave through her breast, as she thought of the days when Julia would be alone in the world, and in whose charge would she rather have left her than in that of Christie Bayle?
The battle went on at intervals for days; but at last it was at an end, and she lay back calmly as she said to herself:
“Yes, it is right. Now I can be at rest!”
Another month passed. Doctor Woodhouse came, as was his custom, more as a friend than from the belief that his knowledge could be of any avail. One particular morning he stopped to lunch, and went up again afterwards to see Mrs Hallam, staying some little time. He left Julia with her, and came down to where Sir Gordon was seated on the lawn with Bayle.
The latter started up, as he saw the doctor’s face, and his eyes asked him mutely for an explanation of his look.
The doctor answered him as mutely, while Sir Gordon saw it, and rose to stand agitatedly by his chair.
“Bayle,” he whispered; “I thought I was prepared, but now it has come it seems very hard to bear!”
Bayle glided away into the house, to go upstairs, meeting Thisbe on the way wringing her hands, and blinded with her tears.
“I couldn’t bear to stop, sir—I couldn’t bear to stop,” she whispered. “It’s come—it’s come at last.”
Bayle entered the room softly, steeling his heart to bear with her he loved some agonising scene. But he paused on the threshold, almost startled by the look of peace upon the wasted face, full in the bright Southern light.
Mrs Hallam smiled as she saw him there; and as he crossed the room and knelt by her side, she laid her hand in his, and feebly took Julia’s and placed them together.
“The rest is coming now,” she said.
Julia burst into a passion of weeping.
“Mother! Mother! If you could but live!” she sobbed.
“Live? No, my darling, no. I am so tired—so worn and weary. I should faint now by the way.”
She closed her eyes, smiling at them tenderly, and for the space of an hour they watched her sleeping peacefully and well.
And as Julia sat there with her hands clasped in Christie Bayle’s strong palms, a feeling of hopefulness and peace, to which she had long been a stranger, came into her heart. The doctor had once said that there might be a change for the better if his patient’s mind were at rest, and that rest seemed to have come at last.
The afternoon had passed away, and the fast-sinking sun had turned the clear sky to gold; and as the great orb of day descended to where a low bank of clouds lay upon the horizon, it seemed to glide quickly from their view. The room, but a few moments before lit up by the refulgent glow, darkened and became gloomy; but as the glorious light streamed up in myriad rays from behind the clouds, there was still a soft flush upon the sick woman’s face.
A wondrous stillness seemed to have come upon the watchers, for the hope that had been warm in Julia’s breast was now chilled as if by some unseen presence, and she turned her frightened eyes from her mother to Bayle, and back.
“Christie!” she cried suddenly.
“Hush!”
One softly-spoken, solemn-sounding word, as Christie Bayle held fast the hand of his affianced wife, and together they sank upon their knees.
The glowing purple clouds opened slowly, and once more as from the dazzling golden gates of the great city on the farther shore, a wondrous light streamed forth, filling the chamber and brightening the features of the dying woman.
The pain and agony of the past with their cruel lines had gone, and the beautiful countenance shone with that look of old that he who knelt there knew so well. But it was etherealised in its sweet calm, its restfulness, as the still, bright eyes gazed calmly and trustfully far out to sea.
Julia’s fingers tightened on her mother’s chilling hand, and she gazed with awe at the rapt look and gentle smile that flickered a few moments on the trembling lips.
Then, as the clouds closed in once more and the room grew dark, the passionate yearning cry of the young heart burst forth in that one word, “Mother?”
But there was no response—no word spoken, save that as they knelt there in the ever darkening room Christie Bayle’s lips parted to whisper, in tones so low, that they were like a sigh:
”‘Come unto Me all ye that are weary and are heavy laden, and I will give you rest.’”