“I am better,” she said in a hoarse, strangely altered voice. “Hush, Julie – I can bear it,” she cried imperiously. “Tell me all. You have heard of my husband?”
“Yes, Mrs Hallam, yes; but be calm and you shall know all.”
“I am calm.”
Christie Bayle felt the cold dew stand upon his brow as he faced the pale, stern face before him. It did not seem the Millicent Hallam he knew, but one at enmity with him for holding back from her that which was her very life.
“Why do you not speak?” she said angrily; and she took a step forward.
In a flash, as it were, Christie Bayle seemed to see into the future, and in that future he saw, as it were, the simple happy little home he had made for the woman he had once loved crumbling away into nothingness, the years of peace gone for ever, and a dark future of pain and misery usurping their place. The dew upon his brow grew heavier, and as Sir Gordon’s eyes ranged from one to the other he could read that the anguish in the countenance of the man he had made his friend was as great as that suffered by the woman to whom, in the happy past, they had talked of love. He started as Bayle spoke; his voice sounded so calm and emotionless; at times it was slightly husky, but it gained strength as he went on, its effect being, as he took Mrs Hallam’s hands to make her sink upon her knees at his feet her anger gone, and the calm of his spirit seeming to influence her own.
“I hesitated to speak,” he said, “until I had prepared you for what I had to say.”
“Prepared?” she cried. “What have all these terrible years been but my probation?”
“Yes, I know,” said Bayle; “but still I hesitated. Yes,” he said quickly, “I have heard from Mr Hallam. He has written to me – enclosing a letter for his wife.” As he spoke he took the letter from his breast, and Mrs Hallam caught it, reading the direction with swimming eyes.
“Julie!” she panted, starting to her feet, “read – read it – quickly – whisper, my child!”
She turned her back to the men, and held the unopened letter beneath the lamp.
Julia stretched out her hand to take the letter, but her mother drew it quickly back, with an alarmed look at her child, holding it tightly with both hands the next moment to the light; and Julia read through her tears in a low quick voice:
“Private and confidential.
“To Mrs Robert Hallam, formerly Miss Millicent Luttrell, of King’s Castor, in the county of Lincoln.
“N.B. – If the lady to whom this letter is addressed be dead, it is to be returned unopened to —
“Robert Hallam, —
“9749, —
“Nulla Nulla Prison, —
“Port Jackson.”
“Mrs Hallam,” said Bayle in his calm, clear voice, “Sir Gordon and I are going. You would like to be alone. Could you bear to see us again – say to-night – in an hour or two?”
“Yes, yes,” she cried, catching his hand; “you will come back. There! you see I am calm now. Dear friends, make some excuse for me if I seem half mad.” Sir Gordon took the hand that Bayle dropped, and kissed it respectfully.
Bayle was holding Julia’s.
“God protect you both, and give you counsel,” he whispered, half speaking to himself. “Julie, you will help her now.”
“Help her!” panted Julia. “Why, it is a time of joy, Mr Bayle; and you don’t seem glad.”
“Glad!” he said in a low voice, looking at her wistfully. “Heaven knows how I should rejoice if there were good news for both.”
The next minute he and Sir Gordon were arm-in-arm walking about the square; for though Bayle had left the place intending to go to his own rooms, Mrs Hallam’s house seemed to possess an attraction for them both, and they stayed within sight of the quiet little home.
Volume Three – Chapter Five.
The Wife Speaks
Sir Gordon was the first to break the silence, and his voice trembled with passion and excitement.
“The villain!” he said in an angry whisper. “How dare he write to her! She suffered, but it was a calm and patient suffering, softened by time. Now he has torn open the wound to make it bleed afresh, and it will never heal again.”
“I have lived in an agonising dread of this night for the past ten years,” said Bayle hoarsely.
“You?”
“Yes: I. Does it seem strange? I have seen her gradually growing more restful and happy in the love of her child. I have gone on loving that child as if she were my own. Was it not reasonable that I should dread the hour when that man might come and claim them once again?”
“But they are not his now,” cried Sir Gordon. “The man is socially dead.”
“To us and to the law,” said Bayle; “but is the husband of her young love dead to the heart of such a woman as Millicent Hallam?”
“Luttrell, man; Luttrell,” cried Sir Gordon excitedly; “don’t utter his accursed name!”
“As Millicent Hallam,” said Bayle gravely. “She is his wife. She will never change.”
“She must be made to change,” cried Sir Gordon, whose excitement and anger were in strong contrast to the calm, patient suffering of the man upon whose arm he hung heavily as they tramped on round and round the circular railings within the square. “It is monstrous that he should be allowed to disturb her peace, Bayle. Look here! Did you say that letter came enclosed to you?”
“Yes.”
“Then – then you were a fool, man – a fool! You call yourself her friend – the friend of that sweet girl?”
“Their truest, best friend, I hope.”
“You call yourself my friend,” continued Sir Gordon, in the same angry, unreasoning way, “and yet you give them that letter? You should have sent it back to the scoundrel, marked dead. They are dead to him. Bayle, you were a fool.”
“Do you think so?” he said smiling, and looking round at his companion. “My dear sir, is your Christianity at so low an ebb that you speak those words?”
“Now you are beginning to preach, sir, to excuse yourself.”
“No,” replied Bayle quietly. “I was only about to say, suppose these long years of suffering for his crime have changed the man; are we to say there is to be no ray of hope in his darkened life?”
“I can’t argue with you, Bayle,” cried Sir Gordon. “Forgive me. I grow old and easily excited. I called you a fool: I was the fool. It was misplaced. You are not very angry with me?”
“My dear old friend!”
“My dear boy!”
Sir Gordon’s voice sounded strange, and something wonderfully like a sob was heard. Then, for some time they paced on round and round the square, glancing at the illumined window-blind, both longing to be back in the pleasant little room.
And now the same feeling that had troubled Bayle seemed to have made its way into Sir Gordon’s breast. The little home, with its tokens of feminine taste and traces of mother and daughter everywhere, had grown to be so delightful an oasis in his desert life that he looked with dismay at the chance of losing it for ever.
He knew nothing yet, but that home seemed to be gliding away. He had not heard the letter read, but a strange horror of what it might contain made him shudder for what he knew; and as the future began to paint terrors without end, he suddenly nipped the arm of his silent, thoughtful companion.
“There! there!” he said, “we are thinking about ourselves, man.”
“No,” said Bayle, in a deep, sad voice, “I was thinking about them.”
“It’s my belief,” said Sir Gordon, half angrily, “that you have gone on all these years past thinking about them. But come! We must act. Tell me about the letter. Do you say he wrote to you?”
“Yes.”
“But why to you? He must have hated you with all his heart.”
“I believe he did,” replied Bayle. “Even my love for his child was a grievance to him.”
“And yet he wrote to you, enclosing the letter to his wife.”
“I suppose he felt that I should not forsake them in their distress; and that whatever changes might have taken place my whereabouts would be known – a clergyman being easily traced. See!”
He took another letter from his pocket, and stopped beneath a gas-lamp.
“No, no, I cannot read it by this light; tell me what he says,” exclaimed Sir Gordon.
“The letter is directed to me at King’s Castor, and above the direction Hallam has written, ‘If Rev. Christie Bayle has left King’s Castor, the postal authorities are requested to find his address from the Clerical Directory.’ The people at Castor of course knew my address, and sent it on.”
“Yes, I see. Well, well, what does he say?”
Bayle read, in a calm, clear voice, the following letter:
“Prison, Nulla Nulla, —
“Port Jackson, Australia, —
“December 9th, 18 – .
“Sir, —
“You and I were never friends, and in my trouble perhaps you were harder on me than you need have been. But I always believed you to be a true gentleman, and that you liked my wife and child. I can trust no one else but a clergyman, being a convict; but your profession must make you ready, like our chaplain here, to hear all our troubles, so I write to ask you to help me by placing the letter enclosed in my wife’s hands, and in none other’s. It is for her sight alone.
“I cannot offer to reward you for doing me this service, but I ask you to do a good turn to a suffering man, who has gone through a deal since you saw him.
“Please mark: the letter is to be given to my wife alone, or to my child. If they are both dead, the letter is to be sent back to me unopened, as I tell you it contains private matters, only relating to my wife and me.
“I am, Reverend Sir, —
“Your obedient, humble servant, —
“Robert Hallam, 9749.
“To the Rev. Christie Bayle, —
“Curate of King’s Castor.”
“Why, the fellow seems to have grown vulgarised and coarse in style. That is not the sort of letter our old manager would have written.”
“The handwriting is greatly changed too.”
“Of course it is his?”
“Oh, yes; there is no doubt about it. The change is natural, if the life the poor wretches lead out there be as bad as I have heard.”
“Hah! I don’t suppose they find them feather beds, Bayle.”
“If half I know be true,” said Bayle indignantly, “the place is a horror. It is a scandal to our country and our boasted Christianity!”
“What, Botany Bay?”
“The whole region of the penal settlement.”
“There, there, Bayle! you are too easy, man! You infect me. I shall begin to repent of my share in sending that fellow out of the country. Let’s get back. We must have been out here an hour.”
“An hour and a half,” said Bayle, looking at his watch. “Yes; we will ask if they can see us to-night. We will not press it if they prefer to be alone.”
Thisbe must have been in the passage, the door was opened so quickly. Her face was harder than ever, and her moustache, by the light of the candle upon the bracket, looked like a dark line drawn by a smutty finger. There was a defiant look, too, in her eyes; but it was evident that she had been crying, as she ushered the friends into the room where Mrs Hallam was sittings with Julia kneeling at her feet and resting her arms upon her mother’s knees.
Both rose as Bayle and Sir Gordon entered.
“We only wish to say good-night,” said the latter apologetically.
“I have been expecting you both for some time,” said Mrs Hallam calmly; but it was plain to her friends that she was fighting hard to master her emotion.
Sir Gordon signed to Bayle to speak, but the latter remained closed of lip, and the silence became most painful.
Julia looked wistfully at her mother, whose face was transfigured by the joy that illumined it once more, though it had no reflection in her child’s face, which was rendered sad by the traces of the tears that she had lately shed.
“Your husband is well?” said Bayle at last, for Mrs Hallam was looking at him reproachfully.
“Yes, oh yes, he is quite well,” she said proudly; and something of her old feeling seemed to come back, for the eyes that looked from Sir Gordon to Bayle gave a defiant flash.
“Well?” she said impatiently, as if weary of waiting to be questioned.
“Do you wish your friends to know the contents of your husband’s letter?”
“Yes!” she cried; “all that is not of a private nature.”
Bayle paused again. Then his lips parted, but no words came; and Sir Gordon saw that there was a tender, yearning look in his eyes, a pitying expression in his face.
Then he seemed to recover himself. He moistened his feverish lips, and said in a low, pained voice:
“Then the term of his imprisonment is over? He is coming back?”
“My poor husband was sentenced to exile for life,” said Mrs Hallam, with her head erect, as if she were defending the reputation of a patriot.
“But he has received pardon?”
“No. The world is still unjust.”
Sir Gordon met her eyes full of reproach; but as she gazed at him her features softened, and she took a step forward and caught his hand.
“Forgive my bitterness,” she said quickly. “It was all a grievous error. Only, now that this message has come from beyond the seas,” – she unconsciously adopted the language used a short time before – “the old wound seems to be opened and to bleed afresh.”
Bayle had uttered a sigh of relief at her words respecting the injustice of the world, and he waited till Mrs Hallam turned to him again.
“I wish to be plain – to speak as I should at another time, but I am too agitated, too much overcome with the great joy that has fallen to me at last – the joy for which I have prayed so long. At times it seems a dream – as if I were mocked by one of the visions that have haunted my nights; but I know it is true. I have his words here – here!”
She snatched the letter from her breast, her eyes sparkling and a feverish flush coming into her face, while, as she stood there in the softened light shed by the lamp, her lips apart, and a glint of her white teeth just seen, it seemed to both Bayle and Sir Gordon that the Millicent Luttrell of the old days was before them. Even the tones of her voice had lost their harshness, and sounded mellow and round.
They stood wondering and rapt, noticing the transformation, the animated way; the eager excitement, as of one longing to take action, after an enforced sealing up of every energy; and as they stood before her half-stunned in thought, she seemed to gather the force they lost, and mentally towered above them in her words.
“You ask me of his letter,” she said at last, half bitterly, but again fighting this bitterness down. “I will tell you what he says to me and to his child.”
“Yes,” said Bayle, almost mechanically; and in the same half-stunned way he looked from her to Julia, who stood with her hands clasped and hanging before her, wistful, troubled, and evidently in pain.
“Yes, Mrs Hallam,” said Sir Gordon, for she had sought his eyes as she released those of Bayle, “tell me what he says.”
She paused with the letter in her hands, holding it pressed against her bosom. Then raising it slowly, she placed it against her lips, and remained silent for what seemed an interminable time.
At last she spoke, and there was a strange solemnity in her words as she said in less deep tones:
“It is the voice of the husband and father away beyond, the wild seas – there on the other side of the wide world, speaking to the wife and child he loves, and its essence is, ‘I am weary of waiting – wife – child – I bid you come.’”
As she spoke, Bayle felt his legs tremble, and he involuntarily caught at a chair, tilting it forward and resting upon its back till, as she said the last words, he spasmodically snatched his hands from the chair, which fell with a heavy crash into the grate.
It was not noticed by any there, only by Thisbe, who ran to the door in alarm, as Bayle was speaking excitedly.
“No, no. It is impossible. You could not go!”
“My husband tells me,” continued Mrs Hallam, gazing now at Sir Gordon, who seemed to shrink and grow older of aspect than before – “that after such a long probation as his the Government have some compassion towards the poor exiles in their charge; that they extend certain privileges to them, and ameliorate their sufferings; that his wife and child would be allowed to see him, and that under certain restrictions he would be free so long as he did not attempt to leave the colony.”
“It is too horrible!” groaned Sir Gordon to himself, as in imagination he saw the horrors of the penal settlement, and this gently-nurtured woman and her child landed there.
“I say it is impossible,” said Bayle again; and there were firmness and anger combined in his tones. “Mrs Hallam, you must not think of it.”
“Not think of it?” she said sternly.
“For your own sake: no.”
“You say this to me, Christie Bayle?”
“Yes, to you; and if I must bring forward a stronger argument – for your child’s sake you must not go.”
A look that was half joy, half grief, flashed from Julia’s eyes; and Mrs Hallam looked to her, and took her hand firmly in her own.
“Will you tell me why, Mr Bayle?” she said sternly.
“I could not. I dare not,” he said firmly. “Believe me, though, when I tell you this. As your friend – as Julia’s protector, almost foster-father – knowing what I do, I have mastered everything possible, from the Government minutes and despatches, respecting the penal settlement out there. It is no place for two tender women. Mrs Hallam, it is impossible for you to go.”
“Again I ask you why?” said Mrs Hallam sternly.
“I cannot – I dare not paint to you what you would have to go through,” said Bayle almost fiercely.
“Mrs Hallam,” said Sir Gordon, coming to his aid; “what he says is right. Believe me too. You cannot: you must not go.”
There was a pause for a few moments, and then Mrs Hallam drew her child more closely to her side.
“You dare not paint the horrors that await us there, Christie Bayle,” she then said in a softened tone. “There is no need. The recital would fall on barren ground. The horrors suffered by the husband and father, his wife and child will gladly dare.”
“You cannot. You shall not. For God’s sake pause!”
“When my husband bids me come? Christie Bayle, you do not know me yet,” she said softly.
“But, Mrs Hallam – Millicent, my child!” cried Sir Gordon imploringly.
“I cannot listen to your appeals,” she said in a piteous tone, and with the tears at last gushing from her aching eyes.
“Ah,” cried Bayle excitedly, “she is giving way. Millicent Luttrell, for your own, for your child’s sake, you will stay.”
She rose up proudly once more.
“Millicent Hallam and her child will go.”
Sir Gordon made an imploring movement.
“It is to obtain his release, Julie, my child!” said Mrs Hallam in a tender voice, “the release of our long-suffering martyr. What say you? He calls to us from beyond the seas to come and help him, what must we do?”
Again there was a painful silence in that room, every breath seemed to be held till Julia said, in a low, dreamy voice:
“Mother, we must go.”
As she ended, a faint sigh escaped her lips, and she sank as if insensible upon her mother’s breast.
“Yes,” cried Millicent Hallam, gazing straight before her, “were the world a hundred times as wide.”
Volume Three – Chapter Six.
In Her Service
No, not even to Julia – his own child – for that part of the letter was a commission for her alone to execute. After all these long years of absence he sent her his orders – he, the dear husband of her first love.
And, oh! the joy, the intense delight of being able at last to execute his wishes, to work and strive for him, following out his most minute commands.
It was a long letter, containing few words of affection, but those she found studded through the ill-written pages, that seemed to have been the work of one who had not touched pen for years, a word that bore a loving guise, shining brightly here and there, as Millicent kissed it with all the fervour of a girl.
He said that he had not heard from her all these years, and that she might have written; that he had had to suffer fearful hardships, which he would not inflict upon her, though he was explicit enough to draw agonised tears from the loving woman’s eyes; that he had had much to endure, mentally and bodily; that his health had been often bad, and so on, right through the greater portion of the letter.
It never struck the patient wife that Hallam barely alluded to her, or suggested that she must have suffered terribly during his long absence. He had left her absolutely penniless, after ruining her father and mother; but here was his first letter, and there was not an allusion to how she had managed to struggle on for all this time – how had she lived? what had she done? how had she managed to keep her child?
Not a word of this kind; but it did not trouble the woman who knew all his pains and sufferings by heart, for she was hungering for news of him to whom she had blindly given herself, and the letter was full of that.
She did not wish to bathe her sorrowing face in the fount of her own tears, but in the fount of his, and she greedily drank in every word and allusion, making each the text which she mentally expanded in the silence of the night, till she seemed to be reading the complete history of her husband’s life for the past twelve years.
Certainly he hoped she was quite well, and that little Julie was the same. He supposed she would be so grown that he should hardly know her again, but he hoped she would not have forgotten him.
He made but little allusion to his sentence. And here perhaps Millicent Hallam felt a little disappointed, for he dealt in no severe strictures against those who had caused his punishment, neither did he reiterate his innocency. He merely said that he supposed Australia would always be his home now; and that she was to part with everything she possessed, take passage in the first ship with Julie, and come and join him at once – he would explain their future when she came.
No word about the old people either; or the repugnance wife and child might feel to leaving home to go to a strange land to join a convict father – not a word of this, for they were his wife and child. He wanted them, and he bade them come.
Millicent Hallam knew that the letter was selfish in the extreme, but it was the kind of selfishness that elated her, and filled her with joy.
He was innocent; he had suffered in silence a very martyrdom, all these years; but she was still the one woman in the world to him, and he had turned to her to bid her come and chase away his cares.
Blindly infatuated, strong, and yet weak as a girl; foolish in her trust in an utterly heartless and selfish, scoundrel; but how loving! Her young heart had opened like a flower at the breath of his love. He had been the sun that had warmed it with that wondrous new life, and it wanted something far stronger than occasional harshness, neglect, or the charges of man against man, to tear out the belief that had fast rooted itself in Millicent Hallam’s nature.
Blame – pity – what you will, and then thank God that in spite of modern society ways, follies of fashion, errors of education, weakness, vanity, and the hundred biassing influences, the world abounds with such loving, trusting women, always has done so, and always will to the very end.
One great joy that seemed to take ten years from her life as she read and re-read that letter to herself, and to Julie, who became infected by her mother’s enthusiasm, and at last believed that she was gladdened by the news, and sobbed in secret, she knew not why, as she thought of the time of parting.
But there was that one portion of the letter separated by two broad lines, ruled evidently with the pen drawn along the side of an old book, the rough edges showing where the point of a spluttering quill pen dipped in coarse ink had followed each irregularity.
Here are the lines that Robert Hallam emphasised by a few warning words at the beginning, telling her that they were of vital importance.
“And mind this, by carefully and secretly following out my instructions, you will free your husband from this wretched, degraded life.”
Could she want a greater impulse than that last to make her dwell upon his words, and prepare herself to execute the instructions which followed to the letter?
“He may trust me,” she said with a smile, as she carefully cut these instructions out of the letter, gummed them upon a piece of paper, and doubling this, carefully hid it in her purse.
There was a poignant feeling of pity and remorse in Millicent Hallam’s breast the next morning when, in spite of the way in which her heart was filled with the thoughts of their coming journey, the recollection of Christie Bayle’s tender care for them both pierced its way in like some keen point.
“I cannot help it,” she cried passionately. “It is my duty, and he will soon forget us.”
But when he of whom she thought came that morning, looking grave and pale, her heart reproached her more and more, for she knew that he was not of the kind to forget. This knowledge influenced her words and the tone of her voice, as she laid her hand in his, and then passed her arm round Julie.
“Once more,” she said, with a sad smile, “you are going in your unselfishness to help me, Christie Bayle.”
“Are you still determined?” he said, with a slight tremor in his voice, which grew firm directly, even stern.
“Yes!”
“Have you thought of the peril of the voyage for yourself and for Julie?”
“Yes; of everything.”
“The wild, strange life out yonder; your future – have you thought of this?”
“Yes, yes!” said Millicent Hallam calmly. “Can you ask me these questions, and at such a time?”
Christie Bayle remained silent, looking stern and cold; but it was a mere mask. He could not trust himself to speak, lest he should grow by turns piteous of appeal, angry and denunciatory of manner, so fully did he realise the horrors of the fate to which this man’s wife in her blind faith was hurrying.
“Do not think me ungrateful, dear friend,” she continued. “I cannot tell you how in my heart of hearts the truest gratitude dwells for all that you have done. Christie! brother! I am again in terrible distress. This once more you will be my help and stay?”
She approached and took his hand, raising it to her lips, feeling startled it was so icily cold.
But the next moment a change came over him, his sternness seemed to melt, his old manner to come back, as he said gently:
“You know that you have only to speak and I shall do all you wish; but let us sit down, and talk calmly and dispassionately about this letter. There, I will be only the true, candid friend. I do not attempt to fight against your present feeling; I only ask you to wait, to give the matter quiet consideration for a few days. It seems impertinent of me to speak of rashness; but before you decide to give up your little home – ”
“Hush!” said Mrs Hallam firmly; and the bright light in her daughter’s eyes died out. “Do not speak to me like this. No consideration, no time could change me. Christie Bayle, think for a moment. For twelve long years I have been praying for this letter. From my heart I felt it hopeless to expect my husband’s pardon. Now the letter has come, you ask me to wait – to consider – to give up this plan – to refuse to obey these commands. Of what kind do you think my love for my husband?”
Bayle drew a long breath, and remained silent for quite a minute, while Julia watched him with a strange wrinkling of her broad, fair brow. The silence was painful, but at last he broke it, speaking as if the question had been that moment put.
“As of the love of a true wife. Yes, I will help you to the end. Tell me what you wish me to do?”
Julia turned away her face, for the tears were falling softly down her cheeks, but they were not seen by the other occupants of the room.
“I knew I could count upon you,” said Mrs Hallam eagerly, and as if in hot haste. “I know it will be a bitter pang to part from where I have spent these – yes, happy years; but it is our duty, and I will not waste an hour. I am only a helpless woman, Mr Bayle, so I must look to you.”
He nodded quickly.
“My husband bids me part with everything that remains of my little property.”
“Did he say that?” said Bayle dryly.
“He said, part with everything, take passage in the first ship, and come and join me.”
Bayle nodded.
“Then we shall pack up just sufficient necessaries for our voyage, Julie and I; and everything else must be sold. I shall realise enough to pay our passage from my furniture.”
“Oh, yes, certainly,” said Bayle quickly; “and you will have to spare.”
“And the ship; what am I to do? Oh! here is Sir Gordon, he will know.”
There was the tap of the ebony cane upon the pavement, a well-known knock, and, looking very wrinkled and careworn, Sir Gordon came in, glancing suspiciously from one to the other.
“Not the time to call, perhaps. I’m not Bayle here; but I’ve not had a wink of sleep all night, thinking of that outrageous letter, and so I came up at once to tell you, my dears, that it’s all outrageous madness. He – he must be out of his mind to propose it. I’ll – I’ll do anything! I’ll see the Secretary of State! I’ll try for a remission – a pardon! but you two girls – you children – you cannot, you shall not go out there!”
Mrs Hallam’s eyes flashed at this renewed opposition; but she crossed to the old man, took his hand, and led him to a chair by the window, where she began talking to him earnestly, while Bayle turned to Julie.
“And so you are going?” he said tenderly.
She gave him one quick look and then said:
“Yes. It is my father’s wish.”
Bayle gazed down at her sweet face, then wildly about the room, as memories of hundreds of happy lessons and conversations flowed back. Then his lips tightened, his brow smoothed, and he said in a cold, hard way: “The path of duty seems difficult at times, Julie, but we must tramp it without hesitating.”
“And you, too, will help me?” Mrs Hallam said aloud. “Any way, in anything,” said Sir Gordon sadly. “I would sail you both over in my yacht, but it would be madness to expose you to the risk. Yes; I’ll do the best I can to get you a passage in a good ship. Yes – yes – yes! I’ll do my best.”
He looked at Bayle in a troubled way, but found no sympathy in the cold, stern face that seemed to be unchanged when they left together an hour later, each pledged to do his best to expatriate two tender women, and so send them to what was then a wilderness of misery – and worse.
“It must be, I suppose, Bayle, my dear boy?” said Sir Gordon.