There was quite a change in the little house in the Clerkenwell Square.
Life had been very calm and peaceful there for Julia, though she made no
friends. Any advances made by neighbours were gravely and coldly
repelled by Mrs Hallam.
Once, when she had felt injured by her mother's refusal of an invitation
for her to some young people's party, and had raised her eyes
reproachfully to her face, Mrs Hallam had taken her in her arms,
kissing her tenderly.
"Not yet, my child; not yet," she whispered. "We must wait."
Julia coloured, and then turned pale, for she understood her mother's
meaning. They stood aloof from ordinary society, and they possessed a
secret.
But now, since Sir Gordon had been brought to the house by Christie
Bayle, their life appeared to Julia to be changed. Her mother seemed
less oppressed and sad during the evenings when Sir Gordon came, as he
did now frequently. There was so much to listen to in the animated
discussions between the banker and the clergyman; and as they discussed
some political question with great animation, Julia leaned forward
smiling and slightly flushed, as Bayle, with all the force of a powerful
orator, delivered his opinions, that were, as a rule, more sentimental
than sound, more full of heart than logic.
He would always end with a fine peroration, from the force of habit; and
Julia would clap her hands while Mrs Hallam smiled.
"Wait a bit, my dear," Sir Gordon would say, nodding his head, "one
story is good till the other is told."
Then, in the coolest and most matter-of-fact way, he would proceed to
demolish Bayle's arguments one by one, battering them down till the
structure crumbled into nothingness.
All this, too, was without effort. He simply drew logical conclusions,
pointed out errors, showed what would be the consequences of following
the clergyman's line of argument, and ended by giving Julia a little
nod.
At the beginning the latter would feel annoyed, for her sympathies had
all been with Bayle's plans; then some clever point would take her
attention; her young reason would yield to the ingenuity of the
highly-cultivated old man's attack; and finally she would mentally range
herself upon his side, and reward him with plaudits from her little
white hands, darting a triumphant look now at Bayle, as if saying,
"There we have won!"
Highly good-tempered were all these encounters; and they were always
followed by another harmony, that of music, Bayle playing, as of old, to
Millicent's accompaniment; more often to that of her child.
It was a calm and peaceful little English home, that every day grew more
attractive to the old club-lounger and lover of the sea.
He coloured slightly the first time Bayle came and found him there. The
next time he nodded, as much as to say, "I thought I would run up." The
next it seemed a matter of course that an easy-chair should be ready for
him in one corner, where he took his place after pressing Mrs Hallam's
hand warmly, and drawing Julia to him to kiss her as if she were his
child.
There was a delicacy, a display of tender reverence, that disarmed all
suspicion of there being an undercurrent at work. "He is one of my
oldest friends," Mrs Hallam had said to herself; "he feels sympathy for
me in my trouble, and he seems to love Julie with a father's love. Why
should I estrange him? Why keep Julie from his society?"
It never entered into her mind that, by the sentence of the law, she
was, as it were, a woman in the position of a widow, for her husband was
socially dead. The seed of such an idea would have fallen upon utterly
barren ground, and never have put forth germinating shoots.
No; there was the one thought ever present in her heart, that sooner or
later her husband's innocence would be proclaimed, and then this
terrible present would glide away, to be forgotten in the happiness to
come.
Sir Gordon, with all his frank openness of manner, saw everything. The
slightest word was weighed; each action was watched; and when he
returned to his chambers in St James's--a tiny suite of very close and
dark rooms, which Tom Porter treated as if they were the cabins of a
yacht--he would cast up the observations he had made.
"Bayle means the widow," he said to himself, as he sat alone; "yes, he
means the widow. She is a widow. Well, he is a young man, and I am--
well, an old fool."
Another night he was off upon the other tack.
"It's an insult to her," he said indignantly. "Bless her grand, true,
sweet, innocent heart! She never thinks of him but as the good friend
he is. She will never think of any one but that rascal. Good heavens!
what a fate for her! What a woman to have won!"
The thought so moved him that he paced his little bed-room for some time
uneasily.
"As for that fellow Bayle," he cried, "I see through him. He means to
marry my sweet little flower Julie. Hah!"
He sat down smiling, as if there was a pleasant fragrance in the very
thought of the fair young girl that refreshed him, and sent him into a
dreamy state full of visions of youth and innocence.
"I don't blame him," he said, after a pause. "I should do the same if I
were his age. Yes," he said firmly, and as if to crush down some
offered opposition, "even if she be a convict's daughter. It is not her
fault. We do not mark out our own paths."
Again, another night, and Sir Gordon arrested himself several times over
in the act of spoiling his carefully-trimmed nails by nibbling them--a
somewhat painful operation--with his false teeth.
"It's time I died; I honestly believe it's time I died," he said
testily. "When a man has grown to an age in which he spends his days
suspecting the motives of his fellow-creatures--hah! of his best
friends--it's time he died, for every year he lives makes him worse--
gives him more to answer for."
"Poor Bayle!" he continued, shaking hands with himself, "he looks upon
each of those two women as something holy."
"No," he mused, "that does not express it; there's something too
fatherly, too brotherly. No, that's not it. Too friendly; I suppose
that's it; but friendship seems such a weak, pitiful word to express his
feelings towards them."
"Christie Bayle, my dear friend," he said aloud, as he rose and gazed
straight before him, "I ask your pardon; and--heaven helping me--I'll
never suspect you again."
The old man seemed to feel better after this; and throwing himself into
an easy-chair, he smiled and looked wrinkled--as he had a way of looking
in his dressing-room--and happy.
At first Sir Gordon had gone to the little house at Clerkenwell feeling
out of his element, and with an uncomfortable sensation upon him that
the neighbours--poor souls who were too much occupied with the solution
of the problem of how to get a sufficiency of bread and meat to preserve
life--were watching him.
After a second and third visit, this uneasiness wore off, and he found
himself walking proudly up to the house, smiling at Thisbe, who only
gave him a hard look in return, consequent upon his remark concerning
Tom Porter.
Sometimes Christie Bayle would be there. As often not. But the chair
was always ready for him, and Julia took his hat and stick.
It was generally after his dinner at the club that he found his way up
there; and on these occasions Thisbe asked no questions. The moment she
had closed the door and shown the visitor into the little parlour, she
went downstairs and put on the kettle.
As a rule, precisely at nine, Thisbe took up the supper-tray with its
simple contents; but on these evenings the supper-tray gave place to the
tea-tray, and Sir Gordon sat for quite an hour sipping his tea and
talking, Julia crossing now and then to fetch his cup.
One pleasant evening, when the chill of winter had passed away, and the
few ragged trees in the square garden, washed less sooty than usual by
the cold rains, were asserting that there was truth in the genial, soft
breaths of air that came floating from the west, and that it really was
spring, Mrs Hallam, Julia, and Sir Gordon were seated at tea in the
little parlour with the window open, and the sound of the footsteps
without coming in regular beats. From time to time Julia walked to the
window to look out, turning her head aside to lay her cheek against the
pane and gaze as far up the side of the square as she could, giving Sir
Gordon a picture to watch of which he seemed never to tire, as he sat
with half-closed eyes. Then the girl returned to seat herself at the
piano and softly play a few notes.
"That must be he," she said, suddenly, and Sir Gordon's face twitched.
"No, my dear," said Mrs Hallam, quietly; "that is not his step."
Sir Gordon's hair seemed to move suddenly down towards his eyebrows, and
his lips tightened, so did his eyelids, as he gave a sharp glance at
mother and daughter. Then his conscience gave him a twinge, and he made
a brave effort to master his unpleasant thoughts.
"Bayle is uncommonly late to-night, is he not?" he said.
"He is late like this sometimes," said Mrs Hallam. "He works very hard
amongst the people, and attends parish meetings, where there may be long
discussions."
"Humph, yes, so I suppose. I hope he does some good."
"Some good?" cried Julia excitedly. "Oh, you don't know how much!"
"And you do, I suppose," said Sir Gordon in rather a constrained tone of
voice.
"Oh, not a hundredth part!" cried Julia naively, "Oh, Sir Gordon, I wish
you were half so good a man!"
"Julia!" exclaimed Mrs Hallam.
"Upon my word, young--bless my soul! I!--tut, tut!--hush! hush! Mrs
Hallam."
Sir Gordon began angrily, but his testiness was of a few moments'
duration, and he laughed at first in a forced, half-irritable manner,
then more heartily, and ended by becoming quite overcome with mirth, and
wiping the tears from his eyes while mother and daughter exchanged
glances.
"And here have I been deferential, and treating you, Miss Julie, like a
grown-up young lady, while all the time you are only one of those
innocent little maidens who say unpleasant truths before elderly
people."
"Oh, Sir Gordon," cried Julia, colouring deeply, "I am so sorry!"
"Oh, sorrow is no good after such a charge as that!" said Sir Gordon
with mock severity. "So you and your mamma have determined that I am a
very wicked old man, eh?"
"Sir Gordon!" cried Julia, taking his hand. "Indeed, indeed, I only
meant that Mr Bayle was the best and kindest of friends."
"While I was the most testy, exacting, and--"
"Indeed, no," cried Julia, with spirit; "and I will not have you condemn
yourself. Next to Mr Bayle, mamma and I like you better than any one
we know."
"Ah! well, here is Bayle," said Sir Gordon, as a knock was heard; and
the curate appeared next minute in the doorway.
The lamp had been lit, and his face looked so serious and pale that Sir
Gordon noticed the fact on the instant.
"Why, Bayle," he cried warmly, "how bad you look! Not ill?"
"Ill? No; oh, no!" he said quietly. "I have been detained by
business."
Mrs Hallam looked at him anxiously, for beneath the calm there was ever
a strange state of excitement waiting to break forth. For years she had
been living in the expectation that the next day some important news
would come from her husband. Letters she had very few, but the
postman's knock made her turn pale and place her hand to her heart, to
check its wild beatings, while the coming of a stranger to the house had
before now completely unnerved her. It was but natural, then, that she
should become agitated by Bayle's manner. A thousand--ten thousand
things might have happened to disturb her old friend, but in her
half-hysterical state she could find but one cause--her own troubles;
and, starting up with her hand on her breast, she exclaimed:
"You have news for me!"
Christie Bayle had no more diplomatic power than a child, perhaps less
than some; and he sank back in his chair, with his hand half-raised to
his lips, gazing at her in a pained, appealing manner that excited her
further.
"Yes," she cried, "you are keeping something back. You think I cannot
bear it, but I can. Yes, I am strong. Have I not borne all this pain
these twelve years? And do you think me a child that you treat me so?
Speak, I say--speak!"
"My dear Mrs Hallam," began Sir Gordon soothingly.
"Hush, sir!" cried the trembling woman. "Let him speak. Mr Bayle, why
do you torture me--you, my best friend? What have I done that you--ah!
I see now. I--Julie--my child--he is dead!--he is dead!"
Julia had started to her side and caught her in her arms as she burst
into a passionate wail, the first display of the wild despair in her
heart that Bayle had seen for many years.
"No, no!" he cried, starting up and speaking with energy. "Mrs Hallam,
you are wrong. He is alive and well."
Millicent Hallam threw up her hands, clasped them together, reeled, and
would have fallen but for her child's sustaining arms. It was as if a
sudden vertigo had seized her, but it passed as quickly as it came.
Years of suffering had strengthened as well as weakened, and the woman's
power of will was tremendous.
"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.