"Is--is it true, mother?" said Julia, as the town with its docks and
shipping seemed to be growing less and less, while the Isle of Wight,
and the land on their right looked dim and clouded over. The sun still
shone, but it seemed to be watery and cold; there was a chill upon the
sea, and though there was a great deal of hurrying to and fro among the
sailors and soldiers as the cumbered decks were being cleared, it was to
Mrs Hallam and her child as if a dead silence had fallen, and the
noises of the ship and creaking of block and spar were heard from a
distance.
Thisbe was seated near where they two stood by the bulwark, gazing
towards the shore. Thisbe felt no desire to watch the retiring land,
for her heart was very low, and she found rest and solace in shedding
one salt tear now and then, and wiping it away with her glove.
Unfortunately, Thisbe's glove was black, and the dye in her glove not
being fast, the effect was strange.
"I'm a fool to cry," she said to herself; "but he might have had as good
manners as his master, and said `good-bye.'"
Thisbe must have been deeply moved, or she would not have sat there upon
a little box that she would not let out of her hands, probably on
account of its insecurity, for it was tied up with two different kinds
of string.
"It seems to me," continued Julia, "as if it were all some terrible
dream."
"But one that is to have a happy waking, Julie."
"Poor grandma! she looked as if it would kill her," said Julia, sobbing
gently.
"Hush!" cried Mrs Hallam, grasping her child's arm as a spasm of pain
ran through her, and her face grew deadly pale. "We must think of one
who, in pain and suffering, was dragged from his wife and child--forced
to suffer the most terrible degradations. He is waiting for us, Julie--
waiting as he has waited all these years. We must turn our backs upon
these troubles, and think only of him. Be firm, my child, be firm."
There was almost a savage emphasis in Mrs Hallam's words as she spoke.
"I'll try, dear; but, grandpa!" sobbed Julie, as she laid her arm upon
the bulwark and her face upon it, that she might weep unseen; "shall we
never see him and the pleasant old garden again?"
"Julie, this is childish," whispered Mrs Hallam. "Remember, you are a
woman now."
"I do," cried the girl quickly; "but a woman must feel grief at parting
from those she loves."
"Yes, but it must not overbear all, my child. Come, we must not give
way now. Let us go below to our cabin."
"No," said Julia; "I must watch the shore till it is dark. Not yet, not
yet. Mother, I thought Sir Gordon liked us--was a very, very great
friend?"
"He is; he always has been."
"But he parted from us as if it was only for a day or two. He did not
seem troubled in the least."
Mrs Hallam was silent.
"And Mr Bayle, mother--he quite checked me. I was so grieved, and felt
in such despair at parting from him till he stood holding my hands. I
wanted to throw my arms round his neck, and let him hold me to his
breast, as he used years ago; but when I looked up in his face, he
seemed so calm and cheerful, and he just smiled down at me, and it made
me angry. Mamma, dear, men have no feeling at all."
"I think Mr Bayle feels our going deeply," replied Mrs Hallam,
quietly.
"He did not seem to," said Julia pettishly.
"A man cannot show his sorrow as a woman may, my child," said Mrs
Hallam, with a sigh.
She gazed back at the land that seemed to be growing more dim, minute by
minute, as the great ship careened over to the press of sail, and sped
on down Channel.
A wistful look came into the mother's eyes, as she thought of her
child's words. In spite of resolutions and promises, the parting from
the old people had been most painful; but, throughout all, there had
seemed to her to be a curious indifference to her going, on the part of
Bayle. He had been incessant in his attentions; a hundred little acts
had been performed that were likely to make their stay on shipboard more
pleasant; but there was a something wanting--a something she had felt
deeply, and the pain became the more acute since she found that her
feelings were shared.
They stood gazing at the grey and distant land, when the evening was
falling. They were faint for want of food; but they knew it not, for
the faintness was mingled with the sickness of the heart, and in spite
of the glowing happy future Mrs Hallam tried to paint, a strange sense
of desolation and despair seemed to overmaster her, and all her
fortitude was needed to save her from bursting into a violent fit of
sobbing.
On and on with the water rushing beneath them, as they leaned upon the
bulwarks, gazing still at the fast receding shore. There had been a
great deal of noisy bustle going on around; but so wrapt were they in
their own feelings that sailors and passengers, officers and men, passed
and repassed unheeded. They were in a little world of their own, blind
to all beside, so that it was with quite a start that Mrs Hallam heard,
for the second time, a voice say:
"Surely, ladies, you must be cold. Will you allow me to fetch shawls
from the cabin?"
The first time these words were spoken, neither Mrs Hallam nor Julia
moved; but, on their being repeated, they turned quickly round, to find
that Thisbe had gone below, and that where she had been seated upon her
box an officer in undress uniform was standing, cap in hand.
"I thank you, no," said Mrs Hallam coldly, as she returned the bow.
"Julie, it is time we went below."
The officer drew back as mother and daughter swept slowly by towards the
cabin stairs, and remained motionless even after they had disappeared.
He was roused from his waking dream by a hearty clap on the shoulders.
"What's the matter, Phil?" said a bluff voice, and a heavy-featured
officer of about forty looked at him in a half-amused manner.
"Matter? Matter? Nothing; nothing at all."
"Bah! don't tell me. The old game, Phil. Is she nice-looking?"
"Beautiful!" cried the young officer excitedly.
"Ah! that's how I used to speak of Mrs Captain Otway," said the
heavy-looking officer cynically; "but, my dear Phil, with all due
respect to the sharer of my joys and the sorrows of going out to this
horrible hole, Mrs Captain Otway does not look beautiful now."
"Otway, you are a brute to that woman. She is a thoroughly true-hearted
lady, and too good for you."
"Much, Phil--much too good. Poor woman, it was hard upon her, with all
her love of luxury and refinement, that she should be forced by fate to
marry the poor captain of a marching regiment."
"Sent out to guard convicts in a penal settlement, eh?"
"Yes, to be sure. Oh, dear me! I shall be heartily glad when we are
settled down and have had a week at sea."
"Oh, I don't know. I think time passes quite quickly enough. I say,
Otway, do you think, if you asked her, Mrs Otway would lend a helping
hand to those two ladies? They seem very strange and desolate on board
here."
"My wife? Impossible, Phil; she is in her berth already, declaring that
she is sea-sick, when all the time it is fancy."
"How do you know?"
"How do I know? Because she never is; it is so as to get out of the
misery and confusion of the first day. Look here, boy, I'm always glad
to help you, though. Shall I do?"
"You do? What for?"
"To go down and try and set your last enslavers at their ease."
"Don't be idiotic."
"Nice way for a subaltern to speak to his commanding officer, sir."
"I was not speaking to my commanding officer, but to my old companion,
Jack Otway."
"Oh, I see! I say, Phil, which of the fair ones is it--Juno or Hebe?"
"Don't talk nonsense."
"All right. Who are they?"
"I can't find out yet. The captain gave me their names, that's all.
Hist! here is their maid."
Just then Thisbe, who had been below, creeping off quietly to make
things a bit comfortable, as she called it, came on deck, having missed
Mrs Hallam and Julia, expecting to find them where she had left them,
leaning over the bulwarks; and full of haste, as she had found that
there was at last something like a pleasant meal spread in the principal
cabin.
"It's very muddly," she muttered to herself, "and I'd give something for
a snug little room where I could make them a decent cup of tea. And
this is being at sea, is it?--sea that Tom Porter says is so lovely.
Poor wretch!"
Thisbe impatiently dashed a tear from her eyes, the reason for whose
coming she would not own; and then she stopped short, wondering at the
presence of a couple of officers, where she had left Mrs Hallam and
Julia, for, from some reason best known to himself, Philip Eaton, of His
Majesty's --th Foot, was resting his arms where Julia had rested hers,
and Captain Otway, in command of the draft on its way out to Port
Jackson, had involuntarily taken Mrs Hallam's place.
"Looking for your ladies?" said Eaton.
"Yes. What have you done with--I mean where are they?"
"One moment," said the lieutenant in a confidential manner, as he
slipped his hand into his pocket, "just tell me--"
He stopped astonished, for as she saw the motion of the young man's
hand, and heard his insinuating words, Thisbe gave vent to a sound best
expressed by the word "Wuff!" but which sounded exceedingly like the
bark of some pet dog, as she whisked herself round and searched the deck
before once more going below.
"Another of them," she muttered between her teeth. "Handsome as
handsome, and ready to lay traps for my darling. But I'm not going to
have her made miserable. I'm a woman now; I was a weak, watery, girlish
thing then. I'm not going to have her life made a wreck."
Thisbe went below, little thinking that it would be a week before she
again came on deck.
The weather turned bad that night, and the customary miseries ensued.
It was so bad that the captain was glad that he had to run into
Plymouth, but no sooner was he there than the weather abated, tempting
him forth again to encounter a terrible gale off the Lizard, and more or
less bad weather till they were well across the Bay of Biscay, and
running down the west coast of Spain, when the weather changed all at
once. The sky cleared, the sun came out warm and bright, the sea went
down, and one by one the wretched passengers stole on deck.
Among them, pale and depressed by the long confinement in the cabins,
Mrs Hallam and Julia were ready to hurry on deck to breathe the sweet,
pure air.
"And is that distant shore Spain?" said Julia wonderingly, as she gazed
at the faint grey line at which every eye and glass was being directed.
"Yes, Julie," said Mrs Hallam more cheerfully, "sunny Spain."
"And it seems just now that we were gazing at dear old England," said
Julia, with a sigh.
"Yes," said Mrs Hallam, grasping her hand with feverish energy, "but
now we are so many hundred miles nearer to him who is waiting our
coming, Julie. Let us count the miles as he is counting the minutes
before he can take his darling to his heart. Julie, my child, we must
put the past behind us; it is the future for which we must live."
"Forget the past?" said Julia mournfully. "It was such a happy time."
"For you, Julie, but for me one long agonising time of waiting."
"Dearest mother," whispered Julia, pressing her hand, and speaking
quickly, "I know--I know, and I will try so hard not to be selfish."
They had turned to the bulwarks the moment they came on deck, and,
without casting a look round, had glanced at the distant coast, and then
mentally plunged their eyes into the cloud ahead, beyond which stood
Robert Hallam awaiting their coming.
"I had the pleasure of speaking to you before the storm, ladies," said a
voice, and as they turned quickly, it was to find Lieutenant Eaton, cap
in hand, smiling, and slightly flushed.
Mrs Hallam bowed.
"I sincerely trust that you have quite recovered," continued the young
officer, directing an admiring gaze at Julia.
"Quite, I thank you," said Mrs Hallam coldly.
"Then we shall see you at the table, Mrs Hallam--and Miss Hallam?" he
continued, with another bow.
Julia returned the bow, looking flushed and rather indignant.
"I hope you will excuse me," continued Eaton; "on shipboard you see we
are like one family, all as it were in the same house."
Mrs Hallam bowed again, flushing as ingenuously as her daughter, for
these advances troubled her greatly. She would have preferred being
alone, and in a more humble portion of the vessel, but Sir Gordon and
Bayle had insisted upon her occupying one of the best cabins, and it
seemed to her that she was there under false pretences, and that it was
only a question of days before there must come discovery which would put
them to open shame.
Driven, as it were, to bay by the young officer's words, she replied
hastily: "You must excuse me now; I have scarcely recovered."
"Pray forgive me," cried Eaton, giving Julia a look full of intelligence
which made her shrink, "I ought to have known better. In a short time I
hope, Mrs Hallam, that we shall be better acquainted."
He raised his cap again and drew back, while, excited and agitated
beyond her wont, Mrs Hallam exclaimed:
"It cannot be, Julie. We must keep ourselves aloof from these people--
from all the passengers; our course is alone--till we join him."
"Yes," said Julia, in a troubled way, "we must be alone."
"These people who make advances to us now," continued Mrs Hallam,
"would master the object of our journey before we had gone far, and then
we should be the pariahs of the ship."
"Would they be so unjust, mother?"
"Yes, for they do not know the truth. If they were told all, they would
not believe it. My child, it was so that the world should never turn
upon us and revile us for our misfortune that I have insisted all these
years on living so reserved a life. And now we must go on in the same
retired manner. If we are drawn into friendly relations with these
people, our story will ooze out, and we shall have to endure the insult
and misery of seeing them turn their backs upon us. Better that we
should ostracise ourselves than suffer it at other hands; the blow will
be less keen."
"I am ready to do all you wish, dear," said Julia, stealing her hand
into her mother's.
"My beloved," whispered back Mrs Hallam, "it is our fate. We must bear
all this, but our reward will be the more joyful, Julie: it is for your
father's sake. Think of it, my child; there is no holier name under
heaven to a child than that of father."
There was a pause, and then Julia, in a low, sweet voice, whispered:
"Mother."
The two women stood there alone, seeming to gaze across the bright sea
at the distant land. Passengers and sailors passed them, and the
officers of the ship hesitated as they drew near about speaking, ending
by respecting the reverie in which they seemed to be wrapt, and passing
on. But Millicent and Julia Hallam saw neither sea, shore, nor the
distant land: before each the face of Robert Hallam, as they had known
it last, rose out of, as it were, a mist. And as they gazed into the
future, the countenance of Julia seemed full of timid wonder, half
shrinking, while that of Millicent grew more and more calm, as her eyes
filled with a sweet subdued light, full of yearning to meet once more
him who was waiting all those thousand miles away.
So intent were they upon their thoughts of the coming encounter, that
neither of them noticed the quiet step that approached, and then stopped
close at hand.
"Yes," said Mrs Hallam aloud, "we must accept our position, my child;
better that we should be alone."
"Not quite!"
Julia started round with a cry of joy, and placed her hands in those of
the speaker.
"Mr Bayle?" she cried excitedly; "what a surprise!"
"You here?" cried Mrs Hallam hoarsely.
"Yes," was the reply, given in the calmest, most matter-of-fact,
half-laughing way, and as if it were merely a question of crossing a
county at home. "Why, you two poor unprotected women, you did not think
I meant to let you take this long voyage alone!"
Mrs Hallam drew a long breath and turned pale. She essayed to speak,
but no words would come, and at last with a spasm seeming to contract
her brow, she turned to gaze appealingly at her child.
"But you are going back?" said Julia, and she, too, seemed deeply moved.
He shook his head, and smiled.
"How good--how noble!" she began.
"Ah! tut! tut! little pupil; what nonsense!" cried Bayle merrily. "Why,
here is Sir Gordon, who has done precisely the same thing." And the old
baronet came slowly up, raising his straw hat just as Thisbe came
hurriedly on deck to announce the discovery she had made, and found that
she was too late.