"You may call it what you like, Mr Tom Porter, but I call it deceit."
"No," said Tom, giving his rough head a roll, as he stood with his legs
very far apart, looking quite the sailor now, in place of the quiet
body-servant of the St James's pantry. "No, my lass, not deceit,
reg'lar sea arrangement: sailing under sealed orders. Quite a reg'lar
thing."
"It's the last thing I should have expected of Sir Gordon; and as to Mr
Bayle, how he could keep it quiet as he did, and then all at once make
his appearance off the coast of Spain--"
"After coming quietly on board at Plymouth, while you people were all
shut up below out of the rough weather. Pooh! my lass, it was all meant
well, so don't show so much surf."
"Reason?" said Bayle smiling, as he sat aft with Mrs Hallam and Julia,
Sir Gordon having gone to his cabin. "I thought if I proposed coming it
would agitate and trouble you both, and as to what you have said, surely
I am a free agent, and if it gives me pleasure to watch over you both,
and to render you up safely at our journey's end, you cannot wish to
deny me that."
The subject dropped, and as the days glided on in the pleasant monotony
of a life at sea, when the sky smiles and the wind is fair, the position
seemed to be accepted by Mrs Hallam as inevitable. She tried hard to
shut herself away with Julia, but soon found that she must yield to
circumstances. She appealed to Sir Gordon and to Christie Bayle, but
each smiled as he gave her a few encouraging words.
"You trouble yourself about an imaginary care," the latter said. "Bear
in mind that you are on your way to a settlement where sins against the
Government are often condoned, and you may rest assured that no one on
board this vessel would be so cruel as to visit your unhappy condition
upon your innocent heads."
"But I would far rather be content with Julie's company, and keep to our
cabin."
"It is impossible," said Bayle. "It is like drawing attention to
yourself. Be advised by me: lead the quiet regular cabin life, and all
will be well."
Mrs Hallam shook her head.
"No," she said. "I am afraid. I am more troubled than I can say."
She gazed up in Bayle's eyes, and a questioning look passed between
them. Each silently asked the other the same question: "Have you
noticed that?"
But the time was not ripe for the question to be put in its entirety,
and neither spoke.
The weather continued glorious from the time of the fresh grey dawn,
when the tip of the sun gradually rose above the sea, on through the
glowing heat of noon, when the pitch oozed from the seams, and outside
the awnings the handrails could not be touched by the bare hand. Then
on and on till the passengers assembled in groups to see sky and water
dyed with the refulgent hues that dazzled while they filled with awe.
It was at these times that Mrs Hallam and Julia stole away from the
other groups, to be followed at a distance by Bayle, who stood and
watched them as they gazed at the setting sun. For it seemed to mother
and daughter like a sign, a foretaste of the glory of the land to which
they were going, and in the solemnity and silence of the mighty deep,
evening by evening they stood and watched, their privacy respected by
all on board, till lamps began to swing here and there beneath the
awning, and generally Lieutenant Eaton came to ask Mrs Hallam to play
or Julia to sing.
"Bayle," Sir Gordon would say, with the repetition of an elderly and
querulous man, "you always seem to me like a watch-dog on the look-out
for intruders."
"I am," said Bayle laconically.
"Then why, sir, confound you! when the intruders do come, don't you
seize 'em, and shake 'em, and throw 'em overboard?"
"I'm afraid I should do something of the kind," replied Bayle, "only I
must have cause."
"Cause? Well, haven't you cause enough, man?"
"Surely no. Everybody on board, from the captain to the humblest
seaman, has a respectful smile for them as he raises his cap."
"Of course he has," cried Sir Gordon testily.
"Then why should the watch-dog interfere?"
"Why? Isn't that soldier fellow always making advances, and carrying
them off to the piano of an evening?"
"Yes; and it seems, now the first trouble has worn off, to give them
both pleasure. Surely they have had their share of pain!"
"Yes, yes," cried Sir Gordon; "but I don't like it; I don't like it,
Bayle."
"I have felt the same, but we must not be selfish. Besides, we agreed
that they ought to associate with the passengers during the voyage."
Sir Gordon's face grew full of puckers, as he drew out and lit a
cheroot, which he smoked in silence, while Bayle went to the side and
gazed at the black water, spangled with the reflected stars that burned
above in the vast bejewelled arch of heaven.
"I don't like it," muttered Sir Gordon to himself, "and I don't
understand Bayle. No," he continued after a pause, "I cannot ask him
that. Time settles all these matters, and it will settle this."
From where he sat he could, by turning his head, gaze beneath the awning
looped up like some great marquee. Here, by the light of the shaded
lamps, the passengers and officers gathered night after night as they
sailed on through the tropics. At times there would be a dance, more
often the little tables would be occupied by players at some game, while
first one lady and then another would take her place at the piano.
There were other eyes beside Sir Gordon's watching beneath the awning,
and a signal would be given by a low whistle whenever Julia was seen to
approach the instrument. Then a knot of the soldiers and sailors would
collect to listen to her clear thrilling voice as she sang some sweet
old-time ballad. It was always Philip Eaton who pressed her to sing,
led her to the piano, and stood over her, holding a lamp or turning over
the leaves. He it was, too, who was the first to applaud warmly; and
often and often from where he leaned over the bulwarks listening, too,
Bayle could see the ingenuous girlish face look up with a smile at the
handsome young officer, who would stay by her side afterwards perhaps
the greater part of the evening, or he would lead her to where Captain
Otway was lolling back, talking to Mrs Captain Otway, a handsome,
fashionable-looking woman, who seemed to win her way day by day more and
more to the friendship of Millicent Hallam.
At such times Sir Gordon would sit alone and fume, while Bayle watched
the black, starlit water, closing his eyes when Julia sang or Mrs
Hallam played some old piece, that recalled the doctor's cottage at
King's Castor.
Afterwards he would turn his head and look beneath the awning sadly--the
warm, soft glow of the swinging lamp lighting up face after face, which
then seemed to fade away into the shadow.
He was strangely affected at such times. Now it was the present, and
they were at sea; anon it seemed that he was leaning over the rustic
seat in the doctor's garden, and that was not the awning and the
quarterdeck, but the little drawing-room with the open windows. Time
had not glided on; and in a curious, dreamy fashion, that did not seem
to be Julia, the child he had taught, but Millicent; and that was not
Lieutenant Eaton leaning over her, but Robert Hallam.
Then one of the shadows on the awning would take a grotesque resemblance
to little Miss Heathery, to help out the flights of fancy; and Bayle
would listen for the tinkling notes of the piano again, and feel
surprised not to hear a little bird-like voice piping "Gaily the
troubadour."
Next there would be a burst of merry conversation, and perhaps a laugh;
and as Bayle turned his head again to gaze half wonderingly, the
lamp-light would fall, perhaps, upon the faces of mother and daughter,
the centre of the group near the piano.
Christie Bayle would begin to study the stars once more, as if seeking
to read therein his future; but in vain, for he gazed down where they
were broken and confused in the dark waters, sparkling and gliding as
they were repeated again below, deep down in the transparent depths,
where phosphorescent creatures glowed here and there.
"I can't make him out," Sir Gordon would often say to himself.
No wonder! Christie Bayle could not analyse his own feelings, only that
the old sorrow that was dead and buried years upon years ago seemed to
be reviving and growing till it was becoming an agonising pang.
End of Volume Two.