It was evening when Bayle went on deck again, his old calm having
returned. He stopped short, and the elasticity of spirit that seemed to
have come back--a feeling of hopefulness in keeping with the light
champagny atmosphere, so full of life, died out again, even as the
breeze that had wafted them on all day had now almost failed, and the
ship glided very slowly through water that looked like liquid gold.
"A few short hours," he said to himself, as he gazed at Mrs Hallam
standing with her arm round Julia, bathed in the evening light, watching
the golden clouds upon the horizon that they were told were land--to
them the land of hope and joy, but to Christie Bayle a place of sorrow
and of pain.
"A few short hours," he said again, "and then the fond illusions must
fall away, and they will be face to face with the truth."
He crept away sick at heart to the other side, where Lieutenant Eaton,
who seemed to be hovering about mother and daughter, eager to join them
but kept away by respect for their desire to be alone, passed him with a
short nod, hesitated, as if about to speak, and then went on again.
Bayle waited hour after hour, ready should those in his charge require
his services; but they did not move from their position, and it was
Eaton who intercepted Thisbe, and took from her the scarves she was
bringing to protect them from the night air; but only a few words
passed, and he drew back to walk up and down till long after the
Southern Cross was standing out among the glorious stars that looked so
large and bright in the clear, dark sky above, when Mrs Hallam drew a
deep breath and whispered a few words to Julia, and they descended to
their cabin for the night, but not to sleep.
Then by degrees the deck was left to the watch, and a strange silence
fell, for a change had come upon all on board. The first excitement
that followed the look-out-man's cry of "Land ho!" had passed, and
passengers and soldiers were gathered in groups after their busy
preparation for the landing another day distant, and talked in whispers.
Lower and lower sank the weary spirit of Christie Bayle, as he stood
leaning on the bulwark, gazing away into the starry depths of the
glorious night, for it seemed to him that his task was nearly done, that
soon those whom he had loved so well would pass out of his care, and as
he thought of Millicent Hallam sharing the home of her convict husband
he murmured a prayer on her behalf. Then his thoughts of the mother
passed, and he recalled all that he had seen during the past months,
above all, Julia's excited manner that day, and the conduct of
Lieutenant Eaton. And as he pondered his thoughts took somewhat this
form:
"Young, handsome, a thorough gentleman, what wonder that he should win
her young love? but will he stand the test? A convict's daughter--an
officer of the King. He must know; and if he does stand the test--"
Christie Bayle stood with his hands clasped tightly together, as once
more a strange agony of soul pierced him to the core. He saw himself
again the young curate entranced by the beauty of a fair young English
girl in her happy home, declaring his love for her, laying bare his
hopes, and learning the bitter lesson that those hopes were vain. He
saw again the long years of peaceful friendship with a new love growing
for the child who had been his principal waking thought. He saw her
grow to womanhood, loving him as he had loved her--with a love that had
been such as a father might bear his child, till the peaceful calm had
been broken as he saw that Julia listened eagerly and with brightening
eyes to the words of this young officer; and now it was that like a blow
the knowledge came, the knowledge that beneath all this tenderness had
been a love of a stronger nature, ready to burst forth and bloom when it
was again too late.
"A dream--a dream," he said sadly. "How could she love me otherwise
than as she said--as her dear teacher?"
"A dream," he said again. "`Thy will be done!'"