"Good-bye."

VOLUME FOUR, CHAPTER TWENTY.

OVERHEARD.

Sir Gordon Bourne looked ten years younger as he walked towards the cottage on the bluff. The hill was steep to climb, and the sun was torrid in its heat; but he forgot the discomfort and climbed higher and higher till he reached the rough fence that surrounded the grounds, and there stood, with his hat off, wiping his brow and gazing at the glorious prospect of sea and land.

"I feel almost like a good fairy this morning," he said, with a laugh.

"Ah! how beautiful it all is, and what a pity that such an Eden should be made the home of England's worst."

He opened the rough gate and entered the grounds, that were admirably kept by a couple of convict servants, watched over by Tom Porter, crossed a patch of lawn, and was about to go up to the house, but a pleasantly-placed rustic seat, beneath the shelter of a gum-tree, and nearly surrounded by Austral shrubs, emitting their curious aromatic scent in the hot sunshine, tempted him to rest; and in a few minutes, overcome by the exertions of the morning, his head bowed down upon his breast, and he dropped into a light doze.

He was aroused by voices--one low, deep, and earnest, the other low and deep, but silvery and sweet, and with a tender ring in it that brought up memories of a little, low-roofed drawing-room in the quiet Lincolnshire town; and a curious dimness came over the old man's eyes.

The speakers were behind him, hidden by a veil of soft grey-green leaves; and as Sir Gordon involuntarily listened, one voice said in trembling tones:

"I dared not even look forward to such an end."

"But ever since others began to set me thinking of such things, I have waited, for I used to say, some day he will ask me to be his wife."

"And you loved me, Julie?"

"Loved you? Did you not know?"

"But like this?"

"Like this? Always; for when you came, all trouble seemed to go, and I felt that I was safe."

The voices paused, and Sir Gordon sat up, leaning upon his stick and thinking aloud.

"Well, I have always hoped it would be so--no, not always; and now it seems as if he were going to rob me of a child."

He sat gazing straight before him, seeing nothing of the soft blue sea and sky, nor the many shades of grey and green that rolled before his eyes, for they were filled with the face of Julia Hallam.

"Yes," he said at last. "Why not? Ah, Bayle! Where is Julie?"

"With her mother now. Sir Gordon--"

"Hush! I know. I've nought to say but this: G.o.d bless you both!"

VOLUME FOUR, CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE.

REST.

There had been some talk of a speedy return to the old country, but the doctor shook his head.

"Let her live her few hours in rest and peace," he said. "It would be madness to attempt such a thing." And so all thought of the journey home was set aside, and Mrs Hallam was borne up to the cottage.

In her weakness she had protested, but Sir Gordon had quietly said:

"Am I your father's oldest friend?" And then: "Have I not a right to insist--for Julie's sake?"

She yielded, and the cottage for the next few months became their home, Bayle going down into the town, spending much of his time amongst the convicts and seeing a good deal of the Otways.

"That's how it's going to be," said Mrs Otway. "I always said so, Jack."

"Nonsense! he's old enough to be her father."

"Perhaps so in years; but he's about the youngest man in his ways I ever knew, while she is old and staid for her age."

"Time proves all things," said Captain Otway. "Phil won't get her, that's certain."

"No; that's all over, and he is not breaking his heart about her, in spite of all the fuss at first. Well, I'm glad for some things; I shall be able to look Lady Eaton in the face."

"A task you would very well have fulfilled, even if he had married Julia Hallam. It would take a very big Lady Eaton to frighten you, my dear.

Been up to see Mrs Hallam to-day?"

The lady nodded.

"No hope?"

"Not the slightest," said Mrs Otway quietly. Then after a pause: "Jack," she said, "do you know, I think it would be wrong to wish her to live. What has she to live for?"

"Child--her child's husband--their children."

Mrs Otway shook her head.

"No; I don't think she would ever be happy again. Poor thing! if ever woman's heart was broken, hers was. I don't like going up to see her, but I feel obliged. There are so few women here whom one like her would care to see. Ah, it's a sad case!"

"Does she seem to suffer much?"

"She does not seem to, but who knows what a quiet, patient creature will bear without making a sign?"

The months glided on, and still Millicent Hallam lingered as if loth to leave the beautiful world spread before her, and on which she loved to gaze.

She had half-expected it, but it was still a surprise when Julia whispered to her, as she sat beside her couch, that she was going to be the wife of Christie Bayle.

Mrs Hallam's eyes dilated.

"He has asked you to be his wife?" she said, in her low, sweet voice.

"No, mother," said Julia, as she laid her head beside her, and gazed dreamily before her; "I don't think he asked me."

"But, my child--you said--"

"Yes, mother dear," said Julia innocently, "I hardly know how it came about. It has always seemed to me that some day I should be his wife.

Why, I have always loved him! How could I help it?"