"But he has received pardon?"

"No. The world is still unjust."

Sir Gordon met her eyes full of reproach; but as she gazed at him her features softened, and she took a step forward and caught his hand.

"Forgive my bitterness," she said quickly. "It was all a grievous error. Only, now that this message has come from beyond the seas,"--she unconsciously adopted the language used a short time before--"the old wound seems to be opened and to bleed afresh."

Bayle had uttered a sigh of relief at her words respecting the injustice of the world, and he waited till Mrs Hallam turned to him again.

"I wish to be plain--to speak as I should at another time, but I am too agitated, too much overcome with the great joy that has fallen to me at last--the joy for which I have prayed so long. At times it seems a dream--as if I were mocked by one of the visions that have haunted my nights; but I know it is true. I have his words here--here!"

She s.n.a.t.c.hed the letter from her breast, her eyes sparkling and a feverish flush coming into her face, while, as she stood there in the softened light shed by the lamp, her lips apart, and a glint of her white teeth just seen, it seemed to both Bayle and Sir Gordon that the Millicent Luttrell of the old days was before them. Even the tones of her voice had lost their harshness, and sounded mellow and round.

They stood wondering and rapt, noticing the transformation, the animated way; the eager excitement, as of one longing to take action, after an enforced sealing up of every energy; and as they stood before her half-stunned in thought, she seemed to gather the force they lost, and mentally towered above them in her words.

"You ask me of his letter," she said at last, half bitterly, but again fighting this bitterness down. "I will tell you what he says to me and to his child."

"Yes," said Bayle, almost mechanically; and in the same half-stunned way he looked from her to Julia, who stood with her hands clasped and hanging before her, wistful, troubled, and evidently in pain.

"Yes, Mrs Hallam," said Sir Gordon, for she had sought his eyes as she released those of Bayle, "tell me what he says."

She paused with the letter in her hands, holding it pressed against her bosom. Then raising it slowly, she placed it against her lips, and remained silent for what seemed an interminable time.

At last she spoke, and there was a strange solemnity in her words as she said in less deep tones:

"It is the voice of the husband and father away beyond, the wild seas-- there on the other side of the wide world, speaking to the wife and child he loves, and its essence is, `I am weary of waiting--wife-- child--I bid you come.'"

As she spoke, Bayle felt his legs tremble, and he involuntarily caught at a chair, tilting it forward and resting upon its back till, as she said the last words, he spasmodically s.n.a.t.c.hed his hands from the chair, which fell with a heavy crash into the grate.

It was not noticed by any there, only by Thisbe, who ran to the door in alarm, as Bayle was speaking excitedly.

"No, no. It is impossible. You could not go!"

"My husband tells me," continued Mrs Hallam, gazing now at Sir Gordon, who seemed to shrink and grow older of aspect than before--"that after such a long probation as his the Government have some compa.s.sion towards the poor exiles in their charge; that they extend certain privileges to them, and ameliorate their sufferings; that his wife and child would be allowed to see him, and that under certain restrictions he would be free so long as he did not attempt to leave the colony."

"It is too horrible!" groaned Sir Gordon to himself, as in imagination he saw the horrors of the penal settlement, and this gently-nurtured woman and her child landed there.

"I say it is impossible," said Bayle again; and there were firmness and anger combined in his tones. "Mrs Hallam, you must not think of it."

"Not think of it?" she said sternly.

"For your own sake: no."

"You say this to me, Christie Bayle?"

"Yes, to you; and if I must bring forward a stronger argument--for your child's sake you must not go."

A look that was half joy, half grief, flashed from Julia's eyes; and Mrs Hallam looked to her, and took her hand firmly in her own.

"Will you tell me why, Mr Bayle?" she said sternly.

"I could not. I dare not," he said firmly. "Believe me, though, when I tell you this. As your friend--as Julia's protector, almost foster-father--knowing what I do, I have mastered everything possible, from the Government minutes and despatches, respecting the penal settlement out there. It is no place for two tender women. Mrs Hallam, it is impossible for you to go."

"Again I ask you why?" said Mrs Hallam sternly.

"I cannot--I dare not paint to you what you would have to go through,"

said Bayle almost fiercely.

"Mrs Hallam," said Sir Gordon, coming to his aid; "what he says is right. Believe me too. You cannot: you must not go."

There was a pause for a few moments, and then Mrs Hallam drew her child more closely to her side.

"You dare not paint the horrors that await us there, Christie Bayle,"

she then said in a softened tone. "There is no need. The recital would fall on barren ground. The horrors suffered by the husband and father, his wife and child will gladly dare."

"You cannot. You shall not. For G.o.d's sake pause!"

"When my husband bids me come? Christie Bayle, you do not know me yet,"

she said softly.

"But, Mrs Hallam--Millicent, my child!" cried Sir Gordon imploringly.

"I cannot listen to your appeals," she said in a piteous tone, and with the tears at last gushing from her aching eyes.

"Ah," cried Bayle excitedly, "she is giving way. Millicent Luttrell, for your own, for your child's sake, you will stay."

She rose up proudly once more.

"Millicent _Hallam_ and her child will go."

Sir Gordon made an imploring movement.

"It is to obtain his release, Julie, my child!" said Mrs Hallam in a tender voice, "the release of our long-suffering martyr. What say you?

He calls to us from beyond the seas to come and help him, what must we do?"

Again there was a painful silence in that room, every breath seemed to be held till Julia said, in a low, dreamy voice:

"Mother, we must go."

As she ended, a faint sigh escaped her lips, and she sank as if insensible upon her mother's breast.

"Yes," cried Millicent Hallam, gazing straight before her, "were the world a hundred times as wide."

VOLUME THREE, CHAPTER SIX.

IN HER SERVICE.

No, not even to Julia--his own child--for that part of the letter was a commission for her alone to execute. After all these long years of absence he sent her his orders--he, the dear husband of her first love.