"That man!" gasped Mrs Hallam.

"Well?"

"We saw him--as we came."

Hallam's face puckered.

"Poor fellow," he said hastily. "Ah, that was a specimen of the cruel treatment we receive. It was unfortunate. But we can't talk about that. There they are. Remember!"

She pressed the coa.r.s.e, hard hand that was holding hers as the door was thrown open, and without another word Hallam obeyed the sign made by the officer in the doorway, and, as the two women crept together, Julia receiving no further recognition, they saw him sink from his erect position, his head went down, his back rounded, and he went out.

Then the door shut loudly, and they stood listening, as the steps died away, save those of the sentries in the pa.s.sage and beneath the window.

The silence, as they stood in that blank, cell-like room, was terrible; and when at last Julia spoke, her mother started and stared at her wildly from the confused rush of thought that was pa.s.sing through her brain.

"Mother, is it some dreadful dream?"

Mrs Hallam's lips parted, but no words came, and for the moment she seemed to be sharing her child's mental shock, the terrible disillusioning to which she had been subjected.

The recovery was quick, though, as she drew a long breath.

"Dream? No, my child, it is real; and at last we can rescue him from his dreadful fate."

Whatever thoughts she may have had that militated against her hopes she crushed down, forcing herself to see nothing but the result of a terrible persecution, and ready to be angered with herself for any doubts as to her duty.

In this spirit she followed the man who had led them in back to the gates, where Bayle was waiting; and as he gazed anxiously in the faces of the two women it was to see Julie's scared, white, and ready to look appealingly in his, while Mrs Hallam's was radiant and proud with the light of her true woman's love and devotion to him she told herself it was her duty to obey.

That night mother and daughter, clasped in each other's arms, knelt and prayed, the one for strength to carry out her duty, and restore Robert Hallam to his place in the world of men; the other for power to love the father whom she had crossed the great ocean to gain--the man who had seemed to be so little like the father of her dreams.

VOLUME FOUR, CHAPTER ONE.

IN THE NEW LAND--THE SITUATION.

"Look here, Bayle, this is about the maddest thing I ever knew. Will you have the goodness to tell me why we are stopping here?"

Bayle looked up from the book he was reading in the pleasant room that formed their home, one which Tom Porter had found no difficulty in fitting up in good cabin style.

A year had glided by since they landed, a year that Sir Gordon had pa.s.sed in the most unsatisfactory way.

"Why are we stopping here?"

"Yes. Didn't I speak plainly? Why are we stopping here? For goodness'

sake, Bayle, don't you take to aggravating me by repeating my words!

I'm irritable enough without that!"

"Nonsense, my dear old friend!" cried Bayle, rising.

"Hang it, man, don't throw my age in my teeth! I can't help being old!"

"May I live to be as old," said Bayle, smiling, and laying his hand on Sir Gordon's shoulder.

"Bah! don't pray for that, man! Why should you want to live? To see all your pet schemes knocked on the head, and those you care for go to the bad, while your aches and pains increase, and you are gliding down the hill of life a wretched, selfish old man, unloved, uncared for.

There, life is all a miserable mistake."

"Uncared for, eh?" said Bayle. "Have you no friends?"

"Not one," groaned the old man, writhing, as he felt a twinge in his back. "Oh, this bitter south wind! it's worse than our north!"

"Shame! Why, Tom Porter watches you night and day. He would die for you."

"So would a dog. The scoundrel only thinks of how much money I shall leave him when I go."

Unheard by either, Tom Porter had entered the room, sailor fashion, barefoot, in the easy canvas suit he wore when yachting with his master.

He had brought in a basin of broth of his own brewing, as he termed it--for Sir Gordon was unwell--a plate with a couple of slices of bread of his own toasting in the other hand, and he was holding the silver spoon from Sir Gordon's travelling canteen beneath his chin.

He heard every word as he stood waiting respectfully to bring in his master's "'levens," as he called it; and, instead of getting the sherry from the cellaret, he began s.c.r.e.w.i.n.g up his hard face, and showing his emotion by working about his bare toes.

As Sir Gordon finished his bitter speech, Tom Porter took a step forward and threw the basin of mutton broth, basin, plate, and all, under the grate with a crash, and stalked towards the door.

"You scoundrel!" roared Sir Gordon. "You, Tom Porter, stop!"

"Be d.a.m.ned if I do!" growled the man. "There's mutiny on, and I leave the ship."

_Bang_!

The door was closed violently, and Sir Gordon looked helplessly up at Bayle.

"You see!"

"Yes," said Bayle, "I see. Poor fellow! Why did you wound his feelings like that?"

"There!" cried Sir Gordon; "now you side with the scoundrel.

Twenty-five years has he been with me, and look at my soup!"

Bayle laughed.

"Yes: that's right: laugh at me. I'm getting old and weak. Laugh at me. I suppose the next thing will be that you will go off and leave me here in the lurch."

"That is just my way, is it not?" said Bayle, smiling.

"Well, no," grumbled Sir Gordon, "I suppose it is not. But then you are such a fool, Bayle. I haven't patience with you!"

"I'm afraid I am a great trial to you."

"You are--a terrible trial; every one's a terrible trial--everything goes wrong. That blundering a.s.s Tom Porter must even go and knock a hole in the _Sylph_ on the rocks."

"Yes, that was unfortunate," said Bayle.

"Here: I shall go back. It's of no use staying here. Everything I see aggravates me. Matters are getting worse with the Hallams. Let's go home, Bayle."