This Man's Wife

“Oh, some sordid fellows would think of such things. I’m not going to marry her relations.”

“In some sort a man must,” said Mrs Otway coolly. “Look here,” cried the young officer, “why do you talk to me like this?”

“Hullo! what’s the matter?” cried Captain Otway, who had come up unobserved; “quarrelling?”

“No,” said Mrs Otway, “I am only giving Phil Eaton a little of the common-sense he seems to have been losing lately. Why do I talk to you like this, my dear Phil? I’ll tell you. Because the day before we sailed Lady Eaton came to me and said, ‘You are a woman of experience, Mrs Otway; keep an eye upon my boy, and don’t let him get entangled in any way.’”

“My mother said that to you?”

“Indeed she did; and now that you are running your head into a very pretty silken skein, and tangling yourself up in the most tremendous manner, I think it is time for me to act.”

“Quite right, Phil,” said the Captain. “You wanted checking. The young lady is delicious, and all that is innocent and nice; but you are not content with a pleasant chat.”

“No,” said the Lieutenant firmly; “I mean to marry her.”

“Indeed!” said Otway dryly. “Who and what is she?”

“A lady of the greatest refinement and sweetness of character.”

“Granted; but who is her mother?”

“Mrs Hallam, a lady whom, in spite of her sadness of disposition and distant ways, it is a privilege to know.”

“Will you go on, Bel?” said Otway.

“No! Oh, Captain, you are talking grand sense! I’ll listen.”

“Well, then, here is another question. Who is Mr Hallam?”

“How should I know? Some merchant or official out at Port Jackson. They are going to join him. Julie – ”

“Hullo!” cried Mrs Otway, “has it come to that?”

“Miss Hallam,” continued the young officer, flushing, “told me she had not seen her father for years.”

Captain Otway turned to his wife, and she exchanged glances with him in a meaning way.

Eaton looked sharply from one to the other, his eyes flashing, and his white teeth showing as he bit his lip.

“What do you two mean?” he cried angrily.

“Oh, nothing!” said Otway, shrugging his shoulders.

“I insist upon knowing!” cried Eaton. “You would not look like that without deep cause; and it is not fair to me. Look here, I can’t bear it! You are thinking something respecting these people; and it is not like my old friends. Hang it all, am I a boy?”

“Yes,” said Mrs Otway gently, “a foolish, hot-headed, impetuous boy. Now, my dear Phil, be reasonable. The young lady is sweet and gentle, and sings charmingly. She is a delicious little companion for the voyage, and at your wish Jack and I have been very friendly, not feeling ourselves called upon during a Voyage like this to inquire into people’s antecedents so long as they were pleasant.”

“But – ”

“Hear me out.”

“Yes, hear her out, Phil; and don’t be a fool!” said Captain Otway.

“Mrs Hallam and Miss Hallam are both very nice, and we liked them, and I should like them to the end of the voyage if you were not beginning to make yourself very stupid.”

“Stupid! Oh, shame upon you, Mrs Otway!”

“You say so now, my dear boy; but what would you say if we, your old friends, let you run blindly into an entanglement with a young lady whose antecedents would horrify Lady Eaton, your mother?”

“I say shame again, Mrs Otway!” cried Eaton. “Why, everything contradicts your ideas. Would Mrs and Miss Hallam have for friends and companions Sir Gordon Bourne and a clergyman? I had heard of Sir Gordon as an eccentric yachting baronet years ago.”

“So had I,” said Captain Otway; “but they have only become acquainted since they were on board ship. Sir Gordon and the parson came on board at Plymouth.”

“Now I am going to show you how unjust you both are!” cried Eaton triumphantly. “Julie – I mean Miss Hallam – told me herself that she knew Sir Gordon Bourne when she was a little girl, and that Mr Bayle had acted as her private tutor ever since she could remember.”

“And what did she say Mr Hallam was?” “She did not mention his name, and I did not ask her. Hang it, madam, what do you think he is?”

“I am not going to say, my dear Philip, because I should be sorry to misjudge any one; but please remember why we are going out to Port Jackson.”

“Going out? Why, to join the regiment – from the dépôt.”

“And when we join our regiment our duty is to – ”

“Guard the convicts! Good heavens!”

The young man sprang from the chair in which he had been lounging, and turned white as paint, then he flushed with anger, turned pale again, and glared about the vessel.

Just then Mrs Hallam came out of the cabin with Julia and mounted to the after deck, going slowly to the vessel’s side, as was her custom, to gaze away east and south, talking softly to her child the while.

“Oh, it is impossible!” said Eaton at last. “How dare you make such a charge!”

“My wife makes no charge, Phil,” said Captain Otway firmly. “She only tells you what we think. Perhaps we are wrong.”

“And now that you suspect this,” said Eaton sarcastically, “are you both going to hold aloof from these ladies?”

“Certainly not!” said Mrs Otway warmly. “I have always found them most pleasant companions during our voyage, and I am the last woman to visit the sins of one person on the rest of his family.”

“And yet you abuse me for doing as you do!” cried Eaton impetuously.

“There are different depths of shading in a picture, my dear Phil,” said Mrs Otway, laying her hand upon the young man’s arm. “Be friendly to these people, as Jack there and I are about to be, to the end, but don’t go and commit yourself to an engagement with a convict’s daughter.”

“Oh, this is too much!” cried Eaton fiercely.

“No, it is not, Phil,” said the Captain quietly. “I’m afraid my wife is right.”

As he was speaking, Mrs Otway, who had left them, crossed the deck, and stood talking to Mrs Hallam and Julia, who soon went away, and Eaton saw her walk to where Sir Gordon was smoking the cigar just brought to him, and then leave him to go timidly up to where Christie Bayle was leaning over the bulwarks, book in hand, and seeming to read.

Volume Three – Chapter Fifteen.

Sir Gordon Gets out of Temper

“Don’t – pray don’t look so agitated, dear, mother,” whispered Julia, as they left the cabin one morning, after an announcement by the captain that before many hours had passed, a new phase in the long voyage would take place, for they would see land.

The news spread like lightning among the passengers, and was received with eager delight by those who had been cooped up gazing at sea and sky for months.

“I will try and be calm,” said Mrs Hallam; “but it seems at times more than I can bear. Think, Julie; only a few more hours and we shall see him again.”

Julia’s fair young face contracted, and there was a strange fluttering about her heart. Mingled feelings troubled her. She was angry with herself that she did not share her mother’s joy; and, strive how she would, she could not help feeling regret that the voyage was so near its end, and that they were to make a fresh plunge in life.

She had trembled and shrunk from the journey when it was first decided upon. There was so much of the unknown to encounter, and she had been so happy and contented in the simple home, that, unlike most young people of her age, novelty possessed for her few charms. But the voyage had proved, after the first few dreary days, one long succession of pleasant hours. Every one had been so kind – Mrs Otway almost loving, Captain Otway frank and manly, and – she coloured slightly as she thought of it all – Lieutenant Eaton so gentle and attentive to her every wish.

Yes, for months he had been ready to hurry to her side, to wait upon her, to read aloud, turn over her music, and join in the duets with an agreeable, manly voice. Yes, it had all been very, very pleasant; the only dark spots in the sunshine, the only clouds being that Sir Gordon had grown more testy and ready to say harsh things, and Mr Bayle had become strangely cold and distant – so changed. He who had been always so warm and frank looked at her gravely; the old playful manner had completely gone, and the change troubled her young breast sorely.

That morning, when Mrs Hallam took her old place by the bulwarks to gaze away into the distance, out of which the land she sought was to rise, Julia came to a determination, and, waiting her opportunity, she watched till Bayle had taken his place where he sat and read, and Sir Gordon was in his usual seat.

For, on ship-board, the nature of the vessel’s management seems to communicate itself to the passengers. As they have special berths, so do they adopt special seats at the cabin table, and, when on deck, go by custom to regular places after their morning walk beneath the breeze-filled sails.

Sir Gordon was in his seat, and Tom Porter on his way with a cigar and light, when Julia intercepted him, took them from him, and walked up to Sir Gordon.

“Hullo!” he said shortly. “You?”

“Yes! I’ve brought you your cigar and light.”

She held them out, and the old man took them, and lit the cheroot with all the careful dallying of an old smoker.

“Thankye,” he said shortly; but Julia did not leave him, only stood looking down at the wrinkles of age and annoyance in the well-bred face.

“Well!” he said, “what are you waiting for, my child?” His voice was a little softer as the wreaths of smoke rose in the soft southern air.

“I want to talk to you,” she said, looking at him wistfully.

“Sit down, then. Ah, there’s no chair, and – where is our gay young officer to fetch one?”

Julia did not answer, but gazed up in his face as she seated herself upon the deck by his low lounge chair.

“Why do you speak to me so unkindly?” she said, with a naïve innocency of manner that made the old man wince and cease smoking.

“Unkindly?” he said at last.

“Yes,” said Julia. “You have been so different. You are not speaking to me now as you used.”

The old man frowned, looked from the upturned face at his side to where Mrs Hallam was gazing out to sea, and back again.

“Because I’m growing old and am chilly, and pettish, and jealous, my dear,” he said at last warmly. “Julia!” he cried searchingly, “tell me; do you love this Lieutenant Eaton?”

The girl’s face grew crimson, and her eyes flashed a look of resentment as she rose quickly to her feet.

“No, no! don’t go, my dear,” he cried; but it was too late even if the words could have stayed her. Julia was walking swiftly away, and Lieutenant Eaton, who was coming back from a morning parade of the company, increased his pace on seeing Julia, but she turned aside and walked towards Bayle.

“Yes, but if I had not just spoken to her,” muttered Sir Gordon, “she would have stopped. Well, it is only natural, and I had no business to speak – no business to trouble myself about her. Tom Porter says the old maid is bitterly mad about it, and declares the poor child is going to wreck her life as her mother did. The old cat! How dare she think such a thing! The impudence! Wishes the ship may be wrecked first and that we may all be drowned. Ah! you’re there, are you, sir?”

“Yes, Sir Gordon. Another cheroot?”

“Can’t you see I haven’t smoked this, fool? Here, give me a light!”

Tom Porter’s mahogany face did not change as he produced a piece of tinder and held it for his testy master to ignite his cigar.

“Thank ye, Tom,” said Sir Gordon, changing his tone. “Here, don’t go away. What did that woman say?”

“Thisbe, Sir Gordon?”

“Yes; you know whom I mean. About Miss Hallam?”

“Wished we might all be wrecked and drowned before it came off.”

“Before what came off?”

“A wedding with Lieutenant Eaton, Sir Gordon.”

“Why?”

“Principally because she says he’s so handsome, Sir Gordon. She hates handsome men.”

“Humph! That’s why she’s so fond of you, Tom Porter.”

“Which she ain’t, Sir Gordon,” said Tom Porter dolefully.

“You had been talking about weddings then?”

“Well, just a little, Sir Gordon,” said Tom Porter, not a muscle of whose countenance moved. “I just said how nice it was to see two young folks so fond of each other.”

“As whom?”

“As the Lufftenant and Miss Jooly, Sir Gordon; and that it would be just as nice for two middle-aged folks who had kept it all in store.”

“And is she going to marry you, then, when we get to port?”

“No: Sir Gordon; it’s all over. She ain’t the marrying sort.”

“Humph! Marry a black woman, then, to spite her, and then ask her to come and see your wife.”

“No, Sir Gordon, beggin’ your pardon, sir; I’ve been in the wrong, when I ought to have took you for an example. It’s all over, and I’m settled down thorough. I have seen but one woman as I thought I’d like to splice.”

“And that was Mrs Hallam’s old maid?”

“Yes, Sir Gordon.”

“Why? She isn’t handsome.”

“Not outside, Sir Gordon; and I don’t rightly know why I took to her, unless it was that she seemed so right down like – such a stick-to-you-through-fair-weather-and-foul sort of woman. But it’s all over now, Sir Gordon. Things won’t turn out as one likes, and it’s of no use to try.”

“You’re right, Tom Porter; you’re a better philosopher than your master. There: that will do. When shall we see land?”

“Morrow morning, Sir Gordon. Daybreak; not afore. Any orders ’bout the shore?”

“Orders? What are we to do when we get there? Tom Porter, if you could tell me what we are to do, I’d give you a hundred pounds. There, give me a light, my cheroot’s out again!”

Volume Three – Chapter Sixteen.

A Sore Place

“Are you glad the voyage is nearly over?” said a soft little voice that made Bayle start.

“Glad?” he said, as he turned to gaze in Julia’s plaintive-looking face. “No; I am sorry.”

“Why?”

“Why? Because you have seemed so happy.”

He paused a few moments, as if afraid that his voice would tremble.

“Because your mother has seemed so happy.” And, he added to himself: “Because I tremble for all that is to come.”

“Are you angry with me, Mr Bayle?” said Julia, after a pause.

“Angry with you, my child?” he said, with his eyes brightening, though there was a piteous look in his face. “Oh, no; how could I be?”

“I don’t know,” she replied; “but you have grown more and more changed. I have seen so little of you lately, and you have avoided me.”

“But you have not been dull. You have had many companions and friends.”

“Yes,” she said quickly, “and they have been so kind; but I have seemed to regret the past days when we were all so quiet and happy together.”

“Hush!” he said quickly. “Don’t speak like that.”

“Not speak like that? There, now you are angry with me again.”

“Angry? No, no, my child,” cried Bayle, whose voice trembled with emotion. “I am not angry with you.”

“Yes; that’s how I like to hear you speak,” cried Julia. “That is how you used to speak to me, and not in that grave, measured way, as if you were dissatisfied.”

“Julia,” he said, hoarse with emotion, “how could I be dissatisfied when I see you happy? Has it not been the wish of my life?”

“Yes; I have always known it was. Now you make me happy again; and you will always speak so to me?”

“Always,” he said, with his eyes lighting up with a strange fire. “Always, my child.”

“That’s right,” she cried. “That is like my dear old teacher speaking to me again;” and her sweet, ingenuous eyes looked lovingly in his.

But they saw no response to their tenderness, for the fire died out of Bayle’s gaze, the red spots faded from his cheeks, and an agonising pang made him shudder, and then draw in a long, deep breath.

At that moment Lieutenant Eaton approached, and Bayle saw the tell-tale colour come into Julia’s cheeks.

“It is fate, I suppose,” he said, drawing back to give place to Eaton.

Julia looked up at him quickly, as if she divined the words he had said to himself; but he did not speak, only smiled sadly, and walked towards where Mrs Hallam was gazing over the side.

He shuddered as he thought of the meeting that must take place, and walked up and down slowly, thinking of his position, unheeded by Mrs Hallam, whose face was irradiated by the joy that filled her breast.

He turned back to see that Eaton had led Julia to the other side of the vessel, and as she, too, stood with her hands resting on the bulwarks, Bayle could see that the young man’s face was bright and animated; that he was talking quickly to the girl, whose head was slightly bent as though she was listening attentively to all he said.

Christie Bayle drew a long breath as he walked slowly on. His old, patient, long-suffering smile came upon his face, and now his lip ceased quivering, and he said softly:

“If it is for her happiness. Why not?”

“And after all I have said,” he heard from a quick voice beyond the awning. “It’s too bad, Jack. He is proposing to her now. What shall we do?”

“Nothing. Let him find all out for himself, and then cool down.”

“And half break the poor girl’s heart? I don’t want that.”

Bayle hurried away, feeling as if he could bear no more. The cabin seemed the best retreat, where he could take counsel with himself, and try and arrange some plan in which he could dispassionately leave out self, and act as he had vowed that he would – as a true friend to Millicent Hallam and her child.

But he was not to reach his cabin without another mental sting, for as he descended he came upon Thisbe, looking red-eyed as if she had been crying, and he stopped to speak to her.

“Matter, sir?” she answered; “and you ask me? Go back on deck, and see for yourself, and say whether the old trouble is to come all over again.”

He felt as if he must speak angrily to the woman if he paused; and hurrying by her he shut himself in his cabin and stayed there for hours with the bustle of preparations for landing going on all around, the home of many months being looked upon now as a prison which every passenger was longing to quit, to gain the freedom of the shore.

Volume Three – Chapter Seventeen.

Communing with Self

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!’”

Volume Three – Chapter Eighteen.

“At Last!”

A busy day on ship-board, with the excitement growing fast, and officers and men cheerfully turning themselves into guides and describers of the scenery on either hand.

A glorious day, with a brisk breeze, and the white sails curving out, and the great vessel, that had borne them safely to their destination, careening gently over, with the white foam dividing and swelling away to starboard and to port.

The sky overhead might have been that of Italy, so gloriously bright and pure it seemed to all, as at last the vessel glided in between the guardian giants of the port, and then, as they stood well within the two grey rocky precipices, the swell upon which they had softly swayed died away, the breeze sank, and the great white sails flapped and filled and flapped, the ship slowly slackened its speed, and at last lay motionless, waiting for the tide that would bear them on to the anchorage within.

It was evening when the tantalising waiting was at an end, and the expectant groups saw themselves once more gliding on and on, past a long beach of white sand, into the estuary that, minute by minute, took more and more the aspect of some widening river.

Seen by the glory of the sinking sun, and after the long, monotonous voyage, it was like some glimpse of Eden, and with one consent the soldiers sent forth a hearty cheer, which died away into silence as the great ship glided on. Jutting promontories, emerald islands, golden waters, and a sky like topaz, as the sun slowly sank. Curving bays filled with roseate hues reflected from the sky, swelling hills in the distance of wondrous greyish green, with deepening slopes of softly darkening shadows. The harbour was without a ripple, and glistened as polished metal, and mirrored here and there the shore. Away in the distance, the soft greyish verdure stood out in the clear air; and as the wearied travellers drank in the glorious scene, there was a solemnity in its beauty that oppressed them, even unto tears.

Millicent Hallam stood in that self-same spot where she had so patiently watched for this her promised land, and as she bent forward with half-extended hands, Julia saw her lips part, and heard from time to time some broken utterances, as the tears of joy fell slowly from her dreamy eyes.