Volume Four—Chapter Eighteen.
The Blow Falls.
It was close upon evening before the trouble Thisbe expected came. Tom Porter had been again, tapped at the door, and when Thisbe went to the window he had contorted his face in the most horrible manner, closing his left eye, and then walked off without a word.
Thisbe watched till he was out of sight, and then returned to her chair.
“He’s to be trusted,” she said to herself. “It’s a pity he wants to marry me. We’re much better as we are; and who knows but what he might turn wild? There’s only one thing in his favour, he ain’t a handsome man.”
Now Tom Porter at fifty looked to be about the last person in the world to turn wild, but Thisbe’s experiences had done much to harden her virgin heart.
At least a dozen times over she had slipped off her shoes and ascended the stairs to find that, utterly exhausted, Mrs Hallam and Julia were sleeping heavily, the latter on a chair, with her arms clasped about her mother’s neck.
“Poor dears!” said Thisbe, as she descended; “I daren’t wake them, but they ought to have a cup of tea.”
“Ah,” she exclaimed softly, “what would she say? I shall never dare to look her in the face again.”
At last the trouble came.
“I knew it,” said Thisbe, as she heard the steps at the door. “He was bound to find us. Yes, they’re both there. Well, it’s his own work and not mine. What shall I do?”
She rose from her chair, looking very resolute. “I’ll face them bold. It’s the only way.”
She heard the murmur of men’s voices, and then there was a rap at the door given with the handle of a whip. She went to the door, unfastened and threw it open.
“What is it?” she said.
Hallam and Crellock were on the threshold, and the latter exclaimed, as soon as he saw her:
“I thought so.”
They stepped in quickly, and Thisbe’s lips tightened as she was forced to back before them, and the door swung to.
“Where is your mistress?” said Hallam sharply.
“Asleep. Worn out and ill.”
“Where’s my daughter?”
“With her mother: upstairs.”
“I’ll soon have an end of this fooling,” he exclaimed; and as Thisbe stood with her arms folded, she seemed to see a flash of the old look she remembered—the look she hated—when they were at Castor years before.
Hallam threw open the door at the foot of the narrow staircase, while Crellock seated himself astride a chair with his hat on and beat his boot with his whip.
“Millicent! Julie!” cried Hallam fiercely, and there were footsteps heard above, for the arrival had awakened those who slept. “Come down at once.”
He let the door swing to and began to pace the little room, muttering to himself, and evidently furious with rage at his wife’s desertion.
Crellock watched him from the corner of his eyes, and from time to time unconsciously applied his hand to a great discolouration on the cheek. He was evidently quite satisfied, for Hallam needed no egging on to the task, and he felt that this episode would hasten his marriage.
“Are you coming?” cried Hallam, after a few minutes, and as he flung back the door, that of the bedroom was heard to open, and Mrs Hallam and Julia came down, both very pale, but with a firmness in their countenances that sent a thrill of joy through Thisbe.
“There you are then,” cried Hallam, as they stood before him. “Ah! I’ve a good mind to—”
He raised his hand and made a feint as if to strike the pale, suffering woman. With a cry of horror, Julia flung herself between them, her eyes flashing, her dread gone, and in its place, indignant horror sweeping away the last feeling of pity and compunction for the brutalised man to whom she owed her birth.
“Now then,” cried Hallam. “You’ve both had your fool’s game out, so put on your bonnets and come home.” Mrs Hallam passed her hand round Julia and remained silent.
“Do you hear?” cried Hallam. “I say, put on your things and come home. As for you, madam, you shall have a home of your own, and a husband, before you know where you are. Come; stir!” he cried, with a stamp. “This is my home,” said Mrs Hallam, sternly. “What!”
“Robert Hallam, the last thread that bound me to you is broken,” she continued, in a calm, judicial voice. “We are separated for ever.”
“You’re mad,” cried Hallam, with a laugh. “Come, no nonsense, ma’am! Don’t make a scene, for I’m not in the humour to put up with much. Come out of this house or—”
He made a step or two towards the door, for Thisbe had thrown it open, having seen Bayle pass the window with Sir Gordon. Then he seized the door to fling it in their faces; but Thisbe held it firmly, and they walked in, Hallam himself giving way.
“Coward!” snarled Crellock in his ear, as he started up, whip in hand.
“Mrs Hallam,” said Sir Gordon, “you must forgive this intrusion. I am sure we are wanted here.”
“Wanted here!” cried Hallam savagely; “no, you are not wanted here. I’ll have no more interferences from such as you; you’ve both been the curse of my life.”
Sir Gordon turned upon him with a calm look of disgust and contempt, which at another time would have made him quail; but, fevered with brandy as he was, the effect was to make him more beside himself.
“As you are here, both of you, let me tell you this: that I don’t kick you out because one of you is a weak, doddering old idiot, the other—oh, his cloth must protect Mr Bayle. Now what do you want?”
“Be calm, Julia,” whispered Bayle. “No harm shall befall either of you.”
Crellock advanced menacingly, but Sir Gordon interposed.
“Mrs Hallam, as your father’s old friend, I must interfere for your protection now.”
“Must you?” cried Hallam fiercely, “then I tell you that you won’t. This is my house, taken by my wife. That is my wife. That is my child, and in a few days she will be the wife of this gentleman, my oldest friend. Now go. Millicent—Julie—get on your things, and come, or, by all that’s holy, we’ll drag you through the streets.”
Julia clung to Bayle, and turned her flushed face to him as if asking help; while, with a look of calm contempt, he patted the hand he held, and glanced at Mrs Hallam, for something seemed to warn him that the crisis had arrived.
“I have told you, Robert Hallam,” she said, in a calm, firm voice, that grew in strength as she went on, “that from this hour we are separated, never to be man and wife again. I clung to you in all a woman’s proud faith in her husband. I loved you as dearly as woman could love. When you were condemned of all, I defended you, and believed you honest.”
“Bah!” he exclaimed; “enough of this!” and he took a step forward, but quailed before her gaze.
“You crushed my love. You made me your wretched innocent tool and slave when you brought me here, and at last you brutally told me all the cruel truth. Even then, heartbroken, I clung to you, and suffered in silence. God knows how I tried to bring you to penitence and a better life. I forgave all for the sake of our child; and in my love for her I would have gone on bearing all.”
“Have you nearly done?” he said mockingly.
“Nearly,” she said, in the same firm, clear tones; and she seemed to tower above him, pale and noble of aspect, while he, drink-brutalised and blotched, seemed to shrink.
“I say I would have borne everything, even if you had beaten me like a dog. But when—oh, my God, judge between us and forgive me if I have done wrong!—when I am called upon to see my innocent child dragged down by you to the fate of being the wife of the villain who has been your partner in all your crimes, my soul revolts, and I say—from this hour all between us is at an end.”
“And I say,” he yelled, “that you are my wife, this my child, and you shall obey me. Come; I am master here.”
He made a snatch at her arm, but she raised it before him, with outstretched palm, and her voice rang out with a cry that made him shrink and cower.
“Stop!”
There was a moment’s utter silence, broken by the softly heard tramp of feet.
“Husband no longer, father of my child no more. Robert Hallam, you are my convict servant! I discharge you. Leave this house!”
Hallam took a step back, literally stunned by the words of the outraged woman, who for so long a time had been his slave, while Bayle uttered a long sighing sound as if relieved of some terrible weight.
For a time no one spoke, but all turned from gazing on the prominent figure of that group, to Hallam, who stood clenching and unclenching his hands, and gasping as if trying to recover from the shock he had received.
He essayed to speak as he glared at Mrs Hallam, and scowled at her as if each look were an arrow to wound and bring her to his feet humbled and appealing as of old; but the arrows glanced from the armour of indignant maternal love with which she was clothed; and, drawn up to her full height, scornful and defiant as she seemed, her look absolutely made him quail.
Tramp—tramp—tramp—tramp.
The regular march of disciplined men coming nearer and nearer, but heard by none within that room, as Crellock, with a coarse laugh, bent forward, and whispered in his companion’s ear:
“Why, man, are you going to submit to this?”
“No!” roared Hallam, as if his gang-companion’s words had broken a spell. “No! The woman’s mad! Julia, you are my child. Come here!”
Julia met the eyes that were fixed fiercely upon her, and stepped forward.
Bayle tried to arrest her, but she raised her hand to keep him back, and then placed it on her father’s arm, trembling and looking white. Then she reached up, and kissed him solemnly upon the cheek.
“There, gentlemen,” he cried triumphantly. “You see. Now, wife—my wife, come to your convict servant—come—home.”
He passed his arm round Julia’s waist, and signed to Crellock to come forward, but his child glided from his grasp.
“Good-bye—father—good-bye—for ever.”
He made a snatch at her hand; but she had gone, and was clinging to Bayle.
Hallam uttered a fierce oath, and then listened: stopped short with his head wrenched round to gaze at the door.
For at that moment the tramp of feet reached the entrance, and a voice rang out:
“Halt!”
There was the rattle of muskets on the path, and as, ghastly of face, and with starting eyes, Robert Hallam saw in imagination the interior of the prison, the grim convict dress, the chains, and the lash, the door was thrown open, and Captain Otway entered, followed by a sergeant and a file of the convict guard, a squad remaining outside, drawn up before the house.
Otway glanced round, his brow furrowed, and his lips tightened, as his eyes fell on Mrs Hallam and her child.
It was but a momentary emotion. Then the stern military precision asserted itself, and he said quickly:
“Robert Hallam, number 874, assigned servant, I arrest you for breaking the terms of your pass. Sergeant, remove this man.”
Two men stepped to Hallam’s side on the instant.
“Curse you,” he yelled, as he started forward to reach his wife, but a strong hand on either arm stayed him. “This is your work.”
She shook her head slowly, and Julia darted to her side, for the firmness that had sustained her so far was failing fast.
“No,” she said slowly; “it is no work of mine.”
“Then I have to thank my dear friend the Baronet here,” he cried with a vindictive look at Sir Gordon.
“No, Hallam. I have known for months past that you have been living in wild excess on the money you stole from me, but I spared you for others’ sake.”
“Oh, I see, then,” cried Hallam, turning to Bayle; “it was you—you beggarly professor of—”
“Stay your reproaches,” cried Bayle sternly. “I could not have taken steps against you had I wished.”
“If it’ll make it easier for Mr Hallam to know who gave information again him,” said a voice at the door, “it was me.”
“Tom Porter!” cried Sir Gordon.
“Ay, ay, sir.”
“Remove your prisoner,” said Captain Otway sternly. Crellock stepped forward with a blustering swagger.
“Am I included in this?” he said.
“No, sir,” said Captain Otway sternly. “I have no orders about you—at present. Take my advice and go.” Crellock made a step toward Julia, but she shrank from him in horror, and the next minute he was literally forced out by the soldiers with their prisoner, the door closed, and a low, wailing voice arose:
“Julia!”
“Mother, dear mother, I am here,” cried Julia, kneeling and supporting the stricken woman on her breast.
“Hold me, my darling, tightly,” she moaned. “It is growing dark—is this the end?”