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.