“I cannot help it,” she cried passionately. “It is my duty, and he will soon forget us.”
But when he of whom she thought came that morning, looking grave and pale, her heart reproached her more and more, for she knew that he was not of the kind to forget. This knowledge influenced her words and the tone of her voice, as she laid her hand in his, and then passed her arm round Julie.
“Once more,” she said, with a sad smile, “you are going in your unselfishness to help me, Christie Bayle.”
“Are you still determined?” he said, with a slight tremor in his voice, which grew firm directly, even stern.
“Yes!”
“Have you thought of the peril of the voyage for yourself and for Julie?”
“Yes; of everything.”
“The wild, strange life out yonder; your future—have you thought of this?”
“Yes, yes!” said Millicent Hallam calmly. “Can you ask me these questions, and at such a time?”
Christie Bayle remained silent, looking stern and cold; but it was a mere mask. He could not trust himself to speak, lest he should grow by turns piteous of appeal, angry and denunciatory of manner, so fully did he realise the horrors of the fate to which this man’s wife in her blind faith was hurrying.