Bayle had been up to sit with them for a short time in the evening; but with kindly delicacy he had left soon, and at last sleep had given some relief to the sorrow-stricken hearts in the old home.
Then had come the glorious spring morning, and, stealing through the garden, mother and child had felt their hearts lifted by the mysterious influence of the budding year, till over all, like a cloud, came Millicent’s farewell to the home she would never see again.
Prophetic and true—or the false imaginings of a sorrow-charged brain? Who could say?
The stay was to be but short, for they returned that night by the coach which passed through, as it had gone on passing since that night when the agonised wife had sat watching for the news from the assize town.
“It will be better so,” Millicent Hallam had said. “It will be less painful to my dear ones in the old home, and Julie. Christie Bayle, I could not bear this strain for long. We must finish and away. He is waiting for us now.”
About midday Bayle came up to the cottage, quiet and grave as ever, but with a smile for Julia, as she hurried to meet him, Millicent coming more slowly behind.
“I have brought the keys,” he said. “I found they were in Mr Thickens’s charge. May I give you a word of advice?”
“Always,” said Mrs Hallam smiling; but he noticed that she was deadly pale.
“I would not stay there long. I understand the feeling that prompts you to visit the old home again. See it and come away, for it must be full of painful memories; and now you must be firm and strong.”
“Yes, yes,” she said quickly. “You will stay here?”