The next day Tom Porter had orders to go with his master to the Admiralty, where he waited for about a couple of hours; and two days later he was on his way to Plymouth with the sea-chests, as he termed them, perfectly happy, and with his shore togs, as he called his livery, locked up in one of the presses in the chambers in St. James’s.
His sailing orders were brief, and he put into port at the chief hotel to wait for his master; and he waited. Meantime there had been the painful partings between those who loved, and who, in spite of hopeful words, felt that in all human probability the parting was final.
Through the interest of Sir Gordon, a passage had been obtained for Mrs Hallam and her daughter on board the Sea King, a fine ship, chartered by the Government to take out a large detachment of troops, as well as several important officials, bound to the Antipodes on the mission of trying to foster what promised to be one of our most important colonies.
“You will be more comfortable,” Sir Gordon said. “There will be ladies on board, and I will get you some introductions to them, as well as to the Governor at Port Jackson.”
Mrs Hallam gave Bayle a piteous look, as if asking him to intercede for her.
Bayle, however, seemed not to comprehend her look, and remained silent.
It was a painful task, but Millicent Hallam was accustomed to painful tasks, and, turning to Sir Gordon, she said, in a quiet, resigned way:
“You forget my position. I know how kindly all this is meant; but I must not be going out on false pretences. My fellow-passengers should not be deceived as to who and what I am. I may seem ungrateful to you, but it would have been far better for me to have gone out in some common ship.”
“My dear child,” cried Sir Gordon, wringing his hands, “don’t be unreasonable! Do you suppose the womenkind on board the Sea King are going to be so contemptible as to visit the sins of—My dear Bayle, you have more influence than I!” he cried hastily; “tell Mrs Hallam everything is settled, and she must go, and—there, there, we’ve had knots and tangles enough, don’t, pray, let us have any more!”
The old gentleman, who seemed terribly perplexed, turned away, but paused as he felt a little hand upon his arm.