“You have been so long,” cried the former; “but tell me—you have the passes?”
“Yes; they are here,” he said.
“Give them to me,” she cried, with feverish haste. “Come, Julia.”
“You cannot go alone, Mrs Hallam,” said Bayle in a remonstrant tone. “Try and restrain yourself. Then we will go on at once.”
She looked at him half angrily; but the look turned to one of appeal as she moved towards the door.
“But are you quite prepared?” he whispered. “Do you still hold to the intention of taking Julia?”
“Yes, yes,” she cried fiercely. “Christie Bayle, you cannot feel with me. Do you not realise that it is the husband and father waiting to see his wife and child?”
Bayle said no more then, but walked with them through the roughly marked out streets of the straggling port, towards the convict lines.
“I shall see you to the gates,” he said, “secure your admission, and then await your return.”
Mrs Hallam pressed his hand, and then as he glanced at Julia, he saw that she was trembling and deadly pale. The next minute, however, she had mastered her emotion, and they walked quickly on, Mrs Hallam with her head erect, and proud of mien, as she seemed in every movement to be wishing to impress upon her child that they should rather glory in their visit than feel shame. There was something almost triumphant in the look she directed at Bayle, a look which changed to angry reproach, as she saw his wrinkled brow and the trouble in his face.