“Wanted here!” cried Hallam savagely; “no, you are not wanted here. I’ll have no more interferences from such as you; you’ve both been the curse of my life.”
Sir Gordon turned upon him with a calm look of disgust and contempt, which at another time would have made him quail; but, fevered with brandy as he was, the effect was to make him more beside himself.
“As you are here, both of you, let me tell you this: that I don’t kick you out because one of you is a weak, doddering old idiot, the other—oh, his cloth must protect Mr Bayle. Now what do you want?”
“Be calm, Julia,” whispered Bayle. “No harm shall befall either of you.”
Crellock advanced menacingly, but Sir Gordon interposed.
“Mrs Hallam, as your father’s old friend, I must interfere for your protection now.”
“Must you?” cried Hallam fiercely, “then I tell you that you won’t. This is my house, taken by my wife. That is my wife. That is my child, and in a few days she will be the wife of this gentleman, my oldest friend. Now go. Millicent—Julie—get on your things, and come, or, by all that’s holy, we’ll drag you through the streets.”
Julia clung to Bayle, and turned her flushed face to him as if asking help; while, with a look of calm contempt, he patted the hand he held, and glanced at Mrs Hallam, for something seemed to warn him that the crisis had arrived.
“I have told you, Robert Hallam,” she said, in a calm, firm voice, that grew in strength as she went on, “that from this hour we are separated, never to be man and wife again. I clung to you in all a woman’s proud faith in her husband. I loved you as dearly as woman could love. When you were condemned of all, I defended you, and believed you honest.”
“Bah!” he exclaimed; “enough of this!” and he took a step forward, but quailed before her gaze.