For a time no one spoke, but all turned from gazing on the prominent figure of that group, to Hallam, who stood clenching and unclenching his hands, and gasping as if trying to recover from the shock he had received.
He essayed to speak as he glared at Mrs Hallam, and scowled at her as if each look were an arrow to wound and bring her to his feet humbled and appealing as of old; but the arrows glanced from the armour of indignant maternal love with which she was clothed; and, drawn up to her full height, scornful and defiant as she seemed, her look absolutely made him quail.
Tramp—tramp—tramp—tramp.
The regular march of disciplined men coming nearer and nearer, but heard by none within that room, as Crellock, with a coarse laugh, bent forward, and whispered in his companion’s ear:
“Why, man, are you going to submit to this?”
“No!” roared Hallam, as if his gang-companion’s words had broken a spell. “No! The woman’s mad! Julia, you are my child. Come here!”
Julia met the eyes that were fixed fiercely upon her, and stepped forward.
Bayle tried to arrest her, but she raised her hand to keep him back, and then placed it on her father’s arm, trembling and looking white. Then she reached up, and kissed him solemnly upon the cheek.
“There, gentlemen,” he cried triumphantly. “You see. Now, wife—my wife, come to your convict servant—come—home.”
He passed his arm round Julia’s waist, and signed to Crellock to come forward, but his child glided from his grasp.