Chapter XV: Part 15

She hurried Julia away, for she heard the trampling of the horses' feet as they were led round to the stables, and then a familiar step upon the stairs.

"I was coming to speak to you," she said as Hallam opened the door.

"And I was coming to you," he said roughly. "What has that little idiot been saying to Crellock to put him in such a rage?"

"Sit down," she said, pushing a chair towards him, and there was a look in her eyes he had never seen before.

"Well, there. Now be sharp. I don't care to be bothered with trifles; I've had troubles enough. Has that champagne been put to cool?"

She looked, half wonderingly, in the heavy, sensual face, growing daily more flushed and changed.

"Come, go on," he said, as if the look troubled him. "Now, then, what is it? Crellock is half mad. She has offended him horribly."

"She has been defending her father's honour," said Mrs Hallam slowly.

"Defending my honour?" he said, smiling. "Ah!" Mrs Hallam clasped her hands, and a sigh full of the agony of her heart escaped her lips. The scales seemed to be falling from her eyes, but she wilfully closed them again in her passion of love and trust.

But it was in vain. Something seemed to be tearing these scales away-- something seemed to be rending that thick veil of love, and the voices she had so long quelled were clamouring to be heard, and making her ears sing with the terrible tale they told.

She writhed in spirit. She denied it all as a calumny, but as she walked to and fro there the tiny voices in her soul seemed to be ringing out the destruction of her idol, and to her swimming eyes it seemed tottering to its fall.

"You are very strange," he said roughly. "What's the matter? I thought you were going to tell me about Julia and Steve."

"I am," she cried at last, as if mastering herself after some terrible spasm. "Robert, I have been told something to-day that makes me tremble."

"Some news?" he said coolly.

"Yes, news--terrible news."

"Let's have it--if you like," he said. "I don't care. It don't matter, unless it will do you good to tell it."

Her face was wrung by the agony of her soul as she heard his callous words. The veil was being terribly rent now; and as her eyes saw more clearly, she tried in vain to close her mental sight; but no, she seemed forced to gaze now, and the idol that was tottering began to show that it was indeed of clay.

"Well, don't look like that," he said. "A man who has been transported is pretty well case-hardened. There _is_ no worse trouble in life."

"No worse?" she panted out in a quick, angry way, as words had never before left her lips; "not if he lost the love and trust of wife and child?"

"Well, that would be unpleasant," he said coolly. "Perhaps the poor wretch would be able to get over it in time. What is your news?"

"I have heard you freshly accused to-day of that old crime, of which you were innocent."

"Of which I was innocent, of course," he said coolly. "Is that all?"

She did not answer for a few minutes, and then as he half rose impatiently, as if to go, she said excitedly: "That case I brought over, Robert."

"Case?" he said with a slight start.

"From the old house."

"Well--what about it?"

"Tell me at once, or I shall go mad. What did it contain?"

"Papers. I told you when I wrote."

"That would set him free," the voices in her heart insisted.

"Who has been setting you to ask about that, eh?" She did not reply.

"You did not keep faith with me," he cried angrily. "You have been telling Sir Gordon, or that Bayle."

"I told no one," she said hoarsely.

"Hah!" he ejaculated with a sigh of relief.

"Stephen Crellock has told Julia what she--and I--declare is false."

"Stephen Crellock is a fool," he cried quickly. "Go and fetch Julia here. She must be talked to."

"Robert! my husband," cried Mrs Hallam, throwing herself upon her knees and catching his hands, "you do not speak out. Why do you not passionately say it is false? How dare he accuse you of such a crime! You do not speak!"

She gazed up at him wildly.

"What do you want me to say?" he cried angrily. "Do you think me mad, woman? Here, let's have an end of all this nonsense. What does Crellock say?" She could not speak for a few minutes, so overladen was her heart; and when she did, the words were hoarse that fell upon his ears.

"He said--he told our simple, loving girl, whom I have taught to trust in and reverence her martyred father's name; whose faith has been in your innocency of the crime for which you were sent here--the girl I taught to pray that your innocence might be proved--"

"Will you go on?" he cried brutally. "I'm sick of this. Now, what did he say?"

"That--Oh, Robert, my husband, I cannot say it! His words cannot be true!"

"Will you speak?" he cried. "Out with it at once! When will you grow to be a woman of the world, and stop this childishness? Now what did the chattering fool say?"

"That the box I brought over contained the proceeds of the bank robbery--money that you had hidden away."

Millicent Hallam started up and gazed about her with a dazed look, as if she were startled by the words she heard--words that seemed to have come from other lips than hers; and then she pressed her hands to her heaving bosom as her husband spoke.

"Stephen Crellock must be getting tired of his leave," he said coolly. "An idiot! He had better have kept his tongue between his teeth. How came he to be chattering about that? If he don't mind--" He did not finish the sentence, and his wife's eyes dilated as she gazed at him in a horrified way.

"You do not deny it!" she said at last. "You do not declare that this is all cruelly false!"

"No," he said slowly, "I am not going to worry myself about his words. He can't prove anything."

"But it is a charge against your honour," she cried; "against me. Robert! you will not let this go uncontradicted for an hour longer?"

"Stephen Crellock had better mind," said Hallam, slowly and thoughtfully, as if he had not heard his wife.

"But, Robert--my husband! you will speak for your own sake--for your child's sake--for mine?"

There was a growing intensity in the words, whose tones rose to one of passionate appeal.

He made an impatient motion that implied a negative, and she threw herself once more upon her knees at his feet.

"You will deny this atrocious charge?"

"If I am asked I shall deny it of course," he said coolly; "but you don't suppose I am going to talk about it without?"

"But--but--that man believes it to be true!"

"Well, let him."

"Robert--dear Robert," she cried, "you must not, you shall not treat it like that! It is as if you were indifferent to this dreadful statement."

"Because it is better to let it rest, madam, so let it be."

"No!" she cried, with a wave as it were of her old trust sweeping all before it; "I cannot let it rest. If you will not speak in your own defence, I must!"

"What do you mean?" he said hastily.

"That if for his child's sake, Robert Hallam will not defend himself against such a vile and cruel lie, his wife will!"

"What will you do?" he said, with an ugly sneer upon his lip.

"See this man myself, and force him to deny it--to declare that it is not true. My husband cannot sit down patiently with that charge flung against his wife's honour and his own."

Me sat gazing at her from beneath his thick eyebrows for a few minutes as she paced the room, agitated almost beyond bearing; and then he spoke in the most matter-of-fact way.

"You'll do nothing of the kind."

"Not speak?"

"No; I forbid it."

"Forbid it?"

"Yes. Do you suppose I want my leave stopped? Do you want to send me back to the gang who are chained like dogs?"

"Hush!" she cried, with a shudder; and she covered her face, as if to shut out some terrible sight. "Do you not feel that you are running risks by remaining silent?"

"I should run greater risks by having the matter talked about. That great fool, Steve, must be warned to be more cautious in what he says, for all our sakes."

"Robert!" in a tone of horror.

"There, there, wife, that will do! Let's talk it over without sentiment; I haven't a bit of romance left in me, my dear. Life out here has cleared it off. You may as well know the truth as at any future time. Bah! Let's throw away all this flimsy foolery. You've known it all along, only you've been too brave to show it."

"I--known the truth?" she faltered. "You believe this?"

"Yes," he said, without reading the horror and despair in her eyes; and the brutal callousness of his manner seemed to grow. "What's the use of shamming innocence? You knew what was in the box."

"I knew what my husband told me; that there were papers to prove his innocence," she replied.

"You knew that?"

"They were my husband's words; and in my wifely faith I said that they were true."

He looked at her mockingly.

"You play your part well, Millicent," he said; "but remember we are in Sydney, both twenty years older than when we first met at King's Castor. Is it not time we talked like man and woman, and not, after all that we have gone through, like a sentimental boy and girl?"

"Robert!"

"There, that will do," he said. "You understand now why you must hold your tongue."

It was as if once more she had snatched at the veil and thrust it over her eyes, to gaze at him in the old, old way, as if it were impossible to give up the faith to which she had clung for so many years.

"No," she said softly, "I cannot. Some things are too hard to understand, and this is one."

"Then I'll make you understand," he said, almost fiercely. "If another word is uttered about this it will go like wildfire. Some meddling fool in the Government service will take it up; everything will be seized, and I shall be sent back to the gang through you. Do you hear? through you!"

She stood now gazing at him with her eyes contracting. Her lips parted several times as if she were about to speak, and as if her brain were striving, indeed, to comprehend this thing that she had declared to be too hard. At last she spoke.

"You shall say," she cried hoarsely. "Tell me what it was I brought over to you."

"What, again!" he cried. "Well, then, what I had saved up for the rainy day that I knew was coming. My fortune, that I have been waiting all these years to spend; notes that would change at any time; diamonds that would always fetch their price. You did not guess all this? You did not see through it all? Bah! I'm sick of this miserable mock sentiment and twaddle about innocence!"

She drew her breath hard.

"I had to fight the world when I was unlucky in my speculations, and the world got me down. Now my turn has come, and I can laugh at the world. Let's have no more fooling. You have understood it all from the beginning, and have played your part well. Let me play mine in peace."

An angry reply rose to her lips, but it died away, and she caught at his hand.

"It is true, then?" she whispered.

"True? Yes, of course," he said brutally.

"That money, then? Robert, husband, it is not ours. You will give it up--everything?"

"Give it up!" he said, laughing. "Not a shilling. They hounded me down most cruelly!"

"For the sake of our old love, Robert," she whispered, as she clung to him. "Let us begin again, and I will work for you. Let us try, in a future of toil, to wash away this clinging disgrace. My husband, my husband! for the sake of our innocent child!"

"Give up what I have!" he cried. "Now that I have schemed till success is mine! Not a shilling if it were to save old Sir Gordon's life."

"But, Robert, for the sake of our child. I am your wife, and I will bear this blow; but let her go on believing in him whom I have taught her to love. Let the past be dead; begin a new life--repentance for that which has gone. Robert, my husband, I have loved you so dearly, and so long."

"Pish!" he cried, impatiently. "You don't know what you're saying. Lead a new life--a life of repentance! I have had a fine preparation for it here. Why, I tell you they would turn a saint here into a fiend! I sinned against their laws, and they sent me here, herded with hundreds, some of whom might have been brought to better lives; but it has been one long course of brutal treatment, and the lash. Hope was dead to us all, and we had to drag on our lives in misery and despair. I tell you I've had to do with people who sought to make us demons, and you talk to me now of repentance for the past."

"Yes, and you shall repent!" she cried, wildly.

"Silence!" he said, fiercely. "You are my wife, and it is your duty to obey. Not a word of this to Julie. I will speak to her; and as to Crellock--oh, I can manage him."

He thrust her aside, and strode out of the room without another word, leaving her standing with her hands clasped together, gazing into vacancy, as if stunned by the blow that had fallen--as if the savage acceptance of the truth of the charges by her husband had robbed her of her reason.

During her long trial, whenever a shadowy doubt had crept into her sight, she had slain it. Always he had been her martyr, and she had been ready, in fierce resentment, to turn upon those who would have cast the slightest reflection upon his fame. He, the idol of her young life, her first love, had suffered through misfortune, through an ugly turn of fate, and she had gone on waiting for the day when he would be cleared.

In that spirit, she had crossed the wide ocean, bearing with her his freedom, as she believed; and now, after fighting a year against the terrible disillusions that had been showing Robert Hallam in his true light, the veil that she had so obstinately held was rent in twain, torn away for ever. By his own confession, the husband of her love was a despicable thief; and as she realised how she had been made his accomplice in bringing over the fruits of his theft, the blow seemed now greater than she could bear, the future one terrible void.

VOLUME FOUR, CHAPTER SIX.

THE SHADOW ACROSS THE PATH.

What to do? How to bear it? How far she--woman of purest thought--had sinned in participating as she had in Hallam's crime?

It was as if the shock had blunted and confused her understanding, so that she could not think clearly or make out any plan for her future proceeding. And all the time she was haunted as by a great horror.

Now light would come, and she would seem to see her course clearly and wonder that she should have hesitated before. It was all so simple. Sir Gordon was there in Sydney, her oldest friend. He it was who had been the sufferer by her husband's defalcations, and of course it was her duty to go straight to him and tell him all.

No sooner had she arrived at this than she shrank from the idea with horror. What could she have been thinking! To go to Sir Gordon was to denounce her husband as a criminal, and the result would be to send him back to the prison lines and the hideous convict life that had changed him from a man of refinement to a brutal sensualist, from whom in future she felt that she must shrink with horror.

Those last thoughts distracted her. Shrink with horror from him whom she had so dearly loved, from him whom she had believed a martyr to a terribly involved chain of evidence! It was too terrible!

But what was she to do? She could not lead this life of luxury, purchased by the money she had so innocently brought; that was certain. She and Julia must leave there at once. They could not stay.

She shivered as she thought of the difficulties that would rise up. For where were they? Out here, in this half-civilised place, penniless; and what defence had she to bring forward if Robert Hallam, her husband and master, said no, she should stay, and claimed her and her child as his?

There was light again. She could appeal to the governor, for Hallam had forfeited his social rights, and she would be free.

Down came the darkness and shut out that light, closing her in with a blackness so terrible that she shuddered.

It was impossible--impossible!

"He is my husband," she moaned, "and were he ten times the sinner, I could not take a step that would injure the man I loved--the father of my child!"

Christie Bayle!

Yes; Christie Bayle, truest and most faithful of friends, who in the days of his boyish love had resigned himself to her wishes, and promised to be her brother through life.

How good he had been; and how she had in her agony of spirit reviled him, and called him her husband's enemy! How his conduct seemed to stand out now, bright and shining! How full of patient self-denial! Brother, indeed, through all, while she had been--she knew it now, and shivered in her agony--so obstinately blind.

Christie Bayle would help her and protect Julia, whom he loved as if she were his child. He would--yes, she reiterated the thought with a strange feeling of joy--he would help her, as he had helped her before, in this time of anguish, and protect Julia from that man.

For now came, in all its solid horror, the reality of that which had only been cast, so far, as a shadow across her path.

This man, Crellock, who had seemed like Hallam's evil genius from the first, but whom she saw now as her husband's willing tool, had conceived a passion for her darling child. More--he was her husband's chosen companion in pleasure and in guilt, and Hallam would--if he had not done so already--accept him.

"And I sit here bemoaning my suffering," she cried passionately, "when such a blow is impending for my darling. Shame! shame! Am I ever to be so weak a woman, so mere a puppet in others' hands? Heaven give me strength to be forgetful of self, and strong in defence of my child!"

She pressed back her hair from her brow, which became full of lines, and, resting her elbows upon her knees, her chin upon her hands, she sat there gazing as it were into the future, as she told herself that her own sufferings must be as nought, but that she must save Julia from such a fate.

Sir Gordon? Bayle? No! no! Only as a last resource. Not even then; they must be left. They had known the truth from the first--she saw it now--and in pity for her had borne all she had said, and helped her.

No! to ask their aid was to punish her husband. That could not be. She must act alone, weak woman as she was. She must be strong now, and she and Julia must leave this man at once. They must take some cottage or lodging in the town, and work for a living. That must be the first step.

Then came the black cloud again, to shut out the hope. Hallam would not allow them to go; and if they could steal away they were absolutely penniless.

She sat gazing before her, feeling as if old age had come suddenly to freeze her faculties and render her helpless; but, starting from her blank sense of misery, she forced herself to think.

What should she do? Julia should not be a convict's wife; she felt that she would rather see her dead.

Once more a ray of hope--a thin, bright ray of light piercing the cloud of darkness ahead.

Lieutenant Eaton!

He loved her child, and it had seemed as if Julia cared for him, but in her maiden innocency she had always shrunk from anything more than a friendly show of attachment.

"But he is manly, and evidently devoted to her," said Mrs Hallam in a low voice. "She would soon learn to love him."

She ran over in her own mind all that had passed since the acquaintance on ship-board began. Eaton's attentions, the pleasant hours Julia had seemed to spend in his company, the young officer's manner--everything pointed to its being on his part more than the gallant attention of one of his stamp. Then there was the life here since they had landed. His occasional calls; his evident hesitancy. It was all so plain. He loved Julia dearly, but he was kept back from proposing for her by her connections.

"But he will ignore them for her sake," she cried at last joyously. "He must be learning day by day how true and good she is. He will forget everything, and she will be saved."

Mrs Hallam started up with the ray of hope cutting its way more and more brightly through the dark cloud ahead; and then her senses seemed to reel, a terrible fit of giddiness came over her as she tottered, caught at a chair, and then fell heavily upon the floor.

VOLUME FOUR, CHAPTER SEVEN.

"TO THE BETTER WAY."

When Mrs Hallam came to herself, she was in bed, where she had lain, talking incoherently at times, during the greater part of a week.

It was evening, and the sun was shining in at the open window, lighting up Julia's dark hair as she sat with her face in the shadow, careworn and evidently suffering deeply.

Mrs Hallam lay for some time feeling restful and calm. The fevered dream was at an end, and she had slept long, to wake now with that pleasurable sensation upon her that is given to the sick when an attack is at an end, and nature is tenderly repairing the damages of the assault. She was lying there; Julia, her beloved child, was by her side. A veil was between her and the past, and there was nothing but the peaceful sensation of rest.

Then, as her eyes wandered slowly about the room and rested at last upon her child, her mind began to work; the mother's quick instinct awoke, and she read trouble in Julia's face. The memories that were slumbering came back, and she tried to rise in her bed but sank back.

"Mother!"

"My child! Tell me quickly: have I been ill?"

"Yes; very, very ill. But you are better now, dear mother. I am so lonely! Ah! at last, at last!"

Worn out and weak with constant watching, Julia threw herself sobbing by the bedside, but only to hurriedly dry her eyes and try to be calm.

She succeeded, and answered the questions that came fast; and as she replied, Mrs Hallam trembled, for she could see that Julia was keeping something back.

"Have I been delirious?" she said at last.

"Yes, dear; but last night you slept so peacefully, and all through to-day. There, let me call Thisbe."

"No, not yet," said Mrs Hallam, clinging to her child's arm, as a great anxiety was longing to be satisfied. "Tell me, Julia, did I talk--talk of anything while I was like that?"

Julia nodded quickly, and the despairing look deepened in her eyes.

"Not--not of your father, my child?" panted the suffering woman.

"Yes, mother, dear mother," sobbed Julia, with a passionate cry that she could not withhold, and she buried her face in the sick woman's breast.

The sun sank lower, and Julia's low sobs grew more rare, but she did not rise from her knees--she did not lift her tear-stained face, while clasped about her neck, and her fingers joined above the glossy head, as if in prayer, Mrs Hallam's hands, thin and transparent from her illness, seemed bathed in the orange glow of the sweet, calm eve.

All was still and restful on the hill-slope above the beautiful Paramatta River, and from the window there was a scene of peace that seemed to hinder the possibility of trouble existing on this earth.

"Julia," said Mrs Hallam at length; "have you thought of all this-- since--since I have been lying here?"

"Yes, dear, till I could think no more."

"It has come at last," said Mrs Hallam, as she lay with closed eyes.

"It has come, dear?" said Julia, starting up, and gazing at her mother with dilating eyes.

"Yes, my child, our path. I could not see it before in the wild confusion of my thoughts, but I know our duty now. You will help me, dear?"

"Help you, mother? Oh, yes. What shall I do?"

Mrs Hallam did not answer for a few minutes, and then said softly:

"You know all, you say. It has come to you with as great a shock as to me; but I can see our duty now. Julia, he must love us dearly; we are his wife and child, and we must lead him back to the better way."

VOLUME FOUR, CHAPTER EIGHT.

A CONVICT RISING.

"Ah, Mr O'Hara," said Bayle, holding out his hand, "I have not seen you for months. Why do you not give me a call?"

"Because I am a convict, sir," said the young Irishman, paying no heed to the extended hand.

"Oh, yes; but that is past now," said Bayle. "One doesn't look upon you as one would upon a thief or a swindler, and even if you had been both these worthies, a man of my cloth comes to preach forgiveness, and is ready to hold out the right hand to every man who is sorry for the past."

"But I am not sorry for the past, sir," said O'Hara firmly.

"I've studied it all," said Bayle quietly, "and the rising was a mistake."

"Don't talk about it, please, sir," said O'Hara hotly. "You are an Englishman. You could not gaze upon that trouble, for which I was transported, from an Irishman's point of view."

"Then we will not talk about it," said Bayle; "but come, I am no enemy of your country."

"I should say, sir, that you were never any man's enemy but your own," said O'Hara dryly.

Bayle smiled.

"There, shake hands," he said. "How has the world been using you?"

"Better lately, sir. I am comfortable enough in the Government office, and now I am helping the commission that is investigating the prison affairs. And you, sir?"

"Oh, I am busy enough, and happy enough. Then it was you I caught sight of in the prison yard a month ago? I thought it was; but it gave me such a chill that I would not look."

"Why, sir?"

"I was afraid that you had gone backwards, and were there again."

O'Hara's hard, care-lined face relaxed, and there was a pleasant smile on his countenance when he spoke again. "I heard about you, sir, in the lines."

"Indeed!"

"The men talked a good deal about you."

"Yes?" said Bayle good-humouredly. "I'm afraid they laugh at me and my notions."

"They do," said O'Hara thoughtfully. "Poor wretches! But you have made more impression and gained more influence, sir, than you think."

"I wish I could feel so," said Bayle with a sigh.

"If you will take my opinion, sir, you will feel so," said O'Hara. "I'm glad I met you, sir, for I have been a great deal in the prison lately, and I can't help thinking there is something wrong."

"Something wrong?"

"Yes, sir. I believe the men are meditating a rising."

"A rising? In Heaven's name, what do they expect to do?"

"Obtain the mastery, sir, or seize upon a vessel or two, and escape to some other land."

"But have you good reason for suspecting this?"

"No other reason than suspicion--the suspicion that comes from knowing their ways and habits. Such a rising took place when I was there years ago."

"Well?"

"It was suppressed, and the poor wretches who were in it made their case worse, as they would now."

"But the authorities must be warned."

"They have been warned," said O'Hara quietly. "I am not one of them now, and knowing what I do of the musket and bayonet and the lash, I lost no time in laying my suspicions before my superiors. Yes," he said, "I was right, was I not?"

"Right? Unquestionably. Such men, until they have been proved, have no right to be free. Then that is the meaning of the extra sentries I have seen."

"That is it, sir; but if the sentries were doubled again, I'm afraid the mistaken men would carry out their notions, unless some strong influence were brought to bear. Why don't you try to get hold of the ringleaders, sir, and show them the madness of the attempt?"

"I will," said Bayle quickly, and they parted; but they were not separated a hundred yards before there was a shout, and Bayle turned to see O'Hara running after him swiftly.

"What is it?" he asked.

"I'm afraid I have spoken too late, sir. I heard a shot out yonder, beyond that house where the new road is being made. A strong gang has been at work there for a fortnight past. Do you hear that?"

Two distant shots in quick succession were heard, and Christie Bayle turned pale, for the sounds came from beyond the house pointed out, and that house was Hallam's.

"We had better go and give the alarm at the governor's office."

"No, no," said Bayle. "We may be in time to help up here. Come quickly, man; run!"

It seemed madness to O'Hara; but there was a decision in Bayle's order that did not seem to brook contradiction, and being a quick, lithe man, he ran step for step with his companion, as they made their way amongst the park-like growth of the hill-side in the direction of the spot whence the sounds had come.

Bayle had a very misty idea of what he meant to do, and once or twice the thought came that, after all, this might be only some one amusing himself with a gun after the beautifully-plumaged birds that were common enough in the neighbourhood then.

These ideas were quickly overthrown, for soon they could see the uniforms of the convict guard in the distance, and the gleam of a bayonet, followed by another shot, and some figures running down the side of one of the valleys leading to the shore.

It was now that Bayle realised his intentions, and they were to go to the help of those who were at Hallam's house, in case it should be attacked.

As they came nearer, though, it was evident that the fight which was in progress was more to the right of the house, and becoming fiercer, for some half-dozen shots were fired in a volley from a ravine down amongst some trees, the hills being occupied by a swarm of men.

All at once three figures came out of the house on the slope, and as he advanced Bayle made out that they were Hallam, Crellock, and one who was unmistakable from his undress uniform.

When they came out it was evident that the latter was urging his companions to follow him; but they stopped back, and he dashed on, down into the ravine.

It was heavy running for Bayle, and the young officer was far ahead of him; but he hurried on, O'Hara keeping well up to his side, and together they saw him meet a couple of the retreating guard, who stopped at his command, faced round, and accompanied him, the three plunging down among the bushes and disappearing from the sight of Bayle and his companion.

"The men will be very dangerous," said O'Hara. "We shall find them armed with picks, spades, and hammers."

"They will not hurt me," panted Bayle, "and we may save bloodshed."

"I don't think they will hurt me," said the young Irishman grimly. "Are you going on, sir?"

"Of course."

"Good. Then I will risk it, too."

They were going forward all the time, hurrying down into the valley, and leaving Hallam's house away to the left, with Hallam and Crellock watching the proceedings, they having a view from their commanding position of that which was hidden from Bayle and his friend.

As they ran on, though, they heard another shot or two, and a loud shouting, while a couple of hundred yards on ahead they could see four of the guard retreating along the slope, pursued by about a dozen of the convicts, another party coming towards them, a glimpse of a bayonet showing that others of the guard were being driven back towards Hallam's house, while in another minute it was plain that Eaton had not been able to join forces with the men.

In fact the convicts had divided into two parties, and these, going in opposite directions, were driving their guards before them with furious shouts.

A little army of two pensioners, led by an officer armed with a cane, had but a poor chance of success against some five-and-twenty savage men, whose passions had been raised to volcanic point by seeing a couple of their number shot down at the beginning of the fray, when they had risen against the sergeant and eight men who had them in charge. Of these they had beaten down the sergeant and two of his men, and were apparently determined upon taking revenge upon those who had fired upon them, before trying to escape.

The bushes hindered the view, but at last Bayle came in full sight of Eaton and the two men just as a stone was hurled, hitting one of them in the chest, so that he went down as if shot. His companion turned to fly, but a furious shout from Eaton stopped him, and he faced the enemy again as the young officer reached over the fallen guard, took his musket, with its fixed bayonet, and stood his ground, to protect the poor fellow who was down.

It was only a matter of moments, and before Bayle could get up the convicts had made a rush, yelling furiously.

It was hard to see what took place; but as Bayle ran down the slope, his heart beating fast with apprehension, the man dropped, and Bayle had just time to strike one blow on the young officer's behalf, as the convicts closed him in, and bore him back against the scarped face of the little ravine.

It was only one blow, but it was given with the full force of a strong arm and had the weight of a well-built man rushing down a steep slope to give it additional force.

The result was that the man Bayle struck, and another behind him, went rolling over--the former just as he had raised a spade to strike at Eaton's defenceless head.

"You cowardly dogs!" roared Bayle, as, failing another weapon, he caught up a spade one of the convicts had let fall.

The attack was so sudden and unexpected that the men gave way, and stood glaring for a few moments, till one of their number shouted:

"It's only the parson, boys. Down with 'em!"

But they did not come on, and, taking advantage of their hesitation, Bayle turned to Eaton.

"Quick!" he said, "get away from here."

"No," said the young officer hoarsely. "I can't leave my men. Ah!"

He uttered a sharp cry, and sank down, for a piece of stone had been hurled at him with force enough to dislocate his shoulder, half stunning him with the violence of the blow.

As the young man fell the convicts uttered a yell of delight, all three of their adversaries being now _hors de combat_; but they were not satisfied, one of their number rushing forward to deliver a cowardly blow with the stone-hammer he bore.

Bayle did not realise for the moment that so brutal an act could be committed upon a fallen adversary, and he was so much off his guard that he only had time to make a snatch at the handle, and partly break the force of the blow, which fell on Eaton's cap.

Then there was a quick struggle, and the convict staggered, tripped over a loose block of stone, and fell with a crash. There was an ominous murmur here, and the men stood hesitating, each disposed to make a rush and revenge the fall of his companion; but there was no leader to combine the force and lead them on, and, taking advantage of their hesitation, Bayle stooped down, lifted the insensible man, and strode away.

The convicts were taken by surprise at this act, and some were for fetching him back, but the remainder were for letting him go.

"Take the swaddy's guns, lads, and let's be off at once," said one of the party, and the two muskets were seized, a convict presenting the bayonet of the piece he had secured at the breast of one of the fallen men, both of whom lay half-stunned and bleeding on the rough ground.

"Shall I, boys?" he said.

"No; hold hard," cried a voice, and a member of the party who had been in pursuit of the other portion of the guard came up. "Tie them hand and foot, and leave them so as they can't give warning. Who's that going up the hill?"

"Parson and the orficer," said one of the men.

"And who's that running yonder?"

"That Irishman who was in with us--O'Hara."

"Can any one shoot and bring him down? Give me a musket."

He snatched the piece offered to him, took careful aim by resting the musket on the edge of the scarped bank, and fired.

There was the sharp report, the puff of white smoke,

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VOLUME FOUR, CHAPTER NINE.

LIEUTENANT EATON IS IN THE WAY.

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Panting, and with his throat dry with excitement as much as with exertion, he toiled on, feeling as if every few paces had brought him nearly to a haven of refuge, but only on raising his eyes to see the house apparently as far off as ever, and to hear the voices of the convicts close at hand, the gully acting as a kind of tube to convey the sound. He paused for a moment to get a better hold of his burden, and Eaton uttered a low groan, but he managed to get him in an easier position, and started off once more, toiling on till the gully opened on his left, and he saw O'Hara rise from behind some bushes, where he had been creeping, and begin to run. Then his blood seemed to turn cold, his heart to stop beating, for quicker than it can be told, there was a shout, a dead silence, and then the sharp report of a musket, as O'Hara went down, and rolled out of his sight as well.

Bayle ground his teeth, and a chill of despair came over him as he realised that the Irishman had been making for the town to give the alarm and bring help, while now the news might not reach Sydney till the hour when the draft and their guard should return.

"Those poor fellows!" moaned Eaton, piteously, as Bayle toiled on with him, seeing now that Hallam and Crellock were outside the verandah, looking curiously towards him, but not taking a step to his aid.

"I can't ask their help if they do not offer it," muttered Bayle, as he staggered on, growing weaker with his exertion, and finally stopping for a moment or two so as to get his breath.

Then came the confused murmur of voices, when, looking back, he saw that he was pursued; and as he pressed forward again the horrible thought flashed through his brain that he was leading the savage band of utterly reckless men right to the house where two tender women might even then be trembling witnesses of what was going on. The agony he suffered at this thought was so great that he stopped short, his brain swimming; and, in spite of the fact that the convicts were close behind, he would have staggered off to the left, had not a white figure suddenly appeared on the side farthest from where Hallam and Crellock had backed close to the window, and ran swiftly to meet him.

It was like some episode in a dream to Bayle, as that white figure flew to his side.

"Quick, Mr Bayle, quick!" and, catching at Eaton in the belief that she was helping to bear him, Julia pressed towards the house.

"Julie! are you mad?" roared Hallam, as soon as she was seen; and Crellock started out after her.

"Quick! help! help!" she cried in a sharp imperious manner; and, as is so often the case where one quick order is given, those who would not, if they had time to think, stir a finger in a cause, feel themselves moved by some irresistible influence, and obey. So Crellock seized Eaton, and helped bear him into the dining-room, Hallam banging to the window and fastening it as Eaton was thrown upon the couch.

"You are mad!" cried Hallam passionately. "They'll wreck the place now."

"They won't hurt us," said Crellock coolly; and to Julia's horror he threw open the window as the convicts came up at the double and rushed into the room.

"Steady, mates, steady!" shouted Hallam. "You know us."

The leading men hesitated a moment, and then one of them made a dash at Eaton.

"Now, boys, have him out," he cried.

Julia shrieked, and threw herself before the helpless man, when the convict rudely caught her by the arms to swing her aside, but was sent staggering sideways from a blow dealt by Bayle.

"Save him, Mr Bayle," shrieked Julia, as she clung to Eaton. "Father! oh, father, help!"

Neither Hallam nor Crellock stirred as the man whom Bayle had struck uttered an oath which was echoed by his companions, who seized Bayle and held him as others of the party dragged out Eaton, fortunately insensible to all that was going on.

In their insensate fury believing that they had a long list of injuries to repay the convict guard, who in guarding them had only done their duty, in another minute Eaton's life would have been sacrificed, when there was the tramp of feet, an order given in a loud voice, and a party of soldiers led by Captain Otway dashed up with bayonets fixed. And then two wounded convicts were lying on the floor, the others were in full flight down the gully, pursued by the troops, a shot every now and then breaking the silence that had fallen upon the group.

Hallam was the first to speak, and he turned angrily upon Bayle.

"Were you mad to bring him here?" he snarled.

"Father!" cried Julia with a reproachful look, as she knelt down beside Eaton to hold her handkerchief to his wounded head.

Bayle made no reply to the question, but said sternly:

"Mr Hallam, you had better send for medical aid. My dear Julia, you must go."

"No," she cried with a quick, imperious look; "send for help."

Bayle's brow contracted, but he concealed the pain he suffered as he saw Julia bending over Eaton, and was hurrying out, but was met by Captain Otway, who came in breathless, followed by O'Hara, and a couple of his men.

"Is he much hurt?" he cried anxiously. "Carry out these two, my lads."

He bent down over Eaton as Julia sobbed out, "He is killed! he is killed!"

"Oh, no: not so bad as that; only stunned. Here, you two," he continued sharply, turning to Hallam and Crellock, "don't stand there staring. Lift this gentleman on to the sofa."

Years of slavish obedience to authority had left their traces, and as if moved by one impulse, they sprang to where Eaton was lying and lifted him to the couch. The moment this was done though, Hallam gave an impatient stamp of the foot and gazed at Crellock, who ground out something between his teeth.

"Now fetch water--a sponge," said Otway, sheathing his sword, throwing off his cap, and turning up his sleeves.

"This is my house--"

Hallam said no more. He had begun in a fierce, loud voice, and then he stopped as Captain Otway turned upon him with an imperious--

"What's that you say?" Then he seemed to recall where he was, for he glanced at Julia and Bayle. "Look here," he said quietly, and he took a step or two towards Hallam to whisper something in his ear.

Hallam made no reply, but left the room, and did not return, Thisbe hurrying in directly after with basin and towels, and helping eagerly.

"Oh, come, come, my dear Miss Hallam," said Otway, after cleverly bandaging the wound. "You must not take on like that. I can't do anything to the shoulder--at least, I will not. Our doctor will soon put him right. There, see! he is coming to."

"I have been trying very hard," said Julia with a gasp; "but it is so dreadful."

"No, no, no! Why, my wife would have seen it all without shedding a tear. It's only dreadful when some one is killed, and, thank heaven! I don't think one of the men has met that fate."

"I wish I could feel the same about the convicts," said Bayle softly.

"The convicts? Well, I wish so, too, Mr Bayle; but law and order must be maintained, and they know their lives are forfeit if they attempt to escape."

Bayle nodded in acquiescence as he glanced at where Julia knelt beside Eaton, crying softly, and fanning his face.

"There, you have nothing to fear, Miss Hallam," continued the Captain kindly. "Eaton has only had a few hard knocks--soldier's salary, I call them. As to the rising, the poor wretches are, I expect, all taken by this time. Yes, here they come."

He had walked to the window and gazed out to see the greater part of the convict gang, hot, bleeding some of them, and dejected, coming along, guarded by the soldiers under the command of a boyish-looking ensign.

"Ah, Mr O'Hara," he said, stepping out, and laying his hand on the young Irishman's shoulder, "I think we may thank you for getting up in time. Your message set us off, and we met you just in the nick. Why, man, you are hurt."

"Not much, sir. They shot at me, and the bullet grazed my arm."

"Come in," he said, "and let me see."

O'Hara followed unwillingly, but had to submit to have his wound dressed.

"Where is your master?" said the Captain at last, turning to Thisbe.

"In his room, sir."

"Fetch him."

Hallam uttered a furious oath when the message was given, and swore he would not come. Then, rising from his chair, he followed Thisbe to the dining-room like one compelled to obey.

"I am going to leave my brother officer in your charge, Mr Hallam," said the Captain in the quick manner of one giving an order. "You will see that he has every attention! The regimental surgeon will be up in an hour or so. Miss Hallam, thank you for your kindness," he continued, turning his back on Hallam. "Good-morning, Mr Bayle. I'm sorry you have had such an upset. You stay here, I suppose?"

"No," said Bayle quietly; "I am going back to the town."

"Come with me, then."

He stepped out, and Bayle followed, but turned to look at Julia, who gave him one quick look that seemed to say "Good bye," and then as he stepped out into the verandah he saw her bending over Eaton again.

"Nice little girl that," said the Captain, as they marched down behind the guards and the wretched men they drove before them almost at the bayonet's point.

Bayle bowed.

"Sweet and innocent, and all that. Really, Mr Bayle, I agree with my wife."

"Indeed!" said Bayle.

"Yes; she thinks that at any cost her friends ought to have kept her in England, and not brought her here."

Christie Bayle made no reply, for he was thinking of Philip Eaton lying wounded up at the house, and Julia installing herself as his nurse.

But she was not bending over him at that time, for no sooner had the last of the party gone, than Crellock said something fiercely to Hallam.

"No, no, never mind," the latter said, savagely.

"I tell you I won't have it," cried Crellock. "Ah, you needn't scowl like that. I'm not afraid of your looks. Will you go and fetch her out?"

"No, I shall not interfere."

"Then I will," cried Crellock, passionately. "I've been played with too long."

"Played with!" cried Hallam. "Look here, Steve, if I put up with the bullying of that officer fellow, don't you think I'm going to let you say and do what--"

He stopped short and literally flinched, as if he expected a blow, for Crellock turned upon him sharply, but merely looked him full in the face.

"Well, I--that is--I--"

He faltered and stopped. The old days of his domination had gone by; Crellock had ceased to be slave to the self-indulgent man, who had become servant, first to the strong drinks in which he indulged, and then, as his nerve failed, the obedient tool of him who had once trembled before him, worshipped him almost as the very perfection of what a man should be, and now made him tremble before him in his turn.

"Do you want to quarrel and get rid of me?" said Crellock, sharply.

"Don't talk like that, my lad," said Hallam, piteously. "You know how my health's going, and how nervous I am. It makes me irritable when you are so unreasonable."

"Yes, very unreasonable to bear what I do," snarled Crellock. "But reasonable or no, I'm not going to back out of it, and I am not going to let you."

Hallam's flushed face turned of a sodden white.

"I'd just as soon be back with the gang," continued Crellock, "as be trifled with in this way by a man who used to be one to say a thing and do it. Now he's becoming a miserable, feeble driveller, afraid of every one who speaks to him."

"So were you just now, when that Otway gave his orders."

"Force of habit," said Crellock, with a grim smile. "Anyhow, I'm not afraid of you, and if you have not strength of mind enough to carry out what I say, I shall do it without you."

"No, no, Steve; you are so hasty," said Hallam, in a feeble, whimpering tone.

"Hasty!"

"Well, as I keep telling you, there's plenty of time."

"And I keep telling you there is not. Look here, Hallam. I'm not blind. That miserable parson wants her."

"Now you are getting ridiculous."

"And this officer fellow will be making such way with her, if I don't mind, that I shall have no chance."

"You're frightening yourself with bogies, Steve."

"You're playing such a double game, Robert Hallam, that either I shall have to take the reins in my own hands, or we shall come to a breakdown."

"Nonsense! What's the use of talking like that?"

"What's the use of a man setting his mind upon something, and then letting a weak thing like you play with him? I'll have no more of it. Now you have to do as I say or break, and that means--"

"Hush, Steve!" cried Hallam, looking sharply round; but Crellock paid no heed to his words, and swung out of the study to walk straight into the room where Julia was kneeling by Eaton, with Thisbe on the other side.

"Come here, Julia," he said roughly; "I want you."

"Hush! Not so loud," she whispered, raising her hand.

"Come here!" he cried, with a stamp of the foot, "at once."

Julia started to her feet with an angry look flashing from her eyes; and as she faced him, her countenance full of resentment, Thisbe rose, thinking of her mistress in bygone days.

"What do you want?" she said firmly.

"Your father wants you in the study at once."