he said, and for a few moments they were silent. “But come,” he cried, as if trying to give their conversation a more cheerful turn, “you must have something more to ask of me. I mean for our house.”
“No,” she said; “it is everything I could wish.”
“No,” he said proudly, “it is too humble for my queen. If I were rich, you should have the fairest jewels, costly retinues – a palace.”
“Give me your love, and I have all I need,” she cried, laughing, as she clung to him.
“Then you must be very rich,” he said. “But is there nothing? Come, you are a free agent now. In another week you will be my own – my property, my slave, bound to me by a ring. Come, use your liberty while you can.”
“Well, then, yes,” she said; “I will make a demand or two.”
“That’s right; I am the slave yet, and obey. What is the first wish?”
“I like Sir Gordon, dear; he has always been so good and kind to me. Ask him to come.”
“Too late. He left the town by coach this evening. From a hint he dropped to Thickens about his letters, I think he has gone to Hull, and is going on to Spain.”
“Oh!”
It was an ejaculation full of pain and sorrow.
“I am grieved,” she said softly, and the news brought up that day when he had made her the offer of his hand.
Hallam watched her mobile face and its changes as she gazed straight before her, towards where the moon was beginning to flood the leaden roof of the old church, the crenulated wall, and the crockets on the tall spire standing out black and clear against the sky.
His face was still in the shadow.
“There is another request,” she said at last, and her voice was very low as she spoke. “Robert, will you ask Mr Bayle to marry us? I would rather it was he.”
“Bayle!” he exclaimed, starting, and the word jerked from his lips, as if he had suddenly lost control of himself. “No, it is impossible!”
“Impossible?” she said wonderingly.
“This man has caused me more suffering than I could tell you. If you knew the jealous misery – No, no, I don’t mean that,” he said quickly as he caught her to his breast.
“Oh, Robert!” she cried.
“No, no: don’t notice me,” he said hastily. “It was long ago. He loved you, and I was not sure of you then. Yes, darling, I will ask him, if you wish it. That folly is all dead now.”
“Robert,” she said, after a thoughtful pause, “do you wish me to give up that request?”
“Give up? No, I should be ready to insist upon it if you did. There, that is all past. It was the one boyish folly of my love, one of which I am heartily ashamed.”
“I think he wants to be your friend as well as mine,” she said, “and I should have liked it; but – ”
“Your will is my law, Millicent! He shall marry us.”
“But, Robert – ”
“If you oppose me now in this, I shall think you have not forgiven the folly to which I have confessed. I can hardly forgive myself that meanness. You will not add to my pain.”
“Add to your pain?” she said, laying her hand once more upon his breast. “Robert, you do not know me yet.”
And so it was that Christie Bayle joined the hand of the woman he had loved to that of the man who had told her she would in future be his very own – his property, his slave.
Pretty well all Castor was present, and at the highest pitch of excitement, for a handsomer pair, they said, had never stood in the old chancel to be made one.
And they were made one. The register was signed, and then, in the midst of a murmuring buzz and rustle of garments that filled the great building like the gathering of a storm, Robert Hallam and his fair young wife moved down the aisle, towards where a man was waiting to give the signal to the ringers to begin; and the crowd had filled every corner near the door, and almost blocked the path. The sun shone out brilliantly, and the buzz and rustle grew more and more like the gathering of that storm, which burst at last as the young couple reached the porch, in a thundering cheer.
Millicent looked flushed, and there was a red spot in Hallam’s cheeks as he walked out, proud and defiant, towards where the yellow chaise from the “George,” with four post-horses, was waiting.
The coach had just come in, and the passengers were standing gazing at the novel scene.
Again the storm burst in a tremendous cheer as Hallam handed his young wife into the chaise, and then there seemed to be another nearing storm, sending its harbinger in a fashion which made firm, self-contained Robert Hallam turn pale, as a hand was laid upon his arm.
“He said that if anything did go wrong, he should come back,” flashed through his brain.
Stephen Crellock was bending forward to whisper a few words in his ear.
Volume Two – Chapter One.
The Thorny Way – Millicent Hallam’s Home
“How dare you! Be off! Go to your mistress. Don’t pester me, woman.”
“Didn’t know it were pestering you, sir, to ask for my rights. Two years doo, and it’s time it was paid.”
“Ask your mistress, I tell you. Here, Julia.”
A dark-haired, thoughtful-looking child of about six years old loosened her grasp of Thisbe King’s dress, and crossed the room slowly towards where Robert Hallam sat, newspaper in hand, by his half-finished breakfast.
“Here, Julia!” was uttered with no unkindly intent; but the call was like a command – an imperious command, such as would be given to a dog.
The child was nearly close to him when he gave the paper a sharp rustle, and she sprang back.
“Pish!” he exclaimed, laughing unpleasantly, “what a silly little girl you are! Did you think I was going to strike you?”
“N-no, papa,” said the child nervously.
“Then why did you flinch away? Are you afraid of me?”
The child looked at him intently for a few moments, and then said softly:
“I don’t know.”
“Here, Thisbe,” said Hallam, frowning, “I’ll see to that. You can go now. Leave Miss Julia here.”
“Mayn’t I go with Thisbe, papa?” said the child eagerly.
“No; stay with me. I want to talk to you. Come here.”
The child’s countenance fell, and she sidled towards Hallam, looking wistfully the while at Thisbe, who left the room reluctantly and closed the door.
As
