"Ah! well, here is Bayle," said Sir Gordon, as a knock was heard; and the curate appeared next minute in the doorway. The lamp had been lit, and his face looked so serious and pale that Sir Gordon noticed the fact on the instant. "Why, Bayle," he cried warmly, "how bad you look! Not ill?" "Ill? No; oh, no!" he said quietly. "I have been detained by business." Mrs Hallam looked at him anxiously, for beneath the calm there was ever a strange state of excitement waiting to break forth. For years she had been living in the expectation that the next day some important news would come from her husband. Letters she had very few, but the postman's knock made her turn pale and place her hand to her heart, to check its wild beatings, while the coming of a stranger to the house had before now completely unnerved her. It was but natural, then, that she should become agitated by Bayle's manner. A thousand--ten thousand things might have happened to disturb her old friend, but in her half-hysterical state she could find but one cause--her own troubles; and, starting up with her hand on her breast, she exclaimed: "You have news for me!" Christie Bayle had no more diplomatic power than a child, perhaps less than some; and he sank back in his chair, with his hand half-raised to his lips, gazing at her in a pained, appealing manner that excited her further. "Yes," she cried, "you are keeping something back. You think I cannot bear it, but I can. Yes, I am strong. Have I not borne all this pain these twelve years? And do you think me a child that you treat me so? Speak, I say--speak!" "My dear Mrs Hallam," began Sir Gordon soothingly. "Hush, sir!" cried the trembling woman. "Let him speak. Mr Bayle, why do you torture me--you, my best friend? What have I done that you--ah! I see now. I--Julie--my child--he is dead!--he is dead!" Julia had started to her side and caught her in her arms as she burst into a passionate wail, the first display of the wild despair in her heart that Bayle had seen for many years. "No, no!" he cried, starting up and speaking with energy. "Mrs Hallam, you are wrong. He is alive and well." Millicent Hallam threw up her hands, clasped them together, reeled, and would have fallen but for her child's sustaining arms. It was as if a sudden vertigo had seized her, but it passed as quickly as it came. Years of suffering had strengthened as well as weakened, and the woman's power of will was tremendous. "I am better," she said in a hoarse, strangely altered voice. "Hush, Julie--I _can_ bear it," she cried imperiously. "Tell me all. You have heard of my husband?" "Yes, Mrs Hallam, yes; but be calm and you shall know all." "I am calm." Christie Bayle felt the cold dew stand upon his brow as he faced the pale, stern face before him. It did not seem the Millicent Hallam he knew, but one at enmity with him for holding back from her that which was her very life.