Here are the lines that Robert Hallam emphasised by a few warning words at the beginning, telling her that they were of vital importance. "_And mind this, by carefully and secretly following out my instructions, you will free your husband from this wretched, degraded life_." Could she want a greater impulse than that last to make her dwell upon his words, and prepare herself to execute the instructions which followed to the letter? "He may trust me," she said with a smile, as she carefully cut these instructions out of the letter, gummed them upon a piece of paper, and doubling this, carefully hid it in her purse. There was a poignant feeling of pity and remorse in Millicent Hallam's breast the next morning when, in spite of the way in which her heart was filled with the thoughts of their coming journey, the recollection of Christie Bayle's tender care for them both pierced its way in like some keen point. "I cannot help it," she cried passionately. "It is my duty, and he will soon forget us." But when he of whom she thought came that morning, looking grave and pale, her heart reproached her more and more, for she knew that he was not of the kind to forget. This knowledge influenced her words and the tone of her voice, as she laid her hand in his, and then passed her arm round Julie. "Once more," she said, with a sad smile, "you are going in your unselfishness to help me, Christie Bayle." "Are you still determined?" he said, with a slight tremor in his voice, which grew firm directly, even stern. "Yes!" "Have you thought of the peril of the voyage for yourself and for Julie?" "Yes; of everything." "The wild, strange life out yonder; your future--have you thought of this?" "Yes, yes!" said Millicent Hallam calmly. "Can you ask me these questions, and at such a time?" Christie Bayle remained silent, looking stern and cold; but it was a mere mask. He could not trust himself to speak, lest he should grow by turns piteous of appeal, angry and denunciatory of manner, so fully did he realise the horrors of the fate to which this man's wife in her blind faith was hurrying. "Do not think me ungrateful, dear friend," she continued. "I cannot tell you how in my heart of hearts the truest gratitude dwells for all that you have done. Christie! brother! I am again in terrible distress. This once more you will be my help and stay?" She approached and took his hand, raising it to her lips, feeling startled it was so icily cold. But the next moment a change came over him, his sternness seemed to melt, his old manner to come back, as he said gently: