"Well, no," grumbled Sir Gordon, "I suppose it is not. But then you are such a fool, Bayle. I haven't patience with you!" "I'm afraid I am a great trial to you." "You are--a terrible trial; every one's a terrible trial--everything goes wrong. That blundering ass Tom Porter must even go and knock a hole in the _Sylph_ on the rocks." "Yes, that was unfortunate," said Bayle. "Here: I shall go back. It's of no use staying here. Everything I see aggravates me. Matters are getting worse with the Hallams. Let's go home, Bayle." Christie Bayle stood looking straight before him for some time, and then shook his head softly. "No: not yet," he said at last. "But I can't go back without you, man; and it is of no use to stay. As I said before--Why am I stopping here?" Bayle looked at him in his quiet, smiling way for some moments before replying. "In the furtherance of your old scheme of unselfishness, and in the hope of doing good to the friends we love." "Oh, nonsense! Tush, man! Absurd! I wanted to be friends, and be helpful; but that's all over now. See what is going on. Look at that girl. Next thing we hear will be that she is married to one of those two fellows." "I think if she accepted Lieutenant Eaton, and he married her, and took her away from this place, it would be the best thing that could happen." "Humph! I don't!" muttered Sir Gordon. "Then look at Mrs Hallam." Bayle drew in his breath with a low hiss. "It is horrible, man--it is horrible!" cried Sir Gordon excitedly. "Bayle, you know how I loved that woman twenty years ago? Well, it was impossible; it would have been May and December even then, for I'm a very old man, Bayle--older than you think. I was an old fool, perhaps, but it was my nature. I loved her very dearly. It was not to be; but the old love isn't dead. Bayle, old fellow, if I had been a good man I should say that the old love was purified of its grosser parts, but that would not fit with me." "Why judge yourself so harshly?" "Because I deserve it, man. Well, well, time went on, and when we met again, I can't describe what I felt over that child. At times, when her pretty dark face had the look of that scoundrel Hallam in it, I hated her; but when her eyes lit up with that sweet, innocent smile, the tears used to come into mine, and I felt as if it was Millicent Luttrell a child again, and that it would have been the culmination of earthly happiness to have said, this is my darling child." "Yes," said Bayle softly. "I worshipped that girl, Bayle. It was for her sake I came over here to this horrible pandemonium, to watch over and be her guardian. I could not have stayed away. But I must go now. I can't bear it; I can't stand it any longer." "You will not go," said Bayle slowly. "Yes, I tell you, I must. It is horrible. I don't think she is ungrateful, poor child; but she is being brutalised by companionship with that scoundrel's set."