It was a terrible battle, for her eyes refused to be blinded longer by the loving veil she cast over them. The appealing, half-wondering looks of her child increased her suffering, while an idea, that filled her with horror, was growing day by day, till it was assuming proportions from which she shrank in dread. VOLUME FOUR, CHAPTER THREE. OUR JULIA'S LOVER. "What have we done, wifie, that we should be consigned to such quarters as these?" said Captain Otway one day with a sigh. "I don't think I'm too particular, but when I entered His Majesty's service I did not know that I should be expected to play gaoler to the occupants of the Government Pandemonium." "It is a beautiful place," said Mrs Otway laconically. "It was till we came and spoiled it. It is one great horror, 'pon my soul; and it is degrading our men to set them such duty as this." "Be patient. These troubles cure themselves." "But they take such a long time over it," said the Captain. "It would be more bearable if Phil had not turned goose." "Poor Phil!" said Mrs Otway, with a sigh. "Poor Phil? Pooh! you spoil the lad! I can't get him out for a bit of shooting or hunting or fishing. Old Sir Gordon would often give us a cruise in his boat, but no: Phil must sit moonstruck here. The fellow's spoiled! Can't you knock all that on the head?" "I perhaps could, but it must be a matter of time," said Mrs Otway, going steadily on with her work, and mending certain articles of attire. "But he must be cured. It is impossible." "Yes," sighed Mrs Otway, "so I tell him. I wish it were not." "My dear Mary--a convict's daughter!" "The poor girl was not consulted as to whose daughter she would like to be, Jack, and she is, without exception, the sweetest lassie I ever met." "Yes, she is nice," said Otway. "Mother must have been nice too." "_Is_ nice," cried Mrs Otway, flushing. "I felt a little distant with her at first, but after what I have seen and know--by George, Jack, I do feel proud of our sex!" "Humph!" ejaculated the Captain, with a smile at his wife's bluff earnestness. "Yes, she's a good woman; very ladylike, too. But that husband, that friend of his, Crellock! Poor creatures! it is ruining them." "Yes," said Mrs Otway dryly. "That's one of the misfortunes of marriage; we poor women are dragged down to the level of our husbands." "And when these husbands come out to convict settlements as gaolers they have to come with them, put up with all kinds of society, give up all their refinements, and make and mend their own dresses, and--" "Even do their own chores, as the Americans call it," said Mrs Otway, looking up smiling. "It makes me look very miserable, doesn't it, Jack?" She stopped her work, went behind her husband's chair, put her arms round his neck, and laid her cheek upon his head.