"Here's Mr Bayle! Here's Mr Bayle!" she cried, clapping her hands, and, bounding to the window, she sprang upon a chair, to press her face sidewise to the pane, to watch for him who came, and then to begin tapping on the glass, and kissing her hands as Christie Bayle, a firm, broad-shouldered man, nodded and smiled, and went by. Julia leaped from the chair to run out of the room, leaving Robert Hallam clutching the edge of the table, with his brow wrinkled, and an angry frown upon his countenance, as he ground his teeth together, and listened to the opening of the front door, and the mingling of the curate's frank, deep voice with the silvery prattle of his child. "Ha, little one!" And then there was the sound of kisses, as Hallam heard the rustle of what seemed, through the closed door, to be Christie Bayle taking the child by the waist and lifting her up to throw her arms about his neck. "You're late!" she cried; and the very tone of her voice seemed changed, as she spoke eagerly. "No, no, five minutes early; and I must go up the town first now." "Oh!" cried the child. "I shall not be long. How is mamma?" "Mamma isn't well," said the child. "She has been crying so." "Hush! hush! my darling!" said Bayle softly. "You should not whisper secrets." "Is that a secret, Mr Bayle?" "Yes; mamma's secret, and my Julia must be mamma's well-trusted little girl." "Please, Mr Bayle, I'm so sorry, and I won't do so any more. Are you cross with me?" "My darling!" he cried passionately, "as if any one could be cross with you! There, get your books ready, and I'll soon be back." "No, no, not this morning, Mr Bayle; not books. Take me for a walk, and teach me about the flowers." "After lessons, then. There, run away." Hallam rose from his chair, with his lips drawn slightly from his teeth, as he heard Bayle's retiring steps. Then the front door was banged loudly; he heard his child clap her hands, and then the quick fall of her feet as she skipped across the hall, and bounded up the stairs. He took a few strides up and down the room, but stopped short as the door opened again, and, handsomer than ever, but with a graver, more womanly beauty, heightened by a pensive, troubled look in her eyes and about the corners of her mouth, Millicent Hallam glided in. Her face lit up with a smile as she crossed to Hallam, and laid her white hand upon his arm. "Don't think me unkind for going away, dear," she said softly. "Have you quite done?" "Yes," he said shortly. "There, don't stop me; I'm late." "Are you going to the bank, dear?" "Of course I am. Where do you suppose I'm going?" "I only thought, dear, that--" "Then don't _only think_ for the sake of saying foolish things." She laid her other hand upon his arm, and smiled in his face. "Don't let these money matters trouble you so, Robert," she said. "What does it matter whether we are rich or poor?"