diff options
| author | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 02:17:52 -0700 |
|---|---|---|
| committer | Roger Frank <rfrank@pglaf.org> | 2025-10-15 02:17:52 -0700 |
| commit | 71feff99df360b46a77874da11b55ecf7bbcacbf (patch) | |
| tree | 24c631dfa359aebf00ab533b0a136ee6f75bed5a /old | |
Diffstat (limited to 'old')
| -rw-r--r-- | old/25570-h.htm.2021-01-25 | 30665 |
1 files changed, 30665 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/old/25570-h.htm.2021-01-25 b/old/25570-h.htm.2021-01-25 new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b1408d4 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/25570-h.htm.2021-01-25 @@ -0,0 +1,30665 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Manxman, by Hall Caine + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Manxman, by Hall Caine + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Manxman + A Novel - 1895 + +Author: Hall Caine + +Release Date: May 23, 2008 [EBook #25570] +Last Updated: March 8, 2018 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MANXMAN *** + + + + +Produced by David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE MANXMAN + </h1> + <h2> + A NOVEL <b> By Hall Caine </b> SECOND EDITION + </h2> + <h5> + APPLETON AND COMPANY - 1894 + </h5> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> THE MANXMAN. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART"> <big><b>PART I. BOYS TOGETHER.</b></big> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0003"> I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0004"> II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0005"> III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0007"> V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0009"> VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0010"> VIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0011"> IX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0012"> X. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0013"> XI. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART2"> <big><b>PART II. BOY AND GIRL.</b></big> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0016"> II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0018"> IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0019"> V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0020"> VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0022"> VIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0023"> IX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0024"> X. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0025"> XI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0026"> XII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0027"> XIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0028"> XIV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0029"> XV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0030"> XVI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0031"> XVII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0032"> XVIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0033"> XIX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0034"> XX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0035"> XXI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0036"> XXII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0037"> XXIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0038"> XXIV. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART3"> <big><b>PART III. MAN AND WOMAN</b></big> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0040"> I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0041"> II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0042"> III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0043"> IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0044"> V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0045"> VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0046"> VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0047"> VIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0048"> IX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0049"> X. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0050"> XI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0051"> XII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0052"> XIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0053"> XIV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0054"> XV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0055"> XVI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0056"> XVII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0057"> XVIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0058"> XIX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0059"> XX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0060"> XXI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0061"> XXII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0062"> XXIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0063"> XXIV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0064"> XXV. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART4"> <big><b>PART IV. MAN AND WIFE.</b></big> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0066"> I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0067"> II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0068"> III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0069"> IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0070"> V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0071"> VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0072"> VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0073"> VIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0074"> IX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0075"> X. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0076"> XI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0077"> XII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0078"> XIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0079"> XIV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0080"> XV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0081"> XVI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0082"> XVII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0083"> XVIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0084"> XIX. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART5"> <big><b>PART V. MAN AND MAN.</b></big> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0086"> I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0087"> II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0088"> III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0089"> IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0090"> V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0091"> VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0092"> VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0093"> VIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0094"> IX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0095"> X. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0096"> XI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0097"> XII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0098"> XIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0099"> XIV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0100"> XV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0101"> XVI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0102"> XVII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0103"> XVIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0104"> XIX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0105"> XX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0106"> XXI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0107"> XXII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0108"> XXIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0109"> XXIV. </a> + </p> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_PART6"> <big><b>PART VI. MAN AND GOD.</b></big> </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0111"> I. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0112"> II. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0113"> III. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0114"> IV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0115"> V. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0116"> VI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0117"> VII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0118"> VIII.. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0119"> IX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0120"> X. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0121"> XI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0122"> XII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0123"> XIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0124"> XIV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0125"> XV. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0126"> XVI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0127"> XVII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0128"> XVIII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0129"> XIX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0130"> XX. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0131"> XXI. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0132"> XXII. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0133"> XXIII. </a> + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h1> + THE MANXMAN. + </h1> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART" id="link2H_PART"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART I. BOYS TOGETHER. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0003" id="link2H_4_0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I. + </h2> + <p> + Old Deemster Christian of Ballawhaine was a hard man—hard on the + outside, at all events. They called him Iron Christian, and people said, + “Don't turn that iron hand against you.” Yet his character was stamped + with nobleness as well as strength. He was not a man of icy nature, but he + loved to gather icicles about him. There was fire enough underneath, at + which he warmed his old heart when alone, but he liked the air to be + congealed about his face. He was a man of a closed soul. One had to wrench + open the dark chamber where he kept his feelings; but the man who had done + that had uncovered his nakedness, and he cut him off for ever. That was + how it happened with his son, the father of Philip. + </p> + <p> + He had two sons; the elder was an impetuous creature, a fiery spirit, one + of the masterful souls who want the restraint of the curb if they are not + to hurry headlong into the abyss. Old Deemster Christian had called this + boy Thomas Wilson, after the serene saint who had once been Bishop of Man. + He was intended, however, for the law, not for the Church. The office of + Deemster never has been and never can be hereditary; yet the Christians of + Ballawhaine had been Deemsters through six generations, and old Iron + Christian expected that Thomas Wilson Christian would succeed him. But + there was enough uncertainty about the succession to make merit of more + value than precedent in the selection, and so the old man had brought up + his son to the English bar, and afterwards called him to practise in the + Manx one. The young fellow had not altogether rewarded his father's + endeavours. During his residence in England, he had acquired certain + modern doctrines which were highly obnoxious to the old Deemster. New + views on property, new ideas about woman and marriage, new theories + concerning religion (always re-christened superstition), the usual + barnacles of young vessels fresh from unknown waters; but the old man was + no shipwright in harbour who has learnt the art of removing them without + injury to the hull. The Deemster knew these notions when he met with them + in the English newspapers. There was something awesome in their effect on + his stay-at-home imagination, as of vices confusing and difficult to true + men that walk steadily; but, above all, very far off, over the mountains + and across the sea, like distant cities of Sodom, only waiting for Sodom's + doom. And yet, lo! here they were in a twinkling, shunted and shot into + his own house and his own stackyard. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose now,” he said, with a knowing look, “you think Jack as good as + his master?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir,” said his son gravely; “generally much better.” + </p> + <p> + Iron Christian altered his will. To his elder son he left only a + life-interest in Ballawhaine. “That boy will be doing something,” he said, + and thus he guarded against consequences. He could not help it; he was + ashamed, but he could not conquer his shame—the fiery old man began + to nurse a grievance against his son. + </p> + <p> + The two sons of the Deemster were like the inside and outside of a bowl, + and that bowl was the Deemster himself. If Thomas Wilson the elder had his + father's inside fire and softness, Peter, the younger, had his father's + outside ice and iron. Peter was little and almost misshapen, with a pair + of shoulders that seemed to be trying to meet over a hollow chest and + limbs that splayed away into vacancy. And if Nature had been grudging with + him, his father was not more kind. He had been brought up to no + profession, and his expectations were limited to a yearly charge out of + his brother's property. His talk was bitter, his voice cold, he laughed + little, and had never been known to cry. He had many things against him. + </p> + <p> + Besides these sons, Deemster Christian had a girl in his household, but to + his own consciousness the fact was only a kind of peradventure. She was + his niece, the child of his only brother, who had died in early manhood. + Her name was Ann Charlotte de la Tremouille, called after the lady of + Rushen, for the family of Christian had their share of the heroic that is + in all men. She had fine eyes, a weak mouth, and great timidity. Gentle + airs floated always about her, and a sort of nervous brightness twinkled + over her, as of a glen with the sun flickering through. Her mother died + when she was a child of twelve, and in the house of her uncle and her + cousins she had been brought up among men and boys. + </p> + <p> + One day Peter drew the Deemster aside and told him (with expressions of + shame, interlarded with praises of his own acuteness) a story of his + brother. It was about a girl. Her name was Mona Crellin; she lived on the + hill at Ballure House, half a mile south of Ramsey, and was daughter of a + man called Billy Ballure, a retired sea-captain, and hail-fellow-well-met + with all the jovial spirits of the town. + </p> + <p> + There was much noise and outcry, and old Iron sent for his son. + </p> + <p> + “What's this I hear?” he cried, looking him down. “A woman? So that's what + your fine learning comes to, eh? Take care, sir! take care! No son of mine + shall disgrace himself. The day he does that he will be put to the door.” + </p> + <p> + Thomas held himself in with a great effort. + </p> + <p> + “Disgrace?” he said. “What disgrace, sir, if you please?” + </p> + <p> + “What disgrace, sir?” repeated the Deemster, mocking his son in a mincing + treble. Then he roared, “Behaving dishonourably to a poor girl—that + what's disgrace, sir! Isn't it enough? eh? eh?” + </p> + <p> + “More than enough,” said the young man. “But who is doing it? I'm not.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you're doing worse. <i>Did</i> I say worse? Of course I said worse. + Worse, sir, worse! Do you hear me? Worse! You are trapsing around Ballure, + and letting that poor girl take notions. I'll have no more of it. Is this + what I sent you to England for? Aren't you ashamed of yourself? Keep your + place, sir; keep your place. A poor girl's a poor girl, and a Deemster's a + Deemster.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir,” said Thomas, suddenly firing up, “and a man's a man. As for + the shame, I need be ashamed of nothing that is not shameful; and the best + proof I can give you that I mean no dishonour by the girl is that I intend + to marry her.” + </p> + <p> + “What? You intend to—what? Did I hear——” + </p> + <p> + The old Deemster turned his good ear towards his son's face, and the young + man repeated his threat. Never fear! No poor girl should be misled by him. + He was above all foolish conventions. + </p> + <p> + Old Iron Christian was dumbfounded. He gasped, he stared, he stammered, + and then fell on his son with hot reproaches. + </p> + <p> + “What? Your wife? Wife? That trollop!—that minx! that—and + daughter of that sot, too, that old rip, that rowdy blatherskite—that——And + my own son is to lift his hand to cut his throat! Yes, sir, cut his throat——And + I am to stand by! No, no! I say no, sir, no!” + </p> + <p> + The young man made some further protest, but it was lost in his father's + clamour. + </p> + <p> + “You will, though? You will? Then your hat is your house, sir. Take to it—take + to it!” + </p> + <p> + “No need to tell me twice, father.” + </p> + <p> + “Away then—away to your woman—your jade! God, keep my hands + off him!” + </p> + <p> + The old man lifted his clenched fist, but his son had flung out of the + room. It was not the Deemster only who feared he might lay hands on his + own flesh and blood. + </p> + <p> + “Stop! come back, you dog! Listen! I've not done yet. Stop! you hotheaded + rascal, stop! Can't you hear a man out then? Come back! Thomas Wilson, + come back, sir! Thomas! Thomas! Tom! Where is he? Where's the boy?” + </p> + <p> + Old Iron Christian had made after his son bareheaded down to the road, + shouting his name in a broken roar, but the young man was gone. Then he + went back slowly, his grey hair playing in the wind. He was all iron + outside, but all father within. + </p> + <p> + That day the Deemster altered his will a second time, and his elder son + was disinherited. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0004" id="link2H_4_0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II. + </h2> + <p> + Peter succeeded in due course to the estate of Ballawhaine, but he was not + a lawyer, and the line of the Deemsters Christian was broken. + </p> + <p> + Meantime Thomas Wilson Christian had been married to Mona Crellin without + delay. He loved her, but he had been afraid of her ignorance, afraid also + (notwithstanding his principles) of the difference in their social rank, + and had half intended to give her up when his father's reproaches had come + to fire his anger and to spur his courage. As soon as she became his wife + he realised the price he had paid for her. Happiness could not come of + such a beginning. He had broken every tie in making the one which brought + him down. The rich disowned him, and the poor lost respect for him. + </p> + <p> + “It's positively indecent,” said one. “It's potatoes marrying herrings,” + said another. It was little better than hunger marrying thirst. + </p> + <p> + In the general downfall of his fame his profession failed him. He lost + heart and ambition. His philosophy did not stand him in good stead, for it + had no value in the market to which he brought it. Thus, day by day, he + sank deeper into the ooze of a wrecked and wasted life. + </p> + <p> + The wife did not turn out well. She was a fretful person, with a good + face, a bad shape, a vacant mind, and a great deal of vanity. She had + liked her husband a little as a lover, but when she saw that her marriage + brought her nobody's envy, she fell into a long fit of the vapours. + Eventually she made herself believe that she was an ill-used person. She + never ceased to complain of her fate. Everybody treated her as if she had + laid plans for her husband's ruin. + </p> + <p> + The husband continued to love her, but little by little he grew to despise + her also. When he made his first plunge, he had prided himself on + indulging an heroic impulse. He was not going to deliver a good woman to + dishonour because she seemed to be an obstacle to his success. But she had + never realised his sacrifice. She did not appear to understand that he + might have been a great man in the island, but that love and honour had + held him back. Her ignorance was pitiful, and he was ashamed of it. In + earning the contempt of others he had not saved himself from + self-contempt. + </p> + <p> + The old sailor died suddenly in a fit of drunkenness at a fair, and + husband and wife came into possession of his house and property at + Ballure. This did not improve the relations between them. The woman + perceived that their positions were reversed. She was the bread-bringer + now. One day, at a slight that her husband's people had put upon her in + the street, she reminded him, in order to re-establish her wounded vanity, + that but for her and hers he would not have so much as a roof to cover + him. + </p> + <p> + Yet the man continued to love her in spite of all. And she was not at + first a degraded being. At times she was bright and cheerful, and, except + in the worst spells of her vapours, she was a brisk and busy woman. The + house was sweet and homely. There was only one thing to drive him away + from it, but that was the greatest thing of all. Nevertheless they had + their cheerful hours together. + </p> + <p> + A child was born, a boy, and they called him Philip. He was the beginning + of the end between them; the iron stay that held them together and yet + apart. The father remembered his misfortunes in the presence of his son, + and the mother was stung afresh by the recollection of disappointed hopes. + The boy was the true heir of Ballawhaine, but the inheritance was lost to + him by his father's fault and he had nothing. + </p> + <p> + Philip grew to be a winsome lad. There was something sweet and amiable and + big-hearted, and even almost great, in him. One day the father sat in the + garden by the mighty fuchsia-tree that grows on the lawn, watching his + little fair-haired son play at marbles on the path with two big lads whom + he had enticed out of the road, and another more familiar playmate—the + little barefooted boy Peter, from the cottage by the water-trough. At + first Philip lost, and with grunts of satisfaction the big ones promptly + pocketed their gains. Then Philip won, and little curly Peter was stripped + naked, and his lip began to fall. At that Philip paused, held his head + aside, and considered, and then said quite briskly, “Peter hadn't a fair + chance that time—here, let's give him another go.” + </p> + <p> + The father's throat swelled, and he went indoors to the mother and said, + “I think—perhaps I'm to blame—but somehow I think our boy + isn't like other boys. What do you say? Foolish? May be so, may be so! No + difference? Well, no—no!” + </p> + <p> + But deep down in the secret place of his heart, Thomas Wilson Christian, + broken man, uprooted tree, wrecked craft in the mud and slime, began to + cherish a fond idea. The son would regain all that his father had lost! He + had gifts, and he should be brought up to the law; a large nature, and he + should be helped to develop it; a fine face which all must love, a sense + of justice, and a great wealth of the power of radiating happiness. + Deemster? Why not? Ballawhaine? Who could tell? The biggest, noblest, + greatest of all Manxmen! God knows! + </p> + <p> + Only—only he must be taught to fly from his father's dangers. Love? + Then let him love where he can also respect—but never outside his + own sphere. The island was too little for that. To love and to despise was + to suffer the torments of the damned. + </p> + <p> + Nourishing these dreams, the poor man began to be tortured by every caress + the mother gave her son, and irritated by every word she spoke to him. Her + grammar was good enough for himself, and the exuberant caresses of her + maudlin moods were even sometimes pleasant, but the boy must be degraded + by neither. + </p> + <p> + The woman did not reach to these high thoughts, but she was not slow to + interpret the casual byplay in which they found expression. Her husband + was taiching her son to dis-respeck her. She wouldn't have thought it of + him—she wouldn't really. But it was always the way when a plain + practical woman married on the quality. Imperence and dis-respeck—that's + the capers! Imperence and disrespeck from the ones that's doing nothing + and behoulden to you for everything. It was shocking! It was disthressing! + </p> + <p> + In such outbursts would her jealousy taunt him with his poverty, revile + him for his idleness, and square accounts with him for the manifest + preference of the boy. He could bear them with patience when they were + alone, but in Philip's presence they were as gall and wormwood, and whips + and scorpions. + </p> + <p> + “Go, my lad, go,” he would sometimes whimper, and hustle the boy out of + the way. + </p> + <p> + “No,” the woman would cry, “stop and see the man your father is.” + </p> + <p> + And the father would mutter, “He might see the woman his mother is as + well.” + </p> + <p> + But when she had pinned them together, and the boy had to hear her out, + the man would drop his forehead on the table and break into groans and + tears. Then the woman would change quite suddenly, and put her arms about + him and kiss him and weep over him. He could defend himself from neither + her insults nor her embraces. In spite of everything he loved her. That + was where the bitterness of the evil lay. But for the love he bore her, he + might have got her off his back and been his own man once more. He would + make peace with her and kiss her again, and they would both kiss the boy, + and be tender, and even cheerful. + </p> + <p> + Philip was still a child, but he saw the relations of his parents, and in + his own way he understood everything. He loved his father best, but he did + not hate his mother. She was nearly always affectionate, though often + jealous of the father's greater love and care for him, and sometimes + irritable from that cause alone. But the frequent broils between them were + like blows that left scars on his body. He slept in a cot in the same + room, and he would cover up his head in the bedclothes at night with a + feeling of fear and physical pain. + </p> + <p> + A man cannot fight against himself for long. That deadly enemy is certain + to slay. When Philip was six years old his father lay sick of his last + sickness. The wife had fallen into habits of intemperance by this time, + and stage by stage she had descended to the condition of an utterly + degraded woman. There was something to excuse her. She had been + disappointed in the great stakes of life; she had earned disgrace where + she had looked for admiration. She was vain, and could not bear + misfortune; and she had no deep well of love from which to drink when the + fount of her pride ran dry. If her husband had indulged her with a little + pity, everything might have gone along more easily. But he had only loved + her and been ashamed. And now that he lay near to his death, the love + began to ebb and the shame to deepen into dread. + </p> + <p> + He slept little at night, and as often as he closed his eyes certain + voices of mocking and reproach seemed to be constantly humming in his + ears. + </p> + <p> + “Your son!” they would cry. “What is to become of him? Your dreams! Your + great dreams! Deemster! Ballawhaine! God knows what! You are leaving the + boy; who is to bring him up? His mother? Think of it!” + </p> + <p> + At last a ray of pale sunshine broke on the sleepless wrestler with the + night, and he became almost happy. “I'll speak to the boy,” he thought. “I + will tell him my own history, concealing nothing. Yes, I will tell him of + my own father also, God rest him, the stern old man—severe, yet + just.” + </p> + <p> + An opportunity soon befell. It was late at night—very late. The + woman was sleeping off a bout of intemperance somewhere below; and the + boy, with the innocence and ignorance of his years in all that the solemn + time foreboded, was bustling about the room with mighty eagerness, because + he knew that he ought to be in bed. + </p> + <p> + “I'm staying up to intend on you, father,” said the boy. + </p> + <p> + The father answered with a sigh. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you asturb yourself, father. I'll intend on you.” + </p> + <p> + The father's sigh deepened to a moan. + </p> + <p> + “If you want anything 'aticular, just call me; d'ye see, father?” + </p> + <p> + And away went the boy like a gleam of light. Presently he came back, + leaping like the dawn. He was carrying, insecurely, a jug of poppy-head + and camomile, which had been prescribed as a lotion. + </p> + <p> + “Poppy heads, father! Poppy-heads is good, I can tell ye.” + </p> + <p> + “Why arn't you in bed, child?” said the father. “You must be tired.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I'm not tired, father. I was just feeling a bit of tired, and then I + took a smell of poppy-heads and away went the tiredness to Jericho. They + <i>is</i> good.” + </p> + <p> + The little white head was glinting off again when the father called it + back. + </p> + <p> + “Come here, my boy.” The child went up to the bedside, and the father ran + his fingers lovingly through the long fair hair. + </p> + <p> + “Do you think, Philip, that twenty, thirty, forty years hence, when you + are a man—aye, a big man, little one—do you think you will + remember what I shall say to you now?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes, father, if it's anything 'aticular, and if it isn't you can + amind me of it, can't you, father?” + </p> + <p> + The father shook his head. “I shall not be here then, my boy. I am going + away——” + </p> + <p> + “Going away, father? May I come too?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I wish you could, little one. Yes, truly I almost wish you could.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you'll let me go with you, father! Oh, I <i>am</i> glad, father.” + And the boy began to caper and dance, to go down on all fours, and leap + about the floor like a frog. + </p> + <p> + The father fell back on his pillow with a heaving breast. Vain! vain! What + was the use of speaking? The child's outlook was life; his own was death; + they had no common ground; they spoke different tongues. And, after all, + how could he suffer the sweet innocence of the child's soul to look down + into the stained and scarred chamber of his ruined heart? + </p> + <p> + “You don't understand me, Philip. I mean that I am going—to die. + Yes, darling, and, only that I am leaving you behind, I should be glad to + go. My life has been wasted, Philip. In the time to come, when men speak + of your father, you will be ashamed. Perhaps you will not remember then + that whatever he was he was a good father to you, for at least he loved + you dearly. Well, I must needs bow to the will of God, but if I could only + hope that you would live to restore my name when I am gone.... Philip, are + you—don't cry, my darling. There, there, kiss me. We'll say no more + about it then. Perhaps it's not true, although father tolded you? Well, + perhaps not. And now undress and slip into bed before mother comes. See, + there's your night-dress at the foot of the crib. Wants some buttons, does + it? Never mind—in with you—that's a boy.” + </p> + <p> + Impossible, impossible! And perhaps unnecessary. Who should say? Young as + the child was, he might never forget what he had seen and heard. Some day + it must have its meaning for him. Thus the father comforted himself. Those + jangling quarrels which had often scorched his brain like iron—the + memory of their abject scenes came to him then, with a sort of bleeding + solace! + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, with little catching sobs, which he struggled to repress, the + boy lay down in his crib. When half-way gone towards the mists of the land + of sleep, he started up suddenly, and called “Good night, father,” and his + father answered him “Good night.” + </p> + <p> + Towards three o'clock the next morning there was great commotion in the + house. The servant was scurrying up and downstairs, and the mistress, + wringing her hands, was tramping to and fro in the sick-room, crying in a + tone of astonishment, as if the thought had stolen upon her unawares, + “Why, he's going! How didn't somebody tell me before?” + </p> + <p> + The eyes of the sinking man were on the crib. “Philip,” he faltered. They + lifted the boy out of his bed, and brought him in his night-dress to his + father's side; and the father twisted about and took him into his arms, + still half asleep and yawning. Then the mother, recovering from the + stupidity of her surprise, broke into paroxysms of weeping, and fell over + her husband's breast and kissed and kissed him. + </p> + <p> + For once her kisses had no response. The man was dying miserably, for he + was thinking of her and of the boy. Sometimes he babbled over Philip in a + soft, inarticulate gurgle; sometimes he looked up at his wife's face with + a stony stare, and then he clung the closer to the boy, as if he would + never let him go. The dark hour came, and still he held the boy in his + arms. They had to release the child at last from his father's dying grip. + </p> + <p> + The dead of the night was gone by this time, and the day was at the point + of dawn; the sparrows in the eaves were twittering, and the tide, which + was at its lowest ebb, was heaving on the sand far out in the bay with the + sound as of a rookery awakening. Philip remembered afterwards that his + mother cried so much that he was afraid, and that when he had been dressed + she took him downstairs, where they all ate breakfast together, with the + sun shining through the blinds. + </p> + <p> + The mother did not live to overshadow her son's life. Sinking yet lower in + habits of intemperance, she stayed indoors from week-end to week-end, + seated herself like a weeping willow by the fireside, and drank and drank. + Her excesses led to delusions. She saw ghosts perpetually. To avoid such + of them as haunted the death-room of her husband, she had a bed made up on + a couch in the parlour, and one morning she was found face downwards + stretched out beside it on the floor. + </p> + <p> + Then Philip's father's cousin, always called his Aunty Nan, came to + Ballure House to bring him up. His father had been her favourite cousin, + and, in spite of all that had happened, he had been her lifelong hero + also. A deep and secret tenderness, too timid to be quite aware of itself, + had been lying in ambush in her heart through all the years of his + miserable life with Mona. At the death of the old Deemster, her other + cousin, Peter, had married and cast her off. But she was always one of + those woodland herbs which are said to give out their sweetest fragrance + after they have been trodden on and crushed. Philip's father had been her + hero, her lost one and her love, and Philip was his father's son. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0005" id="link2H_4_0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III. + </h2> + <p> + Little curly Pete, with the broad, bare feet, the tousled black head, the + jacket half way up his back like a waistcoat with sleeves, and the hole in + his trousers where the tail of his shirt should have been, was Peter + Quilliam, and he was the natural son of Peter Christian. In the days when + that punctilious worthy set himself to observe the doings of his elder + brother at Ballure, he found it convenient to make an outwork of the hedge + in front of the thatched house that stood nearest. Two persons lived in + the cottage, father and daughter—Tom Quilliam, usually called Black + Tom, and Bridget Quilliam, getting the name of Bridget Black Tom. + </p> + <p> + The man was a short, gross creature, with an enormous head and a big, open + mouth, showing broken teeth that were black with the juice of tobacco. The + girl was by common judgment and report a gawk—a great, slow-eyed, + comely-looking, comfortable, easy-going gawk. Black Tom was a thatcher, + and with his hair poking its way through the holes in his straw hat, he + tramped the island in pursuit of his calling. This kept him from home for + days together, and in that fact Peter Christian, while shadowing the + morality of his brother, found his own opportunity. + </p> + <p> + When the child was born, neither the thatcher nor his daughter attempted + to father it. Peter Christian paid twenty pounds to the one and eighty to + the other in Manx pound-notes, the boys daubed their door to show that the + house was dishonoured, and that was the end of everything. + </p> + <p> + The girl went through her “censures” silently, or with only one comment. + She had borrowed the sheet in which she appeared in church from Miss + Christian of Ballawhaine, and when she took it back, the good soul of the + sweet lady thought to improve the occasion. + </p> + <p> + “I was wondering, Bridget,” she said gravely, “what you were thinking of + when you stood with Bella and Liza before the congregation last Sunday + morning”—two other Magda-lenes had done penance by Bridget's side. + </p> + <p> + “'Deed, mistress,” said the girl, “I was thinkin' there wasn't a sheet at + one of them to match mine for whiteness. I'd 'a been ashamed to be seen in + the like of theirs.” + </p> + <p> + Bridget may have been a gawk, but she did two things which were not + gawkish. Putting the eighty greasy notes into the foot of an old stocking, + she sewed them up in the ticking of her bed, and then christened her baby + Peter. The money was for the child if she should not live to rear him, and + the name was her way of saying that a man's son was his son in spite of + law or devil. + </p> + <p> + After that she kept both herself and her child by day labour in the + fields, weeding and sowing potatoes, and following at the tail of the + reapers, for sixpence a day dry days, and fourpence all weathers. She + might have badgered the heir of Ballawhaine, but she never did so. That + person came into his inheritance, got himself elected member for Ramsey in + the House of Keys, married Nessy Taubman, daughter of the rich brewer, and + became the father of another son. Such were the doings in the big house + down in the valley, while up in the thatched cottage behind the + water-trough, on potatoes and herrings and barley bonnag, lived Bridget + and her little Pete. + </p> + <p> + Pete's earliest recollections were of a boy who lived at the beautiful + white house with the big fuchsia, by the turn of the road over the bridge + that crossed the glen. This was Philip Christian, half a year older than + himself, although several inches shorter, with long yellow hair and rosy + cheeks, and dressed in a velvet suit of knickerbockers. Pete worshipped + him in his simple way, hung about him, fetched and carried for him, and + looked up to him as a marvel of wisdom and goodness and pluck. + </p> + <p> + His first memory of Philip was of sleeping with him, snuggled up by his + side in the dark, hushed and still in a narrow bed with iron ends to it, + and of leaping up in the morning and laughing. Philip's father—a + tall, white gentleman, who never laughed at all, and only smiled sometimes—had + found him in the road in the evening waiting for his mother to come home + from the fields, that he might light the fire in the cottage, and running + about in the meantime to keep himself warm, and not too hungry. + </p> + <p> + His second memory was of Philip guiding him round the drawing-room (over + thick carpets, on which his bare feet made no noise), and showing him the + pictures on the walls, and telling him what they meant. One (an engraving + of St. John, with a death's-head and a crucifix) was, according to this + grim and veracious guide, a picture of a brigand who killed his victims, + and always skinned their skulls with a cross-handled dagger. After that + his memories of Philip and himself were as two gleams of sunshine which + mingle and become one. + </p> + <p> + Philip was a great reader of noble histories. He found them, frayed and + tattered, at the bottom of a trunk that had tin corners and two padlocks, + and stood in the room looking towards the harbour where his mother's + father, the old sailor, had slept. One of them was his special favourite, + and he used to read it aloud to Pete. It told of the doings of the + Carrasdhoo men. They were a bold band of desperadoes, the terror of all + the island. Sometimes they worked in the fields at ploughing, and reaping, + and stacking, the same as common practical men; and sometimes they lived + in houses, just like the house by the water-trough. But when the wind was + rising in the nor-nor-west, and there was a taste of the brine on your + lips, they would be up, and say, “The sea's calling us—we must be + going.” Then they would live in rocky caves of the coast where nobody + could reach them, and there would be fires lit at night in tar-barrels, + and shouting, and singing, and carousing; and after that there would be + ships' rudders, and figure heads, and masts coming up with the tide, and + sometimes dead bodies on the beach of sailors they had drowned—only + foreign ones though—hundreds and tons of them. But that was long + ago, the Carrasdhoo men were dead, and the glory of their day was + departed. + </p> + <p> + One quiet evening, after an awesome reading of this brave history, Philip, + sitting on his haunches at the gable, with Pete like another white frog + beside him, said quite suddenly, “Hush! What's that?” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + There was never a sound in the air above the rustle of a leaf, and Pete's + imagination could carry him no further. + </p> + <p> + “Pete,” said Philip, with awful gravity, “the sea's calling me.” + </p> + <p> + “And me,” said Pete solemnly. + </p> + <p> + Early that night the two lads were down at the most desolate part of Port + Mooar, in a cave under the scraggy black rocks of Gobny-Garvain, kindling + a fire of gorse and turf inside the remains of a broken barrel. + </p> + <p> + “See that tremendous sharp rock below low water?” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “Don't I, though?” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + There was never a rock the size of a currycomb between them and the line + of the sky. + </p> + <p> + “That's what we call a reef,” said Philip. “Wait a bit and you'll see the + ships go splitting on top of it like—like——” + </p> + <p> + “Like a tay-pot,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “We'll save the women, though,” said Philip. “Shall we save the women, + Pete? We always do.” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, yes, the women—and the boys,” said Pete thoughtfully. + </p> + <p> + Philip had his doubts about the boys, but he would not quarrel. It was + nearly dark, and growing very cold. The lads croodled down by the + crackling blaze, and tried to forget that they had forgotten tea-time. + </p> + <p> + “We never has to mind a bit of hungry,” said Philip stoutly. + </p> + <p> + “Never a ha'p'orth,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “Only when the job's done we have hams and flitches and things for + supper.” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, yes, ateing and drinking to the full.” + </p> + <p> + “Rum, Pete, we always drinks rum.” + </p> + <p> + “We has to,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “None of your tea,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “Coorse not, none of your ould grannie's two-penny tay,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + It was quite dark by this time, and the tide was rising rapidly. There was + not a star in the sky, and not a light on the sea except the revolving + light of the lightship far a Way. The boys crept closer together and began + to think of home. Philip remembered Aunty Nan. When he had stolen away on + hands and knees under the parlour window she had been sewing at his new + check night-shirt. A night-shirt for a Carrasdhoo man had seemed to be + ridiculous then; but where was Aunty Nannie now? Pete remembered his + mother—she would be racing round the houses and crying; and he had + visions of Black Tom—he would be racing round also and swearing. + </p> + <p> + “Shouldn't we sing something, Phil?” said Pete, with a gurgle in his + throat. + </p> + <p> + “Sing!” said Philip, with as much scorn as he could summon, “and give them + warning we're watching for them! Well, you <i>are</i> a pretty, Mr. Pete! + But just you wait till the ships goes wrecking on the rocks—I mean + the reefs—and the dead men's coming up like corks—hundreds and + ninety and dozens of them; my jove! yes, then you'll hear me singing.” + </p> + <p> + The darkness deepened, and the voice of the sea began to moan through the + back of the cave, the gorse crackled no longer, and the turf burned in a + dull red glow. Night with its awfulness had come down, and the boys were + cut off from everything. + </p> + <p> + “They don't seem to be coming—not yet,” said Philip, in a husky + whisper. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe it's the same as fishing,” said Pete; “sometimes you catch and + sometimes you don't.” + </p> + <p> + “That's it,” said Philip eagerly, “generally you don't—and then you + both haves to go home and come again,” he added nervously. + </p> + <p> + But neither of the boys stirred. Outside the glow of the fire the + blackness looked terrible. Pete nuzzled up to Philip's side, and, being + untroubled by imaginative fears, soon began to feel drowsy. The sound of + his measured breathing startled Philip with the terror of loneliness. + </p> + <p> + “Honour bright, Mr. Pete,” he faltered, nudging the head on his shoulder, + and trying to keep his voice from shaking; “<i>you</i> call yourself a + second mate, and leaving all the work to me!” + </p> + <p> + The second mate was penitent, but in less than half a minute more he was + committing the same offence again. “It isn't no use,” he said, “I'm that + sleepy you never seen.” + </p> + <p> + “Then let's both take the watch below i'stead,” said Philip, and they + proceeded to stretch themselves out by the fire together. + </p> + <p> + “Just lave it to me,” said Pete; “I'll hear them if they come in the + night. I'll always does. I'm sleeping that light it's shocking. Why, + sometimes I hear Black Tom when he comes home tipsy. I've done it times.” + </p> + <p> + “We'll have carpets to lie on to-morrow, not stones,” said Philip, + wriggling on a rough one; “rolls of carpets—kidaminstrel ones.” + </p> + <p> + They settled themselves side by side as close to each other as they could + creep, and tried not to hear the surging and sighing of the sea. Then came + a tremulous whimper: + </p> + <p> + “Pete!” + </p> + <p> + “What's that?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you never say your prayers when you take the watch below?” + </p> + <p> + “Sometimes we does, when mother isn't too tired, and the ould man's + middling drunk and quiet.” + </p> + <p> + “Then don't you like to then?” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, yes, though, I'm liking it scandalous.” + </p> + <p> + The wreckers agreed to say their prayers, and got up again and said them, + knee to knee, with their two little faces to the fire, and then stretched + themselves out afresh. + </p> + <p> + “Pete, where's your hand?” + </p> + <p> + “Here you are, Phil.” + </p> + <p> + In another minute, under the solemn darkness of the night, broken only by + the smouldering fire, amid the thunderous quake of the cavern after every + beat of the waves on the beach, the Carrasdhoo men were asleep. + </p> + <p> + Sometime in the dark reaches before the dawn Pete leapt up with a start + “What's that?” he cried, in a voice of fear. + </p> + <p> + But Philip was still in the mists of sleep, and, feeling the cold, he only + whimpered, “Cover me up, Pete.” + </p> + <p> + “Phil!” cried Pete, in an affrighted whisper. + </p> + <p> + “Cover me up,” drawled Philip. + </p> + <p> + “I thought it was Black Tom,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + There was some confused bellowing outside the cave. + </p> + <p> + “My goodness grayshers!” came in a terrible voice, “it's them, though, the + pair of them! Impozzible! who says it's impozzible? It's themselves I'm + telling you, ma'm. Guy heng! The woman's mad, putting a scream out of + herself like yonder. Safe? Coorse they're safe, bad luck to the young + wastrels! You're for putting up a prayer for your own one. Eh? Well, I'm + for hommering mine. The dirts? Weaned only yesterday, and fetching a + dacent man out of his bed to find them. A fire at them, too! Well, it was + the fire that found them. Pull the boat up, boys.” + </p> + <p> + Philip was half awake by this time. “They've come,” he whispered. “The + ships is come, they're on the reef. Oh, dear me! Best go and meet them. + P'raps they won't kill us if—if we—Oh, dear me!” + </p> + <p> + Then the wreckers, hand in hand, quaking and whimpering, stepped out to + the mouth of the cave. At the next moment Philip found himself snatched up + into the arms of Aunty Nan, who kissed him and cried over him, and rammed + a great chunk of sweet cake into his cheek. Pete was faring differently. + Under the leathern belt of Black Tom, who was thrashing him for both of + them, he was howling like the sea in a storm. + </p> + <p> + Thus the Carrasdhoo men came home by the light of early morning—Pete + skipping before the belt and bellowing; and Philip holding a piece of the + cake at his teeth to comfort him. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV. + </h2> + <p> + Philip left home for school at King William's by Castletown, and then Pete + had a hard upbringing. His mother was tender enough, and there were good + souls like Aunty Nan to show pity to both of them. But life went like a + springless bogey, nevertheless. Sin itself is often easier than simpleness + to pardon and condone. It takes a soft heart to feel tenderly towards a + soft head. + </p> + <p> + Poor Pete's head seemed soft enough and to spare. No power and no + persuasion could teach him to read and write. He went to school at the old + schoolhouse by the church in Maughold village. The schoolmaster was a + little man called John Thomas Corlett, pert and proud, with the sharp nose + of a pike and the gait of a bantam. John Thomas was also a tailor. On a + cowhouse door laid across two school forms he sat cross-legged among his + cloth, his “maidens,” and his smoothing irons, with his boys and girls, + class by class, in a big half circle round about him. + </p> + <p> + The great little man had one standing ground of daily assault on the dusty + jacket of poor Pete, and that was that the lad came late to school. Every + morning Pete's welcome from the tailor-schoolmaster was a volley of + expletives, and a swipe of the cane across his shoulders. “The craythur! + The dunce! The durt! I'm taiching him, and taiching him, and he won't be + taicht.” + </p> + <p> + The soul of the schoolmaster had just two human weaknesses. One of these + was a weakness for drink, and as a little vessel he could not take much + without being full. Then he always taught the Church catechism and swore + at his boys in Manx. + </p> + <p> + “Peter Quilliam,” he cried one day, “who brought you out of the land of + Egypt and the house of bondage?” + </p> + <p> + “'Deed, master,” said Pete, “I never was in no such places, for I never + had the money nor the clothes for it, and that's how stories are getting + about.” + </p> + <p> + The second of the schoolmaster's frailties was love of his daughter, a + child of four, a cripple, whom he had lamed in her infancy, by letting her + fall as he tossed her in his arms while in drink. The constant terror of + his mind was lest some further accident should befall her. Between class + and class he would go to a window, from which, when he had thrown up its + lower sash, dim with the scratches of names, he could see one end of his + own white cottage, and the little pathway, between lines of gilvers, + coming down from the porch. + </p> + <p> + Pete had seen the little one hobbling along this path on her lame leg, and + giggling with a heart of glee when she had eluded the eyes of her mother + and escaped into the road. One day it chanced, after the heavy spring + rains had swollen every watercourse, that he came upon the little curly + poll, tumbling and tossing like a bell-buoy in a gale, down the flood of + the river that runs to the sea at Port Mooar. Pete rescued the child and + took her home, and then, as if he had done nothing unusual, he went on to + school, dripping water from his legs at every step. + </p> + <p> + When John Thomas saw him coming, in bare feet, triddle-traddle, + triddle-traddle, up the school-house floor, his indignation at the boy for + being later than usual rose to fiery wrath for being drenched as well. + Waiting for no explanation, concluding that Pete had been fishing for + crabs among the stones of Port Lewaigue, he burst into a loud volley of + his accustomed expletives, and timed and punctuated them by a thwack of + the cane between every word. + </p> + <p> + “The waistrel! (thwack). The dirt! (thwack). I'm taiching him (thwack), + and taiching him (thwack), and he won't be taicht!” (Thwack, thwack, + thwack.) + </p> + <p> + Pete said never a word. Boiling his stinging shoulders under his jacket, + and ramming his smarting hands, like wet eels, into his breeches' pockets, + he took his place in silence at the bottom of the class. + </p> + <p> + But a girl, a little dark thing in a red frock, stepped out from her place + beside the boy, shot up like a gleam to the schoolmaster as he returned to + his seat among the cloth and needles, dealt him a smart slap across the + face, and then burst into a lit of hysterical crying. Her name was + Katherine Cregeen. She was the daughter of Cæsar the Cornaa miller, the + founder of Ballajora Chapel, and a mighty man among the Methodists. + </p> + <p> + Katherine went unpunished, but that was the end of Pete's schooling. His + learning was not too heavy for a big lad's head to carry—a bit of + reading if it was all in print, and no writing at all except half-a-dozen + capital letters. It was not a formidable equipment for the battle of life, + but Bridget would not hear of more. + </p> + <p> + She herself, meanwhile, had annexed that character which was always the + first and easiest to attach itself to a woman with a child but no visible + father for it—the character of a witch. That name for his mother was + Pete's earliest recollection of the high-road, and when the consciousness + of its meaning came to him, he did not rebel, but sullenly acquiesced, for + he had been born to it and knew nothing to the contrary. If the boys + quarrelled with him at play, the first word was “your mother's a butch.” + Then he cried at the reproach, or perhaps fought like a vengeance at the + insult, but he never dreamt of disbelieving the fact or of loving his + mother any the less. + </p> + <p> + Bridget was accused of the evil eye. Cattle sickened in the fields, and + when there was no proof that she had looked over the gate, the idea was + suggested that she crossed them as a hare. One day a neighbour's dog + started a hare in a meadow where some cows were grazing. This was observed + by a gang of boys playing at hockey in the road. Instantly there was a + shout and a whoop, and the boys with their sticks were in full chase after + the yelping dog, crying, “The butch! The butch! It's Bridget Tom! + Corlett's dogs are hunting Bridget Black Tom! Kill her, Laddie! Kill her, + Sailor! Jump, dog, jump!” + </p> + <p> + One of the boys playing at hockey was Pete. When his play-fellows ran + after the dogs in their fanatic thirst, he ran too, but with a storm of + other feelings. Outstripping all of them, very close at the heels of the + dogs, kicking some, striking others with the hockey-stick, while the tears + poured down his cheeks, he cried at the top of his voice to the hare + leaping in front, “Run, mammy, run! clink (dodge), mammy, clink! Aw, + mammy, mammy, run faster, run for your life, run!” + </p> + <p> + The hare dodged aside, shot into a thicket, and escaped its pursuers just + as Corlett, the farmer, who had heard the outcry, came racing up with a + gun. Then Pete swept his coat-sleeve across his gleaming eyes and leapt + off home. When he got there, he found his mother sitting on the bink by + the door knitting quietly. He threw himself into her arms and stroked her + cheek with his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, mammy, bogh,” he cried, “how well you run! If you never run in your + life you run then.” + </p> + <p> + “Is the boy mad?” said Bridget. + </p> + <p> + But Pete went on stroking her cheek and crying between sobs of joy, “I + heard Corlett shouting to the house for a gun and a fourpenny bit, and I + thought I was never going to see mammy no more. But you did clink, mammy! + You did, though!” + </p> + <p> + The next time Katherine Cregeen saw Peter Quilliam, he was sitting on the + ridge of rock at the mouth of Ballure Glen, playing doleful strains on a + home-made whistle, and looking the picture of desolation and despair. His + mother was lying near to death. He had left Mrs. Cregeen, Kath-erine's + mother, a good soul getting the name of Grannie, to watch and tend her + while he came out to comfort his simple heart in this lone spot between + the land and the sea. + </p> + <p> + Katherine's eyes filled at sight of him, and when, without looking up or + speaking, he went on to play his crazy tunes, something took the girl by + the throat and she broke down utterly. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind, Pete. No—I don't mean that—but don't cry, Pete.” + </p> + <p> + Pete was not crying at all, but only playing away on his whistle and + gazing out to sea with a look of dumb vacancy. Katherine knelt beside him, + put her arms around his neck, and cried for both of them. + </p> + <p> + Somebody hailed him from the hedge by the water-trough, and he rose, took + off his cap, smoothed his hair with his hand, and walked towards the house + without a word. + </p> + <p> + Bridget was dying of pleurisy, brought on by a long day's work at hoeing + turnips in a soaking rain. Dr. Mylechreest had poulticed her lungs with + mustard and linseed, but all to no purpose. “It's feeling the same as the + sun on your back at harvest,” she murmured, yet the poultices brought no + heat to her frozen chest. + </p> + <p> + Cæsar Cregeen was at her side; John the Clerk, too, called John the Widow; + Kelly, the rural postman, who went by the name of Kelly the Thief; as well + as Black Tom, her father. Cæsar was discoursing of sinners and their + latter end. John was remembering how at his election to the clerkship he + had rashly promised to bury the poor for nothing; Kelly was thinking he + would be the first to carry the news to Christian Balla-whaine; and Black + Tom was varying the exercise of pounding rock-sugar for his bees with that + of breaking his playful wit on the dying woman. + </p> + <p> + “No use; I'm laving you; I'm going on my long journey,” said Bridget, + while Granny used a shovel as a fan to relieve her gusty breathing. + </p> + <p> + “Got anything in your pocket for the road, woman?” said the thatcher. + </p> + <p> + “It's not houses of bricks and mortal I'm for calling at now,” she + answered. + </p> + <p> + “Dear heart! Put up a bit of a prayer,” whispered Grannie to her husband; + and Cæsar took a pinch of snuff out of his waistcoat pocket, and fell to + “wrastling with the Lord.” + </p> + <p> + Bridget seemed to be comforted. “I see the jasper gates,” she panted, + fixing her hazy eyes on the scraas under the thatch, from which broken + spiders' webs hung down like rats' tails. + </p> + <p> + Then she called for Pete. She had something to give him. It was the + stocking foot with the eighty greasy Manx banknotes which his father, + Peter Christian, had paid her fifteen years before. Pete lit the candle + and steadied it while Grannie cut the stocking from the wall side of the + bed-ticking. + </p> + <p> + Black Tom dropped the sugar-pounder and exposed his broken teeth in his + surprise at so much wealth; John the Widow blinked; and Kelly the Thief + poked his head forward until the peak of his postman's cap fell on to the + bridge of his nose. + </p> + <p> + A sea-fog lay over the land that morning, and when it lifted Bridget's + soul went up as well. + </p> + <p> + “Poor thing! Poor thing!” said Grannie. “The ways were cold for her—cold, + cold!” + </p> + <p> + “A dacent lass,” said John the Clerk; “and oughtn't to be buried with the + common trash, seeing she's left money.” + </p> + <p> + “A hard-working woman, too, and on her feet for ever; but 'lowanced in her + intellecks, for all,” said Kelly. + </p> + <p> + And Cæsar cried, “A brand plucked from the burning! Lord, give me more of + the like at the judgment.” + </p> + <p> + When all was over, and tears both hot and cold were wiped away—Pete + shed none of them—the neighbours who had stood with the lad in the + churchyard on Maughold Head returned to the cottage by the water-trough to + decide what was to be done with his eighty good bank-notes. “It's a + fortune,” said one. “Let him put it with Mr. Dumbell,” said another. “Get + the boy a trade first—he's a big lump now, sixteen for spring,” said + a third. “A draper, eh?” said a fourth. “May I presume? My nephew, Bobbie + Clucas, of Ramsey, now?” “A dacent man, very,” said John the Widow; “but + if I'm not ambitious, there's my son-in-law, John Cowley. The lad's cut to + a dot for a grocer, and what more nicer than having your own shop and your + own name over the door, if you plaze—' Peter Quilliam, tay and sugar + merchant!'—they're telling me John will be riding in his carriage + and pair soon.” + </p> + <p> + “Chut! your grannie and your carriage and pairs,” shouted a rasping voice + at last. It was Black Tom. “Who says the fortune is belonging to the lad + at all? It's mine, and if there's law in the land I'll have it.” + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, Pete, with the dull thud in his ears of earth falling on a + coffin, had made his way down to Ballawhaine. He had never been there + before, and he felt confused, but he did not tremble. Half-way up the + carriage-drive he passed a sandy-haired youth of his own age, a slim dandy + who hummed a tune and looked at him carelessly over his shoulder. Pete + knew him—he was Boss, the boys called him Dross, son and heir of + Christian Ballawhaine. + </p> + <p> + At the big house Pete asked for the master. The English footman, in + scarlet knee-breeches, left him to wait in the stone hall. The place was + very quiet and rather cold, but all as clean as a gull's wing. There was a + dark table in the middle and a high-backed chair against the wall. Two oil + pictures faced each other from opposite sides. One was of an old man + without a beard, but with a high forehead, framed around with short grey + hair. The other was of a woman with a tired look and a baby on her lap. + Under this there was a little black picture that seemed to Pete to be the + likeness of a fancy tombstone. And the print on it, so far as Pete could + spell it out, was that of a tombstone too, “In loving memory of Verbena, + beloved wife of Peter Chr—” + </p> + <p> + The Ballawhaine came crunching the sand on the hall-floor. He looked old, + and had now a pent-house of bristly eyebrows of a different colour from + his hair. Pete had often seen him on the road riding by. + </p> + <p> + “Well, my lad, what can I do for <i>you?</i>” he said. He spoke in a jerky + voice, as if he thought to overawe the boy. + </p> + <p> + Pete fumbled his stocking cap. “Mothers dead,” he answered vacantly. + </p> + <p> + The Ballawhaine knew that already. Kelly the Thief had run hot-foot to + inform him. He thought Pete had come to claim maintenance now that his + mother was gone. + </p> + <p> + “So she's been telling you the same old story?” he said briskly. + </p> + <p> + At that Pete's face stiffened all at once. “She's been telling me that + you're my father, sir.” + </p> + <p> + The Ballawhaine tried to laugh. “Indeed!” he replied; “it's a wise child, + now, that knows its own father.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not rightly knowing what you mane, sir,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + Then the Ballawhaine fell to slandering the poor woman in her grave, + declaring that she could not know who was the father of her child, and + protesting that no son of hers should ever see the colour of money of his. + Saying this with a snarl, he brought down his right hand with a thump on + to the table. There was a big hairy mole near the joint of the first + finger. + </p> + <p> + “Aisy, sir, if you plaze,” said Pete; “she was telling me you gave her + this.” + </p> + <p> + He turned up the corner of his jersey, tugged out of his pocket, from + behind his flaps, the eighty Manx bank-notes, and held them in his right + hand on the table. There was a mole at the joint of Pete's first finger + also. + </p> + <p> + The Ballawhaine saw it. He drew back his hand and slid it behind him. Then + in another voice he said, “Well, my lad, isn't it enough? What are you + wanting with more?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not wanting more,” said Pete; “I'm not wanting this. Take it back,” + and he put down the roll of notes between them. + </p> + <p> + The Ballawhaine sank into the chair, took a handkerchief out of his tails + with the hand that had been lurking there, and began to mop his forehead. + “Eh? How? What d'ye mean, boy?” he stammered. + </p> + <p> + “I mane,” said Pete, “that if I kept that money there is people would say + my mother was a bad woman, and you bought her and paid her—I'm + hearing the like at some of them.” + </p> + <p> + He took a step nearer. “And I mane, too, that you did wrong by my mother + long ago, and now that she's dead you're blackening her; and you're a bad + heart, and a low tongue, and if I was only a man, and didn't <i>know</i> + you were my father, I'd break every bone in your skin.” + </p> + <p> + Then Pete twisted about and shouted into the dark part of the hall, “Come + along, there, my ould cockatoo! It's time to be putting me to the door.” + </p> + <p> + The English footman in the scarlet breeches had been peeping from under + the stairs. + </p> + <p> + That was Pete's first and last interview with his father. Peter Christian + Ballawhaine was a terror in the Keys by this time, but he had trembled + before his son like a whipped cur. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0007" id="link2H_4_0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V. + </h2> + <p> + Katherine Cregeen, Pete's champion at school, had been his companion at + home as well. She was two years younger than Pete. Her hair was a black as + a gipsy's, and her face as brown as a berry. In summer she liked best to + wear a red frock without sleeves, no boots and no stockings, no collar and + no bonnet, not even a sun-bonnet. From constant exposure to the sun and + rain her arms and legs were as ruddy as her cheeks, and covered with a + soft silken down. So often did you see her teeth that you would have said + she was always laughing. Her laugh was a little saucy trill given out with + head aside and eyes aslant, like that of a squirrel when he is at a safe + height above your head, and has a nut in his open jaws. + </p> + <p> + Pete had seen her first at school, and there he had tried to draw the eyes + of the maiden upon himself by methods known only to heroes, to savages, + and to boys. He had prowled around her in the playground with the wild + vigour of a young colt, tossing his head, swinging his arms, screwing his + body, kicking up his legs, walking on his hands, lunging out at every lad + that was twice as big as himself, and then bringing himself down at length + with a whoop and a crash on his hindmost parts just in front of where she + stood. For these tremendous efforts to show what a fellow he could be if + he tried, he had won no applause from the boys, and Katherine herself had + given no sign, though Pete had watched her out of the corners of his eyes. + But in other scenes the children came together. + </p> + <p> + After Philip had gone to King William's, Pete and Katherine had become + bosom friends. Instead of going home after school to cool his heels in the + road until his mother came from the fields, he found it neighbourly to go + up to Ballajora and round by the network of paths to Cornaa. That was a + long detour, but Cæsar's mill stood there. It nestled down in the low bed + of the river that runs through the glen called Ballaglass. + </p> + <p> + Song-birds built about it in the spring of the year, and Cæsar's little + human songster sang there always. + </p> + <p> + When Pete went that way home, what times the girl had of it! Wading up the + river, clambering over the stones, playing female Blondin on the fallen + tree-trunks that spanned the chasm, slipping, falling, holding on any way + up (legs or arms) by the rotten branches below, then calling for Pete's + help in a voice between a laugh and a cry, flinging chips into the foaming + back-wash of the mill-wheel, and chasing them down stream, racing among + the gorse, and then lying full length like a lamb, without a thought of + shame, while Pete took the thorns out of her bleeding feet. She was a wild + duck in the glen where she lived, and Pete was a great lumbering tame duck + waddling behind her. + </p> + <p> + But the glorious, happy, make-believe days too soon came to an end. The + swinging cane of the great John Thomas Corlett, and the rod of a yet more + relentless tyrant, darkened the sunshine of both the children. Pete was + banished from school, and Catherine's father removed from Cornaa. + </p> + <p> + When Cæsar had taken a wife, he had married Betsy, the daughter of the + owner of the inn at Sulby. After that he had “got religion,” and he held + that persons in the household of faith were not to drink, or to buy or to + sell drink. But Grannie's father died and left his house, “The Manx + Fairy,” and his farm, Glenmooar, to her and her husband. About the same + time the miller at Sulby also died, and the best mill in the island cried + out for a tenant. Cæsar took the mill and the farm, and Grannie took the + inn, being brought up to such profanities and no way bound by principle. + From that time forward, Cæsar pinned all envious cavillers with the text + which says, “Not that which goeth into the mouth of a man defileth him, + but that which cometh out.” + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, Cæsar's principles grew more and more puritanical year by + year. There were no half measures with Cæsar. Either a man was a saved + soul, or he was in the very belly of hell, though the pit might not have + shut its mouth on him. If a man was saved he knew it, and if he felt the + manifestations of the Spirit he could live without sin. His cardinal + principles were three—instantaneous regeneration, assurance, and + sinless perfection. He always said—he had said it a thousand times—that + he was converted in Douglas marketplace, a piece off the west door of ould + St. Matthew's, at five-and-twenty minutes past six on a Sabbath evening in + July, when he was two-and-twenty for harvest. + </p> + <p> + While at Cornaa, Cæsar had been a “local” on the preachers' plan, a class + leader, and a chapel steward; but at Sulby he outgrew the Union and set up + a “body” of his own. He called them “The Christians.” a title that was at + once a name, a challenge, and a protest. They worshipped in the long barn + over Cæsar's mill, and held strong views on conduct. A saved soul must not + wear gold or costly apparel, or give way to softness or bodily indulgence, + or go to fairs for sake of sport, or appear in the show-tents of + play-actors, or sing songs, or read books, or take any diversion that did + not tend to the knowledge of God. As for carnal transgression, if any were + guilty of it, they were to be cut off from the body of believers, for the + souls of the righteous must be delivered. + </p> + <p> + “The religion that's going among the Primitives these days is just + Popery,” said Cæsar. “Let's go back to the warm ould Methodism and put out + the Romans.” + </p> + <p> + When Pete turned his face from Ballawhaine, he thought first of Cæsar and + his mill. It would be more exact to say he thought of Katherine and + Grannie. He was homeless as well as penniless. The cottage by the + water-trough was no longer possible to him, now that the mother was gone + who had stood between his threatened shoulders and Black Tom. Philip was + at home for a few weeks only in the year, and Ballure had lost its + attraction. So Pete made his way to Sulby, offered himself to Cæsar for + service at the mill, and was taken on straightway at eighteenpence a week + and his board. + </p> + <p> + It was a curious household he entered into. First there was Cæsar himself, + in a moleskin waistcoat with sleeves open three buttons up, knee-breeches + usually unlaced, stockings of undyed wool, and slippers with the tongues + hanging out—a grim soul, with whiskers like a hoop about his face, + and a shaven upper lip as heavy as a moustache, for, when religion like + Cæsar's lays hold of a man, it takes him first by the mouth. Then Grannie, + a comfortable body in a cap, with an outlook on life that was all + motherhood, a simple, tender, peaceable soul, agreeing with everybody and + everything, and seeming to say nothing but “Poor thing! Poor thing!” and + “Dear heart! Dear heart!” Then there was Nancy Cain, getting the name of + Nancy Joe, the servant in name but the mistress in fact, a niece of + Grannie's, a bit of a Pagan, an early riser, a tireless worker, with a + plain face, a rooted disbelief in all men, a good heart, an ugly tongue, + and a vixenish temper. Last of all, there was Katherine, now grown to be a + great girl, with her gipsy hair done up in a red ribbon and wearing a + black pinafore bordered with white braid. + </p> + <p> + Pete got on steadily at the mill. He began by lighting the kiln fire and + cleaning out the pit-wheel, and then on to the opening the flood-gates in + the morning and regulating the action of the water-wheel according to the + work of the day. In two years' time he was a sound miller, safe to trust + with rough stuff for cattle or fine flour for white loaf-bread. Cæsar + trusted him. He would take evangelising journeys to Peel or Douglas and + leave Pete in charge. + </p> + <p> + That led to the end of the beginning. Pete could grind the farmers' corn, + but he could not make their reckonings. He kept his counts in chalk on the + back of the mill-house door, a down line for every stone weight up to + eight stones, and a line across for every hundredweight. Then, once a day, + while the father was abroad, Katherine came over from the inn to the desk + at the little window of the mill, and turned Pete's lines into ledger + accounts. These financial councils were full of delicious discomfiture. + Pete always enjoyed them—after they were over. + </p> + <p> + “John Robert—Molleycarane—did you say Molleycarane, Pete? Oh, + Mylecharane—Myle-c-h-a-r-a-i-n-e, Molleycarane; ten stones—did + you say ten? Oh, eight—e-i-g-h-t—no, eight; oatmeal, Pete? Oh, + barley-male—meal, I mean—m-e-a-l.” + </p> + <p> + In the middle of the night Pete remembered all these entries. They were + very precious to his memory after Katherine had spoken them. They sang in + his heart the same as song-birds then. They were like hymns and tunes and + pieces of poetry. + </p> + <p> + Cæsar returned home from a preaching tour with a great and sudden thought. + He had been calling on strangers to flee from the wrath to come, and yet + there were those of his own house whose faces were not turned Zionwards. + That evening he held an all-night prayer-meeting for the conversion of + Katherine and Pete. Through six long hours he called on God in lusty + tones, until his throat cracked and his forehead streamed. The young were + thoughtless, they had the root of evil in them, they flew into frivolity + from contrariness. Draw the harrow over their souls, plough the fallows of + their hearts, grind the chaff out of their household, let not the sweet + apple and the crabs grow on the same bough together, give them a Melliah, + let not a sheaf be forgotten, grant them the soul of this girl for a + harvest-home, and of this boy for a last stook. + </p> + <p> + Cæsar was dissatisfied with the results. He was used to groaning and + trembling and fainting fits. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you feel the love?” he cried. “I do—here, under the + watch-pocket of my waistcoat.” + </p> + <p> + Towards midnight Katherine began to fail. “Chain the devil,”, cried Cæsar. + “Once I was down in the pit with the devil myself, but now I'm up in the + loft, seeing angels through the thatch. Can't you feel the workings of the + Spirit?” + </p> + <p> + As the clock was warning to strike two Katherine thought she could, and + from that day forward she led the singing of the women in the choir among + “The Christians.” + </p> + <p> + Pete remained among the unregenerate; but nevertheless “The Christians” + saw him constantly. He sat on the back form and kept his eyes fixed on the + “singing seat.” Observing his regularity, Cæsar laid a hand on his head + and told him the Spirit was working in his soul at last. Sometimes Pete + thought it was, and that was when he shut his eyes and listened to + Katherine's voice floating up, up, up, like an angel's, into the sky. But + sometimes he knew it was not; and that was when he caught himself in the + middle of Cæsar's mightiest prayers crooking his neck past the pitching + bald pate of Johnny Niplightly, the constable, that he might get a glimpse + of the top of Katherine's bonnet when her eyes were down. + </p> + <p> + Pete fell into a melancholy, and once more took to music as a comforter. + It was not a home-made whistle now, but a fiddle bought out of his wages. + On this he played in the cowhouse on winter evenings, and from the top of + the midden outside in summer. When Cæsar heard of it his wrath was + fearful. What was a fiddler? He was a servant of corruption, holding a + candle to disorderly walkers and happy sinners on their way into the + devil's pinfold. And what for was fiddles? Fiddles was for play-actors and + theaytres. “And theaytres is <i>there</i>,” said Cæsar, indicating with + his foot one flag on the kitchen-floor, “and hell flames is <i>there</i>,” + he added, rolling his toe over to the joint of the next one. + </p> + <p> + Grannie began to plead. What was a fiddle if you played the right tunes on + it? Didn't they read in the ould Book of King David himself playing on + harps and timbrels and such things? And what was harps but fiddles in a + way of spak-ing? Then warn't they all looking to be playing harps in + heaven? 'Deed, yes, though the Lord would have to be teaching her how to + play hers! + </p> + <p> + Cæsar was shaken. “Well, of course, certainly,” he said, “if there's a + power in fiddling to bring souls out of bondage, and if there's going to + be fiddling and the like in Abraham's bosom—why, then, of course—well, + why not?—let's have the lad's fiddle up at 'The Christians.'” + </p> + <p> + Nothing could have suited Pete so well. From that time forward he went out + no more at nights to the cowhouse, but stayed indoors to practise hymns + with Katherine. Oh, the terrible rapture of those nightly “practices!” + They brought people to the inn to hear them, and so Cæsar found them good + for profit both ways. + </p> + <p> + There was something in Cæsar's definition, nevertheless. It was found that + among the saints there were certain weaker brethren who did not want a + hymn to their ale. One of these was Johnny Niplightly, the rural + constable, who was the complement of Katherine in the choir, being leader + of the singing among the men. He was a tall man with a long nose, which + seemed to have a perpetual cold. Making his rounds one night, he turned in + at “The Manx Fairy,” when Cæsar and Grannie were both from home, and Nancy + Joe was in charge, and Pete and Katherine were practising a revival + chorus. + </p> + <p> + “Where's Cæsar, dough?” he snuffled. + </p> + <p> + “At Peel, buying the stock,” snapped Nancy. + </p> + <p> + “Dank de Lord! I mean—where's Grannie?” + </p> + <p> + “Nursing Mistress Quiggin.” + </p> + <p> + Niplightly eased the strap of his beaver, liberated his lips, took a deep + draught of ale, and then turned to Pete, with apologetic smiles, and + suggested a change in the music. + </p> + <p> + At that Katherine leapt up as light as laughter. “A dance,” she cried, “a + dance!” + </p> + <p> + “Good sakes alive?” said Nancy Joe. “Listen to the girl? Is it the moon, + Kitty, or what is it that's doing on you?” + </p> + <p> + “Shut your eyes, Nancy,” said Katherine, “just for once, now won't you?” + </p> + <p> + “You can do what you like with me, with your coaxing and woaxing,” said + Nancy. “Enjoy yourself to the full, girl, but don't make a noise above the + singing of the kettle.” + </p> + <p> + Pete tuned his strings, and Katherine pinned up the tail of her skirt, and + threw herself into position. + </p> + <p> + At the sound of the livelier preludings there came thronging out of the + road into the parlour certain fellows of the baser sort, and behind them + came one who was not of that denomination—a fair young man with a + fine face under an Alpine hat. Heeding nothing of this audience, the girl + gave a little rakish toss of her head and called on Pete to strike up. + </p> + <p> + Then Pete plunged into one of the profaner tunes which he had practised in + the days of the cowhouse, and off went Katherine with a whoop. The boys + stood back for her, bending down on their haunches as at a fight of + gamecocks, and encouraging her with shouts of applause. + </p> + <p> + “Beautiful! Look at that now! Fine, though, fine! Clane done, aw, clane! + Done to a dot! There's leaping for you, boys! Guy heng, did you ever see + the like? Hommer the floor, girl—higher a piece! higher, then! + Whoop, did ye ever see such a nate pair of ankles?” + </p> + <p> + “Hould your dirty tongue, you gobmouthed omathaun!” cried Nancy Joe. She + had tried to keep her eyes away, but could not. “My goodness grayshers!” + she cried. “Did you ever see the like, though? Screwing like the windmill + on the schoolhouse! Well, well, Kitty, woman! Aw, Kirry, Kirry! Wherever + did she get it, then? Goodsakes, the girl's twisting herself into knots!” + </p> + <p> + Pete was pulling away at the fiddle with both hands, like a bottom sawyer, + his eyes dancing, his lips quivering, the whole soul of the lad lifted out + of himself in an instant. + </p> + <p> + “Hould on still, Kate, hould on, girl!” he shouted. “Ma-chree! Machree! + The darling's dancing like a drumstick!” + </p> + <p> + “Faster!” cried Kate. “Faster!” + </p> + <p> + The red ribbon had fallen from her head, and the wavy black hair was + tumbling about her face. She was holding up her skirt with one hand, and + the other arm was akimbo at her waist. Guggling, chuckling, crowing, + panting, boiling, and bubbling with the animal life which all her days had + been suppressed, and famished and starved into moans and groans, she was + carried away by her own fire, gave herself up to it, and danced on the + flags of the kitchen which had served Cæsar for his practical typology, + like a creature intoxicated with new breath. + </p> + <p> + Meantime Cæsar himself, coming home in his chapel hat (his tall black + beaver) from Peel, where he had been buying the year's stock of herrings + at the boat's side, had overtaken, on the road, the venerable parson of + his parish, Parson Quiggin of Lezayre. Drawing up the gig with a “Woa!” he + had invited the old clergyman to a lift by his side on the gig's seat, + which was cushioned with a sack of hay. The parson had accepted the + invitation, and with a preliminary “Aisy! Your legs a taste higher, sir, + just to keep the pickle off your trousers,” a “Gee up!” and a touch of the + whip, they were away together, with the light of the gig-lamp on the + hind-quarters of the mare, as they bobbed and screwed like a mill-race + under the splash-hoard. + </p> + <p> + It was Cæsar's chance, and he took it. Having pinned one of the heads of + the Church, he gave him his views on the Romans, and on the general + encroachment of Popery. The parson listened complacently. He was a + tolerant old soul, with a round face, expressive of perpetual happiness, + though he was always blinking his little eyes and declaring, with the + Preacher, that all earthly things were vain. Hence he was nicknamed Old + Vanity of Vanities. + </p> + <p> + The gig had swept past Sulby Chapel when Cæsar began to ask for the + parson's opinion of certain texts. + </p> + <p> + “And may I presume, Pazon Quiggin, what d'ye think of the text—'Praise + the Lord. O my soul, and all that is within me praise His Holy Name?'” + </p> + <p> + “A very good text after meat, Mr. Cregeen,” said the parson, blinking his + little eyes in the dark. + </p> + <p> + It was Cæsar's favourite text, and his fire was kindled at the parson's + praise. “Man alive,” he cried, his hot breath tickling the parson's neck, + “I've praiched on that text, pazon, till it's wet me through to the + waistcoat.” + </p> + <p> + They were near to “The Manx Fairy” by this time. + </p> + <p> + “And talking of praise,” said Cæsar, “I hear them there at their + practices. Asking pardon now—it's proud I'd be, sir—perhaps + you'd not be thinking mane to come in and hear the way we do 'Crown Him!'” + </p> + <p> + “So the saints use the fiddle,” said the parson, as the gig drew up at the + porch of the inn. + </p> + <p> + Half a minute afterwards the door of the parlour flew open with a bang, + and Cæsar stood and glared on the threshold with the parson's ruddy face + behind him. There was a moment's silence. The uplifted toe of Katherine + trailed back to the ground, the fiddle of Pete slithered to his farther + side, and the smacking lips of Niplightly transfixed themselves agape. + Then the voice of the parson was heard to say, “Vanity, vanity, all is + vanity!” and suddenly Cæsar, still on the threshold, went down on his + knees to pray. + </p> + <p> + Cæsar's prayer was only a short one. His mortified pride called for + quicker solace. Rising to his feet with as much dignity as he could + command under the twinkling eyes of the parson, he stuttered, “The capers! + Making a dacent house into a theaytre! Respectable person, too—one + of the first that's going! So,” facing the spectators, “just help + yourselves home the pack of you! As for these ones,” turning on Kate, + Pete, and the constable, “there'll be no more of your practices. I'll do + without the music of three saints like you. In future I'll have three + sinners to raise my singing. These polices, too!” he said with a withering + smile. (Niplightly was worming his way out at the back of Parson Quiggin.) + </p> + <p> + “Who began it?” shouted Cæsar, looking at Katherine. + </p> + <p> + From the moment that Cæsar dropped on his knees at the door, Pete had been + well-nigh choked by an impulse to laugh aloud. But now he bit his lip and + said, “I did!” + </p> + <p> + “Behould ye now, as imperent as a goat!” said Cæsar, working his eyebrows + vigorously. “You've mistaken your profession, boy. It's a play-actorer + they ought to be making of you. You're wasting your time with a plain, + respectable man like me. You must lave me. Away to the loft for your + chiss, boy! And just give sheet, my lad, and don't lay to till you've + fetched up at another lodgings.” + </p> + <p> + Pete, with his eye on the parson's face, could control himself no longer, + and he laughed so loud that the room rang. + </p> + <p> + “Right's the word, ould Nebucannezzar,” he cried, and heaved up to his + feet. “So long, Kitty, woman! S'long! We'll finish it another night + though, and then the ould man himself will be houlding the candle.” + </p> + <p> + Outside in the road somebody touched him on the shoulder. It was the young + man in the Alpine hat. + </p> + <p> + “My gough! What? Phil!” cried Pete, and he laid hold of him with both + hands at once. + </p> + <p> + “I've just finished at King William's and bought a boat,” said Philip, + “and I came up to ask you to join me—congers and cods, you know—good + fun anyway. Are you willing?” + </p> + <p> + “Willing!” cried Pete. “Am I jumping for joy?” + </p> + <p> + And away they went down the road, swinging their legs together with a + lively step. + </p> + <p> + “That's a nice girl, though—Kitty, Kate, what do you call her?” said + Phil. + </p> + <p> + “Were you in then? So you saw her dancing?” said Pete eagerly. “Aw, yes, + nice,” he said warmly, “nice uncommon,” he added absently, and then with a + touch of sadness, “shocking nice!” + </p> + <p> + Presently they heard the pattering of light feet in the darkness behind + them, and a voice like a broken cry calling “Pete!” + </p> + <p> + It was Kate. She came up panting and catching her breath in hiccoughs, + took Pete's face in both her hands, drew it down to her own face, kissed + it on the mouth, and was gone again without a word. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI. + </h2> + <p> + Philip had not been a success at school; he had narrowly escaped being a + failure. During his earlier years he had shown industry without gifts; + during his later years he had shown gifts without industry. His childish + saying became his by-word, and half in sport, half in earnest, with a + smile on his lips, and a shuddering sense of fascination, he would say + when the wind freshened, “The sea's calling me, I must be off.” The blood + of the old sea-dog, his mother's father, was strong in him. Idleness led + to disaster, and disaster to some disgrace. He was indifferent to both + while at school, but shame found him out at home. + </p> + <p> + “You'll be sixteen for spring,” said Auntie Nan, “and what would your poor + father say if he were alive? He thought worlds of his boy, and always said + what a man he would be some day.” + </p> + <p> + That was the shaft that found Philip. The one passion that burned in his + heart like a fire was reverence for the name and the will of his dead + father. The big hopes of the broken man had sometimes come as a torture to + the boy when the blood of the old salt was rioting within him. But now + they came as a spur. + </p> + <p> + Philip went back to school and worked like a slave. There were only three + terms left, and it was too late for high honours, but the boy did wonders. + He came out well, and the masters were astonished. “After all,” they said, + “there's no denying it, the boy Christian must have the gift of genius. + There's nothing he might not do.” + </p> + <p> + If Phil had much of the blood of Captain Billy, Pete had much of the blood + of Black Tom. After leaving the mill at Sulby, Pete made his home in the + cabin of the smack. What he was to eat, and how he was to be clothed, and + where he was to be lodged when the cold nights came, never troubled his + mind for an instant. He had fine times with his partner. The terms of + their partnership were simple. Phil took the fun and made Pete take the + fish. They were a pair of happy-go-lucky lads, and they looked to the + future with cheerful faces. + </p> + <p> + There was one shadow over their content, and that was the ghost of a gleam + of sunshine. It made daylight between them, though, day by day as they ran + together like two that run a race. The prize was Katherine Cregeen. Pete + talked of her till Phil's heart awoke and trembled; but Phil hardly knew + it was so, and Pete never once suspected it. Neither confessed to the + other, and the shifts of both to hide the secret of each were boyish and + beautiful. + </p> + <p> + There is a river famous for trout that rises in Sulby glen and flows into + Ramsey harbour. One of the little attempts of the two lads to deceive each + other was to make believe that it was their duty to fish this river with + the rod, and so wander away singly up the banks of the stream until they + came to “The Manx Fairy,” and then drop in casually to quench the thirst + of so much angling. Towards the dusk of evening Philip, in a tall silk hat + over a jacket and knickerbockers, would come upon Pete by the Sulby + bridge, washed, combed, and in a collar. Then there would be looks of + great surprise on both sides. “What, Phil! Is it yourself, though? Just + thought I'd see if the trouts were biting to-night. Dear me, this is Sulby + too! And bless my soul, 'The Fairy' again I Well, a drop of drink will do + no harm. Shall we put a sight on them inside, eh?” After that prelude they + would go into the house together. + </p> + <p> + This little comedy was acted every night for weeks. It was acted on + Hollantide Eve six months after Pete had been turned out by Cæsar. Grannie + was sitting by the glass partition, knitting at intervals, serving at the + counter occasionally and scoring up on a black board that was a mass of + chalk hieroglyphics. Cæsar himself in ponderous spectacles and with a big + book in his hands was sitting in the kitchen behind with his back to the + glass, so as to make the lamp of the business serve also for his studies. + On a bench in the bar sat Black Tom, smoking, spitting, scraping his feet + on the sanded floor, and looking like a gigantic spider with enormous bald + head. At his side was a thin man with a face pitted by smallpox, and a + forehead covered with strange protuberances. This was Jonaique Jelly, + barber, clock-mender, and Manx patriot. The postman was there, too, Kelly + the Thief, a tiny creature with twinkling ferret eyes, and a face that had + a settled look of age, as of one born old, being wrinkled in squares like + the pointing of a cobble wall. + </p> + <p> + At sight of Pete, Grannie made way, and he pushed through to the kitchen, + where he seated himself in a seat in the fireplace just in front of the + peat closet, and under the fish hanging to smoke. At sight of Phil she + dropped her needles, smoothed her front hair, rose in spite of protest, + and wiped down a chair by the ingle. Cæsar eyed Pete in silence from + between the top rim of his spectacles and the bottom edge of the big book; + but as Philip entered he lowered the book and welcomed him. Nancy Joe was + coming and going in her clogs like a rip-rap let loose between the dairy + and a pot of potatoes in their jackets which swung from the slowrie, the + hook over the fire. A moment later Kate came flitting through the half-lit + kitchen, her black eyes dancing and her mouth rippling in smiles. She + courtesied to Philip, grimaced at Pete, and disappeared. + </p> + <p> + Then from the other side of the glass partition came the husky voice of + the postman, saying, “Well, I must be taking the road, gentlemen. There's + Manx ones starting for Kim-berley by the early sailing to-morrow morning.” + </p> + <p> + And then came the voice of the barber in a hoarse falsetto: “Kimberley! + That's the place for good men I'm always saying. There's Billy the Red + back home with a fortune. And ould Corlett—look at ould Corlett, the + Ballabeg! Five years away at the diggings, and left a house worth twenty + pounds per year per annum, not to spake of other hereditaments.” + </p> + <p> + After that the rasping voice of Black Tom, in a tone of irony and + contempt: “Of coorse, aw, yes, of coorse, there's goold on the cushags + there, they're telling me. But I thought you were a man that's all for the + island, Mr. Jelly.” + </p> + <p> + “Lave me alone for that,” said the voice of the barber. “Manx-land for the + Manx-man—that's the text I'm houlding to. But what's it saying, + 'Custom must be indulged with custom, or custom will die?' And with these + English scouring over it like puffins on the Calf, it isn't much that's + left of the ould island but the name. The best of the Manx boys are going + away foreign, same as these ones.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I've letters for them to the packet-office anyway,” said the + postman. + </p> + <p> + “Who are they, Mr. Kelly?” called Philip, through the doorway. + </p> + <p> + “Some of the Quarks ones from Glen Rushen, sir, and the Gills boys from + Castletown over. Good-night all, goodnight!” + </p> + <p> + The door closed behind the postman, and Black Tom growled, “Slips of lads—I + know them.” + </p> + <p> + “Smart though, smart uncommon,” said the barber; “that's the only sort + they're wanting out yonder.” + </p> + <p> + There was a contemptuous snort. “So? You'd better go to Kimberley + yourself, then.” + </p> + <p> + “Turn the clock back a piece and I'll start before you've time to curl + your hair,” said the barber. + </p> + <p> + Black Tom was lifting his pot. “That's the one thing,” said he, “the + Almighty Himself” (gulp, gulp) “can't do.” + </p> + <p> + “Which?” tittered the barber. + </p> + <p> + “Both,” said Black Tom, scratching his big head, as bald as a bladder. + </p> + <p> + Cæsar flashed about with his face to the glass partition. “You're like the + rest of the infidels, sir,” said he, “only spaking to contradick yourself—calling + God the Almighty, and telling in the same breath of something He can't + do.” + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile an encounter of another sort was going on at the ingle. Kate had + re-appeared with a table fork which she used at intervals to test the + boiling of the potatoes. At each approach to the fire she passed close to + where Pete sat, never looking at Phil above the level of his boots. And as + often as she bent over the pot, Pete put his arm round her waist, being so + near and so tempting. For thus pestering her she beat her foot like a + goat, and screwed on a look of anger which broke down in a stifled laugh; + but she always took care to come again to Pete's side rather than to + Phil's, until at last the nudging and shoving ended in a pinch and a + little squeal, and a quick cry of “What's that?” from Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + Kate vanished like a flash, the dim room began to frown again, and Phil to + draw his breath heavily, when the girl came back as suddenly bringing an + apple and a length of string. Mounting a chair, she fixed one end of the + string to the lath of the ceiling by the peck, the parchment oatcake pan, + and the other end she tied to the stalk of the apple. + </p> + <p> + “What's the jeel now?” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “Fancy! Don't you know? Not heard f'Hop-tu-naa'? It's Hollantide Eve, + man,” said Kate. + </p> + <p> + Then setting the string going like a pendulum, she stood back a pace with + hands clasped behind her, and snapped at the apple as it swung, sometimes + catching it, sometimes missing it, sometimes marking it, sometimes biting + it, her body bending and rising with its waggle, and nod, and bob, her + mouth opening and closing, her white teeth gleaming, and her whole face + bubbling over with delight. At every touch the speed increased, and the + laughter grew louder as the apple went faster. Everybody, except the + miller, joined in the fun. Phil cried out on the girl to look to her + teeth, but Pete egged her on to test the strength of them. + </p> + <p> + “Snap at it, Kitty!” cried Pete. “Aw, lost! Lost again! Ow! One in the + cheek! No matter! Done!” + </p> + <p> + And Black Tom and Mr. Jelly stood up to watch through the doorway. “My + goodness grayshers!” cried one. “What a mouthful!” said the other. “Share + it, Kitty, woman; aw, share and share alike, you know.” + </p> + <p> + But then came the thunderous tones of Cæsar. “Drop it, drop it! Such + practices is nothing but Popery.” + </p> + <p> + “Popery!” cried Black Tom from over the counter. “Chut! nonsense, man! The + like of it was going before St. Patrick was born.” + </p> + <p> + Kate was puffing and panting and taking down the pendulum. + </p> + <p> + “What does it mean then, Tom?” she said; “it's you for knowing things.” + </p> + <p> + “Mane? It manes fairies!” + </p> + <p> + “Fairies!” + </p> + <p> + Black Tom sat down with a complacent air, and his rasping voice came from + the other side of the glass. “In the ould times gone by, girl, before + Manxmen got too big for their breeches, they'd be off to bed by ten + o'clock on Hollantide Eve to lave room for the little people that's + outside to come in. And the big woman of the house would be filling the + crocks for the fairies to drink, and the big man himself would be raking + the ashes so they might bake their cakes, and a girl, same as you, would + be going to bed backwards——” + </p> + <p> + “I know! I know!” cried Kate, near to the ceiling, and clapping her hands. + “She eats a roasted apple, and goes to bed thirsty, and then dreams that + somebody brings her a drink of water, and that's the one that's to be her + husband, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “You've got it, girl.” + </p> + <p> + Cæsar had been listening with his eyes turned sideways off his book, and + now he cried, “Then drop it, I'm telling you. It's nothing but instruments + of Satan, and the ones that's telling it are just flying in the face of + faith from superstition and contrariety. It isn't dacent in a Christian + public-house, and I'm for having no more of it.” + </p> + <p> + Grannie paused in her knitting, fixed her cap with one of her needles and + said, “Dear heart, father! Tom meant no harm.” Then, glancing at the clock + and rising, “But it's time to shut up the house, anyway. Good night, Tom! + Good night all! Good night!” + </p> + <p> + Phil and Pete rose also. Pete went to the door and pretended to look out, + then came back to Kate's side and whispered, “Come, give them the slip—there's + somebody outside that's waiting for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Let them wait,” said the girl, but she laughed, and Pete knew she would + come. Then he turned to Philip, “A word in your ear, Phil,” he said, and + took him by the arm and drew him out of the house and round to the yard of + the stable. + </p> + <p> + “Well, good night, Grannie,” said Mr. Jelly, going out behind them. “But + if I were as young as your grandson there, Mr. Quilliam, I would be making + a start for somewhere.” + </p> + <p> + “Grandson!” grunted Tom, heaving up, “I've got no grandson, or he wouldn't + be laving me to smoke a dry pipe. But he's making an Almighty of this Phil + Christian—that's it.” + </p> + <p> + After they were gone, Grannie began counting the till and saying, “As for + fairies—one, two, three—it may be, as Cæsar says—four—five—the + like isn't in, but it's safer to be civil to them anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, yes,” said Nancy Joe, “a crock of fresh water and a few good words + going to bed on Hollantide Eve does no harm at all, at all.” + </p> + <p> + Outside in the stable-yard the feet of Black Tom and Jonaique Jelly were + heard going off on the road. The late moon was hanging low, red as an + evening sun, over the hill to the south-east. Pete was puffing and blowing + as if he had been running a race. “Quick, boy, quick!” he was whispering, + “Kate's coming. A word in your ear first. Will you do me a turn, Phil?” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “Spake to the ould man for me while I spake to the girl!” + </p> + <p> + “What about?” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + But Pete could hear, nothing except his own voice. “The ould angel + herself, she's all right, but the ould man's hard. Spake for me, Phil; + you've got the fine English tongue at you.” + </p> + <p> + “But what about?” Philip said again. + </p> + <p> + “Say I may be a bit of a rip, but I'm not such a bad sort anyway. Make me + out a taste, Phil, and praise me up. Say I'll be as good as goold; yes, + will I though. Tell him he has only to say yes, and I'll be that studdy + and willing and hardworking and persevering you never seen.” + </p> + <p> + “But, Pete, Pete, Pete, whatever am I to say all this about?” + </p> + <p> + Pete's puffing and panting ceased. “What about? Why, about the girl for + sure.” + </p> + <p> + “The girl!” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “What else?” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “Kate? Am I to speak for you to the father for Kate?” + </p> + <p> + Philip's voice seemed to come up from the bottom depths of his throat. + </p> + <p> + “Are you thinking hard of the job, Phil?” + </p> + <p> + There was a moment's silence. The blood had rushed to Philip's face, which + was full of strange matter, but the darkness concealed it. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't say that,” he faltered. + </p> + <p> + Pete mistook Philip's hesitation for a silent commentary on his own + unworthiness. “I know I'm only a sort of a waistrel,” he said, “but, Phil, + the way I'm loving that girl it's shocking. I can never take rest for + thinking of her. No, I'm not sleeping at night nor working reg'lar in the + day neither. Everything is telling of her, and everything is shouting her + name. It's 'Kate' in the sea, and 'Kate' in the river, and the trees and + the gorse. 'Kate,' 'Kate,' 'Kate,' it's Kate constant, and I can't stand + much more of it. I'm loving the girl scandalous, that's the truth, Phil.” + </p> + <p> + Pete paused, but Philip gave no sign. + </p> + <p> + “It's hard to praise me, that's sarten sure,” said Pete, “but I've known + her since she was a little small thing in pinafores, and I was a slip of a + big boy, and went into trousers, and we played Blondin in the glen + together.” + </p> + <p> + Still Philip did not speak. He was gripping the stable-wall with his + trembling fingers, and struggling for composure. Pete scraped the + paving-stones at his feet, and mumbled again in a voice that was near to + breaking. “Spake for me, Phil. It's you to do it. You've the way of saying + things, and making them out to look something. It would be clane ruined in + a jiffy if I did it for myself. Spake for me, boy, now won't you, now?” + </p> + <p> + Still Philip was silent. He was doing his best to swallow a lump in his + throat. His heart had begun to know itself. In the light of Pete's + confession he had read his own secret. To give the girl up was one thing; + it was another to plead for her for Pete. But Pete's trouble touched him. + The lump at his throat went down, and the fingers on the wall slacked + away. “I'll do it,” he said, only his voice was like a sob. + </p> + <p> + Then he tried to go off hastily that he might hide the emotion that came + over him like a flood that had broken its dam. But Pete gripped him by the + shoulder, and peered into his face in the dark. “You will, though,” said + Pete, with a little shout of joy; “then it's as good as done; God bless + you, old fellow.” + </p> + <p> + Philip began to roll about. “Tut, it's nothing,” he said, with a stout + heart, and then he laughed a laugh with a cry in it. He could have said no + more without breaking down; but just then a flash of light fell on them + from the house, and a hushed voice cried, “Pete!” + </p> + <p> + “It's herself,” whispered Pete. “She's coming! She's here!” + </p> + <p> + Philip turned, and saw Kate in the doorway of the dairy, the sweet young + figure framed like a silhouette by the light behind. + </p> + <p> + “I'm going!” said Philip, and he edged up to the house as the girl stepped + out. + </p> + <p> + Pete followed him a step or two in approaching Kate. “Whist, man!” he + whispered. “Tell the old geezer I'll be going to chapel reglar early tides + and late shifts, and Sunday-school constant. And, whist! tell him I'm + larning myself to play on the harmonia.” + </p> + <p> + Then Philip slithered softly through the dairy door, and shut it after + him, leaving Kate and Pete together. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0009" id="link2H_4_0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII. + </h2> + <p> + The kitchen of “The Manx Fairy” was now savoury with the odour of herrings + roasting in their own brine, and musical with the crackling and frizzling + of the oil as it dropped into the fire. + </p> + <p> + “It's a long way back to Ballure, Mrs. Cregeen,” said Philip, popping his + head in at the door jamb. “May I stay to a bite of supper?” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, stay and welcome,” said Cæsar, putting down the big book, and Nancy + Joe said the same, dropping her high-pitched voice perceptibly, and + Grannie said, also, “Right welcome, sir, if you'll not be thinking mane to + take pot luck with us. Potatoes and herrings, Mr. Christian; just a + Manxman's supper. Lift the pot off the slowrie, Nancy.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, and isn't he a Manxman himself, mother?” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “Of course I am, Mr. Cregeen,” said Philip, laughing noisily. “If I'm not, + who should be, eh?'” + </p> + <p> + “And Manxman or no Manxman, what for should he turn up his nose at + herrings same as these?” said Nancy Joe. She was dishing up a bowlful. + “Where'll he get the like of them? Not in England over, I'll go bail.” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, no, Nancy,” said Philip, still laughing needlessly. + </p> + <p> + “And if they had them there, the poor, useless creatures would be lost to + cook them.” + </p> + <p> + “'Deed, would they, Nancy,” said Grannie. She was rolling the potatoes + into a heap on to the bare table. “And we've much to be thankful for, with + potatoes and herrings three times a day; but we shouldn't be thinking + proud of our-selves for that.” + </p> + <p> + “Ask the gentleman to draw up, mother,” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “Draw up, sir, draw up. Here's your bowl of butter-milk. A knife and fork, + Nancy. We're no people for knife and fork to a herring, sir. And a plate + for Mr. Christian, woman; a gentleman usually likes a plate. Now ate, sir, + ate and welcome—but where's your friend, though?” + </p> + <p> + “Pete! oh! he's not far off.” Saying this, Philip interrupted his laughter + to distribute sage winks between Nancy Joe and Grannie. + </p> + <p> + Cæsar looked around with a potato half peeled in his fingers. “And the + girl—where's Kate?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “She's not far off neither,” said Philip, still winking vigorously. “But + don't trouble about them, Mr. Cregeen. They'll want no supper. They're + feeding on sweeter things than herrings even.” Saying this he swallowed a + gulp with another laugh. + </p> + <p> + Cæsar lifted his head with a pinch of his herring between finger and thumb + half way to his open mouth. “Were you spaking, sir?” he said. + </p> + <p> + At that Philip laughed immoderately. It was a relief to drown with + laughter the riot going on within. + </p> + <p> + “Aw, dear, what's agate of the boy?” thought Grannie. + </p> + <p> + “Is it a dog bite that's working on him?” thought Nancy. + </p> + <p> + “Speaking!” cried Philip, “of course I'm speaking. I've come in to do it, + Mr. Cregeen—I've come in to speak for Pete. He's fond of your + daughter, Cæsar, and wants your good-will to marry her.” + </p> + <p> + “Lord-a-massy!” cried Nancy Joe. + </p> + <p> + “Dear heart alive!” muttered Grannie. + </p> + <p> + “Peter Quilliam!” said Cæsar, “did you say Peter?” + </p> + <p> + “I did, Mr. Cregeen, Peter Quilliam,” said Philip stoutly, “my friend + Pete, a rough fellow, perhaps, and without much education, but the + best-hearted lad in the island. Come now, Cæsar, say the word, sir, and + make the young people happy.” + </p> + <p> + He almost foundered over that last word, but Cæsar kept him up with a + searching look. + </p> + <p> + “Why, I picked him out of the streets, as you might say,” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “So you did, Mr. Cregeen, so you did. I always thought you were a + discerning man, Cæsar. What do you say, Grannie? It's Cæsar for knowing a + deserving lad when he sees one, eh?” + </p> + <p> + He gave another round of his cunning winks, and Grannie replied, “Aw, + well, it's nothing against either of them anyway.” + </p> + <p> + Cæsar was gitting as straight as a crowbar and as grim as a gannet. “And + when he left me, he gave me imperence and disrespeck.” + </p> + <p> + “But the lad meant no harm, father,” said Grannie; “and hadn't you told + him to take to the road?” + </p> + <p> + “Let every bird hatch its own eggs, mother; it'll become you better,” said + Cæsar. “Yes, sir, the lip of Satan and the imperence of sin.” + </p> + <p> + “Pete!” cried Philip, in a tone of incredulity; “why, he hasn't a thought + about you that isn't out of the Prayer-book.” + </p> + <p> + Cæsar snorted. “No? Then maybe that's where he's going for his curses.” + </p> + <p> + “No curses at all,” said Nancy Joe, from the side of the table, “but a + right good lad though, and you've never had another that's been a patch on + him.” + </p> + <p> + Cæsar screwed round to her and said severely, “Where there's geese there's + dirt, and where there's women there's talking.” Then turning back to + Philip, he said in a tone of mock deference, “And may I presume, sir—a + little question—being a thing like that's general understood—what's + his fortune?” + </p> + <p> + Philip fell back in his chair. “Fortune? Well, I didn't think that you now——” + </p> + <p> + “No?” said Cæsar. “We're not children of Israel in the wilderness getting + manna dropped from heaven twice a day. If it's only potatoes and herrings + itself, we're wanting it three times, you see.” + </p> + <p> + Do what he would to crush it, Philip could not help feeling a sense of + relief. Fate was interfering; the girl was not for Pete. For the first + moment since he returned to the kitchen he breathed freely and fully. But + then came the prick of conscience: he had come to plead for Pete, and he + must be loyal; he must not yield; he must exhaust all his resources of + argument and persuasion. The wild idea occurred to him to take Cæsar by + force of the Bible. + </p> + <p> + “But think what the old book says, Mr. Cregeen, 'take no thought for the + morrow'——” + </p> + <p> + “That's what Johnny Niplightly said, Mr. Christian, when he lit my kiln + overnight and burnt my oats before morning.”. + </p> + <p> + “'But consider the lilies'——” + </p> + <p> + “I have considered them, sir; but I'm foiling still and mother has to + spin.” + </p> + <p> + “And isn't Pete able to toil, too,” said Philip boldly. “Nobody better in + the island; there's not a lazy bone in his body, and he'll earn his living + anywhere.” + </p> + <p> + “What <i>is</i> his living, sir?” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + Philip halted for an answer, and then said, “Well, he's only with me in + the boat at present, Mr. Cregeen.” + </p> + <p> + “And what's he getting? His meat and drink and a bit of pence, eh? And + you'll be selling up some day, it's like, and going away to England over, + and then where is he? Let the girl marry a mother-naked man at once.” + </p> + <p> + “But you're wanting help yourself, father,” said Grannie. “Yes, you are + though, and time for chapel too and aisément in your old days——” + </p> + <p> + “Give the lad my mill as well as my daughter, is that it, eh?” said Cæsar. + “No, I'm not such a goose as yonder, either. I could get heirs, sir, + heirs, bless ye—fifty acres and better, not to spake of the bas'es. + But I can do without them. The Lord's blest me with enough. I'm not for + daubing grease on the tail of the fat pig.” + </p> + <p> + “Just so, Cæsar,” said Philip, “just so; you can afford to take a poor man + for your son-in-law, and there's Pete——” + </p> + <p> + “I'd be badly in want of a bird, though, to give a groat for an owl,” said + Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “The lad means well, anyway,” said Grannie; “and he was that good to his + mother, poor thing—it was wonderful.” + </p> + <p> + “I knew the woman,” said Cæsar; “I broke a sod of her grave myself. A + brand plucked from the burning, but not a straight walker in this life. + And what is the lad himself? A monument of sin without a name. A bastard, + what else? And that's not the port I'm sailing for.” + </p> + <p> + Down to this point Philip had been torn by conflicting feelings. He was no + match for Cæsar in worldly logic, or at fencing with texts of Scripture. + The devil had been whispering at his ear, “Let it alone, you'd better.” + But his time had come at length to conquer both himself and Cæsar. Rising + to his feet at Cæsar's last word, he cried in a voice of wrath, “What? You + call yourself a Christian man, and punish the child for the sin of the + parent! No name, indeed! Let me tell you, Mr. Cæsar Cregeen, it's possible + to have one name in heaven that's worse than none at all on earth, and + that's the name of a hypocrite.” + </p> + <p> + So saying he threw back his chair, and was making for the door, when Cæsar + rose and said softly, “Come into the bar and have something.” Then, + looking back at Philip's plate, he forced a laugh, and said, “But you've + turned over your herring, sir—that's bad luck.” And, putting a hand + on Philip's shoulder, he added, in a lower tone, “No disrespeck to you, + sir; and no harm to the lad, but take my word for it, Mr. Christian, if + there's an amble in the mare it'll be in the colt.” + </p> + <p> + Philip went off without another word. The moon was rising and whitening as + he stepped from the door. Outside the porch a figure flitted past him in + the uncertain shadows with a merry trill of mischievous laughter. He found + Pete in the road, puffing and blowing as before, but from a different + cause. + </p> + <p> + “The living devil's in the girl for sartin,” said Pete; “I can't get my + answer out of her either way.” He had been chasing her for his answer, and + she had escaped him through a gate. “But what luck with the ould man, + Phil?” + </p> + <p> + Then Phil told him of the failure of his mission—told him plainly + and fully but tenderly, softening the hard sayings but revealing the whole + truth. As he did so he was conscious that he was not feeling like one who + brings bad news. He knew that his mouth in the darkness was screwed up + into an ugly smile, and, do what he would; he could not make it straight + and sorrowful. + </p> + <p> + The happy laughter died off Pete's, lips, and he listened at first in + silence, and afterwards with low growls. When Phil showed him how his + poverty was his calamity he said, “Ay, ay, I'm only a wooden-spoon man.” + When Phil told him how Cæsar had ripped up their old dead quarrel he + muttered, “I'm on the ebby tide, Phil, that's it.” And when Phil hinted at + what Cæsar had said of his mother and of the impediment of his own birth, + a growl came up from the very depths of him, and he scraped the stones + under his feet and said, “He shall repent it yet; yes, shall he.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, don't take it so much to heart—it's miserable to bring you + such bad news,” said Phil; but he knew the sickly smile was on his lips + still, and he hated himself for the sound of his own voice. + </p> + <p> + Pete found no hollow ring in it. “God bless you, Phil,” he said; “you've + done the best for me, I know that. My pocket's as low as my heart, and it + isn't fair to the girl, or I shouldn't be asking the ould man's lave + anyway.” + </p> + <p> + He stood a moment in silence, crunching the wooden laths of the garden + fence like matchwood in his fingers, and then said, with sudden + resolution, “I know what I'll do.” + </p> + <p> + “What's that?” said Philip.. “I'll go abroad; I'll go to Kimberley.” + </p> + <p> + “Never!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, will I though, and quick too. You heard what the men were saying in + the evening—there's Manx ones going by the boat in the morning? + Well, I'll go with them.” + </p> + <p> + “And you talk of being low in your pocket,” said Phil. “Why, it will take + all you've got, man.” + </p> + <p> + “And more, too,” said Pete, “but you'll lend me the lave of the + passage-money. That's getting into debt, but no matter. When a man falls + into the water he needn't mind the rain. I'll make good money out yonder.” + </p> + <p> + A light had appeared at the window of an upper room, and Pete shook his + clenched fist at it and cried, “Good-bye, Master Cregeen. I'll put worlds + between us. You were my master once, but nobody made you my master for + ever—neither you nor no man.” + </p> + <p> + All this time Philip knew that hell was in his heart. The hand that had + let him loose when his anger got the better of him with Cæsar was + clutching at him again. Some evil voice at his ear was whispering, “Let + him go; lend him the money.” + </p> + <p> + “Come on, Pete,” he faltered, “and don't talk nonsense!” + </p> + <p> + But Pete heard nothing. He had taken a few steps forward, as far as to the + stable-yard, and was watching the light in the house. It was moving from + window to window of the dark wall. “She's taking the father's candle,” he + muttered. “She's there,” he said softly. “No, she has gone. She's coming + back though.” He lifted the stocking cap from his head and fumbled it in + his hands. “God bless her,” he murmured. He sank to his knees on the + ground. “And take care of her while I'm away.” + </p> + <p> + The moon had come up in her whiteness behind, and all was quiet and solemn + around. Philip fell back and turned away his face. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0010" id="link2H_4_0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VIII. + </h2> + <p> + When Cæsar came in after seeing Philip to the door, he said, “Not a word + of this to the girl. You that are women are like pigs—we've got to + pull the way we don't want you.” + </p> + <p> + On that Kate herself came in, blushing a good deal, and fussing about with + great vigour. “Are you talking of the piggies, father?” she said artfully. + “How tiresome they are, to be sure! They came out into the yard when the + moon rose and I had such work to get them back.” + </p> + <p> + Cæsar snorted a little, and gave the signal for bed. “Fairies indeed!” he + said, in a tone of vast contempt, going to the corner to wind the clock. + “Just wakeness of faith,” he said over the clank of the chain as the + weights rose; “and no trust in God neither,” he added, and then the clock + struck ten. + </p> + <p> + Grannie had lit two candles—one for herself and her husband, the + other for Nancy Joe. Nancy had slyly filled three earthenware crocks with + water from the well, and had set them on the table, mumbling something + about the kettle and the morning. And Cæsar himself, pretending not to see + anything, and muttering dark words about waste, went from the clock to the + hearth, and raked out the hot ashes to a flat surface, on which you might + have laid a girdle for baking cakes. + </p> + <p> + “Good-night, Nancy,” called Grannie, from half-way up the stairs, and + Cæsar, with his head down, followed grumbling. Nancy went off next, and + then Kate was left alone. She had to put out the lamp and wait for her + father's candle. + </p> + <p> + When the lamp was gone the girl was in the dark, save for the dim light of + the smouldering fire. She began to tremble and to laugh in a whisper. Her + eyes danced in the red glow of the dying turf. She slipped off her shoes + and went to a closet in the wall. There she picked an apple out of a + barrel, and brought it to the fire and roasted it. Then, down on her knees + before the hearth, she took took two pinches of the apple and swallowed + them. After that and a little shudder she rose again, and turned about to + go to bed, backwards, slowly, tremblingly, with measured steps, feeling + her way past the furniture, having a shock when she touched anything, and + laughing to herself, nervously, when she remembered what it was. + </p> + <p> + At the door of her father's room and Grannie's she called, with a quaver + in her voice, and a sleepy grunt came out to her. She reached one hand + through the door, which was ajar, and took the burning candle. Then she + blew out the light with a trembling puff, that had to be twice repeated, + and made for her own bedroom, still going backwards. + </p> + <p> + It was a sweet little chamber over the dairy, smelling of new milk and + ripe apples, and very dainty in dimity and muslin. Two tiny windows looked + out from it, one on to the stable-yard and the other on to the orchard. + The late moon came through the orchard window, over the heads of the dwarf + trees, and the little white place was lit up from the floor to the sloping + thatch. + </p> + <p> + Kate went backwards as far as to the bed, and sat down on it She fancied + she heard a step in the yard, but the yard window was at her back, and she + would not look behind. She listened, but heard nothing more except a + see-sawing noise from the stable, where the mare was running her rope in + the manger ring. Nothing but this and the cheep-cheep of a mouse that was + gnawing the wood somewhere in the floor. + </p> + <p> + “Will he come?” she asked herself. + </p> + <p> + She rose and loosened her gown, and as it fell to her feet she laughed. + </p> + <p> + “Which will it be, I wonder—which?” she whispered. + </p> + <p> + The moonlight had crept up to the foot of the bed, and now lay on it like + a broad blue sword speckled as with rust by the patchwork counterpane. + </p> + <p> + She freed her hair from its red ribbon, and it fell in a shower about her + face. All around her seemed hushed and awful. She shuddered again, and + with a back ward hand drew down the sheets. Then she took a long, deep + breath, like a sigh that is half a smile, and lay down to sleep. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0011" id="link2H_4_0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IX. + </h2> + <p> + Somewhere towards the dawn, in the vague shadow-land between a dream and + the awakening, Kate thought she was startled by a handful of rice thrown + at her carriage on her marriage morning. The rattle came again, and then + she knew it was from gravel dashed at her bedroom window. As she + recognised the sound, a voice came as through a cavern, crying, “Kate!” + She was fully awake by this time. “Then it's to be Pete,” she thought. + “It's bound to be Pete, it's like,” she told herself. “It's himself + outside, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + It was Pete indeed. He was standing in the thin darkness under the window, + calling the girl's name out of the back of his throat, and whistling to + her in a sort of whisper. Presently he heard a movement inside the room, + and he said over his shoulder, “She's coming.” + </p> + <p> + There was the click of a latch and the slithering of a sash, and then out + through the little dark frame came a head like a picture, with a face all + laughter, crowned by a cataract of streaming black hair, and rounded off + at the throat by a shadowy hint of the white frills of a night-dress. + </p> + <p> + “Kate,” said Pete again. + </p> + <p> + She pretended to have come to the window merely to look out, and, like a + true woman, she made a little start at the sound of his voice, and a + little cry of dismay at the idea that he was so close beneath and had + taken her unawares. Then she peered down into the gloom and said, in a + tone of wondrous surprise, “It must be Pete, surely.” + </p> + <p> + “And so it is, Kate,” said Pete, “and he couldn't take rest without + spaking to you once again.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” she said, looking back and covering her eyes, and thinking of Black + Tom and the fairies. But suddenly the mischief of her sex came dancing + into her blood, and she could not help but plague the lad. “Have you lost + your way, Pete?” she asked, with an air of innocence. + </p> + <p> + “Not my way, but myself, woman,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “Lost yourself! Have the lad's wits gone moon-raking, I wonder? Are you + witched then, Pete?” she inquired, with vast solemnity. + </p> + <p> + “Aw, witched enough. Kate——” + </p> + <p> + “Poor fellow!” sighed Kate. “Did she strike you unknown and sudden?” + </p> + <p> + “Unknown it was, Kirry, and sudden, too. Listen, though——” + </p> + <p> + “Aw dear, aw dear! Was it old Mrs. Cowley of the Curragh? Did she turn + into a hare? Is it bitten you've been, Pete?” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, yes, bitten enough. But, Kate——” + </p> + <p> + “Then it was a dog, it's like. Is it flying from the water you are, Pete?” + </p> + <p> + “No, but flying <i>to</i> the water, woman. Kate, I say——” + </p> + <p> + “Is it burning they're doing for it?” + </p> + <p> + “Burning and freezing both. Will you hear me, though? I'm going away—hundreds + and thousands of miles away.” + </p> + <p> + Then from the window came a tone of great awe, uttered with face turned + upward as if to the last remaining star. + </p> + <p> + “Poor boy! Poor boy! it's bitten he is, for sure.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it's yourself that's bitten me. Kirry——” + </p> + <p> + There was a little crow of gaiety. “Me? Am I the witch? You called me a + fairy in the road this evening.” + </p> + <p> + “A fairy you are, girl, and a witch too; but listen, now——” + </p> + <p> + “You said I was an angel, though, at the cowhouse gable; and an angel + doesn't bite.” + </p> + <p> + Then she barked like a dog, and laughed a shrill laugh like a witch, and + barked again. + </p> + <p> + But Pete could bear no more. “Go on, then; go on with your capers! Go on!” + he cried, in a voice of reproach. “It's not a heart that's at you at all, + girl, but only a stone. You see a man going away from the island——” + </p> + <p> + “From the island?” Kate gasped. + </p> + <p> + “Middling down in the mouth, too, and plagued out of his life between the + ruck of you,” continued Pete; “but God forgive you all, you can't help + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you say you were going out of the island, Pete?” + </p> + <p> + “Coorse I did; but what's the odds? Africa, Kimberley, the Lord knows + where——” + </p> + <p> + “Kimberley! Not Kimberley, Pete!” + </p> + <p> + “Kimberley or Timbuctoo, what's it matter to the like of you? A man's + coming up in the morning to bid you good-bye before an early sailing, and + you're thinking of nothing but your capers and divilments.” + </p> + <p> + “It's you to know what a girl's thinking, isn't it, Mr. Pete? And why are + you flying in my face for a word?” + </p> + <p> + “Flying? I'm not flying. It's driven I am.” + </p> + <p> + “Driven, Pete?” + </p> + <p> + “Driven away by them that's thinking I'm not fit for you. Well, that's + true enough, but they shan't be telling me twice.” + </p> + <p> + “They? Who are they, Pete?” + </p> + <p> + “What's the odds? Flinging my mother at me, too—poor little mother! + And putting the bastard on me, it's like. A respectable man's girl isn't + going begging that she need marry a lad without a name.” + </p> + <p> + There was a sudden ejaculation from the window-sash. “Who dared to say + that?” + </p> + <p> + “No matter.” + </p> + <p> + “Whoever they are, you can tell them, if it's me they mean, that, name or + no name, when I want to marry I'll marry the man I like.” + </p> + <p> + “If I thought that now, Kitty——” + </p> + <p> + “As for you, Mr. Pete, that's so ready with your cross words, you can go + to your Kimberley. Yes, go, and welcome; and what's more—what's more——” + </p> + <p> + But the voice of anger, in the half light overhead, broke down suddenly + into an inarticulate gurgle. + </p> + <p> + “Why, what's this?” said Pete in a flurry. “You're not crying though, + Kate? Whatever am I saying to you, Kitty, woman? Here, here—bash me + on the head for a blockhead and an omathaun.” + </p> + <p> + And Pete was clambering up the wall by the side of the dairy window. + </p> + <p> + “Get down, then,” whispered Kate. + </p> + <p> + Her wrath was gone in a moment, and Pete, being nearer to her now, could + see tears of laughter dancing in her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Get down, Pete, or I'll shut the window, I will—yes, I will.” And, + to show how much she was in earnest in getting out of his reach, she shut + up the higher sash and opened the lower one. + </p> + <p> + “Darling!” cried Pete. + </p> + <p> + “Hush! What's that?” Kate whispered, and drew back on her knees. + </p> + <p> + “Is the door of the pig-sty open again?” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + Kate drew a breath of relief. “It's only somebody snoring,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “The ould man,” said Pete. “That's all serene! A good ould sheepdog, that + snaps more than, he bites, but he's best when he's sleeping—more + safer, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “What's the good of going away, Pete?” said Kate. “You'd have to make a + fortune to satisfy father.” + </p> + <p> + “Others have done it, Kitty—why shouldn't I? Manx ones too—silver + kings and diamond kings, and the Lord knows what. No fear of me! When I + come back it's a queen you'll be, woman—my queen, anyway, with pigs + and cattle and a girl to wash and do for you.” + </p> + <p> + “So that's how you'd bribe a poor girl is it? But you'd have to turn + religious, or father would never consent.” + </p> + <p> + “When I come home again, Kitty, I'll be that religious you never seen. + I'll be just rolling in it. You'll hear me spaking like the Book of + Genesis and Abraham, and his sons, and his cousins; I'll be coming up at + night making love to you at the cowhouse door like the Acts of the + Apostles.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that will be some sort of courting, anyway. But who says I'll be + wanting it? Who says I'm willing for you to go away at all with the notion + that I must be bound to marry you when you come back?” + </p> + <p> + “I do,” said Pete stoutly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, indeed, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Listen. I'll be working like a nigger out yonder, and making my pile, and + banking it up, and never seeing nothing but the goold and the girls——” + </p> + <p> + “My goodness! What do you say?” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, never fear! I'm a one-woman man, Kate; but loving one is giving me + eyes for all. And you'll be waiting for me constant, and never giving a + skute of your little eye to them drapers and druggists from Ramsey——” + </p> + <p> + “Not one of them? Not Jamesie Corrin, even—he's a nice boy, is + Jamesie.” + </p> + <p> + “That dandy-divil with the collar? Hould your capers, woman!” + </p> + <p> + “Nor young Ballawhaine—Ross Christian, you know?” + </p> + <p> + “Ross Christian be—well, no; but, honour bright, you'll be saying, + 'Peter's coming; I must be thrue!'” + </p> + <p> + “So I've got my orders, sir, eh? It's all settled then, is it? Hadn't you + better fix the wedding-day and take out the banns, now that your hand is + in? I have got nothing to do with it, seemingly. Nobody asks me.” + </p> + <p> + “Whist, woman!” cried Pete. “Don't you hear it?” + </p> + <p> + A cuckoo was passing over the house and calling. + </p> + <p> + “It's over the thatch, Kate. 'Cuckoo! Cuckoo! Cuckoo!' Three times! Bravo! + Three times is a good Amen. Omen is it? Have it as you like, love.” + </p> + <p> + The stars had paled out by this time, and the dawn was coming up like a + grey vapour from the sea. + </p> + <p> + “Ugh! the air feels late; I must be going in,” said Kate. + </p> + <p> + “Only a bit of a draught from the mountains—it's not morning yet,” + said Pete. + </p> + <p> + A bird called from out of the mist somewhat far away. + </p> + <p> + “It is, though. That's the throstle up the glen,” said Kate. + </p> + <p> + Another bird answered from the eaves of the house. + </p> + <p> + “And what's that?” said Pete. “Was it yourself, Kitty? How straight your + voice is like the throstle's!” + </p> + <p> + She hung her head at the sweet praise, but answered tartly, “How people + will be talking!” + </p> + <p> + A dead white light came sweeping over the front of the house, and the + trees and the hedges, all quiet until then, began to shudder. Kate + shuddered too, and drew the frills closer about her throat. “I'm going, + Pete,” she whispered. + </p> + <p> + “Not yet. It's only a taste of the salt from the sea,” said Pete. “The + moon's not out many minutes.” + </p> + <p> + “Why, you goose, it's been gone these two hours. This isn't Jupiter, where + it's moonlight always.” + </p> + <p> + “Always moonlight in Jubiter, is it?” said Pete. “My goodness! What + coorting there must be there!” + </p> + <p> + A cock crowed from under the hen-roost, the dog barked indoors, and the + mare began to stamp in her stall. + </p> + <p> + “When do you sail, Pete?” + </p> + <p> + “First tide—seven o'clock.” + </p> + <p> + “Time to be off, then. Good-bye!” + </p> + <p> + “Hould hard—a word first.” + </p> + <p> + “Not a word. I'm going back to bed. See, there's the sun coming up over + the mountains.” + </p> + <p> + “Only a touch of red on the tip of ould Cronky's nose. Listen! Just to + keep them dandy-divils from plaguing you, I'll tell Phil to have an eye on + you while I'm away.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Christian?” + </p> + <p> + “Call him Philip, Kate. He's as free as free. No pride at all. Let him + take care of you till I come back.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm shutting the window, Pete!” + </p> + <p> + “Wait! Something else. Bend down so the ould man won't hear.” + </p> + <p> + “I can't reach—what is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Your hand, then; I'll tell it to your hand.” + </p> + <p> + She hesitated a moment, and then dropped her hand over the window-sill, + and he clutched at it and kissed it, and pushed back the white sleeve and + ran up the arm with his lips as far as he could climb. + </p> + <p> + “Another, my girl; take your time, one more—half a one, then.” + </p> + <p> + She drew her arm back until her hand got up to his hand, and then she + said, “What's this? The mole on your finger still, Pete? You called me a + witch—now see me charm it away. Listen!—'Ping, ping, prash, + Cur yn cadley-jiargan ass my chass.'” + </p> + <p> + She was uttering the Manx charm in a mock-solemn ululation when a bough + snapped in the orchard, and she cried, “What's that?” + </p> + <p> + “It's Philip. He's waiting under the apple-tree,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “My goodness me!” said Kate, and down went the window-sash. + </p> + <p> + A moment later it rose again, and there was the beautiful young face in + its frame as before, but with the rosy light of the dawn on it. + </p> + <p> + “Has he been there all the while?” she whispered. + </p> + <p> + “What matter? It's only Phil.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye! Good luck!” and then the window went down for good. + </p> + <p> + “Time to go,” said Philip, still in his tall silk hat and his + knickerbockers. He had been standing alone among the dead brown fern, the + withering gorse, and the hanging brambles, gripping the apple-tree and + swallowing the cry that was bubbling up to his throat, but forcing himself + to look upon Pete's happiness, which was his own calamity, though it was + tearing his heart out, and he could hardly bear it. + </p> + <p> + The birds were singing by this time, and Pete, going back, sang and + whistled with the best of them. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0012" id="link2H_4_0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + X. + </h2> + <p> + In the mists of morning, Grannie had awakened in her bed with the turfy + scraas of the thatch just visible above her, and the window-blind like a + hazy moon floating on the wall at her side. And, fixing her nightcap, she + had sighed and said, “I can't close my eyes for dreaming that the poor lad + has come to his end untimeously.” + </p> + <p> + Cæsar yawned, and asked, “What lad?” + </p> + <p> + “Young Pete, of course,” said Grannie. + </p> + <p> + Cæsar <i>umpht</i> and grunted. + </p> + <p> + “We were poor ourselves when we began, father.” + </p> + <p> + Grannie felt the glare of the old man's eye on her in the darkness. + “'Deed, we were; but people forget things. We had to borrow to buy our big + overshot wheel; we had, though. And when ould Parson Harrison sent us the + first boll of oats, we couldn't grind it for want of——” + </p> + <p> + Cæsar tugged at the counterpane and said, “Will you lie quiet, woman, and + let a hard-working man sleep?” + </p> + <p> + “Then don't be the young man's destruction, Cæsar.” + </p> + <p> + Cæsar made a contemptuous snort, and pulled the bedclothes about his head. + </p> + <p> + “Aw, 'deed, father, but the girl might do worse. A fine, strapping lad. + And, dear heart, the cheerful face <i>at</i> him! It's taking joy to look + at—like drawing water from a well! And the laugh <i>at</i> the boy, + too—that joyful, it's as good to hear in the morning as six pigs at + a lit——” + </p> + <p> + “Then marry the lad yourself, woman, and have done with it,” cried Cæsar, + and, so saying, he kicked out his leg, turned over to the wall, and began + to snore with great vigour. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0013" id="link2H_4_0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XI. + </h2> + <p> + The tide was up in Ramsey Harbour, and rolling heavily on the shore before + a fresh sea-breeze with a cold taste of the salt in it. A steamer lying by + the quay was getting up steam; trucks were running on her gangways, the + clanking crane over her hold was working, and there was much shouting of + name, and ordering and protesting, and general tumult. On the after-deck + stood the emigrants for Kimberley, the Quarks from Glen Rushen, and some + of the young Gills from Castletown—stalwart lads, bearing themselves + bravely in the midst of a circle of their friends, who talked and laughed + to make them forget they were on the point of going. + </p> + <p> + Pete and Phil came up the quay, and were received by a shout of + incredulity from Quayle, the harbour-master. “What, are you going, too, + Mr. Philip?” Philip answered him “No,” and passed on to the ship. + </p> + <p> + Pete was still in his stocking cap and Wellington boots, but he had a + monkey-jacket over his blue guernsey. Except for a parcel in a red print + handkerchief, this was all his kit and luggage. He felt a little lost amid + all the bustle, and looked helpless and unhappy. The busy preparations on + land and shipboard had another effect on Philip. He sniffed the breeze off + the bay and laughed, and said, “The sea's calling me, Pete; I've half a + mind to go with you.” + </p> + <p> + Pete answered with a watery smile. His high spirits were failing him at + last. Five years were a long time to be away, if one built all one's hopes + on coming back. So many things might happen, so many chances might befall. + Pete had no heart for laughter. + </p> + <p> + Philip had small mind for it, either, after the first rush of the salt in + his blood was over. He felt at some moments as if hell itself were inside + of him. What troubled him most was that he could not, for the life of him, + be sorry that Pete was leaving the island. Once or twice since they left + Sulby he had been startled by the thought that he hated Pete. He knew that + his lip curled down hard at sight of Pete's solemn face. But Pete never + suspected this, and the innocent tenderness of the rough fellow was every + moment beating it down with blows that cut like ice and burnt like fire. + </p> + <p> + They were standing by the forecastle head, and talking above the loud + throbbing of the funnel. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, Phil; you've been wonderful good to me—better nor anybody + in the world. I've not been much of a chum for the like of you, either—you + that's college bred and ought to be the first gentry in the island if + everybody had his own. But you shan't be ashamed for me, neither—no + you shan't, so help me God! I won't be long away, Phil—maybe five + years, maybe less, and when I come back you'll be the first Manxman + living. No? But you will, though; you will, I'm telling you. No nonsense + at all, man. Lave it to me to know.” + </p> + <p> + Philip's frosty blue eyes began to melt. + </p> + <p> + “And if I come back rich, I'll be your ould friend again as much as a + common man may; and if I come back poor and disappointed and done for, + I'll not claim you to disgrace you; and if I never come back at all, I'll + be saying to myself in my dark hour somewhere, 'He'll spake up for you at + home, boy; <i>he'll</i> not forget you.'” + </p> + <p> + Philip could hear no more for the puffing of the steam and the clanking of + the chains. + </p> + <p> + “Chut! the talk a man will put out when he's thinking of ould times gone + by!” + </p> + <p> + The first bell rang on the bridge, and the harbour-master shouted, “All + ashore, there!” + </p> + <p> + “Phil, there's one turn more I'll ask of you, and, if it's the last, it's + the biggest.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “There's Kate, you know. Keep an eye on the girl while I'm away. Take a + slieu round now and then, and put a sight on her. She'll not give a skute + at the heirs the ould man's telling of; but them young drapers and + druggists, they'll plague the life out of the girl. Bate them off, Phil. + They're not worth a fudge with their fists. But don't use no violence. + Just duck the dandy-divils in the harbour—that'll do.” + </p> + <p> + “No harm shall come to her while you are away.” + </p> + <p> + “Swear to it, Phil. Your word's your bond, I know that; but give me your + hand and swear to it—it'll be more surer.” + </p> + <p> + Philip gave his hand and his oath, and then tried to turn away, for he + knew that his face was reddening. + </p> + <p> + “Wait! There's another while your hand's in, Phil. Swear that nothing and + nobody shall ever come between us two.” + </p> + <p> + “You know nothing ever will.” + </p> + <p> + “But swear to it, Phil. There's bad tongues going, and it'll make me more + aisier. Whatever they do, whatever they say, friends and brothers to the + last?” + </p> + <p> + Philip felt a buzzing in his head, and he was so dizzy that he could + hardly stand, but he took the second oath also. Then the bell rang again, + and there was a great hubbub. Gangways were drawn up, ropes were let go, + the captain called to the shore from the bridge, and the blustering + harbour-master called to the bridge from the shore. + </p> + <p> + “Go and stand on the end of the pier, Phil—just aback of the + lighthouse—and I'll put myself at the stern. I want a friend's face + to be the last thing I see when I'm going away from the old home.”? + </p> + <p> + Philip could bear no more. The hate in his heart was mastered. It was + under his feet. His flushed face was wet. + </p> + <p> + The throbbing of the funnels ceased, and all that could be heard was the + running of the tide in the harbour and the wash of the waves on the shore. + Across the sea the sun came up boldly, “like a guest expected,” and down + its dancing water-path the steamer moved away. Over the land old Bar-rule + rose up like a sea king with hoar-frost on his forehead, and the smoke + began to lift from the chimneys of the town at his feet. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, little island, good-bye! I'll not forget you. I'm getting + kicked out of you, but you've been a good ould mother to me, and, God help + me, I'll come back to you yet. So long, little Mona, s'long? I'm laving + you, but I'm a Manxman still.” + </p> + <p> + Pete had meant to take off his stocking cap as they passed the lighthouse, + and to dash the tears from his eyes like a man. But all that Philip could + see from the end of the pier was a figure huddled up at the stern on a + coil of rope. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART2" id="link2H_PART2"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART II. BOY AND GIRL. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I. + </h2> + <p> + Auntie Nan had grown uneasy because Philip was not yet started in life. + During the spell of his partnership with Pete she had protested and he had + coaxed, she had scolded and he had laughed. But when Pete was gone she + remembered her old device, and began to play on Philip through the memory + of his father. + </p> + <p> + One day the air was full of the sea freshness of a beautiful Manx + November. Philip sniffed it from the porch after breakfast and then + gathered up his tackle for cod. + </p> + <p> + “The boat again, Philip?” said Auntie Nan. “Then promise me to be back for + tea.” + </p> + <p> + Philip gave his promise and kept it. When he returned after his day's + fishing the old lady was waiting for him in the little blue room which she + called her own. The sweet place was more than usually dainty and + comfortable that day. A bright fire was burning, and everything seemed to + be arranged so carefully and nattily. The table was laid with cups and + saucers, the kettle was singing on the jockey-bar, and Auntie Nan herself, + in a cap of black lace and a dress of russet silk with flounces, was + fluttering about with an odour of lavender and the light gaiety of a bird. + </p> + <p> + “Why, what's the meaning of this?” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + And the sweet old thing answered, half nervously, half jokingly, “You + don't know? What a child it is, to be sure! So you don't remember what day + it is?” + </p> + <p> + “What day? The fifth of Nov—oh, my birthday! I had clean forgotten + it, Auntie.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and you are one-and-twenty for tea-time. That's why I asked you to + be home.” + </p> + <p> + She poured out the tea, settled herself with her feet on the fender, + allowed the cat to establish itself on her skirt, and then, with a nervous + smile and a slight depression of the heart, she began on her task. + </p> + <p> + “How the years roll on, Philip! It's twenty years since I gave you my + first birthday present I wasn't here when you were born, dear. Grandfather + had forbidden me. Poor grandfather! But how I longed to come and wash, and + dress, and nurse my boy's boy, and call myself an auntie aloud! Oh, dear + me, the day I first saw you! Shall I ever forget it? Grandfather and I + were at Cowley, the draper's, when a beautiful young person stepped in + with a baby. A little too gay, poor thing, and that was how I knew her.” + </p> + <p> + “My mother?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dear, and grandfather was standing with his back to the street. I + grow hot to this day when I remember, but she didn't seem afraid. She + nodded and smiled and lifted the muslin veil from the baby's face, and + said 'Who's he like, Miss Christian?' It was wonderful. You were asleep, + and it was the same for all the world as if your father had slept back to + be a baby. I was trembling fit to drop and couldn't answer, and then your + mother saw grandfather, and before I could stop her she had touched him on + the shoulder. He stood with his bad ear towards us, and his sight was + failing, too, but seeing the form of a lady beside him, he swept round, + and bowed low, and smiled and raised his hat, as his way was with all + women. Then your mother held the baby up and said quite gaily, 'Is it one + of the Ballures he is, Dempster, or one of the Ballawhaines?' Dear heart + when I think of it! Grandfather straightened himself up, turned about, and + was out on the street in an instant.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor father!” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + Auntie Nan's eyes brightened. + </p> + <p> + “I was going to tell you of your first birthday, dearest. Grandfather had + gone then—poor grandfather!—and I had knitted you a little + soft cap of white wool, with a tassel and a pink bow. Your mother's father + was living still—Capt'n Billy, as they called him—and when I + put the cap on your little head, he cried out, 'A sailor every inch of + him!' And sure enough, though I had never thought it, a sailor's cap it + was. And Capt'n Billy put you on his knee, and looked at you sideways, and + slapped his thigh, and blew a cloud of smoke from his long pipe and cried + again, 'This boy is for a sailor, I'm telling you.' You fell asleep in the + old man's arms, and I carried you to your cot upstairs. Your father + followed me into the bedroom, and your mother was there already dusting + the big shells on the mantelpiece. Poor Tom! I see him yet. He dropped his + long white hand over the cot-rail, pushed back the little cap and the + yellow curls from your forehead, and said proudly, 'Ah, no, this head + wasn't built for a sailor!' He meant no harm, but—Oh, dear, Oh, + dear!—your mother heard him, and thought he was belittling her and + hers. 'These qualities!' she cried, and slashed the duster and flounced + out of the room, and one of the shells fell with a clank into the fender. + Your father turned his face to the window. I could have cried for shame + that he should be ashamed before me. But looking out on the sea,—the + bay was very loud that day, I remember—he said in his deep voice, + that was like a mellow bell, and trembled ratherly, 'It's not for nothing, + Nannie, that the child has the forehead of Napoleon. Only let God spare + him and he'll be something some day, when his father, with his broken + heart and his broken brain, is dead and gone, and the daisies cover him.'” + </p> + <p> + Auntie Nan carried her point. That night Philip laid up his boat for the + winter, and next morning he set his face towards Ballawhaine with the + object of enlisting Uncle Peter's help in starting upon the profession of + the law. Auntie Nan went with him. She had urged him to the step by the + twofold plea that the Ballawhaine was his only male relative of mature + years, and that he had lately sent his own son Ross to study for the bar + in England. + </p> + <p> + Both were nervous and uncertain on the way down; Auntie Nan talked + incessantly from under her poke-bonnet, thinking to keep up Philip's + courage. But when they came to the big gate and looked up at the turrets + through the trees, her memory went back with deep tenderness to the days + when the house had been her home, and she began to cry in silence. Philip + himself was not unmoved. This had been the birthplace and birthright of + his father. + </p> + <p> + The English footman, in buff and scarlet, ushered them into the + drawing-room with the formality proper to strangers. + </p> + <p> + To their surprise they found Ross there. He was sitting at the piano + strumming a music-hall ditty. As the door opened be shuffled to his feet, + shook hands distantly with Auntie Nan, and nodded his head to Philip. + </p> + <p> + The young man was by this time a sapling well fed from the old tree. + Taller than his father by many inches, broader, heavier, and larger in all + ways, with the slow eyes of a seal and something of a seal's face as well. + But with his father's sprawling legs and his father's levity and irony of + manner and of voice—a Manxman disguised out of all recognition of + race, and apeing the fashionable follies of the hour in London. + </p> + <p> + Auntie Nan settled her umbrella, smoothed her gloves and her white front + hair, and inquired meekly if he was well. + </p> + <p> + “Not very fit,” he drawled; “shouldn't be here if I were. But father + worried my life out until I came back to recruit.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps,” said Auntie Nan, looking simple and sympathetic, “perhaps + you've been longing for home. It must be a great trial to a young man to + live in London for the first time. That's where a young woman has the + advantage—she needn't leave home, at all events. Then your lodgings, + perhaps they are not in the best part either.” + </p> + <p> + “I used to have chambers in an Inn of Court——” + </p> + <p> + Auntie Nan looked concerned. “I don't think I should like Philip to live + long at an inn,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “But now I'm in rooms in the Hay market.” + </p> + <p> + Auntie Nan looked relieved. + </p> + <p> + “That must be better,” she said. “Noisy in the mornings, perhaps, but your + evenings will be quiet for study, I should think.” + </p> + <p> + “Precisely,” said Boss, with a snigger, touching the piano again, and + Philip, sitting near the door, felt the palm of his hand itch for the + whole breadth of his cousin's cheek. + </p> + <p> + Uncle Peter came in hurriedly, with short, nervous steps. His hair as well + as his eyebrows was now white, his eye was hollow, his cheeks were thin, + his mouth was restless, and he had lost some of his upper teeth, he + coughed frequently, he was shabbily dressed, and had the look of a dying + man. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! it's you, Anne! and Philip, too. Good morning, Philip. Give the piano + a rest, Ross—that's a good lad. Well, Miss Christian, well!” + </p> + <p> + “Philip came of age yesterday, Peter,” said Auntie Nan in a timid voice. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed!” said the Ballawhaine, “then Ross is twenty next month. A little + more than a year and a month between them.” + </p> + <p> + He scrutinised the old lady's face for a moment without speaking, and then + said, “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “He would like to go to London to study for the bar,” faltered Auntie Nan. + </p> + <p> + “Why not the church at home?” + </p> + <p> + “The church would have been my own choice, Peter, but his father——” + </p> + <p> + The Ballawhaine crossed his leg over his knee. “His father was always a + man of a high stomach, ma'am,” he said. Then facing towards Philip, “Your + idea would be to return to the island.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “Practice as an advocate, and push your way to insular preferment?” + </p> + <p> + “My father seemed to wish it, sir,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + The Ballawhaine turned back to Auntie Nan. “Well, Miss Christian?” + </p> + <p> + Auntie Nan fumbled the handle of her umbrella and began—“We were + thinking, Peter—you see we know so little—now if his father + had been living——” + </p> + <p> + The Ballawhaine coughed, scratched with his nail on his cheek, and said, + “You wish me to put him with a barrister in chambers, is that it?” + </p> + <p> + With a nervous smile and a little laugh of relief Auntie Nan signified + assent. + </p> + <p> + “You are aware that a step like that costs money. How much have you got to + spend on it?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid, Peter——” + </p> + <p> + “You thought I might find the expenses, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “It's so good of you to see it in the right way, Peter.” + </p> + <p> + The Ballawhaine made a wry face. “Listen,” he said dryly. “Ross has just + gone to study for the English bar.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Auntie Nan eagerly, “and it was partly that——” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed!” said the Ballawhaine, raising his eyebrows. “I calculate that + his course in London will cost me, one thing with another, more than a + thousand pounds.” + </p> + <p> + Auntie Nan lifted her gloved hands in amazement. + </p> + <p> + “That sum I am prepared to spend in order that my son, as an English + barrister, may have a better chance——” + </p> + <p> + “Do you know, we were thinking of that ourselves, Peter?” said Auntie Nan. + </p> + <p> + “A better chance,” the Ballawhaine continued, “of the few places open in + the island than if he were brought up at the Manx bar only, which would + cost me less than half as much.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh! but the money will come back to you, both for Ross and Philip,” said + Auntie Nan. + </p> + <p> + The Ballawhaine coughed impatiently. “You don't read me,” he said + irritably. “These places are few, and Manx advocates are as thick as flies + in a glue-pot. For every office there must be fifty applicants, but + training counts for something, and influence for something, and family for + something.” + </p> + <p> + Auntie Nan began to be penetrated as by a chill. + </p> + <p> + “These,” said the Ballawhaine, “I bring to bear for Ross, that he may + distance all competitors. Do you read me now?” + </p> + <p> + “Read you, Peter?” said Auntie Nan. + </p> + <p> + The Ballawhaine fixed his hollow eye upon her, and said, “What do you ask + me to do? You come here and ask me to provide, prepare, and equip a rival + to my own son.” + </p> + <p> + Auntie Nan had grasped his meaning at last. + </p> + <p> + “But gracious me, Peter,” she said, “Philip is your own nephew, your own + brother's son.” + </p> + <p> + The Ballawhaine rubbed the side of his nose with his lean forefinger, and + said, “Near is my shirt, but nearer is my skin.” + </p> + <p> + Auntie Nan fixed her timid eyes upon him, and they grew brave in their + gathering indignation. “His father is dead, and he is poor and + friendless,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “We've had differences on that subject before, mistress,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “And yet you begrudge him the little that would start him in life.” + </p> + <p> + “My own has earlier claim, ma'am.” + </p> + <p> + “Saving your presence, sir, let me tell you that every penny of the money + you are spending on Ross would have been Philip's this day if things had + gone different.” + </p> + <p> + The Ballawhaine bit his lip. “Must I, for my sins, be compelled to put an + end to this interview?” + </p> + <p> + He rose to go to the door. Philip rose also. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean it?” said Auntie Nan. “Would you dare to turn me out of the + house?” + </p> + <p> + “Come, Auntie, what's the use?” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + The Ballawhaine was drumming on the edge of the open door. “You are right, + young man,” he said, “a woman's hysteria is of <i>no</i> use.” + </p> + <p> + “That will do, sir,” said Philip in a firm voice. + </p> + <p> + The Ballawhaine put his hand familiarly on Philip's shoulder. “Try Bishop + Wilson's theological college, my friend; its cheap and——” + </p> + <p> + “Take your hand from him, Peter Christian,” cried Auntie Nan. Her eyes + flashed, her cheeks were aflame, her little gloved hands were clenched. + “You made war between his father and your father, and when I would have + made peace you prevented me. Your father is dead, and your brother is + dead, and both died in hate that might have died in love, only for the + lies you told and the deceit you practised. But they have gone where the + mask falls from all faces, and they have met before this, eye to eye, and + hand to hand. Yes, and they are looking down on you now, Peter Christian, + and they know you at last for what you are and always have been—a + deceiver and a thief.” + </p> + <p> + By an involuntary impulse the Ballawhaine turned his eyes upward to the + ceiling while she spoke, as if he had expected to see the ghosts of his + father and his brother threatening him. + </p> + <p> + “Is the woman mad at all?” he cried; and the timid old lady, lifted out of + herself by the flame of her anger, blazed at him again with a tongue of + fire. + </p> + <p> + “You have done wrong, Peter Christian, much wrong; you've done wrong all + your days, and whatever your motive, God will find it out, and on that + secret place he will bring your punishment. If it was only greed, you've + got your wages; but no good will they bring to you, for another will spend + them, and you will see them wasted like water from the ragged rock. And if + it was hate as well, you will live till it comes back on your own head + like burning coal. I know it, I feel it,” she cried, sweeping into the + hall, “and sorry I am to say it before your own son, who ought to honour + and respect his father, but can't; no, he can't and never will, or else he + has a heart to match your own in wickedness, and no bowels of compassion + at him either.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, Auntie, come,” said Philip, putting his arm about the old lady's + waist. But she swerved round again to where the Ballawhaine came slinking + behind him. + </p> + <p> + “Turn me out of the house, will you?” she cried. “The place where I lived + fifteen years, and as mistress, too, until your evil deeds made you + master. Many a good cry I've had that it's only a woman I am, and can do + nothing on my own head. But I would rather be a woman that hasn't a roof + to cover her than a man that can't warm to his own flesh and blood. Don't + think I begrudge you your house, Peter Christian, though it was my old + home, and I love it, for all I'm shown no respect in it I would have you + to know, sir, that it isn't our houses we live in after all, but our + hearts—our hearts, Peter Christian—do you hear me?—our + hearts, and yours is full of darkness and dirt—and always will be, + always will be.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, come, Auntie, come,” cried Philip again, and the sweet old thing, + too gentle to hurt a fly, turned on him also with the fury of a wild-cat. + </p> + <p> + “Go along yourself with your 'come' and 'come' and 'come.' Say less and do + more.” + </p> + <p> + With that final outburst she swept down the steps and along the path, + leaving Philip three paces behind, and the Ballawhaine with a terrified + look under the stuffed cormorant in the fanlight above the open door. + </p> + <p> + The fiery mood lasted her half way home, and then broke down in a torrent + of tears. + </p> + <p> + “Oh dear! oh dear!” she cried. “I've been too hasty. After all, he is your + only relative. What shall I do now? Oh, what shall I do now?” + </p> + <p> + Philip was walking steadily half a step behind, and he had never once + spoken since they left Ballawhaine. + </p> + <p> + “Pack my bag to-night, Auntie,” said he with the voice of a man; “I shall + start for Douglas by the coach to-morrow morning.” + </p> + <p> + He sought out the best known of the Manx advocates, a college friend of + his father's, and said to him, “I've sixty pounds a year, sir, from my + mother's father, and my aunt has enough of her own to live on. Can I + afford to pay your premium?” + </p> + <p> + The lawyer looked at him attentively for a moment, and answered, “No, you + can't,” and Philip's face began to fall. + </p> + <p> + “But I'll take you the five years for nothing, Mr. Christian,” the wise + man added, “and if you suit me, I'll give you wages after two.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0016" id="link2H_4_0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II. + </h2> + <p> + Philip did not forget the task wherewith Pete had charged him. It is a + familiar duty in the Isle of Man, and he who discharges it is known by a + familiar name. They call him the <i>Dooiney Molla</i>—literally, the + “man-praiser;” and his primary function is that of an informal, + unmercenary, purely friendly and philanthropic matchmaker, introduced by + the young man to persuade the parents of the young woman that he is a + splendid fellow, with substantial possessions or magnificent prospects, + and entirely fit to marry her. But he has a secondary function, less + frequent, though scarcely less familiar; and it is that of lover by proxy, + or intended husband by deputy, with duties of moral guardianship over the + girl while the man himself is off “at the herrings,” or away “at the + mackerel,” or abroad on wider voyages. + </p> + <p> + This second task, having gone through the first with dubious success, + Philip discharged with conscientious zeal. The effects were peculiar. + Their earliest manifestations were, as was most proper, on Philip and Kate + themselves. Philip grew to be grave and wondrous solemn, for assuming the + tone of guardian lifted his manners above all levity. Kate became suddenly + very quiet and meek, very watchful and modest, soft of voice and most apt + to blush. The girl who had hectored it over Pete and played little + mistress over everybody else, grew to be like a dove under the eye of + Philip. A kind of awe fell on her whenever he was near. She found it sweet + to listen to his words of wisdom when he discoursed, and sweeter still to + obey his will when he gave commands. The little wistful head was always + turning in his direction; his voice was like joy-bells in her ears; his + parting how under his lifted hat remained with her as a dream until the + following day. She hardly knew what great change had been wrought in her, + and her people at home were puzzled. + </p> + <p> + “Is it not very well you are, Kirry, woman?” said Grannie. + </p> + <p> + “Well enough, mother; why not?” said Kate. + </p> + <p> + “Is it the toothache that's plaguing you?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Then maybe it's the new hat in the window at Miss Clu-cas's?” + </p> + <p> + “Hould your tongue, woman,” whispered Cæsar behind the back of his hand. + “It's the Spirit that's working on the girl. Give it lave, mother; give it + lave.” + </p> + <p> + “Give it fiddlesticks,” said Nancy Joe. “Give it brimstone and treacle and + a cupful of wormwood and camomile.” + </p> + <p> + When Philip and Kate were together, their talk was all of Pete. It was + “Pete likes this,” and “Pete hates that,” and “Pete always says so and + so.” That was their way of keeping up the recollection of Pete's + existence; and the uses they put poor Pete to were many and peculiar. + </p> + <p> + One night “The Manx Fairy” was merry and noisy with a “Scaltha,” a + Christmas supper given by the captain of a fishing-boat to the crew that + he meant to engage for the season. Wives, sweethearts, and friends were + there, and the customs and superstitions of the hour were honoured. + </p> + <p> + “Isn't it the funniest thing in the world, Philip?” giggled Kate from the + back of the door, and a moment afterwards she was standing alone with him + in the lobby, looking demurely down at his boots. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose I ought to apologise.” + </p> + <p> + “Why so?” + </p> + <p> + “For calling you that.” + </p> + <p> + “Pete calls me Philip. Why shouldn't you?” + </p> + <p> + The furtive eyes rose to the buttons of his waistcoat. “Well, no; there + can't be much harm in calling you what Pete calls you, can there? But then—” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “He calls me Kate.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think he would like me to do so?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure he would.” + </p> + <p> + “Shall we, then?” + </p> + <p> + “I wonder!” + </p> + <p> + “Just for Pete's sake?” + </p> + <p> + “Just.” + </p> + <p> + “Kate!” + </p> + <p> + “Philip!” + </p> + <p> + They didn't know what they felt. It was something exquisite, something + delicious; so sweet, so tender, they could only laugh as if some one had + tickled them. + </p> + <p> + “Of course, we need not do it except when we are quite by ourselves,” said + Kate. + </p> + <p> + “Oh no, of course not, only when we are quite alone,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + Thus they threw dust into each other's eyes, and walked hand in hand on + the edge of a precipice. + </p> + <p> + The last day of the old year after Pete's departure found Philip attending + to his duty. + </p> + <p> + “Are you going to put the new year in anywhere, Philip?” said Kate, from + the door of the porch. + </p> + <p> + “I should be the first-foot here, only I'm no use as a qualtagh,” said + Philip. + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm a fair man, and would bring you no luck, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” + </p> + <p> + There was silence for a moment, and then Kate cried “<i>I</i> know.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” + </p> + <p> + “Come for Pete—he's dark enough, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + Philip was much impressed. “That's a good idea,” he said gravely. “Being + qualtagh for Pete is a good idea. His first New Year from home, too, poor + fellow!” + </p> + <p> + “Exactly,” said Kate. + </p> + <p> + “Shall I, then?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll expect you at the very stroke of twelve.” + </p> + <p> + Philip was going off. “And, Philip!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” + </p> + <p> + Then a low voice, so soft, so sweet, so merry, came from the doorway into + the dark, “I'll be standing at the door of the dairy.” + </p> + <p> + Philip began to feel alarm, and resolved to take for the future a lighter + view of his duties. He would visit “The Manx Fairy” less frequently. As + soon as the Christmas holidays were over he would devote himself to his + studies, and come back to Sulby no more for half a year. But the Manx + Christmas is long. It begins on the 24th of December, and only ends for + good on the 6th of January. In the country places, which still preserve + the old traditions, the culminating day is Twelfth Day. It is then that + they “cut off the fiddler's head,” and play valentines, which they call + the “Goggans.” The girls set a row of mugs on the hearth in front of the + fire, put something into each of them as a symbol of a trade, and troop + out to the stairs. Then the boys change the order of the mugs, and the + girls come back blindfold, one by one, to select their goggans. According + to the goggans they lay hands on, so will be the trades of their husbands. + </p> + <p> + At this game, played at “The Manx Fairy” on the last night of Philip's + holiday, Csesar being abroad on an evangelising errand, Kate was expected + to draw water, but she drew a quill. + </p> + <p> + “A pen! A pen!” cried the boys. “Who says the girl is to marry a sailor? + The ship isn't built that's to drown her husband.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-night all,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “Good-night, Mr. Christian, good-night, sir,” said the boys. + </p> + <p> + Kate slipped after him to the door. “Going so early, Philip?” + </p> + <p> + “I've to be back at Douglas to-morrow morning,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “I suppose we shan't see you very soon?” + </p> + <p> + “No, I must set to work in earnest now.” + </p> + <p> + “A fortnight—a month may be?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and six months—I intend to do nothing else for half a year.” + </p> + <p> + “That's a long time, isn't it, Philip?” + </p> + <p> + “Not so long as I've wasted.” + </p> + <p> + “Wasted? So you call it wasted? Of course, it's nothing to me—but + there's your aunt——” + </p> + <p> + “A man can't always be dangling about women,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + Kate began to laugh. + </p> + <p> + “What are you laughing at?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm so glad I'm a girl,” said Kate. + </p> + <p> + “Well, so am I,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “Are you?” + </p> + <p> + It came at his face like a flash of lightning, and Philip stammered, “I + mean—that is—you know—what about Pete?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, is that all? Well, good-night, if you must go. Shall I bring you the + lantern? No need? Starlight, is it? You can see your way to the gate quite + plainly? Very well, if you don't want showing. Good-night!” + </p> + <p> + The last words, in an injured tone, were half lost behind the closing + door. + </p> + <p> + But the heart of a girl is a dark forest, and Kate had determined that, + work or no work, so long a spell as six months Philip should not be away. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III. + </h2> + <p> + One morning in the late spring there came to Douglas a startling and most + appalling piece of news—-Ross Christian was constantly seen at “The + Manx Fairy.” On the evening of that day Philip reappeared at Sulby. He had + come down in high wrath, inventing righteous speeches by the way on + plighted troths and broken pledges. Ross was there in lacquered boots, + light kid gloves, frock coat, and pepper and salt trousers, leaning with + elbow on the counter, that he might talk to Kate, who was serving. Philip + had never before seen her at that task, and his indignation was extreme. + He was more than ever sure that Grannie was a simpleton and Cæsar a brazen + hypocrite. + </p> + <p> + Kate nodded gaily to him as he entered, and then continued her + conversation with Ross. There was a look in her eyes that was new to him, + and it caused him to change his purpose. He would not be indignant, he + would be cynical, he would be nasty, he would wait his opportunity and put + in with some cutting remark. So, at Cæsar's invitation and Grannie's + welcome, he pushed through the bar-room to the kitchen, exchanged + salutations, and then sat down to watch and to listen. + </p> + <p> + The conversation beyond the glass partition was eager and enthusiastic. + Ross was fluent and Kate was vivacious. + </p> + <p> + “My friend Monty?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; who is Monty?” + </p> + <p> + “He's the centre of the Fancy.” + </p> + <p> + “The Fancy!” + </p> + <p> + “Ornaments of the Ring, you know. Come now, surely you know the Ring, my + dear. His rooms in St. James's Street are full of them every night. All + sorts, you know—featherweights, and heavy-weights, and greyhounds. + And the faces! My goodness, you should see them. Such worn-out old images. + Knowledge boxes all awry, mouths crooked, and noses that have had the + upper-cut. But good men all; good to take their gruel, you know. Monty + will have nothing else about him. He was Tom Spring's packer. Never heard + of Tom Spring? Tom of Bedford, the incorruptible, you know, only he fought + cross that day. Monty lost a thousand, and Tom keeps a public in Holborn + now with pictures of the Fancy round the walls.” + </p> + <p> + Then Kate, with a laugh, said something which Philip did not catch, + because Cæsar was rustling the newspaper he was reading. + </p> + <p> + “Ladies come?” said Ross. “Girls at Monty's suppers? Rather! what should + you think? Cleopatra—but you ought to be there. I must be getting + off myself very soon. There's a supper coming off next week at Handsome + Honey's. Who's Honey? Proprietor of a night-house in the Haymarket. + Night-house? You come and see, my dear.” + </p> + <p> + Cæsar dropped the newspaper and looked across at Philip. The gaze was long + and embarrassing, and, for want of better conversation, Philip asked Cæsar + if he was thinking. + </p> + <p> + “Aw, thinking, thinking, and thinking again, sir,” said Cæsar. Then, + drawing his chair nearer to Philip's, he added, in a half whisper, “I'm + getting a bit of a skute into something, though. See yonder? They're + calling his father a miser. The man's racking his tenants and starving his + land. But I believe enough the young brass lagh (a weed) is choking the + ould grain.” + </p> + <p> + Cæsar, as he spoke, tipped his thumb over his shoulder in the direction of + Ross, and, seeing this, Ross interrupted his conversation with Kate to + address himself to her father. + </p> + <p> + “So you've been reading the paper, Mr. Cregeen?” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, reading and reading,” said Cæsar grumpily. Then in another tone, + “You're home again from London, sir? Great doings yonder, they're telling + me. Battles, sir, great battles.” + </p> + <p> + Ross elevated his eyebrows. “Have you heard of them then?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Aw, heard enough,” said Cæsar, “meetings, and conferences, and + conventions, and I don't know what.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, oh, I see,” said Ross, with a look at Kate. + </p> + <p> + “They're doing without hell in England now-a-days—that's a quare + thing, sir. Conditional immorality they're calling it—the singlerest + thing I know. Taking hell away drops the tailboard out of a man's + religion, eh?” + </p> + <p> + The time for closing came, and Philip had waited in vain. Only one cut had + come his way, and that had not been his own. As he rose to go, Kate had + said, “We didn't expect to see you again for six months, Mr. Christian.” + </p> + <p> + “So it seems,” said Philip, and Kate laughed a little, and that was all + the work of his evening, and the whole result of his errand. + </p> + <p> + Cæsar was waiting for him in the porch. His face was white, and it + twitched visibly. It was plain to see that the natural man was fighting in + Cæsar. “Mr. Christian, sir,” said he, “are you the gentleman that came + here to speak to me for Peter Quilliam?” + </p> + <p> + “I am,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “Then do you remember the ould Manx saying, 'Perhaps the last dog may be + catching the hare?'” + </p> + <p> + “Leave it to me, Mr. Cregeen,” said Philip through his teeth. + </p> + <p> + Half a minute afterwards he was swinging down the dark road homewards, by + the side of Ross, who was drawling along with his cold voice. + </p> + <p> + “So you've started on your light-weight handicap, Philip. Father was + monstrous unreasonable that day. Seemed to think I was coming back here to + put my shoulder out for your high bailiffships and bum-bailiffships and + heaven knows what. You're welcome to the lot for me, Philip. That girl's + wonderful, though. It's positively miraculous, too; she's the living + picture of a girl of my friend Montague's. Eyes, hair, that nervous + movement of the mouth—everything. Old man looked glum enough, + though. Poor little woman. I suppose she's past praying for. The old + hypocrite will hold her like a dove in the claws of a buzzard hawk till + she throws herself away on some Manx omathaun. It's the way with half + these pretty creatures—they're wasted.” + </p> + <p> + Philip's blood was boiling. “Do you call it being wasted when a good girl + is married to an honest man?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I do; because a girl like this can never marry the right man. The man who + is worthy of her cannot marry her, and the man who marries her isn't + worthy of her. It's like this, Philip. She's young, she's pretty, perhaps + beautiful, has manners and taste, and some refinement. The man of her own + class is clumsy and ignorant, and stupid and poor. She doesn't want him, + and the man she does want the man she's fit for—daren't marry her; + it would be social suicide.” + </p> + <p> + “And so,” said Philip bitterly, “to save the man above from social + suicide, the girl beneath must choose moral death—is that it?” + </p> + <p> + Ross laughed. “Do you know I thought old Jeremiah was at you in the corner + there, Philip. But look at it straight. Here's a girl like that. Two + things are open to her—two only. Say she marries your Manx fellow, + what follows? A thatched cottage three fields back from the mountain road, + two rooms, a cowhouse, a crock, a dresser, a press, a form, a three-legged + stool, an armchair, and a clock with a dirty face, hanging on a nail in + the wall. Milking, weeding, digging, ninepence a day, and a can of + buttermilk, with a lump of butter thrown in. Potatoes, herrings, and + barley bonnag. Year one, a baby, a boy; year two, another baby, a girl; + year three, twins; year four, barefooted children squalling, dirty house, + man grumbling, woman distracted, measles, hooping-cough; a journey at the + tail of a cart to the bottom of the valley, and the awful words 'I am the——'” + </p> + <p> + “Hush man!” said Philip. They were passing Lezayre churchyard. When they + had left it behind, he added, with a grim curl of the lip, which was lost + in the darkness, “Well, that's one side. What's the other?” + </p> + <p> + “Life,” said Ross. “Short and sweet, perhaps. Everything she wants, + everything she can wish for—five years, four years, three years—what + matter?” + </p> + <p> + “And then?” + </p> + <p> + “Every one for himself and God for us all, my boy. She's as happy as the + day while it lasts, lifts her head like a rosebud in the sun——” + </p> + <p> + “Then drops it, I suppose, like a rose-leaf in the mud.” Ross laughed + again. “Yes, it's a fact, old Jeremiah <i>has</i> been at you, Philip. + Poor little Kitty——” + </p> + <p> + “Keep the girl's name out of it, if you please.” + </p> + <p> + Ross gave a long whistle. “I was only saying the poor little woman——” + </p> + <p> + “It's damnable, and I'll have no more of it.” + </p> + <p> + “There's no duty on speech, I hope, in your precious Isle of Man.” + </p> + <p> + “There is, though,” said Philip, “a duty of decency and honour, and to + name that girl, foolish as she is, in the same breath with your women—But + here, listen to me. Best tell you now, so there may be no mistake and no + excuse. Miss Cregeen is to be married to a friend of mine. I needn't say + who he is—he comes close enough to you at all events. When he's at + home, he's able to take care of his own affairs; but while he's abroad + I've got to see that no harm comes to his promised wife. I mean to do it, + too. Do you understand me, Ross? I mean to do it. Good night!” + </p> + <p> + They were at the gate of Ballawhaine by this time, and Ross went through + it giggling. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0018" id="link2H_4_0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV. + </h2> + <p> + The following evening found Philip at “The Manx Fairy” again. Ross was + there as usual, and he was laughing and talking in a low tone with Kate. + This made Philip squirm on his chair, but Kate's behaviour tortured him. + Her enjoyment of the man's jests was almost uproarious. She was signalling + to him and peering up at him gaily. Her conduct disgusted Philip. It + seemed to him an aggravation of her offence that as often as he caught the + look of her face there was a roguish twinkle in the eye on his side, and a + deliberate cast in his direction. This open disregard of the sanctity of a + pledged word, this barefaced indifference to the presence of him who stood + to represent it, was positively indecent. This was what women were! Deceit + was bred in their bones. + </p> + <p> + It added to Philip's gathering wrath that Cæsar, who sat in shirt-sleeves + making up his milling accounts from slates ciphered with crosses, and + triangles, and circles, and half circles, was lifting his eyes from time + to time to look first at them and then at him, with an expression of + contempt. + </p> + <p> + At a burst of fresh laughter and a shot of the bright eyes, Philip surged + up to his feet, thrust himself between Ross and Kate, turned his back on + him and his face to her, and said in a peremptory voice, “Come into the + parlour instantly—I have something to say to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, indeed!” said Kate. + </p> + <p> + But she came, looking mischievous and yet demure, with her head down but + her eyes peering under their long upper lashes. + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you send this fellow about his business?” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + Kate looked up in blank surprise. “What fellow?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “What fellow?” said Philip, “why, this one that is shillyshallying with + you night after night.” + </p> + <p> + “You can never mean your own cousin, Philip?” said Kate. + </p> + <p> + “More's the pity if he is my cousin, but he's no fit company for you.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure the gentleman is polite enough.” + </p> + <p> + “So's the devil himself.” + </p> + <p> + “He can behave and keep his temper, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it's the only thing he can keep. He can't keep his character or his + credit or his honor, and you should not encourage him.” + </p> + <p> + Kate's under lip began to show the inner half. “Who says I encourage him?” + </p> + <p> + “I do.” + </p> + <p> + “What right have you?” + </p> + <p> + “Haven't I seen you with my own eyes?” + </p> + <p> + Kate grew defiant. “Well, and what if you have?” + </p> + <p> + “Then you are a jade and a coquette.” + </p> + <p> + The word hissed out like steam from a kettle. Kate saw it coming and took + it full in the face. She felt an impulse to scream with laughter, so she + seized her opportunity and cried. + </p> + <p> + Philip's temper began to ebb. “That man would be a poor bargain, Kate, if + he were twenty times the heir of Ballawhaine. Can't you gather from his + conversation what his life and companions are? Of course it's nothing to + me, Kate——” + </p> + <p> + “No, it's nothing to you,” whimpered Kate, from behind both hands. + </p> + <p> + “I've no right——” + </p> + <p> + “Of course not; you've no right,” said Kate, and she stole a look + sideways. + </p> + <p> + “Only——” + </p> + <p> + Philip did not see the glance that came from the corner of Kate's eye. + </p> + <p> + “When a girl forgets a manly fellow, who happens to be abroad, for the + first rascal that comes along with his dirty lands—” + </p> + <p> + Down went the hands with an impatient fling. “What are his lands to me?” + </p> + <p> + “Then it's my duty as a friend——” + </p> + <p> + “Duty indeed! Just what every old busybody says.” + </p> + <p> + Philip gripped her wrist. “Listen to me. If you don't send this man + packing——” + </p> + <p> + “You are hurting me. Let go my arm.” + </p> + <p> + Philip flung it aside and said, “What do I care?” + </p> + <p> + “Then why do you call me a coquette?” + </p> + <p> + “Do as you like.” + </p> + <p> + “So I will. Philip! Philip! Phil! He's gone.” + </p> + <p> + It was twenty miles by coach and rail from Douglas to Sulby, but Philip + was back at “The Manx Fairy” the next evening also. He found a + saddle-horse linked to the gate-post and Ross inside the house with a + riding-whip in his hand, beating the leg of his riding-breeches. + </p> + <p> + When Philip appeared, Kate began to look alarmed, and Ross to look ugly. + Cæsar, who was taking his tea in the ingle, was having an unpleasant + passage with Grannie in side-breaths by the fire. + </p> + <p> + “Bad, bad, a notorious bad liver and dirty with the tongue,” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “Chut, father!” said Grannie. “The young man's civil enough, and girls + will be girls. What's a word or a look or a laugh when you're young and + have a face that's fit for anything.” + </p> + <p> + “Better her face should be pitted with smallpox than bring her to the pit + of hell,” said Cæsar. “All flesh is grass: the grass withereth, the flower + fadeth.” + </p> + <p> + Nancy Joe came from the dairy at that moment. “Gracious me I did you see + that now?” she said. “I wonder at Kitty. But it's the way of the men, + smiling and smiling and maning nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “Hm! They mane a dale,” growled Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + Ross had recovered from his uneasiness at Philip's entrance, and was + engaged in some narration whereof the only words that reached the kitchen + were <i>I know</i> and <i>I know</i> repeated frequently. + </p> + <p> + “You seem to know a dale, sir,” shouted Cæsar; “do you know what it is to + be saved?” + </p> + <p> + There was silence for a moment, and then Ross, polishing his massive + signet ring on his corduroy waistcoat, said, “Is that the old gentleman's + complaint, I wonder?” + </p> + <p> + “My husband is a local preacher and always strong for salvation,” said + Grannie by way of peace. + </p> + <p> + “Is that all?” said Ross. “I thought perhaps he had taken more wine than + the sacrament.” + </p> + <p> + “You're my cross, woman,” muttered Cæsar, “but no cross no crown.” + </p> + <p> + “Lave women's matters alone, father; it'll become you better,” said + Grannie. + </p> + <p> + “Laugh as you like, Mistress Cregeen; there's One above, there's One + above.” + </p> + <p> + Ross had resumed his conversation with Kate, who was looking frightened. + And listening with all his ears, Philip caught the substance of what was + said. + </p> + <p> + “I'm due back by this time. There's the supper at Handsome Honey's, not to + speak of the everlasting examinations. But somehow I can't tear myself + away. Why not? Can't you guess? No? Not a notion? I would go to-morrow—Kitty, + a word in your ear——” + </p> + <p> + “I believe in my heart that man is for kissing her,” said Cæsar. “If he + does, then by—he's done it! Hould, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Cæsar had risen to his feet, and in a moment the house was in an uproar. + Ross lifted his head like a cock. “Were you speaking to me, mister?” he + asked. + </p> + <p> + “I was, and don't demane yourself like that again,” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “Like what?” said Ross. + </p> + <p> + “Paying coort to a girl that isn't fit for you.” + </p> + <p> + Ross lifted his hat, “Do you mean this young lady?” + </p> + <p> + “No young lady at all, sir, but the daughter of a plain, respectable man + that isn't going to see her fooled. Your hat to your head, sir. You'll be + wanting it for the road.” + </p> + <p> + “Father!” cried Kate, in a voice of fear. + </p> + <p> + Cæsar turned his rough shoulder and said, “Go to your room, ma'am, and + keep it for a week.” + </p> + <p> + “You may go,” said Ross. “I'll spare the old simpleton for your sake, + Kate.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll spare me, sir?” cried Cæsar. “I've seen the day—but thank + the Lord for restraining grace! Spare me? If you had said as much + five-and-twenty years ago, sir, your head would have gone ringing against + the wall.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll spare you no more, then,” said Ross. “Take that—and that.” + </p> + <p> + Amid screams from the women, two sounding blows fell on Cæsar's face. At + the next instant Philip was standing between the two men. + </p> + <p> + “Come this way,” he said, addressing Ross. + </p> + <p> + “If I like,” Ross answered. + </p> + <p> + “This way, I tell you,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + Ross snapped his fingers. “As you please,” he said, and then followed + Philip out of the house. + </p> + <p> + Kate had run upstairs in terror, but five minutes afterwards she was on + the road, with a face full of distress, and a shawl over head and + shoulders. At the bridge she met Kelly, the postman. + </p> + <p> + “Which way have they gone,” she panted, “the young Ballawhaine and Philip + Christian?” + </p> + <p> + “I saw them heading down to the Curragh,” said Kelly, and Kate in the + shawl, flew like a bird over the ground in that direction. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0019" id="link2H_4_0019"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V. + </h2> + <p> + The two young men went on without a word. Philip walked with long strides + three paces in front, with head thrown back, pallid face and contracted + features, mouth firmly shut, arms stiff by his side, and difficult and + audible breathing. Ross slouched behind with an air of elaborate + carelessness, his horse beside him, the reins over its head and round his + arm, the riding-whip under his other arm-pit, and both his hands deep in + the breeches pockets. There was no road the way they went, but only a cart + track, interrupted here and there by a gate, and bordered by square turf + pits half full of water. + </p> + <p> + The days were long and the light was not yet failing. Beyond the gorse, + the willows, the reeds, the rushes and the sally bushes of the flat land, + the sun was setting over a streak of gold on the sea. They had left behind + them the smell of burning turf, of crackling sticks, of fish, and of the + cowhouse, and were come into the atmosphere of flowering gorse and damp + scraa soil and brine. + </p> + <p> + “Far enough, aren't we?” shouted Ross, but Philip pushed on. He drew up at + last in an open space, where the gorse had been burnt away and its black + remains desolated the surface and killed the odours of life. There was not + a house near, not a landmark in sight, except a windmill on the sea's + verge, and the ugly tower of a church, like the funnel of a steamship + between sea and sky. + </p> + <p> + “We're alone at last,” he said hoarsely. + </p> + <p> + “We are,” said Ross, interrupting the whistling of a tune, “and now that + you've got me here, perhaps you'll be good enough to tell me what we've + come for.” + </p> + <p> + Philip made no more answer than to strip himself of his coat and + waistcoat. + </p> + <p> + “You're never going to make a serious business of this stupid affair?” + said Ross, leaning against the horse and slapping the sole of one foot + with the whip. + </p> + <p> + “Take off your coat,” said Philip in a thick voice. + </p> + <p> + “Can I help it if a pretty girl——” began Ross. + </p> + <p> + “Will you strip?” cried Philip. + </p> + <p> + Ross laughed. “Ah! now I remember our talk of the other night. But you + don't mean to say,” he said, flipping at the flies at the horse's head, + “that because the little woman is forgetting the curmudgeon that's abroad——” + </p> + <p> + Philip strode up to him with clenched hands and quivering lips and said, + “Will you fight?” + </p> + <p> + Ross laughed again, but the blood was in his face, and he said tauntingly, + “I wouldn't distress myself, man. Daresay I'll be done with the girl + before the fellow——” + </p> + <p> + “You're a scoundrel,” cried Philip, “and if you won't stand up to me——” + </p> + <p> + Ross flung away his whip. “If I must, I must,” he said, and then threw the + horse's reins round the charred arm of a half-destroyed gorse tree. + </p> + <p> + A minute afterwards the young men stood face to face. + </p> + <p> + “Stop,” said Ross, “let me tell you first; it's only fair. Since I went up + to London I've learnt a thing or two. I've stood up before men that can + strip a picture; I've been opposite talent and I can peck a bit, but I've + never heard that you can stop a blow.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you ready?” cried Philip. + </p> + <p> + “As you will. You shall have one round, you'll want no more.” + </p> + <p> + The young men looked badly matched. Ross, in riding-breeches and shirt, + with red bullet head and sprawling feet, arms like an oak and veins like + willow boughs. Philip in shirt and knickerbockers, with long fair hair, + quivering face, and delicate figure. It was strength and some skill + against nerve alone. + </p> + <p> + Like a rush of wind Philip came on, striking right and left, and was + driven back by a left-hand body-blow. + </p> + <p> + “There, you've got it,” said Ross, smiling benignly. “Didn't I tell you? + That's old Bristol Bull to begin with.” + </p> + <p> + Philip rushed on again, and came back with a smashing blow that cut his + nether lip. + </p> + <p> + “You've got a second,” said Ross. “Have you had enough?” + </p> + <p> + Philip did not hear, but sprang fiercely at Ross once more. The next + instant he was on the ground. Then Ross took on a manner of utter + contempt. “I can't keep on flipping at you all night.” + </p> + <p> + “Mock me when you've beaten me,” said Philip, and he was on his feet + again, somewhat blown, but fresh as to spirit and doggedly resolute. + </p> + <p> + “Toe the scratch, then,” said Ross. “I must say you're good at your + gruel.” + </p> + <p> + Philip flung himself on his man a third time, and fell more heavily than + before, under a flush hit that seemed to bury itself in his chest. + </p> + <p> + “I can't go on fighting a man that's as good for nothing as my old + grandmother,” said Ross. + </p> + <p> + But his contempt was abating; he was growing uneasy; Philip was before him + as fierce as ever. + </p> + <p> + “Fight your equal,” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “I'll fight you,” growled Philip. + </p> + <p> + “You're not fit. Give it up. And look, the dark is falling.” + </p> + <p> + “There's enough daylight yet. Come on.” + </p> + <p> + “Nobody is here to shame you.” + </p> + <p> + “Come on, I say.” + </p> + <p> + Philip did not wait, but sprang on his man like a tiger. Ross met his + blow, dodged, feinted; they gripped, swinging to and fro; there was a + struggle, and Philip fell again with a dull thud against the ground. + </p> + <p> + “Will you stop now?” said Ross. + </p> + <p> + “No, no, no,” cried Philip, leaping to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “I'll eat you up. I'm a glutton, I can tell you.” But his voice trembled, + and Philip, blind with passion, laughed. + </p> + <p> + “You'll be hurt,” said Ross. + </p> + <p> + “What of that?” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “You'll be killed.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm willing.” + </p> + <p> + Ross tried to laugh mockingly, but the hoarse gurgle choked in his throat. + He began to tremble. “This man doesn't know when he's mauled,” he + muttered, and after a loud curse he stood up afresh, with a craven and + shifty look. His blows fell like scorching missiles, but Philip took them + like a rock scoured with shingle, raining blood like water, but standing + firm. + </p> + <p> + “What's the use?” cried Ross; “drop it.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll drop myself first,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “If you won't give it up, I will,” said Ross. + </p> + <p> + “You shan't,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “Take your victory if you like.” + </p> + <p> + “I won't.” + </p> + <p> + “Say you've licked me.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll do it first,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + Ross laughed long and riotously, but he was trembling like a whipped cur. + With a blob of foam on his lips he came up, collecting all his strength, + and struck Philip a blow on the forehead that fell with the sound of a + hammer on a coffin. + </p> + <p> + “Are you done?” he snuffled. + </p> + <p> + “No, by God,” cried Philip, black as ink with the burnt gorse from the + ground, except where the blood ran red on him. + </p> + <p> + “This man means to kill me,” mumbled Ross. He looked round shiftily, and + said, “I mean no harm by the girl.” + </p> + <p> + “You're a liar!” cried Philip. + </p> + <p> + With a glance of deep malignity, Ross closed with Philip again. It was now + a struggle of right with wrong as well as nerve with strength. The sun had + set under the sea, the sally bushes were shivering in the twilight, a + flight of rooks were screaming overhead. Blows were no more heard. Ross + gripped Philip in a venomous embrace, and dragged him on to one knee. + Philip rose, Ross doubled round his waist, pushing him backward, and fell + heavily on his breast, shouting with the growl of a beast, “You'll fight + me, will you? Get up, get up!” + </p> + <p> + Philip did not rise, and Ross began dragging and lunging at him with + brutal ferocity, when suddenly, where he bent double, a blow fell on his + ear from behind, another and another, a hand gripped his shirt collar and + choked him, and a voice cried, “Let go, you brute, let go, let go.” + </p> + <p> + Ross dropped Philip and swung himself round to return the attack. + </p> + <p> + It was the girl. “Oh, it's you, is it?” he panted. She was like a fury. + “You brute, you beast, you toad,” she cried, and then threw herself over + Philip. + </p> + <p> + He was unconscious. She lifted his head on to her lap, and, lost to all + shame, to all caution, to all thought but one thought, she kissed him on + the cheek, on the lips, on the eyes, on the forehead, crying, “Philip! oh, + Philip, Philip!” + </p> + <p> + Ross was shuddering beside them. “Let me look at him,” he faltered, but + Kate fired back with a glance like an arrow, and said, screaming like a + sea-gull, “If you touch him again I'll strangle you.” + </p> + <p> + Ross caught a glimpse of Philip's face, and he was terrified. Going to a + turf pit, he dipped both hands in the dub, and brought some water. “Take + this,” he said, “for Heaven's sake let me bathe his head.” + </p> + <p> + He dashed the water on the pallid forehead, and then withdrew his eyes, + while the girl coaxed Philip back to consciousness with fresh kisses and + pleading words. + </p> + <p> + “Is he breathing? Feel his heart. Any pulsation? Oh, God!” said Ross, “it + wasn't my fault.” He looked round with wild eyes; he meditated flight. + </p> + <p> + “Is he better yet?” + </p> + <p> + “What's it to you, you coward?” said Kate, with a burning glance. She went + on with her work: “Come then, dear, come, come now.” + </p> + <p> + Philip opened his eyes in a vacant stare, and rose on his elbow. Then Kate + fell back from him immediately, and began to cry quietly, being all woman + now, and her moral courage gone again in an instant. + </p> + <p> + But the moral courage of Mr. Ross came back as quickly. He began to sneer + and to laugh lightly, picked up his riding-whip and strode over to his + horse. + </p> + <p> + “Are you hurt?” asked Kate, in a low tone. + </p> + <p> + “Is it Kate?” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + At the sound of his voice, in that low whisper, Kate's tears came + streaming down. + </p> + <p> + “I hope youll forgive me,” she said. “I should have taken your warning.” + </p> + <p> + She wiped his face with the loose sleeve of her dress, and then he + struggled to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “Lean on me, Philip.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, I can walk.” + </p> + <p> + “Do take my arm.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no, Kate, I'm strong enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Just to please me.” + </p> + <p> + “Well—very well.” + </p> + <p> + Ross looked on with jealous rage. His horse, frightened by the fight, had + twirled round and round till the reins were twisted into a knot about the + gorse stump, and as he liberated the beast he flogged it back till it flew + around him. Then he vaulted to the saddle, tugged at the curb, and the + horse reared. “Down,” he cried with an oath, and lashed brutally at the + horse's head. + </p> + <p> + Meantime Kate, going past him with Philip on her arm, was saying softly, + “Are you feeling better, Philip?” + </p> + <p> + And Ross, looking on in sulky meditation, sent a harsh laugh out of his + hot throat, and said, “Oh, you can make your mind easy about <i>him</i>, + if your other man fights for you like that you'll do. Thought you'd have + three of them, did you? Or perhaps you only wanted me for your decoy? Why + don't you kiss him now, when he can know it? But he's a beauty to take + care of you for somebody else. Fighting for the other one, eh? Stuff and + humbug! Take him home, and the curse of Judas on the brace of you.” + </p> + <p> + So saying, he burst into wild, derisive laughter, flogged his horse on the + ears and the nose, shouted “Down, you brute, down!” and shot off at a + gallop across the open Curragh. + </p> + <p> + Philip and Kate stood where he had left them till he had disappeared in + the mist rising off the marshy land, and the hud of his horse's hoofs + could be no more heard. Their heads were down, and though their arms were + locked, their faces were turned half aside. There was silence for some + time. The girl's eyelids quivered; her look was anxious and helpless. Then + Philip said, “Let us go home,” and they began to walk together. + </p> + <p> + Not another word did they speak. Neither looked into the other's eyes. + Their entwined arms slackened a little in a passionless asundering, yet + both felt that they must hold tight or they would fall. It was almost as + if Ross's parting taunt had uncovered their hearts to each other, and + revealed to themselves their secret. They were like other children of the + garden of Eden, driven out and stripped naked. + </p> + <p> + At the bridge they met Cæsar, Grannie, Nancy Joe, and half the inhabitants + of Sulby, abroad with lanterns in search of them. + </p> + <p> + “They're here,” cried Cæsar. “You've chastised him, then! You'd bait his + head off, I'll go bail. And I believe enough you'll be forgiven, sir. + Yonder blow was almost bitterer than flesh can bear. Before my days of + grace—but, praise the Lord for His restraining hand, the very minute + my anger was up He crippled me in the hip with rheumatics. But what's + this?” holding the lantern over his head; “there's blood on your face, + sir?” + </p> + <p> + “A scratch—it's nothing,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “It's the women that's in every mischief,” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “Lord bless me, aren't the women as good as the men?” said Nancy. + </p> + <p> + “H'm,” said Cæsar. “We're told that man was made a little lower than the + angels, but about women we're just left to our own conclusions.” + </p> + <p> + “Scripture has nothing to do with Ross Christian, father,” said Grannie. + </p> + <p> + “The Lord forbid it,” said Cæsar. “What can you get from a cat but his + skin? And doesn't the man come from Christian Ballawhaine!” + </p> + <p> + “If it comes to that, though, haven't we all come from Adam?” said + Grannie. + </p> + <p> + “Yes; and from Eve too, more's the pity,” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0020" id="link2H_4_0020"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI. + </h2> + <p> + For some time thereafter Philip went no more to Sulby. He had a sufficient + excuse. His profession made demand of all his energies. When he was not at + work in Douglas he was expected to be at home with his aunt at Ballure. + But neither absence nor the lapse of years served to lift him out of the + reach of temptation. He had one besetting provocation to remembrance—one + duty which forbade him to forget Kate—his pledge to Pete, his office + as <i>Dooiney Molla</i>. Had he not vowed to keep guard over the girl? He + must do it. The trust was a sacred one. + </p> + <p> + Philip found a way out of his difficulty. The post was an impersonal and + incorruptible go-between, so he wrote frequently. Sometimes he had news to + send, for, to avoid the espionage of Cæsar, intelligence of Pete came + through him; occasionally he had love-letters to enclose; now and then he + had presents to pass on. When such necessity did not arise, he found it + agreeable to keep up the current of correspondence. At Christmas he sent + Christmas cards, on Midsummer Day a bunch of moss roses, and even on St. + Valentine's Day a valentine. All this was in discharge of his duty, and + everything he did was done in the name of Pete. He persuaded himself that + he sank his own self absolutely. Having denied his eyes the very sight of + the girl's face, he stood erect in the belief that he was a true and loyal + friend. + </p> + <p> + Kate was less afraid and less ashamed. She took the presents from Pete and + wore them for Philip. In her secret heart she thought no shame of this. + The years gave her a larger flow of life, and made out of the bewitching + girl a splendid woman, brought up to the full estate of maidenly beauty. + </p> + <p> + This change wrought by time on her bodily form caused the past to seem to + her a very long way off. Something had occurred that made her a different + being. She was like the elder sister of that laughing girl who had known + Pete. To think of that little sister as having a kind of control over her + was impossible. Kate never did think of it. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless, she held her tongue. Her people were taken in by the episode + of Ross Christian. According to their view, Kate loved the man and still + longed for him, and that was why she never talked of Pete. Philip was + disgusted with her unfaithfulness to his friend, and that was the reason + of his absence. She never talked of Philip either, but they, on their + part, talked of him perpetually, and fed her secret passion with his + praises. Thus for three years these two were like two prisoners in + neighbouring cells, very close and yet very far apart, able to hear each + other's voices, yet never to see each other's faces, yearning to come + together and to touch, but unable to do so because of the wall that stood + between. + </p> + <p> + Since the fight, Cæsar had removed her from all duties of the inn, and one + day in the spring she was in the gable house peeling rushes to make tallow + candles when Kelly, the postman, passed by the porch, where Nancy Joe was + cleaning the candle-irons. + </p> + <p> + “Heard the newses, Nancy?” said Kelly. “Mr. Philip Christian is let off + two years' time and called to the bar.” + </p> + <p> + Nancy looked grave. “I'm sure the young gentleman is that quiet and + studdy,” she said. “What are they doing on him?” + </p> + <p> + “Only making him a full advocate, woman,” said Kelly. + </p> + <p> + “You don't say?” said Nancy. + </p> + <p> + “He passed his examination before the Govenar's man yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, there now!” + </p> + <p> + “I took the letter to Ballure this evening.” + </p> + <p> + “It's like you would, Mr. Kelly. That's the boy for you. I'm always saying + it. 'Deed I am, though, but there's ones here that won't have it at all, + at all.” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Kate, you mane? We know the raison. He's lumps in her porridge, + woman. Good-day to you, Nancy.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it's doing a nice day enough, Mr. Kelly,” said Nancy, and the + postman passed on. + </p> + <p> + Kate came gliding out with a brush in her hand. “What was the postman + saying?” + </p> + <p> + “That—Mr.—Philip—Christian—has been passing—for + an advocate,” said Nancy deliberately. + </p> + <p> + Kate's eyes glistened, and her lips quivered with delight; but she only + said, with an air of indifference, “Was that all his news, then?” + </p> + <p> + “All? D'ye say all?” said Nancy, digging away at the candle-irons. “Listen + to the girl! And him that good to her while her promist man's away!” + </p> + <p> + Kate shelled her rush, and said, with a sigh and a sly look, “I'm afraid + you think a deal too much of him, Nancy.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I'll be making mends,” said Nancy, “for some that's thinking a dale + too little.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm quite at a loss to know what you see in him,” said Kate. + </p> + <p> + “Now, you don't say!” said Nancy with scorching irony. Then, banging her + irons, she added, “I'm not much of a woman for a man myself. They're only + poor helpless creatures anyway, and I don't approve of them. But if I was + for putting up with one of the sort, he wouldn't have legs and arms like a + dolly, and a face like curds and whey, and coat and trousers that loud you + can hear them coming up the street.” + </p> + <p> + With this parting shot at Ross Christian, Nancy flung into the house, + thinking she had given Kate a dressing that she would never forget. Kate + was radiant. Such abuse was honey on her lips, such scoldings were + joy-bells in her ears. She took silent delight in provoking these attacks. + They served her turn both ways, bringing her delicious joy at the praise + of Philip, and at the same time preserving her secret. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII. + </h2> + <p> + Latter that day Cæsar came in from the mill with the startling + intelligence that Philip was riding up on the highroad. + </p> + <p> + “Goodness mercy!” cried Nancy, and she fled away to wash her face. Grannie + with a turn of the hand settled her cap, and smoothed her grey hair under + it. Kate herself had disappeared like a flash of light; but as Philip + dismounted at the gate, looking taller, and older, and paler, and more + serious, but raising his cap from his fair head and smiling a smile like + sunshine, she was coming leisurely out of the porch with a bewitching hat + over her wavy black hair and a hand-basket over her arm. + </p> + <p> + Then there was a little start of surprise and recognition, a short catch + of quick breath and nervous salutations. + </p> + <p> + “I'm going round to the nests,” she said. “I suppose you'll step in to see + mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Time enough for that,” said Philip. “May I help you with the eggs first? + Besides, I've something to tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it that you're 'admitted?'” said Kate. + </p> + <p> + “That's nothing,” said Philip. “Only the A B C, you know. Getting ready to + begin, so to speak.” + </p> + <p> + They walked round to the stackyard, and he tied up his horse and gave it + hay. Then, while they poked about for eggs on hands and knees among the + straw, under the stacks and between the bushes, she said she hoped he + would have success, and he answered that success was more than a hope to + him now—it was a sort of superstition. She did not understand this, + but looked up at him from all fours with brightening eyes, and said, “What + a glorious thing it is to be a man!” + </p> + <p> + “Is it?” said Philip. “And yet I remember somebody who said she wasn't + sorry to be a girl.” + </p> + <p> + “Did I?” said Kate. “But that was long ago. And <i>I</i> remember somebody + else who pretended he was glad I was.” + </p> + <p> + “That was long ago too,” said Philip, and both laughed nervously. + </p> + <p> + “What strange things girls are—and boys!” said Kate with a matronly + sigh, burying her face in a nest where a hen was clucking and two downy + chicks were peeping from her wing. + </p> + <p> + They went through to the orchard, where the trees were breaking into eager + blossoms. + </p> + <p> + “I've another letter for you from Pete,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “So?” said Kate. + </p> + <p> + “Here it is,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “Won't you read it?” said Kate. + </p> + <p> + “But it's yours; surely a girl doesn't want anybody else——” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! but you're different, though; you know everything—and besides—read + it aloud, Philip.” + </p> + <p> + With her basket of eggs on one arm, and the other hand on the outstretched + arm of an apple-tree, she waited while he read: + </p> + <p> + “Dearest Kitty,—How's yourself, darling, and how's Philip, and how's + Grannie? I'm getting on tremendous. They're calling me Captain now—Capt'n + Pete. Sort of overseer at the Diamond Mines outside Kimberley. Regular + gentleman's life and no mistake. Nothing to do but sit under a monstrous + big umbrella, with a paper in your fist, like a chairman, while twenty + Kaffirs do the work. Just a bit of a tussle now and then to keep you from + dropping off. When a Kaffir turns up a diamond, you grab it, and mark it + on the time-sheet against his name. They've got their own outlandish ones, + but we always christen them ourselves—Sixpence, Seven Waistcoats, + Shoulder-of-Mutton, Twopenny Trotter—anything you like. When a + Kaffir strikes a diamond, he gets a commission, and so does his overseer. + I'm afraid I'm going to be getting terrible rich soon. Tell the old man + I'll be buying that har-monia yet. They are a knowing lot, though, and if + they can get up a dust to smuggle a stone when you're not looking, they + will. Then they sell it to the blackleg Boers, and you've got to raise + your voice like an advocate to get it back somehow. But the Boers can't do + no harm to you with their fists at all—it's playing. They're a dirty + lot, wonderful straight like some of the lazy Manx ones, especially Black + Tom. When they see us down at the river washing, they say, 'What dirty + people the English must be if they have to wash themselves three times a + day—we only do it once a week.' When a Kaffir steals a stone we + usually court-martial him, but I don't hold with it, as the floggers on + the compound can't be trusted; so I always lick my own niggers, being more + kinder, and if anybody does anything against me, they lynch him.” + </p> + <p> + Kate made a little patient sigh and turned away her head, while Philip, in + a halting voice, went on— + </p> + <p> + “Darling Kitty, I am longing mortal for a sight of your sweet face. When + the night comes, and I'll be lying in the huts—boards on the ground, + and good canvas, and everything comfortable—says I to the boys, + 'Shut your faces, men, and let a poor chap sleep;' but they never twig the + darkness of my meaning. I'll only be wanting a bit of quiet for thinking + of.... with the stars atwinkling down.... She's looking at that one.... + Shine on my angel....” + </p> + <p> + “Really, Kate,” faltered Philip, “I can't——” + </p> + <p> + “Give it to me, then,” said Kate. + </p> + <p> + She was tugging with her trembling hand at the arm of the apple-tree, and + the white blossom was raining over her from the rowels of the thin boughs + overhead, like silver fish falling from the herring-net. Taking the + letter, she glanced over the close— + </p> + <p> + “darlin Kirry how is the mackral this saison and is the millin doing + middling and I wonder is the hens all layin and is the grace gone out of + the mares leg yet and how is the owl man and is he still playin hang with + the texes. Theer is a big chap heer that is strait like him he hath + swallowed the owl Book and cant help bring it up agen but dear Kirry no + more at present i axpect to be Home sune bogh, to see u all tho I dont no + azactly With luv your luving swateart peat.” + </p> + <p> + When she had finished the letter, she turned it over in her fingers, and + gave another patient little sigh. “You didn't read it as it was spelled, + Philip,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “What odds if the spelling is uncertain when the love is as sure as that?” + said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “Did he write it himself, think you?” said Kate. + </p> + <p> + “He signed it, anyway, and no doubt indited it too; but perhaps one of the + Gills boys held the pen.” + </p> + <p> + She coloured a little, slipped the letter down her dress into her pocket, + and looked ashamed. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0022" id="link2H_4_0022"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VIII. + </h2> + <p> + This shame at Pete's letter tormented Philip, and he stayed away again. + His absence stimulated Kate and made Philip himself ashamed. She was vexed + with him that he did not see that all this matter of Pete was foolishness. + It was absurd to think of a girl marrying a man whom she had known when he + was a boy. But Philip was trying to keep the bond sacred, and so she made + her terms with it. She used Pete as a link to hold Philip. + </p> + <p> + After the lapse of some months, in which Philip had not been seen at + Sulby, she wrote him a letter. It was to say how anxious she had been at + the length of time since she had last heard from Pete, and to ask if he + had any news to relieve her fears. The poor little lie was written in a + trembling hand which shook honestly enough, but from the torment of other + feelings. + </p> + <p> + Philip answered the letter in person. Something had been speaking to him + day and night, like the humming of a top, finding him pretexts on which to + go; but now he had to make excuses for staying so long away. It was + evening. Kate was milking, and he went out to her in the cowhouse. + </p> + <p> + “We began to think we were to see no more of you,” she said, over the + rattle of the milk in the pail. + </p> + <p> + “I've—I've been ill,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + The rattle died to a thin hiss. “Very ill?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Well, no—not seriously,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “I never once thought of that,” she said. “Something ought to have told + me. I've been reproaching you, too.” + </p> + <p> + Philip felt shame of his subterfuge, but yet more ashamed of the truth; so + he leaned against the door and watched in silence. The smell of hay + floated down from the loft, and the odour of the cow's breath came in + gusts as she turned her face about. Kate sat on the milking-stool close by + the ewer, and her head, on which she wore a sun-bonnet, she leaned against + the cow's side. + </p> + <p> + “No news of Pete, then? No?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + Kate dug her head deeper in the cow, and muttered, “Dear Pete! So simple, + so natural.” + </p> + <p> + “He is,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “So good-hearted, too.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And such a manly fellow—any girl might like him,” said Kate. + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, yes,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + There was silence again, and two pigs which had been snoring on the manure + heap outside began to snort their way home. Kate turned her head so that + the crown of the sun-bonnet was toward Phillip, and said— + </p> + <p> + “Oh, dear! Can there be anything so terrible as marrying somebody you + don't care for?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing so bad,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + The mouth of the sun-bonnet came round. “Yes, there's one thing worse, + Philip.” + </p> + <p> + “No?” + </p> + <p> + “Not having married somebody you do,” said Kate, and the milk rattled like + hail. + </p> + <p> + In the straw behind. Kate there was a tailless Manx cat with three tailed + kittens, and Philip began to play with them. Being back to back with Kate, + he could keep his countenance. + </p> + <p> + “This old Horney is terrible for switching,” said Kate, over her shoulder. + “Don't you think you could hold her tail?” + </p> + <p> + That brought them face to face again. “It's so sweet to have some one to + talk to about Pete,” said Kate. + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” + </p> + <p> + “I don't know how I could bear his long absence but for that.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you longing so much, Kate?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no, not longing—not to say longing. Only you can't think what + it is to be... have you never been yourself, Philip?” + </p> + <p> + “What?” “Hold it tight... in love? No?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Philip, speaking at the crown of the sun-bonnet. “Ha! ha! + well, not properly perhaps—I don't—I can hardly say, Kate.” + </p> + <p> + “There! You've let it go, after all, and she's covered me with the milk! + But I'm finished, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + Kate was suddenly radiant. She kissed Horney, and hugged her calf in the + adjoining stall; and as they crossed the haggard, Philip carrying the + pail, she scattered great handfuls of oats to a cock and his two hens as + they cackled their way to roost. + </p> + <p> + “You'll be sure to come again soon, Philip, eh? It's so sweet to have some + one to remind me of——” but Pete's name choked her now. “Not + that I'm likely to forget him—now is that likely? But it's such a + weary time to be left alone, and a girl gets longing. Did I now? Give me + the milk, then. Did I say I wasn't? Well, you can't expect a girl to be <i>always</i> + reasonable.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, Kate.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, you had better go now—good-bye.” + </p> + <p> + Philip went away in pain, yet in delight, with a delicious thrill, and a + sense of stifling hypocrisy. He had felt like a fool. Kate must have + thought him one. But better she should think him a fool than a traitor. It + was all his fault. Only for him the girl would have been walled round by + her love for Pete. He would come no more. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0023" id="link2H_4_0023"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IX. + </h2> + <p> + Philip held to his resolution for three months, and grew thin and pale. + Then another letter came from Pete—a letter for himself, and he + wondered what to do with it. To send it by post, pretending to be ill + again, would be hypocrisy he could not support. He took it. + </p> + <p> + The family were all at home. Nancy had just finished a noisy churning, and + Kate was in the dairy, weighing the butter into pounds and stamping it. + Philip read the letter in a loud voice to the old people in the kitchen, + and the soft thumping and watery swishing ceased in the damp place + adjoining. Pete was in high feather. He had made a mortal lot of money + lately, and was for coming home quickly. Couldn't say exactly when, for + some rascally blackleg Boers, who had been corrupting his Kaffirs and + slipped up country with a pile of stones, had first to be followed and + caught. The job wouldn't take long though, and they might expect to see + him back within a twelvemonth, with enough in his pocket to drive away the + devil and the coroner anyway. + </p> + <p> + “Bould fellow!” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “Aw, deed on Pete!” said Grannie. + </p> + <p> + “Now, if it wasn't for that Ross——” said Nancy. + </p> + <p> + Philip went into the dairy, where Kate was now skimming the cream of the + last night's milking. He was sorry there was nothing but a message for her + this time. Had she answered Pete's former letters? No, she had not. + </p> + <p> + “I must be writing soon, I suppose,” she said, blowing the yellow surface. + “But I wish—<i>puff</i>—I could have something to tell him—<i>puff, + puff</i>—about you.” + </p> + <p> + “About me, Kate?” + </p> + <p> + “Something sweet, I mean “—<i>puff, puff, puff</i>. + </p> + <p> + She shot a sly look upward. “Aren't you sure yet? Can't say still? Not + properly? No?” + </p> + <p> + Philip pretended not to understand. Kate's laugh echoed in the empty cream + tins. “How you want people to say things!” + </p> + <p> + “No, really—” began Philip. + </p> + <p> + “I've always heard that the girls of Douglas are so beautiful. You must + see so many now. Oh, it would be delicious to write a long story to Pete. + Where you met—in church, naturally. What she's like—fair, of + course. And—and all about it, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “That's a story you will never tell to Pete, Kate,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “No, never,” said Kate quite as light, and this being just what she wished + to hear, she added mournfully. “Don't say that, though. You can't think + what pleasure you are denying me, and yourself, too. Take some poor girl + to your heart, Philip. You don't know how happy it will make you.” + </p> + <p> + “Are <i>you</i> so happy, then, Kate?” + </p> + <p> + Kate laughed merrily. “Why, what do <i>you</i> think?” + </p> + <p> + “Dear old Pete—how happy <i>he</i> should be,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + Kate began to hate the very name of Pete. She grew angry with Philip also. + Why couldn't he guess? Concealment was eating her heart out. The next time + she saw Philip, he passed her in the market-place on the market-day, as + she stood by the tipped-up gig, selling her butter. There was a chatter of + girls all round as he bowed and went on. This vexed her, and she sold out + at a penny a pound less, got the horse from the “Saddle,” and drove home + early. + </p> + <p> + On the way to Sulby she overtook Philip and drew up. He was walking to + Kirk Michael to visit the old Deemster, who was ill. Would he not take a + lift? He hesitated, half declined, and then got into the gig. As she + settled herself comfortably after this change, he trod on the edge of her + dress. At that he drew quickly away as if he had trodden on her foot. + </p> + <p> + She laughed, but she was vexed; and when he got down at “The Manx Fairy,” + saying he might call on his way back in the evening, she had no doubt + Grannie would be glad to see him. + </p> + <p> + The girls of the market-place were standing by the mill-pond, work done, + and arms crossed under their aprons, twittering like the pairing birds + about them in the trees, when Philip returned home by Sulby. He saw Kate + coming down the glen road, driving two heifers with a cushag for switch + and flashing its gold at them in the horizontal gleams of sunset. She had + recovered her good-humour, and was swinging along, singing merry snatches + as she came—all life, all girlish blood and beauty. + </p> + <p> + She pretended not to see him until they were abreast, and the heifers were + going into the yard. Then she said, “I've written and told him.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “That you say you are a confirmed old bachelor.” + </p> + <p> + “That <i>I</i> say so?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; and that <i>I</i> say you are so distant with a girl that I don't + believe you have a heart at all.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't?” + </p> + <p> + “No; and that he couldn't have left anybody better to look after me all + these years, because you haven't eyes or ears or a thought for any living + creature except himself.” + </p> + <p> + “You've never written that to Pete?” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “Haven't I, though?” said Kate, and she tripped off on tiptoe. + </p> + <p> + He tripped after her. She ran into the yard. He ran also. She opened the + gate of the orchard, slipped through, and made for the door of the dairy, + and there he caught her by the waist. + </p> + <p> + “Never, you rogue! Say no, say no!” he panted. + </p> + <p> + “No,” she whispered, turning up her lips for a kiss. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0024" id="link2H_4_0024"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + X. + </h2> + <p> + Grannie saw nothing of Philip that night. He went home tingling with + pleasure, and yet overwhelmed with shame. Sometimes he told himself that + he was no better than a Judas, and sometimes that Pete might never come + back. The second thought rose oftenest. It crossed his mind like a ghostly + gleam. He half wished to believe it. When he counted up the odds against + Pete's return, his pulse beat quick. Then he hated himself. He was in + torment. But under his distracted heart there was a little chick of + frightened joy, like a young cuckoo hatched in a wagtail's nest. + </p> + <p> + After many days, in which no further news had come from Pete, Kate + received this brief letter from Philip: + </p> + <p> + “I am coming to see you this evening. Have something of grave importance + to tell you.” + </p> + <p> + It was afternoon, and Kate ran upstairs, hurried on her best frock, and + came down to help Nancy to gather apples in the orchard. Black Tom was + there, new thatching the back of the house, and Cæsar was making sugganes + (straw rope) for him with a twister. There was a soft feel of autumn in + the air, pigeons were cooing in the ledges of the mill-house gable, and + everything was luminous and tranquil. Kate had climbed to the fork of a + tree, and was throwing apples into Nancy's apron, when the orchard gate + clicked, and she uttered a little cry of joy unawares as Philip entered. + To cover this, she pretended to be falling, and he ran to help her. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it's nothing,” she said. “I thought the bough was breaking. So it's + you!” Then, in a clear voice, “Is your apron full, Nancy? Yes? Bring + another basket, then; the white one with the handles. Did you come Laxey + way by the coach? Bode over, eh? Nancy, do you really think we'll have + sugar enough for all these Keswicks?” + </p> + <p> + “Good evenin', Mr. Christian, sir,” said Cæsar. And Black Tom, from the + ladder on the roof, nodded his wide straw brim. + </p> + <p> + “Thatching afresh, Mr. Cregeen?” + </p> + <p> + “Covering it up, sir; covering it up. May the Lord cover our sins up + likewise, or how shall we cover ourselves from His avenging wrath?” + </p> + <p> + “How vexing!” said Kate, from the tree. “Half of them get bruised, and + will be good for nothing but preserving. They drop at the first touch—so + ripe, you see.” + </p> + <p> + “May we all be ripe for the great gathering, and good for preserving, + too,” said Cæsar. “Look at that big one, now—knotted like a + blacksmith's muscles, but it'll go rotten as fast as the least lil one of + the lot. It's taiching us a lesson, sir, that we all do fall—big + mountains as aisy as lil cocks. This world is changeable.” + </p> + <p> + Philip was not listening, but looking up at Kate, with a face of + half-frightened tenderness. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know,” she said, “I was afraid you must be ill again—your + apron, Nancy—that was foolish, wasn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “No; <i>I</i> have been well enough,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + Kate looked at him. “Is it somebody else?” she said. “I got your letter.” + </p> + <p> + “Can I help?” said Philip. “What is it? I'm sure there's something,” said + Kate. + </p> + <p> + “Set your foot here,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Let me down, I feel giddy.” + </p> + <p> + “Slowly, then. Hold by this one. Give me your hand.” + </p> + <p> + Their fingers touched, and communicated fire. + </p> + <p> + “Why don't you tell me?” she said, with a passionate tightening of his + hand. “It's bad news, isn't it? Are you going away?” + </p> + <p> + “Somebody who went away will never come back,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “Is it—Pete?” + </p> + <p> + “Poor Pete is gone,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + Her throat fluttered. “Gone?” + </p> + <p> + “He is dead,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + She tottered, but drew herself up quickly. “Stop!” she said. “Let me make + sure. Is there no mistake? Is it true?” + </p> + <p> + “Too true.” + </p> + <p> + “I can bear the truth now—but afterwards—to-night—tomorrow—in + the morning it might kill me if——” + </p> + <p> + “Pete is dead, Kate; he died at Kimberley.” + </p> + <p> + “Philip!” + </p> + <p> + She burst into a wild fit of hysterical weeping, and buried her face his + his breast. + </p> + <p> + He put his arms about her, thinking to soothe her. “There! be brave! Hold + yourself firm. It's a terrible blow. I was too sudden. My poor girl. My + brave girl!” + </p> + <p> + She clung to him like a terrified child; the tears came from under her + eyelids tightly closed; the flood-gates of four years' reserve went down + in a moment, and she kissed him on the lips. + </p> + <p> + And, throbbing with bliss and a blessed relief from four years hypocrisy + and treason, he kissed her back, and they smiled through their tears. + </p> + <p> + Poor Pete! Poor Pete! Poor Pete! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0025" id="link2H_4_0025"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XI. + </h2> + <p> + At the sound of Kate's crying, Cæsar had thrown away the twister and come + close to listen, and Black Tom had dropped from the thatch. Nancy ran back + with the basket, and Grannie came hurrying from the house. + </p> + <p> + Cæsar lifted both hands solemnly. “Now, you that are women, control + yourselves,” said he, “and listen while I spake. Peter Quilliam's dead in + Kimberley.” + </p> + <p> + “Goodness mercy!” cried Grannie. + </p> + <p> + “Lord alive!” cried Nancy. + </p> + <p> + And the two women went indoors, threw their aprons over their heads, and + rocked themselves in their seats. + </p> + <p> + “Aw boy veen! boy veen!” + </p> + <p> + Kate came tottering in, ghostly white, and the women fell to comforting + her, thereby making more tumult with their soothing moans than Kate with + her crying. + </p> + <p> + “Chut'! Put a good face on it, woman,” said Black Tom. “A whippa of a girl + like you will be getting another soon, and singing, 'Hail, Smiling Morn!' + with the best.” + </p> + <p> + “Shame on you, man. Are you as drunk as Mackillya?” cried Nancy. “Your own + grandson, too!” + </p> + <p> + “Never another for Kate, anyway,” wept Grannie. “Aw boy veen, aw boy + veen!” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe he had another himself, who knows?” said Black Tom. “Out of sight + out of mind, and these sailor lads have a rag on lots of bushes.” + </p> + <p> + Kate was helped to her room upstairs, Philip sat down in the kitchen, the + news spread like a curragh fire, and the barroom was full in five minutes. + In the midst of all stood Cæsar, solemn and expansive. + </p> + <p> + “He turned his herring yonder night when he left goodbye to the four of + us,” he said. “My father did the same the night he was lost running rum + for Whitehaven, and I've never seen a man do it and live.” + </p> + <p> + “It's forgot at you father,” wept Grannie. “It was Mr. Philip that turned + it. Aw boy veen! boy veen!” + </p> + <p> + “How could that be, mother?” said Cæsar. “Mr. Philip isn't dead.” + </p> + <p> + But Grannie heard no more. She was busy with the consolations of + half-a-dozen women who were gathered around her. “I dreamt it the night he + sailed. I heard a cry, most terrible, I did. 'Father,' says I, 'what's + that?' It was the same as if I had seen the poor boy coming to his end + un-timeously. And I didn't get a wink on the night.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, he has gone to the rest that remaineth,” said Cæsar. “The grass + perisheth, and the worm devoureth, and well all be in heaven with him + soon.” + </p> + <p> + “God forbid, father; don't talk of such dreadful things,” said Grannie, + napping her apron. “Do you say his mother, ma'am? Is she in life? No, but + under the sod, I don't know the years. Information of the lungs, poor + thing.” + </p> + <p> + “I've known him since I was a slip of a boy,” said one. “It was whip-top + time—no, it was peg-top time——” + </p> + <p> + “I saw him the morning he sailed,” said another. “I was standing <i>so</i>——” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Christian saw him last,” moaned Grannie, and the people in the + bar-room peered through at Philip with awe. + </p> + <p> + “I felt like a father for the lad myself,” said Cæsar, “he was always my + white-headed boy, and I stuck to him with life. He desarved it, too. Maybe + his birth was a bit mischancy, but what's the ould saying, 'Don't tell me + what I was, tell me what I am.' And Pete was that civil with the tongue—a + civiller young man never was.” + </p> + <p> + Black Tom <i>tsht</i> and spat. “Why, you were shouting out of mercy at + the lad, and knocking him about like putty. He wouldn't get lave to live + with you, and that's why he went away.” + </p> + <p> + “You're bad to forget, Thomas—I've always noticed it,” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “You'll be putting the bell about, and praiching his funeral, eh, Cæsar?” + said somebody. + </p> + <p> + “'Deed, yes, man, Sabbath first,” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “That's impossible, father,” said Grannie. “How's the girl to have her + black ready?” + </p> + <p> + “Sunday week, then, or Sunday fortnight, or the Sunday after the Melliah + (harvest-home),” said Cæsar; “the crops are waiting for saving, but a dead + man is past it. Oh, I'll be faithful, I'll give it them straight, it's a + time for spaking like a dying man to dying men; I'll take a tex' that'll + be a lesson and a warning, 'Ho, every one that thirsteth——” + </p> + <p> + Black Tom <i>tsht</i> and spat again. “I wouldn't, Cæsar; they'll think + you're going to trate them,” he muttered. + </p> + <p> + Philip was asked for particulars, and he brought out a letter. Jonaique + Jelly, John the Clerk, and Johnny the Constable had come in by this time. + “Read it, Jonaique,” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “A clane pipe first,” said Black Tom. “Aren't you smook-ing on it, Cæsar? + And isn't there a croppa of rum anywhere? No! Not so much as a plate of + crackers and a drop of tay going? Is it to be a totaller's funeral then?” + </p> + <p> + “This is no time for feasting to the refreshment of our carnal bodies,” + said Cæsar severely. “It's a time for praise and prayer.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll pud up a word or dwo,” said the Constable meekly. + </p> + <p> + “Masther Niplightly,” said Cæsar, “don't be too ready to show your gift. + It's vanity. I'll engage in prayer myself.” And Cæsar offered praise for + all departed in faith and fear. + </p> + <p> + “Cæsar is nod a man of a liberal spirit, bud he is powerful in prayer, + dough,” whispered the Constable. + </p> + <p> + “He isn't a prodigal son, if that's what you mane,” said Black Tom. “Never + seen him shouting after anybody with a pint, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “Now for the letter, Jonaique,” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + It was from one of the Gills' boys who had sailed with Pete, and hitherto + served as his letter-writer. + </p> + <p> + “'Respected Sir,'” read Jonaique, “'with pain and sorrow I write these few + lines, to tell you of poor Peter Quilliam——'” + </p> + <p> + “Aw boy veen, boy veen!” broke in Grannie. + </p> + <p> + “'Knowing you were his friend in the old island, and the one he talked of + mostly, except the girl——'” + </p> + <p> + “Boy ve——” + </p> + <p> + “Hush, woman.” + </p> + <p> + “'He made good money out here, at the diamond mines——'” + </p> + <p> + “Never a yellow sovereign he sent to me, then,” said Black Tom, “nor the + full of your fist of ha'pence either. What's the use of getting + grand-childers?” + </p> + <p> + Cæsar waved his hand. “Go on, Jonaique. It's bad when the deceitfulness of + riches is getting the better of a man.” + </p> + <p> + “Where was I? Oh, 'good money ———' 'Yet he was never for + taking joy in it——'” + </p> + <p> + “More money, more cares,” muttered Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “'But talking and talking, and scheming for ever, for coming home.'” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! home is a full cup,” moaned Grannie. “It was a show the way that lad + was fond of it. 'Give me a plate of mate, bolstered with cabbage, and what + do I care for their buns and sarves, Grannie,' says he. Aw, boy veen, boy + bogh!” + </p> + <p> + “What does the nightingale care for a golden cage when he can get a twig?” + said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “Is the boy's chest home yet?” asked John the Clerk. + </p> + <p> + “There's something about it here,” said Jonaique, “if people would only + let a man get on.” + </p> + <p> + “It's mine,” said Black Tom. + </p> + <p> + “We'll think of that by-and-bye,” said Cæsar, waving his hand to Jonaique. + </p> + <p> + “'He had packed his chest for going, when four blacklegs, who had been + hanging round the compound, tempting and plaguing the Kaffirs, made off + with a bag of stones. Desperate gang, too; so nobody was running to be + sent after them. But poor Peter, being always a bit bull-necked, was up to + the office in a jiffy, and Might he go? And off in chase in the everin' + with the twenty Kaffirs of his own company to help him—not much of a + lot neither, and suspected of dealing diamonds with the blacklegs times; + but Peter always swore their love for him was getting thicker and stronger + every day like sour cream. “The captain's love has been their theme, and + shall be till they die,” said Peter.'” + </p> + <p> + “He drank up the Word like a thirsty land the rain,” said Cæsar. “Peter + Quilliam and I had mortal joy of each other. 'Good-bye, father,' says he, + and he was shaking me by the hand ter'ble. But go on, Jonaique.” + </p> + <p> + “'That was four months ago, and a fortnight since eight of his Kaffirs + came back.'” + </p> + <p> + “Aw dear!” “Well, well!” “Lord-a-massy!” “Hush!” + </p> + <p> + “'They overtook the blacklegs far up country, and Peter tackled them. But + they had Winchester repeaters, and Peter's boys didn't know the muzzle of + a gun from the neck of a gin-bottle. So the big man of the gang cocked his + piece at Peter, and shouted at him like a high bailiff, “You'd better go + back the way you came.” “Not immajetly,” said Peter, and stretched him. + Then there was smoke like a smithy on hooping-day, and “To your heels, + boys,” shouted Peter. And if the boys couldn't equal Peter with their + hands, they could bate him with their toes, and the last they heard of him + he was racing behind them with the shots of the blacklegs behind him, and + shouting mortal, “Oh, oh! All up! I'm done! Home and tell, boys! Oh, + oh."'” + </p> + <p> + “Rejoice not against me, O mine enemy. When I fall I shall arise. Selah,” + said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + Amid the tumult of moans which followed the reading, Philip, sitting with + head on his hand by the ingle, grew hot and cold with the thought that + after all there was no actual certainty that Pete was dead. Nobody had + seen him die, nobody had buried him; the story of the returned Kaffirs + might be a lie to cover their desertion of Pete, their betrayal of him, or + their secret league with the thieving Boers. At one awful moment Philip + asked himself how he had ever believed the letter. Perhaps he had <i>wanted</i> + to believe it. + </p> + <p> + Nancy Joe touched him on the shoulder. “Kate is waiting for a word with + you alone, sir,” she said, and Philip crossed the kitchen into the little + parlour beyond, chill with china and bowls of sea-eggs and stuffed + sea-birds. + </p> + <p> + “He's feeling it bad,” said Nancy. + </p> + <p> + “Never been the same since Pete went to the Cape,” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know for sure what good lads are going to it for,” moaned + Grannie. “And calling it Good Hope of all names! Died of a bullet in his + head, too, aw dear, aw dear! Discussion of the brain it's like. And look + at them black-heads too, as naked as my hand, I'll go bail. I hate the + nasty dirts! Cæsar may talk of one flesh and brethren and all to that, but + for my part I'm not used of black brothers, and as for black angels in + heaven, it's ridiculous.” + </p> + <p> + “When you're all done talking I'll finish the letter,” said Jonaique. + </p> + <p> + “They can't help it, Mr. Jelly, the women can't help it,” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “'Respected Sir, I must now close, but we are strapping up the chest of + the deceased, just as he left it, and sending it to catch the steamer, the + <i>Johannesburg</i>, leaving Cape Town Wednesday fortnight——'” + </p> + <p> + “Hm! Johannesburg. I'll meet her at the quay—it's my duty to meet + her,” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “And I'll board her in the bay,” shouted Black Tom. + </p> + <p> + “Thomas Quilliam,” said Cæsar, “it's borne in on my spirit that the devil + of greed is let loose on you.” + </p> + <p> + “Cæsar Cregeen, don't make a nose of wax of me,” bawled Tom, “and don't + think because you're praiching a bit that religion is going to die with + you. Your head's swelling tre-menjous, and-you won't be able to sleep soon + without somebody to tickle your feet. You'll be forgiving sins next, and + taking money for absolution, and these ones will be making a pope of you + and paying you pence. Pope Cæsar, the publican, in his chapel hat and + white choker! But that chiss is mine, and if there's law in the land I'll + have it.” + </p> + <p> + With that Black Tom swept out of the house, and Cæsar wiped his eyes. + </p> + <p> + “No use smoothing a thistle, Mr. Cregeen,” said Jonaique soothingly. + </p> + <p> + “I've a conscience void of offence.” said Cæsar. “I can only follow the + spirit's leading. But when Belial——” + </p> + <p> + He was interrupted by a most mournful cry of “Look here! Aw, look, then, + look!” + </p> + <p> + Nancy was coming out of the back-kitchen with something between the tips + of her fingers. It was a pair of old shoes, covered with dirt and cobwebs. + </p> + <p> + “These were his wearing boots,” she said, and she put them on the counter. + </p> + <p> + “Dear heart, yes, the very ones,” said Grannie. “Poor boy, they'd move a + heart of stone to see them. Something to remember him by, anyway. Many a + mile his feet walked in them; but they're resting now in Abraham's bosom.” + </p> + <p> + Then Cæsar's voice rose loud over the doleful tones around the counter. + “'Vital Spark of Heavenly Flame'—raise it, Mr. Niplightly. Pity we + haven't Peter and his fiddle here—he played with life.” + </p> + <p> + “I can'd sing to-day, having a cold, bud I'll whisle id,” said the + Constable. + </p> + <p> + “Pitch it in altoes, then,” said Cæsar. “I'm a bit of a base myself, but + not near so base as Peter.” + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile a little drama of serious interest was going on upstairs. There + sat Kate before the looking-glass, with flushed cheeks and quivering + mouth. The low drone of many voices came to her through the floor. Then a + dull silence and one voice, and Nancy Joe coming and going between the + kitchen and bedroom. + </p> + <p> + “What are they doing now, Nancy?” said Kate. + </p> + <p> + “First one's praying, and then another's praying,” said Nancy. + “Lord-a-massy, thinks I, it'll be my turn next, and what'll I say?” + </p> + <p> + “Where's Mr. Christian?” + </p> + <p> + “Gone into the parlour. I whispered him you wanted him alone.” + </p> + <p> + “You never said that, Nancy,” said Kate, at Nancy's reflection in the + glass. + </p> + <p> + “Well, it popped out,” said Nancy. + </p> + <p> + Kate went down, with a look of softened sorrow, and Philip, without + lifting his eyes, began bemoaning Pete. They would never know his like—so + simple, so true, so brave; never, never. + </p> + <p> + He was fighting against his shame at first seeing the girl after that + kiss, which seemed to him now like treason at the mouth of a grave. + </p> + <p> + But, with the magic of a woman's art, Kate consoled him. He had one great + comfort—he had been a loyal friend; such fidelity, such constancy, + such affection, forgetting the difference of place, of education—everything. + </p> + <p> + Philip looked up at last, and there was the lovely face with its beaming + eyes. He turned to go, and she said, softly, “How we shall miss you!” + </p> + <p> + “Why so?” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “We can't expect to see you so often now—now that you've not the + same reason for coming.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll be here on Sunday,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “Then you don't intend to desert us yet—not just yet, Philip?” + </p> + <p> + “Never!” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “Well, good-night! Not that way—not by the porch. Good-night!” + </p> + <p> + As Philip went down the road in the darkness, he heard the words of the + hymn that was being sung inside: + </p> + <p> + “Thy glory why didst Thou enshrine In such a clod of earth as mine, And + wrap Thee in my clay.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0026" id="link2H_4_0026"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XII. + </h2> + <p> + At that moment day was breaking over the plains of the Transvaal. The bare + Veldt was opening out as the darkness receded, depth on depth, like the + surface of an unbroken sea. Not a bush, not a path, only a few log-houses + at long distances and wooden beacons like gibbets to define the Boer + farms. No sound in the transparent air, no cloud in the unveiling sky; + just the night creeping off in silence as if in fear of awakening the + sleeping morning. + </p> + <p> + Across the soulless immensity a covered waggon toiled along with four + horses rattling their link chains, and a lad sideways on the shaft + dangling his legs, twiddling the rope reins and whistling. Inside the + waggon, under a little window with its bit of muslin curtain, a man lay in + the agony of a bullet-wound in his side, and an old Boer and a woman stood + beside him. He was lying hard on the place of his pain and rambling in + delirium. + </p> + <p> + “See, boys? Don't you see them?” + </p> + <p> + “See what, my lad?” said the Boer simply, and he looked through the waggon + window. + </p> + <p> + “There's the head-gear of the mines. Look! the iron roofs are glittering. + And yonder's the mine tailings. We'll be back in a jiffy. A taste of the + whip, boys, and away!” + </p> + <p> + Untouched by visions, the old Boer could see nothing. + </p> + <p> + “What does he see, wife, think you?” + </p> + <p> + “What can he see, stupid, with his face in the pillow like that?” + </p> + <p> + With the rushing of blood in his ears the sick man called out again: + </p> + <p> + “Listen! Don't you hear it? That's the noise of the batteries. Whip up, + and away! Away!” and he tore at the fringe of the blanket covering him + with his unconscious fingers. + </p> + <p> + “Poor boy! he's eager to get to the coast But will he live to cover + another morgen, think you?” + </p> + <p> + “God knows, Jan—God only knows.” + </p> + <p> + And the Veldt was very wide, and the sea and its ships were far away, and + over the weary stretch of grass, and rock, and sand, there was nothing on + the horizon between desolate land and dominating sky but a waste looking + like a chaos of purple and green, where no bird ever sang and no man ever + lived, and God Himself was not. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0027" id="link2H_4_0027"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIII. + </h2> + <p> + “She loves me! She loves me! She loves me!” The words sang in Philip's + ears like a sweet tune half the way back to Ballure. Then he began to + pluck at the brambles by the wayside, to wound his hand by snatching at + the gorse, and to despise himself for being glad when he should have been + in grief. Still, he was sure of it; there was no making any less of it. + She loved him, he was free to love her, there need be no hypocrisy and no + self-denial; so he wiped the blood from his fingers, and crept into the + blue room of Auntie Nan. + </p> + <p> + The old lady, in a dainty cap with flying streamers, was sitting by the + fireside spinning. She had heard the news of Pete as Philip passed through + to Sulby, and was now wondering if it was not her duty to acquaint Uncle + Peter. The sweet and natty old gentlewoman, brought up in the odour of + gentility, was thinking on the lines of poor Bridget, Black Tom when dying + under the bare scraas, that a man's son was his son in spite of law or + devil. + </p> + <p> + She decided against telling the Ballawhaine by remembering an incident in + the life of his father. It was about Philip's father, too; so Philip + stretched his legs from the sofa towards the hearth, and listened to the + old Auntie's voice over the whirr of her wheel, with another voice—a + younger voice, an unheard voice—breaking: in at the back of his ears + when the wheel stopped, and a sweet undersong inside of him always, + saying, “Be sensible; there is no disloyalty; Pete is dead. Poor Pete! + Poor old Pete!” + </p> + <p> + “Though he had cast your father off, Philip, for threatening to make your + mother his wife, he never believed there was a parson on the island would + dare to marry them against his wish.” + </p> + <p> + “No, really?” + </p> + <p> + “No; and when Uncle Peter came in at dinner-time a week after and said, + 'It's all over,' he said, 'No, sir, no,' and threw down his spoon in the + plate, and the hot broth splashed on my hand, I remember. But Peter said, + 'It's past praying for, sir,' and then grandfather cried, 'No, I tell you + no.' 'But I tell you yes, sir,' said Peter. 'Maughold Church yesterday + morning before service.' Then grandfather lost himself, and called Peter + 'Liar,' and cried that your father couldn't do it. 'And, besides, he's my + own son after all, and would not,' said grandfather. But I could see that + he believed what Uncle Peter had told him, and, when Peter began to cry, + he said, 'Forgive me, my boy; I'm your father for all, and I've a right to + your forgiveness.' All the same, he wouldn't be satisfied until he had + seen the register, and I had to go with him to the church.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor old grandfather!” + </p> + <p> + “The vicar in those days was a little dotty man named Kissack, and it was + the joy of his life to be always crushing and stifling somebody, because + somebody was always depriving him of his rights or something.” + </p> + <p> + “I remember him—the Cockatoo. His favourite text was, 'Jesus said, + then follow Me,' only the people declared he always wanted to go first.” + </p> + <p> + “Shocking, Philip. It was evening when we drove up to Maughold, and the + little parson was by the Cross, ordering somebody with a cane. 'I am told + you married my son yesterday; is it true?' said grandfather. 'Quite true,' + said the vicar. 'By banns or special license?' grandfather asked. + 'License, of course,' the vicar answered.” + </p> + <p> + “Curt enough, any way.” + </p> + <p> + “'Show me the register,' said grandfather, and his face twitched and his + voice was thick. 'Can't you believe me?' said the vicar. 'The register,' + said grandfather. Then the vicar turned the key in the church door and + strutted up the aisle, humming something. I tried to keep grandfather back + even then. 'What's the use?' I said, for I knew he was only fighting + against belief. But, hat in hand, he followed to the Communion rail, and + there the vicar laid the open book before him. Oh, Philip, shall I ever + forget it? How it all comes back—the little dim church, the smell of + damp and of velvet under the holland covers of the pulpit, and the empty + place echoing. And grandfather fixed his glasses and leaned over the + register, but he could see nothing—only blurr, blurr, blurr. + </p> + <p> + “'<i>You</i> look at it, child,' he said, over his shoulder. But I daren't + face it; so he rubbed his glasses and leaned over the book again. Oh dear! + he was like one who looks down the list of the slain for the name he prays + he may not find. But the name was there, too surely: 'Thomas Wilson + Christian... to Mona Crellin... signed Wm. Crellin and something + Kissack.'” + </p> + <p> + Philip's breath came hot and fast. + </p> + <p> + “The little vicar was swinging his cane to and fro on the other side of + the rail and smiling, and grandfather raised his eyes to him and said, 'Do + you know what you've done, sir? You've robbed me of my first-born son and + ruined him.' 'Nonsense, sir,' said the vicar. 'Your son was of age, and + his wife had the sanction of her father. Was I to go round by Ballawhaine + for permission to do my duty as a clergyman?' 'Duty!' cried grandfather. + 'When a young man marries, he marries for heaven or for hell. Your duty as + a clergyman!' he cried, till his voice rang in the roof. 'If a son of + yours had his hand at his throat, would you call it my duty as Deemster to + hand him a knife.' 'Silence, sir,' said the vicar. Remember where you + stand, or, Deemster though you are, you shall repent it.' 'Arrest me for + brawling, will you?' cried grandfather, and he snatched the cane out of + the vicar's hand and struck him across the breast. 'Arrest me now,' he + said, and then tottered and stumbled out of the church by my arm and the + doors of the empty pews.” + </p> + <p> + Philip went to bed that night with burning brow and throbbing throat. He + had made a startling discovery. He was standing where his father had stood + before him; he was doing what his father had done; he was in danger of his + father's fate! Where was his head that he had never thought of this + before? + </p> + <p> + It was hard—it was terrible. Now that he was free to love the girl, + he realised what it meant to love her. Nevertheless he was young, and he + rebelled, he fought, he would not deliberate, The girl conquered in his + heart that night, and he lay down to sleep. + </p> + <p> + But next morning he told himself, with a shudder, that it was lucky he had + gone no farther. One step more and all the evil of his father's life might + have been repeated in his own. There had been nothing said, nothing done. + He would go to Sulby no more. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0028" id="link2H_4_0028"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIV. + </h2> + <p> + That mood lasted until mid-day, and then a scout of the line of love began + to creep into his heart in disguise. He reminded himself that he had + promised to go on Sunday, and that it would be unseemly to break off the + acquaintance too suddenly, lest the simple folks should think he had borne + with them throughout four years merely for the sake of Pete. But after + Sunday he would take a new turn. + </p> + <p> + He found Kate dressed as she had never been before. Instead of the loose + red bodice and the sun-bonnet, the apron and the kilted petticoat, she + wore a close-fitting dark green frock with a lace collar. The change was + simple, but it made all the difference. She was not more beautiful, but + she was more like a lady. + </p> + <p> + It was Sunday evening, and the “Fairy” was closed. Csesar and Grannie were + at the preaching-house, Nancy Joe was cooking crowdie for supper, and Kate + and Philip talked. The girl was quieter than Philip had ever known her—more + modest, more apt to blush, and with the old audacity of word and look + quite gone. They talked of success in life, and she said— + </p> + <p> + “How I should like to fight my way in the world as you are doing! But a + woman can do nothing to raise herself. Isn't it hard? Whatever the place + where she was born in, she must remain there all her days. She can see her + brothers rise, and her friends perhaps, but she must remain below. Isn't + it a pity? It isn't that she wants to be rich or great. No, not that; only + she doesn't want to be left behind by the people she likes. She must be, + though, and just because she's a woman. I'm sure it's so in the Isle of + Man, anyway. Isn't it cruel?” + </p> + <p> + “But aren't you forgetting something?” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” + </p> + <p> + “If a woman can't rise of herself because the doors of life are locked to + her, it is always possible for a man to raise her.” + </p> + <p> + “Some one who loves her, you mean, and so lifts her to his own level, and + takes her up with him as he goes up?” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + Kate's eyes beamed like sunshine. “That is lovely,” she said in a low + voice. “Do you know, I never thought of that before! If it were my case, I + should like that best of all. Side by side with him, and he doing all? Oh, + that is beautiful!” + </p> + <p> + And she gazed up with a timid joy at the inventive being who had thought + of this as at something supernatural. + </p> + <p> + Cæsar and Grannie came back, both in fearful outbursts of Sunday clothes. + Nevertheless Cæsar's eyes, after the first salutation with Philip, fixed + themselves on Kate's unfamliar costume. + </p> + <p> + “Such worldly attire!” he muttered, following the girl round the kitchen + and blowing up his black gloves. “This caring for the miserable body that + will one day be lowered into the grave! What does the Book say?—put + my tall hat on the clane laff, Nancy. 'Let it not be the outward adorning + of putting on of apparel, but let it be the hidden man of the heart.'” + </p> + <p> + “But sakes alive, father,” said Grannie, loosening a bonnet like a diver's + helmet, “if it comes to that, what is Jeremiah saying, 'Can a maid forget + her ornaments?'” + </p> + <p> + “It's like she can if she hasn't any to remember,” said Cæsar. “But maybe + the prophet Jeremiah didn't know the mothers that's in now.” + </p> + <p> + “Chut, man! Girls are like birds, and the breed comes out in the + feathers,” said Grannie. + </p> + <p> + “Where's she getting it then? Not from me at all,” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “Deed, no, man,” laughed Grannie, “considering the smart she is and the + rasonable good-looking.” + </p> + <p> + “Hould your tongue, woman; it'll become you better,” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + Philip rose to go. “You're time enough yet, sir,” cried Cæsar. “I was for + telling you of a job.” + </p> + <p> + Some of the fishermen of Ramsey had been over on Saturday. Their season + was a failure, and they were loud in their protests against the trawlers + who were destroying the spawn. Cæsar had suggested a conference at his + house on the following Saturday of Ramsey men and Peel men, and + recommended Philip as an advocate to advise with them as to the best means + to put a stop to the enemies of the herring. Philip promised to be there, + and then went home to Auntie Nan. + </p> + <p> + He told himself on the way that Kate was completely above her + surroundings, and capable of becoming as absolute a lady as ever lived on + the island, without a sign of her origin in look or speech, except perhaps + the rising inflexion in her voice which made the talk of the true + Manxwoman the sweetest thing in the world to listen to. + </p> + <p> + Auntie Nan was sitting by the lamp, reading her chapter before going to + bed. + </p> + <p> + “Auntie,” said Philip, “don't you think the tragedy in the life of father + was accidental? Due, I mean, to the particular characters of grandfather + and poor mother? Now, if the one had been less proud, less exclusive, or + the other more capable of rising with her husband——” + </p> + <p> + “The tragedy was deeper than that, dear; let me tell you a story,” said + Auntie Nan, laying down her book. “Three days after your father left + Ballawhaine, old Maggie, the housemaid, came to my side at supper and + whispered that some one was wanting me in the garden. It was Thomas. Oh + dear! it was terrible to see him there, that ought to have been the heir + of everything, standing like a stranger in the dark beyond the + kitchen-door.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor father!” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “'Whist, girl, come out of the light,' he whispered. 'There's a purse with + twenty pounds odd in my desk upstairs; get it, Nan, here's the key.' I + knew what he wanted the money for, but I couldn't help it; I got him the + purse and put ten pounds more of my own in it. 'Must you do it?' I said. + 'I must,' he answered. 'Your father says everybody will despise you for + this marriage,' I said. 'Better they should than I should despise myself,' + said he. 'But he calls it moral suicide,' I said. 'That's not so bad as + moral murder,' he replied. 'He knows the island,' I urged, 'and so do you, + Tom, and so do I, and nobody can hold up his head in a little place like + this after a marriage like that.' 'All the worse for the place,' said he, + 'if it stains a man's honour for acting honourably.'” + </p> + <p> + “Father was an upright man,” interrupted Philip. “There's no question + about it, my father was a gentleman.” + </p> + <p> + “'She must be a sweet, good girl, and worthy of you, or you wouldn't marry + her,' said I to father; 'but are you sure that you will be happy and make + her happy?' We shall have each other, and it is our own affair,' said + father.” + </p> + <p> + “Precisely,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “'But if there is a difference between you now,' I said, 'will it be less + when you are the great man we hope to see you some day?' 'A man is not + always thinking of success,' he answered. + </p> + <p> + “My father was a great man already, Auntie,” burst out Philip. + </p> + <p> + “He was shaken and I was ashamed, but I could not help it, I went on. 'Has + the marriage gone too far?' I asked. 'It has never been mentioned between + us,' said he. 'Your father is old, and can't live long,' I pleaded. 'He + wants me to behave like a scoundrel,' he answered. 'Why that, if the girl + has no right to you yet?' I said, and he was silent. Then I crept up and + looked in at the window. 'See,' I whispered, 'he's in the library. We'll + take him by surprise. Come!' It was not to be. There was a smell of + tobacco on the air and the thud of a step on the grass. 'Who's that?' I + said. 'Who should it be,' cried father, 'but the same spy again. I'll + shake the life out of him yet as a terrier would a rat. No use, girl,' he + shouted hoarsely, facing towards the darkness, 'they're driving me to + destruction.' 'Hush!' I said, and covered his mouth with my hands, and his + breath was hot, like fire. But it was useless. He was married three days + afterwards.” + </p> + <p> + Philip resolved to see Kate no more. He must go to Sulby on Saturday to + meet the fishermen, but that would be a business visit; he need not + prolong it into a friendly one. All the week through he felt as if his + heart would break; but he resolved to conquer his feelings. He pitied + himself somewhat, and that helped him to rise above his error. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0029" id="link2H_4_0029"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XV. + </h2> + <p> + On Saturday night he was early at Sulby. The bat-room was thronged with + fishermen in guernseys, sea-boots, and sou'-westers. They were all on + their feet together, twisting about like great congers on the quay, + drinking a little and smoking a great deal, thumping the table, and all + talking at once. “How've you done, Billy?”—“Enough to keep away the + divil and the coroner, and that's about all.”—“Where's Tom Dug?”—“Gone + to Austrilla.”—“Is Jimmy over to-day?”—“He's away to + Cleveland.”—“Gough, bless me, every Manx boy seems to be going + foreign.”—“That's where we'll all be after long and last, if we + don't stop these southside trawlers.” + </p> + <p> + Philip went in and was received with goodwill and rough courtesy, but no + man abated a jot of his freedom of action or liberty of speech, and the + thumping and shouting were as loud as before. “Appeal to the + Receiver-General.”—“Chut! an ould woman with a face winking at you + like a roast potato.”—“Will we go to the Bishop, then?”—“A + whitewashed Methodist with a soul the size of a dried pea.”—“The + Governor is the proper person,” said Philip above the hubbub, “and he is + to visit Peel Castle next Saturday afternoon about the restorations. Let + every Manx fisherman who thinks the trawl-boats are enemies of the fish be + there that day. Then lay your complaint before the man whose duty it is to + inquire into all such grievances; and if you want a spokesman, I'm ready + to speak for you.”—“Bravo!”—“That's the ticket!” + </p> + <p> + Then the meeting was at an end; the men went on with stories of the week's + fishing, stories of smugglers, stories of the Swaddlers (the Wesleyans), + stories of the totalers (teetotallers), and Philip made for the door. When + he got there, he began to reflect that, being in the house, he ought to + leave good-night with Cæsar and Grannie. Hardly decent not to do so. No + use hurting people's feelings. Might as well be civil. Cost nothing + anyway. Thus an overpowering compulsion in the disguise of courtesy drew + him again into Kate's company; but to-morrow he would take a new turn. + </p> + <p> + “Proud to see you, Mr. Philip,” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “The water's playing in the kettle; make Mr. Philip a cup of tay, Nancy,” + said Grannie. Cæsar was sitting back to the partition, pretending to read + out of a big Bible on his knees, but listening with both ears and open + mouth to the profane stories being told in the bar-room. Kate was not in + the kitchen, but an open book, face downwards, lay on the chair by the + turf closet. + </p> + <p> + “What's this?” said Philip. “A French exercise-book! Whoever can it belong + to here?” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, Kirry, of coorse,” said Grannie, “and sticking that close to it of an + everin that you haven't a chance to put a word on her.” + </p> + <p> + “Vanity, sir, vanity, all vanity,” said Cæsar; and again he listened hard. + </p> + <p> + Philip's eyes began to blink. “Teaching herself French, is she? Has she + been doing it long, Grannie?” + </p> + <p> + “Long enough, sir, three years or better, since poor Pete went away maybe; + and at the books for ever, grammars and tex' books, and I don't know + what.” + </p> + <p> + Cæsar, with his ear at the glass, made an impatient gesture for silence, + but Grannie continued, “I don't know what for people should be larning + themselves foreign languages at all. For my part, there isn't one of them + bates the Manx itself for plainness. And aren't we reading, when the Lord + wanted to bring confusion on Noah and his disobedient sons and grandsons + at going up the Tower of Babel, he made them spake different tongues?” + </p> + <p> + “Good thing too,” snapped Cæsar, “if every poor man was bound to carry his + wife up with him.” + </p> + <p> + Philip's eyes were streaming, and, unobserved, he put the lesson-book to + his lips. He had guessed its secret. The girl was making herself worthy of + him. God bless, her! + </p> + <p> + Kate came downstairs in the dark dress and white collar of Sunday night. + She saw Philip putting down the book, lowered her head and blushed, took + up the volume, and smuggled it out of sight. Then Cæsar's curiosity + conquered his propriety and he ventured into the bar-room, Grannie came + and went between the counter and the fishermen, Nancy clicked about from + dairy to door, and Kate and Philip were left alone. + </p> + <p> + “You were wrong the other night,” she said. “I have been thinking it over, + and you were quite, quite wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “So?” + </p> + <p> + “If a man marries a woman beneath him, he stoops to her, and to stoop to + her is to pity her, and to pity her is to be ashamed of her, and to be + ashamed of her would kill her. So you are wrong.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Kate, “but do you know what it ought to be? The <i>woman</i> + ought to marry beneath herself, and the man <i>above</i> himself; then as + much as the woman descends, the man rises, and so——-don't you + see?” + </p> + <p> + She faltered and stopped, and Philip said, “Aren't you talking nonsense,' + Kate?” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed, sir!” + </p> + <p> + Kate pretended to be angry at the rebuff, and pouted her lips, but her + eyes were beaming. + </p> + <p> + “There is neither above nor below where there is real liking,” said + Philip. “If you like any one, and she is necessary to your life, that is + the sign of your natural equality. It is God's sign, and all the rest is + only man's book-keeping.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean,” said Kate, trying to keep a grave mouth, “you mean that if a + woman belongs to some one she can like, and some one belongs to her, that + is being equal, and everything else is nothing? Eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + It was music to her, but she wagged her head solemnly and said, “I'm sure + you're wrong, Philip. I am, though. Yes, indeed I am. But it's no use + arguing. Not against you. Only——” + </p> + <p> + The glorious choir of love-birds in her bosom were singing so loud that + she could say no more, and the irresistible one had his way. After a + while, she stuffed something into the fire. + </p> + <p> + “What's that?” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, nothing,” she answered brightly. + </p> + <p> + It was the French exercise-book. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0030" id="link2H_4_0030"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVI. + </h2> + <p> + Philip went home rebelling against his father's fate. It was accidental; + it was inevitable only in the Isle of Man. But perdition to the place + where a man could not marry the woman he loved if she chanced to be born + in the manger instead of the stable loft. Perdition to the land where a + man could not live unless he was a skunk or a cur. Thank God the world was + wide. + </p> + <p> + That night he said to Auntie Nan, “Auntie, why didn't father go away when + he found the tide setting so strongly against him?” + </p> + <p> + “He always meant to, but he never could,” said Auntie Nan. “A woman isn't + like a man, ready to pitch her tent here to-day and there to-morrow. We're + more like cats, dear, and cling to the places we're used to, if they're + only ruins of tumbling stones. Your mother wasn't happy in the Isle of + Man, but she wouldn't leave it. Your father wouldn't go without her, and + then there was the child. He was here for weal or woe, for life or death. + When he married his wife he made the chain that bound him to the island as + to a rock.” + </p> + <p> + “It wouldn't be like that with Kate,” thought Philip. But did Auntie know + anything? Had somebody told her? Was she warning him? On Sunday night, on + the way home from church, she talked of his father again. + </p> + <p> + “He came to see at last that it wasn't altogether his own affair either,” + she said. “It was the night he died. Your mother had been unwell and + father had sent for me. It was a dark night, and late, very late, and they + brought me down the hill from Lewaige Cottage with a lantern. Father was + sinking, but he <i>would</i> get out of bed. We were alone together then, + he and I, except for you, and you were asleep in your cot by the window. + He made straight for it, and struggled down on his knees at its side by + help of the curtains. 'Listen,' he said, trying to whisper, though he + could not, for his poor throat was making noises. You were catching your + breath, as if sobbing in your sleep. 'Poor little boy, he's dreaming,' + said I; 'let me turn him on his side.' 'It's not that,' said father; 'he + went to sleep in trouble.'” + </p> + <p> + “I remember it, Auntie,” said Philip. “Perhaps he had been trying to tell + me something.” + </p> + <p> + “'My boy, my son, forgive me, I have sinned against you,' he said, and he + tried to reach over the cot rail and put his lips to your forehead, but + his poor head shook like palsy and bobbed down into your little face. I + remember you rubbed your nose with your little fist, but you did not + waken. Then I helped him back to bed, and the table with the medicine + glasses jingled by the trembling of his other hand. 'It's dark, all, all + dark, Nannie,' he said, 'sure some angel will bring me light,' and I was + so simple I thought he meant the lamp, for it was dying down, and I lit a + candle.” + </p> + <p> + Philip went about his work that week as if the spirit of his father were + hovering over him, warning him when awake in words of love and pleading, + crying to him in his sleep in tones of anger and command, “Stand back; you + are at the edge of the precipice.” + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless his soul rose in rebellion against this league as of the past + and the dead. It was founded in vanity, in the desire for glory and + success. Only let a man renounce the world and all that the world can + give, and he can be true to himself, to his heart's impulse, to his + honour, and to his love. He would deliberate no longer. He despised + himself for deliberating. If was the world against Kate, let the world go + to perdition. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0031" id="link2H_4_0031"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVII. + </h2> + <p> + On Saturday afternoon he was at Peel. It was a beautiful day; the sun was + shining, and the bay was blue and flat and quiet. The tide was down, the + harbour was empty of water, but full of smacks with hanging sails and + hammocks of nets and lines of mollags (bladders) up to the mast heads. A + flight of seagulls were fishing in the mud, and swirling through the brown + wings of the boats and crying. A flag floated over the ruins of the + castle, the church-bells were ringing, and the harbour-masters were abroad + in best blue and gold buttons. + </p> + <p> + On the tilting-ground of the castle the fishermen had gathered, sixteen + hundred strong. There were trawlers among them, Manx, Irish, and English, + prowling through the crowd, and scooping up the odds and ends of gossip as + their boats on the bottom scraped up the little fish. Occasionally they + were observed by the herring-fishers, and then there were high words and + free fights. “Taking a creep round from Port le Murrey are you, Dan?”—“Thought + I'd put a sight on Peel to-day.”—“Bad for your complexion, though; + might turn it red, I'm thinking.”—“Strek me with blood will you? I'd + just like you to strek me, begough. I'd put a Union Jack on your face as + big as a griddle.” + </p> + <p> + The Governor came, an elderly man, with a formidable air, an aquiline + nose, and cheeks pitted with small-pox. Philip introduced the fishermen + and told their grievance. Trawling destroyed immature fish, and so + contributed to the failure of the fisheries. They asked for power to stop + it in the bays of the island, and within three miles of the coast. + </p> + <p> + “Then draft me a bill with that object, Mr. Christian,” said the Governor, + and the meeting ended with cheers for His Excellency, shouts for Philip, + and mutterings of contempt from the trawlers. “Didn't think there was a + man on the island could spake like it.”—“But hasn't your fancy-man + been rubbing his back agen the college?”—“I'd take lil tacks home if + I was yourself, Dan.”—“Drink much more and it'll be two feet deep + inside of you.” + </p> + <p> + Philip was hurrying away under the crumbling portcullis, when a deputation + of the fishermen approached him. “What are we owing you, Mr. Christian?” + asked their spokesman. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” answered Philip. + </p> + <p> + “We thank you, sir, and you'll be hearing from us again. Meanwhile, a word + if you plaze, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “What is it, men?” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “When a young man can spake like yonder, it's a gift, sir, and he's + houlding it in trust for something. The ould island's wanting a big man + ter'ble bad, and it hasn't seen the like since the days of your own + grandfather. Good everin, and thank you—good everin!” + </p> + <p> + With that the rough fellows dismissed him at the ferry steps, and he + hastened to the market-place, where he had left his horse. On putting up, + he had seen Cæsar's gig tipped up in the stable-yard. It was now gone, + and, without asking questions, he mounted and made towards Ramsey. + </p> + <p> + He took the old road by the cliffs, and as he cantered and galloped, he + hummed, and whistled, and sang, and slashed the trees to keep himself from + thinking. At the crest of the hill he sighted the gig in front, and at + Port Lady he came up with it. Kate was driving and Cæsar was nodding and + dozing. + </p> + <p> + “You've been having a great day, Mr. Christian,” said Cæsar. “Wish I could + say the same for myself; but the heart of man is decaitful, sir, and + desperately wicked. I'm not one to clap people in the castle and keep them + from sea for debts of drink, and they're taking a mane advantage. Not a + penny did I get to-day, sir, and many a yellow sovereign owing to me. If I + was like some—now there's that Tom Raby, Glen Meay. He saw Dan the + Spy coming from the total meeting last night. 'Taken the pledge, Dan?' + says he. 'Yes, I have,' says Dan. 'I'm plazed to hear it,' says he; 'come + in and I'll give you a good glass of rum for it.' And Dan took the rum for + taking the pledge, and there he was as drunk as Mackilley in the castle + this morning.” + </p> + <p> + Philip listened as he rode, and a half-melancholy, half-mocking expression + played on his face. He was thinking of his grandfather, old Iron + Christian, brought into relation with his mother's father, Capt. Billy + Ballure, of the dainty gentility of Auntie Nan and the unctuous vulgarity + of the father of Kate. + </p> + <p> + Cæsar grumbled himself to sleep at last, and then Philip was alone with + the girl, and riding on her side of the gig. She was quiet at first, but a + joyous smile lit up her face. + </p> + <p> + “I was in the castle, too,” she said, with a look of pride. + </p> + <p> + The sun went down over the waters behind them, and cast their brown + shadows on the road in front; the twilight deepened, the night came down, + the moon rose in their faces, and the stars appeared. They could hear the + tramp of the horses' hoofs, the roll of the gig wheels, the wash and boom + of the sea on their left, and the cry Of the sea-fowl somewhere beneath. + The lovelinese and warmth of the autumn night stole over Kate, and she + began to keep up a flow of merry chatter. + </p> + <p> + “I can tell all the sounds of the fields in the darkness. By the + moonlight? No; but with my eyes shut, if you like. Now try me.” + </p> + <p> + She closed her eyes and went on: “Do you hear that—that patter like + soft rain? That's oats nearly ripe for harvest. Do you hear that, then—that + pit-a-pat, like sheep going by on the street? That's wheat, just ready. + And there—that whiss, whiss, whiss? That's barley.” + </p> + <p> + She opened her eyes: “Don't you think I'm very clever?” + </p> + <p> + Philip felt an impulse to lean over the wheel and put his arms about the + girl's neck. + </p> + <p> + “Take care,” she cried merrily; “your horse is shying.” + </p> + <p> + He gazed at her face, lit up in the white moonlight. “How bright and happy + you seem, Kate!” he said with a shiver; and then he laid one hand on the + gig rail. + </p> + <p> + Her eyelids quivered, her mouth twitched, and she answered gaily, “Why + not? Aren't you? You ought to be, you know. How glorious to succeed? It + means so much—new things to see, new houses to visit, new pleasures, + new friends——” + </p> + <p> + Her joyous tones broke down in a nervous laugh at that last word, and he + replied, in a faltering voice, “That may be true of the big world over + yonder, Kate, but it isn't so in a little island like ours. To succeed + here is like going up the tower of Castle Rushen with some one locking the + doors on the stone steps behind you. At every storey the room becomes + less, until at the top you have only space to stand alone. Then, if you + should ever come down again, there's but one way for you—over the + battlements with a crash.” + </p> + <p> + She looked up at him with startled eyes, and his own were large and full + of trouble. They were going through Kirk Michael by the house of the + Deemster, who was ill, and both drew rein and went slowly. Some acacias in + the garden slashed their broadswords in the night air, and a windmill + behind stood out against the moon like a gigantic bat. The black shadow of + the horses stepped beside them. + </p> + <p> + “Are you feeling lonely to-night, Philip?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm feeling——” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm feeling as if the dead and the living, the living and the dead—oh, + Kate, Kate, I don't know what I'm feeling.” + </p> + <p> + She put her hand caressingly on the top of his hand. “Never mind, dear,” + she said softly; “I'll stand by you. You shan't be <i>alone</i>.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0032" id="link2H_4_0032"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVIII. + </h2> + <p> + It was midday, then, on the tropic seas, and the horizon was closing in + with clouds as of blood and vapours of stifling heat. A steamship was + rolling in a heavy swell, under winds that were as hot as gusts from an + open furnace. Under its decks a man lay in an atmosphere of fever and the + sickening odour of bandages and stale air. Above the throb of the engines + and the rattle of the rudder chain he heard a step going by his open door, + and he called in a feeble voice that was cheerful and almost merry, but + yet the voice of a homesick boy— + </p> + <p> + “How many days from home, engineer?” + </p> + <p> + “Not more than twenty now.” + </p> + <p> + “Put on steam, mate; put it on. Wish I could be skipping below and stoking + up for you like mad.” + </p> + <p> + As the ship rolled, the green reflection of the water and the red light of + the sky shot alternately through the porthole and lit up the berth like + firelight flashing in a dead house. + </p> + <p> + “Ask the boys if they'll carry me on deck, sir—just for a breath of + fresh air.” + </p> + <p> + The sailors came and carried him. “You can do anything for a chap like + that.” + </p> + <p> + The big sun was straight overhead, weighing down on their shoulders, and + there was no shelter anywhere, for the shadows were under foot. + </p> + <p> + “Slip out the sails, lads, and let's fly along. Wish I could tumble up the + rigging myself and look out from the yards same as a gull, but I'm only an + ould parrot chained down to my stick.” + </p> + <p> + They left him, and he gazed out on the circle of water and the vapour + shaking over it like a veil. The palpitating air was making the circle + smaller every minute, but the world seem cruelly large for all that. He + was looking beyond the visible things; he was listening deeper than the + wash of the waves; he was dreaming, dreaming. Apparitions were floating in + the heat-clouds over him. Home! Its voices whispered at his ear, its face + peered into his eyes. But the hot winds came up and danced round him; the + air, the sea, the sky, the whole world, the utter universe seemed afire; + his eyes rolled upwards to his brow; he almost choked and fainted. + </p> + <p> + “Carry him below, poor fellow! He's got a good heart to think he'll ever + see home again. He'll never see it.” + </p> + <p> + Half-way down the companion-ladder he opened his eyes with a look of + despair. Would God let him die after all? + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0033" id="link2H_4_0033"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIX. + </h2> + <p> + Kate began to feel that Philip was slipping away from her. He loved her, + she was sure of that, but something was dragging them apart Her great + enemy was Philip's success. This was rapid and constant. She wanted to + rejoice in it; she struggled to feel glad and happy, and even proud. But + that was impossible. It was ungenerous, it was mean, but she could not + help it—she resented every fresh mark of Philip's advancement. + </p> + <p> + The world that was carrying Philip up was carrying him away. She would be + left far below. It would be presumptuous to lift her eyes to him. Visions + came to her of Philip in other scenes than her scenes, among ladies in + drawing-rooms, beautiful, educated, clever, able to talk of many things + beyond her knowledge. Then she looked at herself, and felt vexed with her + hands, made coarse by the work of the farm; at her father, and felt + ashamed of the moleskin clothes he wore in the mill; at her home, and + flushed deep at the thought of the bar-room. + </p> + <p> + It was small and pitiful, she knew that, and she shuddered under the sense + of being a meaner-hearted girl than she had ever thought. If she could do + something of herself to counteract the difference made by Philip's + success, if she could raise herself a little, she would be content to keep + behind, to let him go first, to see him forge ahead of her, and of + everybody, being only in sight and within reach. But she could do nothing + except writhe and rebel against the network of female custom, or tear + herself in the thorny thicket of female morals. + </p> + <p> + Harvest had begun; half the crop of Glenmooar had been saved, a third was + in stook, and then a wet day had come and stopped all work in the fields. + On this wet day, in the preaching-room of the mill, amid forms and desks, + with the cranch of the stones from below, the wash of the wheel from + outside, and the rush of the uncrushed corn from above, Cæsar sat rolling + sugganes for the stackyard, with Kate working the twister, and going + backward before him, and half his neighbours sheltering from the rain and + looking on. + </p> + <p> + “Thought I'd have a sight up and tell you,” said Kelly, the postman. + </p> + <p> + “What's the news, Mr. Kelly?” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “The ould Dempster's dying,” said Kelly. + </p> + <p> + “You don't say?” said everybody. + </p> + <p> + “Well, as good as dying at ten minutes wanting eight o'clock this + morning,” said the postman. + </p> + <p> + “The drink's been too heavy for the man,” said John, the clerk. + </p> + <p> + “Wine is a serpent, and strong drink a mocker,” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “Who'll be the new Dempster, Mr. Niplightly,” said Jonaique. + </p> + <p> + “Hm!” snuffled the constable, easing his helmet, “dat's a serious matter, + Mr. Jelly. We'll dake our time—well dake our time.” + </p> + <p> + “Chut! There's only one man for it,” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps yes, perhaps no,” said the constable. + </p> + <p> + “Do you mane the young Ballawhaine, Mr. Cregeen?” said the postman. + </p> + <p> + “Do I mane fiddlesticks!” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “Well, the man's father is at the Govenar reg'lar, they're telling me,” + said Kelly, “and Ross is this, and Ross is that—” + </p> + <p> + “Every dog praises his own tail,” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not denying it, the man isn't fit—he has sold himself to the + devil, that's a fact——” + </p> + <p> + “No, he hasn't,” said Cæsar, “the devil gets the like for nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “But he's a Christian for all, and the Christians have been Dempsters time + out of time——” + </p> + <p> + “Is he the only Christian that's in, then, eh?” said Cæsar. “Go on, Kate; + twist away.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it Mr. Philip? Aw, I'm saying nothing against Mr. Philip,” said the + postman. + </p> + <p> + “You wouldn't get lave in this house, anyway,” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “Aw, a right gentleman and no pride at all,” said the postman. “As free + and free with a poor man, and no making aisy either. I've nothing agen him + myself. No, but a bit young for a Dempster, isn't he? Just a taste young, + as the man said, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Older than the young Ballawhaine, anyway,” said John, the clerk. + </p> + <p> + “Aw, make him Dempster, then. I'm raising no objection,” said Mr. Kelly. + </p> + <p> + “Go on, girl. Does that twister want oiling? Feed it, woman, feed it,” + said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “His father should have been Dempster before him,” said John, the clerk. + “Would have been too, only he went crooked when he married on yonder + woman. She's through though, and what more natural——” + </p> + <p> + The rope stopped again, and Kate's voice, hard and thick, came from the + farther end of it. “His mother being dead, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “It was the mother that done for the father, anyway,” said the clerk. + </p> + <p> + “Consequently,” said Kate, “he is to praise God that his mother is gone!” + </p> + <p> + “That girl wants a doctor,” muttered Jonaique. + </p> + <p> + “The man couldn't drag the woman up after him,” began the clerk. “It's + always the way——” + </p> + <p> + “Just that,” said Kate, with bitter irony. + </p> + <p> + “Of coorse, I'm not for saying it was the woman's fault entirely——” + </p> + <p> + “Don't apologise for her,” said Kate. “She's gone and forgotten, and that + being so, her son has now a chance of being Deemster.” + </p> + <p> + “So he has,” shouted Cæsar, “and not second Dempster only, but first + Dempster itself in time, and go on with the twister.” + </p> + <p> + Kate laughed loudly, and cried, “Why don't you keep it up when your hand's + in? First Deemster Christian, and then Sir Philip Christian, and then Lord + Christian, and then——But you're talking nonsense, and you're a + pack of tattlers. There's no thought of making Philip Christian a + Deemster, and no hope of it and no chance of it, and I trust there never + will be.” + </p> + <p> + So saying, she flung the twister on the floor and rushed out of the mill, + sobbing hysterically. + </p> + <p> + “Dr. Clucas is wonderful for females and young girls,” said Jonaique. + </p> + <p> + “It's that Ross again,” muttered Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “And he'll have her yet,” said Kelly, the postman. + </p> + <p> + “I'd see her dead first,” said Cæsar. “It would be the jaws of hell and + the mouth of Satan.” + </p> + <p> + That she who loved Philip to distraction should be the first to abuse and + defame him was agony near to madness, for Kate knew where she stood. It + was not merely that Philip's success was separating them, not merely that + the conventions of life, its usages, its manners, and its customs were + putting worlds between them. The pathos of the girl's position was no + accidental thing. It was a deeper, older matter; it was the same to-day as + it had been yesterday and would be to-morrow; it began in the garden of + Eden and would go on till the last woman died—-it was the natural + inferiority of woman in relation to man. + </p> + <p> + She had the same passions as Philip, and was moved by the same love. But + she was not free. Philip alone was free. She had to wait on Philip's will, + on Philip's word. She saw Philip slipping away from her, but she could not + snatch at him before he was gone; she could not speak first; she could not + say, “I love you; stay with me!” She was a woman, only a woman! How + wretched to be a woman! How cruel! + </p> + <p> + But ah! the dear delicious thought! It came stealing up into her heart + when the red riot was nearly killing her. What a glorious thing it was to + be a woman after all! What a powerful thing! What a lovely and beloved + thing! To rule the king, being the slave, was sweeter than to be the king + himself. That was woman's place. It was where heaven itself had put her + from the beginning until now. What weapons had it given her! Beauty! + Charm! Love! The joy of it! To be the weak and overcome the strong! To be + nothing in the battle of life, and yet conqueror of all the world! + </p> + <p> + Kate vowed that, come what would, Philip should never leave her. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0034" id="link2H_4_0034"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XX. + </h2> + <p> + On the day when the last of the harvest is saved in the Isle of Man, the + farmer gives a supper to his farm-people, and to the neighbours who have + helped him to cut and house it. This supper, attended by simple and + beautiful ceremonies, is called the Melliah. The parson may be asked to + it, and if there is a friend of position and free manners, he also is + invited. Cæsar's Melliah fell within a week of the rope-making in the + mill, and partly to punish Kate, partly to honour himself, he asked Philip + to be present. + </p> + <p> + “He'll come,” thought Kate with secret joy, “I'm sure he'll come;” and in + this certainty, when the day of Melliah came, she went up to her room to + dress for it. She was to win Philip that day or lose him for ever. It was + to be her trial day—she knew that. She was to fight as for her life, + and gain or lose everything. It was to be a battle royal between all the + conventions of life, all the network of female custom, all the inferiority + of a woman's position as God himself had suffered it to be, and one poor + girl. + </p> + <p> + She began to cry, but struggling with her sadness, she dashed the tears + from her glistening eyes. What was there to cry about? Philip <i>wanted</i> + to love her, and he should, he must. + </p> + <p> + It was a glorious day, and not yet more than two o'clock. Nancy had washed + up the dinner things, the fire-irons were polished, the boots and spare + whips were put up on, the lath, the old hats like lines of heads on a city + gate were hung round the kitchen walls, the hearthrug was down, the turf + was piled up on the fire, the kettle was singing from the slowrie, and the + whole house was taking its afternoon nap. + </p> + <p> + Kate's bedroom looked over the orchard and across the stackyard up the + glen. She could see the barley stack growing in the haggard; the laden + cart coming down the glen road with the driver three decks up over the + mare, now half smothered and looking suddenly little, like a snail under + the gigantic load; and beyond the long meadow and the Bishop's bridge, the + busy fields dotted with the yellow stooks and their black shadows like a + castle's studded doors. + </p> + <p> + When she had thrown off her blue-black dress to wash her arms and + shoulders and neck were bare. She caught sight of herself in the glass, + and laughed with delight. The years had brought her a fuller flow of life. + She was beautiful, and she knew it. And Philip knew it too, but he should + know it to day as he had never known it before. She folded her arms in + their roundness over her bosom in its fulness and walked up and down the + little room over the sheep-skin rugs, under the turfy scraas, glowing in + the joy of blooming health and conscious loveliness. Then she began to + dress. + </p> + <p> + She took from a drawer two pairs of stockings, one black and the other + red, and weighed their merits with moral gravity—which? The red had + it, and then came the turn of the boots. There was a grand new pair, with + countless buttons, two toecaps like two flowers, and an upward curve like + the arm of a glove. She tried them on, bent back and forward, but + relinquished them with a sigh in favour of plain shoes cut under the + ankles and tied with tape. + </p> + <p> + Her hair was a graver matter. Its tangled curls had never satisfied her. + She tried all means to bring them into subjection; but the roll on top was + ridiculous, and the roll behind was formal. She attempted long waves over + the temples. It was impossible. With a lash-comb she dragged her hair back + to its natural lawlessness, and when it fell on her forehead and over her + ears and around her white neck in little knowing rings that came and went, + and peeped out and slid back, like kittens at hide-and-seek, she laughed + and was content. + </p> + <p> + From a recess covered by a shawl running on a string she took down her + bodice. It was a pink blouse, loose over the breast, like hills of red + sand on the shore, and loose, too, over the arms, but tight at the wrist. + When she put it on it lit up her head like a gleam from the sunset, and + her eyes danced with delight. + </p> + <p> + The skirt was a print, with a faint pink flower, the sash was a band of + cotton of the colour of the bodice, and then came the solemn problems of + the throat. It was round, and full, and soft, and like a tower. She would + have loved to leave it bare, but dared not. Out of a drawer under the + looking-glass she took a string of pearls. They were a present from + Kimberley, and they hung over her fingers a moment and then slipped back. + A white silk handkerchief, with a watermark, was chosen instead. She tied + it in a sailor's knot, with the ends flying loose, and the triangular + corner lying down her back. + </p> + <p> + Last of all, she took out of a box a broad white straw hat, like an oyster + shell, with a silver-grey ribbon, and a sweeping ostrich feather.. She + looked at it a moment, blew on it, plucked at its ribbon, lifted it over + her head, held it at poise there, dropped it gently on to her hair, stood + back from the glass to see it, and finally tore it off and sent it + skimming on to the bed. + </p> + <p> + The substitute was her everyday sun-bonnet, which had been lying on the + floor by the press. It was also of pale pink, with spots on its print like + little shells on a big scallop. When she had tossed it over her black + curls, leaving the strings to fall on her bosom, she could not help but + laugh aloud. + </p> + <p> + After all, she was dressed exactly the same as on other days of life, + except Sunday, only smarter, perhaps, and fresher maybe. + </p> + <p> + The sun-bonnet was right though, and she began to play with it. It was so + full of play; it lent itself to so many moods. It could speak; it could + say anything. She poked it to a point, as girls do when the sun is hot, by + closing its mouth over the tip of her nose, leaving only a slumberous dark + cave visible, through which her black eyes gleamed and her eyelashes + shone. She tied the strings under her chin, and tipped the bonnet back on + to her neck, as girls will when the breeze is cool, leaving her hair + uncovered, her mouth twitching merrily, and her head like a nymph-head in + an aureole. She took it off and tossed it on her arm, the strings still + knotted, swinging it like a basket, then wafting it like a fan, and + walking as she did so to and fro in the room, the floor creaking, her + print frock crinkling, and she herself laughing with the thrill of passion + vibrating and of imagined things to come. + </p> + <p> + Then she went downstairs with a firm and buoyant step, her fresh lithe + figure aglow with young blood and bounding health. + </p> + <p> + At the gate of the “haggard” she met Nancy Joe coming out of the + washhouse. + </p> + <p> + “Lord save us alive!” exclaimed Nancy. “If I ever wanted to be a man until + this day!” + </p> + <p> + Kate kissed and hugged her, then fled away to the Melliah field. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0035" id="link2H_4_0035"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXI. + </h2> + <p> + Philip, in Douglas, had received the following communication from + Government House:— + </p> + <p> + “His Excellency will be obliged to Mr. Philip Christian if he will not + leave the island for the present without acquainting him of his + destination.” + </p> + <p> + The message was a simple one: it said little, and involved and + foreshadowed nothing, but it threw Philip into a condition of great + excitement. To relieve his restlessness by giving way to it, he went out + to walk. It was the end of the tourist season, and the <i>Ben-my-Chree</i> + was leaving the harbour. Newsboys, burrowing among the crowds on the pier + to sell a Manx evening paper, were crying, “Illness of the Deemster—serious + reports.” + </p> + <p> + Philip's hair seemed to rise from his head. The two things came together + in his mind. With an effort to smudge out the connection he turned back to + his lodgings, looking at everything that his eyes fell on in the rattling + streets, speaking to everybody he knew, but seeing nothing and hearing + nobody. The beast of life had laid its claws on him. + </p> + <p> + Back in his rooms, he took out of his pocket a packet which Auntie Nan had + put in his hand when he was leaving Ramsey. It was a bundle of his + father's old letters to his sister cousin, written from London in the days + when he was studying law and life was like the opening dawn. “The ink is + yellow now,” said Auntie Nan; “it was black then, and the hand that wrote + them is cold. But the blood runs red in them yet. Read them, Philip,” she + said with a meaning look, and then he was sure she knew of Sulby. + </p> + <p> + Philip read his father's letters until it was far into the night, and he + had gone through every line of them. They were as bright as sunshine, as + free as air, easy, playful, forcible, full of picture, but, above all, + egotistical, proud with the pride of intellectuality, and vain with the + certainty of success. It was this egotism that fascinated Philip. He + sniffed it up as a colt sniffs the sharp wind. There was no need to make + allowances for it. The castles which his father had been building in the + air were only as hovels to the golden palaces which his son's eager spirit + was that night picturing. Philip devoured the letters. It was almost as if + he had written them himself in some other state of being. The message from + Government House lay on a table at his right, and sometimes he put his + open hand over it as he sat close under the lamp on a table at his left + and read on:— + </p> + <p> + ... “Heard old Broom in the House last night, and today I lunched with him + at Tabley's. They call him an orator and the king of conversationalists. + He speaks like a pump, and talks like a bottle running water. No + conviction, no sincerity, no appeal. Civil enough to me though, and when + he heard that father was a Deemster, he told me the title meant Doomster, + and then asked me if I knew the meaning of 'House of Keys,' and said it + had its origin in the ancient Irish custom of locking the muniment chests + with twenty-four keys, whereof each counsellor kept one. When he had left + us Tabley asked if he wasn't a wonderful man, and if he didn't know + something of everything, and I said, 'Yes, except the things of which I + knew a little, and of them he knew nothing.'... My pen runs, runs. But, + Nannie, my little Nannie, if this is what London calls a great man, I'll + kick the ball like a toy before me yet.” + </p> + <p> + ... “So you are wondering where I am living—in man-sion or attic! + Behold me then in Brick Court, Temple, second floor. Goldsmith wrote the + 'Vicar' on the third, but I've not got up to that yet. His rooms were + those immediately above me. I seem to see him coming down past my door in + that wonderful plum-coloured coat. And sitting here at night I think of + him—the sudden fear, the solitary death, then these stairs thronged + with his pensioners, the mighty Burke pushing through, Reynolds with his + ear-trumpet, and big 'blinking Sam,' and last of all the unknown grave, + God knows where, by the chapel wall. Poor little Oliver! They say it was a + women that was 'in' at the end. No more of the like now, no more debts, no + more vain 'talk like poor Poll:' the light's out—all still and + dark.” + </p> + <p> + ... “How's my little Nannie? Does she still keep a menagerie for sick dogs + and lost cats? And how's the parson-gull with the broken wing, and does he + still strut like Parson Kis-sack in his surplice? I was at Westminster + Hall yesterday. It was the great trial of Mitchell, M. P., who forged his + father's will. Stevens defended—bad, bad, bad, smirking all the + while with small facetiæ. But Denman's summing up—oh! oh! such + insight, such acuteness! It was wonderful. I had a seat in the gallery. + The grand old hall was a thrilling scene—the dense throng, the + upturned faces, the counsel, the judges, the officers of court, and then + the windows, the statues, the echo of history that made every stone and + rafter live—Oh, Nan, Nan, listen to me! If I live I'll sit on the + bench there some day—I will, so help me God!” + </p> + <p> + When Philip had finished his father's letters, he was on the heights, and + poor Kate was left far below, out of reach and out of sight. Hitherto his + ambitions had been little more than the pale shadow of his father's hopes, + but now they were his own realities. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0036" id="link2H_4_0036"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXII. + </h2> + <p> + Next morning the letter came from Cæsar inviting him to the Melliah, and + then he thought of Kate more tenderly. She would suffer, she would cry—it + would make his heart bleed to see her; but must he for a few tears put by + the aims of a lifetime? If only Pete had been alive! If only Pete were yet + to come home! He grew hot and ashamed when he remembered the time, so + lately past, when the prayer of his secret heart would have been + different. It was so easy now to hate himself for such evil impulses. + </p> + <p> + Philip decided to go to the Melliah. It would give him the chance he + wanted of breaking off the friendship finally. More than friendship there + had never been, except secretly, and that could not count. He knew he was + deceiving himself; he felt an uneasy sense of loss of honour and a sharp + pang of tender love as often as Kate's face rose up before him. + </p> + <p> + On the day of the Melliah he set off early, riding by way of St. John's + that he might inquire at Kirk Michael about the Deemster.. He found the + great man's house a desolate place. The gate was padlocked, and he had to + clamber over it; the acacias slashed above him going down the path, and + the fallen leaves encumbered his feet At the door, which was shut, he + rang, and before it was opened to him an old woman put her untidy head out + of a little window at the side. + </p> + <p> + “It's scandalous the doings that's here, sir,” she whispered. “The + Dempster's gone into 'sterics with the drink, and the lil farmer fellow, + Billiam Cowley, is over and giving him as much as he wants, and driving + everybody away.” + </p> + <p> + “Can I speak to him?” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “Billiam? It isn't fit. He'll blackguard you mortal, and the Dempster + himself is past it. Just sitting with the brandy and drinking and + drinking, and ateing nothing; but that dirt brought up on the Curragh + shouting for beefstakes morning and night, and having his dinner laid on a + beautiful new white sheet as clane as a bed.” + </p> + <p> + From the ambush of a screen before an open door, Philip looked into the + room where the Deemster was killing himself. The window shutters were up + to keep out the daylight; candles were burning in the necks of bottles on + the mantelpiece; a fire smouldered in a grate littered with paper and + ashes; a coarse-featured man was eating ravenously at the table, a + chop-bone in his fingers, and veins like cords moving on his low forehead—and + the Deemster himself, judge of his island since the death of Iron + Christian, was propped up in a chair, with a smoking glass on a stool + beside him, and a monkey perched on his shoulder. “Turn them out, neck and + crop, Dempster; the women are all for robbing a man,” said the fellow; and + a husky, eaten-out voice replied to him with a grunt and a laugh, “H'm! + That's only what you're doing yourself, then, you rascal, and if I'd let + the right one in long ago you wouldn't be here now—nor I neither, + would I, Jacko?” The tail of the monkey flapped on the Deemster's breast, + and Philip crept away with a shiver. + </p> + <p> + The sun was shining brightly outside the house, and the air was fresh and + sweet. Remounting his horse, which was neighing and stamping at the gate, + Philip rode hard to bring back a sense of warmth. At the “Fairy” he + alighted and put up, and saw Grannie, who was laying tables in the mill. + </p> + <p> + “I'm busy as Trap's wife,” she said, “and if you were the Govenar itself + you wouldn't get lave to spake to me now. Put a sight on himself on the + field yonder, the second meadow past the Bishop's bridge, and come back + with the boys to supper.” + </p> + <p> + Philip found the Melliah field. Two-score workers, men, women, and + children, a cart and a pair of horses were scattered over it. Where the + corn had been cut the day before the stubble had been woven overnight into + a white carpet of cobwebs, which neither sun nor step of man had yet + dispelled. There were the smell of the straw, the cawing of the rooks in + the glen, the hissing to the breeze of the barley still standing, the + swish of the scythe and the gling of the sickle, the bending and rising of + the shearers, the swaying of the binders dragging the sheaves, the gluck + of the wheels of the cart, the merry head of a child peeping out of a + stook like a young bird out of the broken egg, and a girl in scarlet, whom + Philip recognised, standing at the farthest hedge, and waving the corn + band with which she was tieing to some one below. + </p> + <p> + Philip vaulted into the field, and was instantly seized by every woman + working in it, except Kate, tied up with the straw ropes, and only + liberated on paying the toll of an intruder. + </p> + <p> + “But I've come to work,” he protested, and Cæsar who, was plotting the + last rigs of the harvest, paired him with Kate and gave him a sickle. + “He's a David, he'll smite down his thousands/,” said Cæsar. Then cocking + his eye up the field, “the Ballabeg for leader,” he cried, “he's a + plate-ribbed man. And let ould Maggie take the butt along with him. Jemmy + the Red for the after-rig, and Robbie to follow Mollie with the cart Now + ding-dong, boys, bend your backs and down with it.” + </p> + <p> + Kate had not looked up when Philip came into the field, but she had seen + him come, and she gave a little start when he took his place in his + shirt-sleeves beside her. He used some conventional phrases which she + scarcely answered, and then nothing was heard but the sounds of the sickle + and the corn. She worked steadily for some time, and he looked up at her + at intervals with her round bare arms and supple waist and firm-set foot + and tight red stocking. Two butterflies tumbling in the air played around + her sun bonnet and a lady-clock settled on her wrist. + </p> + <p> + Time was called for rest as Nancy Joe came through the gate bringing a + basket with bottles and a can. + </p> + <p> + “The belly's a malefactor that forgets former kindness,” said Cæsar; “ate + and drink.” + </p> + <p> + Then the men formed a group about the ale, the older women drank tea, the + children making bands were given butter-milk, and the younger women with + babes went cooing and clucking to the hedge where the little ones lay + nuzzled up and unattended, some asleep in shawls, some awake on their + backs and grabbing at the wondrous forests of marguerites towering up + beside them, and all crying with one voice at sight of the breast, which + the mothers were as glad to give as they to take. + </p> + <p> + The rooks cawed in the glen, there was a hot hum of bees, and a company of + starlings passed overhead, glittering in the sunlight like the scales of a + herring. + </p> + <p> + “They're taiching us a lesson,” said Cæsar. “They're going together over + the sea; but there's someones on earth would sooner go to heaven itself + solitary, and take joy if they found themselves all alone and the cock of + the walk there.” + </p> + <p> + Kate and Philip stood and talked where they had been shearing quietly, + simply, without apparent interest, and meanwhile the workers discussed + them. + </p> + <p> + First the men: “He works his siggle like a man though.”—“A stout boy + anyway; give him practice and he'd shear many a man in bed.” Then the + women: “She's looking as bright as a pewter pot, and she's all so pretty + as the Govenar's daughter too.”—“Got a good heart, though. Only last + week she had word of Pete, and look at the scarlet perricut.” Finally both + men and women: “Lave her alone, mother; it's that Ross that's wasting the + woman.”—“Well, if I was a man I'd know my tack.”—“Wouldn't + trust. It comes with Cæsar anyway; the Lord prospers him; she'll have her + pickings. Nothing bates religion in this world. It's like going to the + shop with an ould Manx shilling—you get your pen'orth of taffy and + twelve pence out.”—“Lend's a hand with the jough then, boy. None + left? Aw, Cæsar's wonderful religious, but there's never much lavings of + ale with him.” + </p> + <p> + Cæsar was striding through the stooks past Philip and Kate. + </p> + <p> + “Will it thrash well, Mr. Cregeen?” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “Eight bolls to the acre maybe, but no straw to spake of, sir,” said + Cæsar. “Now, boys, let the weft rest on the last end, finish your work.” + </p> + <p> + The workers fell to again, and the sickle of the leader sang round his + head as he hacked and blew and sent off his breath in spits until the + green grass springing up behind him left only a triangular corner of + yellow corn. Fore-rig and the after-rig took a tussle together, and + presently nothing was standing of all the harvest of Glenmooar but one + small shaft of ears a yard wide or less. Then the leaders stopped, and all + the shearers of the field came up and cast down their sickles into the + soil in a close circle, making a sheaf of crescent moons. + </p> + <p> + “Now for the Melliah,” said Cæsar. “Who's to be Queen?” + </p> + <p> + There was a cry for Kate, and she sailed forward buoyantly, fresh still, + warm with her work, and looking like the afterglow from the sunset in the + lengthening shadows from the west. + </p> + <p> + “Strike them from their legs, Kirry,” cried Nancy Joe, and Kate drew up + one of the sickles, swept her left arm over the standing corn, and at a + single stroke of her right brought the last ears to the ground. + </p> + <p> + Then there was a great shout. “Hurrah for the Mel-liah!” It rang through + the glen and echoed in the mountains. Grannie heard it in the valley, and + said to herself, “Cæsar's Melliah's took.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we've gathered the ripe corn, praise His name,” said Cæsar, “but + what shall be done at the great gathering for unripe Christians?” + </p> + <p> + Kate lifted her last sheaf and tied it about with a piece of blue ribbon, + and Philip plucked the cushag (the ragwort) from the hedge, and gave it + her to put in the band. + </p> + <p> + This being done; the Queen of the Melliah stepped back, feeling Philip's + eyes following her, while the oldest woman shearer came forward. + </p> + <p> + “I've a crown-piece, here that's being lying in my pocket long enough, + Joney,” said Cæsar with an expansive air, and he gave the woman her + accustomed dole. + </p> + <p> + She was a timid, shrinking creature, having a face walled with wrinkles, + and wearing a short blue petticoat, showing heavy dull boots like a man's, + and thick black stockings. + </p> + <p> + Then the young fellows went racing over the field, vaulting the stooks, + stretching a straw rope for the girls to jump over, heightening and + tightening it to trip them up, and slacking and twirling it to make them + skip. And the girls were falling with a laugh, and leaping up again and + flying off like the dust, tearing their frocks and dropping their + sun-bonnets as if the barley grains they had been reaping had got into + their blood. + </p> + <p> + In the midst of this maddening frolic, while Cæsar and the others were + kneeling behind the barley stack, Kate snatched Philip's hat from his head + and shot like a gleam into the depths of the glen. + </p> + <p> + Philip dragged up his coat by one of its arms and fled after her. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0037" id="link2H_4_0037"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXIII. + </h2> + <p> + Sulby Glen is winding, soft, rich, sweet, and exquisitely beautiful. A + thin thread of blue water, laughing, babbling, brawling, whooping, + leaping, gliding, and stealing down from the mountains; great boulders + worn smooth and ploughed hollow by the wash of ages; wet moss and lichen + on the channel walls; deep, cool dubbs; tiny reefs; little cascades of + boiling foam; lines of trees like sentinels on either side, making the + light dim through the overshadowing leafage; gaunt trunks torn up by winds + and thrown across the stream with their heads to the feet of their + fellows; the golden fuschia here, the green trammon there; now and again a + poor old tholthan, a roofless house, with grass growing on its kitchen + floor; and over all the sun peering down with a hundred eyes into the dark + and slumberous gloom, and the breeze singing somewhere up in the tree-tops + to the voice of the river below. + </p> + <p> + Kate had run out on the stem of one of the fallen trees, and there Philip + found her, over the middle of the stream, laughing, dancing, waving his + hat in one hand, and making sweeping bows to her reflection in the water + below. + </p> + <p> + “Come back,” he cried. “You terrible girl, you'll fall. Sit down there—don't + torment me, sit down.” + </p> + <p> + After a curtsey to him she turned her attention to her skirts, wound them + about her ankles, sat on the trunk, and dangled her shapely feet half an + inch over the surface of the stream. + </p> + <p> + Then Philip had time to observe that the other end of the tree did not + reach the opposite bank, but dipped short into the water. So he barricaded + his end by sitting on it, and said triumphantly: “My hat, if you please.” + </p> + <p> + Kate looked and gave a little cry of alarm and then a chuckle, and then + she said— + </p> + <p> + “You thought you'd caught me, didn't you? You can't, though,” and she + dropped on to a boulder from which she might have skipped ashore. + </p> + <p> + “I can't, can't I?” said Philip; and he twisted a smaller boulder on his + side, so that Kate was surrounded by water and cut off from the bank. “My + hat now, madam,” he said with majestic despotism. 10 + </p> + <p> + She would not deliver it, so he pretended to leave her where she was. + “Good-bye, then; good evening,” he cried over the laughter of the stream, + and turned away a step bareheaded. + </p> + <p> + A moment later his confidence was dashed. When he turned his head back + Kate had whipped off her shoes and stockings, and was ramming the one + inside the other. + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing?” cried Philip. + </p> + <p> + “Catch this—and this,” she said, flinging the shoes across to him. + Then clapping his straw hat on the crown of her sun-bonnet, she tucked up + her skirts with both hands and waded ashore. + </p> + <p> + “What a clever boy you are! You thought you'd caught me again, didn't + you?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “I've caught your shoes, anyway,” said Philip, “and until you give me my + hat I'll stick to them.” + </p> + <p> + She was on the shingle, but in her bare feet, and could not make a step. + </p> + <p> + “My shoes, please?” she pleaded. + </p> + <p> + “My hat first,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “Take it.” + </p> + <p> + “No; you must give it me.” + </p> + <p> + “Never! I'll sit here all night first,” said Kate. + </p> + <p> + “I'm willing,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + They were sitting thus, the one bare-headed, the other with bare feet, and + on the same stone, as if seats in the glen were scarce, when there came + the sound of a hymn from the field they had left, and then it was agreed + by way of mutual penalty that Kate should put on Philip's hat on condition + that Philip should be required to put on Kate's shoes. + </p> + <p> + At the next moment Philip, suddenly sobered, was reproaching himself + fiercely. What was he doing? He had come to tell Kate that he should come + no more, and this was how he had begun! Yesterday he was in Douglas + reading his father's letters, and here he was to-day, forgetting himself, + his aims in life, his duties, his obligations—everything. “Philip,” + he thought, “you are as weak as water. Give up your plans; you are not fit + for them; abandon your hopes—they are too high for you.” + </p> + <p> + “How solemn we are all at once!” said Kate. + </p> + <p> + The hymn (a most doleful strain, dragged out to death on every note) was + still coming from the Melliah field, and she added, slyly, shyly, with a + mixture of boldness and nervousness, “Do you think this world is so very + bad, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Well—aw—no,” he faltered, and looking up he met her eye, and + they both laughed. + </p> + <p> + “It's all nonsense, isn't it?” she said, and they began to walk down the + glen. + </p> + <p> + “But where are we going?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, we'll come out this way just as well.” + </p> + <p> + The scutch grass, the long rat-tail, and the golden cushag were swishing + against his riding-breeches and her print dress. “I must tell her now,” he + thought. In the narrow places she went first, and he followed with a + lagging step, trying to begin. “Better prepare her,” he thought. But he + could think of no commonplace leading up to what he wished to say. + </p> + <p> + Presently, through a tangle of wild fuchsia, there was a smell of burning + turf in the air and the sound of milking into a pail, and then a voice + came up surprisingly as from the ground, saying: + </p> + <p> + “Aisy on the thatch, Miss Cregeen, ma'am.” + </p> + <p> + It was old Joney, the shearer, milking her goat, and Kate had stepped on + to the roof of her house without knowing it, for the little place was low + and opened from the water's edge and leaned against the bank. + </p> + <p> + Philip made some conventional inquiries, and she answered that she had + been thirty years there, and had one son living with her, and he was an + imbecile. + </p> + <p> + “There was once a flock at me, and I was as young as you are then, miss, + and all as happy; but they're laving me one by one, except this one, and + he isn't wise, poor boy.” + </p> + <p> + Philip tried to steel his heart. “It is cruel,” he thought, “it will hurt + her; but what must be, must be.” She began to sing and went carolling down + the glen, keeping two paces in front of him. He followed like an assassin + meditating the moment to strike. “He is going to say something,” she + thought, and then she sang louder. + </p> + <p> + “Kate,” he called huskily. + </p> + <p> + But she only clapped her hands, and cried in a voice of delight, “The + echo! Here's the echo! Let's shout to it.” + </p> + <p> + Her kindling features banished his purpose for the time, and he delivered + himself to her play. Then she called up the gill, “Ec—ho! Ec—ho!” + and listened, but there was no response, and she said, “It won't answer to + its own name. What shall I call?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, anything,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “Phil—ip! Phil—ip!” she called, and then said pettishly, “No, + Philip won't hear me either.” She laughed. “He's always so stupid though, + and perhaps he's asleep.” + </p> + <p> + “More this way,” said Philip. “Try now.” + </p> + <p> + “You try.” + </p> + <p> + Philip took up the call. “Kate!” he shouted, and back came the answer, <i>Ate!</i> + “Kate—y!”—<i>Ate—y</i>. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! how quick! Katey's a good girl. Hark how she answers you,” said Kate. + </p> + <p> + They walked a few steps, and Kate called again, “Philip!” There was no + answer. “Philip is stubborn; he won't have anything to do with me,” said + Kate. + </p> + <p> + Then Philip called a second time, “Katey!” And back came the echo as + before. “Well, that's too bad. Katey is—yes, she's actually <i>following</i> + you!” + </p> + <p> + Philip's courage oozed out of him. “Not yet,” he thought. <i>Traa-dy-liooar</i>—time + enough. “After supper, when everybody is going! Outside the mill, in the + half light of candles within and darkness without! It will sound so + ordinary then, 'Good-bye! Haven't you heard the news? Auntie Nan is + reconciled at last to leaving Ballure and joining me in Douglas.' That's + it; so simple, so commonplace.” + </p> + <p> + The light was now coming between the trees on the closing west in long + swords of sunset red. They could hear the jolting of the laden cart on its + way down the glen. The birds were fairly rioting overhead, and all sorts + of joyous sounds filled the air. Underfoot there were long ferns and + gorse, which caught at her crinkling dress sometimes, and then he + liberated her and they laughed. A trailing bough of deadly nightshade was + hanging from the broken head of an old ash stump, whose wasted feet were + overgrown by two scarlet-tipped toadstools, and she plucked a long tendril + of it and wound it about her head, tipping her sun-bonnet back, and + letting the red berries droop over her dark hair to her face. Then she + began to sing, + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + O were I monarch o' the globe, + Wi' thee to reign, wi' thee to reign. +</pre> + <p> + Radiant gleams shot out of her black pupils, and flashes of love like + lightning passed from her eye to his. + </p> + <p> + Then he tried to moralise. “Ah!” he said, out of the gravity of his + wisdom, “if one could only go on for ever like this, living from minute to + minute! But that's the difference between a man and a woman. A woman lives + in the world of her own heart. If she has interests, they centre there. + But a man has his interests outside his affections. He is compelled to + deny himself, to let the sweetest things go by.” + </p> + <p> + Kate began to laugh, and Philip ended by laughing too. + </p> + <p> + “Look!” she cried, “only look.” + </p> + <p> + On the top of the bank above them a goat was skirmishing. He was a + ridiculous fellow; sometimes cropping with saucy jerks, then kicking up + his heels, as if an invisible imp had pinched him, then wagging his rump + and laughing in his nostrils. + </p> + <p> + “As I was saying,” said Philip, “a man has to put by the pleasures of + life. Now here's myself, for example. I am bound, do you know, by a kind + of duty—a sort of vow made to the dead, I might say———” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure he's going to say something,” thought Kate. The voice of his + heart was speaking louder and quicker than his halting tongue. She saw + that a blow was coming, and looked about for the means to ward it off. + </p> + <p> + “The fairy's dubb!” she cried suddenly, and darted from his side to the + water's edge. + </p> + <p> + It was a little round pool, black as ink, lying quiet and apparently + motionless under a noisy place where the waters swirled and churned over + black moss, and the stream ran into the dark. Philip had no choice but to + follow her. + </p> + <p> + “Cut me a willow! Your penknife! Quick, sir, quick! Not that old branch—a + sapling. There, that's it. Now you shall hear me tell my own fortune.” + </p> + <p> + “An ordeal is it?” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “Hush! Be quiet, still, or little Phonodoree wont listen. Hush, now hush!” + </p> + <p> + With solemn airs, but a certain sparkle in her eyes, she went down on her + knees by the pool, stretched her round arm over the water, passed the + willow bough slowly across its surface, and recited her incantation: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Willow bough, willow bough, which of the four, + Sink, circle, or swim, or come floating ashore? + Which is the fortune you keep for my life, + Old maid or young mistress or widow or wife? +</pre> + <p> + With the last word she flung the willow bough on to the pool, and sat back + on her heels to watch it as it moved slowly with the motion of the water. + </p> + <p> + “Bravo!” cried Philip. + </p> + <p> + “Be quiet. It's swimming. No, it's coming ashore.” + </p> + <p> + “It's wife, Kate. No, it's widow. No, it's——” + </p> + <p> + “Do be serious. Oh, dear! it's going—yes, it's going round. Not that + either. No, it has—yes, it has———oh!” + </p> + <p> + “Sunk!” said Philip, laughing and clapping his hands. “You're doomed to be + an old maid, Kate. Phonodoree says so.” + </p> + <p> + “Cruel Brownie! I'm vexed that I bothered with him,” said Kate, dropping + her lip. Then nodding to her reflection in the water where the willow + bough had disappeared, she said, “Poor little Katey! He might have given + you something else. Anything but that dear, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “What,” laughed Philip, “crying? Because Phonodoree—never!” + </p> + <p> + Kate leapt up with averted face. “What nonsense you are talking!” she + said. + </p> + <p> + “There are tears in your eyes, though,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “No wonder, either. You're so ridiculous. And if I'm meant for an old + maid, you're meant for an old bachelor—and quite right too!” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it is, is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, indeed. You've got no more heart than a mushroom, for you're all + head and legs, and you're going to be just as bald some day.” + </p> + <p> + “I am, am I, mistress?” + </p> + <p> + “If I were you, Philip, I should hire myself out for a scarecrow, and then + having nothing under your clothes wouldn't so much matter.” + </p> + <p> + “It wouldn't, wouldn't it?” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + She was shying off at a half circle; he was beating round her. + </p> + <p> + “But you're nearly as old as Methuselah already, and what you'll be when + you're a man——” + </p> + <p> + “Lookout!” + </p> + <p> + She made him an arch curtsey and leapt round a tree, and cried from the + other side, “I know. A squeaking old croaker, with the usual old song, + 'Deed yes, friends, this world is a vale of sin and misery.' The men's the + misery and the women's the sin——” + </p> + <p> + “You rogue, you!” cried Philip. + </p> + <p> + He made after her, and she fled, still speaking, “What do you think a girl + wants with a——Oh! Oh! Oo!” + </p> + <p> + Her tirade ended suddenly. She had plunged into a bed of the prickly + gorse, and was feeling in twenty places at once what it was to wear low + shoes and thin stockings. + </p> + <p> + “With a Samson, eh?” cried Philip, striding on in his riding breeches, and + lifting the captured creature in his arms. “Why, to carry her, you + torment, to carry her through the gorse like this.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” she said, turning her face over his shoulder, and tickling his neck + with her breath. + </p> + <p> + Her hair caught in a tree, and fell in a dark shower over his breast. He + set her on her feet; they took hands, and went carolling down the glen + together: + </p> + <p> + “The brightest jewel in my crown, Wad be my queen, wad be my queen.” + </p> + <p> + The daylight lingered as if loth to leave them. There was the fluttering + of wings overhead, and sometimes the last piping of birds. The wind + wandered away, and left their voices sovereign of all the air. + </p> + <p> + Then there came a distant shout; the cheer of the farm people on reaching + home with the Melliah.. It awakened Philip as from a fit of intoxication. + </p> + <p> + “This is madness,” he thought. “What am I doing?” “He is going to speak + now,” she told herself. + </p> + <p> + Her gaiety shaded off into melancholy, and her melancholy burst into wild + gaiety again. The night had come down, the moon had risen, the stars had + appeared. She crept closer to Philip's side, and began to tell him the + story of a witch. They were near to the house the witch had lived in. + There it was—that roofless cottage—that tholthan under the + deep trees like a dungeon. + </p> + <p> + “Have you never heard of her, Philip? No? The one they called the + Deemster's lady?” + </p> + <p> + “What Deemster?” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “This one, Deemster Mylrea, who is said to be dying.” + </p> + <p> + “He is dying; he is killing himself; I saw him to-day,' said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “'Well, she was the blacksmith's daughter, and he left her, and she went + mad and cursed him, and said she was his wife though they hadn't been to + church, and he should never marry anybody else. Then her father turned her + out, and she came up here all alone, and there was a baby, and they were + saying she killed it, and everybody was afraid of her. And all the time + her boy was making himself a great, great man until he got to be Deemster. + But he never married, never, though times and times people were putting + this lady on him and then that; but when they told the witch, she only + laughed and said, 'Let him, he'll get lave enough!' At last she was old + and going on two sticks, and like to die any day, and then he crept out of + his big house unknown to any one and stole up here to the woman's cottage. + And when she saw the old man she said, 'So you've come at last, boy; but + you've been keeping me long, bogh, you've been keeping me long.' And then + she died. Wasn't that strange?” + </p> + <p> + Her dark eyes looked up at him and her mouth quivered. + </p> + <p> + “Was it witchcraft, then?” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no; it was only because he was her husband. That was the hold she had + of him. He was tempted away by a big house and a big name, but he <i>had</i> + to come back to her. And it's the same with a woman. Once a girl is the + wife of somebody, she <i>must</i> cling to him, and if she is ever false + she must return. Something compels her. That's if she's really his wife—really, + truly. How beautiful, isn't it? Isn't it beautiful?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think that, Kate? Do you think a man, like a woman, would cling + the closer?” + </p> + <p> + “He couldn't help himself, Philip.” + </p> + <p> + Philip tried to say it was only a girl's morality, but her confidence + shamed him. She slipped her moist fingers into his hand again. They were + close by the deserted tholthan, and she was creeping nearer and nearer to + his side. A bat swirled above their heads and she made a faint cry. Then a + cat shot from under a gooseberry bush, and she gave a little scream. She + was breathing irregularly. He could smell the perfume of her fallen hair. + He was in agony of pain and delight. His heart was leaping in his bosom; + his eyes were burning. + </p> + <p> + “She's right,” he thought. “Love is best. It is everything. It is the + crown of life. Shall I give it up for the Dead Sea fruit of worldly + success? Think of the Deemster! Wifeless, childless, living solitary, + dying alone, unregretled, unmourned. What is the wickedness you are + plotting? Your father is dead, you can do him neither good nor harm. This + girl is alive. She loves you. Love her. Let the canting hypocrites prate + as they will.” + </p> + <p> + She had disengaged her hand, and was creeping away from him in the half + darkness, treading softly and going off like a gleam. + </p> + <p> + “Kate!” he called. + </p> + <p> + He heard her laughter, he heard the drowsy hum of the gill, he could smell + the warm odour of the gorse bushes. + </p> + <p> + “But this is madness,” he thought. “This is the fever of an hour. Yield + now and I am ruined for life. The girl has come between me and my aims, my + vows, my work—everything. She has tempted me, and I am as weak as + water.” + </p> + <p> + “Kate!” + </p> + <p> + She did not answer. + </p> + <p> + “Come here this moment, Kate. I have something to say to you.” + </p> + <p> + “Bite!” she said, coming back and holding an apple to his lips. She had + plucked it in the overgrown garden. + </p> + <p> + “Listen! I'm leaving Ramsey for good—don't intend to practise in the + northern courts any longer—settling in Douglas—best work lies + there, you see—worst of it is—we shan't meet again soon—not + very soon, you know—not for years, perhaps——” + </p> + <p> + He began by stammering, and went on stuttering, blurting out his words, + and trembling at the sound of his own voice. + </p> + <p> + “Philip, you must not go!” she cried. “I'm sorry, Kate, very sorry. Shall + always remember so tenderly—not to say fondly—the happy boy + and girl days together.” + </p> + <p> + “Philip, Philip, you must not go—you cannot go—you shall not + go!” + </p> + <p> + He could see her bosom heaving under her loose red bodice. She took hold + of his arm and dragged at it. + </p> + <p> + “Won't you spare me? Will you shame me to death? Must I tell you? If you + won't speak, I will. You cannot leave me, Philip, because—because—what + do I care?—because I love you!” + </p> + <p> + “Don't say that, Kate!” + </p> + <p> + “I love you, Philip—I love you—I love you!” + </p> + <p> + “Would to God I had never been born!” + </p> + <p> + “But I will show you how sweet it is to be alive. Take me, take me—I + am yours!” + </p> + <p> + Her upturned face seemed to flash. He staggered like one seized with + giddiness. It was a thing of terror to behold her. Still he struggled. + “Though apart, we shall remember each other, Kate.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't want to remember. I want to have you with me.” + </p> + <p> + “Our hearts will always be together.” + </p> + <p> + “Come to me then, Philip, come to me!” + </p> + <p> + “The purest part of our hearts—our souls——” + </p> + <p> + “But I want <i>you!</i> Will you drive a girl to shame herself again? I + want <i>you</i>, Philip! I want your eyes that I may see them every day; + and your hair, that I may feel it with my hands; and your lips—can I + help it?—yes, and your lips, that I may kiss and kiss them!” + </p> + <p> + “Kate! Kate! Turn your eyes away. Don't look at me like that!” She was + fighting for her life. It was to be now or never. + </p> + <p> + “If you won't come to me, I'll go to you!” she cried; and then she sprang + upon him, and all grew confused, the berries of the nightshade whipped his + forehead, and the moon and the stars went out. + </p> + <p> + “My love! My darling! My girl!” + </p> + <p> + “You won't go now?” she sobbed. + </p> + <p> + “God forgive me, I cannot.” + </p> + <p> + “Kiss me. I feel your heart beating. You are mine—mine—mine! + Say you won't go now!” + </p> + <p> + “God forgive us both!” + </p> + <p> + “Kiss me again, Philip! Don't despise me that I love you better than + myself!” + </p> + <p> + She was weeping, she was laughing, her heart was throbbing up to her + throat. At the next moment she had broken from his embrace and was gone. + </p> + <p> + “Kate! Kate!” + </p> + <p> + Her voice came from the tholthan. + </p> + <p> + “Philip!” + </p> + <p> + When a good woman falls from honour, is it merely that she is a victim of + momentary intoxication, of stress of passion, of the fever of instinct? + No. It is mainly that she is a slave of the sweetest, tenderest, most + spiritual and pathetic of all human fallacies—the fallacy that by + giving herself to the man she loves she attaches him to herself for ever. + This is the real betrayer of nearly all good women that are betrayed. It + lies at the root of tens of thousands of the cases that make up the + merciless story of man's sin and woman's weakness. Alas! it is only the + woman who clings the closer. The impulse of the man is to draw apart. He + must conquer it or she is lost. Such is the old cruel difference and + inequality of man and woman as nature made them—the old trick, the + old tragedy. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0038" id="link2H_4_0038"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXIV. + </h2> + <p> + Old Mannanin, the magician, according to his wont, had surrounded his + island with mist that day, and, in the helpless void of things unrevealed, + a steamship bound for Liverpool came with engines slacked some points + north of her course, blowing her fog-horn over the breathless sea with + that unearthly yell which must surely be the sound whereby the devil + summons his legions out of chaos. + </p> + <p> + Presently something dropping through the dense air settled for a moment on + the damp rope of the companion ladder, and one of the passengers + recognised it. + </p> + <p> + “My gough! It's a bird, a sparrow,” he cried. + </p> + <p> + At the same moment there was a rustle of wind, the mist lifted, and a + great round shoulder rose through the white gauze, as if it had been the + ghost of a mountain. + </p> + <p> + “That's the Isle of Man,” the passenger shouted, and there was a cry of + incredulity. “It's the Calf, I'm telling you, boys. Lave it to me to + know.” And instantly the engines were reversed. + </p> + <p> + The passenger, a stalwart fellow, with a look as of pallor under a tawny + tan, walked the deck in a fever of excitement, sometimes shouting in a + cracked voice, sometimes laughing huskily, and at last breaking down in a + hoarse gurgle like a sob. + </p> + <p> + “Can't you put me ashore, capt'n?” + </p> + <p> + “Sorry I can't, sir, we've lost time already.” + </p> + <p> + There was a dog with him, a little, misshappen, ugly creature, and he + lifted it up in his arms and hugged it, and called it by blusterous swear + names, with noises of inarticulate affection. Then he went down to his + berth in the second cabin and opened a little box of letters, and took + them out one by one, and leaned up to the port to read them. He had read + them before, and he knew them by heart, but he traced the lines with his + broad forefinger, and spelled the words one by one. And as he did so he + laughed aloud, and then cried to himself, and then laughed once more. “She + is well and happy, and looking lovely, and, if she does not write, don't + think she is forgetting you.” + </p> + <p> + “God bless her. And God bless him, too. God bless them both!” + </p> + <p> + He went up on deck again, for he could not rest in one place long. There + was a breeze now, and he filled his lungs and blew and blew. The island + was dying down over the sea in a pale light of silver grey. An engineman + and a stoker were leaning over the bulwark to cool themselves. + </p> + <p> + “Happy enough now, sir, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Happy as a sand-boy, mate, only mortal hungry. Tiffin you say? Aw, the + heart has its hunger same as anything else, and mine has been on short + commons these five years and better. See that island there, lying like a + salmon gull atop of the water? Looks as if she might dip under it, doesn't + she? That's my home, my native land, as the man says, and only three weeks + ago I wasn't looking to see the thundering ould thing again; but God is + good, you see, and I am middling fit for all. I'm a Manxman myself, mate, + and I've got a lil Manx woman that's waiting for me yonder. It's only an + ould shirt I'm bringing her to patch, as the saying is, but she'll be that + joyful you never seen. It's bad to take a woman by surprise, though—these + nervous creatures—'sterics, you see—I'll send her a tally + graph from the Stage. My sakes! the joy she'll be taking of that boy, too! + He'll be getting sixpence for himself and a drink of butter-milk. It's + always the way of these poor lil things—can't stand no good news at + all—people coming home and the like—not much worth, these + women—crying reglar—can't help it. Well, you see, they're + tender-hearteder than us, and when anybody's been five years... Be gough, + we're making way, though! The island's going under, for sure. Or is it my + eyes that isn't so clear since my bit of a bullet-wound! Aw, God is good, + tremen-jous!” + </p> + <p> + The breaking voice stopped suddenly, and the engine-men turned about, but + the passenger was stumbling down the cabin stairs. + </p> + <p> + “If ever a man came back from the dead it's that one,” said both men + together. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART3" id="link2H_PART3"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART III. MAN AND WOMAN + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0040" id="link2H_4_0040"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I. + </h2> + <p> + Philip was vanquished, and he knew it, but he was not daunted, he was not + distressed. To have resisted the self-abandonment of Kate's love would + have been monstrous. Therefore, he had done no wrong, and there was + nothing to be ashamed of. But when he reached Ballure he did not dash into + Auntie Nan's room, according to his wont, though a light was burning + there, and he could hear the plop and click of thread and needle; he crept + upstairs to his own, and sat down to write a letter. It was the first of + his love letters. + </p> + <p> + “I shall count the days, the hours, and the minutes until we meet again, + my darling, and I shall be constantly asking what time it is. And seeing + we must be so much apart, let us contrive a means of being together, + nevertheless. Listen!—I whisper the secret in your ear. To-morrow + night and every night eat your supper at eight o'clock exactly; I will do + the same, and so we shall be supping in each other's company, my little + wife, though twenty miles divide us. If any body asks me to supper, I will + refuse in order that I may sup with you. 'I am promised to a friend,' I'll + say, and then I'll sit down in my rooms alone, but you will be with me.” + </p> + <p> + Tingling with delight, he wrote this letter to Kate, though less than an + hour parted from her, and went out to post it. He was going upstairs + again, steadily, on tiptoe, his head half aside and his face over his + shoulder, when Auntie Nan's voice came from the blue room—“Philip!” + </p> + <p> + He returned with a sheepish look, and a sense, never felt before, of being + naked, so to speak. But Auntie Nan did not look at him. She was working a + lamb on a sampler, and she reached over the frame to take something out of + a drawer and hand it to him. It was a medallion of a young child—a + boy, with long fair curls like a girl's, and a face like sunshine. + </p> + <p> + “Was it father, Auntie?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; a French painter who came ashore with Thurlot painted it for + grandfather.” + </p> + <p> + Philip laid it on the table. He was more than ever sure that Auntie Nan + had heard something. Such were her tender ways of warning him. He could + not be vexed. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sleepy to-night, Auntie, and you look tired too. You've been waiting + up for me again. Now, you really must not. Besides, it limits one's + freedom.” + </p> + <p> + “That's nothing, Philip. You said you would come home after calling on the + poor Deemster, and so——” + </p> + <p> + “He's in a bad way, Auntie. Drink—delirium—such a wreck. Well, + good night!” + </p> + <p> + “Did you read the letters, dear?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes. Father's letters. Yes, I read them. Good night.” + </p> + <p> + “Aren't they beautiful? Haven't they the very breath of ambition and + enthusiasm? But poor father! How soon the brightness melted away! He never + repined, though. Oh, no, never. Indeed, he used to laugh and joke at our + dreams and our castles in the air. 'You must do it all yourself, Nannie; + you shall have all the cakes and ale.' Yes, when he was a dying man he + would joke like that. But sometimes he would grow serious, and then he + would say, 'Give little Philip some for all. He'll deserve it more than + me. Oh, God,' he would say, 'let me think to myself when I'm <i>there</i>, + you've missed the good things of life, but your son has got them; you are + here, but he is on the heights; lie still, thou poor aspiring heart, lie + still in your grave and rest.'” + </p> + <p> + Philip felt like a bird struggling in the meshes of a net. + </p> + <p> + “My father was a poet, Auntie, trying to be a man of the world. That was + the real mischief in his life, if you think of it.” + </p> + <p> + Auntie Nan looked up with her needle at poise above the sampler, and said + in a nervous voice, “The real mischief of your father's life, Philip, was + love—what they call love. But love is not that. Love is peace and + virtue, and right living, and that is only madness and frenzy, and when + people wake up from it they wake up as from a nightmare. Men talk of it as + a holy thing—it is unholy. Books are written in praise of it—I + would have such books burnt. When anybody falls to it, he is like a blind + man who has lost his guide, tottering straight to the precipice. Women + fall to it too. Yes, good women as well as good men; I have seen them + tempted——” + </p> + <p> + Philip was certain of it now. Some one had been prying upon him at Sulby. + He was angry, and his anger spent itself on Auntie Nan in a torrent of + words. “You are wrong, Aunt Anne, quite wrong. Love is the one lovely + thing in life. It is beauty, it is poetry. Call it passion if you will—what + would the world be like without it? A place where every human heart would + be an island standing alone; a place without children, without joy, + without merriment, without laughter. No, no; Heaven has given us love, and + we are wrong when we try to put it away. We cannot put it away, and when + we make the attempt we are punished for our pride and arrogance. It ought + to be enough for us to let heaven decide whether we are to be great men or + little men, and to decide for ourselves whether we are to be good men and + happy men. And the greatest happiness of life is love. Heaven would have + to work a miracle to enable us to live without it. But Heaven does not + work such a miracle, because the greatest miracle of heaven is love + itself.” + </p> + <p> + The needle hand of Auntie Nan was trembling above her sampler, and her + lips were twitching. + </p> + <p> + “You are a young man yet, Philip,” she faltered, “but I am an old lady + now, dear, and I have seen the fruits of the intoxication you call + passion. Oh, have I not, have I not? It wrecks lives, ruins prospects, + breaks up homes, sets father against son, and brother against brother——” + </p> + <p> + Philip would give her no chance. He was tramping across the room, and he + burst out with, “You are wrong again, Auntie. You are always wrong in + these matters, because you are always thinking from the particular to the + general—you are always thinking of my father. What you have been + calling my father's fall was really his fate. He deserved it. If he had + been fit for the high destiny he aspired to—if he had been fit to be + a judge, he would not have fallen. That he did fall is proof enough that + he was not fit. God did not intend it. My father's aspirations were not + the call of a stern vocation, they were mere poetic ambition. If he had + ever by great ill-fortune lived to be made Deemster, he would have found + himself out, and the island would have found him out, and you yourself + would have found him out, and all the world would have been undeceived. As + a poet he might have been a great man, but as a Deemster he must have been + a mockery, a hypocrite, an impostor, and a sham.” + </p> + <p> + Auntie Nan rose to her feet with a look of fright on her sweet old face, + and something dropped with a clank on to the floor. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Philip, Philip, if I thought you could ever repeat the error——” + </p> + <p> + But Philip gave her no time to finish. Tossing his disordered hair from + his forehead, he swung out of the room. + </p> + <p> + Being alone, he began to collect himself. Was it, in sober fact, he who + had spoken like that? Of his father too? To Auntie Nan as well? He saw how + it was; he had been speaking of his father, but he had been thinking of + himself; he had been struggling to justify himself, to reconcile, + strengthen, and fortify himself. But in doing so he had been breaking an + idol, a life-long idol, his own idol and Auntie Nan's. + </p> + <p> + He stumbled downstairs in a rush of remorse, and burst again into the room + crying in a broken voice, “Auntie! Auntie!” + </p> + <p> + But the room was empty; the lamp was turned down; the sampler was pushed + aside. Something crunched under his foot, and he stooped and picked it up. + It was the medallion, and it was cracked across. The accident terrified + him. His skin seemed to creep. He felt as if he had trodden on his + father's face. Putting the broken picture into his pocket, he turned about + like a guilty man and crept silently to bed in the darkness. + </p> + <p> + But the morning brought him solace for the pains of the night—it + brought him a letter from Kate. + </p> + <p> + “The Melliah is over at long, long last, and I am allowed to be alone with + my thoughts. They sang 'Keerie fu Snaighty' after you left, and 'The King + can only love his wife, And I can do the sa-a-me, And I can do the same.' + But there is really nothing to tell you, for nothing happened of the + slightest consequence. Good night! I am going to bed after I have posted + this letter at the bridge. Two hours hence you will appear to me in sleep, + unless I lie that long awake to think of you. I generally do. Good-bye, my + dear lord and master! You will let me know what you think best to be done. + Your difficulties alarm me terribly. You see, dear, we two are about to do + something so much out of the common. Good night! I lift my head that you + may give me another kiss on the eyes, and here are two for yours.” + </p> + <p> + Then there were empty brackets [ ], which Kate had put her lips to, + expecting Philip to do the same. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0041" id="link2H_4_0041"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II. + </h2> + <p> + Philip was going into his chambers in Douglas that morning when he came + upon a messenger from Government House in stately intercourse with his + servant. His Excellency begged him to step up to Onchan immediately, and + to remain for lunch. + </p> + <p> + The Governor's carriage was at the door, and Philip got into it. He was + not excited; he remembered his agitation at the Governor's former message + and smiled. On leaving his own rooms he had not forgotten to order supper + for eight o'clock precisely. + </p> + <p> + He found the Governor polite and expansive as usual. He was sitting in a + room hung round with ponderous portraits of former Governors, most of them + in frills and ruffles, and one vast picture of King George. + </p> + <p> + “You will have heard,” he said, “that our northern Deemster is dead.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he so?” said Philip. “I saw him at one o'clock yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “He died at two?” said the Governor. + </p> + <p> + “Poor man, poor man!” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + That was all. Not a tremble of the eyelid, not a quiver of the lip. + </p> + <p> + “You are aware that the office is a Crown appointment?” said the Governor. + “Applications are made, you know, to the Home Office, but it is probable + that my advice may be asked by the Secretary in his selection. I may, + perhaps, be of use to a candidate.” + </p> + <p> + Philip gave no sign, and the Governor shifted his leg and continued with a + smile, “Certainly that appears to be the impression of your brother + advocates, Mr. Christian; they are about me already, like wasps at a + glue-pot. I will not question but you'll soon be one of them.” + </p> + <p> + Philip made a gesture of protestation, and the Governor waved his hand and + smiled again. “Oh, I shan't blame you; young men are ambitious. It is + natural that they should wish to advance themselves in life. In your case, + too, if I may say so, there is the further spur of a desire to recover the + position your family once held, and lately lost through the mistake or + misfortune of your father.” + </p> + <p> + Philip bowed gravely, but said nothing. + </p> + <p> + “That, no doubt,” said the Governor, “would be a fact in your favour. The + great fact against you would be that you are still so young. Let me see, + is it eight-and twenty?” + </p> + <p> + “Twenty-six,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “No more? Only six-and-twenty? And then, successful as your career has + been thus far—perhaps I should say distinguished or even brilliant—you + are still unsettled in life.” + </p> + <p> + Philip asked if his Excellency meant that he was still unmarried. + </p> + <p> + “And if I do,” the Governor replied, with pretended severity, “and if I + do, don't smile too broadly, young man. You ought to know by this time + that the personal equation counts for something in this old-fashioned + island of yours. Now, the late Deemster was an example which it would be + perilous to repeat. If it were repeated, I know who would hear of the + blunder every day of his life, and it wouldn't be the Home Secretary + either. Deemster Mylrea was called upon to punish the crimes of drink, and + he was himself a drunkard; to try the offences of sensuality, and he was + himself a sensualist.” + </p> + <p> + Philip could not help it—he gave a little crack of laughter. + </p> + <p> + “To be sure,” said the Governor hastily, “you are in no danger of his + excesses; but you will not be a safe candidate to recommend until you have + placed yourself to all appearances out of the reach of them. 'Beware of + these Christians,' said the great Derby to his son; and pardon me if I + revive the warning to a Christian himself.” + </p> + <p> + The colour came strong into Philip's face. Even at that moment he felt + angry at so coarse a version of his father's fault. + </p> + <p> + “You mean,” said he, “that we are apt to marry unwisely.” + </p> + <p> + “I do that,” said the Governor. + </p> + <p> + “There's no telling,” said Philip, with a faint crack of his fingers; and + the Governor frowned a little—the pock-marks seemed to spread. + </p> + <p> + “Of course, all this is outside my duty, Mr. Christian—I needn't + tell you that; but I feel an interest in you, and I've done you some + services already, though naturally a young man will think he has done + everything for himself. Ah!” he said, rising from his seat at the sound of + a gong, “luncheon is ready. Let us join the ladies.” Then, with one hand + on Philip's shoulder familiarly, “only a word more, Mr. Christian. Send in + your application immediately, and—take the advice of an old fiddler—marry + as soon afterwards as may be. But with your prospects it would be a sin + not to walk carefully. If she's English, so much the better; but if she's + Manx—take care.” + </p> + <p> + Philip lunched with the Governor's wife, who told him she remembered his + grandfather; also with his unmarried daughter, who said she had heard him + speak for the fishermen at Peel. An official “At home,” the last of the + summer, was to be held in the garden that afternoon, and Philip was + invited to remain. He did so, and thereby witnessed the assaults of the + wasps at the glue-pot. They buzzed about the Governor, they buzzed about + his wife, they buzzed about his dog and about a tame deer, which took + grapes from the hands of the guests. + </p> + <p> + An elderly gentleman, sitting alone in a carriage, drove up to the lawn. + It was Peter Christian Ballawhaine, looking feebler, whiter, and more + splay-footed than before. Philip stepped up to his uncle and offered his + arm to alight by. But the Ballawhaine brushed it aside and pushed through + to the Governor, to whom he talked incessantly for some minutes of his son + Ross, saying he had sent for him and would like to present him to his + Excellency. + </p> + <p> + If Philip lacked enjoyment of the scene, if his face lacked heart and + happiness, it was not the fault of his host. “Will you not take Lady + So-and-so to have tea?” the Governor would say; and presently Philip found + himself in a circle of official wifedom, whose husbands had been made + Knights by the Queen, and themselves made Ladies by—God knows whom. + The talk was of the late Deemster. + </p> + <p> + “Such a life! It's a mercy he lasted so long!” + </p> + <p> + “A pity, you mean, my dear, not to be hard on him either.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor thing! He ought to have married. Such a man wants a wife to look + after him. Don't you think so, Mr. Christian?” + </p> + <p> + “Why,” said a white-haired dame, “have you never heard of his great + romance?” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! tell us of that. Who was the lady?” + </p> + <p> + “The lady——” there was a pause; the white-haired dame coughed, + smiled, closed her little ferret eyes, dropped her voice, and said with + mock gravity, “The lady was the blacksmith's daughter, dearest.” And then + there was a merry trill of laughter. + </p> + <p> + Philip felt sick, bowed to his hosts, and left. As he was going off, his + uncle intercepted him, holding out both hands. + </p> + <p> + “How's this, Philip? You never come to Ballawhaine now. I see! Oh, I see! + Too busy with the women to remember an old man. They're all talking of + you. Putting the comather on them, eh? I know, I know; don't tell me.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0042" id="link2H_4_0042"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III. + </h2> + <p> + Philip's way home lay through the town, but he made a circuit of the + country, across Onchan, so heartsick was he, so utterly choked with bitter + feelings. He felt as if all the angels and devils together must be making + a mock at him. The thing he had worked for through five heavy years, the + end he had aimed at, the goal he had fought for, was his already—his + for the stretching out of his hand. Yet now that it was his, he could not + have it. Oh, the mockery of his fate! Oh, the irony of his life! It was + shrieking, it was frantic! + </p> + <p> + Then his bolder spirit seemed to say, “What is all this childish fuming + about? Fortune comes to you with both hands full. Be bold, and you may + have both the wish of your soul and the desire of your heart—both + the Deemster-ship and Kate.” + </p> + <p> + It was impossible to believe that. If he married Kate, the Governor would + not recommend him as Deemster. Had he not admitted that he stood in some + fear of the public opinion of the island? And was it not conceivable that, + besides the unselfish interest which the Governor had shown in him, there + was even a personal one that would operate more powerfully than fear of + the old-fashioned Manx conventions to prevent any recommendation of the + husband of the wrong woman? At one moment a vague memory rose before + Philip, as he crossed the fields, of the lunch at Government House, of the + Governor's wife and daughter, of their courtesy and boundless + graciousness. At the next moment he had drawn up sharply, with pangs of + self-contempt, hating himself, loathing himself, swearing at himself for a + mean-souled ingrate, as he kicked up the grass and the turf beneath it But + the idea had taken root. He could not help it; the Governor's interest + went for nothing in his reckoning. + </p> + <p> + “What a fool you are, Philip,” something seemed to whisper out of the + darkest corner of his conscience; “take the Deemstership first, and marry + Kate afterwards.” But it was impossible to think of that either. Say it + could be done by any arts of cunning or duplicity, what then? Then there + were the high walls of custom and prejudice to surmount. Philip remembered + the garden-party, and saw that they could never be surmounted. The + Deemster who slapped the conventions in the face would suffer for it. He + would be taboo to half the life of the island—in public an official, + in private a recluse. An icy picture rose before his mind's eye of the + woman who would be his wife in her relations with the ladies he had just + left. She might be their superior in education, certainly in all true + manners, and in natural grace and beauty, in sweetness and charm, their + mistress beyond a dream of comparison. But they would never forget that + she was the daughter of a country innkeeper, and every little cobble in + the rickety pyramid, even from the daughter of the innkeeper in the town, + would look down on her as from a throne. + </p> + <p> + He could see them leaving their cards at his door and driving hurriedly + off. They must do that much. It was the bitter pill which the Deemster's + doings made them swallow. Then he could see his wife sitting alone, a + miserable woman, despised envied, isolated, shut off from her own class by + her marriage with the Deemster, and from his class by the Deemster's + marriage with her. Again, he could see himself too powerful to offend, too + dangerous to ignore, going out on his duties without cheer, and returning + to his wife without company. Finally, he remembered his father and his + mother, and he could not help but picture himself sitting at home with + Kate five years after their marriage, when the first happiness of each + other's society had faded, had staled, had turned to the wretchedness of + starvation in its state of siege. Or perhaps going out for walks with her, + just themselves, always themselves only, they two together, this evening, + last evening, and to-morrow evening; through the streets crowded by + visitors, down the harbour where the fishermen congregate, across the + bridge and over the head between sea and sky; people bowing to them + respectfully, rigidly, freezingly; people nudging and whispering and + looking their way. Oh, God, what end could come of such an abject life but + that, beginning by being unhappy, they should descend to being bad as + well? + </p> + <p> + “What a fuss you are making of things,” said the voice again, but more + loudly. “This hubbub only means that you can't have your cake and eat it. + Very well, take Kate, and let the Deemstership go to perdition.” + </p> + <p> + There was not much comfort in that counsel, for it made no reckoning with + the certainty that, if marriage with Kate would prevent him from being + Deemster, it would prevent him from being anything in the Isle of Man. As + it had happened with his father, so it would happen with him—there + would be no standing ground in the island for the man who had deliberately + put himself outside the pale. + </p> + <p> + “Don't worry me with silly efforts to draw a line so straight. If you + can't have Kate and the Deemstership together, and if you can't have Kate + without the Deemstership, there is only one thing left—the + Deemstership without Kate. You must take the office and forego the girl. + It is your duty, your necessity.” + </p> + <p> + This was how Philip put it to himself at length, and the daylight had gone + by that time, and he was walking in the dark. But the voice which had been + pleading on his side now protested on hers. + </p> + <p> + “Don't prate of duty and necessity. You mean self-love and self-interest. + Man, be honest. Because this woman is an obstacle in your career, you + would sacrifice her. It is boundless, pitiless selfishness. Suppose you + abandon her, dare you think of her without shame! She loves you, she + trusts you, and she has given you proof of her love and trust. Hold your + tongue. Don't dare to whisper that nobody knows it but you and heir—that + you will be silent, that she will have no temptation to speak. She loves + you. She has given you all. God bless her!” + </p> + <p> + Affectionate pity swept down the selfish man in him. As the lights of the + town appeared on his path, he was saying to himself boldly, “Since either + way there is trouble, I'll do as I said last night—I'll leave Heaven + to decide whether I'm to be a great man or a little man, and decide for + myself whether I'm to be a true man or a happy man. I'll take my heart in + my hand and go right forward.” + </p> + <p> + In this temper he returned to his chambers. The rooms fronted to Athol + Street, but backed on to the churchyard of St. George's. They were quiet, + and not overlooked. His lamp was lit. The servant was laying the cloth. + </p> + <p> + “Lay covers for two, Jemmy,” said Philip. Then he began to hum something. + </p> + <p> + Presently, in feeling for his keys, his fingers touched an unfamiliar + substance in his pocket. He remembered what it was. It was the cracked + medallion of his father. He could not bear to look at it. Unlocking a + chest, he buried it at the bottom under a pile of winter clothing. + </p> + <p> + This recalled a possession yet more painful, and going to a desk, he drew + out the packet of his father's letters and proceeded to hide them away + with the medallion. As he did so his hand trembled, his limbs shook, he + felt giddy, and he thought the voice that had tormented him with + conflicting taunts was ringing in his ears again. “Bury him deep! Bury + your father out of all sight and all remembrance. Bury his love of you, + his hopes of you, his expectations and dreams of you. Bury and forget him + for ever.” + </p> + <p> + Philip hesitated a moment, and then banged down the lid of the chest, and + relocked it as his servant returned to the room. The man was a solemn, + dignified, and reticent person, who had been groom to the late Bishop. His + gravity he had acquired from his horses, his dignity from his master; but + his reticence he had created for himself, being a thing beyond nature in + creature or man. His proper name was Cottier; he had always been known as + Jemy-Lord. + </p> + <p> + “Company not arrived, sir,” he said. “Wait or serve?” + </p> + <p> + “What is the time?” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “Struck eight; but clock two minutes soon.” + </p> + <p> + “Serve the supper at once,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + When the dishes had been brought in and the man dismissed, Philip, taking + his place at the table, drew from his button-hole a flower which he had + picked out of his water-bowl at lunch, and, first putting it to his lips, + he tossed it on to the empty place before the chair which had been drawn + up opposite. Then he sat down to eat. + </p> + <p> + He ate little; and, do what he would, he could not keep his mind from + wandering. He thought of his aunt, and how hurt she had been the previous + night; of his uncle, and how he had snubbed and then slavered over him; of + the Governor, and how strange the interest he had shown in him; and + finally, he thought of Pete, and how lately he was dead, and how soon + forgotten. + </p> + <p> + In the midst of these memories, all sad and some bitter, suddenly he + remembered again that he was supping with Kate. Then he struggled to be + bright and even a little gay. He knew that she would be taking her supper + at Sulby at that moment, thinking of him and making believe that he was + with her. So he tried to think that she was with him, sitting in the chair + opposite, looking across the table between the white cloth and the blue + lamp-shade, out of her beaming eyes, with her rings of dark hair dancing + on her forehead, and her ripe mouth twitching merrily. Then the air of the + room seemed to be filled with a sweet presence. He could have fancied + there was a perfume of lace and dainty things. “Sweetheart!” He laughed—he + hardly knew if it was himself that had spoken. It was dear, delicious + fooling. + </p> + <p> + But his eyes fell on the chest wherein he had buried the letters and the + medallion, and his mind wandered again. He thought of his father, of his + grandfather, of his lost inheritance, and how nearly he had reclaimed the + better part of it, and then once more of Pete, crying aloud at last in the + coil of his trouble, “Oh, if Pete had only lived!” + </p> + <p> + His voice startled and his words horrified him. To wipe out both in the + first moment of recovered consciousness, he filled his glass to the brim, + and lifted it up, rising at the same time, looking across the table, and + saying in a soft whisper, “Your health, darling, your health!” + </p> + <p> + The bell rang from the street door, and he stood listening with the + wine-glass in his hand. When he knew anything more, a voice at his elbow + was saying out of a palpitating gloom, “The gentleman can't come, + seemingly; he has sent a telegram.” + </p> + <p> + It was Jem-y-Lord holding a telegram in his hand. + </p> + <p> + Philip tore open the envelope and read— + </p> + <p> + “Coming home by Ramsey boat to-morrow well and hearty tell Kirry Peat.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0043" id="link2H_4_0043"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV. + </h2> + <p> + Somewhere in the dead and vacant dawn Philip went to bed, worn out by a + night-long perambulation of the dark streets. He slept a heavy sleep of + four deep hours, with oppressive dreams of common things swelling to + enormous size about him. + </p> + <p> + When Jem-y-Lord took the tea to his master's bedroom in the morning, the + tray was almost banged out of his hands by the clashing back of the door, + after he had pushed it open with his knee. The window was half up, and a + cold sea-breeze was blowing into the room; yet the grate and hearth showed + that a fire had been kindled in the night, and his master was still + sleeping. + </p> + <p> + Jem set down his tray, lifted a decanter that stood on the table, held it + to the light, snorted like an old horse, nodded to himself knowingly, and + closed the window. + </p> + <p> + Philip awoke with the noise, and looked around in a bewildered way. He was + feeling vaguely that something had happened, when the man said— + </p> + <p> + “The horse will be round soon, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “What horse?” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “The horse you ride, sir,” said Jem, and, with an indulgent smile, he + added, “the one I ordered from Shimmen's when I posted the letter.” + </p> + <p> + “What letter?” + </p> + <p> + “The letter you gave me to post before I went to bed.” + </p> + <p> + All was jumbled and confused in Philip's mind. He was obliged to make an + effort to remember. Just then the newsboys went shouting down the street + beyond the churchyard: “Special edition—Death of the Deemster.” + </p> + <p> + Then everything came back. He had written to Kate, asking her to meet him + at Port Mooar at two o'clock that day. It was then, and in that lonesome + place, that he had decided to break the news to her. He must tell all; he + had determined upon his course. + </p> + <p> + Without appetite he ate his breakfast. As he did so he heard voices from a + stable-yard in the street. He lifted his head and looked out mechanically. + A four-wheeled dogcart was coming down the archway behind a mettlesome + young horse with silver-mounted harness. The man driving it was a gorgeous + person in a light Melton overcoat. One of his spatted feet was on the + break, and he had a big cigar between his teeth. It was Ross Christian. + </p> + <p> + The last time Philip had seen the man he had fought him for the honour of + Kate. It was like whips and scorpions to think of that now. Ashamed, + abased, degraded in his own eyes, he turned away his head. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0044" id="link2H_4_0044"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V. + </h2> + <p> + In the middle of the night following the Melliah, Kate, turning in bed, + kissed her hand because it had held the hand of Philip. When she awoke in + the morning she felt a great happiness. Opening her eyes and half raising + herself in bed, she looked around. There were the pink curtains hanging + like a tent above her, there were the scraas of the thatched roof, with + the cracking whitewash snipping down on the counterpane, there were the + press and the wash-hand table, the sheep-skin on the floor, and the sun + coming through the orchard window. But everything was transfigured, + everything beautiful, everything mysterious. She was like one who had gone + to sleep on the sea, with only the unattainable horizon round about, and + awakened in harbour in a strange land that was warm and lovely and full of + sunshine. She closed her eyes again, so that nothing might disturb the + contemplation of the mystery. She folded her round arms as a pillow behind + her head, her limbs dropped back of their own weight, and her mouth broke + into a happy smile. Oh, miracle of miracles! The whole world was changed. + </p> + <p> + She heard the clatter of pattens in the room below; it was Nancy churning + in the dairy. She heard shouts from beyond the orchard—it was her + father stacking in the haggard; she heard her mother talking in the bar, + and the mill-wheel swishing in the pond. It seemed almost wonderful that + the machinery of ordinary life could be working away the same as ever. + </p> + <p> + Could she be the same herself? She reached over for a hand-glass to look + at her face. As she took it off the table, it slipped from the tips of her + fingers, and, falling face downwards, it broke. She had a momentary pang + at that accident as at a bad omen, but just then Nancy came up with a + letter. It was the letter which Philip had written at Ballure. When she + was alone again she read it. Then she put it in her bosom. It seemed to be + haunted by the odour of the gorse, the odour of the glen, of the tholthan, + of Philip, and of all delights. + </p> + <p> + A faint ghost of shame came to frighten her. Had she sinned against her + sex? Was it disgraceful that she had wooed and not waited to be won? With + all his love of her, would Philip be ashamed of her also? Her face grew + hot. She knew that she was blushing, and she covered up her head as if her + lover were there to see. Such fears did not last long. Her joy was too + bold to be afraid of tangible things. So overwhelming was her happiness + that her only fear was lest she might awake at some moment and find that + she was asleep now, and everything had been a dream. + </p> + <p> + That was Friday, and towards noon word came from Kirk Michael that the + Deemster had died on the afternoon of the day before. + </p> + <p> + “Then they ought to put Philip Christian in his place,” she said promptly; + “I'm sure no one deserves it better.” + </p> + <p> + They had been talking in low tones in the kitchen with their backs to her, + but faced about with looks of astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “Sakes alive, Kirry,” cried Nancy, “is it yourself it was? What were you + saying a week ago?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, do you expect a girl to be saying the one thing always?” laughed + Kate. + </p> + <p> + “Aw, no,” said Cæsar. “A woman's opinions isn't usually as stiff as the + tail of a fighting Tom cat. They're more coming and going, of a rule.” + </p> + <p> + Next day, Saturday, she received Philip's second letter, the letter + written at Douglas after the supper and the arrival of Pete's telegram. It + was written crosswise, in a hasty hand, on a half-sheet of note-paper, and + was like a postscript, without signature or superscription:—. + </p> + <p> + “Most urgent. Must see you immediately. Meet me at Port Mooar at two + o'clock to-morrow. We can talk there without interruption. Be brave, my + dear. There are serious matters to discuss and arrange.” + </p> + <p> + The message was curt, and even cold, but it brought her no disquiet. + Marriage! That was the only vision it conjured up. The death of the + Deemster had hastened things—that was the meaning of the urgency. + Port Mooar was near to Ballure—that was why she had to go so far. + They would have to face gossip, perhaps backbiting, perhaps even abuse—that + was the reason she had to be brave. Why and how the Deemster's death + should affect her marriage with Philip was a matter she did not puzzle + out. She had vague memories of girls marrying in delightful haste and + sailing away with their husbands, and being gone before you had time to + think they were to go. But this new fact of her life was only a part of + the great mystery, and was not to be explained by everyday ideas and + occurrences. + </p> + <p> + Kate ran up to dress, and came down like a bud bursting into flower. She + had dressed more carefully than ever. Philip had great expectations; he + must not be disappointed. Making the excuse of shopping, she was setting + off towards Ramsey, when her father shouted from the stable that he was + for driving the same way. The mare was harnessed to the gig, and they got + up together. + </p> + <p> + Cæsar had made inquiries and calculations. He had learned that the <i>Johannesburg</i>, + from Cape Town, arrived in Liverpool the day before; and he concluded that + Pete's effects would come by the <i>Peveril</i>, the weekly steamer to + Ramsay, on Saturday morning, The <i>Peveril</i> left Liverpool at eight; + she would be due at three. Cæsar meant to be on the quay at two. + </p> + <p> + “It's my duty as a parent, Kate,” said he. “What more natural but there's + something for yourself? It's my duty as a pastor, too, for there's Manx + ones going that's in danger of the devil of covetousness, and it's doing + the Lord's work to put them out of the reach of temptation. You may exhort + with them till you're black in the face, but it's throwing good money in + the mud. Just <i>chuck!</i> No ring at all; no way responsive!” + </p> + <p> + Kate was silent, and Cæsar added familiarly, “Of course, it's my right + too, for when a man's birth is <i>that</i> way, there's no heirship by + blood, and possession is nine points of the law. That's so, Kate. You + needn't be looking so hard. It's truth enough, girl. I've had advocate's + opinion.” + </p> + <p> + Kate had looked, but had not listened. The matter of her father's talk was + too trivial, it's interest was too remote. As they drove, she kept + glancing seaward and asking what time it was. + </p> + <p> + “Aw, time enough yet, woman,” said Cæsar. “No need to be unaisy at all. + She'll not be round the Head for an hour anyway. Will you come along with + me to the quay, then? No? Well, better not, maybe.” + </p> + <p> + At the door of a draper's she got down from the gig, and told her father + not to wait for her on going home. Cæsar moistened his forefinger and held + it in the air a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Then don't be late,” said he, “there's weather coming.” + </p> + <p> + A few minutes afterwards she was walking rapidly up Ballure. Passing + Ballure House, she found herself treading softly. It was like holy ground. + She did not look across; she gave no sign; there was only a tremor of the + eyelids, a quiver of the mouth, and a tightening of the hand that held her + purse, as, with head down, she passed on. Going by the water-trough, she + saw the bullet-head of Black Tom looking seaward over the hedge through a + telescope encased in torn and faded cloth. Though the man was repugnant to + her, she saluted him cheerfully. + </p> + <p> + “Fine day, Mr. Quilliam.” + </p> + <p> + “It <i>was</i> doing a fine day, ma'am, but the bees is coming home,” said + Tom. + </p> + <p> + He glowered at her as at a scout of the enemy, but she did not mind that. + She was very happy. The sun was still shining. On reaching the top of the + brow, she began to skip and run where the road descends by Folieu. Thus, + with a light heart and a light step, thinking ill of no one, in love with + all the world, she went hurrying to her doom. + </p> + <p> + The sea below lay very calm and blue. Nothing was to be seen on the water + but a line of black smoke from the funnel of a steamship which had not yet + risen above the horizon. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0045" id="link2H_4_0045"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI. + </h2> + <p> + Philip put up his horse at the Hibernian, a mile farther on the high-road, + and the tongue of the landlady, Mistress Looney went like a mill-race + while he ate his dinner. She had known three generations of his family, + and was full of stories of his grandfather, of his father, and of himself + in his childhood. Full of facetiæ, too, about his looks, which were + “rasonable promising,” and about the girls of Douglas, who were “neither + good nor middling.” She was also full of sage counsel, advising marriage + with a warm girl having “nice things at her—nice lands and pigs and + things”—as a ready way to square the “bobbery” of thirty years ago + at Ballawhaine. + </p> + <p> + Philip left his plate half full, and rose from the table to go down to + Port Mooar. + </p> + <p> + “But, boy veen, you've destroyed nothing,”, cried the landlady. And then + coaxingly, as if he had been a child, “You'll be ateing bits for me, now, + come, come! No more at all? Aw, it's failing you are, Mr. Philip! Going + for a walk is it? Take your topcoat then, for the clover is closing.” + </p> + <p> + He took the road that Pete had haunted as a boy on returning home from + school in the days when Kate lived at Cornaa, going through the network of + paths by the mill, and over the brow by Ballajora. The new miller was + pulling down the thatched cottage in which Kate had been born to put up a + slate house. They had built a porch for shelter to the chapel, and carved + the figure of a slaughtered lamb on a stone in the gable. Another lamb—a + living lamb—was being killed by the butcher of Ballajora as Philip + went by the shambles. The helpless creature, with its inverted head swung + downwards from the block, looked at him with its piteous eyes, and gave + forth that distressful cry which is the last wild appeal of the stricken + animal when it sees death near, and has ceased to fight for life. + </p> + <p> + The air was quiet, and the sea was calm, but across the Channel a leaden + sky seemed to hover over the English mountains, though they were still + light and apparently in sunshine. As Philip reached Port Mooar, a cart was + coming out of it with a load of sea-wrack for the land, and a + lobster-fisher on the beach was shipping his gear for sea. + </p> + <p> + “Quiet day,” said Philip in passing. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not much liking the look of it, though,” said the fisherman. “Mortal + thick surf coming up for the wind that's in.” But he slipped his boat, + pulled up sail, and rode away. + </p> + <p> + Philip looked at his watch and then walked down the beach. Coming to a + cave, he entered it. The sea-wrack was banked up in the darkness behind, + and between two stones at the mouth there were the remains of a recent + fire. Suddenly he remembered the cave. It was the cave of the Carasdhoo + men. He éould hear the voice of Pete in its rumbling depths; he could hear + and see himself. “Shall we save the women, Pete?—we always do.” “Aw, + yes, the women—and the boys.” The tenderness of that memory was too + much for Philip. He came out of the cave, and walked back over the shore. + </p> + <p> + “She will come by the church,” he thought, and he climbed the cliffs to + look out. A line of fir-trees grew there, a comb of little misshapen + ghoul-like things, stunted by the winds that swept over the seas in + winter. In a fork of one of these a bird's nest of last year was still + hanging; but it was now empty, songless, joyless, and dead. + </p> + <p> + “She's here.” he told himself, and he drew his breath noisily. A white + figure had turned the road by the sundial, and was coming on with the step + of a greyhound. + </p> + <p> + The black clouds above the English mountains were heeling down on the + land. There was a storm on the other coast, though the sky over the island + was still fine. The steamship had risen above the horizon, and was heading + towards the bay. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0046" id="link2H_4_0046"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII. + </h2> + <p> + She met him on the hill slope with a cry of joy, and kissed him. It came + into his mind to draw away, but he could not, and he kissed her back. Then + she linked her arm in his, and they turned down the beach. + </p> + <p> + “I'm glad you've come,” he began. + </p> + <p> + “Did you ever dream I wouldn't?” she said. Her face was a smile, her voice + was an eager whisper. + </p> + <p> + “I have something to say to you, Kate—it is something serious.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it so?” she said. “So very serious?” + </p> + <p> + She was laughing and blushing together. Didn't she know what he was going + to say? Didn't she guess what this serious something must be? To prolong + the delicious suspense before hearing it, she pretended to be absorbed in + the things about her. She looked aside at the sea, and up at the banks, + and down at the little dubbs of salt water as she skipped across them, + crying out at sight of the sea-holly, the anemone, and the sea-mouse + shining like fire, but still holding to Philip's arm and bounding and + throbbing on it. + </p> + <p> + “You must be quiet, dear, and listen,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I'll be good—so very good,” she said. “But look! only look at + the white horses out yonder—far out beyond the steamer. Davy's + putting on the coppers for the parson, eh?” + </p> + <p> + She caught the grave expression of Philip's face, and drew herself up with + pretended severity, saying, “Be quiet, Katey. Behave yourself. Philip + wants to talk to you—seriously—very seriously.” + </p> + <p> + Then, leaning forward with head aside to look up into his face, she said, + “Well, sir, why don't you begin? Perhaps you think I'll cry out. I won't—I + promise you I won't.” + </p> + <p> + But she grew uneasy at the settled gravity of his face, and the joy + gradually died off her own. When Philip spoke, his voice was like a + cracked echo of itself. + </p> + <p> + “You remember what you said, Kate, when I brought you that last letter + from Kimberley—that if next morning you found it was a mistake———” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Is</i> it a mistake?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Becalm, Kate.” + </p> + <p> + “I am quite calm, dear. I remember I said it would kill me. But I was very + foolish. I should not say so now. Is Pete alive?” + </p> + <p> + She spoke without a tremor, and he answered in a husky whisper, “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + Then, in a breaking voice, he said, “We were very foolish Kate—jumping + so hastily to a conclusion was very foolish-it was worse than foolish, it + was wicked. I half doubted the letter at the time, but, God forgive me, I + <i>wanted</i> to believe it, and so——” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad Pete is living,” she said quietly. + </p> + <p> + He was aghast at her calmness. The irregular lines in his face showed the + disordered state of his soul, but she walked by his side without the + quiver of an eyelid, or a tinge of colour more than usual. Had she + understood? + </p> + <p> + “Look!” he said, and he drew Pete's telegram from his pocket and gave it + to her. + </p> + <p> + She opened it easily, and he watched her while she read it, prepared for a + cry, and ready to put his arms about her if she fell. But there was not a + movement save the motion of her fingers, not a sound except the crinking + of the thin paper. He turned his head away. The sun was shining; there was + a steely light on the firs, and here and there a white breaker was rising + like a sea-bird out of the blue surface of the sea. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Kate, you astonish me,” said Philip. “This comes on us like a + thundercloud, and you seem not to realise it.” + </p> + <p> + She put her arms about his neck, and the paper rustled on his shoulder. + “My darling,” she said, “do you love me still?” + </p> + <p> + “You know I love you, but——” + </p> + <p> + “Then there is no thundercloud in heaven for me now,” she said. + </p> + <p> + The simple grandeur of the girl's love shamed him. Its trust, its + confidence, its indifference to all the evil chance of life if only he + loved her still, this had been beyond him. But he disengaged her arms and + said, “We must not live in a fool's paradise, Kate. You promised yourself + to Pete——” + </p> + <p> + “But, Philip,” she said, “that was when I was a child. It was only a half + promise then, and I didn't know what I was doing. I didn't know what love + was. All that came later, dearest, much later—you know when.” + </p> + <p> + “To Pete it is the same thing, Kate,” said Philip. “He is coming home to + claim you——” + </p> + <p> + She stopped him by getting in front of him and saying, with face down, + smoothing his sleeve as she spoke, “You are a man, Philip, and you cannot + understand. How can you, and how can I tell you? When a girl is not a + woman, but only a child, she is a different person. She can't love anybody + then—not really—not to say love, and the promises she makes + can't count. It was not I that promised myself to Pete—if I did + promise. It was my little sister—the little sister that was me long, + long ago, but is now gone—put to sleep inside me somewhere. Is that + <i>very</i> foolish, darling?” + </p> + <p> + “But think of Pete,” said Philip; “think of him going away for love of + you, living five years abroad, toiling, slaving, saving, encountering + privations, perhaps perils, and all for you, all for love of you. Then + think of him coming home with his heart full of you, buoyed up with the + hope of you, thirsting, starving, and yearning for you, and finding you + lost to him, dead to him, worse than dead—it will kill him, Kate.” + </p> + <p> + She was unmoved by the picture. “I am very sorry, but I do not love him,” + she said quietly. “I am sorry—what else can a girl be when she does + not love a young man?” + </p> + <p> + “He left me to take care of you, too, and you see—you see by the + telegram—he is coming home with faith in my loyalty. How can I tell + him that I have broken my trust? How can I meet him and explain——” + </p> + <p> + “I know, Philip. Say we heard he was dead and——” + </p> + <p> + “No, it would be too wretched. It's only three weeks since the letter came—and + it would not be true, Kate—it would revolt me.” + </p> + <p> + She lifted her eyes in a fond look of shame-faced love, and said again, “<i>I</i> + know, then—lay the blame on me, Philip. What do I care? Say it was + all my fault, and I made you love me. <i>I</i> shan't care for anybody's + talk. And it's true, isn't it? Partly true, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “If I talked to Pete of temptation I should despise myself,” said Philip; + and then she threw her head up and said proudly— + </p> + <p> + “Very well, tell the truth itself—the simple truth, Philip. Say we + tried to be faithful and loyal, and all that, and could not, because we + loved each other, and there was no help for it.” + </p> + <p> + “If I tell him the truth, I shall die of shame,” said Philip. “Oh, there + is no way out of this miserable tangle. Whether I cover myself with + deceit, or strip myself of evasion, I shall stain my soul for ever. I + shall become a base man, and year by year sink lower and lower in the mire + of lies and deceit.” + </p> + <p> + She listened with her eyes fixed on his quivering face, and her eyelids + fluttered, and her fond looks began to be afraid. + </p> + <p> + “Say that we married,” he continued; “we should never forget that you had + broken your promise and I my trust. That memory would haunt us as long as + we lived. We should never know one moment's happiness or one moment's + peace. Pete would be a broken-hearted man, perhaps a wreck, perhaps—who + knows?—dead of his own hand. He would be the ghost between us + always.” + </p> + <p> + “And do you think I should be afraid of that?” she said. “Indeed, no. If + you were with me, Philip, and loved me still, I should not care for all + the spirits of heaven itself.” + </p> + <p> + Her face was as pale as death now, but her great eyes were shining. + </p> + <p> + “Our love would fail us, Kate,” said Philip. “The sense of our guilt would + kill it. How could we go on loving each other with a thing like that about + us all day and all night—sitting at our table—listening to our + talk—standing by our bed? Oh, merciful God!” + </p> + <p> + The terror of his vision mastered him, and he covered his face with both + hands. She drew them down again and held them in a tight lock in her + fingers. But the stony light of his eyes was more fearful to look upon, + and she said in a troubled voice, “Do you mean, Philip, that we—could—not + marry—now?” + </p> + <p> + He did not answer, and she repeated the question, looking up into his face + like a criminal waiting for his sentence—her head bent forward and + her mouth open. + </p> + <p> + “We cannot,” he muttered. “God help us, we dare not,” he said; and then he + tried to show her again how their marriage was impossible, now that Pete + had come, without treason and shame and misery. But his words frayed off + into silence. He caught the look of her eyes, and it was like the piteous + look of the lamb under the hands of the butcher. + </p> + <p> + “Is that what you came to tell me?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + His reply died in his throat. She divined rather than heard it. + </p> + <p> + Her doom had fallen on her, but she did not cry out. She did not yet + realise in all its fulness what had happened. It was like a bullet-wound + in battle; first a sense of air, almost of relief, then a pang, and then + overwhelming agony. + </p> + <p> + They had been walking again, but she slid in front of him as she had done + before. Her arms crept up his breast with a caressing touch, and linked + themselves behind his neck. + </p> + <p> + “This is only a jest, dearest,” she said, “some test of my love, perhaps. + You wished to make sure of me—quite, quite sure—now that Pete + is alive and coming home. But, you see, I want only one to love me, only + one, dear. Come, now, confess. Don't be afraid to say you have been + playing with me. I shan't be angry with you. Come, speak to me.” + </p> + <p> + He could not utter a word, and she let her arms fall from his neck; and + they walked on side by side, both staring out to sea. The English + mountains were black by this time. A tempest was raging on the other + shore, though the air on this side was as soft as human breath. . + </p> + <p> + Presently she stopped, her feet scraped the gravel, and she exclaimed in a + husky tone, “I know what it is. It is not Pete. I am in your way. That's + it. You can't get on with me about you. I am not fit for you. The distance + between us is too great.” + </p> + <p> + He struggled to deny it, but he could not. It was part of the truth. He + knew too well how near to being the whole truth it was. Pete had come at + the last moment to cover up his conscience, but Kate was stripping it + naked and showing him the skeleton. + </p> + <p> + “It's all very well for you,” she cried, “but where am I? Why didn't you + leave me alone? Why did you encourage me? Yes, indeed, encourage me! + Didn't you say, though a woman couldn't raise herself in life, a man could + lift her up if he only loved her? And didn't you tell me there was neither + below nor above where there was true liking, and that if a woman belonged + to some one, and some one belonged to her, it was God's sign that they + were equal, and everything else was nothing—pride was nothing and + position was nothing and the whole world was nothing? But now I know + different. The world is between us. It always has been between us, and you + can never belong to me. You will go on and rise up, and I will be left + behind.” + </p> + <p> + Then she broke into frightful laughter. “Oh, I have been a fool! How I + dreamt of being happy! I knew I was only a poor ignorant thing, but I saw + myself lifted up by the one I loved. And now I am to be left alone. Oh, it + is awful! Why did you deceive me? Yes, deceive me! Isn't that deceiving + me? You deceived me when you led me to think that you loved me more than + all the world. You don't I It is the world itself you love, and Pete is + only your excuse.” + </p> + <p> + As she spoke she clutched at his arms, his hands, his breast, and at her + own throat, as if something was strangling her. He did not answer her + reproaches, for he knew well what they were. They were the bitter cry of + her great love, her great misery, and her great jealousy of the world—the + merciless and mysterious power that was luring him away. After awhile his + silence touched her, and she came up to him, full of remorse, and said, + “No, no, Philip, you have nothing to reproach yourself with. You did not + deceive me at all. I deceived myself. It was my own fault. I led you on—I + know that. And yet I've been saying these cruel things. You'll forgive me, + though, will you not? A girl can't help it sometimes, Philip. Are you + crying? You are not crying, are you? Kiss me, Philip, and forgive me. You + can do that, can't you?” + </p> + <p> + She asked like a child, with her face up and her lips apart. He was about + to yield, and was reaching forward to touch her forehead, when suddenly + the child became the woman, and she leapt upon his breast, and held him + fervently, her blood surging, her bosom exulting, her eyes flaming, and + her passionate voice crying, “Philip, you are mine. No, I will not release + you. I don't care about your plans—you shall give them up. I don't + care about your trust—you shall break it. I don't care about Pete + coming—let him come. The world can do without you—I cannot. + You are mine, Philip, and I am yours, and nobody else's, and never will + be. You <i>must</i> come back to me, sooner or later, if you go away. I + know it, I feel it, it's in my heart. But I'll never let you go. I can't, + I can't. Haven't I a right to you? Yes, I have a right. Don't you + remember?... Can you ever forget?... My <i>husband!</i>” + </p> + <p> + The last word came muffled from his breast, where she had buried her head + in the convulsions of her trembling at the moment when her modesty went + down in the fierce battle with a higher pain. But the plea which seemed to + give her the right to cling the closer made the man to draw apart. It was + the old deep tragedy of human love—the ancient inequality in the + bond of man and woman. What she had thought her conquest had been her + vanquishment. He could not help, it—her last word had killed + everything. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, God,” he groaned, “that is the worst of all.” + </p> + <p> + “Philip,” she cried, “what do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean that neither can I marry you, nor can you marry Pete. You would + carry to him your love of me, and bit by bit he would find it out, and it + would kill him. It would kill you, too, for you have called me your + husband, and you could never, never, never forget it.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't want to marry Pete,” she said. “If I'm not to marry you, I don't + want to marry any one. But do you mean that I must not marry at all—that + I never can now that——” + </p> + <p> + The word failed her, and his answer came thick and indistinct—“Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “And you, Philip? What about yourself?” + </p> + <p> + “As there is no other man for you, Kate,” he said, “so there is no other + woman for me. We must go through the world alone.” + </p> + <p> + “Is this my punishment?” + </p> + <p> + “It is the punishment of both, Kate, the punishment of both alike.” + </p> + <p> + Kate stopped her breathing. Her clenched hands slackened away from his + neck, and she stepped back from him, shuddering with remorse, and despair, + and shame. She saw herself now for the first time a fallen woman. Never + before had her sin touched her soul. It was at that moment she fell. + </p> + <p> + They had come up to the cave by this time, and she sat on the stone at the + mouth of it in a great outburst of weeping. It tore his heart to hear her. + The voice of her weeping was like the distressful cry of the slaughtered + lamb. He had to wrestle with himself not to take her in his arms and + comfort her. The fit of tears spent itself at length, and after a time she + drew a great breath and was quiet. Then she lifted her face, and the last + gleam of the autumn sun smote her colourless lips and swollen eyes. When + she spoke again, it was like one speaking in her sleep, or under the spell + of somebody who had magnetised her. + </p> + <p> + “It is wrong of me to think so much of myself, as if that were everything. + I ought to feel sorry for you too. You must be driven to it, or you could + never be so cruel.” + </p> + <p> + With his face to the sea, he mumbled something about Pete, and she caught + up the name and said, “Yes, and Pete too. As you think it would be wrong + to Pete, I will not hold to you. Oh, it will be wrong to me as well! But I + will not give you the pain of turning a deaf ear to my troubles any more.” + </p> + <p> + She was struggling with a pitiless hope that perhaps she might regain him + after all. “If I give him up,” she thought, “he will love me for it;” and + then, with a sad ring in her voice, she said, “You will go on and be a + great man now, for you'll not have me to hold you back.” + </p> + <p> + “For pity's sake, say no more of that,” he said, but she paid no heed. + </p> + <p> + “I used to think it a wonderful thing to be loved by a great man. I don't + now. It is terrible. If I could only have you to myself! If you could only + be nothing to anybody else! You would be everything to me, and what should + I care then?” + </p> + <p> + Between torture and love he had almost broken down at that, but he gripped + his breast and turned half aside, for his eyes were streaming. She came up + to him and touched with the tips of her fingers the hand that hung by his + side, and said in a voice like a child's, “Fancy! this is the end of + everything, and when we part now we are to meet no more. Not the same way + at all—not as we have met. You will be like anybody else to me, and + I will be like anybody else to you. Miss Cregeen, that will be my name and + you will be Mr. Christian. When you see me you'll say to yourself, 'Yes, + poor thing; long ago, when she was a girl, I made her love me. Nobody ever + loved me like that.' And fancy! when you pass me in the street, you will + not even look my way. You won't, will you? No—no, it will be better + not. Goodbye!” + </p> + <p> + Her simple tenderness almost stifled him. He had to hold his under lip + with his teeth to keep back the cry that was bursting from his tongue. At + last he could bear it no longer, and he broke out, “Would to God we had + never loved each other! Would to God we had never met!” + </p> + <p> + But she answered with the same childish sweetness, “Don't say that, + Philip. We have had some happy hours together. I would rather be parted + from you like this, though it is so hard, so cruel, than never to have met + you at all. Isn't it something for me to think of, that the truest, + cleverest, noblest man in all the world has loved me?... Good-bye!... + Good-bye!” + </p> + <p> + His heart bled, his heart cried, but he uttered no sound. They were side + by side. She let his hand slip from the tips of her fingers, and drew + silently away. At three paces apart she paused, but he gave no sign. She + climbed the low brow of the hill slowly, very slowly, trying to command + her throat, which was fluttering, and looking back through her tears as + she went. Philip heard the shingle slip under her feet while she toiled up + the cliff, and when she reached the top the soft thud on the turf seemed + to beat on his heart. She stood there a moment against the sky, waiting + for a sound from the shore, a cry, a word, the lifting of a hand, a sob, a + sigh, her own name, “Kate,” and she was ready to fly back even then, + wounded and humiliated as she was, a poor torn bird that had been + struggling in the lime. But no; he was silent and motionless, and she + disappeared behind the hill. He saw her go, and all the light of heaven + went with her. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0047" id="link2H_4_0047"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VIII. + </h2> + <p> + It was so far back home, so much farther than it had been to come. The + course is short and easy going out to sea when the tide is with you, and + the water is smooth, and the sun is shining, but long and hard coming back + to harbour, when the waves have risen, and the sky is low, and the wind is + on your bow. + </p> + <p> + So far, so very far. She thought everybody looked at her, and knew her for + what she was—a broken, forsaken, fallen woman. And she was so tired + too; she wondered if her limbs would carry her. + </p> + <p> + When Philip was left alone, the sky seemed to be lying on his shoulders. + The English mountains were grey and ghostly now, and the storm, which had + spent itself on the other coast, seemed to hang over the island. There + were breakers where the long dead sea had been, and the petrel outside was + scudding close to the white curves, and uttering its dismal note. + </p> + <p> + So heavy and confused had the storm and wreck of the last hour left him, + that he did not at first observe by the backward tail of smoke that the + steamer had passed round the Head, and that the cart he had met at the + mouth of the port had come back empty to the cave for another load of + sea-wrack. The lobster-fisher, too, had beached his boat near by, and was + shouting through the hollow air, wherein every noise seemed to echo with a + sepulchral quake, “The block was going whistling at the mast-head. We'll + have a squall I was thinking, so in I came.” + </p> + <p> + That night Philip dreamt a dream. He was sitting on a dais with a wooden + canopy above him, the English coat of arms behind, and a great book in + front; his hands shook as he turned the leaves; he felt his leg hang + heavily; people bowed low to him, and dropped their voices in his + presence; he was the Deemster, and he was old. A young woman stood in the + dock, dripping water from her hair, and she had covered her face with her + hands. In the witness-box a young man was standing, and his head was down. + The man had delivered the woman to dishonour; she had attempted her life + in her shame and her despair. And looking on the man, the Deemster thought + he spoke in a stern voice, saying, “Witness, I am compelled to punish her, + but oh to heaven that I could punish you in her place! What have you to + say for yourself?” “I have nothing to say for myself,” the young man + answered, and he lifted his head and the old Deemster saw his face. Then + Philip awoke with a smothered scream, for the young man's face had been + his own. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0048" id="link2H_4_0048"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IX. + </h2> + <p> + When Cæsar got to the quay, he looked about with watchful eyes, as if + fearing he might find somebody there before him. The coast was clear, and + he gave a grunt of relief. After fixing the horse-cloth, and settling the + mare in a nose-bag, he began to walk up and down the fore part of the + harbour, still keeping an eager look-out. As time went on he grew + comfortable, exchanged salutations with the harbour-master, and even + whistled a little to while away the time. + </p> + <p> + “Quiet day, Mr. Quayle.” + </p> + <p> + “Quiet enough yet, Mr. Cregeen; but what's it saying? 'The greater the + calm the nearer the south wind.'” + </p> + <p> + By the time that Cæsar, from the end of the pier, saw the smoke of the + steamer coming round Kirk Maughold Head, he was in a spiritual, almost a + mournful, mood. He was feeling how melancholy was the task of going to + meet the few possessions, the clothes and such like, which were all that + remained of a dear friend departed. It was the duty of somebody, though, + and Cæsar drew a long breath of resignation. + </p> + <p> + The steamer came up to the quay, and there was much bustle and confusion. + Cæsar waited, with one hand on the mare's neck, until the worst of it was + over. Then he went aboard, and said in a solemn voice to the sailor at the + foot of the gangway, “Anything here the property of Mr. Peter Quilliam?” + </p> + <p> + “That's his luggage,” said the sailor, pointing to a leather trunk of + moderate size among similar trunks at the mouth of the hatchway. + </p> + <p> + “H'm!” said Cæsar, eyeing it sideways, and thinking how small it was. + Then, reflecting that perhaps valuable papers were all it was thought + worth while to send home, he added cheerfully, “I'll take it with me.” + </p> + <p> + Somewhat to Cæsar's surprise, the sailor raised no difficulties, but just + as he was regarding the trunk with that faith which is the substance of + things hoped for, a big, ugly hand laid hold of it, and began to rock it + about like a pebble. + </p> + <p> + It was Black Tom, smoking with perspiration. + </p> + <p> + “Aisy, man, aisy,” said Cæsar, with lofty dignity. “I've the gig on the + quay.” + </p> + <p> + “And I've a stiff cart on the market,” said Black Tom. + </p> + <p> + “I'm wanting no assistance,” said Cæsar; “you needn't trouble yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't mention it, Cæsar,” said Black Tom, and he turned the trunk on end + and bent his back to lift it. + </p> + <p> + But Cæsar put a heavy hand on top and said, “Gough bless me, man, but I am + sorry for thee. Mammon hath entered into thy heart, Tom.” + </p> + <p> + “He have just popped out of thine, then,” said Black Tom, swirling the + trunk on one of its corners. + </p> + <p> + But Cæsar held on, and said, “I don't know in the world why you should let + the devil of covetousness get the better of you.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't mane to—let go the chiss,” said Black Tom, and in another + minute he had it on his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Now, I believe in my heart,” said Cæsar, “I would be forgiven a little + violence,” and he took the trunk by both hands to bring it down again. + </p> + <p> + “Let go the chiss, or I'll strek thee into the harbour,” bawled Black Tom + under his load. + </p> + <p> + “The Philistines be upon thee, Samson,” cried Cæsar, and with that there + was a struggle. + </p> + <p> + In the midst of the uproar, while the men were shouting into each other's + faces, and the trunk was rocking between them shoulder high, a sunburnt + man, with a thick beard and a formidable voice, a stalwart fellow in a + pilot jacket and wide-brimmed hat, came hurrying up the cabin-stairs, and + a dog came running behind him. A moment later he had parted the two men, + and the trunk was lying at his feet. + </p> + <p> + Black Tom fell back a step, lifted his straw hat, scratched his bald + crown, and muttered in a voice of awe. “Holy sailor!” + </p> + <p> + Cæsar's face was livid, and his eyes went up toward his forehead. “Lord + have mercy upon me,” he mumbled; “have mercy on my soul, O Lord.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't be afraid,” said the stranger. “I'm a living man and not a ghost.” + </p> + <p> + “The man himself,” said Black Tom. + </p> + <p> + “Peter Quilliam alive and hearty,” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “I am,” said Pete. “And now, what's the bobbery between the pair of you? + Shuperintending the beaching of my trunk, eh?” + </p> + <p> + But having recovered from his terror at the idea that Pete was a spirit, + Cæsar began to take him to task for being a living man. “How's this?” said + he. “Answer me, young man, I've praiched your funeral.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll have to do it again, Mr. Cregeen, for I'm not gone yet,” said + Pete. + </p> + <p> + “No, but worth ten dead men still,” said Black Tom. “And my goodness, boy, + the smart and stout you're looking, anyway. Been thatching a bit on the + chin, eh? Foreign parts has made a man of you, Peter. The straight you're + like the family, too! You'll be coming up to the trough with me—the + ould home, you know. I'll be whipping the chiss ashore in a jiffy, only + Cæsar's that eager to help, it's wonderful. No, you'll not then?” + </p> + <p> + Pete was shaking his head as he went up the gangway, and seeing this, + Cæsar said severely— + </p> + <p> + “Lave the gentleman alone, Mr. Quilliam. He knows his own business best.” + </p> + <p> + “So do you, Mr. Collecting Box,” said Black Tom. “But your head's as empty + as a mollag, and as full of wind as well. It's a regular ould human mollag + you are, anyway, floating other people's nets and taking all that's coming + to them.” + </p> + <p> + They were ashore by this time; one of the quay porters was putting the + trunk into the gig, and Cæsar was removing the horse-cloth and the + nose-bag. + </p> + <p> + “Get up, Mr. Peter, and don't listen to him,” said Cæsar. “If my industry + and integrity have been blessed with increase under Providence——” + </p> + <p> + “Lave Providence out of it, you grasping ould Ebenezer, Zachariah, Amen,” + bawled Black Tom. + </p> + <p> + “You've been flying in the face of Providence all your life, Tom,” said + Cæsar, taking his seat beside Pete. + </p> + <p> + “You haven't though, you miser,” said Black Tom; “you'd sell your soul for + sixpence, and you'd raffle your ugly ould body if you could get anybody to + take tickets.” + </p> + <p> + “Go home, Thomas,” said Cæsar, twiddling the reins, “go home and try for + the future to be a better man.” + </p> + <p> + But that was too much for Black Tom. “Better man, is it? Come down on the + quay and up with your fiss, and I'll show you which of us is the better + man.” + </p> + <p> + A moment later Cæsar and Pete were rattling over the cobbles of the + market-place, with the dog racing behind. Pete was full of questions. + </p> + <p> + “And how's yourself, Mr. Cregeen?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm in, sir, I'm in, sir, praise the Lord.” + </p> + <p> + “And Grannie?” + </p> + <p> + “Like myself, sir, not getting a dale younger, but caring little for + spiritual things, though.” + </p> + <p> + “Going west, is she, poor ould angel? There ought to be a good piece of + daylight at her yet, for all. And—and Nancy Joe?” + </p> + <p> + “A happy sinner still,” said Cæsar. “I suppose, sir, you'd be making good + money out yonder now? We were hearing the like, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “Money!” said Pete. “Well, yes. Enough to keep off the divil and the + coroner. But how's—how's——” + </p> + <p> + “There now! For life, eh?” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, for life; but that's nothing,” said Pete; “how's——” + </p> + <p> + “Wonderful!” cried Cæsar; “five years too! Boy veen, the light was nearly + took out of my eyes when I saw you.” + </p> + <p> + “But Kate? How's Kate? How's the girl, herself?” said Pete nervously. + </p> + <p> + “Smart uncommon,” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “God bless her!” cried Pete, with a shout that was heard across the + street. + </p> + <p> + “We'll pick her up at Crellin's, it's like,” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “What? Crellin's round the corner—Crellin the draper's I Woa! Let me + down! The mare's tired, father;” and Pete was over the wheel at a bound. + </p> + <p> + He came out of the shop saying Kate had left word that her father was not + to wait for her—she would perhaps be home before him. Amid a crowd + of the “mob beg” children of the streets, to whom he showered coppers to + be scrambled for, Pete got up again to Cæsar's side, and they set off for + Sulby. The wind had risen suddenly, and was hooting down the narrow + streets coming up from the harbour. + </p> + <p> + “And Philip? How's Philip?” shouted Pete. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Christian? Well and hearty, and doing wonders, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “I knew it,” cried Pete, with a resounding laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Going like a flood, and sweeping everything before him,” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “The rising day with him, is it?” said Pete. “I always said he'd be the + first man in the island, and he's not going to deceave me neither.” + </p> + <p> + “The young man's been over putting a sight on us times and times—he + was up at my Melliah only a week come Wednesday,” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “Man alive!” cried Pete; “him and me are same as brothers.” + </p> + <p> + “Then it wasn't true what they were writing in the letter, sir—that + your black boys left you for dead?” + </p> + <p> + “They did that, bad luck to them,” said Pete; “but I was thinking it no + sin to disappoint them, though.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well! lying began with the world, and with the world it will end,” + said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + As they passed Ballywhaine, Pete shouted into Cæsar's ear, above the wind + that was roaring in the trees, and scattering the ripening leaves in + clouds, “And how's Dross?” + </p> + <p> + “That wastrel? Aw, tearing away, tearing away,” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “Floating on the top of the tide, is he?” shouted Pete. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe so, but the devil is fishing where yonder fellow's swimming,” + answered Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “And the ould man—the Ballawhaine—still above the sod?” bawled + Pete behind his hand. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, but failing, failing, failing,” shouted Cæsar. “The world's getting + too heavy for the man. Debts here, and debts there, and debts everywhere.” + </p> + <p> + “Not much water in the harbour then, eh?” cried Pete. + </p> + <p> + “No, but down on the rocks already, if it's only myself that knows it,” + shouted Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + When they had turned the Sulby Bridge, and come in sight of “The Manx + Fairy,” Pete's excitement grew wild, and he leaped up from his seat and + shouted above the wind like a man possessed. + </p> + <p> + “My gough, the very place! You've been thatching, though—yes, you + have. The street! Holy sailor, there it is! Brownie at you still? Her + heifer, is it? Get up, Molly! A taste of the whip'll do the mare no harm, + sir. My sakes, here's ould Flora hobbling out to meet us. Got the + rheumatics, has she? Set me down, Cæsar. Here we are, man. Lord alive, the + smell of the cowhouse. That warm and damp, it's grand! What, don't you + know me, Flo? Got your temper still, if you've lost your teeth? My sakes, + the haggard! The same spot again! It's turf they're burning inside! And, + my gracious, that's herrings roasting in their brine! Where's Grannie, + though? Let's put a sight in, Cæsar. Well, well, aw well, aw well!” + </p> + <p> + Thus Pete came home, laughing, shouting, bawling, and bellowing above the + tumult of the wind, which had risen by this time to the strength of a + gale. + </p> + <p> + “Mother,” cried Cæsar, going in at the porch, “gentleman here from foreign + parts to put a word on you.” + </p> + <p> + “I never had nobody there belonging to me,” began Grannie. + </p> + <p> + “No, then, nobody?” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “One that was going to be, maybe, if he'd lived, poor boy——” + </p> + <p> + “Grannie!” shouted Pete, and he burst into the bar-room. + </p> + <p> + “Goodness me!” cried Grannie; “it's his own voice anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “It's himself,” shouted Pete, and the old soul was in his arms in an + instant. + </p> + <p> + “Aw dear! Aw dear!” she panted. “Pete it is for sure. Let me sit down, + though.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you think it was his ghost, then, mother!” said Cæsar with an + indulgent air. + </p> + <p> + “'Deed no,” said Grannie. “The lad wouldn't come back to plague nobody, + thinks I.” + </p> + <p> + “Still, and for all the uprisement of Peter, it bates everything,” said + Cæsar. “It's a sort of a resurrection. I thought I'd have a sight up to + the packet for his chiss, poor fellow, and, behould ye, who should I meet + in the two eyes but the man himself!” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, dear! It's wonderful I it's terrible! I'm silly with the joy,” said + Grannie. + </p> + <p> + “It was lies in the letter the Manx ones were writing,” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “Letters and writings are all lies,” said Grannie. “As long as I live I'll + take no more of them, and if that Kelly, the postman, comes here again, + I'll take the bellows to him.” + </p> + <p> + “So you thought I was gone for good, Grannie?” said Pete. “Well, I thought + so too. 'Will I die?' I says to myself times and times; but I bethought me + at last there wasn't no sense in a good man like me laving his bones out + on the bare Veldt yonder; so, you see, I spread my wings and came home + again.” + </p> + <p> + “It's the Lord's doings—it's marvellous in our eyes,” said Cæsar; + and Grannie, who had recovered herself and was bustling about, cried— + </p> + <p> + “Let me have a right look at him, then. Goodness me, the whisker! And as + soft as Manx carding from the mill, too. I like him best when he takes off + his hat. Well, I'm proud to see you, boy. 'Deed, but I wouldn't have known + you, though. 'Who's the gentleman in the gig with father?' thinks I. And + I'd have said it was the Dempster himself, if he hadn't been dead and in + his coffin.” + </p> + <p> + “That'll do, that'll do,” roared Pete. “That's Grannie putting the fun on + me.” + </p> + <p> + “It's no use talking, but I can't keep quiet; no I can't,” cried Grannie, + and with that she whipped up a bowl from the kitchen dresser and fell + furiously to peeling the potatoes that were there for supper. + </p> + <p> + “But where's Kate?” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “Aw, yes, where is she? Kate! Kate!” called Grannie, leaning her head + toward the stairs, and Nancy Joe, who had been standing silent until now, + said—— + </p> + <p> + “Didn't she go to Ramsey with the gig, woman?” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, the foolish I am! Of course she did,” said Grannie; “but why hasn't + she come back with father?” + </p> + <p> + “She left word at Crellin's not to wait,” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “She'll be gone to Miss Clucas's to try on,” said Nancy. + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn't trust now,” said Grannie. “She's having two new dresses done, + Pete. Aw, girls are ter'ble. Well, can you blame them either?” + </p> + <p> + “She shall have two-and-twenty if she likes, God bless her,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “Goodness me!” said Nancy, “is the man for buying frocks for a Mormon?” + </p> + <p> + “But you'll be empty, boy. Put the crow down and the griddle on, Nancy,” + said Grannie. “We'll have cakes. Cakes? Coorse I said cakes. Get me the + cloth and I'll lay it myself. The cloth, I'm saying, woman. Did you never + hear of a tablecloth? Where is it? Aw, dear knows where it is now! It's in + the parlour; no, it's in the chest on the landing; no, it's under the + sheets of my own bed. Fetch it, bogh.” + </p> + <p> + “Will I bring you a handful of gorse, mother?” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “Coorse you will, and not stand chattering there. But I'm laving you dry, + Pete. Is it ale you'll have, or a drop of hard stuff? You'll wait for + Kate? Now I like that. There's some life at these totallers. 'Steady + abroad?' How dare you, Nancy Joe? You're a deal too clever. Of course he's + been steady abroad—steady as a gun.” + </p> + <p> + “But Kate,” said Pete, tramping the sanded floor, “is she changed at all?” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, she's a woman now, boy,” said Grannie. + </p> + <p> + “Bless my soul!” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “She was looking a bit white and narvous one while there, but she's sprung + out of it fresh and bright, same as the ling on the mountains. Well, + that's the way with young women.” + </p> + <p> + “I know,” said Pete. “Just the break of the morning with the darlings.” + </p> + <p> + “But she's the best-looking girl on the island now, Pete,” said Nancy Joe. + </p> + <p> + “I'll go bail on it,” cried Pete. + </p> + <p> + “Big and fine and rosy, and fit for anything.” + </p> + <p> + “Bless my heart!” + </p> + <p> + “You should have seen her at the Melliah; it was a trate.” + </p> + <p> + “God bless me!” + </p> + <p> + “Sun-bonnet and pink frock and tight red stockings, and straight as a + standard rase.” + </p> + <p> + “Hould your tongue, woman,” shouted Pete. “I'll see herself first, and I'm + dying to do it.” + </p> + <p> + Cæsar came back with the gorse; Nancy fed the fire and Grannie stirred the + oatmeal and water. And while the cakes were baking, Pete tramped the + kitchen and examined everything and recognised old friends with a roar. + </p> + <p> + “Bless me! the same place still. There's the clock on the shelf, with the + scratch on its face and the big finger broke at the joint, and the lath—and + the peck—and the whip—you've had it new corded, though——” + </p> + <p> + “'Sakes, how the boy remembers!” cried Grannie. + </p> + <p> + “And the white rumpy” (the cat had leapt on to the dresser out of the + reach of Pete's dog, and from that elevation was eyeing him steadfastly), + “and the slowrie—and the kettle—and the poker—my + gracious, the very poker——” + </p> + <p> + “Now, did you ever!” cried Grannie with amazement. + </p> + <p> + “And—yes—no—it is, though—I'll swear it before the + Dempster—that's,” said Pete, picking up a three-legged stool, + “that's the very stool she was sitting on herself in the fire-seat in + front of the turf closet. Let me sit there now for the sake of ould times + gone by.” + </p> + <p> + He put the stool in the fireplace and sat on it, shouting as he did so + between a laugh and a cry, “Aw, Grannie, bogh—Grannie, bogh! to + think there's been half the world between us since I was sitting here + before!” + </p> + <p> + And Grannie herself, breaking down, said, “Wouldn't you like the tongs, + boy? Give the boy the tongs, woman, just to say he's at home.” + </p> + <p> + Pete plucked the tongs out of Nancy's hands, and began feeding the fire + with the gorse. “Aw, Grannie, have I ever been away?” he cried, laughing, + and his wet eyes gleaming. + </p> + <p> + “Nancy Joe, have you no nose at all?” cried Grannie. “The cake's burning + to a cinder.” + </p> + <p> + “Let it burn, mother,” shouted Pete. “It's the way she was doing herself + when she was young and forgetting. Shillings a-piece for all that's + wasted. Aw, the smell of it's sweet!” + </p> + <p> + So saying he piled the gorse on the fire, ramming it under the griddle and + choking it behind the crow. And while the oatcake crackled and sparched + and went black, he sniffed up the burning odour, and laughed and cried in + the midst of the smoke that went swirling up the chimney. + </p> + <p> + And meanwhile, Grannie herself, with the tears rolling down her cheeks, + was flapping her apron before her face and saying, “He'll make me die of + laughing, he will, though—yes, he will!” But behind the apron she + was blubbering to Nancy, “It's coming home, woman, that's it—it's + just coming home again, poor boy!” + </p> + <p> + By this time word of Pete's return had gone round Sulby? and the bar-room + was soon thronged with men and women, who looked through the glass + partition into the kitchen at the bronzed and bearded man who sat smoking + by the fire, with his dog curled up at his feet. “There'll be a wedding + soon,” said one. “The girl's in luck,” said another. “Success to the fine + girl she always was, and lucky they kept her from the poor toot that was + beating about on her port bow.”—“The young Ballawhaine, eh?”—“Who + else?” + </p> + <p> + Presently the dog went out to them, and, in default of its master, became + a centre of excited interest. It was an old creature, with a settled look + of age, and a gravity of expression that seemed to say he had got over the + follies of youth, and was now reserved and determined to keep the peace. + His back was curved in as if a cart-wheel had gone over his spine, he had + gigantic ears, a stump of a tail, a coat thin and prickly like the + bristles of a pig, but white and spotted with brown. + </p> + <p> + “Lord save us! a queer dog, though—what's his breed at all?” said + one; and then a resounding voice came from the kitchen doorway, saying— + </p> + <p> + “A sort of a Manxman crossed with a bat. Got no tail to speak of, but + there's plenty of ears at him. A handy sort of a dog, only a bit spoiled + in his childhood. Not fit for much company anyway, and no more notion of + dacent behaviour than my ould shoe. Down, Dempster, down.” + </p> + <p> + It was Pete. He was greeted with loud welcomes, and soon filled the room + all round with the steaming odour of spirits and water. + </p> + <p> + “You've the Manx tongue at you still, Mr. Quilliam,” said Jonaique; “and + you're calling the dog Dempster; what's that for at all?” + </p> + <p> + “For sake of the ould island, Mr. Jelly, and for the straight he's like + Dempster Mylrea when he's a bit crooked,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “The old man's dead, sir,” said John the Clerk. + </p> + <p> + “You don't say?” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, though; the sun went down on him a Wednesday. The drink, sir, the + drink! I've been cutting a sod of his grave to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “And who's to be Dempster now?” asked Pete. “Who are they putting in for + it?” + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said John the Clerk, “they're talking and talking, and some's + saying this one and others that one; but the most is saying your ould + friend Philip Christian.” + </p> + <p> + “I knew it—I always said it,” shouted Pete; “best man in the island, + bar none. Oh, he'll not deceave me.” + </p> + <p> + The wind was roaring in the chimney, and the light was beginning to fail. + Pete became restless, and walked to and fro, peering out at intervals by + the window that looked on to the road. At this there was some pushing and + nudging and indulgent whispering. + </p> + <p> + “It's the girl! Aw, be aisy with the like! Five years apart, be aisy!” + </p> + <p> + “The meadow's white with the gulls sitting together like parrots; what's + that a sign of, father?” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “Just a slant of rain maybe, and a puff of wind,” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “But,” said Pete, looking up at the sky, “the long cat tail was going off + at a slant awhile ago, and now the thick skate yonder is hanging mortal + low.” + </p> + <p> + “Take your time, sir,” said Cæsar. “No need to send round the Cross Vustha + (fiery cross) yet. The girl will be home immadiently.” + </p> + <p> + “It'll be dark at her, though,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + The company tried to draw him into conversation about the ways of life in + the countries he had visited, but he answered absently and jerkily, and + kept going to the door. + </p> + <p> + “Suppose there'll be Dempsters enough where you're coming from?” said + Jonaique. + </p> + <p> + “Sort of Dempsters, yes. Called one of them Ould Necessity, because it + knows no law. He rigged up the statute books atop of his stool for a high + sate, and when he wanted them he couldn't find them high or low. Not the + first judge that's sat on the law, though.... It's coming, Cæsar, d'ye + hear it? That's the rain on the street.” + </p> + <p> + “Aisy, man, aisy, man,” said Cæsar. “New dresses isn't rigged up in no + time. There'll be chapels now, eh? Chapels and conferences, and proper + religious instruction?” + </p> + <p> + “Divil a chapel, sir, only a rickety barn, belonging to some-ones they're + calling the Sky Pilots to. Wanted the ould miser that runs it to build + them a new tabernacle, but he wouldn't part till a lump of plaster fell on + his bald head at a love-feast, and then he planked down a hundred pound, + and they all shouted, 'Hit him again, Lord—you might!'... D'ye hear + that, then? That's the water coming down from the gill. I can't stand no + more of it, Grannie.” + </p> + <p> + Grannie was at the door, struggling to hold it against the wind, while she + looked out into the gathering darkness. “'Deed, but I'm getting afraid of + it myself,” she said, “and dear heart knows where Kirry can be at this + time of night.” “I'm off to find her,” said Pete, and, catching up his hat + and whistling to the dog, in a moment he was gone. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0049" id="link2H_4_0049"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + X. + </h2> + <p> + The door was hard to close behind him, for it was now blowing a gale from + the north-east. Cæsar slipped through the dairy to see if the outbuildings + were safe, and came back with a satisfied look. The stable and cow-house + were barred, the barns were shut up, the mill-wheel was on the brake, the + kiln fire was burning gently, and all was snug and tight. Grannie was + wringing her hands as he returned, crying “Kate! Oh, Kate!” and he + reproved her for want of trust in Providence. + </p> + <p> + People were now coming in rapidly with terrible stories of damage done by + the storm. It was reported that the Chicken Rock Lighthouse was blown + down, that the tide had risen to twenty-five feet in Ramsey and torn up + the streets, and that a Peel fisherman had been struck by his mainsail + into the sea and drowned. + </p> + <p> + More came into the house at every minute, and among them were all the + lonesome and helpless ones within a radius of a mile—Blind Jane, who + charmed blood, but could not charm the wind; Shemiah, the prophet, with + beard down to his waist and a staff up to his shoulder; and old Juan + Vessy, who “lived on the houses” in the way of a tramp. The people who had + been there already were afraid to go out, and Grannie, still wringing her + hands and crying “Kate, Kate,” called everybody into the kitchen to gather + about the fire. There they bemoaned their boys on the sea, told stories of + former storms, and quarrelled about the years of wrecks and the sources of + the winds that caused them. + </p> + <p> + The gale increased to fearful violence, and sometimes the wind sounded + like sheets flapping against the walls, sometimes like the deep boom of + the waves that roll on themselves in mid-ocean and never know a shore. It + began to groan in the chimney as if it were a wild beast struggling to + escape, and then the smoke came down in whorls and filled the kitchen. + They had to put out the fire to keep themselves from suffocation, and to + sit back from the fireplace to protect themselves from cold. The door of + the porch flew open, and they barricaded it with long-handled brushes; the + windows rattled in their frames, and they blocked them up with the tops of + the tables. In spite of all efforts to shut out the wind, the house was + like a basket, and it quaked like a ship at sea. “I never heard the like + on the water itself, and I'm used of the sea, too,” said one. The others + groaned and mumbled prayers. + </p> + <p> + Kelly the Thief, who had come in unopposed by Grannie, was on his knees in + one corner with his face to the wall, calling on the Lord to remember that + he had seen things in letters—stamps and such—but had never + touched them. John the Clerk was saying that he had to bury the Deemster; + Jonaique, the barber, that he had been sent for to “cut” the Bishop; and + Claudius Kewley, the farmer, that he had three fields of barley still + uncut and a stack of oats unthatched. “Oh, Lord,” cried Claudius, “let me + not die till I've got nothing to do!” + </p> + <p> + Cæsar stood like a strong man amidst their moans and groans, their bowings + of the head and clappings of the hands, and, when he heard the farmer, his + look was severe. + </p> + <p> + “Cloddy,” said he, “how do you dare to doubt the providence of God?” + </p> + <p> + “Aisy to talk, Mr. Cregeen,” the farmer whined, “but you've got your own + harvest saved,” and then Cæsar had no resource but to punish the man in + prayer. “The Lord had sent His storm to reprove some that were making too + sure of His mercies; but there was grace in the gale, only they wouldn't + be patient and trust to God's providence; there was milk in the breast, + only the wayward child wouldn't take time to find the teat. Lord, lead + them to true stillness——” + </p> + <p> + In the midst of Cæsar's prayer there was a sudden roar outside, and he + leapt abruptly to his feet with a look of vexation. “I believe in my heart + that's the mill-wheel broken loose,” said he, “and if it is, the corn on + the kiln will be going like a whirlingig.” + </p> + <p> + “Trust in God's providence, Cæsar,” cried the farmer. + </p> + <p> + “So I will,” said Cæsar, catching up his hat, “but I'll put out my kiln + fire first.” + </p> + <p> + When Pete stepped out of the porch, he felt himself smitten as by an + invisible wing, and he gasped like a fish with too much air. A quick pain + in the side at that moment reminded him of his bullet-wound, but his heels + had heart in them, and he set off to run. The night had fallen, but a + green rent was torn in the leaden sky, and through this the full moon + appeared. + </p> + <p> + When he got to Ramsey the tide was up to the old cross, slates were flying + like kites, and the harbour sounded like a battlefield with its thunderous + roar of rigging. He made for the dressmaker's, and heard that Kate had not + been there for six hours. At the draper's he learned that at two o'clock + in the afternoon she had been seen going up Ballure. The sound rocket was + fired as he pushed through the town. A schooner riding to an anchor in the + bay was flying her ensign for help. The sea was terrific—a slaty + grey, streaked with white foam like quartz veins; but the men who had been + idling on the quay when the water was calm were now struggling, chafing, + and fighting to go out on it, for the blood of the old Vikings was in + them. + </p> + <p> + Going by the water-trough, Pete called on Black Tom, who was civil and + conciliatory until he heard his errand, then growled with disappointment, + but nevertheless answered his question. Yes, he had seen the young woman. + She went up early in the “everin,” and left him good-day. Giving this + grateful news, Black Tom could not deny himself a word of bitterness to + poison the pleasure. “And when you are finding her,” said he, “you'll be + doing well to take her in tow, for I'm thinking there's some that's for + throwing her a rope.” + </p> + <p> + “Who d'ye mane?” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “I lave it with you,” said Black Tom; and Pete pulled the door after him. + </p> + <p> + On the breast of the hill there was the meeting of two roads, one of them + leading up to the “Hibernian,” the other going down to Port Mooar. To + resolve the difficulty of choice, Pete inquired at a cottage standing some + paces beyond, and as Kate had not been seen to pass up the higher road, he + determined to take the lower one. But he gathered no tidings by the way, + for Billy by the mill knew nothing, and the woman by the sundial had gone + to bed. At length he dipped into Port Mooar, and came to a little cottage + like a child's Noah's ark, with its tiny porch and red light inside, + looking out on the white breakers that were racing along the beach. It was + the cottage of the lobster-fisher. Pete inquired if he had seen Kate. He + answered no; he had seen nobody that day but Mr. Christian. Which of the + Christians? Mr. Philip Christian. + </p> + <p> + The news carried only one message to Pete's mind. It seemed to explain + something which had begun to perplex him—why Philip had not met him + at the quay, and why Kate had not heard of his coming. Clearly Philip was + at present at Ballure. He had not yet received the telegram addressed to + Douglas. + </p> + <p> + Pete turned back. Surely Kate had called somewhere. She would be at home + by this time. He tried to run, but the wind was now in his face. It was + veering northwards every minute, and rising to the force of a hurricane. + He tied his handkerchief over his head and under his chin to hold on his + hat. His hair whipped his ears like rods. Sometimes he was swept into the + hedge; often he was brought to his knees. Still he toiled along through + sheets of spray that glistened with the colours of a rainbow, and ran over + the ground like driven rain. His eyes smarted, and the taste on his lips + was salt. + </p> + <p> + The moon was now riding at the full through a wild flecked sky, and Pete + could clearly see, as he returned towards the bay, a crowd of human + figures on the cliffs above Port Lewaige. Quaking with undefined fears, he + pushed on until he had joined them. The schooner, abandoned by her crew, + had parted her cable, and was rolling like a blinded porpoise towards the + rocks. She fell on them with the groan of a living creature, and, the + instant her head was down, the white lions of the sea leapt over her with + a howl, the water swirled through her bulwarks and filled her hatches, her + rudder was unshipped, her sails were torn from their gaskets, and the + floating home wherein men had sailed, and sung, and slept, and laughed, + and jested, was a broken wreck in the heavy wallowings of the waves. + </p> + <p> + Kate had not returned when Pete got back to Sulby, but the excitement of + her absence was eclipsed for the time by the turmoil of Cæsar's trouble. + Standing in the dark on the top of the midden, he was shouting to the + dairy door in a voice of thunder, which went off at the end of his beard + like the puling of a cat. The mill-wheel was going same as a “whirlingig”—was + there nobody to “hould the brake?” The stable roof was stripped, and the + mare was tearing herself to pieces in a roaring “pit of hell”—was + there never a shoulder for the door? The cow-house thatch was flapping + like a sail—was there nothing in the world but a woman (Nancy Joe) + to help a man to throw a ladder and a stone over it? + </p> + <p> + Only when Cæsar had been pacified was there silence to speak of Kate. “I + picked up news of her coming back by Claughbane,” said Pete, “and traced + her as near home as the 'Ginger.' She can't be far away. Where is she?” + </p> + <p> + Those who were cool enough fell to conjecture. Grannie had no resource but + groans. Nancy was moaning by her side. The rest were full of their own + troubles. Blind Jane was bewailing her affliction. + </p> + <p> + “You can all see,” she cried, “but I'm not knowing the harm that's coming + on me.” + </p> + <p> + “Hush, woman, hush,” said Pete; “we're all same as yourself half our lives—we're + all blind at night.” + </p> + <p> + In the midst of the tumult a knock came to the door, and Pete made a + plunge towards the porch. + </p> + <p> + “Wait,” cried Cæsar. “Nobody else comes here to-night except the girl + herself. Another wind like the last and we'll have the roof off the house + too.” + </p> + <p> + Then he called to the new-comer, with his face to the porch door, and the + answer came back to him in a wail like the wind itself. + </p> + <p> + “Who's there?” + </p> + <p> + It was Joney from the glen. + </p> + <p> + “We're like herrings in a barrel—we can't let you in.” + </p> + <p> + She wasn't wanting to come in. But her roof was going stripping, and half + her house was felled, and she couldn't get her son (the idiot boy) to + leave his bed. He would perish; he would die; he was all the family she + had left to her—wouldn't the master come and save him? + </p> + <p> + “Impossible!” shouted Cæsar. “We've our own missing this fearful night, + Joney, and the Lord will protect His children.” + </p> + <p> + Was it Kate? She had seen her in the glen—— + </p> + <p> + “Let me get at that door,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “But the house will come down,” cried Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “Let it come,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + Pete shut the door of the bar-room, and then the wind was heard to swirl + through the porch. + </p> + <p> + “When did you see her, Joney, and where?” said the voice of Pete; and the + voice of Joney answered him— + </p> + <p> + “Goings by my own house at the start of the storm this everin.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll come with you—go on,” said Pete, and Grannie shouted across + the bar— + </p> + <p> + “Take Cæsar's topcoat over your monkey-jacket.” + </p> + <p> + “I've sail enough already for a wind like this, mother,” cried the voice + of Pete, and then the swirling sound in the porch went off with a + long-drawn whirr, and Cæsar came back alone to the kitchen. + </p> + <p> + Pete's wound ached again, but he pressed his hand on the place of it and + struggled up the glen, dragging Joney behind him. They came to her house + at last. One half of the thatch lay over the other half; the rafters were + bare like the ribs of the wreck; the oat-cake peck was rattling on the + lath; the meal-barrel in the corner was stripped of its lid, and the meal + was whirling into the air like a waterspout; the dresser was stripped, the + broken crockery lay on the uncovered floor, and the iron slowrie hanging + over the place of the fire was swinging and striking against the wall, and + ringing like a knell. And in the midst of this scene of desolation the + idiot boy was placidly sleeping on his naked bed, and over it the moon was + scudding through a tattered sky. + </p> + <p> + The night wore on, and the company in the kitchen listened long, and + sometimes heard sounds as of voices crying in the wind, but Pete did not + return. Then they fell to groaning again, to praying aloud without fear, + and to confessing their undiscovered sins without shame. + </p> + <p> + “I'm searched terrible—I can see through me,” cried Kelly, the + postman. + </p> + <p> + Some were chiefly troubled lest death should fall on them while they were + in a public-house. + </p> + <p> + “I keep none,” cried Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “But you wouldn't let us open the door,” whined the farmer. + </p> + <p> + If the door had been wide enough for a Bishop, not a soul would have + stirred. For the first time within anyone's recollection, Nancy Joe was on + her knees. + </p> + <p> + “O Lord,” she prayed, “Thou knowest well I don't often bother Thee. But + save Kate, Lord; oh, save and prasarve my little Kirry! It's twenty years + and better since I asked anything of Thee before and if Thou wilt only + take away this wind, I'll promise not to say another prayer for twenty + years more.” + </p> + <p> + “Say it in Manx, woman,” moaned Grannie. “I always say my prayers in Manx + as well, and the Lord can listen to the one He knows best.” + </p> + <p> + “There's prayer as well as praise in singing,” cried Cæsar; and they began + to sing, all down on their knees, their eyes tightly closed, and their + hands clasped before their faces. They sang of heaven and its peaceful + plains, its blue lakes and sunny skies, its golden cities and emerald + gates, its temples and its tabernacles, where “congregations ne'er break + up and Sabbaths never end.” It was some comfort to drown with the wild + discord of their own voices the fearful noises of the tempest. When they + finished the hymn, they began on it again, keeping it up without a break, + sweeping the dying note of the last word into the rising pitch of the + first one. In the midst of their singing, they thought a fiercer gust than + ever was beating on the door, and, to smother the fear of it, they sang + yet louder. The gust came a second time, and Cæsar cried— + </p> + <p> + “Again, brothers,” and away they went with another wild whoop through the + hymn. + </p> + <p> + It came a third time, and Cæsar cried— + </p> + <p> + “Once more, beloved,” and they raced madly through the hymn again. + </p> + <p> + Then the door burst open as before a tremendous kick, and Pete, fierce and + wild-eyed, and green with the drift of the salt foam caked thick on his + face, stepped over the threshold with the unconscious body of Kate in his + arms and the idiot boy peering over his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “Thank the Lord for an answer to prayer,” cried Cæsar. “Where did you find + her?” + </p> + <p> + “In the tholthan up the glen,” said Pete. “Up in the witch's tholthan.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0050" id="link2H_4_0050"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XI. + </h2> + <p> + On the second morning afterwards the air was quiet and full of the odour + of seaweed; the sky was round as the inside of a shell, and pale pink like + the shadow of flame; the water was smooth and silent; the hills had lost + the memory of the storm, and land and sea lay like a sleeping child. + </p> + <p> + In this broad and steady morning Kate came back to consciousness. She had + slid out of delirium into sleep as a boat slides out of the open sea into + harbour, and when she awoke there was a voice in her ears that seemed to + be calling to her from the quay. It was a familiar voice, and yet it was + unfamiliar; it was like the voice of a friend heard for the first time + after a voyage. It seemed to come from a long way off, and yet to be + knocking at the very door of her heart. She kept her eyes closed for a + moment and listened; then she opened them and looked again. + </p> + <p> + The light was clouded and yet dazzling, as if glazed muslin were shaking + before her eyes. Grannie was sitting by her bedside, knitting in silence. + </p> + <p> + “Why are you sitting there, mother?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + Grannie dropped her needles and caught at her apron. “Dear heart alive, + the child's herself again!” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Has anything happened?” said Kate. “What time is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Monday morning, bogh, thank the Lord for all His mercies!” cried Grannie. + </p> + <p> + The familiar voice came again. It came from the direction of the stairs. + “Who's that?” said Kate, whispering fearfully. + </p> + <p> + “Pete himself, Kirry. Aw well! Aw dear!” + </p> + <p> + “Pete!” cried Kate in terror. + </p> + <p> + “Aw, no, woman, but a living man come back again. No fear of him, bogh! + Not dead at all, but worth twenty dead men yet, and he brought you safe + out of the storm.” + </p> + <p> + “The storm?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, the storm, woman. There warn such a storm on the island I don't know + the years. He found you in the tholthan up the glen. Lost your way in the + wind, it's like, and no wonder. But let me call father. Father! father! + Chut! the man's as deaf as little Tom Hommy. Father!” called Grannie, + bustling about at the stair-head in a half-demented way. + </p> + <p> + There was some commotion below, and the voice on the stairs was saying, “<i>This</i> + way? No, <i>sir</i>. That way, if <i>you</i> plaze.” + </p> + <p> + “D'ye hear him, Kirry?” cried Grannie, putting her head back into the + room. “That's the man himself. Sitting on the bottom step same as an ould + bulldog, and keeping watch that nobody bothers you. The good-naturedst + bulldog breathing, though, and he hasn't had a wink on the night. Saved + your life, darling. He did; yes, he did, praise God.” + </p> + <p> + At mention of the tholthan, Kate had remembered everything. She dropped + back on the pillow, and cried, in a voice of pain, “Why couldn't he leave + me to die?” + </p> + <p> + Grannie chuckled knowingly at that, and wiped her eyes with the corner of + her apron. “The bogh is herself, for sure. When they're wishing themselves + dead they're always mending father! But I'll go down instead. Lie still, + bogh, lie still!” + </p> + <p> + The voice of Grannie went muffled down the stairs with many “Aw dears, aw + dears!” and then crackled from below through the floor and the unceiled + joists, saying sharply but with a tremor, too, “Nancy Joe, why aren't you + taking a cup of something upstairs, woman?” + </p> + <p> + “Goodness me, Mistress Cregeen, is it true for all?” said Nancy. + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course it's true. Do you think a poor child is going fasting for + ever?” + </p> + <p> + “What's that?” shouted the familiar voice again. “Was it herself you were + spaking to in the dairy loft, Grannie?” + </p> + <p> + “Who else, man?” said Grannie, and then there was a general tumult. + </p> + <p> + “Aw, the joy! Aw, the delight! Gough bless me, Grannie, I was thinking she + was for spaking no more.” + </p> + <p> + “Out of the way,” cried Nancy, as if pushing past somebody to whip the + kettle on to the fire. “These men creatures have no more rising in their + hearts than bread without balm.” + </p> + <p> + “You're balm enough yourself, Nancy, for a quiet husband. But lend me a + hould of the bellows there—I'll blow up like blazes.” + </p> + <p> + Cæsar came into the house on the top of this commotion, grumbling as he + stepped over the porch, “The wind has taken half the stacks of my haggard, + mother.” + </p> + <p> + “No matter, sir,” shouted Pete. “The best of your Melliah is saved + upstairs.” + </p> + <p> + “Is she herself?” said Cæsar. “Praise His name!” + </p> + <p> + And over the furious puffing and panting and quacking of the bellows and + the cracking and roaring of the fire, the voice of Pete came in gusts + through the floor, crying, “I'll go mad with the joy! I will; yes, I will, + and nobody shall stop me neither.” + </p> + <p> + The house, which seemed to have been holding its breath since the storm, + now broke into a ripple of laughter. It began in the kitchen, it ran up + the stairs, it crept through the chinks in the floor, it went over the + roof. But Kate lay on her pillow and moaned, and turned her face to the + wall. + </p> + <p> + Presently Nancy Joe appeared in the bedroom, making herself tidy at the + doorway with a turn of the hand over her hair. “Mercy on me!” she cried, + clapping her hands at the first sight of Kate's face, “who was the born + blockhead that said the girl's wedding was as like to be in the churchyard + as in the church?” + </p> + <p> + “That's me,” said a deep voice from the middle of the stairs, and then + Nancy clashed the door back and poured Pete into Kate in a broadside. + </p> + <p> + “It was Pete that done it, though,” she said. “You can't expect much sense + of the like, but still and for all he saved your life, Kitty. Dr. + Mylechreest says so. 'If the girl had been lying out another hour,' says + he——And, my goodness, the fond of you that man is; it's + wonderful! Twisting and turning all day yesterday on the bottom step + yonder same as a live conger on the quay, but looking as soft about the + eyes as if he'd been a week out of the water. And now! my sakes, <i>now!</i> + D'ye hear him, Kirry? He's fit to burst the bellows. No use, though—he's + a shocking fine young fellow—he's all that.... But just listen!” + </p> + <p> + There was a fissing sound from below, and a sense of burning. “What do I + always say? You can never trust a man to have sense enough to take it off. + That's the kettle on the boil.” + </p> + <p> + Nancy went flopping downstairs, where with furious words she rated Pete, + who laughed immoderately. Cæsar came next. He had taken off his boots and + was walking lightly in his stockings; but Kate felt his approach by his + asthmatic breathing. As he stepped in at the door he cried, in the high + pitch of the preacher, “Praise the Lord, O my soul, and all that is within + me praise His holy name!” Then he fell to the praise of Pete as well. + </p> + <p> + “He brought you out of the jaws of death and the mouth of Satan. It was a + sign, Katherine, and we can't do better than follow the Spirit's leading. + He saved your life, woman, and that's giving him the right to have and to + hould it. Well, I've only one child in this life, but, if it's the Lord's + will, I'm willing. He was always my white-headed boy, and he has made his + independent fortune in a matter of five years' time.” + </p> + <p> + The church bell began to toll, and Kate started up and listened. + </p> + <p> + “Only the Dempster's funeral, Kitty,” said Cæsar. “They were for burying + him to-morrow, but men that drink don't keep. They'll be putting him in + the family vault at Lezayre with his father, the staunch ould Rechabite. + Many a good cow has a bad calf, you see, and that's bad news for a man's + children; but many a good calf is from a bad cow, and that's good news for + the man himself. It's been the way with Peter anyway, for the Lord has + delivered him and prospered him, and I'm hearing on the best authority he + has five thousand golden sovereigns sent home to Mr. Dumbell's bank at + Douglas.” + </p> + <p> + Grannie came up with a basin of beef-tea, and Cæsar was hustled out of the + room. + </p> + <p> + “Come now, bogh; take a spoonful, and I'll lave you to yourself,” said + Grannie. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, leave me to myself,” said Kate, sipping wearily; and then Grannie + went off with the basin in her hand. + </p> + <p> + “Has she taken it?” said some one below. + </p> + <p> + “Look at that, if you plaze,” said Grannie in a jubilant tone; and Kate + knew that the empty basin was being shown around. + </p> + <p> + Kate lay back on the pillow, listened to the tolling of the bell, and + shuddered. She thought it a ghostly thing that the first voice she had + heard on coming as from another world had been the voice of Pete, and the + first name dinned into her ears had been Pete's name. The procession of + the Deemster's funeral passed the house, and she closed her eyes and + seemed to see it—the coffin on the open cart, the men on horseback + riding beside it, and then the horses tied up to posts and gates about the + churchyard, and the crowd of men of all conditions at the grave-side. In + her mind's eye, Kate was searching through that crowd for somebody. Was <i>he</i> + there? Had he heard what had happened to her? + </p> + <p> + She fell into a doze, and was awakened by a horse's step on the road, and + the voices of two men talking as they came nearer. + </p> + <p> + “Man alive, the joy I'm taking to see you! The tallygraph? Coorse not. + Knew I'd find you at the funeral, though.” It was Pete. + </p> + <p> + “But I meant to come over after it.” It was Philip, and Kate's heart stood + still. + </p> + <p> + The voices were smothered for a moment (as the buzzing is when the bees + enter the hive), and then began with as sharper ring from the rooms below. + </p> + <p> + “How's she now, Mrs. Cregeen?” said the voice of Philip. + </p> + <p> + “Better, sir—much better,” answered Grannie. + </p> + <p> + “No return of the unconsciousness?” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, no,” said Grannie. + </p> + <p> + “Was she”—Kate thought the voice faltered—“was she delirious?” + </p> + <p> + “Not rambling at all,” replied Grannie. + </p> + <p> + “Thank God,” said Philip, and Kate felt a long breath of relief go through + the air. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't hear of it until this morning,” said Philip. “The postman told + me at breakfast-time, and I called on Dr. Mylechreest coming out. If I had + known——I didn't sleep much last night, anyway; but if I had + ever imagined——” + </p> + <p> + “You're right good to the girl, sir,” said Grannie, and then Kate, + listening intently, caught a quavering sound of protestation. + </p> + <p> + “'Deed you are, though, and always have been,” said Grannie, “and I'm + saying it before Pete here, that ought to know and doesn't.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't I, though?” came in the other voice—the resounding voice—the + voice full of laughter and tears together. “But I do that, Grannie, same + as if I'd been here and seen it. Lave it to me to know Phil Christian. + I've summered and wintered the man, haven't I? He's timber that doesn't + start, mother, blow high, blow low.” + </p> + <p> + Kate heard another broken sound as of painful protest, and then with a + sickening sense she covered up her head that she might hear no more. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0051" id="link2H_4_0051"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XII. + </h2> + <p> + She was weak and over-wrought, and she fell asleep as she lay covered. + While she slept a babel of meaningless voices kept clashing in her ears, + and her own voice haunted her perpetually. When she awoke it was broad + morning again, and the house was full of the smell of boiling stock-fish. + By that she knew it was another day, and the hour of early breakfast. She + heard the click of cups and saucers on the kitchen table, the step of her + father coming in from the mill, and then the heartsome voice of Pete + talking of the changes in the island since he went away. New houses, + promenades, iron piers, breakwaters, lakes, towers—wonderful I + extraordinary! tre-menjous! + </p> + <p> + “But the boys—w here's the Manx boys at all?” said Pete. “Gone like + a flight of birds to Austrillya and Cleveland and the Cape, and I don't + know where. Not a Manx house now that hasn't one of the boys foreign. And + the houses themselves—where's the ould houses and the crofts? + Felled, all felled or boarded up. And the boats—where's the boats? + Lying rotting at the top of the harbour.” + </p> + <p> + Grannie's step came into the kitchen, and Pete's loud voice drooped to a + whisper. “How's herself this morning, mother?” + </p> + <p> + “Sleeping quiet and nice when I came downstairs,” said Grannie. + </p> + <p> + “Will I be seeing her myself to-day, think you?” asked Pete. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know in the world, but I'll ask,” answered Grannie. + </p> + <p> + “You're an angel, Grannie,” said Pete, “a reg'lar ould archangel.” + </p> + <p> + Kate shuddered with a new fear. It was clear that in the eyes of her + people the old relations with Pete were to stand. Everybody expected her + to marry Pete; everybody seemed anxious to push the marriage on. + </p> + <p> + Grannie came up with her breakfast, pulled aside the blind, and opened the + window. + </p> + <p> + “Nancy will tidy the room a taste,” she said coaxingly, “and then I + shouldn't wonder if you'll be sending for Pete.” + </p> + <p> + Kate raised a cry of alarm. + </p> + <p> + “Aw, no harm when a girl's poorly,” said Grannie, “and her promist man for + all.” + </p> + <p> + Kate tried to protest and explain, but courage failed her. She only said, + “Not yet, mother. I'm not fit to see him yet.” + </p> + <p> + “Say no more about it. Not to-day at all—to-morrow maybe,” said + Grannie, and Kate clutched at the word, and answered eagerly— + </p> + <p> + “Yes, tomorrow, mother; to-morrow maybe.” + </p> + <p> + Before noon Philip had come again. Kate heard his horse's step on the + road, trotting hard from the direction of Peel. He drew up at the porch, + but did not alight, and Grannie went out to him. + </p> + <p> + “I'll not come in to-day, Mrs. Cregeen,” he said. “Does she continue to + improve?” + </p> + <p> + “As nice as nice, sir,” said Grannie. + </p> + <p> + Kate crept out of bed, stole to the window, hid behind the curtains, and + listened intently. + </p> + <p> + “What a mercy all goes well,” he said; Kate could hear the heaving of his + breath. “Is Pete about?” + </p> + <p> + “No, but gone to Ramsey, sir,” said Grannie. “It's like you'll meet him if + you are going on to Ballure.” + </p> + <p> + “I must be getting back to business,” said Philip, and the horse swirled + across the road. + </p> + <p> + “Did you ride from Douglas on purpose, then?” said Grannie, and Philip + answered with an audible effort— + </p> + <p> + “I was anxious. What an escape she has had! I could scarcely sleep last + night for thinking of it.” + </p> + <p> + Kate put her hand to her throat to keep back the cry that was bubbling up, + and her mother's voice came thick and deep. + </p> + <p> + “The Lord's blessing. Master Philip——” she began, but the + horse's feet stamped out everything as it leapt to a gallop in going off. + </p> + <p> + Kate listened where she knelt until the last beat of the hoofs had died + away in the distance, and then she crept back to bed and covered up her + head in the clothes as before, but with a storm of other feelings. “He + loves me,” she told herself with a thrill of the heart. “He loves me—he + loves me still! And he will never, never, never see me married to anybody + else.” + </p> + <p> + She felt an immense relief now, and suddenly found strength to think of + facing Pete. It even occurred to her to send for him at once, as a first + step towards removing the impression that the old relations were to + remain. She would be quiet, she would be cold, she would show by her + manner that Pete was impossible, she would break the news gently. + </p> + <p> + Pete came like the light at Nancy's summons. Kate heard him on the stairs + whispering with Nancy and breathing heavily. Nancy was hectoring it over + him and pulling him about to make him presentable. + </p> + <p> + “Here,” whispered Nancy, “take the redyng comb and lash your hair out, + it's all through-others. And listen—you've got to be quiet. Promise + me you'll be quiet. She's wake and low and nervous, so no kissing. D'ye + hear me now, no kissing.” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, kissing makes no noise to spake of, woman,” whispered Pete; and then + he was in the room. + </p> + <p> + Kate saw him come, a towering dark figure between her and the door. He did + not speak at first, but slid down to the chair at the foot of the bed, + modestly, meekly, reverently, as if he had entered a sanctuary. His hand + rested on his knee, and she noticed that the wrist was hairy and tattooed + with the three legs of Man. + </p> + <p> + “Is it you, Pete?” she asked; and then he said in a low tone, almost in a + whisper, as if speaking to himself in a hush of awe— + </p> + <p> + “It's her own voice again! I've heard it in my drames these five years.” + </p> + <p> + He looked helplessly about him for a moment, fixed his watery eyes on + Nancy as if he wanted to burst into sobs but dare not for fear of the + noise, then turned on his chair and seemed on the point of taking to + flight. But just at that instant his dog, which had followed him into the + room, planted its forelegs on the counterpane and looked impudently into + Kate's face. + </p> + <p> + “Down, Dempster, down!” cried Pete; and after that, the ice being broken + by the sound of his voice, Pete was his own man once more. + </p> + <p> + “Is that your dog, Pete?” said Kate. + </p> + <p> + “Aw, no, Kate, but I'm his man,” said Pete. “He does what he likes with + me, anyway. Caught me out in Kimber-ley and fetched me home.” + </p> + <p> + “Is he old?” + </p> + <p> + “Old, d'ye say? He's one of the lost ten tribes of dogs, and behaves as if + he'd got to inherit the earth.” + </p> + <p> + She felt Pete's big black eyes shining on her. + </p> + <p> + “My gracious, Kitty, what a woman you're growing, though!” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Am I so much changed?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Changed, is it?” he cried. “Gough bless me heart! the nice little thing + you were when we used to play fishermen together down at Cornaa Harbour—d'ye + remember? The ould kipper-box rolling on a block for a boat at sea—do + you mind it? Yourself houlding a bit of a broken broomstick in the rope + handle for a mast, and me working the potato-dibber on the ground, first + port and then starboard, for rudder and wind and oar and tide. 'Mortal + dirty weather this, cap'n?' 'Aw, yes, woman, big sea extraordinary'—d'ye + mind it, Kirry!” + </p> + <p> + Kate tried to laugh a little and to say what a long time ago it was since + then. But Pete, being started, laughed uproariously, slapped his knee, and + rattled on. + </p> + <p> + “Up at the mill, too—d'ye remember that now? Yourself with the top + of a barrel for a flower basket, holding it 'kimbo at your lil hip and + shouting, 'Violets! Swate violets! Fresh violets!'” (He mocked her silvery + treble in his lusty baritone and roared with laughter.) + </p> + <p> + “And then me, woman, d'ye mind me?—me, with the pig-stye gate atop + of my head for a fish-board, yelling, 'Mackerel! Fine ladies, fresh + ladies, and bellies as big as bishops—Mack-er-el!' Aw, Kirry, Kirry! + Aw, the dear ould times gone by! Aw, the changes, the changes!... Did I <i>know</i> + you then? Are you asking me did I know you when I found you in the glen? + Did I know I was alive, Kitty? Did I know the wind was howling? Did I know + my head was going round like a compass, and my heart thumping a hundred + and twenty pound to the square inch? Did I kiss you and kiss you while you + were lying there useless, and lift you up and hitch your poor limp arms + around my neck, and carry you out of the dirty ould tholthan that was + going to be the death of you—the first job I was doing on the + island, too, coming back to it.... Lord save us, Kitty, what have I done?” + </p> + <p> + Kate had dropped back on the pillow, and was sobbing as if her heart would + break, and seeing this, Nancy fell on Pete with loud reproaches, took the + man by the shoulders and his dog by the neck, and pushed both out of the + room. + </p> + <p> + “Out of it,” cried Nancy. “Didn't I tell you to be quiet? You great + blethering omathaun, you shall come no more.” + </p> + <p> + Abashed, ashamed, humiliated, and quiet enough now, Pete went slowly down + the stairs. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0052" id="link2H_4_0052"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIII. + </h2> + <p> + Late that night Kate heard Cæsar and her mother talking together as they + were going to bed. Cæsar was saying— + </p> + <p> + “I got him on the track of a good house, and he went off to Ramsey this + morning to put a sight on it.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear heart alive, father!” Grannie answered, “Pete isn't home till a week + come Saturday.” + </p> + <p> + “The young man is warm on the wedding,” said Cæsar, “and he has money, and + store is no sore.” + </p> + <p> + “But the girl's not fit for it, 'deed she isn't,” said Grannie. + </p> + <p> + “If she's wake,” said Cæsar, “shell be no worse for saying 'I will,' and + when she's said it she'll have time enough to get better.” + </p> + <p> + Kate trembled with fear. The matter of her marriage with Pete was going on + without her. A sort of supernatural power seemed to be pushing it along. + Nobody asked if she wished it, nobody questioned that she did so. It was + taken for granted that the old relations would stand. As soon as she could + go about she would be expected to marry Pete. Pete himself would expect + it, because he believed he had her promise; her mother would expect it, + because she had always thought of it as a thing understood; her father + would expect it, because Pete's prosperity had given him a new view of + Pete's piety and pedigree; and Nancy Joe would expect it, too, if only + because she was still haunted by her old bugbear, the dark shadow of Ross + Christian. There was only one way to break down these expectations, and + that was to speak out. But how was a girl to speak? What was she to say? + </p> + <p> + Kate pretended to be ill. Three days longer she lay, like a hunted wolf in + its hole, keeping her bed from sheer dread of the consequences of leaving + it. The fourth day was Sunday. It was morning, and the church bells were + ringing. Cæsar had shouted from his bedroom for some one to tie his bow, + then for some one to button his black gloves. He had gone off at length + with the footsteps of the people stepping round to chapel. The first hymn + had been started, and its doleful notes were trailing through the mill + walls. Kate was propped up in bed, and the window of her room was open. + Over the droning of the hymn she caught the sound of a horse's hoofs on + the road. They stopped at a little distance, and then came on again, with + the same two voices as before. + </p> + <p> + Pete was talking with great eagerness. “Plenty of house, aw plenty, + plenty,” he was saying. “Elm Cottage they're calling it—the slate + one with the ould fir-tree behind the Coort House and by the lane to + Claughbane. Dry as a bone and clane as a gull's wing. You could lie with + your back to the wall and ate off the floor. Taps inside and water as + white as gin. I've been buying the cabin of the 'Mona's Isle' for a + summer-house in the garden. Got a figurehead for the porch too, and I'll + have an anchor for the gate before I'm done. Aw, I'm bound to have + everything nice for her.” + </p> + <p> + There was a short silence, in which nothing was heard but the step of the + horse, and then Philip said in a faltering voice, “But isn't this being + rather in a hurry, Pete?” + </p> + <p> + “Short coorting's the best coorting, and ours has been long enough + anyway,” said Pete. They had drawn up at the porch, and Pete's laugh came + in at the window. + </p> + <p> + “But think how weak she is,” said Philip. “She hasn't even-left her bed + yet, has she?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, yes, of coorse, sartenly,” said Pete, in a steadier voice, “if the + girl isn't fit——” + </p> + <p> + “It's so sudden, you see,” said Philip. “Has she—has she—consented?” + </p> + <p> + “Not to say consented——” began Pete; and Philip took him up + and said quickly, eagerly, hotly— + </p> + <p> + “She can't—I'm sure she can't.” + </p> + <p> + There was silence again, broken only by the horse's impatient pawing, and + then Philip said more calmly, “Let Dr. Mylechreest see her first, at all + events.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm not a man for skinning the meadow to the sod, no——” said + Pete, in a doleful tone; but Kate heard no more. + </p> + <p> + She was trembling with a new thought. It was only a shadowy suggestion as + yet, and at first she tried to beat it back. But it came again, it forced + itself upon her, it mastered her, she could not resist it. + </p> + <p> + The way to break the fate that was pursuing her was to make <i>Philip</i> + speak out! The way to stop the marriage with Pete was to compel Philip to + marry her! He thought she would never consent to marry Pete—what if + he were given to understand that she had consented. That was the way to + gain the victory over Philip, the way to punish him! + </p> + <p> + He would not blame her—he would lay the blame at the door of chance, + of fate, of her people. He would think they were forcing this marriage + upon her—the mother out of love of Pete, the father out of love of + Pete's money, and Nancy out of fear of Ross Christian. He would know that + she could not struggle because she could not speak. He would believe she + was yielding against her will, in spite of her love, in the teeth of their + intention. He would think of her as a victim, as a martyr, as a sacrifice. + </p> + <p> + It was a deceit—a small deceit; it looked so harmless, too—so + innocent, almost humorous, half ridiculous; and she was a woman, and she + could not put it away. Love, love, love! It would be her excuse and her + forgiveness. She had appealed to Philip himself and in vain. Now she would + pretend to go on with her old relations. It was so little to do, and the + effects were so certain. In jealousy and in terror Philip would step out + of himself and claim her. + </p> + <p> + She had craft—all hungry things have craft. She had inklings of + ambition, a certain love of luxury, and desire to be a lady. To get Philip + was to get everything. Love would be satisfied, ambition fulfilled, the + aims of refinement reached. Why not risk the great stake? + </p> + <p> + Nancy came to tidy the room, and Kate said, “Where's Pete all this time, I + wonder?” + </p> + <p> + “Sitting in the fire-seat this half-hour,” said Nancy. “I don't know in + the world what's come over the man. He's rocking and moaning there like a + cow licking a dead calf.” + </p> + <p> + “Would he like to come up, think you?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't ask the man twice if you want him to say no,” said Nancy. + </p> + <p> + Blushing and stammering, and trying to straighten his black curls, Pete + came at Nancy's call. + </p> + <p> + Kate had few qualms. The wound she had received from Philip had left her + conscienceless towards Pete. Yet she turned her head a little sideways as + she welcomed him. + </p> + <p> + “Are you better, then, Kirry?” said Pete timidly. + </p> + <p> + “I'm nearly as well as ever,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “You are, though?” said Pete. “Then you'll be down soon, it's like, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “I hope so, Pete—quite soon.” + </p> + <p> + “And fit for anything, now—yes?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, yes, fit for anything.” + </p> + <p> + Pete laughed from his heart like a boy. “I'll take a slieu round to + Ballure and tell Philip immadiently.” + </p> + <p> + “Philip?” said Kate, with a look of inquiry. + </p> + <p> + “He was saying this morning you wouldn't be equal to it, Kirry.” + </p> + <p> + “Equal to what, Pete?” + </p> + <p> + “Getting—going—having—that's to say—well, you + know, putting a sight on the parson himself one of these days, that's the + fact.” And, to cover his confusion, Pete laughed till the scraas of the + roof began to snip. + </p> + <p> + There was a moment's pause, and then Kate said, with a cough and a stammer + and her head aside, “Is that so <i>very</i> tiring, Pete?” + </p> + <p> + Pete leapt from his chair and laughed again like a man demented. “D'ye say + so, Kitty? The word then, darling—the word in my ear—as soft + as soft——” + </p> + <p> + He was leaning over the bed, but Kate drew away from him, and Nancy pulled + him back, saying, “Get off with you, you goosey gander! What for should + you bother a poor girl to know if sugar's sweet, and if she's willing to + change a sweetheart for a husband?” + </p> + <p> + It was done. One act—nay, half an act; a word—nay, no word at + all, but only silence. The daring venture was afoot. + </p> + <p> + Grannie came up with Kate's dinner that day, kissed her on both cheeks, + felt them hot, wagged her head wisely, and whispered, “I know—you + needn't tell <i>me!</i>” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0053" id="link2H_4_0053"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIV. + </h2> + <p> + The last hymn was sung, Cæsar came home from chapel, changed back from his + best to his work-day clothes, and then there was talking and laughing in + the kitchen amid the jingling of plates and the vigorous rattling of + knives and forks. + </p> + <p> + “Phil must be my best man,” said Pete. “He'll be back to Douglas now, but + I'll get you to write me a line, Cæsar, and ask him.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you hold with long engagements, Pete?” said Grannie. + </p> + <p> + “A week,” said Pete, with the air of a judge; “not much less anyway—not + of a rule, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “You goose,” cried Nancy, “it must be three Sundays for the banns.” + </p> + <p> + “Then John the Clerk shall get them going this evening,” said Pete. “Nancy + had the pull of me there, Grannie. Not being in the habit of getting + married, I clane forgot about the banns.” + </p> + <p> + John the Clerk came in the afternoon, and there was some lusty + disputation. + </p> + <p> + “We must have bridesmaids and wedding-cakes, Pete—it's only proper,” + said Nancy. + </p> + <p> + “Aw, yes, and tobacco and rum, and everything respectable,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “And the parson—mind it's the parson now,” said Grannie; “none of + their nasty high-bailiffs. I don't know in the world how a dacent woman + can rest in her bed——” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, the parson, of coorse—and the parson's wife, maybe,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “I think I can manage it for you for to-morrow fortnight,” said John the + Clerk impressively, and there was some clapping of hands, quickly + suppressed by Cæsar, with mutterings of— + </p> + <p> + “Popery! clane Popery, sir! Can't a person commit matrimony without a + parson bothering a man?” + </p> + <p> + Then Cæsar squared his elbows across the table and wrote the letter to + Philip. Pete never stood sponsor for anything so pious. + </p> + <p> + “Respected and Honoured Sir,—I write first to thee that it hath been + borne in on my mind (strong to believe the Lord hath spoken) to marry on + Katherine Cregeen, only beloved daughter of Cæsar Cregeen, a respectable + man and a local preacher, in whose house I tarry, being free to use all + his means of grace. Wedding to-morrow fortnight at Kirk Christ, Lezayre, + eleven o'clock forenoon, and the Lord make it profitable to my soul.—With + love and-reverence, thy servant, and I trust the Lord's, Peter Quilliam.” + </p> + <p> + Having written this, Cæsar read it aloud with proper elevation of pitch. + Grannie wiped her eyes, and Pete said, “Indited beautiful, sir—only + you haven't asked him.” + </p> + <p> + “My pen's getting crosslegs,” said Cæsar, “but that'll do for an N.B.” + </p> + <p> + “N. B.—Will you come for my best man?” + </p> + <p> + Then there was more talk and more laughter. “You're a lucky fellow, Pete,” + said Pete himself. “My sailor, you are, though. She's as sweet as clover + with the bumbees humming over it, and as warm as a gorse bush when the + summer's gone.” + </p> + <p> + And then, affection being infectious beyond all maladies known to mortals, + Nancy Joe was heard to say, “I believe in my heart I must be having a man + myself before long, or I'll be losing the notion.” + </p> + <p> + “D'ye hear that, boys?” shouted Pete. “Don't all spake at once.” + </p> + <p> + “Too late—I've lost it,” said Nancy, and there was yet more + laughter. + </p> + <p> + To put an end to this frivolity, Cæsar raised a hymn, and they sang it + together with cheerful voices. Then Cæsar prayed appropriately, John the + Clerk improvised responses, and Pete went out and sat on the bottom step + in the lobby and smoked up the stairs, so that Kate in the bedroom should + not feel too lonely. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0054" id="link2H_4_0054"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XV. + </h2> + <p> + Meanwhile Kate, overwhelmed with shame, humiliation, self-reproach, horror + of herself, and dread of everything, lay with cheeks ablaze and her head + buried in the bedclothes. She had no longer any need to pretend to be + sick; she was now sick in reality. Fate had threatened her. She had + challenged it. They were gambling together. The stake was her love, her + life, her doom. + </p> + <p> + By the next day she had worked herself into a nervous fever. Dr. + Mylechreest came to see her, unbidden of the family. He was one of those + tall, bashful men who, in their eagerness to be gone, seem always to have + urgent business somewhere else. After a single glance at her and a few + muttered syllables, he went off hurriedly, as if some one were waiting for + him round the corner. But on going downstairs he met Cæsar, who asked him + how he found her. + </p> + <p> + “Feverish, very; keep her in bed,” he answered. “As for this marriage, it + must be put off. She's exciting herself, and I won't answer for the + consequences. The thing has fallen too suddenly. To tell you the truth—this + way, Mr. Cregeen—I am afraid of a malady of the brain.” + </p> + <p> + “Tut, tut, doctor,” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “Very well, if you know better. Good-day! But let the wedding wait. <i>Traa + dy liooar</i>—time enough, Mr. Cregeen. A right good Manx maxim for + once. Put it off—put it off!” + </p> + <p> + “It's not my putting off, doctor. What can you do with a man that's + wanting to be married? You can't bridle a horse with pincers.” + </p> + <p> + But when the doctor was gone, Cæsar said to Grannie, “Cut out the + bridesmaids and the wedding-cakes and the fiddles and the foolery, and let + the girl be married immadiently.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear heart alive, father, what's all the hurry?” said Grannie. + </p> + <p> + “And Lord bless my soul, what's all the fuss?” said Cæsar. “First one + objecting this, then another objecting that, as if everybody was + intarmined to stop the thing. It's going on, I'm telling you; d'ye hear + me? There's many a slip—but no matter. What's written with the pen + can't be cut out with the axe, so lave it alone, the lot of you.” + </p> + <p> + Kate was in an ecstasy of exultation. The doctor had been sent by Philip. + It was Philip who was trying to stop the marriage. He would never be able + to bear it; he would claim her soon. It might be to-day, it might be + to-morrow, it might be the next day. The odds were with her. Fate was + being worsted. Thus she clung to her blind faith that Philip would + intervene. + </p> + <p> + That was Monday, and on Tuesday morning Philip came again. He was very + quiet, but the heart has ears, and Kate heard him. Pete's letter had + reached him, and she could see his white face. After a few words of + commonplace conversation, he drew Pete out of the house. What had he got + to say? Was he thinking that Pete must be stopped at all hazards? Was he + about to make a clean breast of it? Was he going to tell all? Impossible! + He could not; he dared not; it was <i>her</i> secret. + </p> + <p> + Pete came back to the house alone, looking serious and even sad. Kate + heard him exchange a few words with her father as they passed through the + lobby to the kitchen. Cæsar was saying— + </p> + <p> + “Stand on your own head, sir, that's my advice to you.” + </p> + <p> + In the intensity of her torment she could not rest. She sent for Pete. + </p> + <p> + “What about Philip?” she said. “Is he coming? What has he been telling + you?” + </p> + <p> + “Bad news, Kate—very bad,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + There was a fearful silence for a moment. It was like the awful hush at + the instant when the tide turns, and you feel as if something has happened + to the world. Then Kate hardened her face and said, “What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “He's ill, and wants to go away in a week. He can't come to the wedding,'' + said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “Is that all?” said Kate. Her heart leapt for joy. She could not help it—she + laughed. She saw through Philip's excuse. It was only his subterfuge—he + thought Pete would not marry without him. + </p> + <p> + “Aw, but you never seen the like, though, Kirry,” said Pete; “he was that + white and wake and narvous. Work and worry, that's the size of it. There's + nothing done in this world without paying the price of it, and that's as + true as gospel. 'The sea's calling me, Pete,' says he, and then he + laughed, but it was the same as if a ghost itself was grinning.” + </p> + <p> + In the selfishness of her enfeebled spirit, Kate still rejoiced. Philip + was suffering. It was another assurance that he would come to her relief. + </p> + <p> + “When does he go?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “On Tuesday,” answered Pete. + </p> + <p> + “Isn't there a way of getting a Bishop's license to marry in a week?” said + Kate. + </p> + <p> + “But will you, though?” said Pete, with a shout of joy. + </p> + <p> + “Ask Philip first. No use changing if Philip can't come.” + </p> + <p> + “He shall—he must. I won't take No.” + </p> + <p> + “You may kiss me now,” said Kate, and Pete plucked her up into his arms + and kissed her. + </p> + <p> + She was heart-dead to him yet, from the wound that Philip had dealt her, + but at the touch of his lips a feeling of horror seemed to cramp all her + limbs. With a shudder she crept down in the bed and hid her face, hating + herself, loathing herself, wishing herself dead. + </p> + <p> + He stood a moment by her side, crying like a big boy in his great + happiness. “I don't know in the world what she sees in me to be so fond of + me, but that's the way with the women always, God bless them!” + </p> + <p> + She did not lift her face, and he stepped quietly to the door. Half-way + through he turned about and raised one arm over his head. “God's rest and + God's peace be with you, and may the man that gets you keep a clane heart + and a clane hand, and be fit for the good woman he's won for his wife.” + </p> + <p> + At the next minute he went tearing down the stairs, and the kitchen rang + with his laughter. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0055" id="link2H_4_0055"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVI. + </h2> + <p> + Fate scored one. Kate had been telling herself that Philip was tired of + her, that he did not love her any longer, that having taken all he could + take he desired to be done with her, that he was trying to forget her, and + that she was a drag upon him, when suddenly she remembered the tholthan, + and bethought herself for the first time of a possible contingency. Why + had she not thought of it before? Why had <i>he</i> never thought of it? + <i>If</i> it should come to pass! The prospect did not appal her; it did + not overwhelm her with confusion or oppress her with shame; it did not + threaten to fall like a thunderbolt; the thought of it came down like an + angel's whisper. + </p> + <p> + She was not afraid. It was only an idea, only a possibility, only a dream + of consequences, but at one bound it brought her so much nearer to Philip. + It gave her a right to him. How dare he make her suffer so? She would not + permit him to leave her. He was her husband, and he must cling to her, + come what would. Across the void that had divided them a mysterious power + drew them together. She was he, and he was she, and they were one, for—who + knows?—who could say?—perhaps Nature herself had willed it. + </p> + <p> + Thus the first effect of the new thought upon Kate was frenzied + exultation. She had only one thing to do now. She had only to go to Philip + as Bathsheba went to David. True, she could not say what Bathsheba said. + She had no certainty, but her case was no less strong. “Have you never + thought of what may possibly occur?” This is what she would say now to + Philip. And Philip would say to her, “Dearest, I have never thought of + that. Where was my head that I never reflected?” Then, in spite of his + plans, in spite of his pledge to Pete, in spite of the world, in spite of + himself—yea, in spite of his own soul if it stood between them—he + would cling to her; she was sure of it—she could swear to it—he + could not resist. + </p> + <p> + “He will believe whatever I tell him,” she thought, and she would say, + “Come to me, Philip; I am frightened.” In the torture of her palpitating + heart she would have rejoiced at that moment if she could have been sure + that she was in the position of what the world calls a shameful woman. + With that for her claim she could see herself going to Philip and telling + him, her head on his breast, whispering sweetly the great secret—the + wondrous news. And then the joy, the rapture, the long kiss of love! + “Mine, mine, mine! he is mine at last!” + </p> + <p> + That could not be quite so; she was not so happy as Bathsheba; she was not + sure, but her right was the same for all that. Oh, it was joyful, it was + delicious! + </p> + <p> + The little cunning arts of her sex, the small deceits in which she had + disguised herself fell away from her now. She said to herself, “I will + stop the nonsense about the marriage with Pete.” It was mean, it was + foolish, it was miserable trifling, it was wicked, it was a waste of life—above + all, it was doing a great, great wrong to her love of Philip! How could + she ever have thought of it? + </p> + <p> + Next morning she was up and was dressing when Grannie came into the room + with a cup of tea. “I feel so much better,” she said “that I think I'll go + to Douglas by the coach today, mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Do, bogh,” said Grannie cheerfully, “and Pete shall go with you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, no; I must be quite alone, mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, aw! A lil errand, maybe! Shopping is it? Presents, eh? Take your tay, + then.” And Grannie rolled the blind, saying, “A beautiful morning you'll + have for it, too. I can see the spire as plain as plain.” Then, turning + about, “Did you hear the bells this morning, Kitty?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, what bells, mammy?” said Kate, through a mouthful of bread and + butter. + </p> + <p> + “The bells for Christian Killip. Her old sweetheart took her to church at + last. He wouldn't get rest at your father till he did—and her baby + two years for Christmas. But what d'ye think, now? Robbie left her at the + church door, and he's off by the Ramsey packet for England. Aw, dear, he + did, though. 'You can make me marry her,' said he, 'but you can't make me + live with her,' he said, and he was away down the road like the dust.” + </p> + <p> + “I don't think I'll go to Douglas to-day, mother,” said Kate in a broken + voice. “I'm not so very well, after all.” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, the bogh!” said Grannie. “Making too sure of herself, was she? It's + the way with them all when they're mending.” + </p> + <p> + With cheerful protestations Grannie helped her back to bed, and then went + off with an anxious face to tell Cæsar that she was more ill than ever. + </p> + <p> + She was ill indeed; but her worst illness was of the heart. “If I go to + him and tell him,” she thought, “he will marry me—yes. No fear that + he will leave me at the church door or elsewhere. He will stay with me. We + will be man and wife to the last. The world will know nothing. But <i>I</i> + will know. As long as I live I will remember that he only sacrificed + himself to repair a fault That shall never be—never, never!” + </p> + <p> + Cæsar came up in great alarm. He seemed to be living in hourly dread that + some obstacle would arise at the last moment to stop the marriage. “Chut, + woman!” he said play-. fully. “Have a good heart, Kitty. The sun's not + going down on you yet at all.” + </p> + <p> + That night there were loud voices from the bar-room. The talk was of the + marriage which had taken place in the morning, and of its strange and + painful sequel. John the Clerk was saying, “But you'd be hearing of the + by-child, it's like?” + </p> + <p> + “Never a word,” said somebody. + </p> + <p> + “Not heard of it, though? Fetching the child to the wedding to have the + bad name taken off it—no? They were standing the lil bogh—-it's + only three—two is it, Grannie, only two?—well, they were + standing the lil thing under its mother's perricut while the sarvice was + saying.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't say!” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, truth enough, sir! It's the ould Manx way of legitimating. The + parsons are knowing nothing of it, but I've seen it times.” + </p> + <p> + “John's right,” said Mr. Jelly; “and I can tell you more—it was just + <i>that</i> the man went to church for.” + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn't trust,” said John the Clerk. “The woman wasn't getting much of a + husband out of it anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Pete—he had not spoken before—“but the child was + getting the name of its father, though.” + </p> + <p> + “That's not mountains of thick porridge, sir,” said somebody. “Bobbie's + gone. What's the good of a father if he's doing nothing to bring you up?” + </p> + <p> + “Ask your son if you've got any of the sort,” said Pete; “some of you + have. Ask me. I know middling well what it is to go through the world + without a father's name to my back. If your lad is like myself, he's + knowing it early and he's knowing it late. He's knowing it when he's + saying his bits of prayers atop of the bed in the gable loft: 'God bless + mother—and grandmother,' maybe—there's never no 'father' in + his little texes. And he's knowing it when he's growing up to a lump of a + lad and going for a trade, and the beast of life is getting the grip of + him. Ten to one he comes to be a waistrel then, and, if it's a girl + instead, a hundred to nothing she turns out a—well, worse. Only a + notion, is it? Just a parzon's lie, eh? Having your father's name is + nothing—no? That's what the man says. But ask the <i>child</i>, and + shut your mouth for a fool.” + </p> + <p> + There was a hush and a hum after that, and Kate, who had reached from the + bed to open the door, clutched it with a feverish grasp. + </p> + <p> + “But Christian Killip is nothing but a trollop, anyway, sir,” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “Every cat is black in the night, father—the girl's in trouble,” + said Pete. “No, no! If I'd done wrong by a woman, and she was having a + child by me, I'd marry her if she'd take me, though I'd come to hate her + like sin itself.” + </p> + <p> + Grannie in the kitchen was wiping her eyes at these brave words, but Kate + in the bedroom was tossing in a delirium of wrath. “Never, never, never!” + she thought. + </p> + <p> + Oh, yes, Philip would marry her if she imposed herself upon him, if she + hinted at a possible contingency. He, too, was a brave man; he also had a + lofty soul—he would not shrink. But no, not for the wealth of + worlds. + </p> + <p> + Philip loved her, and his love alone should bring him to her side. No + other compulsion should be put upon him, neither the thought of her + possible future position, nor of the consequences to another. It was the + only justice, the only safety, the only happiness now or in the time to + come. + </p> + <p> + “He shall marry me for <i>my</i> sake,” she thought, “for my own sake—my + own sake only.” + </p> + <p> + Thus in the wild disorder of her soul—the tempest of conflicting + passions—her pride barred up the one great way. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0056" id="link2H_4_0056"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVII. + </h2> + <p> + There was no help for it after all—she must go on as she had begun, + with the old scheme, the old chance, the old gambling hazard. Heart-sick + and ashamed, waiting for Philip, and listening to every step, she kept her + room two days longer. Then Cæsar came and rallied her. + </p> + <p> + “Gough bless me, but nobody will credit it,” he said. “The marriage for + Monday, and the bride in bed a Wednesday. People will say it isn't coming + off at all.” + </p> + <p> + This alarmed her. It partly explained why Philip did not come. If he + thought there was no danger of the marriage, he would be in no hurry to + intervene. Next day (Thursday) she struggled up and dressed in a light + wrapper, feeling weak and nervous, and looking pale and white like + apple-blossom nipped by frost. Pete would have carried her downstairs, but + she would not have it. They established her among a pile of cushions + before a fire in the parlour, with its bowl of sea-birds' eggs that had + the faint, unfamiliar smell—its tables of old china that shook and + rang slightly with every step and sound. The kitchen was covered with the + litter of dressmakers preparing for the wedding. There were bodices to try + on, and decisions to give on points of style. Kate agreed to everything. + In a weak and toneless voice she kept on telling them to do as they + thought hest. Only when she heard that Pete was to pay did she assert her + will, and that was to limit the dresses to one. + </p> + <p> + “Sakes alive now, Kirry,” cried Nancy, “that's what I call ruining a good + husband—the man was willing to buy frocks for a boarding-school.” + </p> + <p> + Pete came, sat on a stool at her feet, and told stories. They were funny + stories of his life abroad, and now and again there came bursts of + laughter from the kitchen, where they were straining their necks to catch + his words through the doors, which they kept ajar. But Kate hardly + listened. She showed signs of impatience sometimes, and made quick glances + around when the door opened, as if expecting somebody. On recovering + herself at these moments, she found Pete looking up at her with the big, + serious, moist eyes of a dog. + </p> + <p> + He began to tell of the house he had taken, to excuse himself for not + consulting her, and to describe the progress of the furnishing. + </p> + <p> + “I've put it all in the hands of Cannell & Quayle, Kitty,” he said, + “and they're doing it beautiful. Marble slabs, bless you, like a butcher's + counter; carpets as soft as daisies, and looking-glasses as tall as a + man.” + </p> + <p> + Kate had not heard him. She was trying to remember all she knew of the + courts of the island—where they were held, and on what days. + </p> + <p> + “Have you seen Philip lately?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Not since Monday,” said Pete. “He's in Douglas, working like mad to be + here on Monday, God bless him!” + </p> + <p> + “What did he say when he heard we had changed the day?” + </p> + <p> + “Wanted to get out of it first. 'I'm sailing on Tuesday,' said he.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you tell him that <i>I</i> proposed it?” + </p> + <p> + “Trust me for not forgetting that at all. 'Aw, then,' says he, 'there's no + choice left,' he says.” + </p> + <p> + Kate's pale face became paler, the dark circles about her eyes grew yet + more dark. “I think I'll go back to bed, mother,” she said in the same + toneless voice. + </p> + <p> + Pete helped her to the foot of the stairs. The big, moist eyes were + looking at her constantly. She found it hard to keep an equal countenance. + </p> + <p> + “But will you be fit for it, darling?” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “Why, of course she'll be fit, sir,” said Cæsar. “What girl is ever more + than middling the week before she's married?” + </p> + <p> + Next day she persuaded her father to take her to Douglas. She had little + errands there that could not be done in Ramsey. The morning was fine but + cold. Pete helped her up in the gig, and they drove away. If only she + could see Philip, if only Philip could see her, he would know by the look + of her face that the marriage was not of her making—that compulsion + of some sort was being put on her. She spent four hours going from shop to + shop, lingering in the streets, but seeing nothing of Philip. Her step was + slow and weary, her features were pinched and starved, but Cæsar could + scarcely get her out of the town. At length the daylight began to fail, + and then she yielded to his importunities. + </p> + <p> + “How short the days are now,” she said with a sigh, as they ran into the + country. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, they are a cock's stride shorter in September,” said Cæsar; “but + when a woman once gets shopping, Midsummer day itself won't do—she's + wanting the land of the midnight sun.” + </p> + <p> + Pete lifted her out of the gig in darkness at the door of the “Fairy,” + and, his great arms being about her, he carried her into the house and set + her down in the fire-seat. She would have struggled to her feet if she had + been able; she felt something like repulsion at his touch; but he looked + at her with the mute eloquence of love, and she was ashamed. + </p> + <p> + The house was full of gossips that night. They talked of the marriage + customs of old times. One described the “pay-weddings,” where the hat went + round, and every guest gave something towards the cost of the breakfast + and the expenses of beginning housekeeping—rude forefather of the + practice of the modern wedding present. Another pictured the irregular + marriages made in public-houses in the days when the island had three + breweries and thirty drinking shops to every thousand of its inhabitants. + The publican laid two sticks crosswise on the floor, and said to the bride + and bridegroom— + </p> + <p> + “Hop over the sticks and lie crossed on the floor, And you're man and wife + for nevermore.” + </p> + <p> + There was some laughter at this, but Kate sat in the fire-seat and sipped + her tea in silence, and Pete said quietly, “Nothing to laugh at, though. I + remember a girl over Foxal way that was married to a man like that, and + then he went off to Kinsale, and got kept for the herring riots—d'ye + mind them? She was a strapping girl, though, and when the man was gone the + boys came bothering her, first one and then another, and good ones among + them too. And honour bright for all, they were for taking her to the + parzon about right But no! Did they think she was for committing beggamy? + She was married to one man, and wasn't that enough for a dacent girl + anyway. And so she wouldn't and she didn't, and last of all her own boy + came back, and they lived together man and wife, and what for shouldn't + they?” + </p> + <p> + This question from the man who was on the point of going to church was + received with shouts of laughter, through which the voice of Grannie rose + in affectionate remonstrance, saying, “Aw, Pete, it's ter'ble to hear you, + bogh.” + </p> + <p> + “What's there ter'ble about that, Grannie?” said Pete. “Isn't it the + Almighty and not the parzon that makes the marriage?” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, boy veen, boy veen,” cried Grannie, “you was used to be a good man, + but you have fell off very bad.” + </p> + <p> + Kate was in a fever of eagerness. She wanted to open her heart to Pete, to + beg him to spare her, to tell him that it was impossible that they should + ever marry. Pete would see that Philip was her husband by every true law, + human and divine. In this mood she lived through much of the following + day, Friday, tossing and turning in bed, for the exhaustion of the day in + Douglas had confined her to her room again. + </p> + <p> + In the evening she came downstairs, and was established in the fire-seat + as before. There were four or five old women in the kitchen spinning yarn + for a set of blankets which Grannie intended for a wedding present. “When + the day's work was nearly done, two or three old men, the old husbands of + the old women, came to carry their wheels home again. Then, as the wheels + whirred for the last of the twist, Pete set the old crones to tell stories + of old times. + </p> + <p> + “Tell us of the days when you were young, Anne,” said Pete to an ancient + dame of eighty. Her husband of eighty-four sat sucking his pipe by her + side. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said old Anne, stretching her arms to the yarn, “I was as near + going foreign, same as yourself, sir, just as near, now, as makes no + matter. It was the very day I married this man, and his brother was making + a start for Austrillya. Jemmy was my ould sweetheart, only I had given him + up because he was always stealing my pocket-handkerchers. But he came that + morning and tapped at my window, and 'Will you come, Anne?' says he, and I + whipped on my perricut and stole out and down to the quay with him. But my + heart was losing me when I saw the white horses on the water, and home I + came and went to church with this one instead.” + </p> + <p> + While old Anne told her story her old husband opened his mouth wider and + wider, until the pipe-shank dropped out of his toothless gums on to his + waistcoat. Then he stretched his left arm and brought down his clenched + hand with a bang on to her shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “And have you been living with me better than sixty years,” said he, “and + never telling me that before?” + </p> + <p> + Pete tried to pacify his ancient jealousy, but it was not to be appeased, + and he shouldered the wheel and hobbled off, saying, “And I sent out two + pound five to put a stone on the man's grave!” + </p> + <p> + There was loud laughter when the old couple were gone, but Pete said, + nevertheless, “A sacret's a sacret, though, and the ould lady had no right + to tell it. It was the dead man's sacret too, and she's fouled the ould + man's memory. If a person's done wrong, the best thing he can do next is + to say darned little about it.” + </p> + <p> + Kate rose and went off to bed. Another door had been barred to her, and + she felt sick and faint. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0057" id="link2H_4_0057"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVIII. + </h2> + <p> + The next day was Saturday. Kate remembered that Philip came to Ballure on + Saturdays. She felt sure that he would come to Sulby also. Let him only + set eyes on her, and he would divine the trouble that had taken the colour + out of her cheeks. Then he would speak to Pete and to her father; he would + deliver her; he would take everything upon himself. Thus all day long, + like a white-eyed gambler who has staked his last, she waited and listened + and watched. At breakfast she said to herself, “He will come this + morning.” At dinner, “He will come this evening.” At supper, “He will come + tonight.” + </p> + <p> + But Philip did not come, and she grew hysterical as well as restless. She + watched the clock; the minutes passed with feet of lead, but the hours + with wings of fire. She was now like a criminal looking for a reprieve. + Every time the clock warned to strike, she felt one hour nearer her doom. + </p> + <p> + The strain was wearing her out. She reproached Philip for leaving her to + this cruel uncertainty, and she suffered the pangs of one who tries at the + same time to love and to hate. Then she reproached herself with altering + the date of the marriage, and excused Philip on the grounds of her haste. + She felt like a witch who was burning by her own spell. Hope was failing + her, and Will was breaking down as well. Nevertheless, she determined that + the wedding should be postponed. + </p> + <p> + That was on Saturday night. On Sunday morning she had gone one step + farther. The last pitiful shred of expectation that Philip would intervene + seemed then to be lost, and she had resolved that, come what would, she + should not marry at all. No need to appeal to Pete; no necessity to betray + the secret of Philip. All she had to do was to say she would not go on + with the wedding, and no power on earth should compel her. + </p> + <p> + With this determination, and a feeling of immense relief, she went + downstairs. Cæsar was coming in from the preaching-room, and Pete from the + new house at Ramsey. They sat down to dinner. After dinner she would speak + out. Cæsar sharpened the carving-knife on the steel, and said, “We've + taken the girl Christian Killip back to communion to-day.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor thing,” said Grannie, “pity she was ever put out of it, though.” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe so,—maybe no,” said Cæsar. “Necessary anyway; one scabby + sheep infects the flock.” + </p> + <p> + “And has marriage daubed grace on the poor sheep's sore then, Cæsar?” said + Pete. + </p> + <p> + “She's Mistress Robbie Teare and a dacent woman, sir,” said Cæsar, digging + into the beef, “and that's all the truck a Christian church has got with + it.” + </p> + <p> + Kate did not eat her dinner that day, and neither did she speak out as she + had intended. A supernatural power seemed to have come down at the last + moment and barred up the one remaining pathway of escape. She was in the + track of the storm. The tempest was ready to fall on her. Where could she + fly for shelter? + </p> + <p> + What her father had said of the girl had revealed her life to her in the + light of her relation to Philip. The thought of the possible contingency + which she had foreseen with so much joy, as so much power, had awakened + the consciousness of her moral position. She was a fallen woman! What else + was she? And if the contingency befell, what would become of her? In the + intensity of her father's pietistic views the very shadow of shame would + overwhelm his household, overthrow his sect, and uproot his religious + pretensions. Kate trembled at the possibility of such a disaster coming + through her. She saw herself being driven from house and home. Where could + she fly? And though she fled away, would she not still be the cause of + sorrow and disgrace to all whom she left behind—her mother, her + father, Pete, everybody? + </p> + <p> + If she could only tear out the past, at least she could stop this + marriage. Or if she had been a man she could stop it, for a man may sin + and still look to the future with a firm face. But she was a woman, and a + woman's acts may be her own, but their consequences are beyond her. Oh, + the misery of being a woman! She asked herself what she could do, and + there was no answer. She could not break the web of circumstances. Her + situation might be false, it might be dishonourable, but there was no + escape from it. There was no gleam of hope anywhere. + </p> + <p> + Late that night—Sunday night—they were sitting together in the + kitchen, Kate in the fire-seat as usual, Pete on the stool by the turf + closet, smoking up the chimney, Cæsar reading aloud, Grannie listening, + and Nancy cooking the supper, when the porch door burst open and somebody + entered. Kate rose to her feet with a startled cry of joy, looked round + eagerly, and then sat down again covered with confusion. + </p> + <p> + It was the girl Christian Killip, a pale, weak, frightened creature, with + the mouth and eyes of a hare. + </p> + <p> + “Is Mr. Quilliam here?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Here's the man himself, Christian,” said Grannie. “What do you want with + him?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, God bless you, sir,” said the girl to Pete, “God bless you for ever + and ever.” + </p> + <p> + Then turning back to Grannie, she explained in woman's fashion, with many + words, that somebody unknown had sent her twenty pounds, for the child, by + post, the day before, and she had only now guessed who it must be when + John the Clerk had told her what Pete had said a week before. + </p> + <p> + Pete grunted and glimed, smoked up the chimney, and said, “That'll do, + ma'am, that'll do. Don't believe all you hear. John says more than his + Amens, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm axing your pardon, miss,” said the girl to Kate, “but I couldn't help + coming—I couldn't really—no, I couldn't,” and then she began + to cry. + </p> + <p> + “Where's that child?” said Pete, heaving up to his feet with a ferocious + look. “What! you mane to say you've left the lil thing alone, asleep? Go + back to it then immajent. Good night!” + </p> + <p> + “Good night, sir, and God bless you, and when you're married to-morrow, + God bless your wife as well!” + </p> + <p> + “That'll do—that'll do,” said Pete, backing her to the porch. + </p> + <p> + “You desarve a good woman, sir, and may the Lord be good to you both.” + </p> + <p> + “Tut! tut!” said Pete, and he tut-tutted her out of the house. + </p> + <p> + She smoothed her baby's hair more tenderly than ever that night, and + kissed it again and again. + </p> + <p> + Kate could scarcely breathe, she could barely see. Her pride and her will + had broken down utterly. This greathearted man loved her. He would lay + down his life if need be to save her. To morrow he would marry her. Here, + then, was her rock of refuge—this strong man by her side. + </p> + <p> + She could struggle against fate no longer. It's invisible hand was pushing + her on. It's blind power was dragging her. If Philip would not come to + claim her she must marry Pete. + </p> + <p> + And Pete? She meant no harm to Pete. She had not yet thought of things + from Pete's point of view. He was like the camel-bag in the desert to the + terrified wayfarer when the sand-cloud breaks oyer him. He flies to it. It + shelters him. But what of the camel itself, with its head in the storm? + Until the storm is over he does not think of that. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0058" id="link2H_4_0058"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIX. + </h2> + <p> + Meantime Philip himself was in the throes of his own agony. At the news of + Kate's illness he was overwhelmed with remorse, and when he inquired if + she had been delirious, he was oppressed with a sense of meanness never + felt before. At his meeting with Pete he realised for the first time to + what depths his duplicity had degraded him. He had prided himself on being + a man of honour, and he was suddenly thrown out of the paths in which he + could walk honourably. + </p> + <p> + When the first shock of Kate's disaster was over, he remembered the + interview with the Governor. The Deemstership burnt in his mind with a + growing fever of desire, but he did not apply for it. He did not even + mention it to Auntie Nan. She heard of his prospects from Peter Christian + Balla-whaine, who first set foot in her house on this errand of + congratulation. The sweet old soul was wildly excited. All the hopes of + her life were about to be realised, the visions and the dreams were coming + true. Philip was going to regain what his father had lost. Had he made his + application yet? No? He would, though; it was his duty. + </p> + <p> + But Philip could not apply for the Deemstership. To sit down in cold blood + and write to the Home Secretary while Kate was lying sick in bed would be + too much like asking the devil's wages for sacrificing her. Then came Pete + with his talk of the wedding. That did not really alarm him. It was only + the last revolution of the old wheel that had been set spinning before + Pete went away. Kate would not consent. They had taken her consent for + granted. He felt easy, calm, and secure. + </p> + <p> + Next came his old master, the college friend of his father, now promoted + to the position of Clerk of the Polls. He was proud of his pupil, and had + learnt that Philip was first favourite with the Governor. + </p> + <p> + “I always knew it,” he said. “I did, ma'am, I did. The first time I set + eyes on him, thinks I, 'Here comes the makings of the best lawyer in the + island,' and by ——— he's not going to disappoint me + either.” + </p> + <p> + The good fellow was a noisy, hearty, robustious creature, a bachelor, and + when talking of the late Deemster, he said women were usually the chief + obstacles in a man's career. Then he begged Auntie Nan's pardon, but the + old lady showed no anger. She agreed that it had been so in some cases. + Young men should be careful what stumbling-blocks they set up in the way + of their own progress. + </p> + <p> + Philip listened in silence, and was conscious, through all the unselfish + counselling, of a certain cynical bitterness. Still he did not make + application for the Deemstership. Then came Cæsar's letter announcing the + marriage, and even fixing a date for it. This threw him into a fit of + towering indignation. He was certain of undue pressure. They were forcing + the girl. It was his duty to stop the marriage. But how? There was one + clear course, but that course he could not take. He could not go back on + his settled determination that he must not, should not marry the girl + himself. Only one thing was left—to rely on Kate. She would never + consent. Not being able to marry <i>him</i>, she would marry no man. She + would do as he was doing—she would suffer and stand alone. + </p> + <p> + By this time Philip's love, which, in spite of himself, had grown cool + since the Melliah, and in his fierce battle with his worldly aims, + suddenly awakened to fresh violence at the approach of another man. But + his ambition fought with his love, and he began to ask himself if it made, + any difference after all in this matter of Kate whether he took the + Deemstership or left it. Kate was recovering; he had nothing to reproach + himself with, and it would be folly to sacrifice the ambition of a + lifetime to the love of a woman who could never be his, a woman he could + never marry. At that he wrote his letter to the Home Secretary. It was a + brilliant letter of its kind, simple, natural, strong, and judicious. He + had a calm assurance that nothing so good would leave the island, yet he + could not bring himself to post it. Some quiverings of the old tenderness + came back as he held it in his hand, some visions of Kate, with her + twitching lips, her passionate eyes, some whisperings of their smothered + love. + </p> + <p> + Then came Pete again with the decisive blow. Kate <i>had</i> consented. + There was no longer any room for doubt. His former indignation seemed + almost comic, his confidence absurd. Kate was willing to marry Pete, and + after all, what right had he to blame her? What right had he to stop the + marriage? He had wronged the girl enough already. A good man came and + offered her his love. She was going to take it. How should he dare to stop + her from marrying another, being unable to marry her himself? + </p> + <p> + That night he posted his letter to the Home Secretary, and calmed the + gnawings of his love with dreams of ambition. He would regain the place of + his father; he would revive the traditions of his grandfather; the + Christians should resume their ancient standing in the Isle of Man; the + last of their race should be a strong man and a just one. No, he would + never marry; he would live alone, a quiet life, a peaceful one, slightly + tinged with melancholy, yet not altogether unhappy, not without cheer. + </p> + <p> + Under all other emotions, strengthening and supporting him, was a secret + bitterness towards Kate—a certain contempt of her fickleness, her + lightness, her shallow love, her readiness to be off with the old love and + on with the new. There was a sort of pride in his own higher type of + devotion, his sterner passion. Pete invited him to the wedding, but he + would not go, he would invent some excuse. + </p> + <p> + Then came the change of the day to suit his supposed convenience, and also + Kate's own invitation. Very well, be it so. Kate was defying him. Her + invitation was a challenge. He would take it; he would go to the wedding. + And if their eyes should meet, he knew whose eyes must fall. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0059" id="link2H_4_0059"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XX. + </h2> + <p> + Early next day the sleeping morning was awakened by the sound of a horn. + It began somewhere in the village, wandered down the glen, crossed the + bridge, plodded over the fields, and finally coiled round the house of the + bride in thickening groans of discord. This restless spirit in the grey + light was meant as herald of the approaching wedding. It came from the + husky lungs of Mr. Jonaique Jelly. + </p> + <p> + Before daylight “The Manx Fairy” was already astir. Somewhere in the early + reaches of the dawn the house had its last dusting down at the hands of + Nancy Joe. Then Grannie finished, on hearth and griddle, the baking of her + cakes. After that, some of the neighbours came and carried off to their + own fires the beef, mutton, chickens, and ducks intended for the day's + dinner. It was woman's work that was to the fore, and all idle men were + hustled out of the way. + </p> + <p> + Towards nine o'clock breakfast was swallowed standing. Then everybody + began to think of dressing. In this matter the men had to be finished off + before the women could begin. Already they were heard bellowing for help + from unseen regions upstairs. Grannie took Cæsar in hand. Pete was in + charge of Nancy Joe. + </p> + <p> + It was found at the last moment that Pete had forgotten to provide himself + with a white shirt. He had nothing to be married in except the flannel one + in which he came home from Africa. This would never do. It wasn't proper, + it wasn't respectable. There was no choice but to borrow a shirt of + Cæsar's. Cæsar's shirt was of ancient pattern, and Pete was shy of taking + it. “Take it, or you'll have none,” said Nancy, and she pushed him back + into his room. When he emerged from it he walked with a stiff neck down + the stairs in a collar that reached to his ears at either side, and stood + out at his cheeks like the wings of a white bat, with two long sharp + points on the level of his eyes, which he seemed to be watching warily to + avoid the stab of their ironed starch. At the same moment Cæsar appeared + in duck trousers, a flowered waistcoat, a swallow-tail coat, and a tall + hat of rough black beaver. + </p> + <p> + The kitchen was full of men and women by this time, and groups of young + fellows were gathered on the road outside, some with horses, saddled and + bridled for the bride's race home after the ceremony; others with guns + ready loaded for firing as the procession appeared; and others again with + lines of print handkerchiefs, which, as substitutes for flags, they were + hanging from tree to tree. + </p> + <p> + At every moment the crowd became greater outside, and the company inside + more dense. John the Clerk called on his way to church, and whispered Pete + that everything was ready, and they were going to sing a beautiful psalm. + </p> + <p> + “It isn't many a man's wedding I would be taking the same trouble with,” + said John. “When you are coming down the alley give a sight up, sir, and + you'll see me.” + </p> + <p> + “He's only a poor thing,” said Mr. Jelly in Pete's ear as John the Clerk + went off. “No more music in the man than my ould sow. Did you hear the + horn this morning, sir? Never got up so early for a wedding before. I'll + be giving you 'the Black and the Grey' going into the church.” + </p> + <p> + Grannie came down in a gigantic bonnet like a half-moon, with her white + cap visible beneath it; and Nancy Joe appeared behind her, be-ribboned out + of all recognition, and taller by many inches for the turret of feathers + and flowers on the head that was usually bare. + </p> + <p> + Then the church bells began to peal, and Cæsar made a prolonged A—hm! + and said in a large way, “Has the carriage arrived?” + </p> + <p> + “It's coming over by the bridge now,” said somebody at the door, and at + the next moment a covered wagonette drew up at the porch. + </p> + <p> + “All ready?” asked Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “Stop, sir,” said Pete, and then, turning to Nancy Joe, “Is it glad a man + should be on his wedding-day, Nancy?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, of coorse, you goose. What else?” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “Well, no man can be glad in a shirt like this,” said Pete; “I'm going + back to take it off.” + </p> + <p> + Two minutes afterwards he reappeared in his flannel one, under his suit of + blue pilot, looking simple and natural, and a man every inch of him. + </p> + <p> + “Now call the bride,” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0060" id="link2H_4_0060"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXI. + </h2> + <p> + Kate had been kept awake during the dark hours with a sound in her ears + that was like the measured ringing of far-off bells. When the daylight + came she slept a troubled sleep, and when she awoke she had a sense of + stupefaction, as if she had taken a drug, and was not yet recovered from + the effects of it. Nancy came bouncing into her room and crying, “It's + your wedding-day, Kitty!” She answered by repeating mechanically, “It's + your wedding day, Kitty.” + </p> + <p> + There was an expression of serenity on her face; she even smiled a little. + A sort of vague gaiety came over her, such as comes to one who has watched + long in agony and suspense by the bed of a sick person and the person is + dead. Nancy drew the little window curtain aside, stooped down, and looked + out and said, “'Happy the bride the sun shines on' they're saying, and + look! the sun is shining.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but the sun is an old sly-boots,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + They came up to dress her. She kept stumbling against things, and then + laughing in a faint way. The dress was the new one, and when they had put + it on they stood back from her and shouted with delight. She took up the + little broken hand-glass to look at herself. Her great eyes sparkled + piteously. + </p> + <p> + The church bells began to ring her wedding-peal. She had to listen hard to + hear it. All sounds seemed to be very far away; everything looked a long + way off. She was living in a sort of dead white dawn of thought and + feeling. + </p> + <p> + At last they came to say the coach was ready and everything was waiting + for the bride. She repeated their message like a machine, made a slow + gesture, and followed them downstairs. When she got near to the bottom, + she looked around on the faces below as if expecting to see somebody. Just + then her father was saying, “Mr. Christian is to meet us at the church.” + </p> + <p> + She smiled faintly and answered the people's greetings in an indistinct + tone. There was some indulgent whispering at sight of her pale face. “Pale + but genteel,” said some one, and then Nancy reached over and drew the + bride's veil down over her face. + </p> + <p> + At the next minute she was outside the house, standing at the back of the + wagonette. The coachman, with his white rosette, was holding the door open + on one side, and her father was elevating her hand on the other. + </p> + <p> + “Am I to go, then?” she asked in a helpless voice. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what do <i>you</i> think?” said Cæsar. “Shall the man slip off and + get married to himself, think you?” + </p> + <p> + There was laughter among the people standing round, and she laughed also + and stepped into the coach. Her mother followed her, crinkling in noisy + old silk, and Nancy Joe came next, smelling of lavender and hair-oil. Then + her father got in, and then Pete, with his great warm presence. + </p> + <p> + A salute of six guns was fired straight up by the coach-windows. The + horses pranced, Nancy screamed, and Grannie started, but Kate gave no + sign. People were closing round the coach-door and shouting altogether as + at a fair. “Good luck to you, boy. Good luck! Good luck!” Pete was + answering in a rolling voice that seemed to be lifting the low roof off, + and at the same time flinging money out in handfuls as the horses moved + away. + </p> + <p> + They were going slowly down the road. From somewhere in front came the + sound of a clarionet. It was playing “the Black and the Grey.” Immediately + behind there was the tramp of people walking with an even step, and on + either side the rustle of an irregular crowd. The morning was warm and + beautiful. Here and there the last of the golden cushag glistened on the + hedges with the first of the autumn gorse. They passed two or three houses + that had been made roofless by the recent storm, and once or twice they + came on a fallen tree-trunk with its thin leaves yellowing on the fading + grass. + </p> + <p> + Kate was floating vaguely through these sights and sounds. It was all like + a dream to her—a waking dream in shadow-land. She knew where she was + and where she was going. Some glimmering of hope was left yet. She was + half expecting a miracle of some sort. Philip would be at the church. + Something supernatural would occur. + </p> + <p> + They drew up sharply, the glass of the windows rattled, and the talk that + had been going on in the carriage ceased. “Here we are,” cried Cæsar; + there were voices outside, and then the others inside stepped down. She + saw a hand held out to her and knew whose it was before her eyes had risen + to the face. Philip was there. He was helping her to alight. + </p> + <p> + “Am I to get down too?” she asked in a helpless way. + </p> + <p> + Cæsar said something that made the people laugh again, and then she smiled + like faded sunshine and took the hand of Philip. She held it a moment as + if expecting him to say something, but he only raised his hat. His face + was white as marble. He will speak yet, she thought. + </p> + <p> + Over the gateway to the churchyard there was an arch of flowers and + evergreens, with an inscription in coloured letters: “God bless the happy + pair.” The sloping path going down as to a dell was strewn with gilvers + and slips of fuchsia. + </p> + <p> + At the bottom stood the old church mantled in ivy, like a rock of the sea + covered by green moss. + </p> + <p> + Leaning on her father's arm she walked in at the porch. The church was + full of people. As they passed under the gallery there was a twittering as + of birds. The Sunday-school girls were up there, looking down and talking + eagerly. Then the coughing and hemming ceased; there was a sort of deep + inspiration; the church seemed to hold its breath for a moment. After that + there were broken exclamations, and the coughing and hemming began again. + “How pale!”—“Not fit, poor thing.” Everybody was pitying her starved + features. + </p> + <p> + “Stand here,” said somebody in a soft voice. + </p> + <p> + “Must I?” she said quite loudly. + </p> + <p> + All at once she was aware that she was alone before the communion rail, + with the parson—old ruddy-faced Parson Quiggin—in his white + surplice facing her. Some one came and stood beside her. It was Pete. She + did not look at him, but she felt his warm presence again, and was + relieved. It was like shelter from the eyes around. After a moment she + turned about Philip was one step behind Pete. His head was bent. + </p> + <p> + Then the service began. The voice of the parson muttered words in a low + voice, but she did not listen. She found herself trying to spell out the + Manx text printed over the chancel arch: “Bannet T'eshyn Ta Cheet ayns + Ennyn y Chearn” (“Blessed is he that cometh in the name of the Lord”). + </p> + <p> + Suddenly the words the parson was speaking leapt into meaning and made her + quiver. + </p> + <p> + “.... is commended of Saint Paul to be honourable among all men, and + therefore not by any to be enterprised, nor taken in hand unadvisedly, + lightly, or wantonly——” + </p> + <p> + She seemed to know that Philip's eyes were on her. They were on the back + of her head, and the veil over her face began to shake. + </p> + <p> + The voice of the parson was going on again— + </p> + <p> + “Therefore if any man can show just cause why they may not lawfully be + joined together, let him now speak, or else hereafter for ever hold his + peace.” + </p> + <p> + She turned half around. Her eyes fell on Philip. His face was colourless, + almost fierce; his forehead was deathly white. She was sure that something + was about to happen. + </p> + <p> + Now was the moment for the miracle. It seemed to her as if the whole + congregation were beginning to divine what tie there was between him and + her. She did not care, for he would soon declare it. He was going to do so + now; he had raised his head, he was about to speak. + </p> + <p> + No, there was no miracle. Philip's eyes fell before her eyes, and his head + went down. He was only digging at the red baize with one of his feet. She + felt tired, so very tired, and oh! so cold. The parson had gone on with + his reading. When she caught up with him he was saying— + </p> + <p> + “—as ye shall, answer at the great day of judgment, when the secrets + of all hearts shall be disclosed, that if either of you know any + impediment why ye may not be lawfully joined together in matrimony, ye do + now confess it.” + </p> + <p> + The parson paused. He had always paused at that point. The pause had no + meaning for him, but for Kate how much! Impediment! There was indeed an + impediment. Confess? How could she ever confess? The warning terrified + her. It seemed to have been made for her alone. She had heard it before, + and thought nothing of it. Now it seemed to scorch her very soul. She + began to tremble violently. + </p> + <p> + There was an indistinct murmur which she did not catch. The parson seemed + to be speaking to Pete— + </p> + <p> + “—love her, comfort her, honour and keep her... so long as ye both + shall live.” + </p> + <p> + And then came Pete's voice, full and strong from his great chest, but far + off, and going by her ear like a voice in a shell—“I will.” + </p> + <p> + After that the parson's words seemed to be falling on her face. + </p> + <p> + “Wilt thou have this man to thy wedded husband, to live together after + God's ordinance in the holy estate of matrimony? Wilt thou obey him and + serve him, love, honour, and keep him in sickness and in health; and + forsaking all other, keep thee unto him, so long as ye both shall live?” + </p> + <p> + Kate was far away. She was spelling out the Manx text, “Bannet T'eshyn Ta + Cheet,” but the letters were dancing in and out of each other, and yellow + lights were darting from her eyes. Suddenly she was aware that the + parson's voice had stopped. There was blank silence, then an uneasy + rustle, and then somebody was saying something in a soft tone. + </p> + <p> + “Eh?” she said aloud. + </p> + <p> + The parson's voice came now in a whisper at her breast—“Say, 'I + will.'” + </p> + <p> + “Ah I,” she murmured. + </p> + <p> + “I-will! That's all, my dear. Say it with me, 'I—will.'” + </p> + <p> + She framed her lips to speak, but the words were half uttered by the + parson. The next thing she knew was that a stray hand was holding her + hand. She felt more safe now that her poor cold fingers lay in that big + warm palm. + </p> + <p> + It was Pete, and he was speaking again. She did not so much hear him as + feel his voice tingling through her veins. + </p> + <p> + “I, Peter Quilliam, take thee, Katherine Cregeen——'” + </p> + <p> + But it was all a vague murmur, fraying off into nothing, ending like a + wave with a long upward plash of low sound. + </p> + <p> + The parson was speaking to her again, softly, gently, caressingly, almost + as if she were a frightened child. “Don't be afraid, my dear! try to speak + after me. Take your time.” + </p> + <p> + Then, aloud, “'I, Katherine Cregeen.'” + </p> + <p> + Her throat gurgled; she faltered, but she spoke at length in the toneless + voice of one who speaks in sleep. + </p> + <p> + “'I, Katherine Cregeen—-'” + </p> + <p> + “'Take thee, Peter Quilliam——'” + </p> + <p> + The toneless voice broke—— “take thee, Peter Quilliam———'” + </p> + <p> + And then all came in a rush, with some of the words distinctly repeated, + and some of them droned and dropped— + </p> + <p> + “—'to my wedded husband, to have and to hold——-'” + </p> + <p> + “—'have and to hold——-'” + </p> + <p> + “—'from this day forward.... till death do us part——-'” + </p> + <p> + “—'death do us part———'” + </p> + <p> + “—'therefore I give thee my troth———'” + </p> + <p> + “—'troth———'” + </p> + <p> + The last word fell like a broken echo, and then there was a rustle in the + church, and much audible breathing. Some of the school-girls in the + gallery were reaching over the pews with parted lips and dancing eyes. + </p> + <p> + Pete had taken her left hand, and was putting the ring on her finger. She + was conscious of his warm breath and of the words— + </p> + <p> + “With this ring I thee wed, with my body I thee worship, and with all my + worldly goods I thee endow, Amen.” + </p> + <p> + Again she left her cold hand in Pete's warm hand. He was stroking it on + the outside with his other one. + </p> + <p> + It was all a dream. She seemed to rally from it as she moved down the + aisle. Ghostly faces were smiling at her out of the air on either side, + and the choir in the gallery behind the school-girls were singing the + psalm, with John the Clerk's husky voice drawling out the first word of + each new verse as his companions were singing the last word of the + preceding one— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Thy wife shall be as the fruitful vine upon the walls of thine house; + Thy children like the olive branches round about thy table. + As it was in the beginning, is now, and ever shall be; + World without end, A—men.” + </pre> + <p> + They were all in the vestry now, standing together in a group. Her mother + was wiping her eyes, Pete was laughing, and Nancy Joe was nudging him and + saying in an audible whisper, “Kiss her, man—it's only respectable.” + </p> + <p> + The parson was leaning over the table. He spoke to Pete, and then said, “A + substantial mark, too. The lady's turn next.” + </p> + <p> + The open book was before her, and the pen was put into her hand. When she + laid it down, the parson returned his spectacles to their sheath, and a + nervous voice, which thrilled and frightened her, said from behind, “Let + me be the first to wish you happiness, Mrs. Quilliam.” + </p> + <p> + It was Philip. She turned towards him, and their eyes met for a moment. + But she was only conscious of his prominent nose, his clear-cut chin, his + rapid smile like sunshine, disappearing as before a cloud. He said + something else—something about a new life and a new beginning—but + she could not gather its meaning, her mind would not take it in. At the + next moment they were all in the open air. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0061" id="link2H_4_0061"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXII. + </h2> + <p> + Philip had been in torment—first the torment of an irresistible + hatred of Kate. He knew that this hatred was illogical, that it was + monstrous; but it supported his pride, it held him safe above + self-contempt in being present at the wedding. When the carriage drew up + at the church gate, and he helped Kate to alight, he thought she looked up + at him as one who says, “You see, things are not so bad after all!” And + when she turned her face to him at the beginning of the service, he + thought it wore a look of fierce triumph, of victory, of disdain. But as + the ceremony proceeded and he observed her absent-ness, her vacancy, her + pathetic imbecility, he began to be oppressed by an awful sense of her + consciousness of error. Was she taking this step out of pique? Was she + thinking to punish him, forgetting the price she would have to pay? Would + she awake to-morrow morning with her vexation and vanity gone, face to + face with a hideous future—the worst and most terrible that is + possible to any woman—that of being married to one man and loving + another? + </p> + <p> + Faugh! Would his own vanity haunt him even there? Shame, shame! He forced + himself to do the duty of a best man. In the vestry he approached the + bride and muttered the conventional wishes. His heart was devouring itself + like a rapid fire, and it was as much as he could do to look into her + piteous eyes and speak. Struggle as he might at that moment, he could not + put out of his heart a passionate tenderness. This frightened him, and + straightway he resolved to see no more of Kate. He must be fair to her, he + must be true to himself. But walking behind her up the path strewn with + flowers from the church door to the gate, the gnawings of the worm of + buried love came on him again, and he felt like a man who was being + dragged through the dirt. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0062" id="link2H_4_0062"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXIII. + </h2> + <p> + Four saddle-horses, each with its rider seated and ready, had been waiting + at the churchyard gate, pawing up the gravel. The instant the bride and + bridegroom came out of the church the horses set off for Cæsar's house at + a furious gallop. Kate and Pete, Cæsar, Grannie, and Nancy, with the + addition of Philip and Parson Quiggin, returned in the covered carriage. + </p> + <p> + At the turn of the road the way was blocked by a group of stalwart girls + out of the last of the year's cornfields. With the straw rope of the + stackyard stretched across, they demanded toll before the carriage would + be allowed to pass. Pete, who sat by the door, put his head out and + inquired solemnly if the highway women would take their charge in silver + or in kind—half-a-crown apiece or a kiss all round. They laughed, + and answered that they saw no objection to taking both. Whereupon Pete, + whispering behind his hand that the mistress was looking, tossed into the + air a paper bag, which rose like a cannon-ball, broke in the air like a + shell, and fell over their white sun-bonnets like a shower. + </p> + <p> + At the door of “The Manx Fairy” the four riders were waiting with smoking + horses. The first to arrive had been rewarded already with a bottle of + rum. He had one other ancient privilege. As the coach drove up to the + door, he stepped up to the bride with the wedding-cake and broke it over + her head. Then there was a scramble for the pieces among the girls who + gathered round her, that they might take them to bed and dream of a day to + come when they should themselves be as proud and happy. + </p> + <p> + The wedding-breakfast (a wedding-dinner) was laid in the loft of the mill, + the chapel of The Christians. Cæsar sat at the head of the table, with + Grannie on one side and Kate on the other. Pete sat next to Kate, and + Philip next to Grannie. The parson sat at the foot with Nancy Joe, a lady + of consequence, receiving much consideration, at his reverent right hand. + Jonaique Jelly sat midway down the table, with a fine scorn on his + features, for John the Clerk sat opposite with a fiddle gripped between + his knees. + </p> + <p> + The neighbours brought in the joints of beef and mutton, the chickens and + the ducks. Cæsar and the parson carved. Black Tom, who had been invited by + way of truce, served out the liquor from an eighteen-gallon cask, and + sucked it up himself like the sole of an old shoe. Then Cæsar said grace, + and the company fell to. Such noise, such sport, such chaff, such + laughter! Everything was a jest—every word had wit in it. “How are + you doing, John?”—“Haven't done as well for a month, sir; but what's + it saying, two hungry meals make the third a glutton.”—“How are <i>you</i> + doing, Tom?”—“No time to get a right mouthful for myself Cæsar; kept + so busy with the drink.”—“Aw, there'll be some with their top works + hampered soon.”—“Got plenty, Jonaique?”—“Plenty, sir, plenty. + Enough down here to victual a menagerie. It'll be Sunday every day of the + week with the man that's getting the lavings.”—“Take a taste of this + beef before it goes, Mr. Thomas Quilliam, or do you prefer the mutton?”—“I'm + not partic'lar, Mr. Cregeen. Ateing's nothing to me but filling a sack + that's empty.” + </p> + <p> + Grannie praised the wedding service—it was lovely—it was + beautiful—she didn't think the ould parzon could have made the like; + but Cæsar criticised both church and clergy—couldn't see what for + the cross on the pulpit and the petticoat on the parson. “Popery, sir, + clane Popery,” he whispered across Grannie to Philip. + </p> + <p> + Away went the shanks of mutton, the breasts of birds, and the slabs of + beef, and up came an apple-pudding as round as a well-fed salmon, and as + long as a twenty-pound cod. There was a shout of welcome. “None of your + dynamite pudding that,—as green as grass and as sour as vinegar.” + </p> + <p> + Kate was called on to make the first cut of the monster. A faint colour + had returned to her cheeks since she had come home. She was talking a + little, and even laughing sometimes, as if the weight on her heart was + lightening every moment. She rose at the call, took, with the hand nearest + to the dish, the knife that her father held out, and plunged it into the + pudding. As she did so, with all eyes upon her, the wedding-ring on her + finger flashed in the light and was seen by everybody. + </p> + <p> + “Look at that, though,” cried Black Tom. “There's the wife for a husband, + if you plaze. Ashamed of showing it, is she? Not she, the bogh.” + </p> + <p> + Then there was much giggling among the younger women, and cries of “Aw, + the poor girl! Going to church has been making her left-handed!” + </p> + <p> + “Time enough, my beauties,” cried Pete; “and mind you're not struck that + way yourselves one of these days.” + </p> + <p> + Away went the dishes, and the parson rose to return thanks. + </p> + <p> + “Never heard that grace but once before, Parson Quiggin,” said Pete, “and + then”—lighting his pipe—“then it was a burial sarvice.” + </p> + <p> + “A <i>burial</i> sarvice!” + </p> + <p> + A dozen voices echoed the words together, and in a moment the table was + quiet. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, though,” said Pete. “It was up at Johannesburg. Two chums settled + there, and one married a girl. Nice lil thing, too; some of the Boer + girls, you know; but not much ballast at her at all. The husband went up + country for the Consolidated Co., and when he came back there was trouble. + Chum had been sweethearting the wife a bit!” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, dear!”—“Aw, well, well!” + </p> + <p> + “Do? The husband? He went after the chum with a repeater, and took him. + Bath-chair sort of a chap—no fight in him at all. 'Mercy!' he cries. + 'I can't,' says the husband. 'Forgive him this once,' says the wife. 'It's + only once a woman loses herself,' says the man. 'Mercy, mercy!' 'Say your + prayers.' 'Mercy, mercy, mercy!' 'Too late!' and the husband shot him + dead. The woman dropped in a faint, but the man said, 'He didn't say his + prayers, though—I must be doing it for him.' Then down he went on + his knees by the body, but the prayers were all forgot at him—all + but the bit of a grace, so he said that instead.” + </p> + <p> + Loud breathings on every side followed Pete's story, and Cæsar, leaning + over towards Philip, whose face had grown ashy, said, “Terrible, sir, + terrible! But still and for all, right enough, though, eh! What's it + saying, Better an enemy than a bad friend.” + </p> + <p> + Philip answered absently; his eyes were on the opposite side of the table. + There was a sudden rising of the people about Kate. + </p> + <p> + “Water, there,” shouted Pete. “It's a thundering blockhead I am for sure—frightning + the life out of people with stories fit for a funeral.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” said Kate; “I'm not faint Why should you think so?” + </p> + <p> + “Of coorse, not, bogh,” said Nancy, who was behind her in a twinkling. + “White is she? Well, what of it, man? It's only becoming on a girl's + wedding-day. Take a lil sup, though, woman—there, there!” + </p> + <p> + Kate drank the water, with the glass jingling against her teeth, and then + began to laugh. The parson's ruddy face rose at the end of the table. + “Friends,” he said, “after that tragic story, let us indulge in a little + vanity. Fill up your glasses to the brim, and drink with me to the health + of the happy couple. We all know both of them. We know the bride for a + good daughter and a sweet girl—one so naturally pure that nobody can + ever say an evil word or think an evil thought when she is near. We know + the bridegroom for a real Manxman, simple and rugged and true, who says + all he thinks and thinks all he says. God has been very good to them. Such + virginal and transparent souls have much to be thankful for. It is not for + them to struggle with that worst enemy of man, the enemy that is within, + the enemy of bad passions. So we can wish them joy on their union with a + full heart and a sure hope that, whatever chance befall them on the ways + of this world, they will be happy and content.” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, the beautiful advice,” said Grannie, wiping her eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Popery, just Popery,” muttered Cæsar. “What about original sin?” + </p> + <p> + There was a chorus of applause. Kate was still laughing. Philip's head was + down. + </p> + <p> + “And now, friends,” continued the parson, “Captain Quilliam has been a + successful man abroad, but he has had to come home to do the best piece of + work he ever did.” (A voice—“Do it yourself, parzon.”) “It is true + I've never done it myself. Vanity of vanities, love is not for me. It's + been the Lord's will to put me here to do the marrying and leave my people + to do the loving. But there is a young man present who has all the world + before him and everything this life can promise except one thing, and + that's the best thing of all—a wife.” (Kate's laughter grew + boisterous.) “This morning he helped his friend to marry a pure and + beautiful maiden. Now let me remind him of the text which says, 'Go thou + and do likewise.'” + </p> + <p> + The toast was drunk standing, with shouts of “Cap'n Pete,” and, amid much + hammering on the table, stamping on the floor, and other thunderings of + applause, Cap'n Pete rolled up to reply. After a moment's pause, in which + he distributed sage winks and nods on every side, he said: “I'm not much + for public spaking myself. I made my best speech and my shortest in church + this morning—<i>I will</i>. The parzon has has been telling my <i>dooiney + molla</i> to do as I have done today. He can't. Begging pardon of the + ladies, there's only one woman on the island fit for him, and I've got + her.” (Kate's laughter grew shrill.) “My wife——” + </p> + <p> + At this word, uttered with an air of life-long familiarity, twenty clay + pipes lost their heads by collision with the table, and Pete was + interrupted by roars of laughter. + </p> + <p> + “Gough bless me, can't a married man mention his wife in company? Well + then. Mistress Cap'n Peter Quilliam——” + </p> + <p> + This mouthful was the signal for another riotous interruption, and a + general call for more to drink. + </p> + <p> + “Won't that do for you neither? I'm not going back on it, though. 'Whom + God hath joined together let no man put asunder'—isn't that it, + Parzon Quiggin? What's it you're saying—no man but the Dempster? + Well, the Dempster's here that is to be—I'll clear him of <i>that</i>, + anyway.” + </p> + <p> + Kate's laughter became explosive and uncontrollable. Pete nodded sideways + to fill up the gap in his eloquence, and then went on. “But if my <i>dooiney + molla</i> can't marry my wife, there's one thing he can do for her—he + can make her house his home in Ramsey when he goes to Douglas for good and + comes down here to the coorts once a fortnight.” + </p> + <p> + Kate laughed more immoderately than ever; but Philip, with a look of + alarm, half rose from his seat, and said across the table, “There's my + aunt at Ballure, Pete.” + </p> + <p> + “She'll be following after you,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “There are hotels enough for travellers,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “Too many by half, and that's why I asked in public,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “I know the brotherly feeling——” began Philip. + </p> + <p> + “Is it a promise?” demanded Pete. + </p> + <p> + “If I can't escape your kindness——” + </p> + <p> + “No, you can't; so there's an end of it.” + </p> + <p> + “It will kill me yet——” + </p> + <p> + “May you never die till it polishes you off.”. + </p> + <p> + At Philip's submission to Pete's will, there was a general chorus of + cheers, through which Kate's shrill laughter rang like a scream. Pete + patted the back of her hand, and continued, “And now, young fellows there, + let an ould experienced married man give you a bit of advice—he + swore away all his worldly goods this morning, so he hasn't much else to + give. I've no belief in bachelors myself. They're like a tub without a + handle—nothing to lay hould of them by.” (Much nudging and + whispering about the bottom of the table.) “What's that down yonder? 'The + vicar,' you say? Aw, the vicar's a grand man, but he's only a parzon, you + see. Mr. Christian, is it? He's got too much work to do to be thinking + about women. We're living on the nineteenth century, boys, and it's + middling hard feeding for some of us. If the fishing's going to the dogs + and the farming going to the deuce, don't be tossing head over tip at the + tail of the tourist. If you've got the pumping engine inside of you, in + plain English, if you've got the indomable character of the rael Manxman, + do as I done—go foreign. Then watch your opportunity. What's + Shake-spar saying?” Pete paused. “What's that he's saying, now?” Pete + scratched his forehead. “Something about a flood, anyway.” Pete stretched + his hand out vigorously. “'Lay hould of it at the flood,' says he, 'that's + the way to make your fortune.'” + </p> + <p> + Then Pete melted to sentiment, glanced down at Kate's head, and continued, + “And when you come back to the ould island—and there isn't no place + like it—you can marry the girl of your heart, God bless her. Work's + black, but money's white, and love is as sweet on potatoes and herrings + three times a day, as on nothing for dinner, and the same every night of + the week for supper. While you're away, you'll be draming of her. 'Is she + faithful?' 'Is she thrue?' Coorse she is, and waiting to take you the very + minute you come home.” Kate was still laughing as if she could not stop. + “Look out for the right sort, boys. Plenty of the like in yet. If the + young men of these days are more smart and more educated than their + fathers, the young women are more handsome and more virtuous than their + mothers. So <i>ben-my-chree</i>, my hearties, and enough in the locker to + drive away the divil and the coroner.” + </p> + <p> + Through the volley of cheers which followed Pete's speech came the voice + of Black Tom, thick with drink, “Drive off the crow at the + wedding-breakfast.” + </p> + <p> + Everybody rose and looked. A great crow, black as night, had come in at + the open door of the mill, calmly, sedately, as if by habit, for the corn + that usually lay there. + </p> + <p> + “It manes divorce,” said Black Tom. + </p> + <p> + “Scare it away,” cried some one. + </p> + <p> + “It's the new wife must do it,” said another. + </p> + <p> + “Where's Kate?” cried Nancy. + </p> + <p> + But Kate only looked and went on laughing as before. + </p> + <p> + The crow turned tail and took flight of itself at finding so eager an + audience. Then Pete said, “Whose houlding with such ould wife's wonders?” + </p> + <p> + And Cæsar answered, “Coorse not, or fairies either. I've slept out all + night on Cronk-ny-airy-Lhaa—before my days of grace, I mane—and + I never seen no fairies.” + </p> + <p> + “It would be a fool of a fairy, though, that would let <i>you</i> see him, + Cæsar,” said Black Tom. + </p> + <p> + At nine o'clock Cæsar's gig was at the door of “The Manx Fairy” to take + the bride and bridegroom home. They had sung “Mylecharane,” and “Keerie fu + Snaighty,” and “Hunting the Wren,” and “The Win' that Shook the Barley,” + and then they had cleared away the tables and danced to the fiddle of John + the Clerk and the clarionet of Jonaique Jelly. Kate, with wild eyes and + flushed cheeks, had taken part in everything, but always fiercely, + violently, almost tempestuously, until people lost enjoyment of her + heartiness in fear of her hysteria, and Cæsar whispered Pete to take her + away, and brought round the gig to hasten them. + </p> + <p> + Kate went up for her cloak and hat, and in the interval between her + departure and reappearance, Grannie and Nancy Joe, both glorified beings, + Nancy with her unaccustomed cap askew, stood in the middle of a group of + women, who were deferring, and inquiring, and sympathising. + </p> + <p> + “I don't know in the world how she has kept up so long,” said Grannie. + </p> + <p> + “And dear heart knows how <i>I'm</i> to keep up when she's gone,” said + Nancy, with her apron to her eyes. + </p> + <p> + Kate came down ready. Everybody followed her into the road, and all stood + round the gig with flashes from the gig-lamps on their faces, while Pete + swung her up into the seat, lifting her bodily in his great arms. + </p> + <p> + “You wouldn't drown yourself to-night for an ould rusty nail, eh, Capt'n?” + cried somebody with a laugh. + </p> + <p> + “You go bail,” said Pete, and he leapt up to Kate's side, twiddled the + reins, cracked the whip, and they drove away. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0063" id="link2H_4_0063"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXIV. + </h2> + <p> + Philip had stood at the door of the porch, struggling to command his soul, + and employing all his powers to look cheerful and even gay. But as Kate + had passed she had looked at him with an imploring look, and then he had + seemed to understand everything—that she had made a mistake and that + she knew it, that her laughter had been bitterer than tears, that some + compulsion had been put upon her, and that she was a wretched and + miserable woman. At the next moment she had gone by with an odour of lace + and perfume; and then a flood of tenderness, of pity, of mad jealousy had + come upon him, and it had been as much as he could do to restrain himself. + One instant he held himself in hand, and at the next the wheels of the gig + had begun to move, the horse had started, the women had trooped into the + house again, and there was nothing before him but the broad back of Cæsar, + who was looking into the darkness after the vanishing gig-lamps, and + breathing asthmatical breath. + </p> + <p> + “Therefore shall a man leave his father and his mother and shall cleave + unto his wife,” said Cæsar. “You're time enough yet, sir; come in, come + in.” + </p> + <p> + But the man was odious to Philip at that moment, the house was odious, the + people and the talk inside were odious, and he slipped away unobserved. + </p> + <p> + Too late! From the torment of his own thoughts he could not escape—his + lost love, his lost happiness, his memories of the past, his dreams of the + future. A voice—it was his own voice—seemed to be taunting him + constantly: “You were not worthy of her. You did not know her value. She + is gone; and what have you got instead!” + </p> + <p> + The Deemstership! That was of no consequence now. A name, an idle name! + Love was the only thing worth having, and it was lost. Without it all the + rest was nothing, and he had flung it away. He had been a monster, he had + been a fool. The thought of his folly was insupportable; the recollection + of his selfishness was stifling; the memory of his calculating + deliberations was dragging him again in the dust. Thus, with a sense of + crushing shame, he plunged down the dark road, trying not to think of the + gig that had gone swinging along in front of him. + </p> + <p> + He would leave the island. To-morrow he would sail for England. No matter + if he lost the chance of promotion. To-morrow, to-morrow! But to-night? + How could he live through the hours until morning, with the black thoughts + which the darkness generated? How could he sleep? How lie awake? What drug + would bring forgetfulness? Kate! Pete! To-night! Oh, God! oh, God! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0064" id="link2H_4_0064"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXV. + </h2> + <p> + Six strides of the horse into the darkness and Kate's hysteria was gone. + She had been lost to herself the whole day-through, and now she possessed + herself again. She grew quiet and silent, and even solemn. But Pete + rattled on with cheerful talk about the day's doings. At the doors of the + houses on the road as they passed, people were standing in the half-light + to wave them salutations, and Pete sent back his answers in shouts and + laughter. Turning the bridge they saw a little group at the porch of the + “Ginger.” + </p> + <p> + “There's company waiting for us yonder,” said Pete, giving the mare a + touch of the whip. + </p> + <p> + “Let us get on,” said Kate in a nervous whisper. + </p> + <p> + “Aw, let's be neighbourly, you know,” said Pete. “It wouldn't be dacent to + disappoint people at all. We'll hawl up for a minute just, and hoof up the + time at a gallop. Woa, lass, woa, mare, woa, bogh!” + </p> + <p> + As the gig drew up at the inn door, a voice out of the porch cried, “Joy + to you, Capt'n, and joy to your lady, and long life and prosperity to you + both, and may the Lord give you children and health and happiness to rear + them, and may you see your children's children, and may they call you + blessed.” + </p> + <p> + “Glasses round. Mrs. Kelly,” shouted Pete. + </p> + <p> + “Go on, please,” said Kate in a fretful whisper, and she tugged at Pete's + sleeve. + </p> + <p> + The stars came out; the moon gave a peep; the late hay of the Curragh sent + a sweet odour through the night. Kate shuddered and Pete covered her + shoulders with a rug. Then he began to sing snatches. He sang bits of all + the songs that had been sung that night, but kept coming back at intervals + to an old Manx ditty which begins— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Little red bird of the black turf ground, + Where did you sleep last night?” + </pre> + <p> + Thus he sang like a great boy as he went rolling down the dark road, and + Kate sat by his side and trembled. + </p> + <p> + They came to the town, rattled down the Parliament Street, passed the + Court-house under the trees, turned the sharp angle by the market-place, + and drew up at Elm Cottage in the corner. + </p> + <p> + “Home at last,” cried Pete, and he leapt to the ground. + </p> + <p> + A dog began to bark inside the house. “D'ye hear him?” said Pete. “That's + the master in charge.” + </p> + <p> + The porch door was opened, and a comfortable-looking woman in a widow's + cap came out with a lighted candle shaded by her hand. + </p> + <p> + “And this is your housekeeper, Mrs. Gorry,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + Kate did not answer. Her eyes had been fixed in a rigid stare on the + hind-quarters of the horse, which were steaming in the light of the lamps. + Pete lifted her down as he had lifted her up. Then Mrs. Gorry took her by + the hand, and saying, “Mind the step, ma'am—this way, ma'am,” led + her through the gate and along the garden path, and up to the porch. The + porch opened on a square hall, furnished as a sitting-room. A fire was + burning, a lamp was lit, the table was laid for supper, and the place was + warm and cosy. + </p> + <p> + “<i>There!</i> What d'ye say to <i>that</i>?” cried Pete, coming behind + with the whip in his hand. + </p> + <p> + Kate looked around; she did not speak; her eyes began to fill. + </p> + <p> + “Isn't it fit for a Dempster's lady?” said Pete, sweeping the whip-handle + round the room like a showman. + </p> + <p> + Kate could bear no more. She sank into a chair and burst into a fit of + tears. Pete's glowing face dropped in an instant. + </p> + <p> + “Dear heart alive, darling, what is it?” he said. “My poor girl, what's + troubling you at all? Tell me, now—tell me, bogh, tell me.” + </p> + <p> + “It's nothing, Pete, nothing. Don't ask me,” said Kate. But still she + sobbed as if her heart would break. + </p> + <p> + Pete stood a moment by her side, smoothing her arm with his hand. Then he + said, with a crack and a quaver in his great voice, “It <i>is</i> hard for + a girl, I know that, to lave father and mother and every one and + everything that's been sweet and dear to her since she was a child, and to + come to the house of her husband and say, 'The past has been very good to + me; but still and for all, I'm for trusting the future to you.' It's hard, + darling; I know it's hard.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, leave me! leave me!” cried Kate, still weeping. + </p> + <p> + Pete brushed his sleeve across his eyes, and said, “Take her upstairs, + Mrs. Gorry, while I'm putting up the mare at the 'Saddle.'” + </p> + <p> + Then he whistled to the dog, which had been watching him from the + hearthrug, and went out of the house. The handle of the whip dragged after + him along the floor. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Gorry, full of trouble, took Kate to her room. Would she not eat her + supper? Then salts were good for headache-should she bring a bottle from + her box? After many fruitless inquiries and nervous protestations, the + good soul bade Kate good-night and left her. + </p> + <p> + Being alone, Kate broke into yet wilder paroxysms of weeping. The + storm-cloud which had been gathering had burst at last. It seemed as if + the whole weight of the day had been deferred until then. The piled-up + hopes of weeks had waited for that hour, to be cast down in the sight of + her own eyes. It was all over. The fight with Fate was done, and the + frantic merriment with which she had kept down her sense of the place + where the blind struggle had left her made the sick recoil more bitter. + </p> + <p> + She thought of Philip, and her trouble began to moderate. Somewhere out of + the uncrushed part of her womanhood there came one flicker of womanly + pride to comfort her. She saw Philip at last from the point of revenge. He + loved her; he would never cease to love her. Do what he might to banish + the thought of her, she would be with him always; the more surely with + him, the more reproachfully and unattainably, because she would be the + wife of another man. If he could put her away from him in the daytime, and + in the presence of those worldly aims for which he had sacrificed her, + when night came he would be able to put her away no more. He would never + sleep but he would see her. In every dream he would stretch out his arms + to her, but she would not be there, and he would awake with sobs and in + torment. There was a real joy in this thought, although it tore her heart + so terribly. + </p> + <p> + She got strength from the cruel comforting, and Mrs. Gorry in the room + below, listening intently, heard her crying cease. With her face still + shut in both her hands, she was telling herself that she had nothing to + reproach herself with; that she could not have acted differently; that she + had not really made this marriage; that she had only submitted to it, + being swept along by the pitiless tide, which was her father, and Pete, + and everybody. She was telling herself, too, that, after all, she had done + well. Here she lay in close harbour from the fierce storm which had + threatened her. She was safe, she was at peace. + </p> + <p> + The room lay still. The night was very quiet within those walls. Kate drew + down her hands and looked about her. The fire was burning gently, and + warming her foot on the sheepskin rug that lay in front of it. A lamp + burned low on a table behind her chair. At one side there was a wardrobe + of the shape of an old press, but with a tall mirror in the door; on the + other side there was the bed, with the pink curtains hanging like a tent. + The place had a strange look of familiarity. It seemed as if she had known + it all her life. She rose to look around, and then the inner sense leapt + to the outer vision, and she saw how it was. The room was a reproduction + of her own bedroom at home, only newer and more luxurious. It was almost + as if some ghost of herself had been there while she slept—as if her + own hand had done everything in a dream of her girlhood wherein common + things had become grand. + </p> + <p> + Kate's eyes began to fill afresh, and she turned to take off her cloak. As + she did so, she saw something on the dressing-table with a label attached + to it. She took it up. It was a little mirror, a handglass like her own + old one, only framed in ivory, and the writing on the label ran— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Insted of The one that is bruk with fond Luv to Kirry. + + peat. +</pre> + <p> + Her heart was now beating furiously. A flood of feeling had rushed over + her. She dropped the glass as if it stung her fingers. With both hands she + covered her face. Everything in the room seemed to be accusing her. + Hitherto she had thought only of Philip. Now for the first time she + thought of Pete. + </p> + <p> + She had wronged him—deeply, awfully, beyond atonement or hope of + forgiveness. He loved her; he had married her; he had brought her to his + home, to this harbour of safety, and she had deceived and betrayed him—she + had suffered herself to be married to him while still loving another man. + </p> + <p> + A sudden faintness seized her. She grew dizzy and almost fell. A more + terrible memory had come behind. The thought was like ravens flapping + their black wings on her brain. She felt her temples beating against her + hands. They seemed to be sucking the life out of her heart. + </p> + <p> + Just then the voice of Pete came beating up the echoes between the house + and the chapel beyond the garden— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Little red bird of the black turf ground, + Where did you sleep last night?” + </pre> + <p> + She heard him open the garden gate, clash it back, come up the path with + an eager step, shut the door of the house and chain it on the inside. Then + she heard his deep voice speaking below. + </p> + <p> + “Better now, Mrs. Gorry?” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, better, sir, yes, and quiet enough this ten minutes.” + </p> + <p> + “Give her time, the bogh! Be aisy with the like, be aisy.” + </p> + <p> + Presently she heard him send off Mrs. Gorry for the night, saying he + should want no supper, and should be going to bed soon. Then the house + became quiet, and the smell of tobacco smoke came floating up the stairs. + </p> + <p> + Kate's hot breath on her hands grew damp against her face. She felt + herself swooning, and she caught hold of the mantelpiece. + </p> + <p> + “It cannot be,” she thought. “He must not come. I will go down to him and + say, 'Pete, forgive me, I am really the wife of another.'” + </p> + <p> + Then she would tell him everything. Yes, she would confess all now. Oh, + she would not be afraid. His love was great. He would do what she wished. + </p> + <p> + She made one step towards the door, and was pulled up as by a curb. Pete + would say, “Do you mean that you have been using me as a cloak? Do you ask + me to live in this house, side by side with you, and let no one suspect + that we are apart? Then why did you not ask me yesterday? Why do you ask + me to-day, when it is too late to choose?” + </p> + <p> + No, she could not confess. If confession had been difficult yesterday, it + was a thousand times more difficult to-day, and it would be a thousand + thousand times more difficult tomorrow. + </p> + <p> + Kate caught up the cloak she had thrown aside. She must go away. Anywhere, + anywhere, no matter where. That was the one thing left to her—the + only escape from the wild tangle of dread and pain. Pete was in the hall; + there must be a way out at the back; she would find it. + </p> + <p> + She lowered the lamp, and turned the handle of the door. Then she saw a + light moving on the landing, and heard a soft step on the stairs. It was + Pete, with a candle, coming up in his stockinged feet. He stopped midway, + as if he heard the click of the latch, and then went noiselessly down + again. + </p> + <p> + Kate closed the door. She would not go. If she left the house that night + she would cover Pete with suspicion and disgrace. The true secret would + never be known; the real offender would never suffer; but the finger of + scorn would be raised at the one man who had sheltered and shielded her, + and he would die of humiliation and blind self-reproach. + </p> + <p> + This reflection restrained her for the moment, and when the stress of it + was spent she was mastered by a fear that was far more terrible. For good + or for all she was now married to Pete, and he had the rights of a + husband. He had a right to come to her, and he <i>would</i> come. It was + inevitable; it had to be. No boy or girl love now, no wooing, no dallying, + no denying, but a grim reality of life—a reality that comes to every + woman who is married to a man. She was married to Pete. In the eye of the + world, in the eye of the law, she was his, and to fly from him was + impossible. + </p> + <p> + She must remain. God himself had willed it As for the shame of her former + relation to Philip, it was her own secret. God alone knew of it, and He + would keep it safe. It was the dark chamber of her heart which God only + could unlock. He would never unlock it until the Day of Judgment, and then + Philip would be standing by her side, and she would cast it back upon him, + and say, “His, not mine, O God,” and the Great Judge of all would judge + between them. + </p> + <p> + But she began to cry again, like a child in the dark. As she threw off her + cloak a second time, her dress crinkled, and she looked down at it and + remembered that it was her wedding-dress. Then she looked around at the + room, and remembered that it was her wedding chamber. She remembered how + she had dreamt of coming in her bridal dress to her bridal room—proud, + afraid, tingling with love, blushing with joy, whispering to herself, + “This is for me—and this—and this. <i>He</i> has given it, for + he loves me and I love him, and he is mine and I am his, and he is my love + and my lord, and he is coming to—” + </p> + <p> + There was a gentle knocking at the door. It made her flesh creep. The + knock came again. It went shrieking through and through her. + </p> + <p> + “Kirry,” whispered a voice from without. + </p> + <p> + She did not stir. + </p> + <p> + “It's only Pete.” + </p> + <p> + She neither spoke nor moved. + </p> + <p> + There was silence for a moment, and then, half nervously, half jovially, + half in laughter, half with emotion as if the heart outside was + palpitating, the voice came again, “I'm coming in, darling!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART4" id="link2H_PART4"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART IV. MAN AND WIFE. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0066" id="link2H_4_0066"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I. + </h2> + <p> + Next morning Kate said to herself, “My life must begin again from to-day.” + She had a secret that Pete did not share, but she was not the first woman + who had kept something from her husband. When people had secrets which it + would hurt others to reveal, they ought to keep them close. Honour + demanded that she should be as firm as a rock in blotting Philip from her + soul. Remembering the promise which Pete had demanded of Philip at the + wedding to make their house his home in Ramsey, and seeing that Philip + must come, if only to save appearances, she asked herself if she ought to + prevent him. But no! She resolved to conquer the passion that made his + presence a danger. There was no safety in separation. In her relation to + Philip she was like the convict who is beginning his life again—the + only place where he can build up a sure career is precisely there where + his crime is known. “Let Philip come,” she thought. She made his room + ready. + </p> + <p> + She was married. It was her duty to be a good wife. Pete loved her—his + love would make it easy. They were sitting at breakfast in the + hall-parlour, and she said, “I should like to be my own housekeeper, + Pete.” + </p> + <p> + “And right, too,” said Pete. “Be your own woman, darling—not your + woman's woman—and have Mrs. Gorry for your housemaid.” + </p> + <p> + To turn her mind from evil thoughts, she set to work immediately, and + busied herself with little duties, little economies, little cares, little + troubles. But the virtues of housekeeping were just those for which she + had not prepared herself. Her first leg of mutton was roasted down to the + proportions of a frizzled shank, and her first pudding was baked to the + colour and consistency of a badly burnt brick. She did not mend rapidly as + a cook, but Pete ate of all that his faultless teeth could grind through, + and laid the blame on his appetite when his digestion failed. + </p> + <p> + She strove by other industries to keep alive a sense of her duty as a + wife. Buying rolls of paper at the paperhanger's, she set about papering + every closet in the house. The patterns did not join and the paste did not + adhere. She initialled in worsted the new blankets sent by Grannie, with a + P and a Q and a K intertwined. Than she overhauled the linen; turned out + every room twice a week; painted every available wooden fixture with paint + which would not dry because she had mixed it herself to save a sixpence a + stone and forgotten the turpentine. Pete held up his hands in admiration + at all her failures. She had thought it would be easy to be a good wife to + a good husband. It was hard—hard for any one, hardest of all for + her. There are the ruins of a happy woman in the bosom of every + over-indulged wife. + </p> + <p> + She could not keep to anything long, but every night for a week she gave + Pete lessons in reading, writing, and arithmetic. His reading was + laborious, his spelling was eccentric, his figuring he did on the tips of + his heavy fingers, and his writing he executed with his tongue in his + cheek and his ponderous thumb down on the pen nib. + </p> + <p> + “What letter is that, Pete?” she said, pointing with her knitting needle + to the page of a book of poems before them. + </p> + <p> + Pete looked up in astonishment. “Is it <i>me</i> you're asking, Kitty? If + <i>you</i> don't know, <i>I</i> don't know.” + </p> + <p> + “That's a capital M, Pete.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it, now?” said Pete, looking at the letter with a searching eye. + “Goodness me, the straight it's like the gate of the long meadow.” + </p> + <p> + “And that's a capital A.” + </p> + <p> + “Sakes alive, the straight it's like the coupling of the cart-house.” + </p> + <p> + “And that's a B.” + </p> + <p> + “Gough bless me, d'ye say so? But the straight it's like the hoof of a + bull, though.” + </p> + <p> + “And M A B spells Mab—Queen Mab,” said Kate, going on with her + knitting. + </p> + <p> + Pete looked up at her with eyes wide open. “I suppose, now,” he said, in a + voice of pride, “I suppose you're knowing all the big spells yourself, + Kitty?” + </p> + <p> + “Not all. Sometimes I have to look in the dictionary,” said Kate. + </p> + <p> + She showed him the book and explained its uses. + </p> + <p> + “And is it taiching you to spell every word, Kitty?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Every ordinary word,” said Kate. + </p> + <p> + “My gough!” said Pete, touching the book with awe. + </p> + <p> + Next day he pored over the dictionary for an hour, but when he raised his + face it wore a look of scepticism and scorn. “This spelling-book isn't + taiching you nothing, darling,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Isn't it. Pete?” + </p> + <p> + “No, nothing,” said Pete. “Here I've been looking for an ordinary word—a + <i>very</i> ordinary word—and it isn't in.” + </p> + <p> + “What word is it?” said Elate, leaning over his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Love</i>,” said Pete. “See,” pointing his big forefinger, “that's + where it ought to be, and where is it?” + </p> + <p> + “But <i>love</i> begins <i>lo</i>,” said Kate, “and you're looking at <i>lu</i>. + Here it is—love.” + </p> + <p> + Pete gave a prolonged whistle, then fell back in his chair, looked slowly + up and said, “So you must first know how the word begins; is that it, + Kitty?” + </p> + <p> + “Why, yes,” said Kate. + </p> + <p> + “Then it's you that's taiching the spelling-book, darling; so we'll put it + back on the shelf.” + </p> + <p> + For a fortnight Kate read and replied to Pete's correspondence. It was + plentiful and various. Letters from heirs to lost fortunes offering shares + in return for money to buy them out of Chancery; from promoters of + companies proposing dancing palaces to meet the needs of English visitors; + from parsons begging subscriptions to new organs; from fashionable ladies + asking Pete to open bazaars; from preachers inviting him to anniversary + tea-meetings, and saying Methodism was proud of him. If anybody wanted + money, he kissed the Blarney Stone and applied to Pete. Kate stood between + him and the worst of the leeches. The best of them he contrived to deal + with himself, secretly and surreptitiously. Sometimes there came + acknowledgments of charities of which Kate knew nothing. Then he would + shuffle them away and she would try not to see them. “If I stop him + altogether, I will spoil him,” she thought. + </p> + <p> + One day the post brought a large envelope with a great seal at the back of + it, and Kate drew out a parchment deed and began to read the indorsement—“'Memorandum + of loan to Cæsar Cre——-'” + </p> + <p> + “That's nothing,” said Pete, snatching the document and stuffing it into + his jacket-pocket. + </p> + <p> + Kate lifted her eyes with a look of pain and shame and humiliation, and + that was the end of her secretaryship. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0067" id="link2H_4_0067"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II. + </h2> + <p> + A month after their marriage a man came through the gate with the air of + one who was doing a degrading thing. The dog, which had been spread out + lazily in the sun before the porch, leapt up and barked furiously. + </p> + <p> + “Who's this coming up the path with his eyes all round him like a + scallop?” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + Kate looked. “It's Ross Christian,” she said, with a catch in her + breathing. + </p> + <p> + Ross came up, and Pete met him at the door. His face was puffy and pale, + his speech was soft and lisping, yet there lurked about the man an air of + levity and irony. + </p> + <p> + “Your dog doesn't easily make friends, Peter,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “He's like his master, sir; it's against the principles of his life,” said + Pete. + </p> + <p> + Ross laughed a little. “Wants to be approached with consideration, does + he, Capt'n?” + </p> + <p> + “You see, he's lived such a long time in the world and seen such a dale,” + said Pete. + </p> + <p> + Ross looked up sharply and said in another tone, “I've just dropped in to + congratulate you on your return home in safety and health and prosperity, + Mr. Quilliam.” + </p> + <p> + “You're welcome, sir,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + Pete led the way indoors. Ross followed, bowed distantly to Kate, who was + unpicking a dress, and took a chair. + </p> + <p> + “I must not conceal from you, however, that I have another object—in + fact, a private matter,” said Ross, glancing at Kate. + </p> + <p> + The dress rustled in Kate's fingers, her scissors dropped on to the table, + and she rose to go. + </p> + <p> + Pete raised his hand. “My wife knows all my business,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Ross gave out another little chirp of laughter. “You'll remember what they + say of a secret, Captain—too big for one, right for two, tight for + three.” + </p> + <p> + “A man and his wife are one, sir—so that's two altogether,” said + Pete. + </p> + <p> + Kate took up the scissors and went on with her work uneasily. Ross twisted + on his seat and said, “Well, I feel I <i>must</i> tell you, Peter.” + </p> + <p> + “Quilliam, sir,” said Pete, charging a pipe; but Ross pretended not to + hear. + </p> + <p> + “Only natural, perhaps, for it—in fact, it's about our father.” + </p> + <p> + “Tongue with me, tongue with thee,” thought Pete, lighting up. + </p> + <p> + “Five years ago he made me an allowance, and sent me up to London to study + law. He believes I've been called to the English bar, and, in view of this + vacant Deemstership, he wants me admitted to the Manx one.” + </p> + <p> + Pete's pipe stopped in its puffing. “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “That's impossible,” said Ross. + </p> + <p> + “Things haven't come with you, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “To tell you the truth, Captain, on first going up I fell into extravagant + company. I thought my friends were rich men, and I was never a niggard. + There was Monty, the patron of the Fancy”—the scissors in Kate's + hand clicked and stopped—and Ross blurted out, “In fact, I've <i>not</i> + been called, and I've never studied at all.” + </p> + <p> + Ross squirmed in his chair, glancing under his brows at Kate. Pete leaned + forward and puffed up the chimney without speaking. + </p> + <p> + “You see I speak freely, Peter—something compels me. Well, if a man + can't reveal his little failings to his own brother, Peter——” + </p> + <p> + “Don't let's talk about brothers,” said Pete. “What am I to do for you?” + </p> + <p> + “Lend me enough to help me to do what our father thinks I've done + already,” said Ross, and then he added, hastily, “Oh, I'll give you my + note of hand for it.” + </p> + <p> + “They're telling me, sir,” said Pete, “your notes of hand are as cheap as + cowries.” + </p> + <p> + “Some one has belied me to you, Captain. But for our father's sake—he + has set his heart on this Deemstership—there may still be time for + it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Pete, striking his open hand on the table, “and better men to + fill it.” + </p> + <p> + Ross glanced at Kate, and a smile that was half a sneer crossed his evil + face. “How nice,” he said, “when the great friends of the wife are also + the great friends of the husband.” + </p> + <p> + “Just so,” said Pete, and then Ross laughed a little, and the clicking of + Kate's scissors stopped again. “As to you, sir,” said Pete, rising, “if + it's no disrespect, you're like the cormorant that chokes itself + swallowing its fish head-ways up. The gills are sticking in your gizzard, + sir, only,” touching Ross's shoulder with something between a pat and + push, “you shouldn't be coming to your father's son to help you to ram it + down.” + </p> + <p> + As Ross went out Cæsar came in. “That wastrel's been wanting something,” + said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “The tide's down on him,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “Always was, and always will be. He was born at low water, and he'll die + on the rocks. Borrowing money, eh?” said Cæsar, with a searching glance. + </p> + <p> + “Trying to,” said Pete indifferently. + </p> + <p> + “Then lend it, sir,” said Cæsar promptly. “He's not to trust, but lend it + on his heirship. Or lend it the ould man at mortgage on Ballawhaine. He's + the besom of fire—it'll come to you, sir, at the father's death, and + who has more right?” + </p> + <p> + The shank of Pete's pipe came down from his mouth as he sat for some + moments beating out the ash on the jockey bar. “Something in that, + though,” he said mechanically. “But there's another has first claim for + all. He'd be having the place now if every one had his own. I must be + thinking of it—I must be thinking of it.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0068" id="link2H_4_0068"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III. + </h2> + <p> + Philip had left the island on the morning after the marriage. He had gone + abroad, and when they heard from him first he was at Cairo. The voyage out + had done him good—the long, steady nights going down the + Mediterranean—walking the deck alone—the soft air—the + far-off lights—thought he was feeling better—calmer anyway. He + hoped they were settled in their new home, and well—and happy. Kate + had to read the letter aloud. It was like a throb of Philip's heart made + faint, feeble, and hardly to be felt by the great distance. Then she had + to reply to it on behalf of Pete. + </p> + <p> + “Tell him to be quick and come out of the land of Egypt and the house of + bondage,” said Pete. “Say there's no manner of sense of a handsome young + man living in a country where there isn't a pretty face to be seen on the + sunny side of a blanket. Write that Kirry joins with her love and best + respects and she's busy whitewashing, and he'd better have no truck with + Pharaoh's daughters.” + </p> + <p> + The next time they heard from Philip he was at Rome. He had suffered from + sleeplessness, but was not otherwise unwell. Living in that city was like + an existence after death—all the real life was behind you. But it + was not unpleasant to walk under the big moon amid the wrecks of the past. + He congratulated Mrs. Quilliam on her active occupation—work was the + same as suffering—it was strength and power. Kate had to read this + letter also. It was like a sob coming over the sea. + </p> + <p> + “Give him a merry touch to keep up his pecker,” said Pete. “Tell him the + Romans are ter'ble jealous chaps, and, if he gets into a public house for + a cup of tay, he's to mind and not take the girls on his knee—the + Romans don't like it.” + </p> + <p> + The last time they heard from Philip he was in London. His old pain had + given way; he thought he was nearly well again, but he had come through a + sharp fire. The Governor had been very good—kept open the + Deemstership by some means—also surrounded him with London friends—he + was out every night. Nevertheless, an unseen force was drawing him home—they + might see him soon, or it might be later he had been six months away, but + he felt that it had not been all waste and interruption—he would + return with a new sustaining power. + </p> + <p> + This letter could not be answered, for it bore no address. It came by the + night-mail with the same day's steamer from England. Two hours later Mrs. + Gorry ran in from an errand to the town saying— + </p> + <p> + “I believe in my heart I saw Mr. Philip Christian going by on the road.” + </p> + <p> + “When?” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “This minute,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “Chut! woman,” said Pete; “the man's in London. Look, here's his letter”—running + his forefinger along the headline—'"London, January 21st—that's + yesterday. See!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Gorry was perplexed. But the next night she was out at the same hour + on the same errand, and came flying into the house with a scared look, + making the same announcement. + </p> + <p> + “See for yourself, then,” she cried, “he's going up the lane by the + garden.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense! it's browning you're ateing with your barley,” said Pete; and + then to Kate, behind his hand, he whispered, “Whisht! It's sights she's + seeing, poor thing—and no wonder, with her husband laving her so + lately.” + </p> + <p> + But the third night also Mrs. Gorry returned from a similar errand, at the + same hour, with the same statement. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure of it,” she panted. She was now in terror. An idea of the + supernatural had taken hold of her. + </p> + <p> + “The woman manes it,” said Pete, and he began to cross-question her. How + was Mr. Christian dressed? She hadn't noticed that night, but the first + night he had worn a coat like an old Manx cape. Which way was he going? + She couldn't be certain which way to-night but the night before he had + gone up the lane between the chapel and the garden. Had she seen his face + at all? The first time she had seen it, and it was very thin and pale. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I wouldn't deceave you, sir,” said Mrs. Gorry, and she fell to + crying. + </p> + <p> + “Gough bless me, but this is mortal strange, though,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “What time was it exactly, Jane?” asked Kate. + </p> + <p> + “On the minute of ten every night,” answered Mrs. Gorry. + </p> + <p> + “Is there any difference in time, now,” said Pete, “between the Isle of + Man and London, Kitty?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing to speak of,” said Kate. + </p> + <p> + Pete scratched his head. “I must be putting a sight up on Black Tom. A + dirty old trouss, God forgive me, if he is my grandfather, but he knows + the Manx yarns about right. If it had been Midsummer day now, and Philip + had been in bed somewhere, it might have been his spirit coming home while + he was sleeping to where his heart is—they're telling of the like, + anyway.” + </p> + <p> + Kate read the mystery after her own manner, and on the following night, at + the approach of ten o'clock, she went into the parlour of the hall, whence + a window looked out on to the road. The day had been dull and the night + was misty. A heavy white hand seemed to have come down on to the face of + sea and land. Everything lay still and dead and ghostly. Kate was in the + dark room, trembling, but not with fear. Presently a form that was like a + shadow passed under a lamp that glimmered opposite. She could see only the + outlines of a Spanish cape. But she listened for the footsteps, and she + knew them. They came on and paused, came up and paused again, and then + they went past and deadened off and died in the dense night-air. + </p> + <p> + Kate's eyes were red and swollen when she came back to supper. She had + promised herself enjoyment of Philip's sufferings. There was no enjoyment, + but only a cry of yearning from the deep place where love calls to love. + She tried afresh to make the thought of Philip sink to the lowest depth of + her being. It was hard—it was impossible; Pete was for ever + strengthening the recollection of him—of his ways, his look, his + voice, his laugh. What he said was only the echo of her own thoughts; but + it was pain and torment, nevertheless. She felt like crying, “Let me alone—let + me alone!” + </p> + <p> + People in the town began to talk of Mrs. Gorry's mysterious stories. + </p> + <p> + “Philip will be forced to come now,” thought Kate; and he came. Kate was + alone. It was afternoon; dinner was over, the hearth was swept, the fire + was heaped up, and the rug was down. He entered the porch quietly, tapped + lightly at the door, and stepped into the house. He hoped she was well. + She answered mechanically. He asked after Pete. She replied vacantly that + he had been gone since morning on some fishing business to Peel. It was a + commonplace conversation—brief, cold, almost trivial. He spoke + softly, and stood in the middle of the floor, swinging his soft hat + against his leg. She was standing by the fire, with one hand on the + mantelpiece and her head half aside, looking sideways towards his feet; + but she noticed that his eyes looked larger than before, and that his + voice, though so soft, had a deeper tone. At first she did not remember to + ask him to sit, and when she thought of it she could not do so. The poor + little words would have been a formal recognition of all that had happened + so terribly—that she was mistress in that house, and the wife of + Pete. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0069" id="link2H_4_0069"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV. + </h2> + <p> + They were standing so, in a silence hard to break, harder still to keep + up, when Pete himself came back, like a rush of wind, and welcomed Philip + with both hands. + </p> + <p> + “Sit, boy, sit,” he cried; “not that one—this aisy one. Mine? Well, + if it's mine, it's yours. Not had dinner, have you? Neither have I. Any + cold mate left, Kitty? No? Fry us a chop, then, darling.” + </p> + <p> + Kate had recovered herself by this time, and she went out on this errand. + While she was away, Pete rattled on like a mill-race—asked about the + travels, laughed about the girls, and roared about Mrs. Gorry and her + ghost of Philip. + </p> + <p> + “Been buying a Nickey at Peel to-day, Phil,” he said; “good little boat—a + reg'lar clipper. Aw, I'm going to start on the herrings myself next sayson + sir, and what for shouldn't I? Too many of the Manx ones are giving the + fishing the goby. There's life in the ould dog yet, though. Would be, + anyway, if them rusty Kays would be doing anything for the industry. + They're building piers enough for the trippers, but never a breakwater the + size of a tooth-brush for the fishermen. That's reminding me, Phil—the + boys are at me to get you to petition the Tynwald Court for better + harbours. They're losing many a pound by not getting out all weathers. But + if the child doesn't cry, the mother will be giving it no breast. So we + mane to squall till they think in Douglas we've got spavined wind or + population of the heart, or something. The men are looking to you, Phil. + 'That's the boy for us,' says they. 'He's stood our friend before, and + he'll do it again,' they're saying.” + </p> + <p> + Philip promised to draw up the petition, and then Mrs. Gorry came in and + laid the cloth. + </p> + <p> + Kate, meanwhile, had been telling herself that she had not done well. + Where was the satisfaction she had promised herself on the night of her + wedding-day, when she had seen Philip from the height of a great revenge, + if she allowed him to think that she also was suffering? She must be + bright, she must be gay, she must seem to be happy and in love with her + husband. + </p> + <p> + She returned to the hall-parlour with a smoking dish, and a face all + sunshine. + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid they're not very good, dear,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Chut!” said Pete; “we're not particular. Phil and I have roughed it + before to-day.” + </p> + <p> + She laughed merrily, and, under pretext of giving orders, disappeared + again. But she had not belied the food she had set on the table. The + mutton was badly fed, badly killed, badly cut, and, above all, badly + cooked. To eat it was an ordeal. Philip tried hard not to let Pete see how + he struggled. Pete fought valiantly to conceal his own efforts. The + perspiration began to break out on their foreheads. Pete stopped in the + midst of some wild talk to glance up at Philip. Philip tore away with + knife and fork and answered vaguely. Then Pete looked searchingly around, + rose on tiptoe, went stealthily to the kitchen door, came back, caught up + a piece of yellow paper from the sideboard, whipped the chops into it from + his own plate and then from Philip's, and crammed them into his jacket + pocket. + </p> + <p> + “No good hurting anybody's feelings,” said he; and then Kate reappeared + smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Finished already?” she said with an elevation of pitch. + </p> + <p> + “Ha! ha!” laughed Pete. “Two hungry men, Kate! You'd rather keep us a week + than a fortnight, eh?” + </p> + <p> + Kate stood over the empty dish with a look of surprise. Pete winked + furiously at Philip. Philip's eyes wandered about the tablecloth. + </p> + <p> + “<i>She</i> isn't knowing much about a hungry man's appetite, is she, + Phil?” + </p> + <p> + “But,” said Kate—“but,” she stammered—“what's become of the + bones?” + </p> + <p> + Pete scratched his chin through his beard. “The bones? Oh, the bones? Aw, + no, we're not ateing the bones, at all.” Then with a rush, as his eyes + kindled, “But the dog, you see—coorse we always give the bones to + the dog—Dempster's dead on bones.” + </p> + <p> + Dempster was lying at the moment full length under the table, snoring + audibly. Mrs. Gorry cleared the cloth, and Kate took up her sewing and + turned towards the sideboard. + </p> + <p> + “Has any one seen my pattern?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Pattern?” said Pete, diving into his jacket-pocket. “D'ye say pattern,” + he muttered, rummaging at his side. “Is this it?” and out came the yellow + paper, crumpled and greasy, which had gone in with the chops. “Bless me, + the stupid a man is now—I took it for a pipe-light.” + </p> + <p> + Kate's smile vanished, and she fled out to hide her face. Then Pete + whispered to Philip, “Let's take a slieu round to the 'Plough.'” + </p> + <p> + They were leaving the house on that errand when Kate came back to the + hall. “Just taking a lil walk, Kirry,” said Pete. “They're telling me it's + good wonderful after dinner for a wake digestion of the chest,” and he + coughed repeatedly and smote his resounding breast. + </p> + <p> + “Wait a moment and I'll go with you,” said Kate. + </p> + <p> + There was no help for it. Kate's shopping took them in the direction of + the “Plough.” Old Mrs. Beatty, the innkeeper, was at the door as they + passed, and when she saw Pete approaching on the inside of the three, she + said aloud—meaning no mischief—“Your bread and cheese and + porter are ready, as usual, Capt'n.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0070" id="link2H_4_0070"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V. + </h2> + <p> + The man was killing her. To be his spoiled and adored wife, knowing she + was unworthy of his love and tenderness, was not happiness—it was + grinding misery, bringing death into her soul. If he had blamed her for + her incompetence; if he had scolded her for making his home cheerless; + nay, if he had beaten her, she could have borne with life, and taken her + outward sufferings for her inward punishment. + </p> + <p> + She fell into fits of hysteria, sat whole hours listless, with her feet on + the fender. Pete's conduct exasperated her. As time went on and developed + the sweetness of Pete, the man grew more and more distasteful to her, and + she broke into fits of shrewishness. Pete hung his head and reproached + himself. She wasn't to mind if he said things—he was only a rough + fellow. Then she burst into tears and asked him to forgive her, and he was + all cock-a-hoop in a moment, like a dog that is coaxed after it has been + beaten. + </p> + <p> + Her sufferings reached a climax—she became conscious that she was + about to become a mother. This affected her with terrible fears. She went + back to that thought of a possible contingency which had torn her with + conflicting feelings on the eve of her marriage. It was impossible to be + sure. The idea might be no more than a morbid fancy, born of her + un-happiness, of her secret love for Philip, of her secret repugnance for + Pete (the inadequate, the uncouth, the uncongenial) but nevertheless it + possessed her with the force of an overpowering conviction, it grew upon + her day by day, it sat on her heart like a nightmare—the child that + was to be born to her was not the child of her husband. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0071" id="link2H_4_0071"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI. + </h2> + <p> + In spite of Pete's invitations, Philip came rarely. He was full of excuses—work—fresh + studies—the Governor—his aunt. Pete said “Coorse,” and + “Sartenly,” and “Wouldn't trust,” until Philip began to be ashamed, and + one evening he came, looking stronger than usual, with a more sustaining + cheerfulness, and plumped into the house with the words, “I've come at + last!” + </p> + <p> + “To stay the night?” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “Well, yes,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “That's lucky and unlucky too, for I'm this minute for Peel with two of + the boys to fetch round my Nickey by the night-tide. But youll stay and + keep the wife company, and I'll be back first tide in the morning. You'll + be obliged to him, won't you, Kate?” he cried, pitching his voice over his + shoulder; and then, in a whisper, “She's a bit down at whiles, and what + wonder, and her so near—but you'll see, you'll see,” and he winked + and nodded knowingly. + </p> + <p> + There was no harking back, no sheering off on the score of modesty before + Pete's large faith. Kate looked as if she would cry “Mercy, mercy!” but + when she saw the same appeal on Philip's face she was stung. + </p> + <p> + Pete went off, and then Kate and Philip sat down to tea. While tea lasted + it was not hard to fill the silences with commonplaces. After it was over + she brought him a pipe, and they lapsed into difficult pauses. Philip + puffed vigorously and tried to look happy. Kate struggled not to let + Philip see that she was ill at ease. Every moment their imagination took a + new turn. He began to read a book, and while they sat without speaking she + thought it was hardly nice of him to treat her with indifference. When he + spoke she thought he was behaving with less politeness than before. He + went over to the piano and they sang a part song, “Oh, who will o'er the + downs so free?” Their voices went well enough together, but they broke + down. The more they tried to forget the past the more they remembered it. + He twiddled the backs of his fingertips over the keyboard; she swung on + one foot and held to the candle-bracket while they talked of Pete. That + name seemed to fortify them against the scouts of passion. Pete was their + bulwark. It was the old theme, but played as a tragedy, not as a comedy, + now. + </p> + <p> + “It is delightful to see you settled in this beautiful home,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Isn't</i> it beautiful?” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “You ought to be very happy.” + </p> + <p> + “Why should I not be happy?” with a little laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Why, indeed? A home like a nest and a husband that worships you——-” + </p> + <p> + She laughed again because she could not speak. Speech was thin gauze, + laughter was rolling smoke; so she laughed and laughed. + </p> + <p> + “What a fine hearty creature he is!” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “Isn't he?” said Kate. + </p> + <p> + “Education and intellect don't always go together.” + </p> + <p> + “Any wife might love such a husband,” said Kate. + </p> + <p> + “So simple, so natural, so unsuspicious——-” + </p> + <p> + But that was coming to quarters too close, so they fell back on silence. + The silence was awful; the power of it was pitiless. If they could have + spoken the poorest commonplaces, the spell might have dissolved. Philip + thought he would rise, but he could not do so. Kate tried to turn away, + but felt herself rooted to the spot. With faces aside, they remained some + moments where they were, as if a spirit had passed between them. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Gorry came in to lay the supper, and then Kate recovered herself. She + got back her power of laughter, and laughed at everything. He was not + deceived. “She loves me still,” said the voice of his heart. He hated + himself for the thought, but it haunted him with a merciless persistence. + He remembered the evening of the wedding-day, and the imploring look she + gave him on going away with Pete; and he returned to the idea that she had + been married under the compulsion of her father, Cæsar, the avaricious + hypocrite. He told himself it would be easy to kindle a new fire on the + warm hearth. As she laughed and he looked into her beautiful eyes and + caught the nervous twitch of her mouth, he felt something of the old + thrill, the old passion, the old unconditioned love of her who loved him + in spite of all, and merely because she must. But no! Had he spent six + months abroad for nothing? He would be strong; he would be loyal. If need + be he would save this woman from herself. + </p> + <p> + At last Kate lit a candle and said, “I must show you to your room.” + </p> + <p> + She talked cheerily going upstairs. On the landing she opened the door of + the room above the hall, and went into it, and drew down the blind. She + was still full of good spirits, said perhaps he had no night-shirt, so she + had left out one of Pete's, hoped he would find it big enough, and laughed + again. He took the candle from her at the threshold, and kissed the hand + that had held it. She stood a moment quivering like a colt, then she + bounded away; there was the clash of a door somewhere beyond, and Kate was + in her own room, kneeling before the bed with her face buried in the + counterpane to stifle the sobs that might break through the walls. + </p> + <p> + Under all her lightness, in spite of all her laughter, the old tormenting + thought had been with her still. Should she tell him? Could he understand? + Would he believe? If he realised the gravity of the awful position in + which she was soon to be placed, would he make an effort to extricate her? + And if he did not, would not, could not, should not she hate him for ever + after? Then the old simple love, the pure passion, came hack upon her at + the sight of his face, at the touch of his hand, at the sound of his + voice? Oh, for what might have been—what might have been! + </p> + <p> + Pete's Nickey came into harbour with the morning tide, and the three + breakfasted together. As Kate moved heavily in front of the fire, Pete + crowed, cooed, and scattered wise winks round the table. + </p> + <p> + “More milk, mammy,” he whimpered, and then he imitated all kinds of baby + prattle. + </p> + <p> + After breakfast the men smoked, and Kate took up her sewing. She was + occupying herself with the little labours, so pretty, so full of delicate + humour and delicious joy, which usually open a new avenue for a woman's + tenderness. Philip's eyes fell on her, and she dropped below into her lap + the tiny piece of white linen she was working on. Pete saw this, stole to + the back of her chair, reached over her shoulder, snatched the white thing + out of her fingers, held it outstretched in his ponderous hands, and + roared like a smithy bellows. It was a baby's shirt. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind, darling,” he coaxed, as the colour leapt to Kate's face. + “Philip must be a sort of a father to the boy some day—a godfather, + anyway—so he won't mind seeing his lil shiff. We must be calling him + Philip, too. What do you say, Kirry—Philip, is it agreed?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0072" id="link2H_4_0072"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII. + </h2> + <p> + As her time drew near, the conviction deepened upon her that she could not + be confined in her husband's house. Being there at such a crisis was like + living in a volcanic land. One false step, one passionate impulse, and the + very earth under her feet would split. “I must go home for awhile, Pete,” + she said. + </p> + <p> + “Coorse you must,” said Pete. “Nobody like the ould angel when a girl's + that way.” + </p> + <p> + Pete took her back to her mother's in the gig, driving very slowly, and + lifting her up and down as tenderly as if she had been a child. She + breathed freely when she left Elm Cottage, but when she was settled in her + own bedroom at “The Manx Fairy” she realised that she had only stepped + from misery to misery. So many memories lived like ghosts there—memories + of innocent slumbers, and of gleeful awakenings amid the twittering of + birds and the rattling of gravel. The old familiar place, the little room + with the poor little window looking out on the orchard, the poor little + bed with its pink curtains like a tent, the sweet old blankets, the + wash-basin, the press, the blind with the same old pattern, the sheepskin + rug underfoot, the whitewashed scraas overhead—everything the same, + but, O God! how different! + </p> + <p> + “Let me look at myself in the glass, Nancy,” she said, and Nancy gave her + the handglass which had been cracked the morning after the Melliah. + </p> + <p> + She pushed it away peevishly. “What's the use of a thing like that?” she + said. + </p> + <p> + Pete haunted the house day and night. There was no bed for him there, and + he was supposed to go home to sleep. But he wandered away in the darkness + over the Curragh to the shore, and in the grey of morning he was at the + door again, bringing the cold breath of the dawn into the house with the + long whisper round the door ajar. “How's she going on now?” + </p> + <p> + The women bundled him out bodily, and then he hung about the roads like a + dog disowned. If he heard a sigh from the dairy loft, he sat down against + the gable and groaned. Grannie tried to comfort him. “Don't be taking on + so, boy. It'll be all joy soon,” said she, “and you'll be having the child + to shew for it.” + </p> + <p> + But Pete was bitter and rebellious. “Who's wanting the child anyway?” said + he. “It's only herself I'm wanting; and she's laving me; O Lord, she's + laving me. God forgive me!” he muttered. “O good God, forgive me!” he + groaned: “It isn't fair, though. Lord knows it isn't fair,” he mumbled + hoarsely. + </p> + <p> + At last Nancy Joe came out and took him in hand in earnest. + </p> + <p> + “Look here, Pete,” she said. “If you're wanting to kill the woman, and + middling quick too, you'll go on the way you're going. But if you don't, + you'll be taking to the road, and you won't be coming back till you're + wanted.” + </p> + <p> + This settled Pete's restlessness. The fishing had begun early that season, + and he went off for a night to the herrings. + </p> + <p> + Kate waited long, and the women watched her with trembling. “It's a week + or two early,” said one. “The weather's warm,” said another. “The boghee + millish! She's a bit soon,” said Grannie. + </p> + <p> + There was less of fear in Kate's own feelings. + </p> + <p> + “Do women often die?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “The proportion is small,” said the doctor. + </p> + <p> + Half an hour afterwards she spoke again. + </p> + <p> + “Does the child sometimes die?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I've known it to happen, but only when the mother has had a shock—lost + her husband, for example.” + </p> + <p> + She lay tossing on the bed, wishing for her own death, hoping for the + death of the unborn child, dreading its coming lest she should hate and + loathe it. At last came the child's first cry—that cry out of + silence that had never broken on the air before, but was henceforth to be + one of the world's voices for laughter and for weeping, for joy and for + sorrow, to her who had borne it into life. Then she called to them to show + her the baby, and when they did so, bringing it up with soft cooings and + foolish words, she searched the little wrinkled face with a frightened + look, then put up her arms to shut out the sight, and cried “Take it + away,” and turned to the wall. Her vague fear was a certainty now; the + child was the child of her sin—she was a bad woman. + </p> + <p> + Yet there is no shame, no fear, no horror, but the pleading of a new-born + babe can drown its clamour. The child cried again, and the cruel battle of + love and dread was won for motherhood. The mother heart awoke and swelled. + She had got her baby, at all events. It was all she had for all she had + suffered; but it was enough, and a dear and precious prize. + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure it is well?” she asked. “Quite, quite well? Doesn't its + little face look as if its mammy had been crying—no?” + </p> + <p> + “'Deed no,” said Grannie, “but as bonny a baby as ever was born.” + </p> + <p> + The women were scurrying up and down, giggling on the landings, laughing + on the stairs, and saying <i>hush</i> at their own noises as they crept + into the room. In a fretful whimper the child was still crying, and + Grannie was telling it, with many wags of the head and in a mighty stern + voice, that they were going to have none of its complaining now that it <i>had</i> + come at last; and Kate Herself, with hands clasped together, was saying in + a soft murmur like a prayer, “God is very good, and the doctor is good + too. God is good to give us doctors.” + </p> + <p> + “Lie quiet, and I'll come back in an hour or two,” said Dr. Mylechreest + from half-way through the door. + </p> + <p> + “Dear heart alive, what will the father say?” cried Grannie, and then the + whole place broke into that smile of surprise which comes to every house + after the twin angels of Life and Death have brooded long over its + roof-tree, and are gone at length before the face of a little child. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0073" id="link2H_4_0073"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VIII. + </h2> + <p> + When Pete came up to the quay in the raw sunshine of early morning, John + the Clerk, mounted on a barrel, was selling by auction the night's take of + the boats. + </p> + <p> + “I've news for you, Mr. Quilliam,” he cried, as Pete's boat, with half + sail set, dropped down the harbour. Pete brought to, leapt ashore, and + went up to where John, at the end of the jetty, surrounded by a crowd of + buyers in little spring-carts, was taking bids for the fish. + </p> + <p> + “One moment, Capt'n,” he cried, across his outstretched arm, at the end + whereof was a herring with gills still opening and closing. “Ten maise of + this sort for the last lot, well fed, alive and kicking—how much for + them? Five shillings? Thank you—and three, Five and three. It's in + it yet, boys—only five and three—and six, thank <i>you</i>. + It'll do no harm at five and six—six shillings? All done at six—<i>and + six?</i> All done at six and six?” “Seven shillings,” shouted somebody + with a voice like a foghorn. “They're Annie the Cadger's,” said John, + dropping to the ground. “And now, Capt'n Quilliam, we'll go and wet the + youngster's head.” + </p> + <p> + Pete went up to Sulby like an avalanche, shouting his greetings to + everybody on the way. But when he got near to the “Fairy,” he wiped his + steaming forehead and held his panting breath, and pretended not to have + heard the news. + </p> + <p> + “How's the poor girl now?” he said in a meek voice, trying to look + powerfully miserable, and playing his part splendidly for thirty seconds. + </p> + <p> + Then the women made eyes at each other and looked wondrous knowing, and + nodded sideways at Pete, and clucked and chuckled, saying, “Look at him,—<i>he</i> + doesn't know anything, does he?” “Coorse not, woman—these men + creatures are no use for nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “Out of a man's way,” cried Pete, with a roar, and he made a rush for the + stairs. + </p> + <p> + Nancy blocked him at the foot of them with both hands on his shoulders. + “You'll be quiet, then,” she whispered. “You were always a rasonable man, + Pete, and she's wonderful wake—promise you'll be quiet.” + </p> + <p> + “TO be like a mouse,” said Pete, and he whipped off his long sea-boots and + crept on tiptoe into the room. + </p> + <p> + There she lay with the morning light on her, and a face as white as the + quilt that she was plucking with her long fingers. + </p> + <p> + “Thank God for a living mother and a living child,” said Pete, in a broken + gurgle, and then he drew down the bedclothes a very little, and there, + too, was the child on the pillow of her other arm. + </p> + <p> + Then do what he would to be quiet, he could not help but make a shout. + </p> + <p> + “He's there! Yes, he is! He is, though! Joy! Joy!” + </p> + <p> + The women were down on him like a flock of geese. “Out of this, sir, if + you can't behave better!' + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me, ladies,” said Pete humbly, “I'm not in the habit of babies. A + bit excited, you see, Mistress Nancy, ma'am. Couldn't help putting a bull + of a roar out, not being used of the like.” Then, turning back to the bed, + “Aw, Kitty, the beauty it is, though! And the big! As big as my fist + already. And the fat! It's as fat as a bluebottle. And the straight! Well, + not so <i>very</i> straight, neither, but the complexion at him now! Give + him to me, Kitty I give him to me, the young rascal. Let me have a hould + of him, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Him</i>, indeed! Listen to the man,” said Nancy. + </p> + <p> + “It's a girl, Pete,” said Grannie, lifting the child out of the bed. + </p> + <p> + “A girl, is it?” said Pete doubtfully. “Well,” he said, with a wag of the + head, “thank God for a girl.” Then, with another and more resolute wag, + “Yes, thank God for a living mother and a living child, if it is a girl,” + and he stretched out his arms to take the baby. + </p> + <p> + “Aisy, now, Pete—aisy,” said Grannie, holding it out to him. + </p> + <p> + “Is it aisy broke they are, Grannie?” said Pete. A good spirit looked out + of his great boyish face. “Come to your ould daddie, you lil sandpiper. + Gough bless me, Kitty, the weight of him, though! This child's a quarter + of a hundred if he's an ounce. He is, I'll go bail he is. Look at him! Guy + heng, Grannie, did ye ever see the like, now! It's absolute perfection. + Kitty, I couldn't have had a better one if I'd chiced it. Where's that Tom + Hommy now? The bleating little billygoat, he was bragging outrageous about + his new baby—saying he wouldn't part with it for two of the best + cows in his cow-house. This'll floor him, I'm thinking. What's that you're + saying, Mistress Nancy, ma'am? No good for nothing, am I? You were right, + Grannie. 'It'll be all joy soon,' you were saying, and haven't we the + child to show for it? I put on my stocking inside out on Monday, ma'am. + 'I'm in luck,' says I, and so I was. Look at that, now! He's shaking his + lil fist at his father. He is, though. This child knows me. Aw, you're + clever, Nancy, but—no nonsense at all, Mistress Nancy, ma'am. + Nothing will persuade me but this child knows me.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you hear the man?” said Nancy. “<i>He</i> and <i>he</i>, and <i>he</i> + and <i>he!</i> It's a girl, I'm telling you; a girl—a girl—a + girl.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well, a girl, then—a girl we'll make it,” said Pete, with + determined resignation. + </p> + <p> + “He's deceaved,” said Grannie. “It was a boy he was wanting, poor fellow!” + </p> + <p> + But Pete scoffed at the idea. “A boy? Never! No, no—a girl for your + life. I'm all for girls myself, eh, Kitty? Always was, and now I've got + two of them.” + </p> + <p> + The child began to cry, and Grannie took it back and rocked it, face + downwards, across her knees. + </p> + <p> + “Goodness me, the voice at him!” said Pete. “It's a skipper he's born for—a + harbour-master, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + The child slept, and Grannie put it on the pillow turned lengthwise at + Kate's side. + </p> + <p> + “Quiet as a Jenny Wren, now,” said Pete. “Look at the bogh smiling in his + sleep. Just like a baby mermaid on the egg of a dogfish. But where's the + ould man at all? Has he seen it? We must have it in the papers. The <i>Times?</i>Yes, + and the 'Tiser too. 'The beloved wife of Mr. Capt'n Peter Quilliam, of a + boy—a girl,' I mane. Aw, the wonder there'll be all the island over—everybody + getting to know. Newspapers are like women—ter'ble bad for keeping + sacrets. What'll Philip say? But haven't you a toothful of anything, + Grannie? Gin for the ladies, Nancy. Goodness me, the house is handy. What + time was it? Wait, don't tell me! It was five o'clock this morning, wasn't + it? Yes? Gough bless me, I knew it! High water to the very minute—aw, + he'll rise in the world, and die at the top of the tide. How did I know + when the child was born, ma'am? As aisy as aisy. We were lying adrift of + Cronk ny Irrey Lhaa, looking up for daylight by the fisherman's clock. + Only light enough to see the black of your nail, ma'am. All at once I + heard a baby's cry on the waters. 'It's the nameless child of Earey + Cushin,' sings out one of the boys. 'Up with the clout,' says I. And when + we were hauling the nets and down on our knees saying a bit of a prayer, + as usual, 'God bless my new-born child,' says I, 'and God bless my child's + mother, too,' I says, and God love and protect them always, and keep and + presarve myself as well.'” There was a low moaning from the bed. + </p> + <p> + “Air! Give me air! Open the door!” Kate gasped. + </p> + <p> + “The room is getting too hot for her,” said Grannie. + </p> + <p> + “Come, there's one too many of us here,” said Nancy. “Out of it,” and she + swept Pete from the bedroom with her apron as if he had been a drove of + ducks. + </p> + <p> + Pete glanced backward from the door, and a cloak that was hanging on the + inside of it brushed his face. + </p> + <p> + “God bless her!” he said in a low tone. “God bless and reward her for + going through this for me!” + </p> + <p> + Then he touched the cloak with his lips and disappeared. A moment later + his curly black poll came stealing round the door jamb, half-way down, + like the head of a big boy. + </p> + <p> + “Nancy,” in a whisper, “put the tongs over the cradle; it's a pity to + tempt the fairies. And, Grannie, I wouldn't lave it alone to go out to the + cow-house—the lil people are shocking bad for changing.” + </p> + <p> + Kate, with her face to the wall, listened to him with an aching heart. As + Pete went down the doctor returned. + </p> + <p> + “She's hardly so well,” said the doctor. “Better not let her nurse the + child. Bring it up by hand. It will be best for both.” + </p> + <p> + So it was arranged that Nancy should be made nurse and go to Elm Cottage, + and that Mrs. Gorry should come in her place to Sulby. + </p> + <p> + Throughout four-and-twenty hours thereafter, Kate tried her utmost to shut + her heart to the child. At the end of that time, being left some minutes + alone with the little one, she was heard singing to it in a sweet, low + tone. Nancy paused with the long brush in her hand in the kitchen, and + Granny stopped at her knitting in the bar. + </p> + <p> + “That's something like, now,” said Nancy. + </p> + <p> + “Poor thing, poor Kirry! What wonder if she was a bit out of her head, the + bogh, and her not well since her wedding?” + </p> + <p> + They crept upstairs together at the unaccustomed sounds, and found Pete, + whom they had missed, outside the bedroom door, half doubled up and + holding his breath to listen. + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” said he, less with his tongue than with his mouth, which he pursed + out to represent the sound. Then he whispered, “She's filling all the room + with music. Listen! It's as good as fairy music in Glentrammon. And it's + the little fairy itself that's 'ticing it out of her.” + </p> + <p> + Next day Philip came, and nothing would serve for Pete but that he should + go up to see the child. + </p> + <p> + “It's only Phil,” he said, through the doorway, dragging Philip into + Kate's room after him, for the familiarity that a great joy permits breaks + down conventions. Kate did not look up, and Philip tried to escape. + </p> + <p> + “He's got good news for himself, too” said Pete. “They're to be making him + Dempster a month to-morrow.” + </p> + <p> + Then Kate lifted her eyes to Philip's face, and all the glory of success + withered under her gaze. He stumbled downstairs, and hurried away. There + was the old persistent thought, “She loves me still,” but it was working + now, in the presence of the child, with how great a difference! When he + looked at the little, downy face, a new feeling took possession of him. + Her child—hers—that might have been his also! Had his bargain + been worth having? Was any promotion in the world to be set against one + throb of Pete's simple joy, one gleam of the auroral radiance that lights + up a poor man's home when he is first a father, one moment of divine + partnership in the babe that is fresh from God? + </p> + <p> + Three weeks later, Pete took his wife home in Cæsar's gig. Everything was + the same, as when he brought her, save that within the shawls with which + she was wrapped about the child now lay with its pink eyelids to the sky, + and its fiat white bottle against her breast. It was a beautiful spring + morning, and the young sunlight was on the sallies of the Curragh and the + gold of the roadside gorse. Pete was as silly as a boy, and he chirped and + croaked all the way home like every bird and beast of heaven and earth. + When they got to Elm Cottage, he lifted his wife down as tenderly as if + she had been the babe she had in her arms. He was strong and she was + light, and he half helped, half carried her to the porch door. Nancy was + there to take the child out of her hands, and, as she did so, Pete, back + at the horse's head, cried, “That's the last bit of furniture the house + was waiting for, Nancy. What's a house without a child? Just a room + without a clock.” + </p> + <p> + “Clock, indeed,” said Nancy; “clocks are stopping, but this one's for + going like a mill.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't be tempting the Nightman, Nancy,” cried Pete; but he was full of + childlike delight. + </p> + <p> + Kate stepped inside. The fire burned in the hall parlour, the fire-irons + shone like glass, there were sprigs of fuchsia-bud in the ornaments on the + chimneypiece—everything was warm and cheerful and homelike. She sat + down without taking off her hat. “Why can't I be quiet and happy?” she + thought. “Why can't I make myself love him and forget?” + </p> + <p> + But she was like one who traversed a desert under the sea—a vast + submerged Sahara. Over her head was all her life, with all her love and + all her happiness, and the things around her were only the ghostly shadows + cast by them. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0074" id="link2H_4_0074"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IX. + </h2> + <p> + The more Kate realised that she was in the position of a bad woman, the + more she struggled to be a good one. She flew to religion as a refuge. + There was no belief in her religion, no faith, no creed, no mystical + transports, but only fear, and shame, and contrition. It was fervent + enough, nevertheless. On Sunday morning she went to The Christians, on + Sunday afternoon to church, on Sunday evening to the Wesleyan chapel, and + on Wednesday night to the mission-house of the Primitives. Her catholicity + did not please her father. He looked into her quivering face, and asked if + she had broken any commandment in secret. She turned pale, and answered + “No.” + </p> + <p> + Pete followed her wherever she went, and, seeing this, some of the baser + sort among the religious people began to follow him. They abused each + other badly in their efforts to lay hold of his money-bags. “You'll never + go over to yonder lot,” said one. “They're holding to election—a + soul-destroying doctrine.” “A respectable man can't join himself to + Cowley's gang,” said another. “They're denying original sin, and aren't a + ha'p'orth better than infidels.” + </p> + <p> + Pete took the measure of them all, down to the watch-pockets of their + waistcoats. + </p> + <p> + “You remind me,” said he, “when you're a-gate on your doctrines, of the + Kaffirs out at Kimberley. If one of them found an ould hat in the compound + that some white man had thrown away, they'd light a camp-fire after dark, + and hould a reg'lar Tynwald Coort on it. There they'd be squatting round + on their haunches, with nothing to be seen of them but their eyes and + their teeth, and there'd be as many questions as the Catechism. '<i>Who</i> + found it!' says one. '<i>Where</i> did he find it?' says another. 'If <i>he</i> + hadn't found it, who else would have found it?' That's how they'd be going + till two in the morning, and the fire dead out, and the lot of them + squealing away same as monkeys in the dark. And all about an ould hat with + a hole in it, not worth a ha'penny piece.” + </p> + <p> + “Blasphemy,” they cried. “But still and for all, you give to the widow and + lend to the Lord—you practise the religion you don't believe in, + Cap'n Quilliam.” + </p> + <p> + “There's a pair of us, then.” said Pete, “for you believe in the religion + you don't practise.” + </p> + <p> + But Cæsar got Pete at last, in spite of his scepticism. The time came for + the annual camp-meeting. Kate went off to it, and Pete followed like a big + dog at her heels. The company assembled at Sulby Bridge, and marched + through the village to a revival chorus. They stopped at a field of + Cæsar's in the glen—it was last year's Melliah field—and Cæsar + mounted a cart which had been left there to serve as a pulpit. Then they + sang again, and, breaking up into many companies, went off into little + circles that were like gorse rings on the mountains. After that they + reassembled to the strains of another chorus, and gathered afresh about + the cart for Cæsar's sermon. + </p> + <p> + It dealt with the duty of sinless perfection. There were evil men and + happy sinners in the island these days, who were telling them it was not + good to be faultless in this life, because virtue begot pride, and pride + was a deadly sin. There were others who were saying that because a man + must repent in order to be saved, to repent he had to sin. Doctrines of + the devil—don't listen to them. Could a man in the household of + faith live one second without committing sin? Of course he could. One + minute? Certainly. One hour? No doubt of it. Then, if a man could live one + hour without sin, he could live one day, one week, one month, one year—nay, + a whole lifetime. + </p> + <p> + In getting thus far, Cæsar had worked himself into a perspiration, and he + took off his coat, hung it over the cartwheel, and went on in his + shirt-sleeves. Let them make no excuses for backsliders. It was a trick of + the devil to deal with you, and forget to pay strap (the price). It was an + old rule and a good one that, if any were guilty of the sins of the flesh, + they should be openly punished in this world, that their sins might not be + counted against them in the day of the Lord. + </p> + <p> + Cæsar threw off his waistcoat and finished with a passionate exhortation, + calling upon his hearers to deliver themselves of secret sins. If oratory + is to be judged of by its effects, Cæsar's sermon was a great oration. It + began amid the silence of his own followers, and the <i>tschts</i> and <i>pshaws</i> + of a little group of his enemies, who lounged on the outside of the crowd + to cast ridicule on the “swaddler” and the “publican preacher.” But it + ended amid loud exclamations of praise and supplications from all his + hearers, sighing and groaning, and the bodily clutching of one another by + the arm in paroxysms of fear and rapture. + </p> + <p> + When Cæsar's voice died down like a wave of the sea, somebody leapt up + from the grass to pray. And before the first prayer had ended, a second + was begun. Meantime the penitents had begun to move inward through the + throng, and they fell weeping and moaning on their knees about the cart. + Kate was among them, and, when she took her place, Pete still held by her + side A strong shuddering passed over her shoulders, and her wet eyes were + on the grass. Pete took her hand, and feeling how it trembled, his own + eyes also filled. Above their heads Cæsar was towering with fiery eyes and + face aflame. In a momentary pause between two prayers, he tossed his voice + up in a hymn. The people joined him at the second bar, and then the + wailing of the penitents was drowned in a general shout of the revival + tune— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “If some poor wandering child of Thine + Have spurned to-day the voice divine, + Now, Lord, the gracious work begin, + Let him no more lie down in sin.” + </pre> + <p> + Kate sobbed aloud—poor vessel of human passions tossed about, + tormented by the fire that was consuming her. + </p> + <p> + As the penitents grew calmer, they rose one by one to give their + experience of Satan and salvation. At length Cæsar seized his opportunity + and said, “And now Brother Quilliam will give us his experience.” + </p> + <p> + Pete rose from Kate's side with tearful eyes amid a babel of jubilation, + most of it facetious. “Be of good cheer, Peter, be not afraid.” + </p> + <p> + “I've not much to tell,” said Pete—“only a story of backsliding. + Before I earned enough to carry me up country, I worked a month at Cape + Town with the boats. My master was a pious old Dutchman getting the name + of Jan. One Saturday night a big ship lost her anchor outside, and on + Sunday morning forty pounds was offered for finding it. All the boatmen + went out except Jan. 'Six days shalt thou labour,' says he, 'but the + seventh is the Sabbath.'” + </p> + <p> + Pete's address was here punctuated by loud cries of thanksgiving. + </p> + <p> + “All day long he was seeing the boats beating up the bay, so, to keep out + of temptation, he was going up to the bedroom and pulling the blind and + getting down on his knees and wrastling like mad. And something out of + heaven was saying to him, 'It's the Lord's day, Jannie; they'll not get a + ha'p'orth.' Neither did they; but when Jan's watch said twelve o'clock + midnight the pair of us were going off like rockets. Well, we hadn't been + ten minutes on the water before our grapplings had hould of that anchor.” + </p> + <p> + There were loud cries of “Glory!” + </p> + <p> + “Jan was shouting, 'The Lord has put us atop of it as straight as the lid + of a taypot!'” + </p> + <p> + Great cries of “Hallelujah!” + </p> + <p> + “But when we came ashore we found Jan's watch was twenty minutes fast, and + that was the end of the ould man's religion.” + </p> + <p> + That day the word went round that both Pete and Kate had been converted. + Their names were entered in Class, and they received their quarterly + tickets. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0075" id="link2H_4_0075"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + X. + </h2> + <p> + Next morning Kate set out to church for her churching. Her household + duties had lost their interest by this time, and she left Nancy to cook + the dinner. Pete had volunteered to take charge of the child. This he + began to do by establishing himself with his pipe in an armchair by the + cradle, and looking steadfastly down into it until the little one awoke. + Then he rocked it, rummaged his memory for a nursery song to quiet it, and + smoked and sang together. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “A frog he would a-wooing go, + <i>Kitty alone, Kitty alone</i>, + (Puff, puff.) + A wonderful likely sort of a beau, + <i>Kitty alone and I!</i>” + (<i>Puff, puff, puff</i>.) +</pre> + <p> + The sun was shining in at the doorway, and a man's shadow fell across the + cradle-head. It was Philip. Pete put his mouth out into the form of an + unspoken “Hush,” and Philip sat down in silence, while Pete went on with + his smoke and his song. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “But when her husband rat came home, + <i>Kitty alone, Kitty alone</i>, + Pray who's been here since I've been gone? + <i>Kitty alone and I!</i>” <i>(Puff, Puff)</i> +</pre> + <p> + Pete had got to the middle of the verse about “the worthy gentleman,” when + the low whine in the cradle lengthened to a long breath and stopped. + </p> + <p> + “Gone off at last, God bless it,” said Pete. “And how's yourself, Philip? + And how goes the petition?” + </p> + <p> + With his head on his hand, Philip was gazing absently into the fire, and + he did not hear. + </p> + <p> + “How goes the petition?” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “It was that I came to speak of,” said Philip. “Sorry to say it has had no + effect but a bad one. It has only drawn attention to the fact that Manx + fishermen pay no harbour dues.” + </p> + <p> + “And right too,” said Pete. “The harbours are our fathers' harbours, and + were freed to us forty years ago.” + </p> + <p> + “Nevertheless,” said Philip, “the dues are to be demanded. The Governor + has issued an order.” + </p> + <p> + “Then we'll rise against it—every fisherman in the island,” said + Pete. “And when they're making you Dempster, you'll back us up in the + Tynwald Coort.” + </p> + <p> + “Take care, Pete, take care,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + Then Kate came in from church, and Pete welcomed her with a shout. Philip + rose and bowed in silence. The marks of the prayers of the week were on + her face, but they had brought her no comfort. She had been constantly + promising herself consolation from religion, but every fresh exercise of + devotion had seemed to tear open the wound from which she bled to death. + </p> + <p> + She removed her cloak and stepped to the cradle. The child was sleeping + peacefully, but she convinced herself that it must be unwell. Her own + hands were cold and moist, and when she touched the child she thought its + skin was clammy. Presently her hands became hot and dry, and when she + touched the child again she thought its forehead was feverish. + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure she's ill,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Chut! love,” said Pete; “no more ill than I am.” + </p> + <p> + But, to calm her fears, he went off for the doctor. The doctor was away in + the country, and was not likely to be back for hours. Kate's fears + increased. Every time she looked at the child she applied to it the + symptoms of her own condition. + </p> + <p> + “My child is dying—I'm sure it is,” she cried. + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense, darling,” said Pete. “Only an hour ago it was looking up as + imperent as a tomtit.” + </p> + <p> + At last a new terror seized her, and she cried, “My child is dying + unbaptized.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, we'll soon mend that, love,” said Pete. “I'll be going off for the + parson.” And he caught up his hat and went out. + </p> + <p> + He called on Parson Quiggin, who promised to follow immediately. Then he + went on to Sulby to fetch Cæsar and Grannie and some others, having no + fear for the child's life, but some hope of banishing Kate's melancholy by + the merriment of a christening feast. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile, Philip and Kate were alone with the little one, save in the + intervals of Nancy's coming and going between the hall and the kitchen. + She was restless, and full of expectation, starting at every sound and + every step. He could see that she had gone whole nights without sleep, and + was passing through an existence that was burning itself away. + </p> + <p> + Do what he would to explain her sufferings as the common results of + childbirth, he could not help resolving them in the old flattering + solution. She was paying the penalty of having married the wrong man. And + she was to blame. Whatever the compulsion put upon her, she ought to have + withstood it. There was no situation in life from which it was not + possible to escape. Had <i>he</i> not found a way out of a situation + essentially the same? Thus a certain high pride in his own conduct took + possession of him even in the presence of Kate's pain. + </p> + <p> + But his tenderness fought with his self-righteousness. He looked at her + piteous face and his strength almost ebbed away. She looked up into his + eyes and affectionate pity almost overwhelmed him. Once or twice she + seemed about to say something, but she did not speak, and he said little. + Yet it wanted all his resolution not to take her in his arms and comfort + her, not to mingle his tears with hers, not to tell her of six months + spent in vain in the effort to wipe her out of his heart, not to whisper + of cheerless days and of nights made desolate with the repetition of her + name. But no, he would be stronger than that. It was not yet too late to + walk the path of honour. He would stand no longer between husband and + wife. + </p> + <p> + Pete came back, bringing Grannie and Cæsar. The parson arrived soon after + them. Kate was sitting with the child in her lap, and brooding over it + like a bird above its nest. The child was still sleeping the sleep of + health and innocence, but the mother's eyes were wild. + </p> + <p> + “Bogh, bogh!” said Grannie, and she kissed her daughter. Kate made no + response. Nancy Joe grew red about the eyelids and began to blow her nose. + </p> + <p> + “Here's the prazon, darling,” whispered Pete, and Kate rose to her feet. + The company rose with her, and stood in a half-circle before the fire. It + was now between daylight and dark, and the firelight flashed in their + faces. + </p> + <p> + “Are the godfather and godmothers present?” the parson asked. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Christian will stand godfather, parzon; and Nancy and Grannie will be + godmothers.” + </p> + <p> + Nancy took the child out of Kate's arms, and the service for private + baptism began with the tremendous words, “Dearly beloved, forasmuch as all + men are conceived and born in si——” + </p> + <p> + The parson stopped. Kate had staggered and almost fallen. Pete put his arm + around her to keep her up, and then the service went on. + </p> + <p> + Presently the parson turned to Philip with a softening voice and an + inclination of the head. + </p> + <p> + “Dost thou, in the name of this child, renounce the devil and all his + works, the vain pomp and glory of the world, with all covetous desires of + 'the same, and the carnal desires of the flesh, so that thou wilt not + follow nor be led by them?” + </p> + <p> + And Philip answered, in a firm, low voice, “I renounce them all.” + </p> + <p> + The parson took the child from Nancy. “Name this child.” + </p> + <p> + Nancy looked at Kate, but Kate, who was breathing violently, gave no sign. + </p> + <p> + “Kate,” whispered Pete; “Kate, of coorse.” + </p> + <p> + “Katherine,” said Nancy, and in that name the child was baptized. + </p> + <p> + Dr. Mylechreest came in as the service ended. Grannie held little + Katherine up to him, and he controlled his face and looked at her. + </p> + <p> + “There's not much amiss with the child,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “I knew it,” shouted Pete. + </p> + <p> + “But perhaps the mother is a little weak and nervous,” he added quietly. + </p> + <p> + “Coorse she is, the bogh,” cried Pete. + </p> + <p> + “Let her see more company,” said the doctor. + </p> + <p> + “She shall,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “If that doesn't do, send her away for awhile.” + </p> + <p> + “I will.” + </p> + <p> + “Fresh scenes, fresh society; out of the island, by preference.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm willing.” + </p> + <p> + “She'll come back another woman.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll put up with the same one,” said Pete; and, while the company + laughed, he flung open the door, and cried “Come in!” and half a dozen men + who had been waiting outside trooped into the hall. They entered with shy + looks because of the presence of great people. + </p> + <p> + “Now for a pull of jough, Nancy,” cried Pete. + </p> + <p> + “Not too much excitement either,” said the doctor, and with that warning + he departed. The parson went with him. Philip had slipped out first, + unawares to anybody. Grannie carried little Katherine to the kitchen, and + bathed her before the fire. Kate was propped up with pillows in the + armchair in the corner. Then Nancy brought the ale, and Pete welcomed it + with a shout. Cæsar looked alarmed and rose to go. + </p> + <p> + “The drink's your own, sir,” said Pete; “stop and taste it.” + </p> + <p> + But Cæsar couldn't stay; it would scarcely be proper. + </p> + <p> + “You don't christen your first granddaughter every day,” said Pete. “Enjoy + yourself while you're alive, sir; you'll be a long time dead.” + </p> + <p> + Cæsar disappeared, but the rest of the company took Pete's counsel, and + began to make themselves comfortable. + </p> + <p> + “The last christening I was at was yesterday,” said John the Clerk. “It + was Christian Killip's little one, before she was married, and it took the + water same as any other child.” + </p> + <p> + “The last christening I was at was my own,” said Black Tom, “when I was + made an in inheriter, but I've never inherited yet.” + </p> + <p> + “That's truth enough,” said an asthmatic voice from the backstairs. + </p> + <p> + “Well, the last christening I was at was at Kimberley,” said Pete, “and I + was the parzon myself that day. Yes, though, Parzon Pete. And godfather + and godmother as well, and the baby was Peter Quilliam, too. Aw, it was no + laughing matter at all. There's always a truck of women about a compound, + hanging on to the boys like burrs. Dirty little trousses of a rule, but + human creatures for all. One of them had a child by somebody, and then she + came to die, and couldn't take rest because it hadn't been christened. + There wasn't a pazon for fifty miles, anywhere, and it was night-time, + too, and the woman was stretched by the camp-fire and sinking. 'What's to + be done?' says the men. <i>I'll</i> do it,' says I, and I did. One of the + fellows got a breakfast can of water out of the river, and I dipped my + hand in it. 'What's the name,' says I; but the poor soul was too far gone + for spaking. So I gave the child my own name, though I didn't know the + mother from Noah's aunt, and the big chaps standing round bareheaded began + to blubber like babies. 'I baptize thee, Peter Quilliam, in the name of + the Father, and of the Son, and of the Holy Ghost, Amen.' Then the girl + died happy and aisy, and what for shouldn't she? The words were the same, + and the water was the same, and if the hand wasn't as clane as usual, + maybe Him that's above wouldn't bother about the diff'rance.” + </p> + <p> + Kate got up with a flush on her cheeks. The room had become too close. + Pete helped her into the parlour, where a bright fire was burning, then + propped and wrapped her up afresh, and, at her own entreaty, returned to + his guests. The company had increased by this time, and there were women + and girls among them. They went on to sing and to playt and at last to + dance. + </p> + <p> + Kate heard them. Through the closed door between the hall and the parlour + their merriment came to her. At intervals Pete put in his head, brimming + over with laughter, and cried in a loud whisper, “Did you hear that, Kate? + It's rich!” + </p> + <p> + At length Philip came, too, with his hat in one hand and a cardboard box + in the other. “The godfather's present to little Katherine,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Kate opened the lid, and drew out a child's hood in scarlet plush. + </p> + <p> + “You are very good,” she said vacantly. + </p> + <p> + “Don't let us talk of goodness,” he answered; and he turned to go. + </p> + <p> + “Wait,” she faltered. “I have something to say to you. Shut the door.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0076" id="link2H_4_0076"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XI. + </h2> + <h3> + Philip turned pale. “What is it?” he asked. + </h3> + <p> + She tried to speak, but at first she could not. + </p> + <p> + “Are you unhappy, Kate?” he faltered. + </p> + <p> + “Can't you see?” she answered. + </p> + <p> + He sat down by the fire, and leaned his face on his hands. “Yes, we have + both suffered,” he said, in a low tone. + </p> + <p> + “Why did you let me marry him?” + </p> + <p> + Philip raised his head. “How could I have hindered you?” + </p> + <p> + “How? Do you ask me how?” She spoke with some bitterness, but he answered + quietly. + </p> + <p> + “I tried, Kate, but I could do nothing. You seemed determined. Do what I + would to prevent, to delay, to stop your marriage altogether, the more you + hastened and hurried it. Then I thought to myself, Well, perhaps it is + best. She is trying to forget and forgive, and begin again. What right + have I to stand in her way? Haven't I wronged her enough already? A good + man offers her his love, and she is taking it. Let her do so, if she can, + God help her! I may suffer, but I am nothing to her now. Let me go my + way.” + </p> + <p> + She put her arms on the table, and hid her face in them. “Oh, I cannot + bear it,” she said. + </p> + <p> + He rose to his feet slowly. “If it is my presence here that hurts you, + Kate, I will go away. It has been but a painful pleasure to come, and I + have been forced to take it. You will acquit me of coming of my own + choice, Kate. But I will not torment you. I will go away, and never come + again.” + </p> + <p> + She lifted her face, and said in a passionate whisper, “Take me with you.” + </p> + <p> + He shook his head. “That's impossible, Kate. You are married now. Your + husband loves you dearly. He is a better man than I am, a thousand, + thousand times.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you think I don't know what he is?” she cried, throwing herself back. + “That's why I can't live with him. It's killing me. I tell you I can't + bear it,” she cried, rising to her feet. “Love me! Haven't I tried to make + myself love <i>him</i>. Haven't I tried to be a good wife! I can't—I + can't. He never speaks but he torments me. Nothing can happen but it cuts + me through and through. I can't live in this house. The walls are crushing + me, the ceiling is falling on me, the air is stifling me. I tell you I + shall die if you do not take me out of it. Take me, Philip, take me, take + me!” + </p> + <p> + She caught him by the arm imploringly, but he only dropped his head down + between both hands, saying in a deep thick voice, “Hush, Kate, hush! I + cannot and I will not. You are mad to think of it.” + </p> + <p> + Then she sank down into the chair again, breathless and inert, and sobbing + deep, low sobs. The sound of dancing came from the hall, with cries of + “Hooch!” and the voice of Pete shouting— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Hit the floor with heel and toe + 'Till heaven help the boords below.” + </pre> + <p> + “Yes, I am mad, or soon will be,” she said in a hard way. “I thought of + that this morning when I crossed the river coming home from church. It + would soon be over <i>there</i>, I thought. No more trouble, no more + dreams, no more waking in the night to hear the breathing of the one + beside me, and the voice out of the darkness crying——” + </p> + <p> + “Kate, what are you saying?” interrupted Philip. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you needn't think I'm a bad woman because I ask you take me away from + my husband. If I were that, I could brazen it out perhaps, and live on + here, and pretend to forget; many a woman does, they say. And I'm not + afraid that he will ever find me out either. I have only to close my lips, + and he will never know. But <i>I</i> shall know, Philip Christian,” she + said, with a defiant look into his eyes as he raised them. + </p> + <p> + Her reproaches hurt him less than her piteous entreaties, and in a moment + she was sobbing again. “Oh, what can God do but let me die! I thought He + would when the child came; but He did not, and then—am I a wicked + woman, after all?—I prayed that He would take my innocent baby, + anyway.” + </p> + <p> + But she dashed the tears away in anger at her weakness, and said, “I'm not + a bad woman, Philip Christian; and that's why I won't live here any + longer. There is something you have never guessed, and I have never told + you; but I must tell you now, for I can keep my secret no longer.” + </p> + <p> + He raised his head with a noise in his ears that was like the flapping of + wings in the dark. + </p> + <p> + “Your secret, Kate?” + </p> + <p> + “How happy I was,” she said. “Perhaps I was to blame—I loved you so, + and was so fearful of losing you. Perhaps you thought of all that had + passed between us as something that would go back and back as time went on + and on. But it has been coming the other way ever since. Yes, and as long + as I live and as long as the child lives——” + </p> + <p> + Her voice quivered like the string of a bow and stopped. He rose to his + feet. + </p> + <p> + “The child, Kate? Did you say the child?” + </p> + <p> + She did not answer at once, and then she muttered, with her head down, + “Didn't I tell you there was something you had never guessed?” + </p> + <p> + “And is it that?” he said in a fearful whisper. + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “You are sure? You are not deceiving yourself? This is not hysteria?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean that the child——” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + His questions had come in gasps, like short breakers out of a rising sea; + her answers had fallen like the minute-gun above it. Then, in the silence, + Pete's voice came through the wall. He was singing a rough old ditty— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “It was to Covent Gardens I chanced for to go, + To see some of the prettiest flowers which in the gardens grow.” + </pre> + <p> + Nancy came in with a scuttle of coals. “The lil one's asleep,” she said, + going down on her knees at the fire. She had left the door ajar, and + Pete's song was rolling into the room— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “The first was lovely Nancy, so delicate and fair, + The other was a vargin, and she did laurels wear.” + </pre> + <p> + “Grannie bathed her, and she's like a lil angel in the cot there,” said + Nancy. “And, 'Dear heart alive, Grannie,' says I,' the straight she's like + her father when she's sleeping.'” + </p> + <p> + Nancy brushed the hearth and went off. As she closed the door, Pete's + voice ebbed out. + </p> + <p> + Philip's lips trembled, his eyes wandered over the floor, he grew very + pale, he tried to speak and could not. All his self-pride was overthrown + in a moment The honour in which he had tried to stand erect as in a suit + of armour was stripped away. Unwittingly he had been laying up an account + with Nature. He had forgotten that a sin has consequences. Nature did not + forget. She had kept her own reckoning. He had struggled to believe that + after all he was a moral man, a free man; but Nature was a sterner + moralist; she had chained him to the past, she had held him to himself. + </p> + <p> + He was still by the fire with his head down. “Did you know this before you + were married to Pete?” he asked, without looking up. + </p> + <p> + “Hadn't I wronged him enough without that?” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “But did you think of it as something that might perhaps occur?” + </p> + <p> + “And if I did, what then?” + </p> + <p> + “If you had told me, Kate, nothing and nobody should have come between us—no,” + he said in a decisive voice, “not Pete nor all the world.” + </p> + <p> + “And wasn't it your own duty to remember? Was it for me to come to you and + say, 'Philip, something may happen, I am frightened.'” + </p> + <p> + Was this the compulsion that had driven her into marriage with the wrong + man? Was it all hysteria? Could she be sure? In any case she could not + think this awful thought and continue to live with her husband. + </p> + <p> + “You are right,” he said, with his head still down. “You cannot live here + any longer. This life of deception must end.” + </p> + <p> + “Then you will take me away, Philip?” + </p> + <p> + “I must, God forgive me, I must. I thought it would be sin. But <i>that</i> + was long ago. It will be punishment. If I had known before—and I + have been coming here time and again—looking on his happiness—but + if I had once dreamt—and then only an hour ago—the oath at its + baptism—O God!” + </p> + <p> + Her tears were flowing again, but a sort of serenity had fallen on her + now. + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me,” she whispered. “I tried to keep it to myself———” + </p> + <p> + “You could not keep it; you ought never to have kept it so long; the + finger of God Himself ought to have burnt it out of you.” + </p> + <p> + He spoke harshly, and she felt pain; but there was a secret joy as well. + </p> + <p> + “I am ruining you, Philip,” she said, leaning over him. + </p> + <p> + “We are both drifting to ruin, Katherine,” he answered hoarsely. He was an + abandoned hulk, with anchorage gone and no hand at the helm—broken, + blind, rolling to destruction. + </p> + <p> + “I can offer you nothing, Kate, nothing but a hidden life, a life in the + dark. If you come to me you will leave a husband who worships you for one + to whom your life can never be joined. You will exchange a life of respect + by the side of a good man for a life of humiliation, a life of shame. How + can it be otherwise now? It is too late, too late!” + </p> + <p> + “Don't think of that, Philip. If you love me there can be no humiliation + and no shame for me in anything. I love you, dear, I cannot help but love + you. Only love me a little, Philip, just a little, dearest, and I will + never care—no, I will never, never care whatever happens.” + </p> + <p> + Her passionate devotion swept down all his scruples. His throat thickened, + his eyes grew dim. She put one arm tenderly on his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “I will follow you wherever you must go,” she said. “You are my real + husband, Philip, and always have been. We will love one another, and that + will make up for everything. There is nothing I will not do to make you + forget. If you must go away—far away—no matter where—I + will go with you—and the child as well—and if we must be poor, + I'll work with you.” + </p> + <p> + But he did not seem to hear her as he crouched with buried face by the + fire. And, in the silence, Pete's muffled voice came again through the + wall, singing his rugged ditty— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “I'm not engaged to any young man, I solemnly do swear, + For I mane to be a vargin and still the laurels wear.” + </pre> + <p> + Unconsciously their hands touched and their fingers intertwined. + </p> + <p> + “It will break his heart,” he muttered. + </p> + <p> + She only grasped his hand the closer, and crouched beside him. They were + like two guilty souls at the altar steps, listening to the cheerful bell + that swings in the tower for the happy world outside. + </p> + <p> + The door opened with a bang, and Pete rolled in, heaving with laughter. + </p> + <p> + “Did you think it was an earth wake, Philip?” he shouted, “or a blackbird + a bit tipsy, eh? Bless me, man, it's good of you, though, sitting up in + the chimney there same as a good ould jackdaw, keeping the poor wife + company when her selfish ould husband is flirting his tail like a + stonechat. The company's going now, Kitty. Will they say good-night to + you? No? Have it as you like, bogh. You're looking tired, anyway. + Dempster, the boys are asking when the ceremony is coming off, and will + you come home to Ramsey that night? But, sakes alive, man, your eye is + splashed with blood as bad as the egg of a robin.” + </p> + <p> + In his suffering and degradation, Philip felt as if he wished the earth to + open and swallow him. + </p> + <p> + “Bloodshot, is it?” he said. “It's nothing. The ceremony? I'm to take the + oath to-morrow at three o'clock at the Special Council in Douglas. Yes, + I'll come back to Ballure for the night?” + </p> + <p> + “Driving, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Six o'clock, maybe?” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps seven to eight.” + </p> + <p> + “That's all right. Mortal inquisitive the boys are, though. It's in the + breed of these Manx ones, you know. Laxey way, now?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll drive by St. John's,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + With a look of wondrous wisdom, and a knowing wink at Kate across Philip's + back, Pete went out. Then there was much talking in low tones in the hall, + and on the paths outside the house. + </p> + <p> + Philip understood what it meant. He glanced back at the door, leaned over + to Kate, and said in a whisper, without looking into her eyes— + </p> + <p> + “The carriage shall come at half-past seven. It will stand for a moment in + the Parsonage Lane, and then drive back to Douglas by way of Laxey.” + </p> + <p> + His face was broken and ugly with shame and humiliation. As she saw this + she thought of her confession, and it seemed odious to her now; but there + was an immense relief in the feeling that the crisis was over. + </p> + <p> + Pete was shouting at the porch, “Good-night, all! Goodnight!” + </p> + <p> + “Good-night!” came back in many voices. + </p> + <p> + Grannie came in muffled up to the throat. “However am I to get back to + Sulby, and your father gone these two hours?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Not him,” said Pete, coming behind with one eye screwed up and a finger + to his nose. “The ould man's been on the back-stairs all night, listening + and watching wonderful. His bark's tremenjous, but his bite isn't worth + mentioning.” + </p> + <p> + And then a plaintive voice came from the hall, saying, “Are you <i>never</i> + coming home, mother? I'm worn out waiting for you.” + </p> + <p> + A little patch of youth had blossomed in Grannie since the baby came. + </p> + <p> + “Good-night, Pete,” she cried from the gate, “and many happy returns of + the christening-day.” + </p> + <p> + “One was enough for yourself, mother,” said Cæsar, and then his voice went + rumbling down the street. + </p> + <p> + Philip had come out into the hall. “You're time enough yet,” said Pete. “A + glass first? No? I've sent over to the 'Mitre' for your mare. There she + is; that's her foot on the path. I must be seeing you off, anyway. Where's + that lantern, at all?” + </p> + <p> + They stepped out. Pete held the light while Philip mounted, and then he + guided him, under the deep shadow of the old tree, to the road. + </p> + <p> + “Fine night for a ride, Phil. Listen! That's the churning of the nightjar + going up to Ballure glen. Well, good-night! Good-night, and God bless you, + old fellow!” + </p> + <p> + Kate inside heard the deadened sound of Philip's “Goodnight,” the crunch + of the mare's hoofs on the gravel and the clink of the bit in her teeth. + Then the porch door closed with a hollow vibration like that of a vault, + the chain rattled across it, and Pete was back in the room. + </p> + <p> + “<i>What</i> a night we've had of it! And now to bed.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0077" id="link2H_4_0077"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XII. + </h2> + <p> + Kate was up early the next morning, but Pete was stirring before her. As + soon as he had heard the news of Philip's appointment he had organised a + drum and brass band to honour the day of the ceremony. The brass had been + borrowed from Laxey, but the drum had been bought by Pete. + </p> + <p> + “Let's have a good sizable drum,” said he; “something with a voice in it, + not a bit of a toot, going off with a pop like bladder-wrack.” + </p> + <p> + The parchment was three feet across, the steel rings round it were like + the hoops of a dog-cart, and the black drumsticks, according to Pete, were + like the bullet heads of two niggers. Jonaique Jelly played the clarionet, + and John the Widow played the trombone, but the drum was the leading + instrument. Pete himself played it. He pounded it, boomed it, thundered + it. While he did so, his eyes blazed with rapture. A big heroic soul spoke + out of the drum for Pete. With the strap over his shoulders, he did not + trouble much about the tune. When the heart Leapt inside his breast, down + came the nigger heads on to the mighty protuberance in front of it; and + surely that was the end and aim of all music. + </p> + <p> + The band practised in the cabin which Pete had set up for a summer-house + in the middle of his garden. They met at daybreak that morning for the + last of their rehearsals. And, being up before their morning meal, they + were constrained to smoke and drink as well as play. This they did out of + a single pipe and a single pot, which each took up from the table in turn + as it fell to his part to have a few bars' rest. + </p> + <p> + While their muffled melody came to the house through the wooden walls and + the dense smoke, Kate was cooking breakfast. She did everything carefully, + for she was calmer than usual, and felt relieved of the load that had + oppressed her. But once she leaned her head on the mantelshelf while + stooping over the frying-pan, and looked vacantly into the fire; and once + she raised herself up from the table-cloth at the sound of the drum, and + pressed her hand hard on her brow. + </p> + <p> + The child awoke in the bedroom above and cried. Nancy Joe went + flip-flapping upstairs, and brought her down with much clucking and + cackling. Kate took the child and fed her from a feeding-bottle which had + been warming on the oven top. She was very tender with the little one, + kissing all its extremities in the way that women have, worrying its legs, + and putting its feet into her mouth. + </p> + <p> + Pete came in, hot and perspiring, and Kate handed the child back to Nancy. + </p> + <p> + “Hould hard,” cried Pete; “don't take her off yet. Give me a hould of her, + the lil rogue. My sailor! What a child it is, though! Look at that, now. + She's got a grip of my thumb. What a fist, to be sure! It's lying in my + hand like a meg. Did you stick a piece of dough on the wall at your last + baking, Nancy? Just as well to keep the evil eye off. Coo—oo—oo! + She's going it reg'lar, same as the tide of a summer's day. By jing, + Kitty, I didn't think there was so much fun in babies.” + </p> + <p> + Kate, seated at the table, was pouring out the tea, and a sudden impulse + seized her. + </p> + <p> + “That's the way,” she said. “First the wife is everything; but the child + comes, and then good-bye to the mother who brought it.” + </p> + <p> + “No, by gough!” said Pete. “The child is eighteen carat goold for the + mother's sake, but the mother is di'monds for sake of the child. If I lost + that little one, Kitty, it would be like losing the half of you.” + </p> + <p> + “Losing, indeed!” said Nancy. “Who's talking about losing? Does she look + like it, bless her lil heart!” + </p> + <p> + “Take her into the kitchen, Nancy,” said Kate. + </p> + <p> + “Going to have a rare do to-day,” said Pete, over a mouthful. “I'm off for + Douglas, to see Philip made Dempster. Coming home with himself by way of + St. John's. It's all arranged, woman. Boys to meet the carriage by Kirk + Christ Lezayre at seven o'clock smart. Then out I'm getting, laying hould + of the drum, the band is striking up, and we're bringing him into Ramsey + triumphant. Oh, we'll be doing it grand,” said Pete, blowing over the rim + of his saucer. “John the Clerk is tremenjous on the trombones, and there's + no bating Jonaique with the clar'net—the man is music to his little + backbone. The town will be coming out too, and the fishermen shouting like + one man. We're bound to let the Governor see we mane it. A friend's a + friend, say I, and we're for bucking up for the man that's bucking up for + us. And when he goes to the Tynwald Coort there, it'll be lockjaw and the + measles with some of them. If the ould Governor's got a tongue like a + file, Philip's got a tongue like a scythe—he'll mow them down. 'No + harbour-dues,' says he, 'till we've a raisonable hope of harbour + improvements. Build your embankments for your trippers in Douglas if you + like, but don't ask the fisher-, men to pay for them.'” + </p> + <p> + Pete wiped his mouth and charged his pipe. “It'll be a rare ould dust, but + we're not thinking of ourselves only, though. Aw, no, no. If there wasn't + nothing doing we would be giving him a little tune for all, coming home + Dempster.” + </p> + <p> + Pete lit up. “My sailor! It'll be a proud man I'll be this day, Kitty. + Didn't I always say it? 'He'll be the first Manxman living,' says I times + and times, and he's not going to de-ceave me neither.” + </p> + <p> + Kate was in fear lest Pete should look up into her face. Catching sight of + a rent in the cloth of his coat, she whipped out her needle and began to + stitch it up, bending closely over it. + </p> + <p> + “What an eye a woman's got now,” said Pete. “That was the steel of the + drum ragging me sideways when I was a bit excited. Bless me, Kitty, there + won't be a rag left at me when I get through this everin'. They're ter'ble + on clothes is drums.” + </p> + <p> + He was puffing the smoke through her hair as she knelt below him. “Well, + he deserves it all. My sakes, the years I've known him! Him and me have + been same as brothers. Yes, have we, ever since I was a slip of a boy in + jackets, and we went nesting on Maughold Head together. And getting + married hasn't been making no difference. When a man marries he shortens + sail usually, and pitches out some ballast, but not me at all. You're + taking a chill, Kitty. No? Shuddering any way. Chut! This dress is like + paper; you should be having warmer things under it. Don't be going out + to-day, darling, but to-night, about twenty-five minutes better than + seven, just open the door and listen. We'll be agate of it then like mad, + and when you're hearing the drum booming you'll be saying to yourself, + 'Pete's there, and going it for all he knows.'” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, Pete, Pete!” cried Kate, and she dropped back at his feet + </p> + <p> + “Why, what's this at all?” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “You've been very, very good to me, Pete, and if I never see you again + you'll think the best of me, will you not?” + </p> + <p> + She had an impulse to tell all—she could hardly resist it. + </p> + <p> + He smoothed the black ripples of her hair back from her forehead, and + said, tenderly, “She's not so well to-day, that's it. Her eyes are + bubbling like the laver.” Then aloud, with a laugh, “Never see me again, + eh? I'm not willing to share you with heaven yet, though. But I'll have to + be doing as the doctor was saying—sending you to England aver. I + will now, I will,” he said, lifting his big finger threateningly. + </p> + <p> + She slid backwards to the ground, but at the next moment was landed on + Pete's breast. “My poor lil Kirry! Not willing to stay with me, eh? Tut, + tut! She'll be as smart as ever, soon.” + </p> + <p> + She drew away from him with shame and self-reproach, mingled with that old + feeling of personal repulsion which she could not conquer. + </p> + <p> + Then the gate of the garden clicked, and Ross Christian came up the path. + “He's sticking to me as tight as a limpet,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Quilliam,” said Ross, “I come from my father this time.” + </p> + <p> + “'Deed, man,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “He is a little pressed for money.” + </p> + <p> + “And Mr. Peter Christian sends to me?” + </p> + <p> + “He thought you might like to lend on mortgage.” + </p> + <p> + “On Ballawhaine?” + </p> + <p> + Ross stammered and stuttered, “Well, yes, certainly, as you say, on Balla——” + </p> + <p> + “To think, to think,” muttered Pete. He gazed vacantly before him for a + moment, and then said, sharply, “I've no time to talk of it now, sir. I'm + off to Douglas, but if you like to stop awhile and talk of it with Mrs. + Quilliam, I'll be hearing everything when I come back. Good-day, Kate. + Take care of my wife. Good-day, Nancy; look after my two girls while I'm + away. And Kitty, bogh” (whispering), “mind you send to Robbie Clucas, the + draper, for some nice warm underclothing. Good-bye! Another! Just one + more” (then aloud) “Good-day to you, sir, good-day.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0078" id="link2H_4_0078"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIII. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “... He, the Spirit Himself, may come + When all the nerve of sense is numb.” + </pre> + <p> + Philip had not slept at Ballure. The house was in darkness as he passed. + He was riding to Douglas. It is sixteen miles between town and town, six + of them over the steep headland of Kirk Maughold. Before he reached the + top of the ascent he had been an hour on the road, and the night was near + to morning. He had seen no one after leaving Ramsey, except a drunken + miner with his bundle on his stick, marching home to a tipsy travesty of + some brave song. + </p> + <p> + His self-righteousness was overthrown; his pride was in the dust. Since he + returned home, he had struggled to feel strong and easy in the sense of + being an honourable man; but now he was thrown violently out of the path + in which he had meant to walk rightly. What he was about to do was + necessary, was inevitable, yet in his relation to Kate he was in the + position of an immoral man, a betrayer, an adulterer, with a vulgar + secret, which he must support by lying and share with servants. And what + was the outlook? What would be the end? Here was a situation from which + there was no escape. Let there be no false glamour, no disguise, no + self-deception. On the eve of his promotion to the dignities and + responsibilities of a Judge, he was taking the first step down on the + course of the criminal! + </p> + <p> + The moon was shining at the full. It was low down in the sky, on his + right, and casting his shadow on to the road. He walked his horse up the + long hill. The even pace, the quiet of the night, the drowsy sounds of + unseen stream and far-off murmuring sea overcame him in spite of himself, + and he dozed in the saddle. As he reached the hilltop the level step of + the horse awoke him, and he knew that he was passing that desolate spot on + the border of parish and parish which is known as Tom Alone's. + </p> + <p> + Opening his eyes, without realising that he had slept, he thought he + became aware of another horse and another rider walking by his side. They + were on the left of him, going pace for pace, stepping along with him like + his shadow. “It <i>is</i> my shadow,” he thought, and he forced up his + head to look. Nothing was there but a whitewashed wall that fenced a + sheepfold. The moon had gone under the mountains on the right, and the + night would have been dark but for the stars. With an astonishment near to + terror, Philip gripped the saddle with his quaking knees, and broke his + horse into a trot. + </p> + <p> + When the hard ride had brought warmth to his blood and a glow to his + cheeks, he told himself he had been the victim of fancy. It was nothing; + it was a delusion of the sight; a mere shadow cast off by his distempered + brain. He was passing at a walking pace through Laxey by this time, and as + the horse's feet beat up the echoes of the sleeping town, his heart grew + brave. + </p> + <p> + Next day, at noon, he was talking with his servant, Jem-y-Lord, in his + rooms in Athol Street. He had lately become tenant of the entire house. + They were in his old chambers on the first floor, looking on to the + churchyard. + </p> + <p> + “I may rely on you, Jemmy?” + </p> + <p> + “You may, Deemster.” + </p> + <p> + His voice was low and husky, his eyes were down, he was fumbling the + papers on the table. “Get the carriage, a landau, from Shimmin's, but + drive it yourself. Be at Government offices at four—we'll go by St. + John's. If there is any attempt at Ramsey to take the horse out of the + carriage, resist it. I will alight at the head of the town. Then drive on + to the lane between the chapel and Elm Cottage. The moment the lady joins + you, start away. Return to Laxey—are the rooms upstairs ready?” + </p> + <p> + “They will be.” + </p> + <p> + “The two in front of your own, and the little parlour behind this. We + shall need no other servants—the lady will be housekeeper.” + </p> + <p> + “I quite understand, Deemster.” + </p> + <p> + Philip turned his face aside and spoke thickly, “And you know what name——” + </p> + <p> + “I know what name, Deemster.” + </p> + <p> + “You have no objection?” + </p> + <p> + “None whatever, Deemster.” + </p> + <p> + Phillip drew a long breath. “I am not Deemster yet, Jemmy. Perhaps it + might have been... but God knows. You are a good fellow—I shall not + forget it.” + </p> + <p> + He made a motion as if to dismiss the man, but Jemmy did not go. + </p> + <p> + “Beg pardon, your honor—” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” + </p> + <p> + “Your honour has eaten nothing at breakfast—and the bed wasn't slept + in last night.” + </p> + <p> + “I was riding late—then I had work to do.” + </p> + <p> + “But I heard your foot on the floor—-it woke me times.” + </p> + <p> + “I may have speeches to make to-day.... Fetch me a glass of water.” + </p> + <p> + Jemmy brought water-bottle and glass. As Philip took the water an icy + numbness seemed to seize his arm. “I—well, I—I declare I can't + lift—ah! thanks.” + </p> + <p> + The man raised Philip's arm to his mouth; the glass rattled against his + teeth while he drank. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon, your honour. You're looking ten years older lately. The sooner + this day is over the better.” + </p> + <p> + “Sleep, Jemmy—I only want sleep. I must have a long, long sleep at + Ballure to-night.” + </p> + <p> + He left the house at three minutes to three, carrying his cloak over his + arm. It was a hot day at the beginning of June, and when he stepped out at + the door the air of the street smote his face like a blast from an open + furnace. He reeled and almost fell. The sun's heat was like a load on his + head, its dazzling rays made his sight dim, and he had a sound in his ears + like running water. As he walked down the street he caught his wandering + reflection in the shop windows. “Jemmy was right,” he thought. “My worst + enemy would not accuse me of looking too young to-day.” + </p> + <p> + There was a small crowd about the entrance to Government offices. + Carriages were driving up, discharging their occupants and going on. The + Bishop, the Attorney-General, finally the Governor with his wife and + daughter passed into the house. In the commotion of these arrivals Philip + reached the door unobserved. When he was recognised, there was a sudden + hush of voices, and then a low buzz of gossip. He walked through with a + firm step, going in alone, all eyes upon him. + </p> + <p> + The doorway opens on a narrow passage, which is neither wide nor very + light, and the sunshine without made the gloom within more grey and + uncertain. As Philip stepped over the threshold he was conscious that + somebody was coming out. When he had taken two paces more, he drew up + sharply with the sense of walking into a mirror. At the next instant he + saw that what he had taken for the reflection of his own face in a glass + was the actual face of another man. + </p> + <p> + The man was coming out as he went in. They were approaching each other. At + two paces more they were side by side. He looked at the man with creeping + horror. The man looked at him with amazement and dread. Thus, eye to eye, + they crossed and passed. Then each turned his head over his shoulder and + looked after the other, Philip stepping into the gloom, the stranger + striding into the light. + </p> + <p> + At the next moment the narrow doorway was darkened by a ponderous figure + rolling through. Then a heavy hand fell on Philip's shoulder, and a hearty + voice exclaimed, “Hilloa, Christian; proud to see you, boy! You've + outstripped old stick-in-the-mud; but I always knew you would lead me the + way though.... Funking a bit, are you? Hands like ice, anyway. Come along—nothing + to be nervous about—we're not going to give you the dose of Illiam + Dhone—-don't martyr the Christians these days, you know.” + </p> + <p> + Is was Philip's old master, the Clerk of the Rolls. Taking Philip's arm, + he was for swinging him along; but Philip, still looking towards the + street, said falteringly, “Did you, perhaps, see a man—a young man—going + out at the door?” + </p> + <p> + “When?” + </p> + <p> + “As you came in.” + </p> + <p> + “Was there?” said the Clerk dubiously; then, as by a sudden light, “Did he + wear a round hat and a monkey-jacket?” + </p> + <p> + “Maybe—I hardly know—I didn't observe.” + </p> + <p> + “That'll be the man. He's been at me half the morning for admission to the + Council. Said he'd known you all his life. Bough as a thorn-bush, but + somehow I couldn't say no to the fellow at last. He ought to be inside, + though.” + </p> + <p> + “It's nothing,” thought Philip. “Only another shadow from a tired brain. + Jemmy's talk about my altered looks—the reflection in the + shop-windows—the sudden gloom after the dazzling sunlight—that's + all, that's all. Sleep, I want sleep.” + </p> + <p> + When the Governor took his seat with the first Deemster on his right, and + motioned Philip to the chair on his left, an involuntary murmur passed + over the chamber at the contrast there presented—the one Deemster + very old, with round, russet face, quick, gleaming eyes, and a + comfortable, youthful, even merry expression; the other, very young, with + long, pallid, powerful face, large eyes, and a tired look of age. + </p> + <p> + Philip presented his commission received from the Home Secretary, and the + oath of office was administered to him. Kissing a stained copy of a + leather-bound Testament, he repeated the words after the Governor in a + thick croak that seemed to hack the air— + </p> + <p> + “By this book, and by the holy contents thereof, and by the wonderful + works that God hath miraculously wrought in heaven above and on the earth + beneath in six days and seven nights, I, Philip Christian, do swear that I + will, without respect of favour or friendship, love or hate, loss or gain, + consanguinity or affinity, envy or malice, execute the laws of this Isle + justly, betwixt our Sovereign Lady the Queen and her subjects within this + Isle, and betwixt party and party, as indifferently as the herring + backbone doth lie in the midst of the fish.” + </p> + <p> + As Philip pronounced these words, he was conscious of only one face in + that assembly. It was not the face of the Governor, of the Bishop, of any + dignitary of Church or State—but a rugged, eager, dark face over a + black beard in the grip of a great brown hand, with sparkling eyes, parted + lips, and a look of boyish pride—it was the face of Pete. + </p> + <p> + “It only remains for me,” said the Governor, “to congratulate your Honour + on the high office to which it has pleased Her Majesty to appoint you, and + to wish you long life and health to fulfil its duties, with blameless + credit to yourself and distinction to your country.” + </p> + <p> + There was some other speaking, and then Philip replied. He spoke clearly, + firmly, and well. A reference to his grandfather provoked applause. His + modesty and natural manner made a strong impression. “His Excellency is + not so far wrong, after all,” was the common whisper. + </p> + <p> + Some further business, and the Council broke up for general gossip. Then, + on the pavement outside, while the carriages were coming in line, there + were renewed congratulations, invitations, and warnings. The Governor + invited Philip to dinner. He excused himself, saying he had promised to + dine with his aunt at Ballure. The ladies warned him to spare himself, and + recommended a holiday; and then the Clerk of the Rolls, proud as a + peacock, strutting here and there and everywhere, and assuming the airs of + a guardian, cried, “Can't yet, though, for he holds his first court in + Ramsey tomorrow morning.... Put on the cloak, Christian. It will be cold + driving. Good men are scarce.” + </p> + <p> + An open landau came up at length, with Jem-y-Lord on the box-seat, and + Pete walking by the horse's head, smoothing its neck and tickling its + ears. + </p> + <p> + “Why, you were talking of the young man, Christian, and behold ye, here's + the great fellow himself. Well, young chap,” slapping Pete on the back, + “see your Deemster take the oath, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “He's my cousin,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “Cousin! Is he, then—can he perhaps be—Ah! yes, of course, + certainly———” The good man stammered and stopped, + remembering the marriage of Philip's father. He opened the carriage door + and stood aside for Philip, but Philip said— + </p> + <p> + “Step in, Pete;” and, with a shamefaced look, Pete rolled into the + carriage. Philip took the seat beside him, amid a buzz of voices from the + people standing about the door. + </p> + <p> + “Well, as you like; good day, then, boy, good day,” said the Clerk of the + Rolls, clashing the door back. The carriage began to move. + </p> + <p> + “Good day, your Honour,” cried several out of the crowd. + </p> + <p> + Philip raised his hat. The hats of the men went up to him. Some of the + girls were wiping their eyes. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0079" id="link2H_4_0079"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIV. + </h2> + <p> + While Pete and Philip were driving over the road from Douglas, Kate was + sitting with the child on her lap before the fire in Elm Cottage. Her eyes + were restless, her manner agitated. She looked out at the window from time + to time. The setting sun behind the house still held the day with + horizontal shafts of light in the spring green of the transparent leaves. + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn't you like to see the procession to-night, Nancy?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Aw, mortal,” said Nancy. “But I won't get lave, though. 'Take care of my + two girls,' says he——” + </p> + <p> + “You may go, Nancy; I'll see to baby,” said Kate. + </p> + <p> + “But the man himself, woman; he'll be coming home as hungry as a hunter.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll see to his supper, too,” said Kate. “Carry the key with you that you + may let yourself in, and be back at half-past seven.” + </p> + <p> + Then Nancy began to fly about the kitchen like sputter-ings out of the + frying-pan—filling the kettle, lighting the lamp, and getting + together the baby's night-clothes. Kate watched her and glanced at the + clock. + </p> + <p> + “Was the town quiet when you were out for the bacon, Nancy?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Quiet enough,” said Nancy. “Everybody flying off Le-zayre way already—except + what were making for the quay.” + </p> + <p> + “Is the steamer sailing to-night, then?'' + </p> + <p> + “Yes, the <i>Peveril</i>; but not water enough to float her till half-past + seven, they were saying. Here's the lil one's nightdress, and here's her + binder, bless her—just big enough for a bandage for a person's wrist + if she sprained it churning.” + </p> + <p> + “Lay them on the fender to air, Nancy—I'll not undress baby yet + awhile. And see—it's nearly seven.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll be pinning my shawl on and away like the wind,” said Nancy. “The + bogh!” she said, with the pin between her teeth. “She's off again. Do you + really think, now, the angels in heaven are as sweet and innocent, Kirry? + I don't. They can't if they're grown up. And having to climb Jacob's + ladder, poor things, they must be. Then, if they're men—but that's + ridiculous, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “The clock is striking, Nancy. No use going when everything's over,” said + Kate, and the foot with which she rocked the child went faster now that + the little one was asleep. + </p> + <p> + “Sakes alive! Let me tie the strings of my bonnet, woman. Pity you can't + come yourself, Kitty. But if they're worth their salt they'll be whipping + round this way and giving you a lil tune, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you got the key, Nancy?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, and I'll be back in an hour. And mind you put baby to bed soon, and + mind you—and mind you——” + </p> + <p> + With as many warnings as if she had been mistress and Kate the servant, + Nancy backed herself out of the house. It was now dark outside. + </p> + <p> + Kate rose immediately, put the child in the cradle, and began to lay the + table for Pete's supper—the cruet, the plates, the teapot on the hob + to warm, and then—by force of habit—two cups and saucers. But + sight of the cups awakened her to painful consciousness. She put one of + them back in the cupboard, broke the coal on the fire, settled the kettle + up to the blaze, fixed the Dutch oven with three rashers of bacon before + the bars, then lit a candle, and, with a nervous look around, turned to go + upstairs. + </p> + <p> + In the bedroom she drew on her cloak, pinned her hat and veil with + trembling fingers, then took her purse from her pocket and emptied its + contents onto the dressing-table. + </p> + <p> + “Not mine,” she thought. And standing before the mirror at that moment, + she caught sight of her earrings. “I must take nothing of his,” she told + herself, and she raised her hands to her ears. Then her heart smote her. + “As if Pete would ever think of such things,” she thought. “No, not if I + took everything he has in the world. And must <i>I</i> be thinking of + them?... Yet I cannot—I will not take them with me.” + </p> + <p> + She opened a drawer and hurried everything into it—the money, the + earrings, the keeper off her finger, and then she paused at the touch of + the wedding-ring. A superstitious instinct restrained her. Yet the ring + was the badge of her broken covenant. “With this ring I thee wed——” + She tore off the wedding-ring also, and cast it with the rest. + </p> + <p> + “He will find them,” she thought. “There will be nothing else to tell him + what has happened. He will come, and I shall be gone. He will call, and + there will be no answer. He will look for me, and I shall be lost to him + for ever. Not a word left behind. Not a line to say, 'Thank you and + good-bye and God bless you, dear Pete, for all your love and goodness to + rae.”' + </p> + <p> + It was cruel—very cruel—yet what could she write? What could + she say that had not better be left unsaid? The least syllable—no, + the uncertainty would be kinder. Perhaps Pete would think she was dead—perhaps + that she had destroyed herself. Even that would not be so bitter as the + truth. He would get over it—he would become reconciled. “No,” she + thought, “I can write nothing—I can leave no message.” + </p> + <p> + She shut the drawer quickly, and picked up the candle. As she did so, the + shadow of herself moved about her. It mounted from the floor to the wall, + from the wall to the ceiling. When she walked it seemed to be on top of + her, hanging over her, pressing down on her, crushing her. She grew cold + and sick, and hastened to the door. The room was full of other shadows—the + memories of sleepless nights and of painful awakenings. These stared at + her from every familiar thing—the watch ticking in its stand on the + mantelpiece, the handle of the wardrobe, the pink curtains of the bed, the + white pillow beneath them. She felt like a frightened child. With a + terrified glance over her shoulder she crept out of the room. + </p> + <p> + Being downstairs again, she breathed more freely. There was light all + about her, and the hall-parlour was bright and warm. The kettle was now + singing in the cheerful blaze, the cat was purring on the rug, and there + was a smell of bacon slowly frying. She looked at the clock—it was a + quarter after seven. “Time to waken baby,” she thought. + </p> + <p> + She took from a chest the child's outdoor clothes—a robe, a pelisse, + and a white hood. Her fingers had touched a scarlet hood in a cardboard + box, but “not that” she thought, and left it. She spread the clothes about + her chair, and then lifted the little one from the cradle to her pillowing + arm. The child awoke as she raised it, and made a fretful cry, which she + smothered in a gurgling kiss. + </p> + <p> + “I can love the darling without shame now,” she thought. “It's sweet face + will reproach me no more.” + </p> + <p> + With soft cooings at the baby's cheek, she was stooping to take the robe + that lay at her feet, when her eyes fell on the round place in the cradle + where the child had been. That made her think again of Pete. He would come + home and find the little nest cold and empty. It would kill him; it would + be a second bereavement. Was it not enough that she should go away + herself? Must she rob him of the child as well? He loved it; he doted on + it. It was the light of his eyes, the joy of his life. To lose it would be + a blow like the blow of death. + </p> + <p> + Yet could a mother leave her child behind her? Impossible! The full tide + of motherhood came over her, and its tender selfishness swept down + everything. “I cannot,” she thought; “come what may, I cannot and I will + not leave her.” And then she reached her hand for the child's pelisse. + </p> + <p> + “It would be a kind of atonement, though,” she thought. To leave the + little one to Pete would be making amends in some sort for the wrong that + she was doing him. To deny herself the sight of the child's sweet face day + by day and hour by hour—that would be a punishment also, and she + deserved to be punished. “Can I leave her?” she thought. “Can I? Oh, what + mother could bear it? No, no—never, never! And yet I ought—I + must—Oh, this is terrible!” + </p> + <p> + In the midst of this agony of uncertainty, thinking of Pete and of the + wrong she had done him, yet pressing the child to her breast with + trembling arms, as if some one were tearing it away, the babe itself + settled everything. Making some inarticulate whimper of communication, it + nuzzled up to her, its eyes closed, but its head working against her bosom + with the instinct of suckling, though it had never sucked. + </p> + <p> + “I'm only half a mother, after all,” she thought. + </p> + <p> + The highest joys, the deepest rights of motherhood had been denied to her—the + child taking from the mother, the mother giving to the child, the child + and the mother one—: this had not been hers. + </p> + <p> + “My little baby can live without me,” she thought. “If I leave her, she + will never miss me.” + </p> + <p> + She nearly broke down at that thought, and almost let her purpose slip. It + was like God's punishment in advance, God's hand directing her—thus + to withdraw the child from dependence on herself. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, I must leave her with Pete,” she thought. + </p> + <p> + She put the child back into the cradle, half dressed as it was, and rocked + it until it slept again. Then she hung over the tiny bed as a mother hangs + over the little coffin that is soon to be shut up from her eyes for ever. + Her tears rained down on the small counterpane. “My sweet baby I my little + Katherine! I may never kiss you again—never see you any more'—you + may grow up to be a woman and know nothing of your mother!” + </p> + <p> + The clock ticked loud in the quiet room—it was twenty-five minutes + past seven. + </p> + <p> + “One kiss more, my little darling. If they ever tell you... they'll say + because your mother left you... Oh, will she think I did not love her? + Hush!” + </p> + <p> + Through the walls of the house there came the sound of a band playing at a + distance. She looked at the clock again—it was nearly half-past + seven. Almost at the same moment there was the rumble of carriage-wheels + on the road. They stopped in the lane that ran between the chapel and the + end of the garden. + </p> + <p> + Kate rose from her knees and opened the door softly. The house had been as + a dungeon to her, and she was flying from it like a prisoner escaping. A + shrill whistle pierced the air. The <i>Peveril</i> was leaving the quay. + Through the streets there was a sound as of water running over stones. It + was the scuttling of the feet of the townspeople as they ran to meet the + procession. + </p> + <p> + She stepped out. The garden was dark and quiet as a prison yard; Hardly a + leaf stirred, but the moon was breaking through the old fir-tree as she + lifted her troubled face to the untroubled sky. She stood and listened. + The band was coming nearer. She could hear the thud of the big drum. + </p> + <p> + Boom! Boom! Boom! + </p> + <p> + Pete was there. He was helping at Philip's triumph. That was the beat of + his great heart made audible. + </p> + <p> + At this her own heart stopped for a moment. She grew chill at the thought + of the brave man who asked no better lot than to love and cherish her, and + at the memory of the other upon whose mercy she had cast herself. The band + stopped. There was a noise like the breaking of a mighty rocket in the + sky. The people were cheering and clapping hands. Then a clearer sound + struck her ear. It was the clock inside the house chiming the half-hour. + </p> + <p> + Nancy would be back soon. + </p> + <p> + Kate listened intently, inclining her head inwards. If the child had + awakened at that instant, if it had stirred and cried, she must have gone + back for good. She returned for one moment and flung herself over the + cradle again. One spasm more of lingering tenderness. “Good-bye, my little + one! I am leaving you with him, darling, because he loves you dearly. You + will grow up and be a good, good girl to him always. Good-bye, my pet! My + precious, my precious! You will reward him for all he has done for me. You + are half of myself, dearest—the innocent half. Yes, you will wipe + out your mother's sin. You will be all he thinks I am, but never have + been. Farewell, my sweet Katherine, my little, darling baby—good-bye—farewell—good-bye!” + </p> + <p> + She leapt up and fled out of the house at last, on tiptoe, like a thief, + pulling the door after her. + </p> + <p> + When she heard the click of the lock she felt both wretchedness and + exultation—immense agony and immense relief. If little Katherine + were to cry now, she could not return to her. The door was closed, the + house was shut, the prison was left behind. And behind her, too, were the + treachery, the duplicity, and deceit of ten stifling months. + </p> + <p> + She hurried through the garden to a side-door in the wall leading to the + lane. The path was like a wave of the sea to her stumbling feet. Her + breathing was short, her sight was weak, her temples were beating audibly. + Half across the garden something touched her dress, and she made a faint + scream. It was Pete's dog, Dempster. He was looking up at her out of the + darkness of the bushes. By the light through the blind of the house she + could see his bat's ears and watchful eyes. + </p> + <p> + Boom! Boom! Boom! + </p> + <p> + The band had begun again. It was coming nearer. Philip! Philip! He was her + only refuge now. All else was a blank. + </p> + <p> + The side-door had been little used. Its hinges and bolt were rusty and + stiff. She broke her nails in opening it. From the other side came the + light jingle of a curb chain, and over the wall hovered a white sheet of + smoking light. + </p> + <p> + The carriage was in the lane, and the driver—Philip's servant, + Jem-y-Lord—stood with the door open. Kate stumbled on the step and + fell into the seat. The door was closed. + </p> + <p> + Then a new thought smote her. It was about the child, about Philip, about + Pete. In leaving the little one behind her, though she had meant it so + unselfishly, she had done the one thing that must be big with + consequences. It would bring its penalty, its punishment, its retribution. + Stop! She would go back even yet. Her face was against the glass; she was + struggling with the strap. But the carriage was moving. She heard the + rumble of the wheels; it was like a deafening reverberation from the day + of doom. Then her senses dwaled away and the carriage drove on. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0080" id="link2H_4_0080"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XV. + </h2> + <p> + Outside Ballure House there was a crowd which covered the garden, the + fence, the high-road, and the top of the stone wall opposite. The band had + ceased to play, and the people were shouting, clapping hands, and + cheering. At the door—which was open—Philip stood bareheaded, + and a shaft of the light in the house behind him lit up a hundred of the + eager faces gathered in the darkness. He raised his hand for silence, but + it was long before he was allowed to speak. Salutations rugged, rough—almost + rude—but hearty to the point of homeliness, and affectionate to the + length of familiarity, flew at his head from every side. “Good luck to + you, boy!”—“Bravo for Ramsey!”—“The Christians for your life!”—“A + chip of the ould block—Dempster Christian the Sixth!”—“Hush, + man, he's spaking!”—“Go it, Phil!”—“Give it fits, boy!”—“Hush! + hush!” + </p> + <p> + “Fellow-townsmen,” said Philip—his voice swung like a quivering bell + over a sea,—“you can never know how much your welcome has moved me. + I cannot say whether in my heart of hearts I am more proud of it or more + ashamed. To be ashamed of it altogether would dishonour <i>you</i>, and to + be too proud of it would dishonour <i>me</i>, I am not worthy of your + faith and good-fellowship. Ah!”—he raised his hand to check a murmur + of dissent (the crowd was now hushed from end to end)—“let me utter + the thought of all. In honouring me you are thinking of others also ('No,' + 'Yes'); you are thinking of my people—above all, of one who was laid + under the willows yonder, a wrecked, a broken, a disappointed man—my + father, God rest him! I will not conceal it from you—his memory has + been my guide, his failures have been my lightship, his hopes my beacon, + his love my star. For good or for evil, my anchor has been in the depths + of his grave. God forbid that I should have lived too long under the grasp + of a dead hand. It was my aim to regain what he had lost, and this day has + witnessed its partial reclamation. God grant I may not have paid too dear + for such success.” + </p> + <p> + There were cries of “No, sir, no.” + </p> + <p> + He smiled faintly and shook his head. “Fellow-countrymen, you believe I am + worthy of the name I bear. There is one among you, an old comrade, a tried + and trusted friend, whose faith would be a spur if it were not a reproach——” + </p> + <p> + His voice was breaking, but still it pealed over the sea of heads. “Well, + I will try to do my duty—from this hour onwards you shall see me + try. Fellow-Manxmen, you will help me for the honour of the place I fill, + for the sake of our little island, and—yes, and for my own sake + also, I know you will—to be a good man and an upright judge. But”—he + faltered, his voice could barely support itself—“but if it should + ever appear that your confidence has been misplaced—if in the time + to come I should seem to be unworthy of this honour, untrue to the oath I + took to-day to do God's justice between man and man, a wrongdoer, not a + righter of the wronged, a whited sepulchre where you looked for a tower of + refuge—remember, I pray of you, my countrymen, remember, much as you + may be suffering then, there will be one who will be suffering more—that + one will be myself.” + </p> + <p> + The general impression that night was that the Deemster's speech had not + been a proper one. Breaking up with some damp efforts at the earlier + enthusiasm, the people complained that they were like men who had come for + a jig and were sent home in a wet blanket. There should have been a joke + or two, a hearty word of congratulation, a little natural glorification of + Ramsey, and a quiet slap at Douglas and Peel and Castletown, a few + fireworks, a rip-rap or two, and some general illumination. “But sakes + alive! the solemn the young Dempster was! And the melancholy! And the + mystarious!” + </p> + <p> + “Chut!” said Pete. “There's such a dale of comic in you, boys. Wonder in + the world to me you're not kidnapped for pantaloonses. Go home for all and + wipe your eyes, and remember the words he's been spaking. I'm not going to + forget them myself, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + Handing over the big drum to little Jonaique, Pete turned to go into the + house. Auntie Nan was in the hall, hopping like a canary about Philip, in + a brown silk dress that rustled like withered ferns, hugging him, drawing + him down to the level of her face, and kissing him on the forehead. The + tears were raining over the autumn sunshine of her wrinkled cheeks, and + her voice was cracking between a laugh and a cry. + </p> + <p> + “My boy! My dear boy! My boy's boy! My own boy's own boy!” + </p> + <p> + Philip freed himself at length, and went upstairs without turning his + head, and then Auntie Nan saw Pete standing in the doorway. + </p> + <p> + “Is it you, Pete?” she said with an effort. “Won't you come in for a + moment? No?” + </p> + <p> + “A minute only, then—just to wish you joy, Miss Christian, ma'am,” + said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “And you, too, Peter. Ah!” she said, with a bird-like turn of the head, + “you must be a proud man to-night, Pete.” + </p> + <p> + “Proud isn't the word for it, ma'am—I'm clane beside myself.” + </p> + <p> + “He took a fancy to you when you were only a little barefooted boy, Pete.” + </p> + <p> + “So he did, ma'am.” + </p> + <p> + “And now that he's Deemster itself he owns you still.” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, lave him alone for that, ma'am.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you hear what he said about you in his speech. It isn't everybody in + his place would have done that before all, Pete.” + </p> + <p> + “'Deed no, ma'am.” + </p> + <p> + “He's true to his friends, whatever they are.” + </p> + <p> + “True as steel.” + </p> + <p> + The maid was carrying the dishes into the dining-room, and Auntie Nan said + in a strained way, “You won't stay to dinner, Pete, will you? Perhaps you + want to get home to the mistress. Well, home is best for all of us, isn't + it? Martha, I'll tell the Deemster myself that dinner is on the table. + Well, good-night, Peter. I'm always so glad to see you.” + </p> + <p> + She was whisking about to go upstairs, but Pete had taken one step into + the dining-room, and was gazing round with looks of awe. + </p> + <p> + “Lord alive, Miss Christian, ma'am, what feelings now-barefooted boy, you + say? You're right there, and cold and hungry too, sleeping in the + gable-house with the cow, and not getting much but the milk I was staling + from her, and a leathering at the ould man for that. Philip fetched me in + here one evenin'—that was the start, ma'am. See that pepper-and-salt + egg on the string there? It's a Tommy Noddy's. Philip got it nesting up + Gob-ny-Garvain. Nearly cost him his life, though. You see, ma'am, Tommy + Noddy has only one, and she fights like mad for it. We were up forty + fathom and better, atop of a cave, and had two straight rocks below us in + the sea, same as an elephant's hoofs, you know, walking out on the blue + floor. And Phil was having his lil hand on the ledge where the egg was + keeping, when swoop came the big white wings atop of his bare head. If I + hadn't had a stick that day, ma'am, it would have been heaven help the + pair of us. The next minute Tommy Noddy was going splash down the cliffs, + all feathers and blood together, or Philip wouldn't have lived to be + Dempster.... Aw, frightened you, have I, ma'am, for all it's so long ago? + The heart's a quare thing, now, isn't it? Got no yesterday nor to-morrow + neither. Well, good-night, ma'am.” Pete was making for the door, when he + looked down and said, “What's this, at all? Down, Dempster, down!” + </p> + <p> + The dog had came trotting into the hall as Pete was going out. He was + perking up his big ears and wagging his stump of a tail in front of him. + </p> + <p> + “My dog, ma'am? Yes, ma'am, and like its master in some ways. Not much of + itself at all, but it has the blood in it, though, and maybe it'll come + out better in the next generation. Looking for me, are you, Dempster? + Let's be taking the road, then.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps you're wanted at home, Pete?” + </p> + <p> + “Wouldn't trust. Good night, ma'am.” Auntie Nan hopped upstairs in her + rustling dress, relieved and glad in the sweet selfishness of her love to + get rid of Pete and have Philip to herself. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0081" id="link2H_4_0081"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVI. + </h2> + <p> + Pete went off whistling in the darkness, with the dog driving ahead of + him. “I'm to blame, though,” he thought. “Should have gone home directly.” + </p> + <p> + The town was now quiet, the streets were deserted, and Pete began to run. + “She'd be alone, too. That must have been Nancy in the crowd yonder by + Mistress Beatty's. 'Lowed her out to see the do, it's like. Ought to be + back now, though.” + </p> + <p> + As Pete came near to Elm Cottage, the moon over the tree-tops lit up the + panes of the upper windows as with a score of bright lamps. One step more, + and the house was dark. + </p> + <p> + “She'll be waiting for me. Listening, too, I'll go bail.” + </p> + <p> + He was at the gate by this time, and the dog was panting at his feet with + its nose close to the lattice. + </p> + <p> + “Be quiet, dog, be quiet.” + </p> + <p> + Then he raised the latch without a sound, stepped in on tiptoe, and closed + the gate as silently behind him. + </p> + <p> + “I'll have a game with her; I'll take her by surprise.” + </p> + <p> + His eyes began to dance with mischief, like a child's, and he crept along + the path with big cat strides, half doubled up, and holding his breath, + lest he should laugh aloud. + </p> + <p> + “The sweet creatures! A man shouldn't frighten them, though,” he thought. + </p> + <p> + When he reached the porch he went down on all fours, and began mewing like + a mournful tom-cat near to the bottom of the door. Then he listened with + his ear to the jamb. He expected a faint cry of alarm, the raucous voice + of Nancy Joe, and the clatter of feet towards the porch. There was not a + sound. + </p> + <p> + “She's upstairs,” he thought, and stepped back to look up at the front of + the house. There was no light in the rooms above. + </p> + <p> + “I know what it is. Nancy is not home yet, and Kirry's fallen asleep at + the rocking.” + </p> + <p> + He stole up to the window and tried to look into the hall, but the blind + was down, and he could not see much through the narrow openings at the + sides of it. + </p> + <p> + “She's sleeping, that's it. The house was quiet and she dropped off, + rocking the lil one, that's all.” + </p> + <p> + He scraped a handful of the light gravel and flung a little of it at the + window. “That'll remind her of something,” he thought, and he laughed + under his breath. + </p> + <p> + Then he listened again with his ear at the sill. There was no noise + within. He flung more gravel and waited, thinking he might catch her + breathing, but he could hear nothing. + </p> + <p> + Then rising hurriedly and throwing off his playfulness, he strode to the + door and tried to open it. The door was locked. He returned to the window. + </p> + <p> + “Kate!” he called softly. “Kate! Are you there? Do you hear me? It's Pete. + Don't be frightened, Kate, bogh!” + </p> + <p> + There was no response. He could hear the beat of the sea on the shore. The + dog had perched himself on one end of the window sill and was beginning to + whine. + </p> + <p> + “What's this at all? She can't be out. Couldn't take the child anyway. + Where's that Nancy? What right had the woman to lave her? She has fainted, + being left alone; that's what's going doing.” + </p> + <p> + He tried to open the window, but the latch was shot. Then he tried the + other windows, and the back door, and the window above the hall, which he + reached from the roof of the porch; but they would not stir. When he + returned to the hall window, the white blind was darker. The lamp inside + the room was going out. + </p> + <p> + The moonlight was dripping down on him through the leaves of the trees. He + found some matches beside his pipe in his side pocket, struck one, and + looked at the sash, then took out his clasp knife to remove the pane under + the latch. His hand trembled and shook and burst through the glass with a + jerk. It cut his wrist, but he felt the wound no more than if it had been + the glass instead of his arm that bled. He thrust his hand through, shot + back the latch, then pushed up the sash, and clambered into the room past + the blind. The cat, sitting on the ledge inside, rubbed against his hand + and purred. + </p> + <p> + “Kirry! Kate!” he whispered. + </p> + <p> + The lamp had given up its last gleam with the puff of wind from the + window, and, save for the slumbering fire, all was dark within the house. + He hardly dared to drop to his feet for fear of treading on something. + When he was at last in the middle of the floor he stood with legs apart, + struck another match, held the light above his head, and looked down and + around, like a man in a cave. + </p> + <p> + There was nothing. The child, awakened by the draught of the night air, + began to cry from the cradle. He took it up and hushed it with baby words + of tenderness in a breaking voice. “Hush, bogh, hush! Mammie will come to + it, then. Mammie will come for all.” + </p> + <p> + He lit a candle and crept through the house, carrying the light about with + him. There was no sign anywhere until he came to the bedroom, when he saw + that the hat and cloak of Kate's daily wear had gone. Then he knew that he + was a broken-hearted man. With a cry of desolation he stopped in his + search and came heavily downstairs. + </p> + <p> + He had been warding off the moment of despair, but he could do so no + longer now. The empty house and the child, the child and the empty house; + these allowed of only one interpretation. “She's gone, bogh, she's left + us; she wasn't willing to stay with us, God forgive her!” + </p> + <p> + Sitting on a stool with the little one on his knees, he sobbed while the + child cried—two children crying together. Suddenly he leapt up. “I'm + not for believing it,” he thought. “What woman alive could do the like of + it? There isn't a mother breathing that hasn't more bowels. And she used + to love the lil one, and me too—and does, and does.” + </p> + <p> + He saw how it was. She was ill, distraught, perhaps even—God help + her I—perhaps even mad. Such things happened to women after + childbirth—the doctor himself had said as much. In the toils of her + bodily trouble, beset by mental terrors, she had fled away from her baby, + her husband, and her home, pursued by God knows what phantoms of disease. + But she would get better, she would come back. + </p> + <p> + “Hush, bogh, hush, then,” he whimpered tenderly. “Mammie will come home + again. Still and for all she'll come back.” + </p> + <p> + There was the click of a key in the lock, and he crept back to the stool. + Nancy came in, panting and perspiring. + </p> + <p> + “Dear heart alive! what a race I've had to get home,” she said, puffing + the air of the night. + </p> + <p> + She was throwing off her bonnet and shawl, and talking before looking + round. + </p> + <p> + “Such pushing and scrooging, you never seen the like, Kirry. Aw, my best + Sunday bonnet, only wore at me once, look at the crunched it is! But what + d'ye think now? Poor Christian Killip's baby is dead for all. Died in the + middle of the rejoicings. Aw, dear, yes, and the band going by playing + 'The Conquering Hero' the very minute. Poor thing! she was distracted, and + no wonder. I ran round to put a sight on the poor soul, and——why, + what's going wrong with the lamp, at all? Is that yourself on the stool, + Kirry? Pete, is it? Then where's the mistress?” + </p> + <p> + She plucked up the poker, and dug the fire into a blaze. “What's doing on + you, man? You've skinned your knuckles like potato peel. Man, man, what + for are you crying, at all?” + </p> + <p> + Then Pete said in a thick croak, “Hould your bull of a tongue, Nancy, and + take the child out of my arms.” + </p> + <p> + She took the baby from him, and he rose to his feet as feeble as an old + man. + </p> + <p> + “Lord save us!” she cried. “The window broke, too. What's happened?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” growled Pete. + </p> + <p> + “Then what's coming of Kirry? I left her at home when I went out at + seven.”. + </p> + <p> + “I'm choking with thirst, woman. Can't you be giving a man a drink of + something?” + </p> + <p> + He found a dish of milk on the table, where the supper had been laid, and + he gulped it down at a mouthful. + </p> + <p> + “She's gone—that's what it is. I see it in your face.” Then going to + the foot of the stairs, she called, “Kirry! Kate! Katherine Cregeen!” + </p> + <p> + “Stop that!” shouted Pete, and he drew her back from the stairs. + </p> + <p> + “Why aren't you spaking, then?” she cried. “If you're man enough to bear + the truth, I'm woman enough to hear it.” + </p> + <p> + “Listen to me, Nancy,” said Pete, with uplifted fist. “I'm going out for + an hour, and till I'm back, stay you here with the child, and say nothing + to nobody.” + </p> + <p> + “I knew it!” cried Nancy. “That's what she hurried me out for. Aw, dear! + Aw, dear! What for did you lave her with that man this morning?” + </p> + <p> + “Do you hear me, woman?” said Pete; “say nothing to nobody. My heart's + lying heavy enough already. Open your lips, and you'll kill me straight.” + </p> + <p> + Then he went out of the house, staggering, stumbling, bent almost double. + His hat lay on the floor; he had gone bareheaded. + </p> + <p> + He turned towards Sulby. “She's there,” he thought “Where else should she + be? The poor, wandering lamb wants home.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0082" id="link2H_4_0082"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVII. + </h2> + <p> + The bar-room of “The Manx Fairy” was full of gossips 'that night, and the + puffing of many pipes was suspended at a story that Mr. Jelly was telling. + </p> + <p> + “Strange enough, I'm thinking. 'Deed, but it's mortal strange. Talk about + tale-books—there's nothing in the 'Pilgrim's Progress' itself to + equal it. The son of one son coming home Dempster, with processions and + bands of music, at the very minute the son of the other son is getting + kicked out of the house same as a dog.” + </p> + <p> + “Strange uncommon,” said John the Widow, and other voices echoed him. + </p> + <p> + Jonaique looked round the room, expecting some one to question him. As + nobody did so, except with looks of inquiry, he said, “My ould man heard + it all. He's been tailor at the big house since the time of Iron Christian + himself.” + </p> + <p> + “Truth enough,” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “And he was sewing a suit for the big man in the kitchen when the bad work + was going doing upstairs.” + </p> + <p> + “You don't say!” + </p> + <p> + “'You've robbed me!' says the Ballawhaine.” + </p> + <p> + “Dear heart alive!” cried Grannie. “To his own son, was it?” + </p> + <p> + “'You've cheated me!' says he, 'you deceaved me, you've embezzled my money + and broke my heart!' says he. 'I've spent a fortune on you, and what have + you brought me back?' says he. 'This,' says he, 'and this—and this—barefaced + forgeries, all of them!' says he.” + </p> + <p> + “The Lord help us!” muttered Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “'They're calling me a miser, aren't they?' says he. 'I grind my people to + the dust, do I? What for, then? <i>Whom</i> for? I've been a good father + to you, anyway, and a fool, too, if nobody knows it!' says he.” + </p> + <p> + “Nobody! Did he say nobody, Mr. Jelly?” said Cæsar, screwing up his mouth. + </p> + <p> + “'If you'd had <i>my</i> father to deal with,' says he, 'he'd have turned + you out long ago for a liar and a thief.' 'My God, father,' says Ross, + struck silly for the minute. 'A thief, d'ye hear me?' says the + Ballawhaine; 'a thief that's taken every penny I have in the world, and + left me a ruined man.'” + </p> + <p> + “Did he say that?” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “He did, though,” said Jonaique. “The ould man was listening from the + kitchen-stairs, and young Ross snaked out of the house same as a cur.” + </p> + <p> + “And where's he gone to?” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “Gone to the devil, I'm thinking,” said Jonaique. + </p> + <p> + “Well, he'd be good enough for him with a broken back—pity the ould + man didn't break it,” said Cæsar. “But where is the wastrel now?” + </p> + <p> + “Gone to England over with to-night's packet, they're saying.” + </p> + <p> + “Praise God, from whom all blessings flow,” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + A grunt came out of the corner from behind a cloud of smoke. “You've your + own rasons for saying so, Cæsar,” said the husky voice of Black Tom. + “People were talking and talking one while there that he'd be 'bezzling + somebody's daughter, as well as the ould miser's money.” + </p> + <p> + “Answer a fool according to his folly,” muttered Cæsar; and then the door + jerked open, and Pete came staggering into the room. Every pipe shank was + lowered in an instant, and Grannie's needles ceased to click. + </p> + <p> + Pete was still bareheaded, his face was ghastly white, and his eyes + wandered, but he tried to bear himself as if nothing had happened. Smiling + horribly, and nodding all round, as a man does sometimes in battle the + moment the bullet strikes him, he turned to Grannie and moved his lips a + little as if he thought he was saying something, though he uttered no + sound. After that he took out his pipe, and rammed it with his forefinger, + then picked a spill from the table, and stooped to the fire for a light. + </p> + <p> + “Anybody—belonging—me—here?” he said, in a voice like a + crow's, coughing as he spoke, the flame dancing over the pipe mouth. + </p> + <p> + “No, Pete, no,” said Grannie. “Who were you looking for, at all?” + </p> + <p> + “Nobody,” he answered. “Nobody partic'lar. Aw, no,” he said, and he puffed + until his lips quacked, though the pipe gave out no smoke. “Just come in + to get fire to my pipe. Must be going now. So long, boys! S'long! Bye-bye, + Grannie!” + </p> + <p> + No one answered him. He nodded round the room again and smiled fearfully, + crossed to the door with a jaunty roll, and thus launched out of the house + with a pretence of unconcern, the dead pipe hanging upside down in his + mouth, and his head aside, as if his hat had been tilted rakishly on his + uncovered hair. + </p> + <p> + When he had gone the company looked into each other's faces in surprise + and fear, as if a ghost in broad daylight had passed among them. Then + Black Tom broke the silence. + </p> + <p> + “Men,” said he, “that was a d——— lie.” + </p> + <p> + “Si———” began Cæsar, but the protest foundered in his + dry throat. + </p> + <p> + “Something going doing in Ramsey,” Black Tom continued. “I believe in my + heart I'll follow him.” + </p> + <p> + “I'll be going along with you, Mr. Quilliam,” said Jonaique. + </p> + <p> + “And I,” said John the Clerk. + </p> + <p> + “And I”—“And I,” said the others, and in half a minute the room was + empty. + </p> + <p> + “Father,” whimpered Grannie, through the glass partition, “hadn't you + better saddle the mare and see if any thing's going wrong with Kirry?” + </p> + <p> + “I was thinking the same myself, mother.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, then, away with you. The Lord have mercy on all of us!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0083" id="link2H_4_0083"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVIII. + </h2> + <p> + As soon as he was out of earshot Pete began to run. Within half an hour he + was back at Elm Cottage. “She'll be home by this time,” he told himself, + but he dared not learn the truth too suddenly. Creeping up to the hall + window, he listened at the broken pane. The child was crying, and Nancy + Joe was talking to herself, and sobbing as she bathed the little one. + </p> + <p> + “Bless its precious heart, it's as beautiful as the angels in heaven. I've + bathed her mother on the same knee a hundred times. 'Deed have I, and a + thousand times too. Mother, indeed! What sort of mothers are in now at + all? She must have a heart-as hard as a stone to lave the like of it. + Can't be a drop of nature in her.... Goodness, Nancy, what are saying for + all? Kate is it? Your own little Kirry, and you blackening her! Aw, dear!—aw, + dear! The bogh!—the bogh!” + </p> + <p> + Pete could not go in. He crept back to the cabin in the garden and leaned + against it to draw his breath and think. Then he noticed that the dog was + on the path with its long tongue hanging over its jaw. It stopped its + panting to whine woefully, and then it turned towards the darker part of + the garden. + </p> + <p> + “He's telling me something,” thought Pete. + </p> + <p> + A car rattled down the side road at that moment, and the light of its lamp + shot through the bushes to his feet. + </p> + <p> + “The ould gate must be open,” he thought. + </p> + <p> + He looked and saw that it was, and then a new light dawned on him. + </p> + <p> + “She's gone up to Philip's,” he told himself. “She's gone by Claughbane to + Ballure to find me.” + </p> + <p> + Five minutes afterwards he was knocking at Ballure House. His breath was + coming in gusts, perspiration was standing in beads on his face, and his + head was still bare, but he was carrying himself bravely as if nothing + were amiss. His knock was answered by the maid, a tall girl of cheerful + expression, in a black frock, a white apron, and a snow-white cap. Pete + nodded and smiled at her. + </p> + <p> + “Anybody been here for me? No?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “No, sir, n—o, I think not,” the girl answered, and as she looked at + Pete her face straightened. + </p> + <p> + There was a rustling within as of autumn leaves, and then a twittering + voice cried, “Is it Capt'n Quilliam, Martha?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma'am.” + </p> + <p> + Some whispered conference took place at the dining-room door, and Auntie + Nan came hopping through the hall. But Pete was already moving away in the + darkness. + </p> + <p> + “Shall I call the Deemster, Peter?” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, no, ma'am, no, not worth bothering him. Good everin', Miss Christian, + ma'am, good everin' to you.” + </p> + <p> + Auntie Nan and Martha were standing in the light at the open door when the + iron gate of the garden swung to with a click, and Pete swung across the + road. + </p> + <p> + He was making for the lane which goes down to the shore at the foot of + Ballure Glen. “No denying it,” he thought. “It must be true for all. The + trouble in her head has driven her to it. Poor girl, poor darling!” + </p> + <p> + He had been fighting against an awful idea, and the quagmire of despair + had risen to his throat at last. The moon was behind the cliffs, and he + groped his way through the shadows at the foot of the rocks like one who + looks for something which he dreads to find. He found nothing, and his + catchy breathing lengthened to sighs. + </p> + <p> + “Thank God, not here, anyway!” he muttered. + </p> + <p> + Then he walked down the shore towards the harbour. The tide was still + high, the wash of the waves touched his feet; on the one hand the dark + sea, unbroken by a light, on the other the dull town blinking out and + dropping asleep. + </p> + <p> + He reached the end of the stone pier at the mouth of the harbour, and with + his back to the seaward side of the lighthouse he stared down into the + grey water that surged and moaned under the rounded wall. A black cloud + like a skate was floating across the moon, and a startled gannet scuttled + from under the pier steps into the moon's misty waterway. There was + nothing else to be seen. + </p> + <p> + He turned back towards the town, following the line of the quay, and + glancing down into the harbour when he came to the steps. Still he saw + nothing of the thing he looked for. “But it was high water then, and now + it's the ebby tide,” he told himself. + </p> + <p> + He had met with nobody on the shore or on the pier, but as he passed the + sheds in front of the berth for the steamers he was joined by the + harbour-master, who was swinging home for the night, with his coat across + his arm. Then he tried to ask the question that was slipping off his + tongue, but dared not, and only stammered awkwardly—— + </p> + <p> + “Any news to-night, Mr. Quay le?” + </p> + <p> + “Is it yourself, Capt'n? If you've none, I've none. It's independent young + rovers like you for newses, not poor ould chaps tied to the harbour-post + same as a ship's cable. I was hearing you, though. You'd a power of music + in the everin' yonder. Fine doings up at Ballure, seemingly.” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing fresh with yourself then, Daniel? No?” + </p> + <p> + “Except that I am middling sick of these late sailings, and the sooner + they're building us a breakwater the better. If the young Deemster will + get that for us, he'll do.” + </p> + <p> + They were nearing a lamp at the corner of the marketplace. + </p> + <p> + “It's like you know the young Ballawhaine crossed with the boat to-night? + Something wrong, with the ould man, they're telling me. But boy, veen, + what's come of your hat at all?” + </p> + <p> + “My hat?” said Pete, groping about his head. “Oh, my hat? Blown off on the + pier, of coorse.” + </p> + <p> + “'Deed, man! Not much wind either. You'll be for home and the young wife, + eh, Capt'n?” + </p> + <p> + “Must be,” said Pete, with an empty laugh. And the harbour-master, who was + a bachelor, laughed more heartily, and added—— + </p> + <p> + “You married men are like Adam, you've lost the rib of your liberty, but + you've got a warm little woman to your side instead.” + </p> + <p> + “Ha! ha! ha! Goodnight!” + </p> + <p> + Pete's laugh echoed through the empty market-place. + </p> + <p> + The harbour-master had seen nothing. Pete drew a long breath, followed the + line of the harbour as far as to the bridge at the end of it, and then + turned back through the town. He had forgotten again that he was + bareheaded, and he walked down Parliament Street with a tremendous step + and the air of a man to whom nothing unusual had occurred. People were + standing in groups at the corner of every side street, talking eagerly, + with the low hissing sound that women make when they are discussing + secrets. So absorbed were they that Pete passed some of them unobserved. + He caught snatches of their conversation. + </p> + <p> + “The rascal,” said one. + </p> + <p> + “Clane ruined the ould man, anyway,” said another. + </p> + <p> + “Ross Christian again,” thought Pete. But a greater secret swamped + everything. Still he heard the people as he passed. + </p> + <p> + “Sarve her right, though, whatever she gets—she knew what he was.” + </p> + <p> + “Laving the child, too, the unfeeling creature.” + </p> + <p> + Then the sharp voices of the women fell on the dull consciousness of Pete + like forks of lightning. + </p> + <p> + “Whisht, woman! the husband himself,” said somebody. + </p> + <p> + There was a noise of feet like the plash of retiring waves, and Pete + noticed that one of the groups had broken into a half circle, facing him + as he strode along the street. He nodded cheerfully over both sides, threw + back his bare head, and plodded on. But his teeth were set hard, and his + breathing was quick and audible. + </p> + <p> + “I see what they mane,” he muttered. + </p> + <p> + Outside his own house he found a crowd. A saddle-horse, with a cloud of + steam rising from her, was standing with the reins over its head, linked + to the gate-post. It was Cæsar's mare, Molly. Every eye was on the house, + and no one saw Pete as he came up behind. + </p> + <p> + “Black Tom's saying there's not a doubt of it,” said a woman. + </p> + <p> + “Gone with the young Ballawhaine, eh?” said a man. + </p> + <p> + “Shame on her, the hussy,” said another woman. + </p> + <p> + Pete ploughed his way through with both arms, smiling and nodding + furiously. “If you, plaze, ma'am I If <i>you</i> plaze.” + </p> + <p> + As he pushed on he heard voices behind him. “Poor man, he doesn't know + yet.”—“I'm taking pity to look at him.” + </p> + <p> + The house-door was open. On the threshold stood a young man with long hair + and a long note-book. He was putting questions. “Last seen at seven + o'clock—left alone with child—husband out with procession—any + other information?” + </p> + <p> + Nancy Joe, with the child on her lap, was answering querulously from the + stool before the fire, and Cæsar, face down, was leaning on the + mantelpiece. + </p> + <p> + Pete took in the situation at a glance. Then he laid his big hand on the + young man's shoulder and swung him aside as if he had been turning a + swivel. + </p> + <p> + “What going doing?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + The young man faltered something. Sorry to intrude—Capt'n Quilliam's + trouble. + </p> + <p> + “What trouble?” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “Need I say—the lamented—I mean distressing—in fact, the + mysterious disappearance——” + </p> + <p> + “What disappearance?” said Pete, with an air of amazement. + </p> + <p> + “Can it be, sir, that you've not yet heard——” + </p> + <p> + “Heard what? Your tongue's like a turnip-watch in a fob pocket—out + with it, man.” + </p> + <p> + “Your wife, Captain——” + </p> + <p> + “What? My wife disa—— What? So this is the jeel! My wife + mysteriously disappear—— Oh, my gough!” + </p> + <p> + Pete burst into a peal of laughter. He shouted, roared, held his sides, + doubled, rocked up and down, and at length flung himself into a chair, + threw back his head, heaved out his legs, and shook till the house itself + seemed to quake. + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's good! that's rich! that bates all!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + The child awoke on Nancy's knee and sent its thin pipe through Pete's + terrific bass. Cæsar opened his mouth and gaped, and the young man, now + white and afraid, scraped and backed himself to the door, saying— + </p> + <p> + “Then perhaps it's not true, after all, Capt'n?” + </p> + <p> + “Of coorse it's not true,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “Maybe you know where she's gone.” + </p> + <p> + “Of course I know where's she's gone. I sent her there myself!” + </p> + <p> + “You did, though?” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, did I—to England by the night sailing.” + </p> + <p> + “'Deed, man!” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “The doctor ordered it. You heard him yourself, grandfather.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's true, too,” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + The young man closed his long note-book and backed into a throng of women + who had come up to the porch. “Of course, if you say so, Capt'n Quilliam——” + </p> + <p> + “I do say so,” shouted Pete; and the reporter disappeared. + </p> + <p> + The voices of two women came from the gulf of white faces wherein the + reporter had been swallowed up. “I'm right glad it's lies they've been + telling of her, Capt'n,” said the first. + </p> + <p> + “Of coorse you are, Mistress Kinnish,” shouted Pete. + </p> + <p> + “I could never have believed the like of the same woman, and I always knew + the child was brought up by hand,” said the other. + </p> + <p> + “Coorse you couldn't, Mistress Kewley,” Pete replied. + </p> + <p> + But he swung up and kicked the door to in their faces. The strangers being + shut out, Cæsar said cautiously— + </p> + <p> + “Do you mane that, Peter?” + </p> + <p> + “Molly's smoking at the gate like a brewer's vat, father,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “The half hasn't been told you, Peter. Listen to me. It's only proper you + should hear it. When you were away at Kim-berley this Ross Christian was + bothering the girl terrible.” + </p> + <p> + “She'll be getting cold so long out of the stable,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “I rebuked him myself, sir, and he smote me on the brow. Look! Here's the + mark of his hand over my temple, and I'll be carrying it to my grave.” + </p> + <p> + “Ross Christian! Ross Christian!” muttered Pete impatiently. + </p> + <p> + “By the Lord's restraining grace, sir, I refrained myself—but if Mr. + Philip hadn't been there that night—I'm not hould-ing with violence, + no, resist not evil—but Mr. Philip fought the loose liver with his + fist for me; he chastised him, sir; he—” + </p> + <p> + “D———the man!” cried Pete, leaping to his feet. “What's + he to me or my wife either?” + </p> + <p> + Cæsar went home huffed, angry, and unsatisfied. And then, all being gone + and the long strain over, Pete snatched the puling child out of Nancy's + arms, and kissed it and wept over it. + </p> + <p> + “Give her to me, the bogh,” he cried, hoarse as a raven, and then sat on + the stool before the fire, and rocked the little one and himself together. + “If I hadn't something innocent to lay hould of I should be going mad, + that I should. Oh, Katherine bogh! Katherine bogh! My little bogh! My I'll + bogh millish!” + </p> + <p> + In the deep hours of the night, after Nancy had grumbled and sobbed + herself to sleep by the side of the child, Pete got up from the sofa in + the parlour and stole out of the house again. + </p> + <p> + “She may come up with the morning tide,” he told himself. “If she does, + what matter about a lie, God forgive me? God help me, what matter about + anything?” + </p> + <p> + If she did not, he would stick to his story, so that when she came back, + wherever she had been, she would come home as an honest woman. + </p> + <p> + “And <i>will be</i>, too,” he thought. “Yes, will be, too, spite of all + their dirty tongues—as sure as the Lord's in heaven.” + </p> + <p> + The dog trotted on in front of him as he turned up towards Ballure. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0084" id="link2H_4_0084"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIX. + </h2> + <p> + Philip had not eaten much that night at dinner. He had pecked at the wing + of a fowl, been restless, absent, preoccupied, and like a man struggling + for composure. At intervals he had listened as for a step or a voice, then + recovered himself and laughed a little. + </p> + <p> + Auntie Nan had explained his uneasiness on grounds of natural excitement + after the doings of the great day. She had loaded his plate with good + things, and chirruped away under the light of the lamp. + </p> + <p> + “So sweet of you, Philip, not to forget Pete amid all your success. He's + really such a good soul. It would break his heart if you neglected him. + Simple as a child, certainly, and of course quite uneducated, but——” + </p> + <p> + “Pete is fit to be the friend of any one, Auntie.” + </p> + <p> + “The friend, yes, but you'll allow not exactly the companion——” + </p> + <p> + “If he is simple, it is the simplicity of a nature too large for little + things.” + </p> + <p> + “The dear fellow! He's not a bit jealous of you, Philip.” + </p> + <p> + “Such feelings are far below him, Auntie.” + </p> + <p> + “He's your first cousin after all, Philip. There's no denying that. As he + says, the blood of the Christians is in him.” + </p> + <p> + The conversation took a turn. Auntie Nan fell to talking of the other + Peter, uncle Peter Christian of Ballawhaine. This was the day of the big + man's humiliation. The son he had doted on was disgraced. She tried, but + could not help it; she struggled, but could not resist the impulse—in + her secret heart the tender little soul rejoiced. + </p> + <p> + “Such a pity,” she sighed. “So touching when a father—no matter how + selfish—is wrecked by love of a thankless son. I'm sorry, indeed I + am. But I warned him six years ago. Didn't I, now?” + </p> + <p> + Philip was far away. He was seeing visions of Pete going home, the + deserted house, the empty cradle, the desolate man alone and heart-broken. + </p> + <p> + They rose from the table and went into the little parlour, Auntie Nan on + Philip's arm, proud and happy. She fluttered down to the piano and sang, + to cheer him up a little, an old song in a quavering old voice. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Of the wandering falcon + The cuckoo complains, + He has torn her warm nest, + He has scattered her young.” + </pre> + <p> + Suddenly Philip got up stiffly, and said in a husky whisper, “Isn't that + his voice?” + </p> + <p> + “Who's, dear?” + </p> + <p> + “Pete's.” + </p> + <p> + “Where, dearest?” + </p> + <p> + “In the hall.” + </p> + <p> + “I hear nobody. Let me look. No, Pete's not here. But how pale you are, + Philip. What's amiss?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” said Philip. “I only thought——” + </p> + <p> + “Take some wine, dear, or some brandy. You've overtired yourself to-day, + and no wonder. You must have a long, long rest to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes I'll go to bed at once.” + </p> + <p> + “So soon! Well, perhaps it's best. You want sleep: your eyes show that. + Martha! Is everything ready in the Deemster's room? All but the lamp? Take + it up, Martha. Philip, you'll drink a little brandy and water first? I'll + carry it to your room then; you might need it in the night. Go before me, + dear. Yes, yes, you must. Do you think I want you to see how old I am when + I'm going upstairs? Ah! I hadn't to climb by the banisters this way when I + came first to Bal-lure.” + </p> + <p> + On reaching the landing, Philip was turning to his old room, the bedroom + he had occupied from his boyhood up, the bedroom of his mother's father, + old Capt'n Billy. + </p> + <p> + “Not that way to-night, Philip. This way—<i>there!</i> What do you + say to <i>that?</i>” + </p> + <p> + She pushed open the door of the room opposite, and the glow of the fire + within rushed out on them. + </p> + <p> + “My father's room,” said Philip, and he stepped back. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I've aired it, and it's not a bit the worse for being so long shut + up. See, it's like toast Oo—oo—oo! Not the least sign of my + breath. Come!” + </p> + <p> + “No, Auntie, no.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you afraid of ghosts? There's only one ghost lives here, Philip, the + memory of your dear father, and that will never harm you.” + </p> + <p> + “But this place is too sacred. No one has slept here since——” + </p> + <p> + “That's why, dearest. But now you have justified your father's hopes, and + it must be your room for the future. Ah! if he could only see you himself, + how proud he would be! Poor father! Perhaps he does. Who knows—perhaps—kiss + me, Philip. See what an old silly I am, after all. So happy that I have to + cry. But mind now, you've got to sleep in this room every time you come to + hold court in Ramsey. I refuse to share you with Elm Cottage any longer. + Talk about jealousy! If Pete isn't jealous, I know somebody who is—or + soon will be. But Philip—Philip Christian——” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” + </p> + <p> + The sweet old face grew solemn. “The greatest man has his cares and doubts + and divisions. That's only natural—out in the open field of life. + But don't be ashamed to come here whenever you are in trouble. It's what + home is for, Philip. Just a place of peace and shelter from the rough + world, when it wounds and hurts you. A quiet spot, dear, with memories of + father and mother and innocent childhood—and with an old goose of an + auntie, maybe, who thinks of you all day and every day, and is so vain and + foolish—and—and who loves you. Philip, better than anybody in + the World.” + </p> + <p> + Philip's arms were about the old soul, but he had not heard her. With a + terrified glance towards the window, he was saying in a low quick voice, + “Isn't that a footstep on the gravel?” + </p> + <p> + “N—o, no! You're nervous to-night, Philip. Lie and rest. When you're + asleep, I'll creep back and look at you.” + </p> + <p> + She left him, and he looked around. Not in all the world could Philip have + found a spot so full of terrors. It was like a sepulchre of dead things—his + dead father, his dead mother, his dead youth, his dead innocence, his + slaughtered friendship, and his outraged conscience. + </p> + <p> + Over the fireplace hung a portrait of his mother. It was the picture of a + comely girl, young and soft, with full ripe lips and bright brown eyes. + Philip shuddered as he looked at it. The portrait was like the ghost of + himself looking through the veil of a woman's face. + </p> + <p> + Facing this, and hanging over the side of the bed, was a portrait of his + father. The eyes were full of light, the lines of the cheek were round; + the mouth seemed to quiver with a tender smile. But Philip could not see + it as it was. He saw it with straggling hair, damp and long as reeds, the + cheeks pallid and drawn, the eyes like lamps in a mist, the throat bare of + the shirt, and the lips kept apart by laboured breathing. + </p> + <p> + Near the window stood the cot where he had once slept with Pete, and + leaped up in the morning and laughed. On every hand, wherever his eye + could rest, there rose a phantom of his lost and buried life. And Auntie + Nannie's love and pride had brought him to this chamber of torture! + </p> + <p> + The night was calm enough outside; but it seemed to lie dead within that + room, so quiet was it and so still. There was a clock, but it did not go; + and there was a cage for a bird, but no bird pecked in it, Philip thought + he heard a knocking at the door of the house. Nobody answered it, so he + rang for the maid. She came upstairs with a smile. + </p> + <p> + “Didn't you hear a knock at the front door, Martha?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir,” said the girl. + </p> + <p> + “Strange! Very strange! I could have sworn it was the knock of Mr. + Quilliam.” + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps it was, sir. Ill go and look.” + </p> + <p> + “No matter. I've a singing in my ears to-night. It must be that.” + </p> + <p> + The girl left him. He threw off his boots and began to creep about the + room as if he were doing something in which he feared detection. Every + time his eyes fell on the portrait of his father he dropped his head and + turned aside. Presently he heard voices in the room below. This time the + sound in his ears was no dreaming. He opened the door noiselessly and + listened. It was Pete. Martha was answering him. Auntie Nan was calling + from the dining-room, and Pete was saying “No, no,” in a light way and + moving off. The gate of the garden clicked and the front door was closed + quietly. Then Philip shut the door of his own room without a sound. + </p> + <p> + A moment later Auntie Nan re-opened it. She was carrying a lighted candle. + </p> + <p> + “Such an extraordinary thing, Philip. Martha says you thought you heard + Peter knocking, and, do you know, he must have been coming up the hill at + that very moment. He was so strange, too, and looked so wild. Asked if + anybody had been here inquiring for him; as if anybody should. Wouldn't + have me call to you, and went off laughing about nothing. Really, if I + hadn't known him for a sober man——” + </p> + <p> + Philip felt sick-and chill, and-he began to shiver. An irresistible + impulse took hold of him. It was like the half-smothered fear which makes + guilty men go to sit at the inquests on their murdered victims. + </p> + <p> + “Something wrong,” he said. “Where are my boots?” + </p> + <p> + “Going to Elm Cottage, Philip? Pity the coachman drove back to Douglas. + Hadn't you better send Martha? Besides, it may be only my fancy. Why worry + in any case? You're too tender-hearted—indeed you are.” + </p> + <p> + Philip fled downstairs like one who flies from torture. While dragging on + his coat in the hall, he began to foresee what was before him. He was to + go to Pete, pretending to know nothing; he was to hear Pete's story, and + show surprise; he was to comfort Pete—perhaps to help him in his + search, for he dared not appear <i>not</i> to help—he was to walk by + Pete's side, looking for what he knew they should not find. He saw himself + crawling along the streets like a snake, and the part he had to play + revolted him. He went upstairs again. + </p> + <p> + “On second thoughts, you must be right, auntie.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure I am.” + </p> + <p> + “If not, he'll come again.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure he will.” + </p> + <p> + “If there's anything amiss with Pete, he'll come first to me.” + </p> + <p> + “There can be nothing amiss except what I say. Just a glass too much maybe + and no great sin either, considering the day, and how proud he is, for + your sake, Philip. I believe in my heart that young man couldn't be + prouder and happier if he stood in your own shoes instead.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-night, Auntie,” said Philip, in a thick gurgle. + </p> + <p> + “Good-night, dear. I'm going to bed, and mind you go yourself.” + </p> + <p> + Being alone, Philip found himself leaning against the mantelpiece and + looking across at his father's picture. He began to contrast his father + with himself. He was a success, his father had been a failure. At + seven-and-twenty he was Deemster at all events; at thirty his father had + died a broken man. He had got what he had worked for; he had recovered the + place of his people; and yet how mean a man he was compared to him who had + done nothing and lost all. + </p> + <p> + Failure was all that his father had had to reproach himself with; but he + had to accuse himself of dishonour as well. His father's offence had been + a fault; his own was a crime. If his father had been willing to betray + love and friendship, he might have succeeded. Because he himself had been + true to neither, he had not failed. The very excess of his father's + virtues had kept him down. Every act of his own selfishness had pushed him + up. His father had thought first of love and truth and an upright life, + and last of money and rank and applause. The world had renounced his + father because his father had first renounced the world. But it had opened + its arms to him, and followed him with shouts and cheers, and loaded him + with honours. And yet, miserable man, better be down in the ooze and slime + of a broken life, better be dead and in the grave—for the dead in + his grave must despise him. + </p> + <p> + An awful picture rose before Philip. It was a picture of himself in the + time to come. An old man—great, powerful, perhaps even beloved, + maybe worshipped, but heart-dead, tottering on to the grave, and the + mockery of a gorgeous funeral, with crowds and drums and solemn music. + Then suddenly a great silence, as if the snow had begun to fall, and a + great white light, and an awful voice crying, “Who is this that comes with + dust for a bleeding heart, and ashes for a living soul?” + </p> + <p> + Philip screamed aloud at the vision, as piece by piece he put it together. + His cry died off with a tingle in the china ornaments of the mantelpiece, + and he remembered where he was. Then two gentle taps came to the door of + his room. He composed himself a little, snatched up a book, and cried + “Come in!” + </p> + <p> + It was Auntie Nan. She was in her night-dress and night-cap. A candle was + in her hand, and the flame was shaking. + </p> + <p> + “Whatever's to do, my child?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Only reading aloud, Auntie. Did I awaken you?” + </p> + <p> + “But you screamed, Philip.” + </p> + <p> + “Macbeth, Auntie. See, the banquet scene. He has become king, you know, + but his conscience——” + </p> + <p> + He stopped. The little lady looked at him dubiously and made a pull at the + string of her night-cap, causing it to fall aside and give a grotesque + appearance to her troubled old face. + </p> + <p> + “Take a little brandy, dear. I left it here on the dressing-table.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't trouble about me, Auntie. Good-night again. There! go back to bed.” + </p> + <p> + Half coaxing, half forcing her, he drew her to the door, and she went out + slowly, reluctantly, doubtfully, the wandering strings of her cap trailing + on her shoulders, and her bare feet nipping up the bottom of the + night-dress behind her. + </p> + <p> + Philip looked at the book he had snatched up in his haste. What had put + that book of all books into his hand? What had brought him to that room of + all rooms? And on that night of all nights? What devil out of hell had + tempted Auntie Nan to torture him? He would not stay; he would go back to + his own bed. + </p> + <p> + Out on the landing he heard a low voice. It came from Auntie Nan's room. A + spear of candle-light shot from her door, which was ajar. He paused and + looked in. The white night-dress was by the bedside, the night-cap was + buried in the counterpane. A cat had established itself beside it, and was + purring softly. Auntie Nan was on her knees. Philip heard his own name—— + </p> + <p> + “God bless my Philip in the great place to which he has been called this + day. Give him wisdom and strength and peace!” + </p> + <p> + Holy woman, with angels hovering over you, who dared to think of devils + tempting your innocence and love? + </p> + <p> + Philip went back to his father's room. He began to reconcile himself to + his position. Though he had been extolling his father at his own expense, + what had he done but realise his father's hopes. And, after all, he could + not have acted differently. At no point could he have behaved otherwise + than he had. What had he to accuse himself for? If there had been sin, he + had been dragged into it by blind powers which he could not command. And + what was true of himself was also true of Kate. + </p> + <p> + Ah! he could see her now. She was gone where he had sent her. There were + tears in her beautiful eyes, but time would wipe them away. The duplicity + of her old life was over; the corroding deceit, the daily torment, the + hourly infidelity—all were left behind. If there was remorse, it was + the fault of destiny; and if she was suffering the pangs of shame, she was + a woman, and she would bear it cheerfully for the sake of the man she + loved. She was going through everything for him. Heaven bless her! In + spite of man and man's law, she was his love, his darling, his wife—yes, + his wife—by right of nature and of God; and, come what would, he + should cling to her to the last. + </p> + <p> + Suddenly a thick voice cut through the still air of the night. + </p> + <p> + “Philip!” + </p> + <p> + It was Pete at last He was calling up at the window from the path below. + Philip groaned and covered his face with his hands. + </p> + <p> + “Philip!” + </p> + <p> + With rigid steps Philip walked to the window and threw up the sash. It was + starlight, and the branches were bending in the night air. + </p> + <p> + “Is it you, Pete?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, it's me. I was seeing the lamp, so I knew you war'n in bed at all. + Studdying a bit, it's like, eh? I thought I wouldn't waken the house, but + just shout up and tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it, Pete?” said Philip. His voice shivered like a sail at + tacking. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing much at all. Only the wife's gone to England over by the night's + steamer.” + </p> + <p> + “To England?” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, time for it too, I'm thinking; the wake and narvous she's been + lately. You remember what the doctor was saying yonder everin,' when we + christened the child? 'Send her out of the island,' says he, 'and she'll + be coming home another woman.' Wasn't for going, though. Crying and + shouting she wouldn't be laving the lil one. So I had to put out a bit of + authority. Of course, a husband's got the right to do that, Philip, eh? + Well, I'll be taking the road again. Doing a fine night, isn't it? Make's + a man unwilling to go to bed.” + </p> + <p> + Philip trembled and felt sick. He tried to speak, but could utter nothing + except an inarticulate noise. As Pete went off, an owl screeched in the + glen. Philip drew down the sash, pulled the blind, tugged the curtains + across, stumbled into the middle of the floor, and leaned against the bed. + </p> + <p> + “Such is the beginning of the end,” he thought. + </p> + <p> + The duplicity, the deceit, the daily torment which Kate had left behind, + were henceforward to be his own! At one flash, as of lightning, he saw the + path before him. It was over cliffs and chasms and quagmires, where his + foot might slip at any step. + </p> + <p> + His head began to reel. He took the brandy bottle from the dressing-table, + poured out half a tumbler, and drained it at one draught. As he did so, + his eyes above the rim of the glass rested on the portrait of his mother + over the fireplace. The face as he saw it then was no longer the face of + the winsome bride. It was the living face as he remembered it—bleared, + bloated, gross, and drunken. She smiled on him, she beckoned to him. + </p> + <p> + It was the beginning of the end indeed. He was his mother's son as well as + his father's. The father had ruled down to that day, but it was the turn + of the mother now. He could not resist her. She was alive in his blood, + and he was hers. + </p> + <p> + Never before had he touched raw spirits, and the brandy mastered him + instantly. Feeling dizzy, he made an effort to undress and get into bed. + He dragged off his coat and his waistcoat, and threw his braces over his + shoulders. Then he stumbled, and he had to lay hold of the bedpost. His + hand grew chill and relaxed its hold. Stupor came over him. He slipped, he + slid, he fell, and rolled with outstretched arms on to the floor. The fire + went out and the lamp died down. + </p> + <p> + Then the sun came up over the sea. It was a beautiful morning. The town + awoke; people hailed each other cheerfully in the streets, and joy-bells + rang from the big church tower for the first court-day of the new + Deemster. But the Deemster himself still lay on the floor, with damp + forehead and matted hair, behind the blind of the darkened room. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART5" id="link2H_PART5"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART V. MAN AND MAN. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0086" id="link2H_4_0086"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I. + </h2> + <p> + It was Saturday, and the market-place was covered with the carts and + stalls of the country people. After some feint of eating breakfast, Pete + lit his pipe, called for a basket, and announced his intention of doing + the marketing. + </p> + <p> + “Coming for the mistress, are you, Capt'n?” + </p> + <p> + “I'm a sort of a grass-widow, ma'am. What's your eggs to-day, Mistress + Cowley?” + </p> + <p> + “Sixteen this morning, sir, and right ones too. They were telling me + you've been losing her.” + </p> + <p> + “Give me a shilling's worth, then. Any news over your side, Mag?” + </p> + <p> + “Two—four—eight—sixteen—it's every appearance + we'll be getting a early harvest, Capt'n.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it yourself, Liza? And how's your butter to-day?” + </p> + <p> + “Bad to bate to-day, sir, and only thirteen pence ha'penny. Is the lil one + longing for the mistress, Capt'n?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll take a couple of pounds, then. What for longing at all when it's + going bringing up by hand it is? Put it in a cabbage leaf, Liza.” + </p> + <p> + Thus, with his basket on his arm and his pipe in his mouth, Pete passed + from stall to stall, chatting, laughing, bargaining, buying, shouting his + salutations over the general hum and hubbub, as he ploughed his way + through the crowd, but listening intently watching eagerly, casting out + grapples to catch the anchor he had lost, and feeling all the time that if + any eye showed sign of knowledge, if any one began with “Capt'n, I can + tell you where she is,” he must leap on the man like a tiger, and strangle + the revelation in his throat. + </p> + <p> + Next day, Sunday, his friends from Sulby came to quiz and to question. He + was lounging in his shirt-sleeves on a deck-chair in his ship's cabin, + smoking a long pipe, and pretending to be at ease and at peace with all + the world. + </p> + <p> + “Fine morning, Capt'n,” said John the Clerk. + </p> + <p> + “It <i>is</i> doing a fine morning, John,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “Fine on the sea, too,” said Jonaique. + </p> + <p> + “Wonderful fine on the sea, Mr. Jelly.” + </p> + <p> + “A nice fair wind, though, if anybody was going by the packet to + Liverpool. Was it as good, think you, for the mistress on Friday night, + Mr. Quilliam?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll gallantee,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “Plucky, though—I wouldn't have thought it of the same woman—I + wouldn't raelly,” said Jonaique. + </p> + <p> + “Alone, too, and landing on the other side so early in the morning,” said + John the Clerk. + </p> + <p> + “Smart, uncommon! It isn't every woman would have done it,” said Kelly the + Postman. + </p> + <p> + “Aw, we've mighty boys of women deese days—we have dough,” snuffled + the constable, and then they all laughed together. + </p> + <p> + Pete watched their wheedling, fawning, and whisking of the tail, and then + he said, “Chut! What's there so wonderful about a woman going by herself + to Liverpool when she's got somebody waiting at the stage to meet her?” + </p> + <p> + The laughing faces lengthened suddenly. “And had she, then,” said John the + Clerk. + </p> + <p> + Pete puffed furiously, rolled in his seat, laughed like a man with a mouth + full of water, and said, “Why, sartenly—my uncle, of coorse.” + </p> + <p> + Jonaique wrinkled his forehead. “Uncle,” he said, with a click in his + throat. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my Uncle Joe,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + Jonaique looked helplessly across at John the Clerk. John the Clerk + puckered up his mouth as if about to whistle, and then said, in a + faltering way, “Well, I can't really say I've ever heard tell of your + Uncle Joe before, Capt'n.” + </p> + <p> + “No?” said Pete, with a look of astonishment. “Not my Uncle Joseph? The + one that left the island forty years ago and started in the coach and cab + line? Well, that's curious. Where's he living? Bless me, where's this it + is, now? Chut! it's clane forgot at me. But I saw him myself coming home + from Kimberley, and since then he's been writing constant. 'Send her + across,' says he; 'she'll be her own woman again like winking.' And you + never heard tell of him? Not Uncle Joey with the bald head? Well, well! A + smart ould man, though. Man alive, the lively he is, too, and the + laughable, and the good company. To look at that man's face you'd say the + sun was shining reg'lar. Aw, it's fine times she'll be having with Uncle + Joe. No woman could be ill with yonder ould man about. He'd break your + face with laughing if it was bursting itself with a squinsey. And you + never heard tell of my Uncle Joe, of Scotland Road, down Clarence Dock + way? To think of that now!” + </p> + <p> + They went off with looks of perplexity, and Pete turned into the house. + “They're trying to catch me; they're wanting to shame my poor lil Kirry. I + must keep her name sweet,” he thought. + </p> + <p> + The church bells had begun to ring, and he was telling himself that, heavy + though his heart might be, he must behave as usual. + </p> + <p> + “She'll be going walking to church herself this morning, Nancy,” he said, + putting on his coat, “so I'll just slip across to chapel.” + </p> + <p> + He was swinging up the path on his return home to dinner, when he heard + voices inside the house. + </p> + <p> + “It's shocking to see the man bittending this and bittending that.” It was + Nancy; she was laying the table; there was a rattle of knives and forks. + “Bittending to ate, but only pecking like a robin; bittending to sleep, + but never a wink on the night; bittending to laugh and to joke and wink, + and a face at him like a ghose's, and his hair all through-others. Walking + about from river to quay, and going on with all that rubbish—it's + shocking, ma'am, it's shocking!” + </p> + <p> + “Hush-a-bye, hush-a-bye!” It was the voice of Grannie, low and quavery; + she was rocking the cradle. + </p> + <p> + “You can't spake to him neither but he's scolding you scandalous. 'I'm not + used of being cursed at,' I'm saying, 'and is it myself that has to be + tould to respect my own Kitty?' But cry shame on her I must when I look at + the lil bogh there, and it so helpless and so beautiful. 'Stericks, you + say? Yes, indeed, ma'am, and if I stay here much longer, it's losing + myself I will be, too, with his bittending and bittending.” + </p> + <p> + “Lave him to it, Nancy. His poor head's that moidered and mixed it's like + a black pudding—there's no saying what's inside of it. But he's + good, though; aw, right good he is for all, and the world's cold and + cruel. Lave him alone, woman; lave him alone, poor boy.” + </p> + <p> + The child awoke and cried, and, under cover of this commotion and the + crowing and cooing of the two women, Pete stepped back to the gate, + clashed it hard, swung noisily up the gravel, and rolled into the house + with a shout and a laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Well, well! Grannie, my gough! Who'd have thought of seeing Grannie, now? + And how's the ould angel to-day? So you've got the lil one there? Aw, you + rogue, you. You're on Grannie's lap, are you? How's Cæsar? And how's Mrs. + Gorry doing? Look at that now—did you ever? Opening one eye first to + make sure if the world's all right. The child's wise. Coo—oo—oo! + Smart with the dinner, Nancy—wonderful hungry the chapel's making a + man. Coo—oo! What's she like, now, Grannie?” + </p> + <p> + “When I set her to my knee like this I can see my own lil Kirry again,'' + said Grannie, looking down ruefully, rocking the child with one knee and + doubling over it to kiss it. + </p> + <p> + “So she's like the mammy, is she?” said Pete, blowing at the baby and + tickling its chin with his broad forefinger. “Mammy's gone to the ould + uncle's—hasn't she, my lammie?” + </p> + <p> + At that Grannie fell to rocking herself as well as the child, and to + singing a hymn in a quavery voice. Then with a rattle and a rush, throwing + off his coat and tramping the floor in his shirt-sleeves, while Nancy + dished up the dinner, Pete began to enlarge on Kate's happiness in the + place where she had gone. + </p> + <p> + “Tremenjous grand the ould man's house is—you wouldn't believe. A + reg'lar Dempster's palace. The grandeur on it is a show and a pattern. + Plenty to ate, plenty to drink, and a boy at the door with white buttons + dotting on his brown coat, bless you like—like a turnip-field in + winter. Then the man himself; goodness me, the happy that man is—Happy + Joe they're calling him. Wouldn't trust but he'll be taking Kate to a + theaytre. Well, and why not, if a person's down a bit? A merry touch and + go—where's the harm at all? Fact is, Grannie, that's why we couldn't + tell you Kate was going. Cæsar would have been objecting. He's fit enough + for it—ha, ha, ha!” + </p> + <p> + Grannie looked up at Pete as he laughed, and the broad rose withered on + his face. + </p> + <p> + “H'm! h'm!” he said, clearing his throat; “I'm bad dreadful wanting a + smook.” And past the dinner-table, now smoking and ready, he slithered out + of the house. + </p> + <p> + Cæsar was Pete's next visitor. He said nothing of Kate, and neither did + Pete mention Uncle Joe. The interview was a brief and grim one. It was a + lie that Ross Christian had been sent by his father to ask for a loan, but + it was true that Peter Christian was in urgent need of money. He wanted + six thousand pounds as mortgage on Ballawhaine. Had Pete got so much to + lend? No need for personal intercourse; Cæsar would act as intermediary. + </p> + <p> + Pete took only a moment for consideration. Yes, he had got the money, and + he would lend it. Cæsar looked at Pete; Pete looked at Cæsar. “He's + talking all this rubbish,” thought Cæsar, “but he knows where the girl has + gone to. He knows who's taken her; he manes to kick the rascal out of his + own house neck and crop; and right enough, too, and the Lord's own + vengeance.” + </p> + <p> + But Pete's thoughts were another matter. “The ould man won't live to + redeem it, and the young one will never try—it'll do for Philip some + day.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0087" id="link2H_4_0087"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II. + </h2> + <p> + For three days Pete bore himself according to his wont, thinking to + silence the evil tongues of the little world about him, and keep sweet and + alive the dear name which they were waiting to befoul and destroy. By + Tuesday morning the strain had become unbearable. On pretences of + business, of pleasure, of God knows what folly and nonsense, he began to + scour the island. He visited every parish on the north, passed through + every village, climbed every glen, found his way into every out-of-the-way + hut, and scraped acquaintance with every old woman living alone. Sometimes + he was up in the vague fore-dawn, creeping through the quiet streets like + a thief, going silently, stealthily, warily, until he came to the roads, + or the fields, or the open Curragh, and could give swing to his step, and + breath to his lungs, and voice to the cries that hurst from him. + </p> + <p> + Two long weeks he spent in this wild quest, and meanwhile he was as happy + as a boy to all outward seeming—whistling, laughing, chaffing, + bawling, talking nonsense, any nonsense, and kicking up his heels like a + kid. But wheresoever he went, and howsoever early he started on his + errands, he never failed to be back at home at seven o'clock in the + evening—washed, combed, in his slippers and shirt-sleeves, smoking a + long clay over the garden gate as the postman went by with the letters. + </p> + <p> + “She'll write,” he told himself. “When she's mending a bit she'll aise our + mind and write. 'Dear ould Pete, excuse me for not writing afore'—that'll + he the way of it. Aw, trust her, trust her.” + </p> + <p> + But day followed day, and no letter came from Kate. Ten evenings running + he smoked over the gate, leisurely, largely, almost languidly, hut always + watching for the peak of the postman's cap as it turned the corner by the + Court-house, and following the toes of his foot as they stepped off the + curb, to see if they pointed in his direction—and then turning aside + with a deep breath and a smothered moan that ended in a rattle of the + throat and a pretence at spitting. + </p> + <p> + The postman saw him as he went by, and his little eyes twinkled + treacherously. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing for you yet, Capt'n,” he said at length. + </p> + <p> + “Chut!” said Pete, with a mighty puff of smoke; “my business isn't done by + correspondence, Mr. Kelly.” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, no; but when a man's wife's away——” began the postman. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, I see,” said Pete, with a look of intelligence, and then, with a + lofty wave of the hand, “She's like her husband, Mr. Kelly—not + bothering much with letters at all.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll be longing for a line, though, Capt'n—that's only natural.” + </p> + <p> + “No news is good news—I can lave it with her.” + </p> + <p> + “Of coorse, that's truth enough, yes! But still and for all, a taste of a + letter—it's doing no harm, Capt'n—aisy writ, too, and sweet to + get sometimes, you know—shows a woman isn't forgetting a man when + she's away.” + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Kelly! Mr. Kelly!” said Pete, with his hand before his face, palm + outwards. + </p> + <p> + “Not necessary? Well, I lave it with you. Good-night, Capt'n.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-night to you, sir,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + He had laughed and tut-tutted, and lifted his eyebrows and his hands in + mock protest and a pretence of indifference, but the postman's talk had + cut him to the quick. “People are suspecting,” he thought. “They're saying + things.” + </p> + <p> + This made him swear, but a thought came behind that made him sweat + instead. “Philip will be hearing them. They'll be telling him she doesn't + write to me; that I don't know where she is; that she has left me, and + that she's a bad woman.” + </p> + <p> + To make Kate stand well with Philip was an aim that had no rival but one + in Pete's reckoning—to make Philip stand well with Kate. Out of the + shadow-land of his memory of the awful night of his bereavement, a + recollection, which had been lying dead until then, came back now in its + grave-clothes to torture him. It was what Cæsar had said of Philip's fight + with Ross Christian. Philip himself had never mentioned it—that was + like him. But when evil tongues told of Ross and hinted at mischief, + Philip would know something already; he would be prepared, perhaps he + would listen and believe. + </p> + <p> + Two days longer Pete sat in the agony of this new terror and the dogged + impatience of his old hope. “She'll write. She'll not lave me much + longer.” But she did not write, and on the second night, before returning + to the house from the gate, he had made his plan. He must silence scandal + at all hazards. However his own heart might bleed with doubts and fears + and misgivings, Philip must never cease to think that Kate was good and + sweet and true. + </p> + <p> + “Off to bed, Nancy,” he cried, heaving into the hall like a man in drink. + “I've work to do to-night, and want the house to myself.” + </p> + <p> + “Goodness me, is it yourself that's talking of bed, then?” said Nancy. + “Seven in the everin', too, and the child not an hour out of my hands? And + dear knows what work it is if you can't be doing it with good people about + you.” + </p> + <p> + “Come, get off, woman; you're looking tired mortal. The lil one's ragging + you ter'ble. But what's it saying, Nancy—bed is half bread. Truth + enough, too, and the other half is beauty. Get off, now. You're spoiling + your complexion dreadful—I'll never be getting that husband for + you.” + </p> + <p> + Thus coaxing her, cajoling her, watching her, dodging her, nagging her, + driving her, he got her off to bed at last. Being alone, he looked around, + listened, shut the doors of the parlour and the kitchen, put the bolt on + the door of the stairs, the chain on the door of the porch, took off his + boots, and went about on tiptoe. Then he blew out the lamp, filled and + trimmed and relit it, going down on the hearthrug to catch the light of + the fire. After that he settled the table, drew up the armchair, took from + a corner cupboard pens and ink, a blotting pad, a packet of notepaper and + envelopes, a stick of sealing wax, a box of matches, a postage stamp, the + dictionary, and the exercise-book in which Kate had taught him to write. + </p> + <p> + As the clock was striking nine, Pete was squaring himself at the table, + pen in hand, and his tongue in his left cheek. Half an hour later he was + startled, by an interruption. + </p> + <p> + “Who's there?” he shouted in a ferocious voice, leaping up with a look of + terror, like a man caught in a crime. It was only Nancy, who had come + creeping down the stairs under pretence of having forgotten the baby's + bottle. He made a sort of apologetic growl, handed the flat bottle through + an opening like a crack, and ordered her back to bed. + </p> + <p> + “Goodness sakes!” said Nancy, going upstairs. “Is it coining money the man + is? Or is it whisky itself that's doing on him?” + </p> + <p> + Two hours afterwards Pete fancied he saw a face at the window, and he + caught up a stick, unchained the door, and rushed into the garden. It was + no one; the town lay asleep; the night was all but airless; only the + faintest breeze moved the leaves of the trees; there was no noise + anywhere, except the measured beat of the sea in its everlasting coming + and going on the shore. + </p> + <p> + Stepping back into the house, where the fire chirped and the kettle sang + and all else was quiet, he resumed his task, and somewhere in the dark + hours before the dawn he finished it. The fingers of his right hand were + then inky up to the first joint, his collar was open, his neck was bare, + his eyes were ablaze, the cords on his face were big and blue, great beads + of cold sweat were standing on his forehead, and the carpet around his + chair was littered as white as if a snowstorm had fallen on it. + </p> + <p> + He went down on his knees and gathered up these remnants and burnt them, + with the air of a man destroying the evidences of his guilt. Then he put + back the ink and the dictionary, the blotting pad and sealing wax, and + replaced them with a loaf of bread, a table knife, a bottle of brandy, and + a drinking glass. After that he made up the fire with a shovel of slack, + that it might burn until morning; removed the lamp from the table to the + window recess that it might cast its light into the darkness outside; and + unchained the outer door that a wanderer of the night, if any such there + were, might enter without knocking. + </p> + <p> + He did all this in the absent manner of a man who did it nightly. Then + unbolting the staircase door, and listening a moment for the breathing of + the sleepers overhead, he crept into the dark parlour overlooking the + road, and lay down on the sofa to sleep. + </p> + <p> + It was done! Pete's great scheme was afoot! The mighty secret which he had + enshrouded with such awful mystery lay in an envelope in the inside + breast-pocket of his monkey-jacket, signed, sealed, stamped, and + addressed. + </p> + <p> + <i>Pete had written a letter to himself</i>. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0088" id="link2H_4_0088"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III. + </h2> + <p> + Next day the crier was crying: “Great meeting—Manx fishermen—on + Zigzag at Peel when boats come in to-morrow morning—protest agen + harbour taxes.” + </p> + <p> + “The thing itself,” thought Pete, with his hand pressed hard on the + outside of his breast-pocket. At five o'clock in the afternoon he went + down to the harbour, where his Nickey lay by the quay, shouted to the + master, “Take an odd man tonight, Mr. Kemish?” then dropped to the deck + and helped to fetch the boat into the bay. + </p> + <p> + They had to haul her out by poles alone the quay wall, for the tide was + low, and there was no breakwater. It was still early in the herring + season, but the fishing was in full swing. Five hundred boats from all + parts were making for the fishing round. It lay off the south-west tail of + the island. Before Pete's boat reached it the fleet were sitting together, + like a flight of sea-fowl, and the sun was almost gone. + </p> + <p> + The sun went down that night over the hills of Mourne very angry and red + in its setting; the sky to the north-west was dark and sullen; the round + line of the sea was bleared and broken, but there was little wind, and the + water was quiet. + </p> + <p> + “Bring to and shoot,” cried Pete, and they dropped sail to the landward of + the fleet, off the shoulder of the Calf Island, with its two lights making + one. The boat was brought head to the wind, with the flowing tide veering + against her; the nets were shot over the starboard quarter, and they + dropped astern; the bow was swung round to the line of the floating + mollags, and boat and nets began to drift together. + </p> + <p> + Supper was served, the pump was worked, the lights were run up, the small + boat was sent round with a flare to fright away the evil spirits, and then + the night came down—a dark night, without moon or stars, shutting + out the island, though it stood so near, and even the rocks of the Hen and + Chicken. The first man for the look-out took up his one hour's watch at + the helm, and the rest went below. + </p> + <p> + Pete's bunk was under the binnacle, and the light of its lamp fell on a + stamped envelope which he took out of his breast-pocket from time to time + that he might read the inscription. It ran— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + Capn Peatr Quilliam, + + Lm Cottig Ramsey I O Man. +</pre> + <p> + He looked at it lovingly, fondly, yearningly, yet with a certain awe, too, + as if it were the casket of some hidden treasure, and he hardly knew what + it contained. The dim-lit cabin was quiet, the net boiler sparched drops + of hot water at intervals, the fire of the cooking stove slid and fell, + the men breathed heavily from unseen beds, and the sea washed as the boat + rolled. + </p> + <p> + “What's she saying, I wonder! I wonder! God bless her!” he mumbled, and + then he, too, fell asleep. + </p> + <p> + Two hours before hauling, they proved the fishing by taking in a “pair” of + the net, found good herring, and blew the horn as signal that they were + doing well. Then out of the black depths around, wherein no boat could be + seen, the lights of other boats came floating silently astern, until the + company about them in the darkness was like a little city of the sea and + the night. + </p> + <p> + At the first peep of morning over the round shoulder of the Calf, the + little city awoke. There were the clicks of the capstan, and the shouts of + the men as the nets came back to the boats, heavy and white with fish. All + being aboard, the men went down on the deck, according to their wont, + every man on his knee with his face in his cap, and then leapt up with a + shout (perhaps an oath), swung to the wind, hoisted the square sails, and + made for home. The dark northwest was lowering by this time, and the sea + was beginning to jump. + </p> + <p> + “Breakfast, boys,” sang out Pete, with his head above the companion, and + all but the helmsman went below. There was a pot full of the drop-fish, + and every man ate his warp of herring. It had been a great night's + fishing. Some of the boats were full to the mouth, and all had plenty. + </p> + <p> + “We'll do middling if we get a market,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “We've got to get home first,” said the master, and at the same moment a + sea struck the windward quarter with the force of a sledge-hammer, and the + block at the masthead began to sing. + </p> + <p> + “We'll run for Peel this morning, boys,” said Pete, smothering his voice + in a mouthful. + </p> + <p> + “Peel?” said the master, shooting out his lip. “They've got no harbour + there at all with a cat's paw of a breeze, let alone a northwester.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm for going up to the meeting,” said Pete in an incoherent way. + </p> + <p> + Then they tacked before the rising gale, and went off with the fleet as it + swirled like a flight of gulls abreast of the wind. The sea came tumbling + down like a shoal of seahogs, and washed the faces of the men as they sat + in oilskins on the hatch-head, shaking the herring out of the nets into + the hold. + </p> + <p> + But their work only began when they came into Peel. The tide was down; + there was no breakwater; the neck of the harbour was narrow, and four + hundred boats were coming to take shelter and to land their cargoes. It + was a scene of tumult and confusion—shouting, swearing, and fighting + among the men, and crushing and cranching among the boats as they nosed + their way to the harbour mouth, threw ropes on to the quay, where fifty + ropes were round one post already, or cast anchors up the bank of the + castle rock, which was steep and dangerous to lie on. + </p> + <p> + Pete got landed somehow, but his Nickey with half the fleet turned tail + and went round the island. As he leapt ashore, the helpless + harbour-master, who had been bellowing over the babel through a cracked + trumpet, turned to him and said, “For the Lord's sake, Capt'n Quilliam, if + you've got a friend that can lend us a hand, go off to the meeting at + seven o'clock.” + </p> + <p> + “I mane to,” said Pete, but he had something else to do first. It was the + task that had brought him to Peel, and no eye must see him do it. Slowly + and slyly, like one who does a doubtful thing and pretends to be doing + nothing, he went stealing through the town—behind the old + Court-house and up Castle Street, into the market-place, and across it to + the line of shops which make the principal thoroughfare. + </p> + <p> + At one of these shops, a little single-roomed place, with its small + shutter still up, but the door half open and a noise of stamping going on + inside, he stopped in a lounging way, half twisting on his heel as if idly + looking back. It was the Post-Office. + </p> + <p> + With a stealthy look around, he put a trembling hand into his + breast-pocket, drew out the letter, screened it by the flat of his big + palm, and posted it. Then he turned hurriedly away, and was gone in a + moment, like a man who feared pursuit, down a steep and tortuous alley + that led to the shore. The morning was early; the shops were not yet open; + only the homes of the fishermen were putting out curling wreaths of smoke; + the silent streets echoed to his lightest footstep. + </p> + <p> + But the shore road was busy enough. Fishermen in sea-boots and + sou'westers, with oilskin over one arm and a string of herring in the + other hand, were trooping from the harbour up to the Zigzag by the rock + called the Creg Malin. It was at the end of the bay, where cliff and beach + and sea together form a bag like the cod-end of the trawl net. + </p> + <p> + “It's not the fishermen at all—it's the farmers they're thinking + of,” said one. + </p> + <p> + “You're right,” said Pete, “and it's some of ourselves that's to blame for + it.” + </p> + <p> + “How's that?” said somebody. + </p> + <p> + “Aisy enough,” said Pete. “When I came home from Kimberly I met an ould + fisherman—<i>you</i> know the man, Billy—well, <i>you</i> do, + Dan—Phil Nelly, of Ramsey. 'How's the fishing, Phil?' says I. He + gave me a Hm! and a heise of his neck, and 'I'm not fishing no more,' says + he. 'The wife's keeping a private hotel,' says he. 'And what are you doing + yourself,' says I. 'I'm walking about,' says he, and, gough bless me, if + the man wasn't wearing a collar and carrying a stick, and prating about + advertising the island, if you plaze.” + </p> + <p> + At the sound of Pete's voice a group of the men gathered about him. + “That's not the worst neither,” said he. “The other day I tumbled over Tom + Hommy—<i>you</i> know Tom Hommy, yes, you do, the lil deaf man up + Ballure. He was lying in the hedge by the public-house, three sheets in + the wind. 'Why aren't you out with the boats, Tom?' says I. 'Wash for + should I go owsh wish the boash, when the childer can earn more on the + roads?' says the drunken wastrel. 'And is yonder your boys and girls + tossing summersaults at the tail of the trippers' car?' says I. 'Yesh,' + says he; 'and they'll earn more in a day at their caperings than their + father in a week at the herrings.'” + </p> + <p> + “I believe it enough,” said one. “The man's about right,” said another; + and a querulous voice behind said, “Wonderful the prosperity of the island + since the visitors came to it.” + </p> + <p> + “Get out with you, there, for a disgrace to the name of Manxman,” sang out + Pete over the heads of those that stood between. “With the farming going + to the dogs and the fishing going to the divil, d'ye know what the ould + island's coming to? It's coming to an island of lodging-house keepers and + hackney-car drivers. Not the Isle of Man at all, but the Isle of + Manchester.” + </p> + <p> + There was a tremendous shout at this last word. In another minute Pete was + lifted shoulder high over the crowd on to the highest turn of the zigzag + path, and bidden to go on. There were five hundred faces below him, + putting out hot breath in the cool morning air. The sun was shooting over + the cliffs a canopy as of smoke above their heads. On the top of the crag + the sea-fowl were jabbering, and the white sea itself was climbing on the + beach. + </p> + <p> + “Men,” said Pete, “there's not much to say. This morning's work said + everything. We'd a right fishing last night, hadn't we? Four hundred boats + came up to Peel, and we hadn't less than ten maise apiece. That's—you + that's smart at your figguring and ciphering, spake out now—that's + four thousand maise isn't it?” (Shouts of “Right.”) “Aw, you're quick + wonderful. No houlding you at all when it's money that's in. Four thousand + maise ready and waiting for the steamers to England—but did we land + it? No, nor half of it neither. The other half's gone round to other + ports, too late for the day's sailing, and half of that half will be going + rotten and getting chucked back into the sea. That's what the Manx + fishermen have lost this morning because they haven't harbours to shelter + them, and yet they're talking of levying harbour dues.” + </p> + <p> + “Man veen, he's a boy!”—“He's all that”—“Go it, Capt'n. What + are we to do?” + </p> + <p> + “Do?” cried Pete. “I'll tell you what you're to do. This is Friday. Next + Thursday is old Midsummer Day. That's Tynwald Coort day. Come to St. + John's on Thursday—every man of you come—come in your + sea-boots and your jerseys—let the Governor see you mane it. 'Give + us raisonable hope of harbour improvement and we'll pay,' says you. 'If + you don't, we won't; and if you try to make us, we're two thousand strong, + and we'll rise like one man.'Don't be freckened; you've a right to be + bould in a good cause. I'll get somebody to spake for you. You know the + man I mane. He's stood the fisherman's friend before to-day, and he isn't + going taking off his cap to the best man that's setting foot on Tynwald + Hill.” + </p> + <p> + It was agreed. Between that day and Tynwald day Pete was to enlist the + sympathy of Philip, and to go to Port St. Mary to get the co-operation of + the south-side fishermen. The town was astir by this time, the sun was on + the beach, and the fishermen trooped off to bed. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0089" id="link2H_4_0089"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV. + </h2> + <p> + Pete was back in his ship's cabin in the garden the same evening with a + heart the heavier because for one short hour it had forgotten its trouble. + The flowers were opening, the roses were creeping over the porch, the + blackbird was singing at the top of the tree; but his own flower of + flowers, his rose of roses, his bird of birds—where was she? Summer + was coming, coming, coming—coming with its light, coming with its + music, coming with its sweetness—but she came not. + </p> + <p> + The clock struck seven inside the house, and Pete, pipe in hand, swung + over to the gate. No need to-night to watch for the postman's peak, no + need to trace his toes. + </p> + <p> + “A letter for you, Mr. Quilliam.” + </p> + <p> + Hearing these words, Pete, his eyes half shut as if dosing in the sunset, + wakened himself with a look of astonishment. + </p> + <p> + “What? For me, is it? A letter, you say? Aw, I see,” taking it and turning + it in his hand, “just'a line from the mistress, it's like. Well, well! A + letter for me, if you plaze,” and he laughed like a man much tickled. + </p> + <p> + He was in no hurry. He rammed his dead pipe with his finger, lit it again, + sucked it, made it quack, drew a long breath, and then said quietly, + “Let's see what's her news at all.” + </p> + <p> + He opened the letter leisurely, and read bits of it aloud, as if reading + to himself, but holding the postman while he did so in idle talk on the + other side of the gate. “And how are you living to-day, Mr. Kelly? Aw, h'm—<i>getting + that much better</i> it's extraordinary—Yes, a nice everin', very, + Mr. Kelly, nice, nice—<i>that happy and comfortable and Uncle Joe is + that good</i>—heavy bag at you to-night, you say? Aw, heavy, yes, + heavy—<i>love to Grannie and all inquiring friends</i>—nothing, + Mr. Kelly, nothing—just a scribe of a line, thinking a man might be + getting unaisy. She needn't, though—she needn't. But chut! It's + nothing. Writing a letter is nothing to her at all. Why, she'd be knocking + that off, bless you,” holding out a half sheet of paper, “in less than an + hour and a half. Truth enough, sir.” Then, looking at the letter again, + “What's this, though? PN. They're always putting a P.N. at the bottom of a + letter, Mr. Kelly. P.N.—<i>I was expecting to be home before, but I + wouldn't get away for Uncle Joe taking me to the theaytres</i>. Ha, ha, + ha! A mighty boy is Uncle Joe. But, Mr. Kelly, Mr. Kelly,” with a solemn + look, “not a word of this to Cæsar?” + </p> + <p> + The postman had been watching Pete out of the corners of his ferret eyes. + “Do you know, Capt'n, what Black Tom is saying?” + </p> + <p> + “What's that?” said Pete, with a sudden change of tone. + </p> + <p> + “He's saying there <i>is</i> no Uncle Joe.” + </p> + <p> + “No Uncle Joe?” cried Pete, lifting voice and eyebrows together. + </p> + <p> + The postman signified assent with a nod of his peak. + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's rich,” said Pete, in a low breath, raising his face as if to + invoke the astonishment of the sky itself. “No Uncle Joe?” he repeated, in + a tone of blank incredulity. “Ask the man if it's in bed he is. Why,” and + Pete's eyes opened and closed like a doll's, “he'll be saying there's no + Auntie Joney next.” + </p> + <p> + The postman looked up inquiringly. + </p> + <p> + “Never heard of Auntie Joney—Uncle Joe's wife? No? Well, really, + really—is it sleeping I am? Not Auntie Joney, the Primitive? Aw, a + good ould woman as ever lived. A saint, if ever the like was in, and died + a triumphant death, too. No theaytres for her, though. She won't bemane + herself. No, but she's going to chapel reg'lar, and getting up in the + middle of every night of life to say her prayers. 'Deed she is. So Black + Tom says there is no Uncle Joe?” + </p> + <p> + Pete gave a long whistle, then stopped it sudden with his mouth agape, and + said from his throat, “I see.” + </p> + <p> + He put his mouth close to the postman's ear and whispered, “Ever hear + Black Tom talk of the fortune he's expecting through the Coort of + Chancery?” The postman's peak bobbed downwards. “You have? Tom's thinking + to grab it all for himself. Ha, ha! That's it! Ha, ha!” + </p> + <p> + The postman went off blinking and giggling, and Pete reeled up the path, + biting his lip, and muttering, “Keep it up, Pete, keep it up—it's + ploughing a hard furrow, though.” Then aloud, “A letter from the mistress, + Nancy.” + </p> + <p> + Nancy met him in the porch, clearing her fingers, thick with dough. + </p> + <p> + “There you are,” said Pete, flapping the letter on one hand. + </p> + <p> + “Good sakes alive!” said Nancy. “Did it come by the post, though, Pete?” + </p> + <p> + “Look at the stamp, woman, and see for yourself,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “My goodness me! From Kirry, you say?” + </p> + <p> + “Let me in, then, and I'll be reading you bits.” + </p> + <p> + Nancy went back to her kneading with looks of bewilderment, and Pete + followed her, opening the letter. + </p> + <p> + “She's well enough, Nancy—no need to read that part at all. But + see,” running his forefinger along the writing “'<i>Kisses for the baby, + and love to Nancy, and tell Grannie not to be fretting?</i> et setterer, + et setterer. See?” + </p> + <p> + Nancy looked up at her thumping and thunging, and said, “Did Mr. Kelly + give it you?” + </p> + <p> + “He did that,” said Pete, “this minute at the gate. It's his time, isn't + it?” + </p> + <p> + Nancy glanced at the clock. “I suppose it must be right,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “Take it in your hand, woman,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + Nancy cleaned her hands and took the letter, turned it over and felt it in + her fingers as if it had been linen. “And this is from Kirry, is it? It's + nice, too. I haven't much schooling, Pete, but I'm asking no better than a + letter myself. It's like a peppermint in your frock on Sunday—if + you're low you're always knowing it's there, anyway.” She looked at it + again, and then she said, like one who says a strange thing, “I once had a + letter myself—'deed I had, Pete. It was from father. He went down in + the <i>Black Sloop</i>, trading oranges with the blacks in their own + island somewhere. They put into the port of London one day when they were + having a funeral there. What's this one they were calling after the big + boots—Wellingtons, that's the man. They were writing home all about + it—the people, and the chariots, and the fighting horses, and the + music in the streets and the Cateedrals—and we were never hearing + another word from them again—never. 'To Miss Annie Cain—your + affecshunet father, Joe Cain.' I knew it all off—every word—and + I kept it ten years in my box under the lavender.” + </p> + <p> + Philip came later. He was looking haggard and tired; his face was pallid + and drawn; his eyes were red, quick, and wandering; his hair was neglected + and ragged; his step was wavering and uncertain. + </p> + <p> + “Gough alive, man,” cried Pete, “didn't you take oath to do justice + between man and man?” + </p> + <p> + Philip looked up with alarm. “Well?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” cried Pete, with a frown and a clenched fist, “there's one man + you're not doing justice to.” + </p> + <p> + “Who's that?” said Philip with eyes down. + </p> + <p> + “Yourself,” said Pete, and Philip drew a long breath. Pete laughed, + protested that Philip must not work so hard, and then plunged into an + account of the morning's meeting. + </p> + <p> + “Tremenjous! Talk of enthusiasm! Man veen, man veen! Didn't I say we'd + rise as one man? We will, too. We're going up to Tynwald Coort on Tynwald + day, two thousand strong. Tynwald Coort? Yes, and why not? Drum and fife + bands, bless you—two of them. Not much music, maybe, but there'll be + noise enough. It's all settled. Southside fishermen are coming up Foxal + way; north-side men going down by Peel. Meeting under Harry Delany's tree, + and going up to the hill on mass (en masse). No bawling, though—no + singing out—no disturbing the Coort at all.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, well! What then?” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “Then we're wanting you to spake for us, Dempster. Aw, nothing much—nothing + to rag you at all. Just tell them flat we won't—that'll do.” + </p> + <p> + “It's a serious matter, Pete. I must think it over.” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, think and think enough, Dempster—but mind you do it, though. + The boys are counting on you. 'He's our anchor and he'll hould,' they're + saying; But, bother the harbours, anyway,” reaching his hand for something + on the mantelpiece. “What do you think?” + </p> + <p> + “Nay,” said Philip, with a long breath of weariness and relief. + </p> + <p> + “Guess, then,” said Pete, putting his hand behind him. + </p> + <p> + Philip shook his head and smiled feebly. Then, with the expression of a + boy on his birthday, Pete leaned over Philip, and said in a half-whisper + across the top of his head, “I've heard from Kate.” + </p> + <p> + Philip turned ghastly, his lip trembled, and he stammered, “You've—you've—heard + from Kate, have you?” + </p> + <p> + “Look at that,” cried Pete, and round came the letter with a triumphant + sweep. + </p> + <p> + Philip's respiration grew difficult and noisy. Slowly, very slowly, he + reached out his hand, took the letter, and looked at its superscription. + </p> + <p> + “Read it—read it,” said Pete; “no secrets at all.” + </p> + <p> + With head down and eyebrows hiding his eyes, with trembling hands that + tore the envelope, Philip took out the letter and read it in passages—broken, + blurred, smudged, as by the smoke of a fo'c'stle lamp. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Deerest peat i am gettin that much better... i am that + happy and comforbel... sometimes i am longing for a sight of + the lil ones swate face... no more at present... ure own + trew wife.” + </pre> + <p> + “Come to the P. N. yet, Philip?” said Pete. He was on his knees before the + fire, lighting his pipe with a red coal. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “axpectin to be home sune but... give my luv and bess + respects to the Dempster when you see him he was so good to me + when “were forren the half was never towl you” + </pre> + <p> + “She's not laving a man unaisy, you see,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + Philip could not speak. His throat was choking; his tongue filled his + mouth; his eyes were swimming in tears that scorched them. Nancy, who had + been up to Sulby with news of the letter, came in at the moment, and + Philip raised his head. + </p> + <p> + “I told my aunt not to expect me to-night, Nancy. Is my room upstairs + ready?” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, yes, always ready, your honour,” said Nancy, with a curtsey. + </p> + <p> + He got up, with head aside, took a candle from Nancy's hand, excused + himself to Pete—he was tired, sleepy, had a heavy day to-morrow—said + “Good-night,” and went upstairs—stumbling and floundering—tore + open his bedroom door, and clashed it back like a man flying from an + enemy. + </p> + <p> + Pete thought he had succeeded to admiration, but he looked after Philip, + and was not at ease. He had no misgivings. Writing was writing to him, and + it was nothing more. But in the deep midnight, Philip, who had not slept, + heard a thick voice that was like a sob coming from somewhere downstairs. + He opened his door, crept out on to the stairhead, and listened. The house + was dark. In some unseen place the voice was saying— + </p> + <p> + “Lord, forgive me for deceaving Philip. I couldn't help it, though; Thou + knows, Thyself, I couldn't. A lie's a dirty thing, Lord. It's like chewing + dough—it sticks in your throat and chokes you. But I had to do it to + save my poor lost lamb, and if I didn't I should go mad myself—Thou + knows I should. So forgive me, Lord, for Kirry's sake. Amen.” + </p> + <p> + The thick voice stopped, the house lay still, then the child awoke in a + room beyond, and its thin cry came through the darkness. Philip crept back + in terror. + </p> + <p> + “This is what <i>she</i> had to go through! O God! My God!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0090" id="link2H_4_0090"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V. + </h2> + <p> + Cæsar called next day and took Pete to the office of the High Bailiff, + where the business of the mortgage was completed. The deeds of Ballawhaine + were then committed to Cæsar's care for custody and safe keeping, and he + carried them off to his safe at the mill with a long stride and a face of + fierce triumph. + </p> + <p> + “The ould Ballawhaine is dying,” he thought; “and if we kick out the young + one some day, it'll only be the Lord's hand on a rascal.” + </p> + <p> + On drawing his big cheque, Pete had realised that, with reckless spending, + and more reckless giving, he had less than a hundred pounds to his credit. + “No matter,” he thought; “Philip will pay me back when he comes in to his + own.” + </p> + <p> + Grannie was with Nancy at Elm Cottage when Pete returned home. The child + was having its morning bath, and the two women were on their knees at + either side of the tub, cackling and crowing like two old hens over one + egg. + </p> + <p> + “Aw, did you <i>ever</i>, now, Nancy? 'Deed, no; you never <i>did</i> see + such a lil angel. Up-a-daisy!” + </p> + <p> + “Cry I must, Grannie, when I see it looking so beautiful. Warm towels, you + say? I'm a girl of this sort—when I get my heart down, I can never + get it up again. Fuller's earth, is it? Here, then.” + </p> + <p> + “Boo—loo—loo! the bog millish! Nancy, we must be shortening + her soon.” + </p> + <p> + And with that they fell to an earnest council on frocks and petticoats, + and other mysteries unread by man. Pete sat and watched and listened. + “People will be crying shame on her if they see the Grannie doing + everything,” he thought. + </p> + <p> + That night he lounged through the town and examined the shop windows out + of the corner of his eye. He was trying to bear himself like a workman + enjoying his Saturday night's ramble in clean clothes, but the streets + were thronged, and he found himself observed. “Not here,” he told himself. + “I can buy nothing here. Doesn't do to be asleep at all, and a man isn't + always in bed when he's sleeping.” + </p> + <p> + Some hours later, Nancy and the child being upstairs, Pete bethought + himself of something that was kept at the bottom of a drawer. Going to the + drawer to open it, he found it stiff to his tugging, and it came back with + a jerk, which showed it had not lately been disturbed. Pete found what he + looked for, and came upon something beside. It was a cardboard box, tied + about with a string, which was knotted in a peculiar way. “Kate's knot,” + thought Pete with a sigh. He slipped it, and opened the lid and took out a + baby's hood of scarlet plush. “The very thing,” he thought. He held it, + mouth open, over his big brown hand, and laughed with delight. “She's been + buying it for the child and never using it.” His eyes glistened. “The <i>very</i> + thing,” he thought, and then he took down pen and paper to write something + to go with it. + </p> + <p> + This is what he wrote— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “For lil Katerin from her Luvin mother” + </pre> + <p> + Then he held it at arm's length and looked at it. The subscription crossed + the whole face of a half-sheet of paper. But the triumphant success of his + former effort had made him bold. He could not resist the temptation to + write more. So he turned the paper over and wrote on the back— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “tell pa pa not to wurry about me i aspect to be home sune + but dont no ezactly” + </pre> + <p> + His eyes were swimming by the time he got that down, but they brightened + again as he remembered something. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Weve had grate times ear uncle Jo—” + </pre> + <p> + “Must go on milking that ould cow,” he thought + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “tuk me to sea the prins of Wales yesterda” + </pre> + <p> + He could not help it—he began to take a wild joy in his own + inventions. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “flags and banns of musick all day and luminerashuns all + night it was grand we were top of an umnibuss goin down lord + strete and saw him as plane as plane” + </pre> + <p> + “Bless me,” said Pete, dropping his pen, and rubbing his hands in + ravishing contemplation of his own fiction; “the next thing we hear she'll + be riding in her carriage and' pair.” + </p> + <p> + He was sobbing a little, for all that, in a low, smothered way, but he + could not deny himself one word more— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “luv to all enquirin frens and bess respecs to the Dempster + if im not forgot at him.” + </pre> + <p> + This second forgery of love being finished, he went about the house on + tiptoe, found brown paper and twine, put the hood back into the box with + his half-sheet peeping from between the frills where the little face would + go, and made it up, with his undeft fingers, into an ungainly parcel, + which he addressed to himself as before. After that he did his accustomed + duty with the lamp and the door, and lay down in the parlour to sleep. + </p> + <p> + On Monday, at dinner, he broke out peevishly with “Ter'ble botheration, + Nancy—I must be going to Port St. Mary about that thundering + demonstration.” + </p> + <p> + Then from underneath the sofa in the parlour he rooted up a brown paper + parcel, stuffed it under his coat, buttoned it up, and so smuggled it out + of the house. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0091" id="link2H_4_0091"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI. + </h2> + <p> + They set sail early in the afternoon, and ran down the coast under a fair + breeze that made the canvas play until the sea hissed. The day was wet and + cheerless; a thick mist enshrouded the land, and going by Laxey they could + just descry the top arc of the great wheel like a dun-coloured ghost of a + rainbow in a grey sky. As they came to Douglas the mist was lifting, but + the rain was coming down in a soaking drizzle. A band was playing dance + tunes on the iron pier, which shot like a serpent's tongue out of the + mouth of the bay. The steamer from England was coming round the head, and + her sea-sick passengers were dense as a crowd on her forward deck, the men + with print handkerchiefs tied over their caps, the women with their skirts + over their drooping feathers. A harp and a violin were scraping lively + airs amidships. The town was like a cock with his tail down crowing + furiously in the wet. + </p> + <p> + When they came to Port St. Mary the mist had risen and the rain was gone, + but the fishing-town looked black and sullen under a lowering cloud. The + tide was down, and many boats lay on the beach and in the shallow water + within the rocks. + </p> + <p> + Pete was put ashore; his Nickey went round the Calf to the herring ground + beyond the shoulder; a number of fishermen were waiting for him on the + quay, with heavy looks and hands deep in their trousers-pockets. + </p> + <p> + “No need for much praiching at all,” said Pete, pointing to the boats + lying aground. “There you are, boys, fifty of you at the least, with no + room to warp for the rocks. Yet they're for taxing you for dues for a + harbour.” + </p> + <p> + “Go ahead, Capt'n,” said one of the fishermen; “there's five hundred men + here to back you up through thick and thin.” + </p> + <p> + Pete posted his brown paper parcel as stealthily as he had posted his + letter, and left Port St. Mary the same night for Douglas. The roads were + thick with coaches, choked full with pleasure-seekers from Port Erin. + These cheerful souls were still wearing the clothes which had been + drenched through in the morning; their boots were damp and cold; they were + chill with the night-air, but they did not repine. They sang and laughed + and ate oranges, drew up frequently at wayside houses, and handed round + bottles of beer with the corks drawn. In their own way they were bright + and cheerful company. Sometimes “Hold the Fort,” sung in a brake going + ahead, mingled with “Molly and I and the Baby,” from lusty throats coming + behind. Battling through Castletown, they shouted wild chaff at the + redcoats lounging by the Castle, and when the darkness fell they dropped + asleep—the men usually on the women's shoulders; and then the + horses' hoofs were heard splashing along the muddy road, and every rider + cracked his whip over a chorus of stertorous snores. + </p> + <p> + Douglas was ablaze with light as they dipped down to it from the dark + country. Long sinuous tails of light where the busy streets were, running + in and out, this way and that, and belching into the wide squares and + market-places like the race of a Curragh fire. The sleepers awoke and + shook themselves. “Going to the Castle to-night?” said one. “What do you + think?” said another, and they all laughed at the foolish question. + </p> + <p> + “I'll sleep here,” thought Pete. “I've not searched Douglas yet.” + </p> + <p> + The driver found him a bed at his mother's house. It was a lodging-house + in Church Street, overlooking the churchyard. Finding himself so near to + Athol Street, Pete thought he would look at the outside of Philip's + chambers. He lit on the house easily, though the street was dark. It was + one of a line of houses having brass plates, each with its name, and + always the word <i>Advocate</i>. Philip's house bore one plate only, a + small one, with the name hardly legible in the uneertain light. It ran—<i>The + Deemster Christian</i>. + </p> + <p> + Having spelt out this inscription, Pete crept away. That was the last + house in the island at which he wished to call. He was almost afraid of + being seen in the same town. Philip might think he was in Douglas to look + for Kate. + </p> + <p> + Pete rambled through the narrow thoroughfares of Post-Office Place, + Heywood Lane, and Fancy Street, until he came to the sea front. It was now + full tide of busy night, and the holiday town seemed to be given over to + enjoyment. The steps of the terraces were thronged; itinerant + photographers pitched their cameras on the curb-stones; every open window + had its dark heads with the light behind; pianos were clashing in the + houses, harps were twanging in the street, tinkling tram-cars, like + toast-racks, were sweeping the curve of the bay; there was a steady flow + of people on the pavement, and from water's edge to cliff top, three parts + round like a horse's shoe, the town flashed and fizzed and sparkled and + blazed under its thousand lights with the splendour of a forest fire. + </p> + <p> + Pete called to mind the blinking and groping of the dear old half-lit town + to the north; he remembered the dark village at the foot of the lonely + hills, with its trout-stream burrowing under the low bridge, and he + thought, “She may have tired of it all, poor thing!” + </p> + <p> + He looked at every woman's face as she went by him, hungering for one + glimpse of a face he feared to see. He did not see it, and he wandered + like a lost soul through the little gay town until he drifted with the + wave that flowed around the bay into the place that was known as the + Castle. + </p> + <p> + It was a dancing palace in a garden, built in the manner of a + conservatory, with the ground level for those who came to dance, and the + galleries for such as came to see. Seated by the front rail of the + gallery, Pete peered down into the faces below. Three thousand young men + and young women were dancing, the men in flannels and coloured scarves, + the women in light muslins and straw hats. Sometimes the white lights in + the glass roof were coloured with red and blue and yellow. The low buzz of + the dancers' feet, the clang and clash of the brass instruments, the boom + of the big drum, the quake of the glass house itself, and the low rumble + of the hollow floor beneath—it was like a battle-field set to music. + </p> + <p> + “She may have tired, poor thing; God knows she may,” thought Pete. + </p> + <p> + His eyes were growing hazy and his head dizzy, when he became conscious of + a waft of perfume behind him, and a soft voice saying at his ear, “Were + you looking for anybody, then?” + </p> + <p> + He turned with a start, and looked at the speaker. It was a young girl + with a pretty face, thick with powder. He could not be angry with the + little thing; she was so young, and she was smiling. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said, “I <i>was</i> looking for somebody;” and then he tried to + shake her off. + </p> + <p> + “Is it Maudie, you mane, dear? Are you the young man from Dublin?” + </p> + <p> + “Lave me, my girl; lave me,” said Pete, patting her hand, and twisting + about. + </p> + <p> + The girl looked at him with a sort of pity, and then close at his neck she + said, “A fine boy like you shouldn't be going fretting his heart about the + best girl that's in.” + </p> + <p> + He looked at the pretty face again, and the little knowing airs began to + break down. “You're a Manx girl, aren't you?” + </p> + <p> + The smile vanished like a flash. “How do you know that? My tongue doesn't + tell you, does it?” And the little thing was ashamed. + </p> + <p> + Pete took the tight-gloved fingers in his big palm. “So you're my lil + countrywoman, then?” he said. “How old are you?” + </p> + <p> + The painted lips began to tremble. “Sixteen for harvest,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + “My God!” exclaimed Pete. + </p> + <p> + The darkened eyelids blinked; she was beginning to cry. “It wasn't my + fault. He was a visitor with my mother at Ballaugh, and he left me to it.” + </p> + <p> + Pete took a sovereign out of his pocket, and shut it in the girl's hand. + </p> + <p> + “Go home to-night, my dear,” he whispered, and then he clambered out of + the place. + </p> + <p> + “Not there!” cried Pete in his heart; “not there—I swear to God she + is not there.” + </p> + <p> + That ended his search. He resolved to go home the same night, and he went + back to his lodgings to pay his bill. Turning out of Athol Street, Pete + was almost overrun by a splendid equipage, with two men in buff on the + box-seat, and one man behind. “The Governor's carriage,” said somebody. At + the next moment it drew up at Philip's door, its occupant alighted, and + then it swung about and moved away. “It was the young Deemster,” said a + girl to her companion, as she went skipping past. + </p> + <p> + Pete had seen the tall, dark figure, bent and feeble, as it walked heavily + up the steps. “Truth enough,” he thought, “there's nothing got in this + world without paying the price of it.” + </p> + <p> + It was three in the morning when Pete reached Ramsey, Elm Cottage was dark + and silent. He had to knock again and again before awakening Nancy. “Now, + if this had been Kate!” he thought, and a new fear took hold of him. His + poor darling, his wandering lamb, could she have knocked twice? Where was + she to-night? He had been picturing her in happiness and plenty—was + she in poverty and distress? All the world was sleeping—was she + asleep? His hope was slipping away; his great faith was breaking down. + “Lord, do not forsake me! Master, strengthen me! My poor lost love, where + is she? What is she? Shall I see her face again?” + </p> + <p> + Something cold touched his hand. It was the dog. Without a bark he had put + his nose into Pete's palm. “What, Dempster, man, Dempster!” The bat's ears + were cocked—Pete felt them—the scut of a tail was wagged, and + Pete got comfort from the battered old friend that had tramped the world + at his heels. + </p> + <p> + Nancy unchained the door, opened it an inch, held a candle over her head, + and peered out. “My goodness, is it the man himself? However did you come + home?” + </p> + <p> + “By John the Flayer's pony,” said Pete; and he laughed and made light of + his night-long walk. + </p> + <p> + But next morning, when Nancy came downstairs with the child, Pete was busy + with a screwdriver taking the chain off the door. “Ter'ble ould-fashioned, + these chains—must be moving with the times, you know.” + </p> + <p> + “Then what are you putting in its place?” said Nancy. + </p> + <p> + “You'll see, you'll see,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + At seven that night Pete was smoking over the gate when Kelly the Thief + came up with a brown paper parcel. “Parcel for you, Mr. Quilliam,” said + the postman, with the air of a man who knew something he should not know. + </p> + <p> + Pete blinked and looked bewildered. “You don't say!” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Well, if that's your name,” began the postman, holding the address for + Pete to read. + </p> + <p> + Pete gave it a searching look. “Cap'n Peatr Quilliam, that's it sartenly, + <i>Lm Cottig</i>—yes, it must be right,” he said, taking the parcel + gingerly. Then with a prolonged “O——o!” shutting his eyes and + nodding his head, “I know—a bit of a present from the mother to the + lil one. Wonderful thoughtful a woman is about a baby when she's a mother, + Mr. Kelly.” + </p> + <p> + The postman giggled, threw his finger seaward over one shoulder, and said, + “Why aren't you writing back to her, then?” + </p> + <p> + “What's that?” said Pete sharply, making the parcel creak. + </p> + <p> + “Why aren't you writing to tell her how the lil one is, I'm saying?” + </p> + <p> + Pete looked at the postman as if the idea had dropped from heaven. “I must + have a head as thick as a mooring-post, Mr. Kelly. Do you know, I never + once thought of it. I'm like Goliath when he got little David's stone at + his forehead—such a thing never entered my head before.” + </p> + <p> + “Do it for all, Mr. Quilliam,” said the postman, moving off. + </p> + <p> + “I will, I will,” said Pete; and then he turned into the house. + </p> + <p> + “Scissors, Nancy,” he shouted, throwing the parcel on the table. + </p> + <p> + “My sakes, a parcel!” cried Nancy. + </p> + <p> + “Aisy to tell where it comes from, too. See that knot, woman?” said Pete, + with a knowing wink. + </p> + <p> + “What in the world is it, Pete?” said Nancy. + </p> + <p> + “I wonder!” said Pete. “Papers enough round it, anyway. A letter? We'll + look at that after,” he said loftily, and then out came the scarlet hood. + “Gough bless mee what's this thing at all?” and he held it up by the + crown. + </p> + <p> + Nancy made a cry of alarm, took the hood out of his hand, and scolded him + roundly. “These men, they're fit to spoil an angel's wings.” + </p> + <p> + Then she whipped up the baby out of the cradle, tried the hood on the + little round head, and shouted with delight. + </p> + <p> + “Now I was thinking of that, d'ye know?” she said. “I was, yes, I was; + believe me or not, I was. 'Kirry will be sending something for the lil one + the next time she writes,' I was thinking, and behould ye—here it + is.” + </p> + <p> + “Something spakes to us, Nancy,” said Pete. “'Deed it does, though.” + </p> + <p> + The child gurgled and purred, and for all her fine headgear she was + absorbed in her bare toes. + </p> + <p> + “And there's yourself, Pete—going to Peel and to Douglas, and I + don't know where—and you've never once thought of the lil one—and + knowing we were for shortening her, too.” + </p> + <p> + Pete cast down his head and looked ashamed. + </p> + <p> + “Well, no—of coorse—I never have—that's truth enough,” + he faltered. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0092" id="link2H_4_0092"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII. + </h2> + <p> + Pete went out to buy a sheet of notepaper and an envelope, a pen, and a + postage stamp. He had abundance of all theso at home, but that did not + serve his turn. Going to as many shops as might be, he dropped hints + everywhere of the purpose to which his purchases were to be put. Finally, + he went to the barber's in the market-place and said, “Will you write an + address for me, Jonaique?” + </p> + <p> + “Coorse I will,” said the barber, sweeping a hand of velvet over one cheek + of the postman, who was in the chair, leaving the other cheek in lather + while he took up the pen. + </p> + <p> + “Mistress Peter Quilliam, care of Master Joseph Quilliam, Esquire, + Scotland Road, Liverpool” dictated Pete. + </p> + <p> + “What number, Capt'n?” said Jonaique. + </p> + <p> + “Number?” said Pete, perplexed. “Bless me, what's this the number is now? + Oh,” by a sudden inspiration, “five hundred and fifteen.” + </p> + <p> + “Five hundred—d'ye say <i>five</i>” said the postman from the half + of his mouth that was clear. + </p> + <p> + “Five,” said Pete emphatically. “Aw, they're well up.” + </p> + <p> + “If <i>you</i> say so, Capt'n,” said the barber, and down went “515.” + </p> + <p> + Pete returned home with the stamped and addressed envelope open in his + hands, “Clane the table quick,” he shouted; “I must be writing to Kirry. + Will I give her your love, Nancy?” + </p> + <p> + With much hem-ing and ha-ing and clearing of his throat, Pete was settling + himself before a sheet of note-paper, when the door opened, and Philip + stepped into the house. His face was haggard and emaciated; his eyes + burned as with a fire that came up from within. + </p> + <p> + “I've come to warn you,” he said; “you are in great danger. You must stop + that demonstration.” + </p> + <p> + “Sit down, sir, sit down,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + Philip did not seem to hear. He walked to and fro with short, nervous, + noiseless steps. “The Governor sent for me last night, and I found him in + a frenzy. 'Deemster,' he said, 'they tell me there's to be a disturbance + at Tynwald—have you heard of anything?' I said, 'Yes, I had heard of + a meeting of fishermen at Peel.' 'They talk of their rights,' said he; + 'I'll teach them something of one right they seem to forget—the + right of the Governor to shoot down the disturbers of Tynwald, without + judge or jury.' 'That's a very old prerogative, your Excellency,' I said; + 'it comes down from more lawless days than ours. You will never use it.' + 'Will I not?' said he. 'Listen, I'll tell you what I've done already. I've + ordered the regiment at Castletown to be on Tynwald Hill on Tynwald day. + Every man of these—there are three hundred—shall have twenty + rounds of ball-cartridge. Then, if the vagabonds try to interrupt the + Court, I've only to lift my hand—so—and they'll be mown down + like grass.' 'You can't mean it,' I said, and I tried to take his big talk + lightly. 'Judge for yourself—see,' and he showed me a paper. It was + an order for the ambulance waggons to be stationed on the ground, and a + request to the doctors of Douglas to be present.” + </p> + <p> + “Then we've made the ould boy see that we mane it,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “'If you know any one of the ringleaders, Deemster,' he said, with a look + into my face—somebody had been with him—there are tell-tales + everywhere——” + </p> + <p> + “It's the way of the world still,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “'Tell him,' said he, 'that I don't want to take the life of any man—I + don't want to send any one to penal servitude.'” It was useless to + protest. The man was mad, but he was in earnest. His plan was folly—frantic + folly—but it was based on a sort of legal right. “So, for the Lord's + sake, Pete, stop this thing. Stop it at once, and finally. It's life or + death. If ever you thought my word worth anything, you'll do as I bid you, + now. God knows where I should be myself if the Governor were to do what he + threatens. Stop it, stop it; I haven't slept for thinking of it.” + </p> + <p> + Pete had been sitting at the table, chewing the tip of the pen, and now he + lifted to the paleness and wildness of Philip's face a cool, bold smile. + </p> + <p> + “It's good of you, Phil.... We've a right to be there, though, haven't + we?” + </p> + <p> + “You've a right, certainly, but——” + </p> + <p> + “Then, by gough, we'll go,” said Pete, dropping the pen, and bringing his + fist down on the table. + </p> + <p> + “The penalty will be yours, Pete—yours. You are the man who will + suffer—you first—you alone.” + </p> + <p> + Pete smiled again. “No use—I'm incorr'iblê. I'm like Dan-ny-Clae, + the sheep-stealer, when he came to die. 'I'm going to eternal judgment—what'll + I do?' says Dan. 'Give back all you've stolen,' says the parzon. 'I'll + chance it first,' says the ould rascal. It's the other fellow that's for + stealing this time; but I'll chance it, Philip. Death it may be, and + judgment too, but I'll chance it, boy.” + </p> + <p> + Philip's eyes wandered over the floor. “Then you'll not change your plan + for anything I've told you?” + </p> + <p> + “I will, though,” said Pete, “for one thing, anyway. <i>You</i> shan't be + getting into trouble—I'll be spokesman for the fishermen myself. Oh, + I'll spake enough if they get my dander up. I'll just square my arms + acrost my chest and I'll say, 'Your Excellency,' I'll say, 'you can't do + it, and you shan't do it—<i>because it isn't</i> right.' But chut! + botheration to all such bobbery! Look here—man alive, look here! + She's not forgetting the lil one, you see,” and, making a proud sweep of + the hand, Pete pointed to the scarlet hood. It had been put to sit across + the back of a china dog on the mantelpiece, with Pete's half sheet of + paper pinned to the strings. + </p> + <p> + Philip recognised it. The hood was the present he had made as godfather. + His eyes blinked, his mouth twitched, the cords of his forehead moved. + </p> + <p> + “So she—she sent that,” he stammered. + </p> + <p> + “Listen here,” said Pete, and he unpinned the paper and read the message + aloud, with flourishes of voice and gesture—“For lil Katherine from + her loving mother... papa not to worry... love to all inquiring friends... + best respects to the Dempster if Im not forgot at him.” Then in an + off-hand way he tossed the paper into the fire. “Aw, what's a bit of a + letter,” he said largely, as it took flame and burned. + </p> + <p> + Philip's bloodshot eyes seemed to be starting from his head. + </p> + <p> + “Nancy's right—a man would never have thought of the like of that—now, + would he?” said Pete, looking proudly from Philip to the hood, and from + the hood back to Philip. + </p> + <p> + Philip did not answer. Something seemed to be throttling him. + </p> + <p> + “But when a woman goes away she leaves her eyes behind her, as you might + say. 'What'll I be getting for them that's at home?' she's thinking, and + up comes a nice warm lil thing for the baby. Aw, the women's good, Philip. + They're what they make the sovereigns of, God bless them!” + </p> + <p> + Philip felt as if he must rush out of the house shrieking. One moment he + stood up before Pete, as though he meant to say something, and then he + turned to go. + </p> + <p> + “Not sleeping to-night, no? Have to get back to Douglas? Then maybe you'll + write me a letter first?” + </p> + <p> + Philip nodded his head and returned, his mouth tightly closed, sat down at + the table, and took up the pen. + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Am I to give you the words, Phil? Yes? Well, if you won't be thinking + mane——” + </p> + <p> + Pete charged His pipe out of his waistcoat pocket, and began to dictate: + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Dear wife.'” + </pre> + <p> + At that Philip gave an involuntary cry. + </p> + <p> + “Aw, best to begin proper, you know. 'Dear wife,'” said Pete again. + </p> + <p> + Philip made a call on his resolution, and put the words down. His hand + felt cold; his heart felt frozen to the core. Pete lit up, and walked to + and fro as he dictated his letter. Nancy sat knitting by the cradle, with + one foot on the rocker. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “'Glad to get your welcome letter, darling, and the bonnet + for the baby'——-” + </pre> + <p> + “'Go on,” said Philip, in an impassive voice. + </p> + <p> + “Got that down, Philip? Aw, you're smart wonderful with the pen, + though.... + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'When she's got it on her lil head you'd laugh tremenjous. + She's straight like a lil John the Baptist in the church + window'—” + </pre> + <p> + Pete paused; Philip lifted his pen and waited. + </p> + <p> + “Done already? Man veen, there's no houlding you.... + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Glad to hear you're so happy and comfortable with Uncle Joe + and Auntie Joney. Give the pair of them my fond love and + best respects. We're getting on beautiful, and I'm as happy + as a sandboy. Sometimes Grannie gets a bit down with + longing, and so does Nancy, but I tell them you'll be home + for their funeral sarmon, anyway, and then they're comforted + wonderful.'” + </pre> + <p> + “Don't be writing his rubbage and lies, your Honour,” said Nancy. + </p> + <p> + “Chut! woman; where's the harm at all? A merry touch to keep a person's + spirits up when she's away from home—eh, Philip?” and Pete appealed + to him with a nudge at his writing elbow. + </p> + <p> + Philip gave no sign. With a look of stupor he was staring down at the + paper as he wrote. Pete puffed and went on— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “'Cæsar's at it still, going through the Bible same as a + trawl-boat, fishing up the little texes. The Dempster's + putting a sight on us reg'lar, and you're not forgot at him + neither. 'Deed no, but thinking of you constant, and + trusting you're the better for laving home——-' +</pre> + <p> + ... Going too fast, am I? So I'm bating you at last, eh?” + </p> + <p> + A cold perspiration had broken out on Philip's forehead, and he was + looking up with the eyes of a hunted dog. + </p> + <p> + “Am I to—must I write that?” he said in a helpless way. + </p> + <p> + “Coorse—go ahead,” said Pete, puffing clouds of smoke, and laughing. + </p> + <p> + Philip wrote it. His hand was now stiff. It sprawled and splashed over the + paper. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “'As for myself, I'm a sort of a grass-widow, and if you + keep me without a wife much longer they'll be taxing me for + a bachelor.'” + </pre> + <p> + Pete put his pipe on the mantelpiece, cleared his throat repeatedly, and + began to be afflicted with a cough. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “'Glad to hear you're coming home soon, darling (<i>cough</i>). + Dearest Kirry, I'm missing you mortal (<i>cough</i>), worse nor + at Kimberley (<i>cough</i>). When I'm going to bed, 'Where is she + to-night?' I'm saying. And when I'm getting up, 'Where is + she now?' I'm thinking. And in the dark midnight I'm asking + myself, 'Is she asleep, I wonder?' (<i>Cough, cough</i>.) Come + home quick, bogh; but not before you're well at all.' +</pre> + <p> + ... Never do to fetch her too soon, you know,” he said in a whisper over + Philip's shoulder, with another nudge at his elbow. + </p> + <p> + Philip answered incoherently, and shrank under Pete's touch as if he had + been burnt. The coughing continued; the dictating began again. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + '“I'm keeping a warm nest for you here, love. There'll be a + welcome from everybody, and nobody saying anything but the + good and the kind. So come home soon, my true lil wife, + before the foolish ould heart of your husband is losing + him'——” + </pre> + <p> + Pete coughed violently, and stretched his neck and mouth awry. “This cough + I've got in my neck is fit to tear me in pieces,” he said. “A spoonful of + cold pinjane, Nancy—it's ter'ble good to soften the neck.” + </p> + <p> + Nancy was nodding over the cradle—she had fallen asleep. + </p> + <p> + Philip had turned white and giddy and sick. For one moment an awful + impulse seized him. He wanted to fall on Pete; to lay hold of him, to + choke him. The consciousness of his own inferiority, his own duplicity, + made him hate Pete. The very sweetness of the man sickened him. He could + not help it—the last spark of his self-pride was fighting for its + life. Then in shame, in remorse, in horror of himself and dread of + everything, he threw down the pen, caught up his hat, shouted “Good night” + in a voice like the growl of a beast in terror, and ran out of the house. + </p> + <p> + Nancy started up from a doze. “Goodness grazhers!” she cried, and the + cradle rocked violently under her foot. + </p> + <p> + “He's that tender-hearted and sympathising,” whispered Pete as he closed + the door. (<i>Cough, cough</i>)... “The letter's finished, though—and + here's the envelope.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0093" id="link2H_4_0093"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VIII. + </h2> + <p> + The following evening the Deemster was in his rooms in Athol Street. His + hat was on, his cloak was over his arm, he was resting his elbow on the + sash of the window and looking vacantly into the churchyard. Jem was + behind him, answering at his back. Their voices were low; they scarcely + moved. + </p> + <p> + “All well upstairs?” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “Pretty well, your Honour.” + </p> + <p> + “More cheerful and content?” + </p> + <p> + “Much more, except when your Honour is from home. 'The Deemster's back,' + she'll say, and her poor face will be like sunshine on a rainy day.” + </p> + <p> + Philip remained silent for a moment, and then said in a scarcely audible + voice— + </p> + <p> + “Not fretting so much about the child, Jemmy?” + </p> + <p> + “Just as anxious to hear of it, though. 'Has he been to Ramsey to-day? Did + he see her? Is she well?' That's the word constant, sir.” + </p> + <p> + The Deemster was silent again, and Jem was withdrawing with a deep bow. + “Jemmy, I'm going to Government House, and may be late. Don't wait up for + me.” + </p> + <p> + Jem answered in a half whisper, “Some one waits up for your Honour whether + I do or not 'He's at home now,' she'll say, and then creep away to bed.” + </p> + <p> + Philip muttered, thickly and huskily, “The decanter is empty—leave + out another bottle.” Then he turned to go from the room, keeping his eyes + from his servant's face. + </p> + <p> + He found the Governor as violent as before, and eager to fall on him + before he had time to speak. + </p> + <p> + “They tell me. Deemster, that the leader of this rising is a sort of + left-hand relative of yours. Surely you can stop the man.” + </p> + <p> + “I've tried to, your Excellency, and failed,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + The Governor tossed up his chin. “I'm told the fellow can't even write his + own name,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “It's true,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “An illiterate and utterly uneducated person.” + </p> + <p> + “All the same, he's the wisest and strongest man on this island,” said + Philip decisively. + </p> + <p> + The Governor frowned, and the pockmarks on his forehead seemed to swell. + “The wisest and strongest man on this island will have to leave it,” he + said. + </p> + <p> + Philip made no answer. He had come to plead, but he saw that it was + hopeless. The Governor put his right hand in the breast, of his white + waistcoat—he was alone in the dining-room after dinner—and + darted at Philip a look of anger and command. + </p> + <p> + “Deemster,” he said, “if, as you say, you cannot stop this low-bred + rascal, there's one thing you can do—leave him to himself.” + </p> + <p> + “That is to say,” said Philip out of a corner of his mouth, “to you.” + </p> + <p> + “To me be it, and who has more right?” said the Governor hotly. + </p> + <p> + Philip held himself in hand. He was silent, and his silence was taken for + submission. Cracking some nuts and munching them, the Governor began to + take another tone. + </p> + <p> + “I should be sorry, Mr. Christian, if anything came between you and me—very + sorry. We've been good friends thus far, and you will allow that you owe + me something. Don't you see it yourself—this man is dishonouring me + in the eyes of the island? If you have tried your best to keep his neck + out of the halter, let the consequences be his own.” + </p> + <p> + “Eh?” said Philip, with his eyes on the floor. + </p> + <p> + “You have done your duty by the man, I say. Help yourself to a glass of + wine.” + </p> + <p> + Still Philip did not speak. The Governor saw his advantage, but little did + he guess the pitiless power of it. + </p> + <p> + “The fellow is your kinsman, Deemster, and I shall not ask you to deal + with him. That would be inhuman. If there is no hope of restraining him + to-morrow—wise as he is, if he will not listen to saner counsels, I + will only beg of you—but this is a matter for the police. You are a + high official now. It would be a pity to give you pain. Stay at home—I'll + gladly excuse you—you look as if a day's rest would do you good.” + </p> + <p> + Philip drank two glasses of the wine in quick succession. The Governor + poured him a third, and went on— + </p> + <p> + “I don't know what you're feeling for the man may be—it can't be + friendship. I'm sure he's a thorn in your flesh. And as long as he's here + he will always be.” + </p> + <p> + Philip looked up with inquiry, doubt, and fear. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! I knew it. Even if this matter goes by, your time will come. You'll + quarrel with the fellow yet—you know you will—it's in the + nature of things—if he's the man you say.” + </p> + <p> + Philip drank the third glass of wine and rose to go. + </p> + <p> + “Leave him to me—I'll deal with him. You'll be done with him, and a + good riddance, too, I reckon. And now come in to the ladies—they'll + know you're here.” + </p> + <p> + Philip excused himself and went off with feverish gestures and an excited + face. + </p> + <p> + “The Governor is right,” he thought, as he went home over the dark roads. + Pete was a thorn in his flesh, and always would be; his enemy, his + relentless enemy, notwithstanding his love for him. + </p> + <p> + The misery of the past month could not be supported any longer. Perpetual + fear of discovery, perpetual guard of the tongue, keeping watch and ward + on every act of life—to-day, to-morrow, the next day, on and on + until life's end in wretchedness or disgrace—it was insupportable, + it was impossible, it could not be attempted. + </p> + <p> + Then came thoughts that were too fearful to take form-too awful to take + words. They were like the flapping of unseen wings going by him in the + night, but the meaning of them was this: If Pete persists in his purpose, + there will be a riot. If any one is injured, Pete will be transported. If + any one is killed, Pete will be indicted for his life. + </p> + <p> + “Well, I have done my duty by him,” his heart whimpered. “I have tried to + restrain him. I have tried to restrain the Governor. It isn't my fault. + What more can I do?” + </p> + <p> + Philip walked fast. Here was the way of escape from the evil that beset + his path. Fate was stretching out her hands to him. When men had done + wrong, they did yet more wrong to elude the consequences of their first + fault; but there was no need for that in his case. + </p> + <p> + The hour was late. A strong breeze was blowing off the sea. It flicked his + face with salt as he went swinging down the hill into the town. His blood + was a-fire. He had a feeling, never felt before, of courage and even + ferocity. Something told him that he was not so good a man as he had been, + but it was a tingling pleasure to feel that he was a stronger man than + before. + </p> + <p> + Should he tell Kate? No! Let the thing go on; let it end. After it was + over she would see where their account lay. Thinking in this way, he + laughed aloud. + </p> + <p> + The town was quiet when he came to it. So absorbed had he been that, + though the air was sharp, he had been carrying his cloak over his arm. Now + he put it on, and drew the hood close over his head. A dog, a homeless + cur, had begun to follow at his heels. He drove it off, but it continued + to hang about him. At last it got in front of his feet, and he stumbled + over it in one of his large, quick strides. Then he kicked the dog, and it + crossed the dark street yelping. He was a worse man, and he knew it. + </p> + <p> + He let himself into the house with his latch-key, and banged the door + behind his back. But no sooner had he breathed the soft, woolly, stagnant + air within than a change came over him. His ferocious strength ebbed away, + and he began to tremble. + </p> + <p> + The hall passage and staircase were in darkness. This was by his orders—coming + in late, he always forgot to put out the gas. But the lamp of his room was + burning on the candle rest at the stairhead, and it cast a long sword of + light down the staircase well. + </p> + <p> + Chilled by some unknown fear, he had set one foot on the first tread when + he thought he heard the step of some one coming down the stairs. It was a + familiar step. He was sure he knew it. It must be a step he heard daily. + </p> + <p> + He stopped, and the step seemed to stop also. At that moment there was a + shuffling of slippered feet on an upper landing, and Jem-y-Lord called + down, “Is it you, your Honour?” + </p> + <p> + With an effort he answered, “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Is anything the matter?” called the man-servant. + </p> + <p> + “There's somebody coming downstairs, isn't there?” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “Somebody coming downstairs?” repeated the man-servant, and the light + shifted as if he were lifting the lamp. + </p> + <p> + “Is it you coming down, Jem?” + </p> + <p> + “Me coming down? I'm here, holding the lamp, your Honour.” + </p> + <p> + “Another of my fancies,” thought Philip; and he laid hold of the handrail, + and started afresh. The step came on. He knew it now; it was his own step. + “An echo,” he told himself. “A dream,” he thought, “a mirage of the mind;” + and he compelled himself to go up. The step came down. It passed him on + the stairs, going by the wall as he went by the rail, with an irresistible + down-drive, headlong, heavily. + </p> + <p> + Then came one of those moments of partial unconsciousness in which the + sensation of a sound takes shape. It seemed to Philip that the figure of a + man had passed him. He remembered it instantly. It was the same that he + had seen in the lobby to the Council Chamber, his own figure, but wrapped + in a cloak like the one he was then wearing, and with the hood drawn over + the head. The body had been half turned aside, the face had been hidden, + and the whole form had expressed contempt, repugnance, and loathing. + </p> + <p> + “Not well to-night, your Honour?” said the far-off voice of Jem-y-Lord. He + was holding the dazzling lamp up to the Deemster's face. + </p> + <p> + “A little faint—that's all. Go to bed.” + </p> + <p> + Then Philip was alone in his room. “Conscience!” he thought. “Pete may go, + but <i>this</i> will be with me to the end. Which, O God?—which?” + </p> + <p> + He poured out half a tumbler from the bottle on the table, and gulped it + down at a draught. At the same moment he heard a light foot overhead. It + was a woman's foot; it crossed the floor, and then ceased. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0094" id="link2H_4_0094"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IX. + </h2> + <p> + Next morning the Deemster was still sleeping while the sun was shining + into his room. He was awakened by a thunderous clamour, which came as from + a nail driven into the back of his head. Opening his eyes, he realised + that somebody was knocking at his door, and shouting in a robustious bass— + </p> + <p> + “Christian, I say! Ever going to get up at all?” + </p> + <p> + It was the Clerk of the Rolls. Under one of his heavy poundings the catch + of the door gave way, and he stepped into the room. + </p> + <p> + “Degenerate Manxman!” he roared. “In bed on Tynwald morning. Pooh! this + room smells of dead sleep, dead spirits, and dead everything. Let me get + at that window—you pitch your clothes all over the floor. Ah! that's + fresher! Headache? I should think so. Get up, then, and I'll drive you to + St. John's.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't think I'll go to-day, sir,” said Philip in a feeble whimper. + </p> + <p> + “Not go? Holy saints! Judge of his island and not go to Tynwald! What will + the Governor say?” + </p> + <p> + “He said last night he would excuse my absence.” + </p> + <p> + “Excuse your fiddlesticks! The air will do you good. I've got the carriage + below. Listen! it's striking ten by the church. I'll give you fifteen + minutes, and step into your breakfast-room and look over the <i>Times</i>.” + </p> + <p> + The Clerk rolled out, and then Philip heard his loud voice through the + door in conversation with Jem-y-Lord. + </p> + <p> + “And how's Mrs. Cottier to-day?” + </p> + <p> + “Middling, sir, thank you, sir.'' + </p> + <p> + “You don't let us see too much of her, Jemmy.” + </p> + <p> + “Not been well since coming to Douglas, sir.” + </p> + <p> + Cups and saucers rattled, the newspaper creaked, the Clerk cleared his + throat, and there was silence. + </p> + <p> + Philip rose with a heavy heart, still in the torment of his great + temptation. He remembered the vision of the night before, and, broad + morning as it was, he trembled. In the Isle of Man such visions are + understood to foretell death, and the man who sees them is said to “see + his soul.” But Philip had no superstitions. He knew what the vision was: + he knew what the vision meant. + </p> + <p> + Jem-y-Lord came in with hot water, and Philip, without looking round, said + in a low tone as the door closed, “How now, my lad?” + </p> + <p> + “Fretting again, your Honour,” said the man, in a half whisper. He busied + himself in the room a moment, and then added, “Somehow she gets to know + things. Yesterday evening now—I was taking down some of the bottles, + and I met her on the stairs. Next time I saw her she was crying.” + </p> + <p> + Philip said in a confused way, fumbling the razor. “Tell her I intend to + see her after Tynwald.” + </p> + <p> + “I have, your Honour. 'It's not that, Mr. Cottier,' she answered me.” + </p> + <p> + “My wig and gown to-day, Jemmy,” said Philip, and he went out in his robes + as Deemster. + </p> + <p> + The day was bright, and the streets were thronged with vehicles. Brakes, + wagonettes, omnibuses, private carriages, and cadger's carts all loaded to + their utmost, were climbing out of Douglas by way of the road to Peel. The + town seemed to shout; the old island rock itself seemed to laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Bless me, Christian,” said the Clerk of the Rolls, looking at his watch, + “do you know it's half-past ten? Service begins at eleven. Drive on, + coachman. You've eight miles to do in half an hour.” + </p> + <p> + “Can't go any faster with this traffic on the road, sir,” said the + coachman over his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “I got so absorbed in the newspaper,” said the Clerk, “that—— + Well, if we're late, we're late, that's all.” + </p> + <p> + Philip folded his arms across his breast and hung his head. He was + fighting a great battle. + </p> + <p> + “No idea that the fisherman affair was going to be so serious,” said the + Clerk. “It seems the Governor has ordered out every soldier and pensioner. + If I know my countrymen, they'll not stand much of that.” + </p> + <p> + Philip drew a long breath: there was a cloud of dust; the women in the + brakes were laughing. + </p> + <p> + “I hear a whisper that the ringleader is a friend of yours, Christian—'an + irregular relative of a high official,' as the reporter says.” + </p> + <p> + “He is my cousin, sir,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “What? The big, curly-pated fellow you took home in the carriage?... I + say, coachman, no need to drive <i>quite</i> so fast.” + </p> + <p> + Philip's head was still down. The Clerk of the Rolls sat watching him with + an anxious face. + </p> + <p> + “Christian, I am not so sure the Governor wasn't right after all. Is this + what's been troubling you for a month? You're the deuce for a secret. If + there's anything good to tell, you're up like the sun; but if there's bad + news going, an owl is a poll-parrot compared with you for talking.” + </p> + <p> + Philip made some feeble effort to laugh, and to say his head was still + aching. They were on the breast of the steep hill going up to Greeba. The + road ahead was like a funnel of dust; the road behind was like the tail of + a comet. + </p> + <p> + “Pity a fine lad like that should get into trouble,” said the Clerk. “I + like the rascal. He got round an old man's heart like a rope round a + capstan. One of the big, hearty dogs that make you say, 'By Jove, and I'm + a Manxman, too.' He's in the right in this affair, whatever the Governor + may say. And the Governor knows it, Christian—that's why he's so + anxious to excuse you. He can overawe the Keys; and as for the Council, + we're paid our wages, God bless us, and are so many stuffed snipes on his + stick. But you—you're different. Then the man is your kinsman, and + blood is thicker than water, if it's only—— Why, what's this?” + </p> + <p> + There was some whooping behind; the line of carriages swirled like a long + serpent half a yard near the hedge, and through the grey dust a large + covered car shot by at the gallop of a fire-engine. The Clerk-sat bolt + upright. + </p> + <p> + “Now, what in the name of——” + </p> + <p> + “It's an ambulance waggon,” said Philip between his set teeth. + </p> + <p> + A moment later a second waggon went galloping past, then a third, and + finally a fourth. + </p> + <p> + “Well, upon my—— Ah! good day. Doctor! Good day, good day!” + </p> + <p> + The Clerk had recognised friends on the waggons, and was returning their + salutations. When they were gone, he first looked at Philip, and then + shouted, “Coachman, right about face. We're going home again—and + chance it.” + </p> + <p> + “We can't be turning here, sir,” said the coachman. “The vehicles are + coming up like bees going a-swarming. We'll have to go as far as Tynwald, + anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “Go on,” said Philip in a determined voice. + </p> + <p> + After a while the Clerk said, “Christian, it isn't worth while getting + into trouble over this affair. After all, the Governor is the Governor. + Besides, he's been a good friend to you.” + </p> + <p> + Philip was passing through a purgatorial fire, and his old master was + feeding it with fuel on every side. They were nearing Tynwald, and could + see the flags, the tents, and the crowd as of a vast encampment, and hear + the deep hum of a multitude, like the murmur of a distant sea. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0095" id="link2H_4_0095"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + X. + </h2> + <p> + Tynwald Hill is the ancient Parliament ground of Man. It is an open green + in the midst of the island, with hills on three of its sides, and on the + fourth a broad plain dipping to the coast. This green is of the shape of a + guitar. Down the middle of the guitar there is a walled enclosure of the + shape of a banjo. At the end stands a church. The round drum is the mount, + which has four circles, the topmost being some six paces across. + </p> + <p> + The carriage containing the Deemster and the Clerk of the Bolls had drawn + up at the west gate of the church, and a policeman had opened the door. + There came the sound of singing from the porch. + </p> + <p> + “A quarter late,” said the Clerk of the Rolls, consulting his watch. + “Shall we go in, your Honor?” + </p> + <p> + “Let us take a turn round the fair instead,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + The carriage door was shut back, and they began to move over the green. + The open part of it was covered with booths, barrows, stands, and + show-tents. There were cheap jacks with shoddy watches, phrenologists with + two chairs, fat women, dwarfs, wandering minstrels, itinerant hawkers of + toffee in tin hat-boxes, and other shiny and slimy creatures with the air + and grease of the towns. There were a few oxen and horses also, tethered + and lanketted, and kicking up the dust under the dry turf. + </p> + <p> + The crowd was dense already, and increasing at every moment. As the brakes + arrived, they drove up with a swing that sent the people surging on either + side. Some brought well-behaved visitors, others brought an eruption of + ruffians. + </p> + <p> + Down the neck of the enclosure, and round the circular end of it, stood a + regiment of soldiers with rifles and bayonets. The steps to the mount were + laid down with rushes. Two armchairs were on the top, under a canopy hung + from a flagstaff that stood in the centre. These chairs were still empty, + and the mount and its approaches were kept clear. + </p> + <p> + The sun was overhead, the heat was great, the odour was oppressive. Now + and again the sound of the service within the church mingled with the crack + of the toy rifle-ranges and the jabber of the cheap jacks. At length there + was another sound—a more portentous sound—the sound of bands + playing in the distance. It came from both south and west, from the + direction of Peel, and from that of Port St. Mary. + </p> + <p> + “They're coming,” said the Clerk, and Philip's face, when he turned his + head to listen, quivered and grew yet more pale. + </p> + <p> + As the bands approached they ceased to play. Presently a vast procession + of men from the west came up in silence to the skirt of the hill, and + turned off in the direction from which the men from the south were seen to + be coming. They were in jerseys and sea-boots, marching four deep, and + carrying nothing in their brawny hands. One stalwart fellow walked firmly + at the head of them.. It was Pete. + </p> + <p> + Philip could support the strain no longer. He got out of the carriage. The + Clerk of the Rolls got out also, and followed him as he walked with + wavering, irregular steps. + </p> + <p> + Under a great tree at the junction of three roads, the two companies of + fishermen met and fell into a general throng. There was a low wall around + the tree-trunk, and, standing on this, Pete's head was clear above the + rest. + </p> + <p> + “Boys,” he was saying, “there's three hundred armed soldiers on the hill + yonder, with twenty rounds of ball-cartridge apiece. You're going to the + Coort because you've a right to go. You're going up peaceable, and, when + you're getting there, you're going to mix among the soldiers, three to + every man, two on either side and one behind. Then your spokesmen are + going to spake out your complaint. If they're listened to, you're wanting + no better. But if they're not, and if the word is given to fire on them, + then, before there's time to do it, you're going to stretch every man of + the three hundred on his back and take his weapon. Don't hurt the soldiers—the + poor soldiers are only doing what they're tould. But don't let the + soldiers hurt you neither. You're going there for justice. You're not + going there to fight. But if anybody fights you, let him never forget the + day he done it. Break up every taffy stand in the fair, if you can't find + anything better. And if blood is shed, lave the man that orders it to me. + And now go up, boys, like men and like Manxmen.” + </p> + <p> + There was no cheering, no shouting, no clapping of hands. Only broken + exclamations and a sort of confused murmur. “Come,” whispered the Clerk of + the Rolls, putting his hand through Philip's quivering arm. “Little does + the poor devil think that, if blood is shed, he will be the first to + fall.” “God in heaven!” muttered Philip. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0096" id="link2H_4_0096"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XI. + </h2> + <p> + The crowd on Tynwald had now gathered thick down the neck of the enclosure + and dense round the mount. To the strains of the National Anthem, played + by the band of the regiment, the Governor had come out of the church. He + was in cocked hat and with sword, and the sword of state was carried + upright before him. With his Keys, Council, and clergy, he walked to the + hill-top. There he took one of the two chairs under the canopy; the other, + was taken by the Bishop in his lawn. Their followers came behind, and + broke up on the hill into an indiscriminate mass. A number of ladies were + admitted to the space on the topmost round. They stood behind the chairs, + with their parasols still open. + </p> + <p> + There are men that the densest crowd will part and make way for. The crowd + had parted and made way for Philip. As the court was being “fenced,” he + appeared with his companion at the foot of the mount. There he was + recognised by many, but he scarcely answered their salutations. The + Governor made a deferential bow, smiled, and beckoned to him to come up to + his side. He went up slowly, pausing at every other step, like a man who + was in doubt if he ought to go higher. At length he stood at the + Governor's right hand, with all eyes upon him, for the favourite of the + great is favoured. He was then the highest figure on the mount, the + Governor and the Bishop being seated. The people could see him from end to + side of the Tynwald, and he could see the people as they stood closely + packed on the green below. + </p> + <p> + The business of the Court began. It was that of promulgating the laws. + Philip's senior colleague, the old Deemster of the happy face, read the + titles of the laws in English. + </p> + <p> + Then the Coroner of the premier sheading began to recite the same titles + in Manx. Nobody heard them; hardly anybody listened. The ladies on the + mount chatted among themselves, the Keys and the clergy intermingled and + talked, the officials of the Council looked at the crowd, and the crowd + itself, having nothing to hear, no more to see, indifferent to doings they + could not understand, resumed their amusements among the frivolities of + the fair. + </p> + <p> + There were three persons in that assembly of fifteen thousand who were + following the course of events with feverish interest. The first of these + was the Governor, whose restless eyes were rolling from side to side with + almost savage light; the second was the captain of the regiment, who was + watching the Governor's face for a signal; the third was Philip, who was + looking down at the crowd and seeing something that had meaning for + himself alone. + </p> + <p> + The fishermen came up quietly, three thousand strong. Half a hundred of + them lounged around the magazine—the ammunition was at their + command. The rest pushed, edged, and elbowed their way through the people + until they came to the line of the guard. Wherever there was a red coat, + behind it there were three jerseys and stocking-caps, Philip saw it all + from his elevation on the mount. His face was deadly pale, his eyelids + wavered, his lower lip trembled, his hand twitched; when he was spoken to, + he hardly answered; he was like a man holding counsel with himself, and + half in fear that everybody could read his hidden thoughts. He was in the + last throes of his temptation. The decisive moment was near. It was heavy + with the fate of his after life. He thought of Pete and the torture of his + company; of Kate and the unending misery of her existence; of himself and + the deep duplicity to which he was committed. From all this he could be + freed for ever—by what? By doing nothing, having already done his + duty? Only let him command himself, and then—relief from an + existence enthralled by torment—from constant alarm and watchfulness—peace—sleep—love—Kate! + </p> + <p> + Somebody was speaking to him over his shoulder. It was nothing—only + the quip of a witty fellow, descendant of a Spanish freebooter. Ladies + caught his eye, smiled and bowed to him. A little man, whose swarthy face + showed African blood, reached up and quoted something about the bounds of + freedom wide and wider. + </p> + <p> + The Coroner had finished, the proceedings were at an end—there was a + movement—something had happened—the Governor had half risen + from his chair. Twelve men in sea-boots and blue jerseys had passed the + line of the guard, and were standing midway across the steps of the mount. + One of them was beginning to speak. It was Pete. + </p> + <p> + “Governor,” he said; but the captain of the regiment was abreast of him in + a moment, and a score of the soldiers were about his companions at the + next breath. The fishermen stood their ground like a wall, and the + soldiers fell back. There was hardly any scuffle. + </p> + <p> + “Governor,” said Pete again, touching his cap. + </p> + <p> + The Governor was twisting in his seat. Looking first at Pete, and then at + the captain, he was in the act of lifting his hand when suddenly it was + held by another hand at his side, and a low voice whispered at his ear, + “No, sir; for God's sake, no!” + </p> + <p> + It was Philip. The Governor looked at him with amazement. “What do you + mean?” + </p> + <p> + “I mean,” said Philip, still whispering over him hotly and impetuously, + “that there's only one way back to Government House, but if you lift your + hand it will be one too many; I mean that if blood is shed you'll never + live to leave this mount; I mean that your three hundred soldiers are only + as three hundred rabbits in the claws of three thousand crows.” + </p> + <p> + At the next instant he had left the Governor, and was face to face with + the fishermen. + </p> + <p> + “Fishermen,” he cried, lifting both hands before him, “let there be no + trouble here to-day, no riot, for God's sake, no bloodshed. Listen to me. + I am the grandson of a fisherman; I have been a fisherman myself; I love + the fishermen. As long as I live I will stand by you. Your rights shall be + my rights, your sins my sins, and where you go I will go too.” + </p> + <p> + Then, swinging back to the Governor, he bowed low, and said in a + deferential voice— + </p> + <p> + “Your Excellency, these men mean no harm; they wish to speak to you; they + have a petition to make; they will be loyal and peaceable.” + </p> + <p> + But the Governor, having recovered from his first fear, was now in a flame + of anger. + </p> + <p> + “No,” he said, with the accent of authority; “this is no time and no place + for petitions.” + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me, your Excellency,” said Philip, with a deeper bow; “this is + the time of all times, the place of all places.” + </p> + <p> + There had been a general surging of the Keys and clergy towards the steps, + and now one of them cried out of their group, “Is Tynwald Court to be + turned into a bear-garden?” And another said in a cynical voice, “Perhaps + your Excellency has taken somebody else's seat.” + </p> + <p> + Philip raised himself to his full height, and answered, with his eyes on + the speakers, “We are free-born men on this island, your Excellency. We + did not come to Tynwald to learn order from the grandson of a Spanish + pirate, or freedom from the son of a black chief.” + </p> + <p> + “Hould hard, boys!” cried Pete, lifting one hand against his followers, as + if to keep them quiet. He was boiling with a desire to shout till his + throat should crack. + </p> + <p> + The Governor had exchanged rapid looks and low whispers with the captain. + He saw that he was outwitted, that he was helpless, that he was even in + personal danger. The captain was biting his leg with vexation that he had + not reckoned more seriously with this rising—that he had not drawn + up his men in column. + </p> + <p> + “Your Excellency will hear the fishermen?” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “No, no, no,” said the Governor. He was at least a brave man, if a vain + and foolish one. + </p> + <p> + There was silence for a moment. Then, standing erect, and making an effort + to control himself, Philip said, “May it please your Excellency, you fill + a proud position here; you are the ruler of this island under your + sovereign lady our Queen. But we, your subjects, your servants, are in a + prouder position still. We are Manxmen. This is the Court of our country.” + </p> + <p> + “Hould hard,” cried Pete again. + </p> + <p> + “For a thousand years men with our blood and our names have stood on this + hill to hear the voice of the people, and to do justice between man and + man. That's what the place was meant for. If it has lost that meaning, + root it up—it is a show and a sham.” + </p> + <p> + “Bravo!” cried Pete; he could hold himself in no longer, and his word was + taken up with a shout, both on the hill and on the green beneath. + </p> + <p> + Philip's voice had risen to a shrill cry, but it was low and meek as he + added, bowing yet lower while he spoke— + </p> + <p> + “Your Excellency will hear the fishermen?” + </p> + <p> + The Governor rolled in his seat. “Go on,” he said impatiently. + </p> + <p> + The men made their petition. Three or four of them spoke briefly and to + the point. They had had harbours, their fathers' harbours, which had been + freed to them forty years before; don't ask them to pay harbour dues until + proper harbours were provided: + </p> + <p> + The Governor gave his promise. Then he rose, the band struck up “God save + the Queen,” and the Legislature filed back to the chapel. + </p> + <p> + Philip went with them. He had fought a great battle, and he had prevailed. + Through purging fires the real man had emerged, but he had paid the price + of his victory. His eye burned like live coal, his cheek-bones seemed to + have upheaved. He walked alone; his ancient colleague had stepped ahead of + him. But now and again, as he passed down the long path to the + church-door, fishermen and farmers pushed between the rifles of the + guards, and said in husky voices, “Let me shake you by the hand, + Dempster.” + </p> + <p> + The scene was repeated with added emotion half an hour afterwards, when, + the court being adjourned and the Governor gone in ominous silence, Philip + came out, white and smiling, and leaning on the arm of his old master, the + Clerk of the Rolls. He could scarcely tear himself through the thick-set + hedge of people that lined the path to the gate. As he got into the + carriage his smile disappeared. Sinking into the seat, he buried himself + in the corner and dropped his head on his breast. The people began to + cheer. + </p> + <p> + “Drive on,” he cried. + </p> + <p> + The cheering became loud. + </p> + <p> + “Drive, drive,” he cried. + </p> + <p> + The people cheered yet louder. They thought that they had seen a grand + triumph that day—a man triumphing over the Governor. But there had + been a grander triumph which they had not seen—a man triumphing over + himself. Only one saw that, and it was God. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0097" id="link2H_4_0097"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XII. + </h2> + <p> + Pete seemed to be beside himself. He laughed until he cried; he cried + until he laughed. His resonant voice rang out everywhere. + </p> + <p> + “Hear him? My gough, it was like a bugle spaking. There's nobody can spake + but himself. When the others are toot-tooting, it's just 'Polly, put the + kettle on' (mimicking a mincing treble). See the lil Puffin on his throne + of turf there? Looked as if Ould Nick had been thrashing peas on his face + for a week.” + </p> + <p> + Pete's enthusiasm rose to frenzy, and he began to sweep through the fair, + bemoaning his country and pouring mouth-fuls of anathema on his + countrymen. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mannin veg villish</i> (sweet little Isle of Man), with your English + Governors and your English Bishops, and boys of your own worth ten of + them. <i>Manninee graihagh</i> (beloved Manxmen), you're driving them away + to be Bishops for others and Governors abroad—and yourselves going + to the dogs and the divil, and d——— you.” + </p> + <p> + Pete's prophetic mood dropped to a jovial one. He bought the remaining + stock-in-trade of an itinerant toffee-seller, and hammered the lid of the + tin hat-box to beat up the children. They followed him like hares hopping + in the snow; and he distributed his bounty in inverse relation to size, a + short stick to a big lad, a long stick to a little one, and two sticks to + a girl. The results were an infantile war. Here, a damsel of ten squaring + her lists to fight a hulking fellow of twelve for her sister of six; and + there, a mother wiping the eyes of her boy of five, and whispering “Hush, + bogh; hush! You shall have the bladder when we kill the pig.” + </p> + <p> + Pete began to drink. “How do, Faddy? Taking joy of you, Juan. Are you in + life, Thom! Half a glass of rum will do no harm, boys. Not the drink at + all—just the good company, you know.” + </p> + <p> + He hailed the women also, but they were less willing to be treated. “I'd + have more respect for my quarterly ticket, sir,” said Betsy—she was + a Primitive, with her husband on the “Planbeg.” “There's a hole in your + pocket, Capt'n; stop it up with your fist, man,” said Liza—she was a + gombeen woman, and when she got a penny in her hand it was a prisoner for + life. “Chut! woman,” said Pete, “what's the good book say ing? 'Riches + have wings;' let the birds fly then,” and off he went, reeling and + tottering, and laughing his formidable laugh. + </p> + <p> + Pete grew merry. Rooting up the remains of the fishermen's band, he hired + them to accompany him through the fair. They were three little musicians, + now exceedingly drunk, and their duty was to play “Hail, Isle of Man,” as + he went swaggering along in front of them. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Hail, Isle of Man, + Swate ocean lan', + I love thy sea-girt border.” + </pre> + <p> + “Play up, Jackie.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “The barley sown, + Potatoes down, + We'll get our boats in order.” + </pre> + <p> + Thus he forged through the fair, capering, laughing, shouting protests + over his shoulder when the tipsy music failed, pretending to be very + drunk, trying to show that he was carrying on, that he was going it, that + he hadn't a second thought, but watching everything for all that, studying + every face, and listening to the talk of everybody. + </p> + <p> + “Whips of money at him, Liza—whips of it—millions, they're + saying.”—“He's spending it like flitters then. The Manx chaps isn't + fit for fortunes—no, they aren't. I wonder in the world what sort of + wife there's at him. <i>I</i> don't 'low my husband the purse. Three + ha'pence is enough to be giving any man at once.”—“Wife, you're + saying? Don't you know, woman?” Then some whispering. + </p> + <p> + “Bass, boy—more bass, I tell thee.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “We then sought nex' + The soothing sex, + Our swatearts at Port Erin.” + </pre> + <p> + “Who <i>is</i> the man at all?”—“Why, Capt'n Quilliam from + Kimberley.”—“'Deed, man! Him that married with some of the Cæsar + Glenmooar's ones?”—“She's left him, though, and gone off with a + wastrel.”—“You don't say?”—“Well, I saw the young woman myself——” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “At Quiggin's Hall + There's enough for all, + Good beer, and all things proper.” + </pre> + <p> + “Hould,boys!” + </p> + <p> + Pete had drawn up suddenly, and stopped his musicians with a sweep of the + arm. + </p> + <p> + “Were you spaking, Mr. Corteen?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing, Capt'n. No need to stare at all. I was only saying I was at the + camp-meeting at Sulby, and I saw——” + </p> + <p> + “Go on, Jackie.” + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “A pleasant place, + With beds of aise, + When we are done our supper.” + </pre> + <p> + The unhappy man was deceiving himself at least as much as anybody else. + After looking for the light of intelligence in every face, waiting for a + word, watching for a glance, expecting every moment that some one from + south or north, or east or west, would say, “I've seen her;” yet, covering + up the burning coal of his anxiety with the ashes of mock merriment, he + tried to persuade himself that Kate was not on the island if nobody at + Tynwald had seen her; that he had told the truth unwittingly, and that he + was as happy as the day was long. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0098" id="link2H_4_0098"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIII. + </h2> + <p> + A man in a gig came driving a long-horned cow in front of him. Driver, + horse, gig, and cow were like animated shapes of dust, but Pete recognised + them. + </p> + <p> + “Is it yourself, Cæsar? So you're for selling ould Horney?” + </p> + <p> + “Grieved in my heart I am to do it, sir. Many a good glass of milk she has + given to me and mine,” and Cæsar was ready to weep. + </p> + <p> + “Going falling in fits, isn't she, Cæsar?” + </p> + <p> + “Hush, man! hush, man!” said Cæsar, looking about. “A good cow, very; but + down twice since I left home this morning.” + </p> + <p> + “I'd give a bad sixpence to see Cæsar selling that cow,” thought Pete. + </p> + <p> + Three men were bargaining over a horse. Two were selling, the third (it + was Black Tom) was buying. + </p> + <p> + “Rising five years, sir. Sired by Mahomet. Oh, I've got the papers to + prove it,” said one of the two. + </p> + <p> + “What, man? Five?” shouted Black Tom down the horse's open mouth. “She'll + never see eight the longest day she lives.” + </p> + <p> + “No use decaiving the man,” said the other dealer, speaking in Manx. + “She's sixteen—'low she's nine, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “Fair play, boys; spake English before a poor fellow,” said Black Tom, + with a snort. + </p> + <p> + “This brother of mine lows she's seven,” said the first of the two. + </p> + <p> + “You thundering liar,” said Black Tom in Manx. “He says she's sixteen.” + </p> + <p> + “Dealing ponies then?” asked Pete. + </p> + <p> + “Anything, sir; anything. Buying for farmers up Lonan way,” said Black + Tom. + </p> + <p> + “Come on,” said Pete; “here's Cæsar with a long-horned cow.” + </p> + <p> + They found the good man tethering a white, long-horned cow to the wheel of + the tipped-up gig. + </p> + <p> + “How do, Cæsar? And how much for the long-horn?” said Black Tom. + </p> + <p> + “Aw, look at the base (beast), Mr. Quilliam. Examine her for yourself,” + said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “Middling fair ewer, good quarter, five calves—is it five, Cæsar?” + said Black Tom, holding one of the long horns. + </p> + <p> + “Three, sir, and calving again for February.” + </p> + <p> + “No milk fever? No? Kicks a bit at milking? Never? Fits? Ever had fits, + Cæsar?” opening wide one of the cow's eyes. + </p> + <p> + “Have you known me these years for a dacent man, Mr. Quilliam——” + began Cæsar in an injured tone. + </p> + <p> + “Well, what's the figure?” + </p> + <p> + “Fourteen pound, sir! and she'll take the road before I'll go home with a + pound less!” + </p> + <p> + “Fourteen—what! Ten; I'll give you ten—not a penny more.” + </p> + <p> + “Good day to <i>you</i>, Mr. Quilliam,” said Cæsar. Then, as if by an + afterthought, “You're an ould friend of mine, Thomas; a very ould friend, + Tom—I'll split you the diff'rance.” + </p> + <p> + “Break a straw on it,” said Black Tom; and the transaction was complete. + </p> + <p> + “I've had a clane strike here—the base is worth fifteen,” chuckled + Black Tom in Pete's ear as he drove the cow in to a shed beyond. + </p> + <p> + “I must be buying another cow in place of poor ould Horney,” whispered + Cæsar as he dived into the cattle stand. + </p> + <p> + “Strike up, Jackie,” shouted Pete. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “West of the mine, + The day being fine. + The tide against us veering.” + </pre> + <p> + Ten minutes later Pete heard a fearful clamour, which drowned the noise + that he himself was making. Within the shed the confusion of tongues was + terrific. + </p> + <p> + “What's this at all?” he asked, crushing through with an innocent face. + </p> + <p> + “The man's cow has fits,” cried Black Tom. “I'll have my money back. The + ould psalm-singing Tommy Noddy! did he think he was lifting the + collection? My money! My twelve goolden pounds!” + </p> + <p> + If Black Tom had not been as bald as a bladder, he would have torn his + hair in his mortification. But Pete pacified him. + </p> + <p> + “Cæsar is looking for another cow—sell him his own back again. + Impozz'ble? Who says it's impozz'ble? Cut off her long horns, and he'll + never be knowing her from her grandmother.” + </p> + <p> + Then Pete made up to Cæsar and said, “Tom's got a mailie (hornless) cow to + sell, and it's the very thing you're wanting.” + </p> + <p> + “Is she a good mailie?” asked Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “Ten quarts either end of the day, Cæsar, and fifteen pounds of butter a + week,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “Where's the base, sir?” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + They met Black Tom leading a hornless, white cow from the shed to the + green. + </p> + <p> + “Are you coming together, Peter?” he said cheerfully. + </p> + <p> + Cæsar eyed the cow doubtfully for a moment, and then said briskly, “What's + the price of the mailie, Mr. Quilliam?” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, look at the base first, Mr. Cregeen. Examine her for yourself, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes—yes—well, yes; a middling good base enough. Four calves, + Thomas?” + </p> + <p> + “Two, sir, and calves again for January. Twenty-four quarts of new milk + every day of life, and butter fit to burst the churn for you.” + </p> + <p> + “No fever at all? No fits? No?” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, have you known me these teens of years, Mr. Cregeen——” + </p> + <p> + “Well, what d'ye say—eleven pounds for the cow, Tom!” + </p> + <p> + “Thirteen, Cæsar; and if you warn an ould friend——” + </p> + <p> + “Hould your hand, Mr. Quilliam; I'm not a man when I've got a bargain.... + Manx notes or the dust, Thomas? Goold? Here you are, then—one—two—three—four...” + (giving the cow another searching glance across his shoulder). “It's + wonderful, though, the straight she's like ould Horney... five—six—seven... + in colour and size, I mane... eight—nine—ten... and if she + warn a mailie cow, now... eleven—twelve—” (the money hanging + from his thumb). “Will that be enough, Mr. Quilliam? No? Half a one, then? + Aw, you're hard, Tom... thirteen.” + </p> + <p> + Having paid the last pound, Cæsar stood a moment contemplating his + purchase, and then said doubtfully, “Well, if I hadn't... Grannie will be + saying it's the same base back——-” (the cow began to reel). + “Yes, and it—no, surely—a mailie for all——-” (the + cow fell). “It's got the same fits, anyway,” cried Cæsar; and then he + rushed to the cow's head. “It <i>is</i> the same base. The horns are going + cutting off at her. My money back! Give me my money back—my thirteen + yellow sovereigns—the sweat of my brow!” he cried. + </p> + <p> + “Aw, no,” said Black Tom. “There's no money giving back at all. If the cow + was good enough for you to sell, she's good enough for you to buy,” and he + turned on his heel with a laugh of triumph. + </p> + <p> + Cæsar was choking with vexation. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind, sir,” said Pete. “If Tom has taken a mane advantage of you, + it'll be all set right at the Judgment. You've that satisfaction, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “Have I? No, I haven't,” said Cæsar from between his teeth. “The man's + clever. He'll get himself converted before he comes to die, and then + there'll not be a word about cutting the horns off my cow.” + </p> + <p> + “Strike up, Jackie,” shouted Pete. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Hail, Isle of Man, + Swate ocean là n', + I love thy sea-girt border.” + </pre> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0099" id="link2H_4_0099"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIV. + </h2> + <p> + The sky became overcast, rain began to fall, and there was a rush for the + carts. In half an hour Tynwald Hill was empty, and the people were + splashing off on every side like the big drops of rain that were pelting + down. + </p> + <p> + Pete hired a brake that was going back to the north, and gathered up his + friends from Ramsey. When these were seated, there was a rush of helpless + and abandoned ones who were going in the same direction—young + mothers with children, old men and old women. Pete hauled them up till the + seats and the floor were choked, and the brake could hold no more. He got + small thanks. “Such crushing and scrooging! I declare my black merino + frock, that I've only had on once, will be teetotal spoilt.”—“If + they don't start soon I'll be taking the neuralgy dreadful.” + </p> + <p> + They got started at length, and, at the tail of a line of stiff carts, + they went rattling over the mountain-road. The harebells nodded their + washed faces from the hedge, and the talk was brisk and cheerful. + </p> + <p> + “Our Thorn's sowl a hafer, and got a good price.”—“What for didn't + you buy the mare of Corlett Beldroma, Juan?”—“Did I want to be + killed as dead as a herring?”—“Kicks, does she? Bate her, man; bate + her. A horse is like a woman. If you aren't bating her now and then——” + </p> + <p> + They stopped at every half-way houses—it was always halfway to + somewhere. The men got exceedingly drunk and began to sing. At that the + women grew very angry. + </p> + <p> + “Sakes alive! you're no better than a lot of Cottonies.”—“Deed, but + they're worse than any Cottonies, ma'am. Some excuse for the like of <i>them</i>. + In their cotton-mills all the year, and nothing at home but a piece of + grass the size of your hand in the backyard, and going hopping on it like + a lark in a cage.” + </p> + <p> + The rain came down in torrents, the mountain-path grew steep and desolate, + the few houses passed were empty and boarded up, gorse bushes hissed to + the rising breeze, geese scuttled and screamed across the untilled land, a + solitary black crow flew across the leaden sky, and on the sea outside a + tall pillar of smoke went stalking on and on, where the pleasure-steamer + carried her freight of tourists round the island. Then songs gave way to + sighs, some of the men began to pick quarrels, and some to break into fits + of drunken sobbing. + </p> + <p> + Pete kept them all up. He chaffed and laughed and told funny stories. + Choking, stifling, wounded to the heart as he was, still he was carrying + on, struggling to convince everybody and himself as well, that nothing was + amiss, that he was a jolly fellow, and had not a second thought. + </p> + <p> + He was glad to get home, nevertheless, where he need play the hypocrite no + longer. Going through Sulby, he dropped out of the brake and looked in at + the “Fairy.” The house was shut. Grannie was sitting up for Cæsar, and + listening for the sound of wheels. There was something unusual and + mysterious about her. Cruddled over the fire, she was smoking, a long clay + in little puffs of blue smoke that could barely be seen. The sweet old + soul in her troubles had taken to the pipe as a comforter. Pete could see + that something had happened since morning, but she looked at him with damp + eyes, and he was afraid to ask questions. He began to talk of the great + doings of the day at Tynwald, then of Philip, and finally of Kate, + apologising a little wildly for the mother not coming home sooner to the + child, but protesting that she had sent the little one no end of presents. + </p> + <p> + “Presents, bless ye,” he began rapturously—— + </p> + <p> + “You don't ate enough, Pete, 'deed you don't,” said Grannie. + </p> + <p> + “Ate? Did you say ate?” cried Pete. “If you'd seen me at the fair you'd + have said, 'That man's got the inside of a limekiln!' Aw, no, Grannie, I'm + not letting my jaws travel far. When I've got anything before me it's—down—same + as an ostrich.” + </p> + <p> + Going away in the darkness, he heard Cæsar creaking up in the gig with old + Horney, now old Mailie, diving along in front of him. + </p> + <p> + Nancy was waiting for Pete at Elm Cottage. She tried to bustle him + upstairs. + </p> + <p> + “Come, man, come,” she said; “get yourself off to bed and I'll bring your + clothes down to the fire.” + </p> + <p> + He had never slept in the bedroom since Kate had left. “Chut! I've lost + the habit of beds,” he answered. “Always used of the gable loft, you know, + and the wind above the thatch.” + </p> + <p> + Not to be thought to behave otherwise than usual, he went upstairs that + night. But— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Feather beds are saft, + Pentit rooms are bonnie, + But ae kiss o' my dear love + Better's far than ony.” + </pre> + <p> + The rain was still falling, the sea was loud, the mighty breath of night + was shaking the walls of the house and rioting through the town. He was + wet and tired, longing for a dry skin and a warm bed and rest. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Yet fain wad I rise and rin + If I tho't I would meet my dearie.” + </pre> + <p> + The long-strained rapture of faith and confidence was breaking down. He + saw it breaking. He could deceive himself no more. She was gone, she was + lost, she would lie on his breast no more. + </p> + <p> + “God help me! O, Lord, help me,” he cried in his crushed and breaking + heart. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0100" id="link2H_4_0100"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XV. + </h2> + <p> + When Kate thought of her husband after she had left him, it was not with + any crushing sense of shame. She had injured him, but she had gained + nothing by it. On the contrary, she had suffered, she had undergone + separation from her child. To soften the hard blow inflicted, she had + outraged the tenderest feelings of her heart. As often as she thought of + Pete and the deep wrong she had done him, she remembered this sacrifice, + she wept over this separation. Thus she reconciled herself to her conduct + towards her husband. If she had bought happiness at the cost of Pete's + sufferings, her remorse might have been deep; but she had only accepted + shame and humiliation and the severance of the dearest of her ties. + </p> + <p> + When she had said in the rapture of passionate confidence that if she + possessed Philip's love there could be no humiliation and no shame, she + had not yet dreamt of the creeping degradation of a life in the dark, + under a false name, in a false connection: a life under the same roof with + Philip, yet not by his side, unacknowledged, unrecognised, hidden and + suppressed. Even at the moment of that avowal, somewhere in the secret + part of her heart, where lay her love of refinement and her desire to be a + lady, she had cherished the hope that Philip would find a way out of the + meanness of their relation, that she would come to live openly beside him, + she hardly knew how, and she did not care at what cost of scandal, for + with Philip as her own she would be proud and happy. + </p> + <p> + Philip had not found that way out, yet she did not blame him. She had + begun to see that the deepest shame of their relation was not hers but + his. Since she had lived in Philip's house the man in him had begun to + decay. She could not shut her eyes to this rapid demoralisation, and she + knew well that it was the consequence of her presence. The deceptions, the + subterfuges, the mean shifts forced upon him day by day, by every chance, + every accident, were plunging him in ever-deepening degradation. And as + she realised this a new fear possessed her, more bitter than any + humiliation, more crushing than any shame—the fear that he would + cease to love her, the terror that he would come to hate her, as he + recognised the depth to which she had dragged him down. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0101" id="link2H_4_0101"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVI. + </h2> + <p> + Back from Tynwald, Philip was standing in his room. From time to time he + walked to the window, which was half open, for the air was close and + heavy. A misty rain was falling from an empty sky, and the daylight was + beginning to fail. The tombstones below were wet, the treed were dripping, + the churchyard was desolate. In a corner under the wall lay the angular + wooden lid which is laid by a gravedigger over an open grave. Presently + the iron gates swung apart, and a funeral company entered. It consisted of + three persons and an uncovered deal coffin. One of the three was the + sexton of the church, another was the curate, the third was a policeman. + The sexton and the policeman carried the coffin to the church-door, which + the curate opened. He then went into the church, and was followed by the + other two. A moment later there were three strokes of the church bell. + Some minutes after that the funeral company reappeared. It made for the + open grave in the corner by the wall. The cover was removed, the coffin + was lowered, the policeman half lifted his helmet, and the sexton put a + careless hand to his cap. Then the curate opened a book and closed it + again. The burial service was at an end. Half an hour longer the sexton + worked alone in the drenching rain, shovelling the earth back into the + grave. + </p> + <p> + “Some waif,” thought Philip; “some friendless, homeless, nameless waif.” + </p> + <p> + He went noiselessly up the stairs to the floor above, slinking through the + house like a shadow. At a door above his own he knocked with a heavy hand, + and a woman's voice answered him from within— + </p> + <p> + “Is any one there?” + </p> + <p> + “It is!,” he said. “I am coming to see you.” + </p> + <p> + Then he opened the door and slipped into the room. It was a room like his + own at all points, only lower in the ceiling, and containing a bed. A + woman was standing with her back to the window, as if she had just turned + about from looking into the churchyard. It was Kate. She had been + expecting Philip, and waiting for him, but she seemed to be overwhelmed + with confusion. As he crossed the floor to go to her, he staggered, and + then she raised her eyes to his face. + </p> + <p> + “You are ill,” she said. “Sit down. Shall I ring for the brandy?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” he answered. “We have had a hard day at Tyn-wald—some trouble—some + excitement—I'm tired, that's all.” + </p> + <p> + He sat on the end of the bed, and gazed out on the veil of rain, slanting + across the square church tower and the sky. + </p> + <p> + “I was at Ramsey two days ago,” he said; “that's what I came to tell you.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” She linked her hands before her, and gazed out also. Then, in a + trembling voice, she asked, “Is mother well?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; I did not see her, but—yes, she bears up bravely.” + </p> + <p> + “And—and—” the words stuck in her throat, “and Pete?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, also—in health, at all events.” + </p> + <p> + “You mean that he is broken-hearted?” + </p> + <p> + With a deep breath he answered, “To listen to him you would think he was + cheerful enough.” + </p> + <p> + “And little Katherine?” + </p> + <p> + “She is well too. I did not see her awake. It was late, and she was in her + cradle. So rosy, and fresh, and beautiful!” + </p> + <p> + “My sweet darling! She was clean too? They take care of her, don't they?” + </p> + <p> + “More care they could not take.” + </p> + <p> + “My darling baby! Has she grown?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; they talk of taking her out of the long clothes soon. Nancy is like + a second mother to her.” + </p> + <p> + Kate's foot was beating the floor. “Oh, why can't her own mother——” + she began, and then in a faltering voice, “but that cannot be, I + suppose.... Do her eyes change? Are they still blue? But she was asleep, + you say. My dear baby! Was it very late? Nine o'clock? Just nine? I was + thinking of her at that moment. It is true I am always thinking of her, + but I remember, because the clock was striking. 'She will be in her little + cot now,' I thought, 'bathed and clean, and so pretty in her nightdress, + the one with the frill!' My sweet, sweet angel!” + </p> + <p> + Her speech was confused and broken. “Do you think if I never see her + until... Will I know her if... It's useless to think of that, though. Is + her hair like... What is the colour of her hair, Philip?” + </p> + <p> + “Fair, quite fair; as fair as mine was——” + </p> + <p> + She swirled round, came face to face with him, and cried, “Philip, Philip, + why can't I have my darling to myself? She would be well enough here. I + could keep her quiet. Oh, she would not disturb you. And I should be so + happy with my little Kate for company. The time is long with me sometimes, + Philip, and I could play with her all the day. And then at night, when she + would be in the cot, I could make her little stock of clothes—her + frocks and her little pinafores, and——” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible, Kate, impossible!” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + She turned to the window. “Yes,” she said, in a choking voice, “I suppose + it would even be stealing to fetch her away now. Only think! A mother + stealing her own child! O gracious heaven, have I sinned myself so far + from my innocent baby! My child, my child! My little Katherine!” + </p> + <p> + Her bosom heaved, and she said in a hard tone, “I daresay they think I'm a + bad mother because I left her to others to nurse her and to love her, to + see her every day and all day, to bathe her sweet body, and to comb her + yellow hair, to look into her little blue eyes, and to watch all her + pretty, pretty ways—Oh, yes, yes.” she said, with increasing + emotion, “I daresay they think that of me.” + </p> + <p> + “They think nothing but what is good of you, Kate—nothing but what + is good and kind.” + </p> + <p> + She looked out on the rain which fell unceasingly, and said in a low + voice, “Is Pete still telling the same story—that I am only away for + a little while—that I am coming back?” + </p> + <p> + “He is writing letters to himself now, and saying they come from you.” + </p> + <p> + “From me?” + </p> + <p> + “Such simple things—all in his own way—full of love and + happiness—<i>I am so happy and comfortable</i>—it is pitiful. + He is like a child—he never suspects anything. You are better and + enjoying yourself and looking forward to coming home soon. Sending kisses + and presents for the baby, too, and greetings for everybody. There are + messages for me also. <i>Your true and loving wife</i>—it is + terrible.” + </p> + <p> + She covered her face with both hands. “And is he telling everybody?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes; that's what the letters are meant for. He thinks he is keeping your + name sweet and your place clean, so that you may return at any time, and + scandal may not touch you.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, why do you tell me that, Philip? It is dragging me back. And the + child is dragging me back also... Does he show the letters to you?” + </p> + <p> + “Worse than that, Kate—much worse—he makes me answer them. I + answered one the other night. Oh, when I think of it! <i>Dear wife, glad + to get your welcome letters</i>. God knows how I held the pen—I was + giddy enough to drop it. He gave you all the news—about your father, + and Grannie, and everybody. All in his own bright way—poor old Pete, + the cheeriest, sunniest soul alive. <i>The Dempster is putting a sight on + us regular—trusts you are the better for leaving home</i>. It was + awful—awful! <i>Dearest Kirry, I'm missing you mortal—worse + than Kimberley. So come home soon, my true lil wife, to your foolish ould + husband, for his heart is losing him.</i>” + </p> + <p> + He leapt up, and began to tramp the floor. “But why do I tell you this? I + should bear my own burdens.” + </p> + <p> + Her hands had come down from her face, which was full of a great + compassion. “And did <i>you</i> have to write all that?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, he meant no harm. He had no thought of hurting anybody! He never + dreamt that every word was burning and blistering me to the heart of + hearts.” + </p> + <p> + His voice deepened, and his face grew hard and ugly. “But it was the same + as if some devil out of hell had entered into the man and told him how to + torture me—as if the cruellest tyrant on earth had made me take up + the pen and write down my own death-warrant. I could have killed him—I + could not help it—yes, I felt at that moment as if—— Oh, + what am I saying?” + </p> + <p> + He stopped, sat on the end of the bed again, and held his head between his + hands. + </p> + <p> + She came and sat by his side. “Philip,” she said, “I am ruining you. Yes, + I am corrupting you. I who would have had you so high and pure—and + you so pure-minded—I am bringing you to ruin. Having me here is + destroying you, Philip. No one visits you now. You are shutting the door + on everybody.... I heard you come in last night, Philip. I hear you every + night. Yes, I know everything. Oh, you will end by hating me—I know + you will. Why don't you send me away? It will be better to send me away in + time, Philip. Besides, it will make no difference. We are in the same + house, yet we never meet. Send me away now, before it is too late.” + </p> + <p> + He dropped his hand and felt for her hand; he was trying not to look into + her face. “We have both suffered, Kate. We can never hate one another—we + have suffered for each other's sake.” + </p> + <p> + She clung tightly to the hand he gave her, and said, “Then you will never + forsake me, whatever happens?” + </p> + <p> + “Never, Kate, never,” he answered; and with a smothered cry she threw her + arms about his neck. + </p> + <p> + The rain continued to pour down on the roofs and on the tombs with a + monotonous plash. “But what is to be done?” she said. + </p> + <p> + “God knows,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + “What is to become of us, Philip? Are we never to smile on each other + again? We cannot carry a burden like this for ever. To-day, to-morrow, the + next day, the next year—is it to go on like this for a lifetime? Is + this life? Is there nothing that will end it?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Kate, yes; there is one thing that will end it—one thing + only.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you mean—<i>death?</i>” + </p> + <p> + He did not answer. She rose slowly from his side and returned to the + window, rested her forehead against the pane, and looked down on the + desolate churchyard and the sexton at his work in the rain. Suddenly she + broke the silence. “Philip,” she said, “I know now what we ought to do. I + wonder we have never thought of it before.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + She was standing in front of him. Her breath came quickly. “Tell Pete that + I am dead.” + </p> + <p> + “No, no, no.” + </p> + <p> + She took both his hands. “Yes, yes,” she said. + </p> + <p> + He kept his face away from her. “Kate, what are you saying?” + </p> + <p> + “What is more natural, Philip? Only think—if you had been anybody + else, it would have come to that already. You must have hated me for + dragging you down into this mire of deceit, you must have forsaken me, and + I must have gone to wreck and ruin. Oh, I see it all—just as if it + had really happened. A solitary room somewhere—alone—sinking—dying—unknown, + unnamed—forgotten——” + </p> + <p> + His eyes were wandering about the room. “It will kill him. If his heart + can break, it will break it,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “He has lived after a heavier blow than that, Philip. Do you think he is + not suffering? For all his bright ways and hopeful talk and the letters + and the presents, do you think he is not suffering?” + </p> + <p> + He liberated his hands, and began to tramp the room as before, but with + head down dud hands linked behind him. + </p> + <p> + “It will be cruel to deceive him,” he said. + </p> + <p> + “No, Philip, but kind. Death is not cruel. The wound it makes will heal. + It won't bleed for ever. Once he thinks I am dead he will weep a little + perhaps, and then “—she was stifling a sob—“then it will be + all over. 'Poor girl,' he will say, 'she was much to blame. I loved her + once, and never did her any wrong. But she is gone, and she was the mother + of little Katherine—let us forget her faults'——” + </p> + <p> + He had not heard her; he was standing before the window looking down. “You + are right, Kate, I think you must be right.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm sure I am.” + </p> + <p> + “He will suffer, but he will get over it.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, indeed. And you, Philip—he will torture you no longer. No more + letters, no more presents, no more messages——” + </p> + <p> + “I'll do it—I'll do it to-morrow,” he said. + </p> + <p> + She opened her arms wide, and cried, “Kiss me, Philip, kiss me. We shall + live again. Yes, we shall laugh together still—kiss me, kiss me.” + </p> + <p> + “Not yet—when I come back.” + </p> + <p> + “Very well—when you come back.” + </p> + <p> + She sank into a chair, crying with joy, and he went out as he had entered, + noiselessly, stealthily, like a shadow. + </p> + <p> + When a man who is not a criminal is given over to a deep duplicity of + life, he will clutch at any lie, wearing the mask of truth, which seems to + shield him from shame and pain. He may be a wise man in every other + relation, a shrewd man, a far-seeing and even a cunning man, but in this + relation—that of his own honour, his own fame, his own safety—he + is certain to be a blunderer, a bungler, and a fool. Such is the revenge + of Nature, such is God's own vengeance! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0102" id="link2H_4_0102"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVII. + </h2> + <p> + Philip was walking from Ballure House to Elm Cottage. It was late, and the + night was dark and silent—a muggy, dank, and stagnant night, without + wind or air, moon or stars. The road was quiet, the trees were still, the + sea made only a far-off murmur. + </p> + <p> + And as he walked he struggled to persuade himself that in what he was + about to do he would be doing well. “It will not be wrong to deceive him,” + he thought. “It will only be for his own good. The suspense would kill + him. He would waste away. The sap of the man's soul would dry up. Then why + should I hesitate? Besides, it is partly true—true in its own sense, + and that is the real sense. She <i>is</i> dead—dead to him. She can + never return to him; she is lost to him for ever. So it is true after all—it + is true.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a lie,” said a voice at his ear. + </p> + <p> + He started. He could have been sure that somebody had spoken. Yet there + was nobody by his side. He was alone in the road. “It must have been my + own voice,” he thought. “I must have been thinking aloud.” And then he + resumed his walk and his meditation. + </p> + <p> + “And if it is a lie, is it therefore a crime?” he asked himself. “Sure it + is—how very sure!—it was a wise man that said so—a great + fault once committed is the first link in a chain. The other links seem to + be crimes also, but they are not—they are consequences. <i>Our</i> + fault was long ago, and even then it was partly the fault of Fate. If the + past could be recalled we could not act differently unless our fates were + different. And what has followed has been only the consequence. It was the + consequence when Kate was married to Pete; it was the consequence when she + left him—and <i>this</i> is the consequence.” + </p> + <p> + “It is a lie,” said the same voice by his side. + </p> + <p> + He stopped. The darkness was gross around him—he could see nothing. + </p> + <p> + “Who's there?” he demanded. + </p> + <p> + There was no answer. He stretched his hand out nervously. There was no one + at his side. “It must have been the wind in the trees,” he thought; but + there could be no wind in the stagnant dampness of that air. “It was like + my own voice,” he thought. Then he remembered how his man in Douglas had + told him that he had contracted a habit of talking to himself of late. “It + was my own voice,” he thought, and he went on again. + </p> + <p> + “A lie is a bad foundation to build on—that's certain. The thing + that should be cannot rest on the thing that is not. It will topple down; + it will come to ruin; it will wreck everything. Still——” + </p> + <p> + “It is a lie,” said the voice again. There could be no mistaking it this + time. It was a low, deep whisper. It seemed to be spoken in the very + cavity of his ear. It was not his own voice, and yet it struck upon his + sense with the sound as of his own. It must be his own voice speaking to + himself! + </p> + <p> + When this idea took hold of him, he was seized with a deadly shuddering. + His heart knocked against his ribs, and an icy coldness came over him. + “Only the same tormenting dream,” he thought. “Before it was a vision; now + it is a voice. It is generated by solitude and separation. I must resist + it I must be strong. It will drive me into an oppression as of madness. + Men do not 'see their souls' until they are bordering on madness from + religious mania or crime.” + </p> + <p> + “A lie! a lie!” said the voice. + </p> + <p> + “This is madness itself. To paint faces on the darkness, to hear voices in + the air, is madness. The madman can do no more.” + </p> + <p> + “A lie!” said the voice again. He cast a look over his shoulder. It was + the same as if some one had touched him and spoken. + </p> + <p> + He walked faster. The voice seemed to walk with him. “I will hold myself + firm,” he thought; “I will not be afraid. Reason does not fail a man until + he allows himself to <i>believe</i> that it is failing. 'I am going mad,' + he thinks; and then he shrieks and is mad indeed. I will not depart from + my course. If I do so now, I shall be lost. The horror will master me, and + I shall be its slave for ever.” + </p> + <p> + He had turned out of Ballure into the Ramsey Road, and he could see the + town lights in the distance. But the voice continued to haunt him + persistently, besiegingly, despotically. + </p> + <p> + “Great God!” he thought, “what is the imaginary devil to the horror of + this presence? Your own eye, your own voice, always with you, always + following you! No darkness so dense that it can hide the sight, no noise + so loud that it can deaden the sound!” + </p> + <p> + He walked faster. Still the voice seemed to stride by his side, an + invisible thing, with deliberate and noiseless step, from which there was + no escape. + </p> + <p> + He drew up suddenly and walked slower. His knees were tottering, he was + treading as on waves; yet he went on. “I will not yield. I will master + myself. I will do what I intended. I am not mad,” he thought. + </p> + <p> + He was at the gate of Elm Cottage by this time, and, with a strong glow of + resolution, he walked boldly to the door and knocked. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0103" id="link2H_4_0103"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVIII. + </h2> + <p> + Pete had not awakened until late that morning. While still in bed he had + heard Grannie and Nancy in the room below. The first sound of their voices + told him that something was amiss. + </p> + <p> + “Aw, God bless me, God bless me!” said Nancy, as though with uplifted + hands. + </p> + <p> + “It was Kelly the postman,” said Grannie in a doleful tone—the tone + in which she had spoken between the puffs of her pipe. + </p> + <p> + “The dirt!” said Nancy. + </p> + <p> + “He was up at Cæsar's before breakfast this morning,” said Grannie. + </p> + <p> + “There now!” cried Nancy. “There's men like that, though. Just aiger for + mischief. It's sweeter than all their prayers to them.... But where can + she be, then? Has she made away with herself, poor thing?” + </p> + <p> + “That's what I was asking Cæsar,” said Grannie. “If she's gone with the + young Ballawhaine, what for aren't you going to England over and fetching + her home?” says I. + </p> + <p> + “And what did Cæsar say?” + </p> + <p> + “'No,' says he, 'not a step,' says he. 'If she's dead,' says he, 'we'll + only know it a day the sooner, and if she's in life, it'll be a disgrace + to us the longest day we live.'” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, bolla veen, bolla veen!” said Nancy. “When some men is getting + religion there's no more inside at them than a gutted herring, and they're + good for nothing but to put up in the chimley to smook.” + </p> + <p> + “It's Black Tom, woman,” said Grannie. “Cæsar's freckened mortal of the + man's tongue going. 'It's water to his wheel,' he's saying. 'He'll be + telling me to set my own house in order, and me a local preacher, too.' + But how's the man himself?” + </p> + <p> + “Pete?” said Nancy. “Aw, tired enough last night, and not down yet.... + Hush!... It's his foot on the loft.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor boy! poor boy!” said Grannie. + </p> + <p> + The child cried, and then somebody began to beat the floor to the measure + of a long-drawn hymn. Grannie must have been sitting before the fire with + the baby across her knees. + </p> + <p> + “Something has happened,” thought Pete as he drew on his clothes. A moment + later something had happened indeed. He had opened a drawer of the + dressing-table and found the wedding-ring and the earrings where Kate had + left them. There was a commotion in the room below by this time, but Pete + did not hear it. He was crying in his heart. “It is coming! I know it! I + feel it! God help me! Lord forgive me! Amen! Amen!” + </p> + <p> + Cæsar, the postman, and the constable, as a deputation from “The + Christians,” had just entered the house. Black Tom was with them. He was + the ferret that had fetched them out of their holes. + </p> + <p> + “Get thee home, woman,” said Cæsar to Grannie, “This is no place for thee. + It is the abode of sin and deception.” + </p> + <p> + “It's the home of my child's child, and that's enough for me,” said + Grannie. + </p> + <p> + “Get thee back, I tell thee,” said Cæsar, “and come thee to this house of + shame no more.” + </p> + <p> + “Take her, Nancy,” said Grannie, giving up the child. “Shame enough, + indeed, I'm thinking, when a woman has to shut her heart to her own flesh + and blood if she's not to disrespect her husband,” and she went off, + weeping. + </p> + <p> + But Cæsar's emotions were walled in by his pietistical views. “Every one + that hath forsaken houses, or brethren, or sisters, or father, or mother, + or wife, or children, or land, for My name's sake, shall receive an + hundredfold,” said Cæsar, with a cast of his eye towards Black Tom. + </p> + <p> + “Well, if I ever!” said Nancy. “The husband that wanted the like of that + from me now.... A hundredfold, indeed! No, not for a hundred hundredfolds, + the nasty dirt.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't he turning up your nose, woman, but call your master,” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “It's more than some ones need do, then, and I won't call my master, + neither—no, thank you,” said Nancy. + </p> + <p> + “I've something to tell him, and I've come, too, for to do it,” said + Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “The devil came farther than ever you did, and it was only a lie he was + bringing for all that,” said Nancy. + </p> + <p> + “Hould your tongue, Nancy Cain,” said Cæsar, “and take that Popish thing + off the child's head.” It was the scarlet hood. + </p> + <p> + “Pity the money that's wasted on the like wasn't given to the poor.” + </p> + <p> + “I've heard something the same before, Cæsar Cregeen,” said Nancy. “It was + Judas Iscariot was saying it first, and you're just thieving it from a + thief.” + </p> + <p> + “Chut!” cried Cæsar, goaded by the laughter of Black Tom. “I'll call the + man myself. Peter Quilliam!” and he made for the staircase door. + </p> + <p> + “Stand back,” cried Nancy, holding the child like a pillow over one of her + arms, and lifting the other threateningly. + </p> + <p> + “Aw, you'll never be raising your hand to the man of God, woman,” giggled + Black Tom. + </p> + <p> + “Won't I, though?” said Nancy grimly, “or the man of the devil either,” + she added, flashing at himself. + </p> + <p> + “The woman's not to trust, sir,” snuffled the constable. “She's only an + infidel, anyway. I've heard tell of her saying she didn't believe the + whale swallowed Jonah.” + </p> + <p> + “That's the diff'rance between us, then,” said Nancy; “for there's some of + you Manx ones would believe if Jonah swallowed the whale.” + </p> + <p> + The staircase door opened at the back of Nancy, and Pete stepped into the + room. “What's this, friends?” he asked, in a careworn voice. + </p> + <p> + Cæsar stepped forward with a yellow envelope in his hand. “What's <i>that</i>, + sir?” he answered. + </p> + <p> + Pete took the envelope and opened it. + </p> + <p> + “That's your letter back to you through the dead letter office, isn't it?” + said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “There's nobody of that name in that place, is there!” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” said Pete again. + </p> + <p> + “Letters from England don't come through Peel, but your first letter had + the Peel postmark, hadn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Parcels from England don't come through Port St. Mary, but your parcel + was stamped in Port St. Mary, wasn't it?” + </p> + <p> + “Anything else?” + </p> + <p> + “The handwriting inside the letter wasn't your own handwriting, was it? + The address on the outside of the parcel wasn't your own address—no?” + </p> + <p> + “Is that all?” + </p> + <p> + “Enough to be going on, I'm thinking.” + </p> + <p> + “What about Uncle Joe?” said Black Tom, with another giggle. + </p> + <p> + “Your mistress is not in Liverpool. You don't know where she is. She has + gone the way of all sinners,” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “Is that what you're coming to tell me?” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “No; we're coming to tell you,” said Cæsar, “that, as a notorious loose + liver, we must be putting her out of class. And we're coming to call on + yourself to look to your own salvation. You've deceaved us, Mr. Quilliam. + You've grieved the Spirit of the Lord,” with another “glime” in the + direction of Black Tom; “you've brought contempt on the fellowship that + counts you for one of the fold. You've given the light of your countenance + to the path of an evildoer, and you've brought down the head of a child of + God with sorrow to the grave.” + </p> + <p> + Cæsar was moved by his self-satisfied piety, and began to make' noises in + his nostrils. “Let us lay the case before the Lord,” he said; and he went + down on his knees and prayed— + </p> + <p> + “Our brother has deceived us, O Lord, but we forgive him freely. Forgive + Thou also his trespasses, so that at the last he escape hell-fire. Count + not Thy handmaid for a daughter of Belial, wherever she is this day. May + it be good for her to be cut off from the body of the righteous. Grant + that she feel this mercy in her carnal body before her eternal soul be + called to everlasting judgment. Lord, strengthen Thy servant. Let not his + natural affections be as the snare of the fowler unto his feet. Though it + grieve him sore, even to tears and tribulation, help him to pluck out the + gourd that groweth in his own bosom——” + </p> + <p> + “Dear heart alive!” cried Nancy, clattering her clogs, “it's a wonder in + the world the man isn't thinking shame to blacken his own daughter before + the Almighty Himself.” + </p> + <p> + “Be merciful, O Lord,” continued Cæsar, “to all rank unbelievers, and such + as live in heathen darkness in a Christian land, and don't know Saturday + from Sunday, and are imper-ent uncommon and bad with the tongue——” + </p> + <p> + “Stop that now.” cried Nancy, “that's meant for me.” + </p> + <p> + Pete had stood through this in silence, but with an angry, miserable face. + </p> + <p> + “Beg pardon all,” he said. “I'm not going for denying to what you say. I'm + like the fish at the heel of the trawl-boat—the net's closing in on + me and I'm caught. The game's up. I did deceave you. I <i>did</i> write + those letters myself. I've no Uncle Joe, nor no Auntie Joney neither. My + wife's left me. I'm not knowing where she is, or what's becoming of her. + I'm done, and I'm for throwing up the sponge.” + </p> + <p> + There were grunts of satisfaction. “But don't you feel the need of pardon, + brother,” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “I don't,” said Pete. “What I was doing I was doing for the best, and, if + I was doing wrong, the Almighty will have to forgive me—that's about + all.” + </p> + <p> + Cæsar shot out his lip. Pete raised himself to his full height and looked + from face to face, until his eyes settled on the postman. + </p> + <p> + “But it takes a thief to catch a thief,” he said. “Which of you was the + thief that catcht me? Maybe I've been only a blundering blockhead, and + perhaps you've been clever, and smart uncommon, but I'm thinking there's + some of you hasn't been rocked enough for all that.” + </p> + <p> + He held out the yellow envelope. “This letter was sealed when you gave it + to me, Mr. Cregeen—how did you know what was inside of it? 'On Her + Majesty's Sarvice,' you say. But it isn't dead letters only that's coming + with words same as that.” + </p> + <p> + The postman was meddling with his front hair. + </p> + <p> + “The Lord has His own wayses of doing His work, has He, Cæsar? I never + heard tell, though, that opening other people's letters was one of them.” + </p> + <p> + Mr. Kelly's ferret eyes were nearly twinkling themselves out. + </p> + <p> + Pete threw letter and envelope into the fire. “You've come to tell me + you're going to turn my wife out of class. All right! You can turn me out, + too, and if the money I gave you is anywhere handy, you can turn that out + at the same time and make a clane job.” + </p> + <p> + Black Tom was doubling with suppressed laughter at the corner of the + dresser, and Cæsar was writhing under his searching glances. + </p> + <p> + “You're knowing a dale about the ould Book and I'm not knowing much,” said + Pete, “but isn't it saying somewhere, 'Let him that's without sin amongst + you chuck the first stone?' I'm not worth mentioning for a saint myself, + so I lave it with you.” + </p> + <p> + His voice began to break. “You're thinking a dale about the broken law + seemingly, but I'm thinking more about the broken heart. There's the like + in somewhere, you go bail. The woman that's gone may have done wrong—I'm + not saying she didn't, poor thing; but if she comes home again, you may + turn her out, but I'll take her back, whatever she is and whatever she's + done—so help me God I will—and I'll not wait for the Day of + Judgment to ask the Almighty if I'm doing right.” + </p> + <p> + Then he sat down with his back to them on a chair before the fire. + </p> + <p> + “Now you can go home to nurse,” said Nancy, wiping her eyes, “and lave me + to sweeten the kitchen—it's wanting water enough after dirts like + you.” + </p> + <p> + Cæsar also was wiping his eye—the one nearest to Black Tom. “Come,” + he said with plaintive resignation, “our errand was useless. The Ethiopian + cannot change his skin, nor the leopard his spots.” + </p> + <p> + “No, but he can get a topcoat to cover them, though,” said Nancy. “Oh, + that flea sticks, does it, Cæsar? Don't blame the looking-glass if your + face is ugly.” + </p> + <p> + Cæsar pretended not to hear her. “Well,” he said, with a sigh discharged + at Pete's back, “we'll pray, spite of appearances, that we may all go to + heaven together some day.” + </p> + <p> + “No, thank you, not me,” said Nancy. “I wouldn't be-mane myself going + anywhere with the like of you.” + </p> + <p> + The Job in Cæsar could bear up no longer. “Vain and ungrateful woman,” he + cried, “who hath eaten of my bread and drunken of my cup——” + </p> + <p> + “Cursing me, are you?” said Nancy. “Sakes! you must have been found in the + bulrushes at Pharaoh's daughter and made a prophet of.” + </p> + <p> + “No use bandying words, sir, wid a single woman dat lives alone wid a + single man,” said Mr. Niplightly. + </p> + <p> + Nancy flopped the child from her right arm to her left, and with the back + of her hand she slapped the constable across the face. “Take that for the + cure of a bad heart,” she said, “and tell the Dempster I gave it you.” + </p> + <p> + Then she turned on the postman and Black Tom. “Out of it, you lil thief, + your mouth's only a dirty town-well and your tongue's the pump in it. Go + home and die, you big black spider—you're ould enough for it and + wicked enough, too. Out of it, the lot of you!” she cried, and clashed the + door at their backs, and then opened it again for a parting shot. “And if + it's true you're on your way to heaven together, just let me know, and + I'll see if I can't put up with the other place myself.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0104" id="link2H_4_0104"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIX. + </h2> + <p> + That evening Pete was sitting with one foot on the cradle rocker, one arm + on the table, and the other hand trifling tenderly with the ring and the + earrings which he had found in the drawer of the dressing-table, when + there was a hurried knock on the door. It had the hollow reverberation of + a knock on the lid of a coffin. + </p> + <p> + “Come in,” called Pete. + </p> + <p> + It was Philip, but it was almost as if Death had entered, so thin and bony + were his cheeks, so wild his eyes, so cold his hands. + </p> + <p> + Pete was prepared for anything. “You've found me out, too, I see you + have,” he said defiantly. “You needn't tell <i>me</i>—it's chasing + caught fish.” + </p> + <p> + “Be brave, Pete,” said Philip. “It will be a great shock to you.” + </p> + <p> + Pete looked up and his manner changed. “Speak it out, sir. It's a poor man + that can't stand——” + </p> + <p> + “I've come on the saddest errand,” said Philip, taking a seat as far away + as possible. + </p> + <p> + “You've found her—you've seen her, sir. Where is she?” + </p> + <p> + “She is——” began Philip, and then he stopped. + </p> + <p> + “Go on, mate; I've known trouble before to-day,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “Can you bear it?” said Philip. “She is——” and he stopped + again. + </p> + <p> + “She is—where?” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “She is dead,” said Philip at last. + </p> + <p> + Pete rose to his feet. Philip rose also, and now poured out his message + with the headlong rush of a cataract. + </p> + <p> + “In fact, it all happened some time ago, Pete, but I couldn't bring myself + to tell you before. I tried, but I couldn't. It was in Douglas—of a + fever—in a lodging—alone—unattended——” + </p> + <p> + “Hould hard, sir! Give me time,” said Pete. “I'd a gunshot wound at + Kimberley, and since then I've a stitch in my side at whiles and sometimes + a bit of a catch in my breathing.” + </p> + <p> + He staggered to the porch door and threw it open, then came back panting—“Dead! + dead! Kate is dead!” + </p> + <p> + Nancy came from the kitchen at the moment, and hearing what he was saying, + she lifted both hands and uttered a piercing shriek. He took her by the + shoulders and turned her back, shut the door behind her, and said, holding + his right hand hard at his side, “Women are brave, sir, but when the storm + breaks on a man——” He broke off and muttered again, “Dead! + Kirry is dead!” + </p> + <p> + The child, awakened by Nancy's cry, was now whimpering fretfully. Pete + went to the cradle and rocked it with one foot, crooning in a quavering + treble, “Hush-a-bye! hush-a-bye!” + </p> + <p> + Philip's breathing was oppressed. He felt like a man at the edge of a + precipice, with an impulse to throw himself over. “God forgive me,” he + said. “I could kill myself. I've broken your heart;——” + </p> + <p> + “No fear of me, sir,” said Pete. “I'm an ould hulk that's seen weather. + I'll not go to pieces from inside at all. Give me time, mate, give me + time.” And then he went on muttering as before, “Dead! Kirry dead! + Hush-a-bye! My Kirry dead!” + </p> + <p> + The little one slept, and Pete drew back in his chair, nodded into the + fire, and said in a weak, childish voice, “I've known her all my life, + d'ye know? She's been my lil sweetheart since she was a slip of a girl, + and slapped the schoolmaster for bating me wrongously. Swate lil thing in + them days, mate, with her brown feet and tossing hair. And now she's a + woman and she's dead! The Lord have mercy upon me!” + </p> + <p> + He got up and began to walk heavily across the floor, dipping and plunging + as if going upstairs. “The bright and happy she was when I started for + Kimberley, too; with her pretty face by the aising stones in the morning, + all laughter and mischief. Five years I was seeing it in my drames like + that, and now it's gone. Kirry is gone! My Kirry! God help me! O God, have + mercy upon me!” + </p> + <p> + He stopped in his unsteady walk, and sat and stared into the fire. His + eyes were red; blotches of heart's blood seemed to be rising to them; but + there was not the sign of a tear. Philip did not attempt to console him. + He felt as if the first syllable would choke in his throat. + </p> + <p> + “I see how it's been, sir,” said Pete. “While I was away her heart was + changing her, and when I came back she thought she must keep her word. My + poor lamb! She was only a child anyway. But I was a man—I ought to + have seen how it was. I'm like a drowning man, too—things are coming + back on me. I'm seeing them plain enough now. But it's too late! My poor + Kirry! And I thought I was making her so happy!” Then, with a helpless + look, “You wouldn't believe it, sir, but I was never once thinking nothing + else. No, I wasn't; it's a fact. I was same as a sailor working all the + voyage home, making a cage, and painting it goold, for the love-bird he's + catcht in the sunny lands somewhere; but when he's putting it in, it's + only wanting away, poor thing.” + </p> + <p> + With a sense of grovelling meanness, Philip sat and listened. Then, with + eyes wandering across the floor, he said, “You have nothing to reproach + yourself with. You did everything a man could do—everything. And she + was innocent also. It was the fault of another. He came between you. + Perhaps he thought he couldn't help it—perhaps he persuaded himself—God + knows what lie he told himself—but she's innocent, Pete; believe me, + she's——” + </p> + <p> + Pete brought his fist down heavily on the table, and the rings that lay on + it jumped and tingled. “What's that to me?” he cried hoarsely. “What do I + care if she's innocent or guilty? She's dead, isn't she? and that's + enough. Curse the man! I don't want to hear of him. She's mine now. What + for should he come here between me and my own?” + </p> + <p> + The torn heart and racked brain could bear no more. Pete dropped his head + on the table. Presently his anger ebbed. Without lifting his head, he + stretched his hand across the rings to feel for Philip's hand. Philip's + hand trembled in his grasp. He took that for sympathy, and became the more + ashamed. + </p> + <p> + “Give me time, mate,” he said. “I'll be my own man soon. My head's + moithered dreadful—I'm not knowing if I heard you right. In Douglas, + you say? By herself, too? Not by herself, surely? Not quite alone neither? + She found you out, didn't she? <i>You'd</i> be there, Phil? You'd be with + her yourself? She'd be wanting for nothing?” + </p> + <p> + Philip answered huskily, his eyes still wandering. “If it will be any + comfort to you... yes, I <i>was</i> with her—she wanted for + nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “My poor girl!” said Pete. “Did she send—had she any—maybe she + said a word or two—at the last, eh?” + </p> + <p> + Philip clutched at the question. There was something at last that he could + say without falsehood. “She sent a prayer for your forgiveness,” he said. + “She told me to tell you to think of her as little as might be; not to + grieve for her too much, and to try to forget her, so that her sin also + might be forgotten.” + </p> + <p> + “And the lil one—anything about the lil one?” asked Pete. + </p> + <p> + “That was the bitterest grief of all,” said Philip. “It was so hard that + you must think her an unnatural mother. 'My Katherine! My little + Katherine! My sweet angel!' It was her cry the whole day long.” + </p> + <p> + “I see, I see,” said Pete, nodding at the fire; “she left the lil one for + my sake, wanting it with her all the while. Poor thing! You'd comfort her, + Philip? You'd let her go aisy?” + </p> + <p> + “'The child is well and happy,' I told her. 'He's thinking nothing of + yourself but what is good and kind,' I said.” + </p> + <p> + “God's peace rest on her! My darling! My wife!” said Pete solemnly. Then + suddenly in another tone, “Do you know where she's buried?” + </p> + <p> + Philip hesitated. He had not foreseen this question. Where had been his + head that he had never thought of it? But there was no going back now. He + was compelled to go on. He must tell lie on lie. “Yes,” he faltered. + </p> + <p> + “Could you take me to the grave?” + </p> + <p> + Philip gasped; the sweat broke out on his forehead. + </p> + <p> + “Don't be freckened, sir,” said Pete; “I'm my own man again. Could you + take me to my wife's grave?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” said Philip. He was in the rapids. He was on the edge of + precipitation. He was compelled to go over. He made a blindfold plunge. + Lie on lie; lie on lie! + </p> + <p> + “Then we'll start by the coach to-morrow,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + Philip rose with rigid limbs. He had meant to tell one lie only, and + already he had told many. Truly “a lie is a cripple;” it cannot stand + alone. “Good night, Pete; I'll go home. I'm not well to-night.” + </p> + <p> + “We'll stop the coach at your aunt's gate in the morning,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + They stepped to the door together, and stood for a moment in the dank and + lifeless darkness. + </p> + <p> + “The world's getting wonderful lonely, man, and you're all that's left to + me now, Phil—you and the child. I'm not for wailing, though. When I + got my gun-shot wound out yonder, I was away over the big veldt, hundreds + of miles from anywhere, behind the last bush and the last blade of grass, + with the stones and the ashes and the dust—about as far, you'd say, + as the world was finished, and never looking to see herself and the ould + island and the ould faces no more. I'm not so lonesome as that at all. + Good-night, ould fellow, and God bless you!” + </p> + <p> + The gate opened and closed, Philip went stumbling up the road. He was + hating Pete. To hate this open-hearted man who had dragged him into an + entanglement of lies was the only resource of his stifled conscience. + </p> + <p> + Pete went back to the house, muttering, “Kirry is dead! Kirry is dead!” He + put the catch on the door, said, “Close the shutters, Nancy,” and then + returned to his chair by the cradle. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0105" id="link2H_4_0105"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XX. + </h2> + <p> + Later the same night Pete carried the news to Sulby. Grannie was in the + bar-room, and he broke it to her gently, tenderly, lovingly. + </p> + <p> + Loud voices came from the kitchen. Cæsar was there in angry contention + with Black Tom. An open Bible was between them on their knees. Tom tugged + it towards him, bobbed his blunt forefinger down on the page, and cried, + “There's the text—that'll pin you—<i>publicans and sinners</i>.” + </p> + <p> + Cæsar leaned back'in his seat, and said with withering scorn, “It's a bad + business—I'll give you lave to say that. It's men like you that's + making it bad. But whether is it better for a bad business to be in bad + hands or in good ones? There's a big local praicher in London, they're + telling me, that's hot for joining the public-house to the church, and + turning the parsons into the publicans. That's what they all were on the + Isle of Man in ould days gone by, and pity they're not so still. Oh, I've + been giving it my sarious thoughts, sir. I've been making it a subject for + prayer. 'Will I give up my public or hould fast to it to keep it out of + worse hands?' And I'm strong to believe the Lord hath spoken. 'It's a + little vineyard—a little work in a little vineyard. Stick to it, + Cæsar,' and so I will.” + </p> + <p> + Pete stepped into the kitchen and flung his news at Cæsar with a sort of + wild melancholy, as who would say, “There, is that enough for you? Are you + satisfied now?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Mair yee shoh</i>—it's the hand of God,” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “A middling bad hand then,” said Pete; “I've seen better, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + A high spiritual pride took hold of Cæsar—Black Tom was watching + him, and working his big eyebrows vigorously. With mouth firmly shut and + head thrown back, Cæsar said in a sepulchral voice, “The Lord gave, and + the Lord hath taken away. Blessed be the name of the Lord!” + </p> + <p> + Pete made a crack of savage laughter. + </p> + <p> + “Aren't you feeling it, sir?” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “Not a feel near me,” said Pete. “I never did the Lord no harm that I know + of, but He's taken my young wife and left my poor innocent lil one + motherless.” + </p> + <p> + “Unsearchable the wisdom and justice of God,” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “Unsearchable?” said Pete. “It's all that. But I don't know if you're + calling it justice. I'm not myself. It isn't my tally. Blasphemy? I lave + it with you. A scoffer, am I? So be it. The Lord's licked me, and I've had + enough. But I'm not going down on my knees for it, anyway. The Almighty + and me is about quits.” + </p> + <p> + With that word on his lips he strode out of the place, grim, implacable, + almost savage, a fierce smile fluttering on his ashy face. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0106" id="link2H_4_0106"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXI. + </h2> + <p> + Grannie came to Elm Cottage next morning with two duck eggs for Pete's + breakfast. She was boiling them in a saucepan when Pete came downstairs. + </p> + <p> + “Come now,” she said coaxingly, as she laid them on the table, with the + water smoking off the shells. But Pete could not eat. + </p> + <p> + “He hasn't destroyed any food these days,” said Nancy. A little before she + had rolled her apron, slipped out into the street, and brought back a tiny + packet screwed up in a bit of newspaper. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps he'll ate them on the road,” said Grannie. “I'll put them in the + hankerchief in his hat anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “My faith, no, woman!” cried Nancy. “He's the mischief for sweating. He'll + be mopping his forehead and forgetting the eggs. But here—where's + your waistcoat pocket, Pete? Have you room for a hayseed anywhere? + There!... It's a quarter of twist, poor boy,” she whispered behind her + hand to Grannie. + </p> + <p> + Thus they vied with each other in little attentions to the down-hearted + man. Meantime Crow, the driver of the Douglas coach, a merry old sinner + with a bulbous nose and short hair, standing erect like the steel pins of + an electric brush, was whistling as he put his horses to in the + marketplace. Presently he swirled round the corner and drew up at the + gate. The women then became suddenly quiet, and put their aprons to their + mouths, as if a hearse had stopped at the door; but Pete bustled about and + shouted boisterously to cover the emotion of his farewell. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye, Grannie; I'll say a word for you when I get there. Good-bye, + Nancy; I'll not be forgetting yourself neither. Good bye, lil bogh,” + dropping on one knee at the side of the cradle. “What right has a man's + heart to be going losing him while he has a lil innocent like this to live + for? Good-bye!” + </p> + <p> + There was a throng of women at the gate talking of Kate. “Aw, a civil + person, very—a civiller person never was.”—“It's me that'll be + missing her too. I served her eggs to the day of her death, as you might + say. 'Good morning, Christian Anne,' says she—just like that. + Welcome, you say? I was at home at the woman's door.”—“And the + beautiful she came home in the gig with the baby! Only yesterday you might + say. And now, Lord-a-massy!”—“Hush! it's himself! I'm fit enough to + cry when I look at the man. The cheerful heart is broke at him.”—“Hush!” + </p> + <p> + They dropped their heads so that Pete might avoid their gaze, and held the + coach-door open for him, expecting that he would go inside, as to a + funeral. But he saluted them with “Good morning all,” and leapt to the + box-seat with Crow. + </p> + <p> + The coach stopped to take up the Deemster at the gate of Ballure House. + Philip looked thin and emaciated, and walked with a death-like weakness, + but also a feverish resolution. Behind him, carrying a rag, came Aunty Nan + in her white cap, with little nervous attentions, and a face full of + anxiety. + </p> + <p> + “Drive inside to-day, Philip,” she said. + </p> + <p> + “No, no,” he answered, and kissed her, pushed her to the other side of the + gate with gentle protestation, and climbed to Pete's side. Then the old + lady said— + </p> + <p> + “Good-morning, Peter. I'm so sorry for your great trouble, and trust... + But you'll not let the Deemster ride too long outside if it grows... He's + had a sleepless night and——” + </p> + <p> + “Go on, Crow,” said Philip, in a decisive voice. + </p> + <p> + “I'll see to that, Miss Christian, ma'am,” shouted Crow over his shoulder. + “His honour's studdying a bit too hard—that's what <i>he</i> is. But + a gentleman's not much use if his wife's a widow, as the man said—eh? + Looking well enough yourself, though, Miss Christian, ma'am. Getting + younger every day, in fact. I'll have to be fetching that East Indee + capt'n up yet. I will that. Ha! ha! Get on, Boxer!” Then, with a flick of + the whip, they were off on their journey. + </p> + <p> + The day was calm and beautiful. Old Barrule wore his yellow skull-cap of + flowering gorse, the birds sang on the trees, and the sea on the shore + sang also with the sound of far-off joy-bells. It was a heart-breaking day + to Pete, but he tried to bear himself bravely. + </p> + <p> + He was seated between Philip and the driver. On the farther side of Crow + there were two other passengers, a farmer and a fisherman. The farmer, a + foul-mouthed fellow with a long staff and two dogs racing and barking on + the road, was returning from Midsummer fair, at which he had sold his + sheep; the fisherman, a simple creature, was coming home from the + mackerel-fishing at Kinsale, with a box of the fish between his legs. + </p> + <p> + “The wife's been having a lil one since I was laving in March,” said the + fisherman, laughing all over his bronzed face. “A boy, d'ye say? Aw, + another boy, of coorse. Three of them now—all men. Got a letter at + Ramsey post-office coming through. She's getting on as nice as nice, and + the ould woman's busy doing for her.” + </p> + <p> + “Gee up, Boxer—we'll wet its head at the Hibernian,” said Crow. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not partic'lar at all,” said the fisherman cheerily. “The mack'rel's + been doing middling this season, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + And then in his simple way he went on to paint home, and the joy of coming + back to it, with the new baby, and the mother in child-bed, and the + grandmother as housekeeper, and the other children waiting for new frocks + and new jackets out of the earnings of the fishing, and himself going + round to pay the grocer what had been put on “strap” while he was at + Kin-sale, till Pete was melted, and could listen no longer. + </p> + <p> + “I'm persuaded still she wasn't well when she went away,” he whispered, + turning his shoulder to the men and his face to Philip. He talked in a low + voice, just above the rumble of the wheels, trying to extenuate Kate's + fault and to excuse her to Philip. + </p> + <p> + “It's no use thinking hard of anybody, is it, sir?” he said. “We can't + crawl into another person's soul, as the saying is.” + </p> + <p> + After that he asked many questions—about Kate's illness, about the + doctor, about the funeral, about everything except the man—of him he + asked nothing. Philip was compelled to answer. He was like a prisoner + chained at the galleys—he was forced to go on. They crossed the + bridge over the top of Ballaglass, which goes down to the mill at Cornaa. + </p> + <p> + “There's the glen, sir,” said Pete. “Aw, the dear ould days! Wading in the + water, leaping over the stones, clambering on the trunks—aw, dear! + aw, dear! Bareheaded and barefooted in those times, sir; but smart + extraordinary, and a terble notion of being dressy, too. Twisting ferns + about her lil neck for lace, sticking a mountain thistle, sparkling with + dew, on her breast for a diamond, twining a trail of fuchsia round her + head for a crown—aw, dear! aw, dear! And now—well, well, to + think! to think!” + </p> + <p> + There was laughter on the other side of the coach. + </p> + <p> + “What do <i>you</i> say, Capt'n Pete?” shouted Crow. + </p> + <p> + “What's that?” asked Pete. + </p> + <p> + The fisherman had treated the driver and the farmer at the Hibernian, and + was being rewarded with robustious chaff. + </p> + <p> + “I'm telling Dan Johnny here these childers that's coming when a man's + away from home isn't much to trust. Best put a sight up with the lil one + to the wise woman of Glen Aldyn, eh? A man doesn't like to bring up a + cuckoo in the nest—what d'ye say, Capt'n?” + </p> + <p> + “I say you're a dirty ould divil, Crow; and I don't want to be chucking + you off your seat,” said Pete; and with that he turned back to Philip. * + </p> + <p> + The driver was affronted, but the farmer pacified him by an appeal to his + fear. “He'd be coarse to tackle, the same fellow—I saw him clane out + a tent with one hand at Tyn-wald.” + </p> + <p> + “It's a wonder she didn't come home for all,” said Pete at Philip's ear—“at + the end, you know. Couldn't face it out, I suppose? Nothing to be afraid + of, though, if she'd only known. I had kept things middling straight up to + then. And I'd have broke the head of the first man that'd wagged a tongue. + But maybe it was myself she was freckened of! Freckened of me! Poor thing! + poor thing!” + </p> + <p> + Philip was in torment. To witness Pete's simple grief, to hear him breathe + a forgiveness for the erring woman, and to be trusted with the thoughts of + his heart as a father might be trusted by a young child—it was + anguish, it was agony, it was horror. More than once he felt an impulse to + cast off his load, to confess, to tell everything. But he reflected that + he had no right to do this—that the secret was not his own to give + away. His fear restrained him also. He looked into Pete's face, so full of + manly sorrow, and shuddered to think of it transformed by rage. + </p> + <p> + “Sit hard, gentlemen. Breeches' work here,” shouted Crow. + </p> + <p> + They were at the top of the steep descent going down to Laxey. The white + town lay sprinkled over the green banks of the glen, and the great + water-wheel stood in the depths of the mountain gill behind it. + </p> + <p> + “She's there! She's yonder! It's herself at the door. She's up. She's + looking out for the coach,” cried the fisherman, clambering up on to the + seat. + </p> + <p> + “Aisy all,” shouted Crow. + </p> + <p> + “No use, Mr. Crow. Nothing will persuade me but that's herself with the + lil one in a blanket at the door.” + </p> + <p> + Before the coach had drawn up at the bridge, the fisherman had leapt to + the ground, shouldered his keg, shouted “Good everin' all,” and + disappeared down an alley of the town. + </p> + <p> + The driver alighted. A crowd gathered around. There were parcels to take + up, parcels to set down, and the horses to water. When the coach was ready + to start again, the farmer with his dogs had gone, but there was a + passenger for an inside place. It was a girl, a bright young thing, with a + comely face and laughing black eyes. She was dressed smartly, after her + country fashion, in a hat covered with scarlet poppies, and with a vast + brooch at the neck of her bodice. In one hand she carried a huge bunch of + sweet-smelling gilvers. A group of girl companions came to see her off, + and there was much giggling and chatter and general excitement. + </p> + <p> + “Are you forgetting the pouch and pipe, Emma?” + </p> + <p> + “Let me see; am I? No; it's here in my frock.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, you'll be coming together by the coach at nine, it's like?” + </p> + <p> + “It's like we will, Liza, if the steamer isn't late.” + </p> + <p> + “Now then, ladies, off the step! Any room for a lil calf' in the straw + with you, missy? Freckened? Tut! Only a lil calf, as clane as clane—and + breath as swate as your own, miss. There you are—it'll be lying + quiet enough till we get to Douglas. All ready? Ready we are then. Collar + work now, gentlemen. Aise the horse, sir. Thank you! Thank you! Not you, + your Honour—sit where you are, Dempster.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0107" id="link2H_4_0107"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXII. + </h2> + <p> + Pete got down to walk up the hill, but Philip, though he made some show of + alighting also, was glad of the excuse to remain in his seat. It relieved + him of Pete's company for a while, at all events. He had time to ask + himself again why he was there, where he was going to, and what he was + going to do. But his brain was a cloudy waste. Only one picture emerged + from the maze. It was that of the burial of the nameless waif in the grave + at the foot of the wall. If he was conscious of any purpose, it was a + vague idea of going to that grave. But it lay ahead of him only as an + ultimate goal. He was waiting and watching for an opportunity of escape. + If it came, God be praised! If it did not come, God help and forgive him! + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile Pete walked behind, and caught fragments of a conversation + between the girl and Crow. + </p> + <p> + “So you're going to meet himself coming home, miss, eh?” + </p> + <p> + “My faith, how d'ye know that? But it's yourself for knowing things, Mr. + Crow. Has he been sailing foreign? Yes, sir; and nine months away for a + week come Monday. But spoken at Holyhead in Tuesday's paper, and paid off + in Liverpool yesterday. That's his 'nitials, if you want to know—J. + W. I worked them on the pouch myself. I've spun him a web for a jacket, + too. Sweethearting with the miner fellows while Jemmy's been away? Have I, + d'ye say? How people <i>will</i> be talking!” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, no offence at all. But sorry you're not keeping another string to + your bow, missy. These sailor lads aren't partic'lar, anyway. Bless your + heart, no; but getting as tired of one swateheart as a pig of brewer's + grain. Constant? Chut! When the like of that sort is away foreign, he lays + up of the first girl he comes foul of.” + </p> + <p> + The girl laughed, and shook her head bravely, but the tears were beginning + to trickle from her eyes, and the hand that held the flowers was + trembling. + </p> + <p> + “Don't listen to the man, my dear,” said Pete. “There's too much comic in + these ould bachelor bucks. Your boy is dying to get home to you. Go bail + on that, Emma. The packet isn't making half way enough for him, and he's + bad dreadful wanting to ship aloft and let out the topsail.” + </p> + <p> + At the crest of the hill Pete climbed back to Philip's side, and said, + “The heart's a quare thing, sir. Got its winds and tides same as anything + else. The wind blows contrary ways in one day, and it's the same with the + heart itself. Changeable? Well, maybe! We shouldn't be too hard on it for + all.... If I'd only known now.... She wasn't much better than a child when + I left for Kimberley... and then what was I? I was only common stuff + anyway... not much fit for the likes of herself, when you think of it, + sir.... If I'd only guessed when I came back.... I could have done it, sir—I + was loving the woman like life, but if I'd only known, now.... Well, and + what's love if it's thinking of nothing but itself? If I'd thought she was + loving another man by the time I came home, I could have given her up to + him—yes, I could; I'm persuaded I could—-so help me God, I + could.” + </p> + <p> + Philip was wasting on that journey like a piece of wax. Pete saw his face + melting away till it looked more like a skeleton than the face of à man + really alive. + </p> + <p> + “You mustn't be taking it so bad at all, Phil,” said Pete. “She'll be + middling right where she's gone to, sir. She'll be right enough yonder,” + he said, rolling his head sideways to where the sun was going round to its + setting. And then softly, as if half afraid she might not be, he muttered + into his beard, “God be good to my poor broken-hearted girl, and forgive + her sins for Christ's sake.” + </p> + <p> + An elderly gentleman got on the coach at Onchan. + </p> + <p> + “Helloa, Deemster!” he cried. “You look as sober as an old crow. Sober! + Old Crow! Ha, ha!” + </p> + <p> + He was a facetious person of high descent in the island. + </p> + <p> + “Crow never goes home without getting off the box once or twice to pick up + the moonlight on the road—do you, Crow?” + </p> + <p> + “That'll do, parson, that'll do!” roared Crow. And then his reverence + leaned across the driver and directed the shaft of his wit at Philip. + </p> + <p> + “And how's the young housekeeper, Deemster?” + </p> + <p> + Philip shuddered visibly, and made some inarticulate reply— + </p> + <p> + “Good-looking young woman, they're telling me. Jem-y-Lord's got taste, + seemingly. But take care, your Honour; take care! 'Thou shalt not covet + thy neighbour's wife, nor his ox, nor his ass'——” + </p> + <p> + Philip laughed noisily. The miserable man was writhing in his seat. + </p> + <p> + “Take an old fiddler's advice, Deemster—have nothing to do with the + women. When they're young they're kittens to play with you, but when + they're old they're cats to scratch you.” + </p> + <p> + Pete twisted his body until the whole breadth of his back blocked the + parson from Philip's face. + </p> + <p> + “A fortnight ago, you were saying, sir?” + </p> + <p> + “A fortnight,” muttered Philip. + </p> + <p> + “There'll be daisies growing on her grave by this time,” said Pete softly. + </p> + <p> + The parson had put up his nose-glasses. “Who's this fellow, Crow? Captain—what? + His honour's cousin? <i>Cousin?</i> Oh, of course—yes—I + remember—Tynwald—ah—h'm!” + </p> + <p> + The coach set down its passengers in the market-place. Pete inquired the + hour of its return journey, and was told that it started back at six. He + helped the girl to alight, and directed her to the pier, where a crowd of + people' were awaiting the arrival of the steamer. Then he rejoined Philip, + who led the way through the town. + </p> + <p> + The Deemster was observed by everybody. As he passed along the streets + there was much whispering and nudging, and some bowing and lifting of + hats. He responded to none of it He recognised no one. He, who was famous + for courtesy, renowned for gracious manners, beloved for a smile like + sunshine—the brighter and more winsome when it broke as from a cloud—returned + no man's salutation that day, and replied to no woman's greeting. His face + was set hard like a marble mask. It passed along without appearing to see. + </p> + <p> + Pete walked one step behind. They did not speak as they went through the + town. Not a word or a sign passed between them. Philip turned into a side + street, and drew up at an iron gate which opened on to a churchyard. They + were at the churchyard of St. George's. + </p> + <p> + “This is the place,” said Philip huskily. + </p> + <p> + Pete took off his hat. + </p> + <p> + The gate was partly open. It was Saturday, and the organist was alone in + the church practising hymns for Sunday's services. They passed through. + </p> + <p> + The churchyard was an oblong enclosure within high walls, overlooked on + its long sides by rows of houses. One of these rows was Athol Street, and + one of the houses was the Deemster's. + </p> + <p> + It was late afternoon by this time. Long shadows were cast eastward from + the tombstones; the horizontal sunlight was making the leaves very light. + </p> + <p> + Philip walked noisily, jerkily, irregularly, like a man conscious of + weakness and determined to conquer it. Pete walked behind, so softly that + his foot on the gravel was hardly to be heard. The organist was playing + Cowper's familiar hymn— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “God moves in a mysterious way + His wonders to perform.” + </pre> + <p> + There was a broad avenue, bordered by railed tombs, leading to the + church-door. Philip turned out of this into a narrow path which went + through a bare green space, that was dotted with pegs of wood and little + unhewn slabs of slate, like an abandoned quoit ground. At the farthest + corner of this space he stopped before a mound near to the wall. It was + the new-made grave. The scars of the turf were still unhealed, and the + glist of the spade was on the grass. + </p> + <p> + Philip hesitated a moment, and looked round at Pete, as if even then, even + there, he would confess. But he saw no escape from the mesh of his own + lies, and with a deep, breath of submission he pointed down, turned his + head over his shoulder, and said in a strange voice— + </p> + <p> + “There.” + </p> + <p> + The silence was long and awful. At length Pete said in a broken whisper— + </p> + <p> + “Lave me, sir, lave me.” + </p> + <p> + Philip turned away, breathing audibly. A moment longer Pete stood where he + was, gripping his hat with both hands in front of him. Then he went down + on his knees. “Oh, forgive me my hard thoughts of thee,” he said. “Jesus, + forgive me my hard thoughts of my poor Kirry.” + </p> + <p> + Philip heard no more. The organ was very loud and triumphant. + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Deep in unfathomable mines + Of never-failing skill, + He treasures up His bright designs + And works His sovereign will.” + </pre> + <p> + A red shaft of sunlight tipped down on Pete's uncovered head from the top + of the wall. The blessed tears had come to him. He was sobbing aloud; he + was alone with his love at last. + </p> + <p> + He was alone with her indeed. At that moment Kate was looking down from + the window of her room. She saw him kneeling and praying by another's + grave. + </p> + <p> + Philip never knew how he got out of the churchyard. He crawled out—creeping + along by the wall, and slinking through the gate—heart-sick and all + but heart-dead. When he came to himself, he was standing in Athol Street, + and a company of jolly fellows in a jaunting-car, driving out of the + golden sunset, were rattling past him with shouts and peals of laughter. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0108" id="link2H_4_0108"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXIII. + </h2> + <p> + Kate was standing in her room with the door open, beating her hands + together in the first helpless stupor of fear, when she saw a man coming + up the stairs. His legs seemed to be giving way as he ascended; he was + bent and feeble, and had all the look of great age. As he approached he + lifted his face, which was old and withered. Then she saw who it was. It + was Philip. + </p> + <p> + She made an involuntary cry, and he smiled upon her—a hard, frozen, + terrible smile. “He is lost,” she thought. Her scared expression + penetrated to his soul. He knew that she had seen everything. At first he + tried to speak, but he could utter nothing. Then a mad desire seized him + to lay hold of her—by the arms, by the shoulders, by the throat. + Conquering this impulse, he stood motionless, passing his hands through + his hair. She dropped her eyes and hung her head. Their abasement in each + other's eyes was complete. He was ashamed before her, she was ashamed + before him. One moment they faced each other thus, in silence, in pitiless + and awful silence, and then slowly, very slowly, stupefied and crushed, he + turned away and crept out of the house. + </p> + <p> + “It is the end—the end.” What was the use of going farther? He had + fallen too low. His degradation was abject. It was hopeless, irreparable, + irremediable. “End it all—end it all.” The words clamoured in his + inmost soul. + </p> + <p> + Halting down the quay, he made for the ferry steps, where boats were + waiting for hire. He had lately hired one of an evening, and pulled round + the Head for the sake of the breath and the silence of the sea. + </p> + <p> + “Going far out this evening, your Honor?” the boatman asked. + </p> + <p> + “Farther than ever,” he answered. + </p> + <p> + Pull, pull! Away from the terrible past. Away from the horrible present. + The steamer had arrived, and had discharged her passengers. She was still + pulsing at the end of the red pier like a horse that pants after running a + race. + </p> + <p> + A band was playing a waltz somewhere on the promenade. Pleasure boats were + darting about the bay. Sea-birds were sitting on the water where the + sewers of the gay little town empty into the sea. + </p> + <p> + Pull, pull! He was flying from remorse, from despair, from the deep + duplicity of a double life, from the lie that had slain the heart of a + living man. How low he had fallen! Could he fall lower without falling + into crime? + </p> + <p> + Pull, pull! He would be a criminal next. When a man had been degraded in + his own eyes, and in the eyes of her he loved, crime stood beckoning him. + He might try, but he could not resist; he must yield, he must fall. It was + the only degradation remaining. Better end everything before dropping into + that last abyss. + </p> + <p> + Pull, pull! He was the judge of his island, and he had outraged justice. + Holding a false title, living on a false honour, he was safe of no man's + respect, secure of no woman's goodwill. Exposure hung over him. He would + be disgraced, the law would be disgraced, the island would be disgraced. + Pull, pull, pull, before it is too late; out, far out, farther than tide + returns, or sea tells stories to the shore. + </p> + <p> + He had rowed like a slave escaping from his chains, in terror of being + overtaken and dragged back. The voices of the harbour were now hushed, the + music of the band was deadened, the horses running along the promenade + seemed to creep like ants, and the traffic of the streets was no louder + than a dull subterranean rumble. He had shot out of the margin of smooth + blue water in which the island lay as on a mirror, and out of the shadow + of the hill upon the bay. The sea about him now was running green and + glistening, and the red sun-? light was coming down on it like smoke. Only + the steeples and towers and glass domes of the town reached up into + luminous air. He could see the squat tower of St. George's silhouetted + against the dying glory of the sky. Seven years he had been its neighbour, + and it had witnessed such happy and such cruel hours. All the joy of work, + the sweetness of success, the dreams of greatness, the rosy flushes of + love, and then—the tortures of conscience, the visions, the horror, + the secret shame, the self-abandonment, and, last of all, the twofold + existence as of husband with wife, hidden, incomplete, unfulfilled, yet + full of tender ties which had seemed like galling bonds so many a time, + but were now so sweet when the hour had come to break them. + </p> + <p> + How distant it all appeared to be! And was he flying from the island like + this? The island that had honoured him, that had rewarded him beyond his + deserts, and earlier than his dreams, that had suffered no jealousy to + impede him, no rivalry to fret him, no disparity of age and service to + hold him back—the little island that had seemed to open its arms to + him, and to cry, “Philip Christian, son of your father, grandson of your + grandfather, first of Manxmen, come up!” + </p> + <p> + Oh, for what might have been! Useless regrets! Pull, pull, and forget. + </p> + <p> + But the home of his childhood! Ballure—Auntie Nan—his father's + death brightened by one hope—the last, but ah! how vain!—Port + Mooar—Pete, “The sea's calling me.” Pull, pull! The sea was calling + him indeed. Calling him to the deep womb that is death, not birth. + </p> + <p> + He was far out. The sun had gone, the island was like a bird of ashy grey + stretched across the horizon; the great wing of night was coming down from + the sky, and up out the mysterious depths of the sea came the profound + hum, the mighty voice that is the organ of the world. + </p> + <p> + He took in the oars, and his tiny shell began to drift At that moment his + eye caught something at the bottom of the boat. It was a flower, a broken + stem, a torn rose, and a few scattered rose leaves. Only a relic of the + last occupants, but it brought back the perfume of love, a sense of + tenderness, of bright eyes, of a caress, a kiss. His mind went back to + Sulby, to the Melliah, to the glen, to the days so full of tremulous love, + when they hovered on the edge of the precipice. They had been hurled over + it since then. It was some relief that between love and honour he would + not have to struggle any longer. + </p> + <p> + And Kate? When all was over and word went round, “The Deemster is gone,” + what would happen to Kate? She would still be at his house in Athol + Street. That would be the beginning of evil! She would wait for him, and + when hope of his return was lost, she would weep for him. That would be + the key of discovery! The truth would become known. Though he might be at + the bottom of the sea, yet the cloud that hung over his life would break. + It was inevitable. And she would be there to bear the storm alone—alone + with the island which had been deceived, alone with Pete, who had been + lied to and betrayed. Was that just? Was that brave? + </p> + <p> + And then—what then? What would become of her? Openly shamed, + charged, as she must be, with the whole weight of the crime from whose + burden he had fled, accused of his downfall, a Delilah, a Jezebel, what + fate should befall her? Where would she go? Down to what depths? He saw + her sinking lower than ever man sinks; he heard her appeals, her + supplications. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, what have I done,” he cried, “that I can neither live nor die?” + </p> + <p> + Then in that delirium of anguish in which the order of nature is reversed, + and external objects no longer produce sensation, but sensation produces, + as it were, external objects, he thought he saw something at the bottom of + the boat where the broken rose had been. It was the figure of a man, + stretched out, still and lifeless. His eyes went up to the face. The face + was his own. It was ashy grey, and it stared up at the grey sky. The brain + image was himself, and he was dead. He watched it, and it faded away. + There was nothing left but the scattered rose-leaves and the torn flower + on the broken stem. + </p> + <p> + The terrible shadow was gone; he felt that it was gone for ever. It was + dead, and it would haunt him no longer. It had lived on an empire of + evil-doing, and his evil-doing was at an end. He would “see his soul” no + more. The tears gushed to his eyes and blinded him. They were the first he + could remember since he was a boy. Alone between the two mirrors of sea + and sky, the chain that he had dragged so long fell: away from him. He was + a free man again. + </p> + <p> + “Go back! your place is by her side. Don't sneak out of life, and leave + another to pay. Suffering is a grand thing. It is the struggle of the soul + to cast off its sin. Accept it, go through with it, come out of it purged. + Go back to the island. Your life is not ended yet.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0109" id="link2H_4_0109"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXIV. + </h2> + <p> + “We were just going sending a lil yawl after you, Dempster, when we were + seeing you a bit overside the head yonder coming back. 'He's drifting home + on the flowing tide,' says I, and so you were. Must have been a middling + stiff pull for all. We were thinking you were lost one while there.” + </p> + <p> + “I <i>was</i> almost lost, but I'm here again, thank God,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + He spoke cheerily, and went away with a light step. It was now full night; + the town was lit up, and the musicians of the pavement were twanging their + banjos and harps. Philip felt a sort of physical regeneration, a renewal + of youth, a new birth of heart and hope. He was like a man coming out of + some hideous Gehenna of delirious illness; he though he had never been so + light, so buoyant, so happy in his life before. The future was vague. He + did not yet know what he would do. It would be something radical, + something that would go down to the heart of his condition. Oh, he would + be strong, he would be resolute, he would pay the uttermost farthing, he + would not wait to count the cost. And she—she would be with him. He + could do nothing without her. The partner of his fault would share his + redemption also. God bless her! + </p> + <p> + He let himself into the house and shut the door firmly behind him. The + lights were still burning in the hall, so it was not very late. He mounted + the stairs with a loud step and swung into his room. The lamp was on the + table, and within the circle cast by its blue shade a letter was lying. He + took it up with dismay. It was in Kate's handwriting:— + </p> + <p> + “Forgive me! I am going away. It is all my fault. I have broken the heart + of one man, and I am destroying the soul of another. If I stay here any + longer you will be ruined and lost. I am only a millstone about your neck. + I see it, I feel it. And yet I have loved you so, and wished to be so + proud of you. Your heart is brave enough, though I have sunk it down so + low. You will live to be strong and good and true, though that can never + be while I am with you. I have been far below you from the first. All + along I have only been thinking how much I loved you, but you have had so + many other things to consider. My life seems to have been one long battle + for love. I think it has been a cruel battle too. Anyway, I am beaten, and + oh! so tired. + </p> + <p> + “Do not follow me. I pray of you do not try to find me. It is my last + request. Think of me as on a long journey. I may be—the Great God of + heaven knows. + </p> + <p> + “I am taking the little cracked medallion from the bottom of the oak box. + It is the only picture I can find, and it will remind me of some one else + as well—my little Katherine, my motherless baby. + </p> + <p> + “I have nothing to leave with you but this (<i>it was a lock of her hair</i>). + At first I thought of the wedding-ring that you gave me when I came here, + but it would not come off, and besides, I could not part with it. + </p> + <p> + “Good-bye! I ought to have done this long ago. But you will not hate me + now? We could never be happy together again. Good-bye!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_PART6" id="link2H_PART6"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + PART VI. MAN AND GOD. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0111" id="link2H_4_0111"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + I. + </h2> + <p> + The summer had gone, the gorse had dried up, the herring-fishing had + ended, and Pete had become poor. His Nickey had done nothing, his last + hundred pounds had been spent, and his creditors in scores, quiet as mice + until then, were baying about him like bloodhounds. He sold his boat and + satisfied everybody, but fell, nevertheless, to the position of a person + of no credit and little consequence. On the lips of the people he + descended from “Capt'n Pete” to Peter Bridget. When he saluted the rich + with “How do!” they replied with a stare, a lift of the chin, and “You've + the odds of me, my good man.” To this he replied, with a roll of the head + and a peal of laughter, “Have I now? But you'll die for all.” + </p> + <p> + Ballajora Chapel had been three months rehearsing a children's cantata + entitled “Under the Palms,” and building an arbour of palm branches on a + platform for Pete's rugged form to figure in; but Cæsar sat there instead. + </p> + <p> + Still, Pete had his six thousand pounds in mortgage on Ballawhaine. Only + three other persons knew anything of that—Cæsar, who had his own + reasons for saying nothing; Peter Christian himself, who was hardly likely + to tell; and the High Bailiff, who was a bachelor and a miser, and kept + all business revelations as sacred as are the secrets of another kind of + confessional. When Pete's evil day came and the world showed no pity, + Cæsar became afraid. + </p> + <p> + “I wouldn't sell out, sir,” said he. “Hould on till Martinmas, anyway. The + first half year's interest is due then. There's no knowing what'll happen + before that. What's it saying, 'He shall give His angels charge concerning + thee.' The ould man has had a polatic stroke, they're telling me. Aw, the + Lord's mercy endureth for ever.” + </p> + <p> + Pete began to sell his furniture. He cleared out the parlour as bare as a + vault. “Time for it, too,” he said. “I've been wanting the room for a + workshop.” + </p> + <p> + Martinmas came, and Cæsar returned in high feather. “No interest,” he + said. “Give him the month's grace, and hould hard till it's over. The Lord + will provide. Isn't it written, 'In the world ye shall have tribulation'? + Things are doing wonderful, though. Last night going home from Ballajora, + I saw the corpse-lights coming from the big house to Kirk Christ's + Churchyard, with the parson psalming in front of them. The ould man's + dying—-I've seen his soul. To thy name, O Lord, be all the glory.” + </p> + <p> + Pete sold out a second room, and turned the key on it. “Mortal cosy and + small this big, ugly mansion is getting, Nancy,” he said. + </p> + <p> + The month's grace allowed by the deed of mortgage expired, and Cæsar came + to Elm Cottage rubbing both hands. “Turn him out, neck and crop, sir. Not + a penny left to the man, and six thousand goolden pounds paid into his + hands seven months ago. But who's wondering at that? There's Ross back + again, carrying half a ton of his friends over the island, and lashing out + the silver like dust. <i>Your</i> silver, sir, <i>yours</i>. And here's + yourself, with the world darkening round you terrible. But no fear of you + now. The meek shall inherit the earth. Aw, God is opening His word more + and more, sir, more and more. There's that Black Tom too. He was talking + big a piece back, but this morning he was up before the High Bailiff for + charming and cheating, and was put away for the Dempster. Lord keep him + from the gallows and hell-fire! Oh, it's a refreshing saison. It was God + spaking to me by Providence when I tould you to put money on that + mortgage. What's the Scripture saying, 'For brass I bring thee goold'? + Turn him out, sir, turn him out.” + </p> + <p> + “Didn't you tell me that ould Ballawhaine had a polatic stroke?” said + Pete. + </p> + <p> + “I did; but he's a big man; let him pay his way,” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “Samson was a strong man, and Solomon was a wise one, but they couldn't + pay money when they hadn't got it,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “Let him look to his son then,” said Cæsar”. + </p> + <p> + “That's just what he's going to do,” said Pete. “I'll let him die in his + bed, God forgive him.” + </p> + <p> + The winter came, and Pete began to think of buying a Dandie, which being + smaller than a Nickey, and of yawl rig, he could sail of himself, and so + earn a living by fishing the cod. To do this he had a further clearing of + furniture, thereby reducing the size of the house to three rooms. The + featherbed left his own bedstead, the watch came out of his pocket, and + the walls of the hall-kitchen gaped and yawned in the places where the + pictures had been. + </p> + <p> + “The bog-bane to the rushy curragh, say I, Nancy,” said Pete. “Not being + used of such grandeur, I was taking it hard. Never could remember to wind + that watch. And feathers, bless you! Don't I remember the lil mother, with + a sickle and a bag, going cutting the long grass on the steep brews for + the cow, and drying a handful for myself for a bed. Sleeping on it? Never + slept the like since at all.” + </p> + <p> + The result of Pete's first week's fishing was twenty cod and a gigantic + ling. He packed the cod in boxes and sent them by Crow and the + steam-packet to the market in Liverpool. The ling he swung on his back + over his oilskin jacket and carried it home, the head at his shoulder and + the tail dangling at his legs. + </p> + <p> + “There!” he cried, dropping it on the floor, “split it and salt it, and + you've breakfas'es for a month.” + </p> + <p> + When the remittance came from Liverpool it was a postal order for + seven-and-sixpence. + </p> + <p> + “Never mind,” said Pete; “we're bating Dan Hommy anyway—the ould + muff has only made seven-and-a-penny.” + </p> + <p> + The weather was rough, the fishing was bad, the tackle got broken, and + Pete began to extol plain living. + </p> + <p> + “Gough bless me,” he said, “I don't know in the world what's coming to the + ould island at all. When I was for a man-servant with Cæsar the farming + boys were ateing potatoes and herrings three times a day. But now! + butcher's mate every dinner-time, if you plaze. And tay! the girls must be + having it reg'lar—and taking no shame with them neither. My sake, I + remember when the mother would be whispering, 'Keep an eye on the road, + boy, while I'm brewing myself a cup of tay.' Truth enough, Nancy. An ounce + a week and a pound of sugar, and people wondering at the woman for that.” + </p> + <p> + The mountains were taken from the people, and they were no longer allowed + “to cut turf for fuel; coals were dear, the winter was cold, and Pete + began to complain of a loss of appetite. + </p> + <p> + “My teeth must be getting bad, Nancy,” he whined. They were white as milk + and faultless as a negro's. “Don't domesticate my food somehow. What's the + odds, though I Can't ate suppers at all, and that's some constilation. + Nothing like going to bed hungry, Nancy, if you're wanting to get up with + an appetite for breakfast. Then the beautiful drames, woman! Gough bless + me, the dinners and the feasts and the bankets you're ateing in your + sleep! Now, if you filled your skin like a High Bailiff afore going to + bed, ten to one you'd have a buggane riding on your breast the night + through and drame of dying for a drink of water. Aw, sleep's a reg'lar + Radical Good for levelling up, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + Christmas approached, servants boasted of the Christmas boxes they got + from their masters, and Pete remembered Nancy. + </p> + <p> + “Nancy,” said he, “they're telling me Liza Billy-ny-Clae is getting twenty + pound per year per annum at her new situation in Douglas. She isn't + nothing to yourself at cooking. Mustn't let the lil one stand in your way, + woman. She's getting a big girl now, and I'll be taking her out in the + Dandie with me and tying her down on the low deck there and giving her a + pig's bladder, and she'll be playing away as nice as nice. See?” + </p> + <p> + Nancy looked at him, and he dropped his eyes before her. + </p> + <p> + “Is it wanting to get done with me, you are, Pete?” she said in a + quavering voice. “There's my black—I can sell it for something—it's + never been wore at me since I sat through the sarvice with Grannie the + Sunday after we got news of Kirry. And I'm not a big eater, Pete—never + was—you can clear me of that anyway. A bit of bread and cheese for + my dinner when you are out at the fishing, and I'm asking no better——” + </p> + <p> + “Hould your tongue, woman,” cried Pete. “Hould your tongue afore you break + my heart I've seen my rich days and I've seen my poor days. I've tried + both, and I'm content.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0112" id="link2H_4_0112"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + II. + </h2> + <p> + Meantime, Philip in Douglas was going from success to success, from rank + to rank, from fame to fame. Everything he put his hand to counted to him + for righteousness. When he came to himself after the disappearance of + Kate, his heart was a wasted field of volcanic action, with ashes and + scoriae of infernal blackness on the surface, but the wholesome soil + beneath. In spite of her injunction, he set himself to look for her. More + than love, more than pity, more than remorse prompted and supported him. + She was necessary to his resurrection, to his new birth. So he scoured + every poor quarter of the town, every rookery of old Douglas, and this was + set down to an interest in the poor. + </p> + <p> + An epidemic broke out on the island, and during the scare that followed, + wherein some of the wealthy left their homes for England, and many of the + poor betook themselves to the mountains, and even certain of the doctors + found refuge in flight, Philip won golden opinions for presence of mind + and personal courage. He organised a system of registration, regulated + quarantine, and caused the examination of everybody coming to the island + or leaving it. From day to day he went from house to house, from hospital + to hospital, from ward to ward. No dangers terrified him; he seemed to + keep his eye on each case. He was only looking for Kate, only assuring + himself that she had not fallen victim to the pest, only making certain + that she had not come or gone. But the divine madness which seizes upon a + crowd when its heart is touched laid hold of the island at the sight of + Philip's activities. He was worshipped, he was beloved, he was the idol of + the poor, almost everybody else was forgotten in the splendour of his + fame; no committee could proceed without him; no list was complete until + it included his name. + </p> + <p> + Philip was ashamed of his glories, but he had no heart to repudiate them. + When the epidemic subsided, he had convinced himself that Kate must be + gone, that she must be dead. Gone, therefore, was his only hold on life, + and dead was his hope of a moral resurrection. He could do nothing without + her but go on as he was going. To pretend to a new birth now would be like + a death-bed conversion; it would be like renouncing the joys of life after + they have renounced the renouncer. + </p> + <p> + His colleague, the old Deemster, was stricken down by paralysis, and he + was required to attend to both their duties. This made it necessary at + first that all Deemster's Courts should be held in Castletown, and hence + Ramsey saw him rarely. He spent his days in the Court-house of the Castle + and his nights at home. His fair hair became prematurely white, and his + face grew more than ever like that of a man newly risen from a fever. + </p> + <p> + “Study,” said the world, and it bowed its head the lower. + </p> + <p> + Yet he was seen to be not only a studious man, but a melancholy one. To + defeat curiosity, he began to enter a little into the life of the island, + and, as time went on, to engage in some of the social duties of his + official position. On Christmas Eve he gave a reception at his house in + Athol Street. He had hardly realised how it would tear at the tenderest + fibres of memory. The very rooms that had been Kate's were given over to + the ladies who were his guests. All afternoon the crush was great, and the + host was the attraction. He was a fascinating figure—so young, yet + already so high; so silent, yet able to speak so splendidly; and then so + handsome with that whitening head, and that smile like vanishing sunshine. + </p> + <p> + In the midst of the reception, Philip received a letter from Ramsey that + was like the cry of a bleeding heart:— + </p> + <p> + “My lil one is ill theyr sayin shes Diein cum to me for gods. sake.—Peat.” + </p> + <p> + The snow was beginning to fall as the guests departed. When the last of + them was gone, the clock on the bureau was striking six, and the night was + closing in. By eight o'clock Philip was at Elm Cottage. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0113" id="link2H_4_0113"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + III. + </h2> + <p> + Pete was sitting at the foot of the stairs, unwashed, uncombed, with his + clothes half buttoned and his shoes unlaced. + </p> + <p> + “Phil!” he cried, and leaping up he took Philip by both hands and fell to + sobbing like a child. + </p> + <p> + They went upstairs together. The bedroom was dense with steam, and the + forms of two women were floating like figures in a fog. + </p> + <p> + “There she is, the bogh,” cried Pete in a pitiful wail. + </p> + <p> + The child lay outstretched on Grannie's lap, with no sign of + consciousness, and hardly any sign of life, except the hollow breathing of + bronchitis. + </p> + <p> + Philip felt a strange emotion come over him. He sat on the end of the bed + and looked down. The little face, with its twitching mouth and pinched + nostrils, beating with every breath, was the face of Kate. The little + head, with its round forehead and the silvery hair brushed back from the + temples, was his own head. A mysterious throb surprised him, a great + tenderness, a deep yearning, something new to him, and born as it were in + his breast at that instant. He had an impulse, never felt before, to go + down on his knees where the child lay, to take it in his arms, to draw it + to him, to fondle it, to call it his own, and to pour over it the + inarticulate babble of pain and love that was bursting from his tongue. + But some one was kneeling there already, and in his jealous longing he + realised that his passionate sorrow could have no voice. + </p> + <p> + Pete, at Grannie's lap, was stroking the child's arm and her forehead with + the tenderness of a woman. + </p> + <p> + “The bogh millish! Seems aisier now, doesn't she, Grannie? Quieter, + anyway? Not coughing so much, is she?” + </p> + <p> + The doctor came at the moment, and Cæsar entered the room behind him with + a face of funereal resignation. + </p> + <p> + “See,” cried Pete; “there's your lil patient, doctor. She's lying as quiet + as quiet, and hasn't coughed to spake of for better than an hour.” + </p> + <p> + “H'm!” said the doctor ominously. He looked at the child, made some + inquiries of Grannie, gave certain instructions to Nancy, and then lifted + his head with a sigh. + </p> + <p> + “Well, we've done all we can for her,” he said. “If the child lives + through the night she may get over it.” + </p> + <p> + The women threw up their hands with “Aw, dear, aw, dear!” Philip gave a + low, sharp cry of pain; but Pete, who had been breathing heavily, watching + intently, and holding his arms about the little one as if he would save it + from disease and death and heaven itself, now lost himself in the + immensity of his woe. + </p> + <p> + “Tut, doctor, what are you saying?” he said. “You were always took for a + knowledgable man, doctor; but you're talking nonsense now. Don't you see + the child's only sleeping comfortable? And haven't I told you she hasn't + coughed anything worth for an hour? Do you think a poor fellow's got no + sense at all?” + </p> + <p> + The doctor was a patient man as well as a wise one—he left the room + without a word. But, thinking to pour oil on Pete's wounds, and not + minding that his oil was vitriol, Cæsar said— + </p> + <p> + “If it's the Lord's will, it's His will, sir. The sins of the fathers are + visited upon the children—yes, and the mothers, too, God forgive + them.” + </p> + <p> + At that Pete leapt to his feet in a flame of wrath. + </p> + <p> + “You lie! you lie!” he cried. “God doesn't punish the innocent for the + guilty. If He does, He's not a good God but a bad one. Why should this + child be made to suffer and die for the sin of its mother? Aye, or its + father either? Show me the <i>man</i> that would make it do the like, and + I'll smash his head against the wall. Blaspheming, am I? No, but it's you + that's blaspheming. God is good, God is just, God is in heaven, and you + are making Him out no God at all, but worse than the blackest devil that's + in hell.” + </p> + <p> + Cæsar went off in horror of Pete's profanities. “If the Lord keep not the + city,” he said, “the watchman waketh in vain.” + </p> + <p> + Pete's loud voice had aroused the child. It made a little cry, and he was + all softness in an instant. The women moistened its lips with + barley-water, and hushed its fretful whimper. + </p> + <p> + “Come,” said Philip, taking Pete's arm. + </p> + <p> + “Let me lean on you, Philip,” said Pete, and the stalwart fellow went + tottering down the stairs. + </p> + <p> + They sat on opposite sides of the fireplace, and kept the staircase door + open that they might hear all that happened in the room above. + </p> + <p> + “Get thee to bed, Nancy,” said the voice of Grannie. “Dear knows how soon + you'll be wanted.” + </p> + <p> + “You'll be calling me for twelve, then, Grannie—now, mind, you'll be + calling me.” + </p> + <p> + “Poor Pete! He's not so far wrong, though. What's it saying? 'Suffer lil + childers'——” + </p> + <p> + “But Cæsar's right enough this time, Grannie. The bogh is took for death + as sure as sure. I saw the crow that was at the wedding going crossing the + child's head the very last time she was out of doors.” Pete was listening + intently. Philip was gazing passively into the fire. + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't help it, sir—I couldn't really,” whispered Pete across + the hearth. “When a man's got a child that's ill, they may talk about + saving souls, but what's the constilation in that? It's not the soul he's + wanting saving at all, it's the child—now, isn't it, now?” + </p> + <p> + Philip made some confused response. + </p> + <p> + “Coorse, I can't expect you to understand that, Philip. You're a grand + man, and a clever man, and a feeling man, but I can't expect you to + understand that—now, is it likely? The greenest gall's egg of a + father that isn't half wise has the pull of you there, Phil. 'Deed he has, + though. When a man has a child of his own he's knowing what it manes, the + Lord help him. Something calls to him—it's like blood calling to + blood—it's like... I don't know that I'm understanding it myself, + neither—not to say <i>understand</i> exactly.” + </p> + <p> + Every word that Pete spoke was like a sword turning both ways. Philip drew + his breath heavily. + </p> + <p> + “You can feel for another, Phil—the Lord forbid you should ever feel + for yourself. Books are <i>your</i> children, and they're best off that's + never having no better. But the lil ones—God help them—to see + them fail, and suffer, and sink—and you not able to do nothing—and + themselves calling to you—calling still—calling reg'lar—calling + out of mercy—the way I am telling of, any way—O God! O God!” + </p> + <p> + Philip's throat rose. He felt as if he must betray himself the next + instant. + </p> + <p> + “Perhaps the doctor was right for all. Maybe the child isn't willing to + stay with us now the mother is gone; maybe it's wanting away, poor thing. + And who knows? Wouldn't trust but the mother is waiting for the lil bogh + yonder—waiting and waiting on the shore there, and 'ticing and + 'ticing—-I've heard of the like, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + Philip groaned. His brain reeled; his legs grew cold as stones. A great + awe came over him. It was not Pete alone that he was encountering. In + these searchings and rendings of the heart, which uncovered every thought + and tore open every wound, he was entering the lists with God himself. + </p> + <p> + The church bell began to ring. + </p> + <p> + “What's that?” cried Philip. It had struck upon his ear like a knell. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Oiel Verree</i>,” said Pete. The bell was ringing for the old Manx + service for the singing of Christmas carols. The fibres of Pete's memory + were touched by it. He told of his Christmases abroad—how it was + summer instead of winter, and fruits were on the trees instead of snow on + the ground—how people who had never spoken to him before would shake + hands and wish him a merry Christmas. Then from sheer weariness and a + sense of utter desolation, broken by the comfort of Philip's company, he + fell asleep in his chair. + </p> + <p> + The night wore on; the house was quiet; only the husky rasping of the + child's hurried breathing came from the floor above. + </p> + <p> + An evil thought in the guise of a pious one took possession of Philip. + “God is wise,” he told himself. “God is merciful. He knows what is best + for all of us. What are we poor impotent grasshoppers, that we dare pray + to Him to change His great purposes? It is idle. It is impious.... While + the child lives there will be security for no one. If it dies, there will + be peace and rest and the beginning of content. The mother must be gone + already, so the dark chapter of our lives will be closed at last God is + all wise. God is all good.” + </p> + <p> + The child made a feeble cry, and Philip crept upstairs to look. Grannie + had dozed off in her seat, and little Katherine was on the bed. A + disregarded doll lay with inverted head on the counterpane. The fire had + slid and died down to a lifeless glow, and the kettle had ceased to steam. + There was no noise in the room save the child's galloping breathing, which + seemed to scrape the walls as with a file. Sometimes there was a cough + that came like a voice through a fog. + </p> + <p> + Philip crept in noiselessly, knelt down by the bed-head, and leaned over + the pillow. A candle which burned on the mantelpiece cast its light on the + head that lay there. The little face was drawn, the little pinched + nostrils were beating like a pulse, the little lip beneath was beaded with + perspiration, the beautiful round forehead was damp, and the silken + silvery hair was matted. + </p> + <p> + Philip thought the child must be dying, and his ugly piety gave way. There + was a movement on the bed. One little hand that had been clenched hard on + the breast came over the counterpane and fell, outstretched and open + before him. He took it for an appeal, a dumb and piteous appeal, and the + smothered tenderness of the father's heart came uppermost. <i>Her</i> + child, his child, dying, and he there, yet not daring to claim her! + </p> + <p> + A new fear took hold of him. He had been wrong—there could be no + security in the child's death, no peace, no rest, no content. As surely as + the child died he would betray himself. He would blurt it all out; he + would tell everything. “My child! my darling! my Kate's Kate!” The cry + would burst from him. He could not help it. And to reveal the black secret + at the mouth of an open grave would be terrible, it would be horrible, it + would be awful, “Spare her, O Lord, spare her!” + </p> + <p> + In a fear bordering on delirium he went downstairs and shook Pete by the + shoulders to awaken him. “Come quickly,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Pete opened his eyes with a bewildered look» “She's better, isn't she?” he + asked. + </p> + <p> + “Courage,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “Is she worse?” + </p> + <p> + “It's life or death now. We must try something that I saw when I was + away.” + </p> + <p> + “Good Lord, and I've been sleeping! Save her, Philip! You're great; your + clever——” + </p> + <p> + “Be quiet, for God's sake, my good fellow! Quick, a kettle of boiling + water—a blanket—some hot towels.” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, you're a friend, you'll save her. The doctors don't know nothing.” + </p> + <p> + Ten minutes afterwards the child made a feeble cry, coughed loosely, threw + up phlegm, and came out of the drowsy land which it had inhabited for a + week. In ten minutes more it was wrapped in the hot towels and sitting on + Pete's knee before a brisk are, opening its little eyes and pursing its + little mouth, and making some inarticulate communication. + </p> + <p> + Then Grannie awoke with a start, and reproached herself for sleeping. “But + dear heart alive,” she cried, with both hands up, “the bogh villish is + mended wonderful.” + </p> + <p> + Nancy came back in her stockings, blinking and yawning. She clapped and + crowed at sight of the child's altered face. The clock in the kitchen was + striking twelve by this time, the bells had begun to ring again, the carol + singers were coming out of the church, there was a sound on the light snow + of the street like the running of a shallow river, and the waits were + being sung for the dawn of another Christmas. + </p> + <p> + The doctor looked in on his way home, and congratulated himself on the + improved condition. The crisis was passed, the child was safe. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! better, better,” he said cheerily. “I thought we might manage it this + time.” + </p> + <p> + “It was the Dempster that done it,” cried Pete. He was cooing and blowing + at little Katherine over the fringe of her towels. “He couldn't have done + more for the lil one if she'd been his own flesh and blood.” + </p> + <p> + Philip dared not speak. He hurried away in a storm of emotion. “Not yet,” + he thought, “not yet.” The time of his discovery was not yet. It was like + Death, though—it waited for him somewhere. Somewhere and at some + time—some day in the year, some place on the earth. Perhaps his eyes + knew the date in the calendar, perhaps his feet knew the spot on the land, + yet he knew neither. Somewhere and at some time—God knew where—God + knew when—He kept his own secrets. + </p> + <p> + That night Philip slept at the “Mitre,” and next morning he went up to + Ballure. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0114" id="link2H_4_0114"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IV. + </h2> + <p> + The Governor could not forget Tynwald. Exaggerating the humiliation of + that day, he thought his influence in the island was gone. He sold his + horses and carriages, and otherwise behaved like a man who expected to be + recalled. + </p> + <p> + Towards Philip he showed no malice. It was not merely as the author of his + shame that Philip had disappointed him. + </p> + <p> + He had half cherished a hope that Philip would become his son-in-law. But + when the rod in his hand had failed him, when it proved too big for a + staff and too rough for a crutch, he did not attempt to break it. Either + from the instinct of a gentleman, or the pride of a strong man, he + continued to shower his favours upon Philip. Going to London with his wife + and daughter at the beginning of the new year, he appointed Philip to act + as his deputy. + </p> + <p> + Philip did not abuse his powers. As grandson of the one great Manxman of + his century, and himself a man of talents, he was readily accepted by the + island. His only drawback was his settled melancholy. This added to his + interest if it took from his popularity. The ladies began to whisper that + he had fallen in love, and that his heart was “buried in the grave.” He + did not forget old comrades. It was remembered, in his favour, that one of + his friends was a fisherman, a cousin across the bar of bastardy, who had + been a fool and gone through his fortune. + </p> + <p> + On St. Bridget's Day Philip held Deemster's Court in Ramsey. The snow had + gone and the earth had the smell of violets. It was almost as if the + violets themselves lay close beneath the soil, and their odour had been + too long kept under. The sun, which had not been seen for weeks, had burst + out that day; the air was warm, and the sky was blue. Inside the + Court-house the upper arcs of the windows had been let down; the sun shone + on the Deemster as he sat on the dais, and the spring breeze played with + his silvery wig. Some^ times, in the pauses of rasping voices, the birds + were heard to sing from the trees on the lawn outside. + </p> + <p> + The trial was a tedious and protracted one. It was the trial of Black Tom. + During the epidemic that had visited the island he had developed the + character of a witch doctor. His first appearance in Court had been before + the High Bailiff, who had committed him to prison. He had been bailed out + by Pete, and had forfeited his bail in an attempt at flight. The witnesses + were now many, and some came from a long distance. It was desirable to + conclude the same day. At five in the evening the Deemster rose and said, + “The Court will adjourn for an hour, gentlemen.” + </p> + <p> + Philip took his own refreshments in the Deemster's room—Jem-y-Lord + was with him—then put off his wig and gown, and slipped through the + prisoners' yard at the back and round the corner to Elm Cottage. + </p> + <p> + It was now quite dark. The house was lit by the firelight only, which + flashed like Will-o'-the-wisp on the hall window. Philip was surprised by + unusual sounds. There was laughter within, then singing, and then laughter + again. He bad reached the porch and his approach had not been heard. The + door stood open and he looked in and listened. + </p> + <p> + The room was barer than he had ever seen it—a table, three chairs, a + cradle, a dresser, and a corner cupboard. Nancy sat by the fire with the + child on her lap. Pete was squatting on the floor, which was strewn with + rushes, and singing— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Come, Bridget, Saint Bridget, come in at my door, + The crock's on the bink, and the rush is on the floor.” + </pre> + <p> + Then getting on to all fours like a great boy, and bobbing his head up and + down and making deep growls to imitate the terrors of a wild beast, he + made little runs and plunges at the child, who jumped and crowed in + Nancy's lap and laughed and squealed till she “kinked.” + </p> + <p> + “Now, stop, you great omathaun, stop,” said Nancy. “It isn't good for the + lil one—'deed it isn't.” + </p> + <p> + But Pete was too greedy of the child's joy to deny himself the delight of + it. Making a great low sweep of the room, he came back hopping on his + haunches and barking like a dog. Then the child laughed till the laughter + rolled like a marble in her little throat. + </p> + <p> + Philip's own throat rose at the sight, and his breast began to ache. He + felt the same thrill as before—the same, yet different, more + painful, more full of jealous longing. This was no place for him. He + thought he would go away. But turning on his heel, he was seen by Pete, + who was now on his back on the floor, rocking the child up and down like + the bellows of an accordion, and to and fro like the sleigh of a loom. + </p> + <p> + “My faith, the Dempster! Come in, sir, come in,” cried Pete, looking over + his forehead. Then, giving the child back to Nancy, he leapt to his feet. + </p> + <p> + Philip entered with a sick yearning and sat down in the chair facing + Nancy. + </p> + <p> + “You're wondering at me, Dempster, I know you are, sir,” Said Pete, + “'Deed, but I'm wondering at myself as well. I thought I was never going + to see a glad day again, and if the sky would ever be blue I would be + breaking my heart. But what is the Manx poet saying, sir? 'I have no will + but Thine, O God.' That's me, sir, truth enough, and since the lil one has + been mending I've never been so happy in my life.” + </p> + <p> + Philip muttered some commonplace, and put his thumb into the baby's hand. + It was sucked in by the little fingers as by the soft feelers of the + sea-anemone. + </p> + <p> + Pete drew up the third chair, and then all interest was centred on the + child. “She's growing,” said Philip huskily. + </p> + <p> + “And getting wise ter'ble,” said Pete. “You wouldn't be-lave it, sir, but + that child's got the head of an almanac. She has, though. Listen here, sir—what + does the cow say, darling?” + </p> + <p> + “Moo-o,” said the little one. + </p> + <p> + “Look at that now!” said Pete rapturously. + </p> + <p> + “She knows what the dog says too,” said Nancy. “What does Dempster say, + bogh?” + </p> + <p> + “Bow-wow,” said the child. + </p> + <p> + “Bless me soul!” said Pete, turning to Philip with amazement at the + child's supernatural wisdom. “And there's Tom Hommy's boy—and a fine + lil fellow enough for all—but six weeks older than this one, and not + a word out of him yet.” + </p> + <p> + Hearing himself talked of, the dog had come from under the table. The + child gurgled down at it, then made purring noises at its own feet, and + wriggled in Nancy's lap. + </p> + <p> + “Dear heart alive, if it's not like nursing an eel,” said Nancy. “Be + quiet, will you?” and the little one was shaken back to her seat. + </p> + <p> + “Aisy all, woman,” said Pete. “She's just wanting her lil shoes and + stockings off, that's it.” Then talking to the child. “Um—am-im—lum—la—loo? + Just so! I don't know what that means myself, but she does, you see. Aw, + the child is taiching me heaps, sir. Listening to the lil one I'm + remembering things. Well, we're only big children, the best of us. That's + the way the world's keeping young, and God help it when we're getting so + clever there's no child left in us at all.” + </p> + <p> + “Time for young women to be in bed, though,” said Nancy, getting up to + give the baby her bath. + </p> + <p> + “Let me have a hould of the rogue first,” said Pete, and as Nancy took the + child out of the room, he dragged at it and smothered its open mouth with + kisses. + </p> + <p> + “Poor sport for you, sir, watching a foolish ould father playing games + with his lil one,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + Philip's answer was broken and confused. His eyes had begun to fill, and + to hide them he turned his head aside. Thinking he was looking at the + empty places about the walls, Pete began to enlarge on his prosperity, and + to talk as if he were driving all the trade of the island before him. + </p> + <p> + “Wonderful fishing now, Phil. I'm exporting a power of cod. Gretting + postal orders and stamps, and I don't know what. Seven-and-sixpence in a + single post from Liverpool—that's nothing, sir, nothing at all.” + </p> + <p> + Nancy brought back the child, whose silvery curls were now damp. + </p> + <p> + “What! a young lady coming in her night-dress!” cried Pete. + </p> + <p> + “Work enough! had to get it over her head, too,” said Nancy. “She + wouldn't, no, she wouldn't. Here, take and dry her hair by the fire while + I warm up her supper.” + </p> + <p> + Pete rolled the sleeves of his jersey above his elbows, took the child on + his knee, and rubbed her hair between his hands, singing— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Come, Bridget, Saint Bridget, come in at my door.” + </pre> + <p> + Nancy clattered about in her clogs, filled a saucepan with bread and milk, + and brought it to the fire. + </p> + <p> + “Give it to me, Nancy,” said Philip, and he leaned over and held the + saucepan above the bar. The child watched him intently. + </p> + <p> + “Well, did you ever?” said Pete. “The strange she's making of you, Philip? + Don't you know the gentleman, darling? Aw, but he's knowing you, though.” + </p> + <p> + The saucepan boiled, and Philip handed it back to Nancy. + </p> + <p> + “Go to him then—away with you,” said Pete. “Gro to your godfather. + He'd have been your name-father too if it had been a boy you'd been. Off + you go!” and he stretched out his hairy arms until the child touched the + floor. + </p> + <p> + Philip stooped to take the little one, who first pranced and beat the + rushes with its feet as with two drumsticks, then trod on its own legs, + swirled about to Pete's arms, dropped its lower lip, and set up a + terrified outcry. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! she knows her own father, bless her,” cried Pete, plucking the child + back to his breast. + </p> + <p> + Philip dropped his head and laughed. A sort of creeping fear had taken + possession of him, as if he felt remotely that the child was to be the + channel of his retribution. + </p> + <p> + “Will you feed her yourself, Pete?” said Nancy. She was coming up with a + saucer, of which she was tasting the contents. “He's that handy with a + child, sir, you wouldn't think 'Deed you wouldn't.” Then, stooping to the + baby as it ate its supper, “But I'm saying, young woman, is there no sleep + in your eyes to-night?” + </p> + <p> + “No, but nodding away here like a wood-thrush in a tree,” said Pete. He + was ladling the pobs into the child's mouth, and scooping the overflow + from her chin. “Sleep's a terrible enemy of this one, sir. She's having a + battle with it every night of life, anyway. God help her, she'll have luck + better than some of us, or she'll be fighting it the other way about one + of these days.” + </p> + <p> + “She's us'ally going off with the spoon in her mouth, sir, for all the + world like a lil cherub,” said Nancy. + </p> + <p> + “Too busy looking at her godfather to-night, though,” said Pete. “Well, + look at him. You owe him your life, you lil sandpiper. And, my sakes, the + straight like him you are, too!” + </p> + <p> + “Isn't she?” said Nancy. “If I wasn't thinking the same myself! Couldn't + look straighter like him if she'd been his born child; now, could she? And + the curls, too, and the eyes! Well, well!” + </p> + <p> + “If she'd been a boy, now——” began Pete. + </p> + <p> + But Philip had risen to return to the Court-house, and Pete said in + another tone, “Hould hard a minute, sir—I've something to show you. + Here, take the lil one, Nancy.” + </p> + <p> + Pete lit a candle and led the way into the parlour. The room was empty of + furniture; but at one end there was a stool, a stone mason's mallet, a few + chisels, and a large stone. + </p> + <p> + The stone was a gravestone. + </p> + <p> + Pete approached it solemnly, held up the candle in front of it, and said + in a low voice, “It's for her. I've been doing it myself, sir, and it's + lasted me all winter, dark nights and bad days. I'll be finishing it + to-night, though, God willing, and to-morrow, maybe, I'll be taking it to + Douglas.” + </p> + <p> + “Is it——” began Philip, but he could not finish. + </p> + <p> + The stone was a plain slab, rounded at the top, bevelled about the edge, + smoothed on the face, and chiselled over the back; but there was no sign + or symbol on it, and no lettering or inscription. + </p> + <p> + “Is there to be no name?” asked Philip at last. + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “No?” + </p> + <p> + “Tell you the truth, sir, I've been reading what it's saying in the ould + Book about the Recording Angel calling the dead out of their graves.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” + </p> + <p> + “And I've been thinking the way he'll be doing it will be going to the + graveyards and seeing the names on the gravestones, and calling them out + loud to rise up to judgment; some, as it's saying, to life eternal, and + some to everlasting punishment.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, sir, I've been thinking if he comes to this one and sees no name on + it”—Pete's voice sank to a whisper—“maybe he'll pass it by and + let the poor sinner sleep on.” + </p> + <p> + Stumbling back to the Court-house through the dark lane Philip thought, + “It was a lie <i>then</i>, but it's true <i>now</i>. It <i>must</i> be + true. She must be dead.” There was a sort of relief in this certainty. It + was an end, at all events; a pitiful end, a cowardly end, a kind of + sneaking out of Fate's fingers; it was not what he had looked for and + intended, but he struggled to reconcile himself to it. + </p> + <p> + Then he remembered the child and thought, “Why should I disturb it? Why + should I disturb Pete? I will watch over it all its life. I will protect + it and find a way to provide for it. I will do my duty by it. The child + shall never want.” + </p> + <p> + He was offering the key to the lock of the prisoners' yard when some one + passed him in the lane, peered into his face, then turned about and spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, it's you, Deemster Christian?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, doctor. Good-night!” + </p> + <p> + “Have you heard the news from Ballawhaine? The old gentleman had another + stroke this morning.” + </p> + <p> + “No, I had not heard it. Another? Dear me, dear me!” + </p> + <p> + Back in his room, Philip resumed his wig and gown and returned to the + Court-house. The place was now lit up by candlelight and densely crowded. + Everybody rose to his feet as the Deemster stepped to the dais. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0115" id="link2H_4_0115"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + V. + </h2> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Come, Bridget, Saint Bridget, come in at my door, + The crock's on the bink and the rush——” + </pre> + <p> + “She's fast,” said Nancy. “Rocking this one to sleep is like waiting for + the kettle to boil. You may try and try, and blow and blow, but never a + sound. And no sooner have you forgotten all about her, but she's singing + away as steady as a top.” + </p> + <p> + Nancy put the child into the cradle, tucked her about, twisted the head of + the little nest so that the warmth of the fire should enter it, and hung a + shawl over the hood to protect the little eyelids from the light. “Will + you keep the house till I'm home from Sulby, Pete?” + </p> + <p> + “I've my work, woman,” said Pete from the parlour. + </p> + <p> + “I'll put a junk on the fire and be off then,” said Nancy. + </p> + <p> + She pulled the door on to the catch behind her and went crunching the + gravel to the gate. There was no sound in the house now but the gentle + breathing of the sleeping child, soft as an angel's prayer, the chirruping + of the mended fire like a cage of birds, the ticking of the clock, and, + through the parlour wall, the dull pat-put, pat-put of the wooden mallet + and the scrape of the chisel on the stone. + </p> + <p> + Pete worked steadily for half an hour, and then came back to the + hall-kitchen with his tools in his hands. The cob of coal had kindled to a + lively flame, which flashed and went out, and the quick black shadows of + the chairs and the table and the jugs on the dresser were leaping about + the room like elves. With parted lips, just breaking into a smile, Pete + went down on one knee by the cradle, put the mallet under his arm, and + gently raised the shawl curtain. “God bless my motherless girl,” he said, + in a voice no louder than a breath. Suddenly, while he knelt there, he was + smitten as by an electric shock. His face straightened and he drew back, + still holding the shawl at the tips of his fingers. + </p> + <p> + The child was sleeping peacefully, with one of its little arms over the + counterpane. On its face the flickering light of the fire was coming and + going, making lines about the baby eyes and throwing up the baby features. + It is in such lights that we are startled by resemblances in a child's + face. Pete was startled by a resemblance. He had seen it before, but not + as he saw it now. + </p> + <p> + A moment afterwards he was reaching across the cradle again, his arms + spread over it, and his face close down at the child's face, scanning + every line of it as one scans a map. “'Deed, but she is, though,” he + murmured. “She's like him enough, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + An awful idea had taken possession of his mind. He rose stiffly to his + feet, and the shawl flapped back. The room seemed to be darkening round + him. He broke the coal, though it was burning brightly, stepped to the + other side of the cradle, and looked at the child again. It was the same + from there. The resemblance was ghostly. + </p> + <p> + He felt something growing hard inside of him, and he returned to his work + in the parlour. But the chisel slipped, the mallet fell too heavily, and + he stopped. His mind fluctuated among distant things. He could not help + thinking of Port Mooar, of the Carasdhoo men, of the day when he and + Philip were brought home in the early, morning. + </p> + <p> + Putting his tools down, he returned to the room. He was holding his breath + and walking softly, as if in the presence of an invisible thing. The room + was perfectly quiet—he could hear the breath in his nostrils. In a + state of stupor he stood for some time with bis back to the fire and + watched his shadow on the opposite wall and on the ceiling. The cradle was + at his feet. He could not keep his eyes off it. From time to time he + looked down across one of his shoulders. + </p> + <p> + With head thrown back and lips apart, the child was breathing calmly and + sleeping the innocent sleep. This angel innocence reproached him. + </p> + <p> + “My heart must be going bad,” he muttered. “Your bad thoughts are + blackening the dead. For shame, Pete Quilliam, for shame!” + </p> + <p> + He was feeling like a man who is in a storm of thunder and lightning at + night. Familiar things about him looked strange and awful. + </p> + <p> + Stooping to the cradle again, he turned back the shawl on to the + cradle-head as a girl turns back the shade of her sun-bonnet Then the + firelight was full on the child's face, and it moved in its sleep. It + moved yet more under his steadfast gaze, and cried a little, as if the + terrible thought that was in his mind had penetrated to its own. + </p> + <p> + He was stooping so when the door was opened and Cæsar entered violently, + making asthmatic noises in his throat. Pete looked up at him with a + stupefied air. “Peter,” he said, “will you sell that mortgage?” + </p> + <p> + Pete answered with a growl. + </p> + <p> + “Will you transfer it to me?” said Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “The time's not come,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “What time?” + </p> + <p> + “The time foretold by the prophet, when the lion can lie down with the + lamb.” + </p> + <p> + Pete laughed bitterly. Cæsar was quivering, his mouth was twitching, and + his eyes were wild. “Will you come over to the 'Mitre,' then?” + </p> + <p> + “What for to the 'Mitre'?” + </p> + <p> + “Ross Christian is there.” + </p> + <p> + Pete made an impatient gesture. “That stormy petrel again! He's always + about when there's bad weather going.” + </p> + <p> + “Will you come and hear what the man's saying?” + </p> + <p> + “What's he saying?” + </p> + <p> + “Will you hear for yourself?” + </p> + <p> + Pete looked hard at Cæsar, looked again, then caught up his cap and went + out at the door. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0116" id="link2H_4_0116"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VI. + </h2> + <p> + With two of his cronies the man had spent the day in a room overlooking + the harbour, drinking hard and playing billiards. Early in the afternoon a + messenger had come from Ballawhaine, saying, “Your father is ill—come + home immediately.” “By-and-bye,” he had said, and gone on with the game. + </p> + <p> + Later in the afternoon the messenger had come again, saying, “Your father + has had a stroke of paralysis, and he is calling for you.” “Let me finish + the break first,” he had replied. + </p> + <p> + In the evening the messenger had come a third time, saying, “Your father + is unconscious.” “Where's the hurry, then?” he had answered, and he sang a + stave of the “Miller's Daughter”— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “They married me against my will, + When I was daughter at the mill.” + </pre> + <p> + Finally, Cæsar, who had been remonstrating with the Ballawhaine at the + moment of his attack, came to remonstrate with Ross, and to pay off a + score of his own as well. + </p> + <p> + “Honour thy father and thy mother, that thy days——” cried + Cæsar, with uplifted arm and the high pitch of the preacher. “But your + days will not be long, anyway, and, if you are the death of that foolish + ould man, it won't be the first death you're answerable for.” + </p> + <p> + “So you believe it, too?” said Ross, cue in hand. “You believe your + daughter is dead, do you, old Jephthah Jeremiah? Would you be surprised to + hear, now——” (the cronies giggled) “that she isn't dead at + all?——Good shotr-cannon off the cushion. Halloa! Jephthah + Jeremiah has seen a ghost seemingly. Saw her myself, man, when I was up in + town a month ago. Want to know where she is? Shall I tell you? Oh, you're + a beauty! You're a pattern! You know how to train up a child in the way——Pocket + off the red——It's you to preach at my father, isn't it? She's + on the streets of London—ah, Jeremiah's gone—— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'They married me against my will '— +</pre> + <p> + There you are, then—good shot—love—twenty-five and + nothing left.” + </p> + <p> + Pete pushed through to the billiard-room. Fearing there might be violence, + hoping there would be, yet thinking it scarcely proper to lend the scene + of it the light of his countenance, Cæsar had stayed outside. + </p> + <p> + “Halloa! here's Uriah!” cried Ross. “Talk of the devil—just thought + as much. Ever read the story of David and Uriah? Should, though. Do you + good, mister. David was a great man. Aw” (with a mock imitation of Pete's + Manx), “a ter'ble, wonderful, shocking great man. Uriah was his henchman. + Ter'ble clavar, too, but that green for all, the ould cow might have ate + him. And Uriah had a nice lil wife. The nice now, you wouldn't think. But + when Uriah was away David took her, and then—and then” (dropping the + Manx) “it doesn't just run on Bible lines neither, but David told Uriah + that his wife was dead—ha! ha! ha!—— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + 'Who saw her diet + I said the fly, + I saw her——' +</pre> + <p> + Stop that—let go—help——You'll choke me—help! + help!” + </p> + <p> + At two strides Pete had come face to face with Ross, put one of his hands + at the man's throat and his leg behind him, doubled him back on his knee, + and was holding him there in a grip like that of a vice. + </p> + <p> + “Help!—help!—oo—ugh!” The fellow gasped, and his face + grew dark. + </p> + <p> + “You're not worth it,” said Pete. “I meant to choke the life out of your + dirty body for lying about the living and blackening the dead, but you're + not worth hanging for. You've got the same blood in you, too, and I'm + ashamed for you. There! get up.” + </p> + <p> + With a gesture of indescribable loathing, Pete flung the man to the + ground, and he fell over his cue and broke it. + </p> + <p> + The people of the house came thronging into the room, and met Pete going + out of it. His face was hard and ugly. At first sight they mistook him for + Ross, so disfigured was he by bad passions. + </p> + <p> + Cæsar was tramping the pavement outside. “Will you let me do it now?” he + said in a hot whisper. + </p> + <p> + “Do as you like,” said Pete savagely. + </p> + <p> + “The wicked is snared in the work of his own hand. Higgaion. Selah,” said + Cæsar, and they parted by the entrance to the Court-house. + </p> + <p> + Pete went home, muttering to himself, “The man was lying—she's dead, + she's dead!” + </p> + <p> + At the gate of Elm Cottage the dog came up to him, barking with glee. Then + it darted back to the house door, which stood open. “Some one has come,” + thought Pete. “She's dead. The man lied. She's dead,” he muttered, and he + stumbled down the path. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0117" id="link2H_4_0117"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VII. + </h2> + <p> + While the Deemster was stepping up to the dais, and the people in the + court were rising to receive him, a poor bedraggled wayfarer was toiling + through the country towards the town. It was a woman. She must have walked + far, her step was so slow and so heavy. From time to time she rested, not + sitting, but standing by the gates of the fields as she came to them, and + holding by the topmost bar. + </p> + <p> + When she emerged from the dark lanes into the lamplit streets her pace + quickened for a moment; then it slackened, and then it quickened again. + She walked close to the houses, as if trying to escape observation. Where + there was a short cut through an ill-lighted thoroughfare, she took it. + Any one following her would have seen that she was familiar with every + corner of the town. + </p> + <p> + It would be hard to imagine a woman of more miserable appearance. Not that + her clothes were so mean, though they were poor and worn, but that an air + of humiliation sat upon her, such as a dog has when it is lost and the + children are chasing it. Her dress was that of an old woman—the long + Manx cloak of blue homespun, fastened by a great hook close under the + chin, and having a hood which is drawn over the head. But in spite of this + old-fashioned garment, and the uncertainty of her step, she gave the + impression of a young woman. Where the white frill of the old + countrywoman's cap should have shown itself under the flange of the hood, + there was a veil, which seemed to be suspended from a hat. + </p> + <p> + The oddity and incongruity of her attire attracted attention. Women came + out of their houses and crossed to the doors of neighbours to look after + her. Even the boys playing at the corners looked up as she went by. + </p> + <p> + She was not greatly observed for all that. An unusual interest agitated + the town. A wave of commotion flowed down the streets. The traffic went in + one direction. That direction was the Court-house. + </p> + <p> + The Court-house square was thronged on three of its sides by people who + were gathered both on the pavement and on the green inside the railings. + Its fourth side was the dark lane at the back going by the door to the + prisoners' yard and the Deemster's entrance. The windows were lit up and + partly open. Some of the people had edged to the walls as if to listen, + and a few had clambered to the sills as if to see. Around the wide doorway + there was a close crowd that seemed to cling to it like a burr. + </p> + <p> + The woman had reached the first angle of the square when the upper half of + the Court-house door broke into light over the heads of the crowd. A man + had come out. He surged through the crowd and “came down to the gate with + a tail of people trailing after him and asking questions. + </p> + <p> + “Wonderful!” he was saying. “The Dempster's spaking. Aw, a Daniel come to + judgment, sir. Pity for Tom, though—the man'll get time. I'm sorry + for an ould friend—but the Lord's will be done! Let not the ties of + affection be a snare to our feet—it'll be five years if it's a day, + and (D.V.) he'll never live to see the end of it.” + </p> + <p> + It was Cæsar. He crossed the street to the “Mitre.” The woman trembled and + turned towards the lane at the back. She walked quicker than ever now. + But, stumbling over the irregular cobbles of the paved way, she stopped + suddenly at the sound of a voice. By this time she was at the door to the + prisoners' yard, and it was standing open. The door of the corridor + leading by the Deemster's chamber to the Court-house was also ajar, as if + it had been opened to relieve the heat of the crowded room within. + </p> + <p> + “Be just and fear not,” said the voice. “Remember, whatever unconscious + misrepresentations have been made this day, whatever deliberate + false-swearing (and God and the consciences of the guilty ones know well + there have been both), truth is mighty, and in the end it will prevail.” + </p> + <p> + The poor bedraggled wayfarer stood in the darkness and trembled. Her hands + clutched at the breast of the cloak, her head dropped into her breast, and + a half-smothered moan escaped from her. She knew the voice; it had once + been very sweet and dear to her; she had heard it at her ear in tones of + love. It was the voice of the Deemster. He was speaking from the judge's + seat; the people were hanging on his lips. + </p> + <p> + And he was standing in the shadow of the dark lane under the prisoners' + wall. + </p> + <p> + The woman was Kate. It was true that she had been to London; it was false + that she had lived a life of shame there. In six months she had descended + to the depths of poverty and privations. One day she had encountered Ross. + He was fresh from the Isle of Man, and he told her of the child's illness. + The same night she turned her face towards home. It was three weeks since + she had returned to the island, and she was then low in health, in heart, + and in pocket. The snow was falling. It was a bitter night. Growing dizzy + with the drifting whiteness and numb with the piercing cold, she had crept + up to a lonely house and asked shelter until the storm should cease. + </p> + <p> + The house was the home of three old people, two old brothers and an old + sister, who had always lived together. In this household Kate had spent + three weeks of sickness, and the Manx cloak on her back was a parting gift + which the old woman had hung over her thinly-clad shoulders. + </p> + <p> + Back in the roads Kate had time to tell herself how foolish was her + journey. She was like a sailor who has alarming news of home in some + foreign port and hears nothing afterwards until he comes to harbour. À + month had passed. So many things might have happened. The child might be + better; it might be dead and buried. Nevertheless she pushed on. + </p> + <p> + When she left London she had been full of bitterness towards Philip. It + was his fault that she had ever been parted from her baby. She would go + back. If she brought shame upon him, let him bear it. On coming near to + home this feeling of vengeance died. Nothing was left but a great longing + to be with her little one and a sense of her own degradation. Every face + she recognised seemed to remind her of the change that had been wrought in + herself since she had looked on it last. She dare not ask; she dare not + speak; she dare not reveal herself. + </p> + <p> + While she stood in the shadow of the prisoners' yard listening to Philip's + voice, and held by it as by a spell, there was a low hiss and then a sort + of white silence, as when a rocket breaks in the air. The Deemster had + finished; the people in the court were breathing audibly and moving in + their seats. + </p> + <p> + A minute later she was standing by her old home, hers no longer, and + haunted in her mind by many bitter memories. It was dark and cheerless. A + candle had been burning in the parlour, but it was now spluttering in the + fat at the socket. As she looked into the room, it blinked and went out. + </p> + <p> + During the last mile of her journey she had made up her mind what she + would do. She would creep up to the house and listen for the sound of a + child's voice. If she heard it, and the voice was that of a child that was + well, she would be content, she would go away. And if she did not hear it, + if the child was gone, if there was no longer any child there, if it was + in heaven, she would go away just the same—only God knew how, God + knew where. + </p> + <p> + The road was quiet. With trembling fingers she raised the latch of the + gate, and stepped two paces into the garden. There was no sound from + within. She took two steps more and listened intently. Nothing was + audible. Her heart fell yet lower. She told herself that when a child + lived in a house the very air breathed of its presence, and its little + voice was everywhere. Then she remembered that it was late, that it was + night, that even if the child were well it would now be bathed and in bed. + “How foolish!” she thought, and she took a few steps more. + </p> + <p> + She had meant to reach the hall window and look in, butt before she could + do so, something came scudding along the path in her direction. It was the + dog, and he was barking furiously. All at once he stopped and began to + caper about her. Then he broke into barking again, this time with a note + of recognition and delight, shot into the house and came back, still + barking, and making a circle of joyful salutation in the darkness round + her. + </p> + <p> + Quaking with fear of instant discovery, she crept under the old tree and + waited. Nobody came from the house. “There's no one at home,” she told + herself, and at that thought the certainty that the child was gone fell on + her as an oppression of distress. + </p> + <p> + Nevertheless she stepped up to the porch and listened again. There was no + sound within except the ticking of the clock. Making a call on her + courage, she pushed the door open with the tips of her fingers. It made a + rustle as the bottom brushed over the rushes. At that she uttered a faint + cry and crept back trembling. But all was silence again in an instant. The + fire gave out a strong red glow which spread over the walls and the + ceiling. Her mind took in the impression that the place was almost empty, + but she had no time for such observations. With slow and stiff motions she + slid into the house. + </p> + <p> + Then she heard a sleepy whimper and it thrilled her. In an instant she had + seen the thing she looked for—the cradle, with its hood towards the + door and its foot to the fire. At the next moment she was on her knees + beside it, doubled over it and crying softly to the baby, looking so + different, smelling of milk and of sleep, “My darling! my darling!” + </p> + <p> + That was the moment when Pete was coming up the path. The dog was frisking + and barking about him. “She's dead,” he was saying. “The man lied. She's + dead.” With that word on his lips he heaved heavily into the house. As he + did so he became aware that some one was there already. Before his eye had + carried the news to his brain, his ear had told him. He heard a voice + which he knew well, though it seemed to be a memory of no waking moment, + but to come out of the darkness and the hours of sleep. It was a soft and + mellow voice, saying, “My beautiful darling! My beautiful, rosy darling I + My darling! My darling!” + </p> + <p> + He saw a woman kneeling by the cradle, with both arms buried in it as + though they encircled the sleeping child. Her hood was thrown back, and + her head was bare. The firelight fell on her face, and he knew it. He + passed his hand across his eyes as if trying to wipe out the apparition, + but it remained. He tried to speak, but his tongue was stiff. He stood + motionless and stared. He could not remove his eyes. + </p> + <p> + Kate heard the door thrown open, and she lifted her head in terror. Pete + was before her, with a violent expression on his face. The expression + changed, and he looked at her as if she had been a spirit. Then, in a + voice of awe, he said, “Who art thou?” + </p> + <p> + “Don't you know me?” she answered timidly. + </p> + <p> + It seemed as if he did not hear. “Then it's true,” he muttered to himself; + “the man did not lie.” + </p> + <p> + She felt her knees trembling under her. “I haven't come to stay,” she + faltered. “They told me the child was ill, and I couldn't help coming.” + </p> + <p> + Still he did not speak to her. As he looked, his face grew awful. The dew + of fear broke out on her forehead. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you know me, Pete?” she said in a helpless way. + </p> + <p> + Still he stood looking down at her, fixedly, almost threateningly. + </p> + <p> + “I am Katherine,” she said, with a downcast look. + </p> + <p> + “Katherine is dead,” he answered vacantly. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! oh!” + </p> + <p> + “She is in her grave,” he said again. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, that she were in her grave indeed!” said Kate, and she covered her + face with her hands. + </p> + <p> + “She is dead and buried, and gone from this house for ever,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + He did not intend to cast her off; he was only muttering vague words in + the first spasm of his pain; but she mistook them for commands to her to + go. + </p> + <p> + There was a moment's silence, and then she uncovered her face and said, “I + understand—yes, I will go away. I oughtn't to have come back at all—I + know that. But I will go now. I won't trouble you any more. I will never + come again.” + </p> + <p> + She kissed the child passionately. It rubbed its little face with the back + of its hand, but it did not awake. She pulled the hood on to her head, and + drew the veil over her face. Then she lifted herself feebly to her feet, + stood a moment looking about her, made a faint pathetic cry and slid out + at the door. + </p> + <p> + When she was gone, Pete, without uttering a word or a sound, stumbled into + a chair before the fire, put one hand on the cradle, and fell to rocking + it. After some time he looked over his shoulder, like a man who was coming + out of unconsciousness, and said, “Eh?” + </p> + <p> + The soul has room for only one great emotion at once, and he had begun to + say to himself, “She's alive! She's here!” The air of the house seemed to + be soft with her presence. Hush! + </p> + <p> + He got on to his feet. “Kate!” he called softly, very softly, as if she + were near and had only just crossed the threshold. + </p> + <p> + “Kate!” he called again more loudly. + </p> + <p> + Then he went out at the porch and floundered along the path, crying again + and again, in a voice of boundless emotion, “Kate! Kate! Kate!” + </p> + <p> + But Kate did not hear him. He was tugging at the gate to open it, when + something seemed to give way inside his head, and a hoarse groan came from + his throat. + </p> + <p> + “She's better dead,” he thought, and then reeled back to the house like a + drunken man. + </p> + <p> + The fire looked black, as if it had gone out. He sat down in the darkness, + and put his hand into his teeth to keep himself from crying out. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0118" id="link2H_4_0118"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + VIII.. + </h2> + <h3> + The Deemster in the half-lit Court-house was passing sentence. + </h3> + <p> + “Prisoner,” he said, “you have been found guilty by a jury of your + countrymen of one of the cruellest of the crimes of imposture. You have + deceived the ignorant, betrayed the unwary, lied to the simple, and robbed + the poor. You have built your life upon a lie, and in your old age it + brings you to confusion. In ruder times than ours your offence would have + worn another complexion; it would have been called witchcraft, not + imposture, and your doom would have been death. The sentence of the court + is that you be committed to the Castle Rushen for the term of one year.” + </p> + <p> + Black Tom, who had stood during the Deemster's sentence with his bald head + bent, wiping his eyes on his sleeve and leaving marks on his face, + recovered his self-conceit as he was being hustled out of court. + </p> + <p> + “You're right, Dempster,” he cried. “Witchcraft isn't worth nothing now. + Religion's the only roguery that's going these days. Your friend Cæsar was + wise, sir. Bes' re-spec's to him, Dempster, and may you live up to your + own tex' yourself, too.” + </p> + <p> + “If my industry and integrity,” said a solemn voice at the door—“and + what's it saying in Scripture?—'If any provide not for his own house + he is worse than an infidel.' But the Lord is my shield. What for should I + defend myself? I am a worm and no man, saith the Psalms.” + </p> + <p> + “The Psalms is about right then, Cæsar,” shouted Black Tom from between + two constables. + </p> + <p> + In the commotion that followed on the prisoner's noisy removal, the Clerk + of the Court was heard to speak to the Deemster. There was another case + just come in—attempted suicide—woman tried to fling herself + into the harbour—been prevented—would his Honour take it now, + or let it stand over for the High Bailiff's court. + </p> + <p> + “We'll take it now,” said the Deemster. “We may dismiss her in a moment, + poor creature.” + </p> + <p> + The woman was brought in. She was less like a human creature than like a + heap of half-drenched clothes. A cloak which looked black with the water + that soaked it at the hood covered her body and head. Her face seemed to + be black also, for a veil which she wore was wet, and clung to her + features like a glove. Some of the people in court recognised her figure + even in the uncertain candlelight. She was the woman who had been seen to + come into the town during the hour of the court's adjournment. + </p> + <p> + Half helped, half dragged by constables, she entered the prisoner's dock. + There she clutched the bar before her as if to keep herself from falling. + Her head was bent down between her shrinking shoulders as if she were + going through the agony of shame and degradation. + </p> + <p> + “The woman shouldn't have been brought here like this—quick, be + quick,” said the Deemster. + </p> + <p> + The evidence was brief. One of the constables being on duty in the + market-place had heard screams from the quay. On reaching the place, he + had found the harbour-master carrying a woman up the quay steps. Mr. + Quarry, coming out of the harbour office, had seen a woman go by like the + wind. A moment afterwards he had heard a cry, and had run to the second + steps. The woman had been caught by a boathook in attempting to get into + the water. She was struggling to drown herself. + </p> + <p> + The Deemster watched the prisoner intently. “Is anything known about her?” + he asked. + </p> + <p> + The clerk answered that she appeared to be a stranger, but she would give + no information. Then the sergeant of police stepped up to the dock. In + emphatic tones the big little person asked the woman various questions. + What was her name? No answer. Where did she come from? No answer. What was + she doing in Ramsey? Still no answer. + </p> + <p> + “Your Honour,” said the sergeant, “doubtless this is one of the human + wrecks that come drifting to our shores in the summer season. The poorest + of them are often unable to get away when the season is over, and so + wander over the island, a pest and a burden to every place they set foot + in.” + </p> + <p> + Then, turning back to the figure crouching in the dock, he said, “Woman, + are you a street-walker?” + </p> + <p> + The woman gave a piteous cry, let go her hold of the bar, sank back to the + seat behind her, brushed up the wet black veil, and covered her face with + her hands. + </p> + <p> + “Sit down this instant, Mr. Gawne,” said the Deemster hotly, and there was + a murmur of approval from behind. “We must not keep this woman a moment + longer.” + </p> + <p> + He rose, leaned across to the rail in front, clasped his hands before him, + looked down at the woman in the dock, and said in a low tone, that would + have been barely loud enough to reach her ears but for the silence, as of + a tomb, in the court, “My poor woman, is there anybody who can answer for + you?” + </p> + <p> + The prisoner stooped her head lower and began to cry. + </p> + <p> + “When a woman is so unhappy as to try to take her life, it sometimes + occurs, only too sadly, that another is partly to blame for the condition + that tempts her to the crime.” + </p> + <p> + The Deemster's voice was as soft as a caress. + </p> + <p> + “If there is such a one in this case, we ought to learn it. He ought to + stand by your side. It is only right; it is only just. Is there anybody + here who knows you?” + </p> + <p> + The prisoner was now crying piteously. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! we mean no harm to any one. It is in the nature of woman, however low + she may sink, however deep her misfortunes, to shield her dearest enemy. + That is the brave impulse of the weakest among women, and all good men + respect it. But the law has its duty, and in this instance it is one of + mercy.” + </p> + <p> + The woman moaned audibly. + </p> + <p> + “Don't be afraid, my poor girl. Nobody shall harm you here. Take courage + and look around. Is there anybody in court who can speak for you—who + can tell us how you came to the place where you are now standing?” + </p> + <p> + The woman let fall her hands, raised her head, and looked up at the + Deemster, face to face and eye to eye. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” she said, “there is <i>one</i>.” + </p> + <p> + The Deemster's countenance became pale, his eyes glistened, his look + wandered, his lips trembled—he was biting them, they were bleeding. + </p> + <p> + “Remove her in custody,” he muttered; “let her be well cared for.” + </p> + <p> + There was a tumult in a moment. Everybody had recognised the prisoner as + she was being taken out, though shame and privation had so altered her. + “Peter Quilliam's wife!”—“Cæsar Cregeen's daughter—where's the + man himself?”—“Then it's truth they're telling—it's not dead + she is at all, but worse.”—“Lor-a-massy!”—“What a trouble for + the Dempster!” + </p> + <p> + When Kate was gone, the court ought to have adjourned instantly, yet the + Deemster remained in his seat. There was a mist before his eyes which + dazzled him. He had a look at once wild and timid. His limbs pained + although they were swelling to enormous size. He felt as if a heavy, + invisible hand had been laid on the top of his head. + </p> + <p> + The clerk caught his eye, and then he rose with an apologetic air, took + hold of the rail, and made an effort to cross the dais. At the next moment + his servant, Jem-y-Lord, had leapt up to his side, but he made an + impatient gesture as if declining help. + </p> + <p> + There are three steps going down to the floor of the court, and a handrail + on one side of them. Coming to these steps, he stumbled, muttered some + confused words, and fell forward on to his face. The people were on their + feet by this time, and there was a rush to the place. + </p> + <p> + “Stand back! He has only fainted,” cried Jem-y-Lord. + </p> + <p> + “Worse than that,” said the sergeant. “Get him to bed, and send for Dr. + Mylechreest instantly.” + </p> + <p> + “Where can we take him?” said somebody. + </p> + <p> + “They keep a room for him at Elm Cottage,” said somebody else. + </p> + <p> + “No, not there,” said Jem-y-Lord. + </p> + <p> + “It's nearest, and there's no time to lose,” said the sergeant. + </p> + <p> + Then they lifted Philip, and carried him as he lay, in his wig and gown as + Deemster, to the house of Pete. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0119" id="link2H_4_0119"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + IX. + </h2> + <p> + There is a kind of mental shock which, like an earthquake under a prison, + bursts open every cell and lets the inmates escape. After a time, Pete + remembered that he was sitting in the dark, and he got up to light a + candle. Looking for candlestick and matches, he went from table to + dresser, from dresser to table, and from table back to dresser, doing the + same thing over and over again, and not perceiving that he was going round + and round. When at length the candle was lighted, he took it in his hand + and went into the parlour like a sleepwalker. He set it on the + mantelpiece, and sat down on the stool. In his blurred vision confused + forms floated about him. “Ah! my tools,” he thought, and picked up the + mallet and two of the chisels. He was sitting with these in his hands when + his eyes fell on the other candlestick, the one in which the candle had + gone out “I meant to light a candle,” he thought, and he got up and took + the empty candlestick into the hall. When he came back with another + lighted candle, he perceived that there were two. “I'm going stupid,” he + thought, and he blew out the first one. A moment afterwards he forgot that + he had done so, and seeing the second still burning, he blew that out + also. + </p> + <p> + So dull were his senses that he did not realise that anything was amiss. + His eyes were seeing objects everywhere about—they were growing to + awful size and threatening him. His ears were hearing noises—they + were making a fearful tumult inside his head. + </p> + <p> + The room was not entirely dark. A shaft of bleared moonlight came and went + at intervals. The moon was scudding through an angry sky, sometimes + appearing, sometimes disappearing. Pete returned to the stool, and then he + was in the light, but the nameless stone, leaning against the wall, was in + the shade. He took up the mallet and chisels again, intending to work. + “Hush!” he said as he began. The clamour in his brain was so loud that he + thought some one was making a noise in the house. This task was sacred. He + always worked at it in silence. + </p> + <p> + <i>Pat-put! pat-put!</i> How long he worked he never knew. There are + moments which are not to be measured as time. In the uncertain handling of + the chisel and the irregular beat of the mallet something gave way. There + was a harsh sound like a groan. A crack like a flash of forked lightning + had shot across the face of the stone. He had split it in half. Its great + pieces fell to the floor on either side of him. Then he remembered that + the stone had been useless. “It doesn't matter now,” he thought. Nothing + mattered. + </p> + <p> + With the mallet hanging from his hand he continued to sit in the drifting + moonlight, feeling as if everything in the world had been shivered to + atoms. His two idols had been scattered at one blow—his wife and his + friend. The golden threads that had bound him to life were broken. When + poverty had come, he had met it without repining; when death had seemed to + come, he had borne up against it bravely. But wifeless, friendless, + deceived where he had loved, betrayed where he had worshipped, he was + bankrupt, he was broken, and a boundless despair took hold of him. + </p> + <p> + When hope is entirely gone, anguish will sometimes turn a man into a + monster. There was a fretful cry from the cradle, and, still in the stupor + of his despair, he went out to rock it. The fire, which had only slid and + smouldered, was now struggling into flame, and the child looked up at him + with Philip's eyes. A knife seemed to enter his heart at that moment. He + was more desolate than he had thought. “Hush, my child, hush!” he said, + without thinking. <i>His</i> child? He had none. That solace was gone. + </p> + <p> + Anger came to save his reason. Not to have felt anger, he must have been + less than a man or more. He remembered what the child had been to him. He + remembered what it was when it came, and again when he thought its mother + was dead; he remembered what it was when death frowned on it, and what it + had been since death passed it by. Flesh of his flesh, blood of his blood, + bone of his bone, heart of his heart. Not his merely, but himself. + </p> + <p> + A lie, a mockery, a delusion, a deception! <i>She</i> has practised it. + Oh, she had hidden her secret. She had thought it was safe. But the child + itself had betrayed it. The secret had spoken from the child's own face. + </p> + <p> + “Yet I've seen her kneel by the cot and pray, 'God bless my baby, and its + father and its mother'——-” + </p> + <p> + Why had he not killed her? A wild vision rose before him of killing Kate, + and then going to the Deemster and saying, “Take me; I have murdered her + because you have dishonoured her. Condemn me to death; yet remember God + lives, and He will condemn you to damnation.” + </p> + <p> + But the pity of it—the pity of it! By a quick revolt of tenderness + he recalled Kate as he had just seen her, crouching at the back of the + cradle, like a hunted hare with uplifted paws uttering its last pitiful + cry. He remembered her altered face, so pale even in the firelight, so + thin, so worn, and his anger began to smoke against Philip. The flower + that he would have been proud to wear on his breast Philip had buried in + the dark. Curse him! Curse him! + </p> + <p> + She had given up all for that man—husband, child, father, mother, + her friends, her good name, the very light of heaven. How she must have + loved him! Yet he had been ashamed of her, had hidden her away, had been + in fear lest the very air should whisper of her whereabouts. Curse him! + Curse him! Curse him! + </p> + <p> + In the heat of his great anger Pete thought of himself also. Jealousy was + far beneath him, but, like all great souls, this simple man had known + something of the grandeur of friendship. Two streams running into them and + taking heaven into their bosom. But Philip had kept him apart, had banked + him off, and yet drained him to the dregs. He had uncovered his nakedness—the + nakedness of his soul itself. + </p> + <p> + Bit by bit Pete pieced together the history of the past months. He + remembered the night of Kate's disappearance, when he had gone to Ballure + and shouted up at the lighted window, “I've sent her to England,” thinking + to hide her fault. At that moment Philip had known all—where she was + (for it was where he had sent her), why she was gone, and that she was + gone for ever. Curse him! Curse him! + </p> + <p> + Pete recalled the letters—the first one that he had put into + Philip's hand, the second that he had read to him, the third that Philip + had written to his dictation. The little forgeries' to keep her poor name + sweet, the little inventions to make his story plausible, the little lies + of love, the little jests of a breaking heart! And then the messages! The + presents to the child! The reference to the Deemster himself! And the + Deemster had sat there and seen through it all as the sun sees through + glass, yet he had given no sign, he had never spoken; he had held a + quivering, naked heart in his hand, while his own lay within as cold as a + stone. Curse him, O God! Curse him! + </p> + <p> + Pete remembered the night when Philip came to tell him that Kate was dead, + and how he had comforted himself with the thought that he was not + altogether alone in his great trouble, because his friend was with him. He + remembered the journey to the grave, the grave itself—another's + grave-how he knelt at the foot of it, and prayed aloud in Philip's + hearing, “Forgive me, my poor girl!” + </p> + <p> + “How shall I kill him?” thought Pete. Deemster too! First Deemster now, + and held high in honour! Worshipped for his justice! Beloved for his + mercy! O God! O God! + </p> + <p> + There are passions so overmastering that they stifle speech, and man sinks + back to the animal. With an inarticulate shout Pete went to the parlour + and caught up the mallet. A frantic thought had flashed on him of killing + Philip as he sat on the bench which he had disgraced, administering the + law which he had outraged. The wild justice of this idea made the blood to + bubble in his ears. He saw himself holding the Deemster by the throat, and + crying aloud to the people, “You think this man is a just judge—he + is a whited sepulchre. You think he is as true as the sun—he is as + false as the sea. He has robbed me of wife and child; at the very gates of + heaven he has lied to me like hell. The hour of justice has struck, and + thus I pay him—and thus—and thus.” + </p> + <p> + But the power of words was lost in the drunkenness of his rage. With a + dismal roar he flung the mallet away, and it rolled on the ground in + narrowing circles. “My hands, my hands,” he thought. He would strangle + Philip, and then he would kill everybody in his way, merely for the lust + of killing. Why not? The fatal line was past. Nothing sacred remained. The + world was a howling wilderness of boundless license. With the savage growl + of a caged beast this wild man flung himself on the door, tore it open, + and bounded on to the path. + </p> + <p> + Then he stopped suddenly. There was a thunderous noise outside, such as + the waves make in a cave. A company of people were coming in at the gate. + Some were walking with the heavy step of men who carry a corpse. Others + were bearing lanterns, and a few held high over their heads the torches + which fishermen use when they are hauling the white nets at night. + </p> + <p> + “Who's there?” cried Pete, in a voice that was like a howl. + </p> + <p> + “Your friend,” said somebody. + </p> + <p> + “<i>My</i> friend? I have no friend,” cried Pete, in a broken roar. + </p> + <p> + “'Deed he's gone, seemingly,” said a voice out of the dark. + </p> + <p> + Pete did not hear. Seeing the crowd and the lights, but only as darkness + veined with fire, he thought Philip was coming again, as he had so often + seen him come in his glory, in his greatness, in his triumph. + </p> + <p> + “Where is he?” he roared. “He's here,” they answered. + </p> + <p> + And then Philip was brought up the path in the arms of four bearers, his + head hanging aside and shaking at every step, his face white as the wig + above it, and his gown trailing along the earth. + </p> + <p> + There was a sudden calm, and Pete dropped back in awe and horror. A bolt + out of heaven seemed to have fallen at his feet, and he trembled as if + lightning had blinded him. + </p> + <p> + Dead! + </p> + <p> + His anger had ebbed, his fury had dashed itself against a rock. His + towering rage had shrunk to nothing in the face of this awful presence. + The Dark Spirit had gone before him and snatched his victim out of his + hands. He had come out to kill this man, and here he met him being brought + home dead. + </p> + <p> + Dead? Then his sin was dead also. God forgive him! + </p> + <p> + God forgive him, where he was gone! Presumptuous man, stand back. + </p> + <p> + Oh, mighty and merciful Death! Death the liberator, the deliverer, the + pardoner, the peace-maker! Even the shadow of thy face can quench the + fires of revenge; even the gathering of thy wings can deaden the clamour + of madness, and turn hatred into love and curses into prayers. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0120" id="link2H_4_0120"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + X. + </h2> + <p> + In that stripped and naked house there was one room still untouched. It + was the room that had been kept for the Deemster. Philip lay on the bed, + motionless and apparently lifeless. Jem-y-Lord stood beating his hands at + the foot. Pete sat on a low stool at the side with his face doubled on to + his knees. Nancy, now back from Sulby, was blowing into the bars of the + grate to kindle a fire. A little group of men stood huddled like sheep + near the door. + </p> + <p> + Some one said the Deemster's heart was beating. They brought from another + room a little ivory hand-glass and held it over the mouth. When they + raised it the face of the mirror was faintly blurred. + </p> + <p> + That little cloud on the glass seemed more bright than the shining tread + of an angel on the sea. Jem-y-Lord took a sponge and began to moisten the + cold forehead. One by one the people behind produced their old wife's + wisdom. Somebody remembered that his grandmother always put salts to the + nostrils of a person seemingly dead; somebody else remembered that when, + on the very day of old Iron Christian's death, his father had been thrown + by a colt and lay twelve hours unconscious, the farrier had bled him and + he had opened his eyes instantly. + </p> + <p> + The doctor had been half an hour gone to Ballaugh, and a man had been put + on a horse and sent after him. But it was a twelve-miles' journey; the + night was dark; it would be a good hour before he could be back. + </p> + <p> + They touched Pete on the shoulder and suggested something. + </p> + <p> + “Eh?” he answered vacantly. + </p> + <p> + “Dazed,” they told themselves. The poor man could not give a wise-like + answer. He had had a shock, and there was worse before him. They talked in + low voices of Kate and of Ross Christian; they were sorry for Pete; they + were still more sorry for the Deemster. + </p> + <p> + The Deemster's wig had been taken off and tossed on to the dressing-table. + It lay mouth upwards like any old woman's night-cap. His hair had dragged + after it on the pillow. The black gown had not been removed, but it was + torn open at the neck so that the throat might be free. One of Philip's + arms had dropped over the side of the bed, and the long, thin hand was + cold and green and ethereal as marble. + </p> + <p> + Pete was crouching on his low stool beside this hand. He needed no + softening to touch it now. The chill fingers were in his palm, and his hot + tears were falling on them. Remembering the crime that he had so nearly + committed, he was holding himself in horror. His friend! His life-long + friend! His only friend! The Deemster no longer, but only the man. Not the + man either, but the child. The cruel years had rolled back with all their + burden of trouble. Forgotten days were come again—days long buried + under the <i>débris</i> of memory. They were boys together again. A + little, sunny fellow in velvet, and a bigger lad in a stocking-cap; the + little one talking, always talking; the big one listening, always + listening; the little one proposing, the big one agreeing; the little one + leading, the big one following; the little one looking up and yet a little + down, the big one looking down and yet a little up. Oh, the happy, happy + times, before anger and jealousy and rage and the mad impulse of murder + had darkened their sun shine! + </p> + <p> + The memories that brought the tenderest throb to Pete as he sat there + fingering the lifeless hand were of the great deeds that he had done for + Philip—how he had fought for him, and been licked for him, and taken + bloody noses for him, and got thrashed for it by Black Tom. But there were + others only less tender. Philip was leaving home for King William's, and + Pete was cudgelling his dull head what to give him for a parting gift. + Decision was the more difficult because he had nothing to give. At length + he had hit on making a whistle—the only thing his clumsy fingers had + ever been deft at. With his clasp-knife he had cut a wondrous big one from + the bough of a willow; he had pared it; he had turned it; it blew a blast + like a fog-horn. The morning was frosty, and his feet were bare, but he + didn't mind the cold; he didn't feel it—no, not a ha'p'orth. He was + behind the hedge by the gate at Ballure, waiting for the coach that was to + take up Philip, and passing the time by polishing the whistle on the leg + of his shining breeches, and testing its tone with just one more blow. + Then up came Crow, and out came Philip in his new peaked cap and leggings. + Whoop! Gee-up! Away! Off they went without ever seeing him, without once + looking back, and he was left in the prickly hedge with his blue feet on + the frost, a look of dejection about his mouth, and the top of the foolish + whistle peeping out of his jacket-pocket. + </p> + <p> + The thick sob that came of these memories was interrupted by a faint sound + from the bed. It was a murmur of delirium, as soft as the hum of bees, yet + Pete heard it. + </p> + <p> + “Cover me up, Pete, cover me up!” said Philip, dreaming aloud. + </p> + <p> + Philip was a living man! Thank God! Thank God! + </p> + <p> + A whisper goes farther than a shout. The people behind whispered the news + to the passage, the passage to the stairs, the stairs to the hall, and the + hall to the garden, where a crowd had gathered in the darkness to look up + at the house over which the angel of death was hovering. + </p> + <p> + In a moment the room was croaking like a frog-pond. “Praise the Lord!” + cried one. “His mercy endureth for ever,” cried another. “What's he + saying?” said a third. “Rambling in his head, poor thing,” said a fourth. + </p> + <p> + Pete turned them out—all except Jem-y-Lord, who was still moistening + the Deemster's face and opening his hands, which were now twitching and + tightening. + </p> + <p> + “Out of this! Out you go!” cried Pete hoarsely. + </p> + <p> + “No use taking the anger with him—the man's tried,” they muttered, + and away they went. + </p> + <p> + Jemmy was loth to see them go. He was afraid to be left alone with Pete—afraid + that the Deemster should be at the mercy of this wild creature with the + flaming eyes. + </p> + <p> + And now that Philip was a living man Pete began to feel afraid of himself. + At sight of life in Philip's face, his gnawing misery returned. He thought + his hatred had been overcome, but he was wrestling in the throes of + forgiveness again. Here was the man who had robbed him of wife and child + and home! In another moment he might have held him in the grip of his just + wrath. + </p> + <p> + It is an inscrutable and awful fact, that just at that moment when a man's + good angel has conquered, but is spent, his evil angel is sure to get the + advantage of chance. Philip's delirium set in strong, and the brute beast + in Pete, going through its final struggle, stood over the bed and watched + him. In his violence Philip tore at his breast, and dragged something from + beneath his shirt. A moment later it fell from his graspless fingers to + the floor. It was a lock of dark hair. Pete knew whose hair it was, and he + put his foot on it, and that instant the mad impulse came again to take + Philip by the throat and choke him. Again and again it came. He had to + tread it down even amid his sobs and his tears. + </p> + <p> + But love cannot be killed in an instant. It does not drop down dead. There + was a sort of tenderness in the thought that this was the man for whom + Kate had given up all the world. Pete began to feel gently towards Philip + because Kate loved him; he began to see something of Kate in Philip's + face. This strange softening increased as he caught the words of Philip's + delirium. He thought he ought to leave the room, but he could not tear + himself away. Crouching down on the stool, he clasped his hands behind his + head, and tightened his arms over his ears. It was useless. He could not + help but listen. Only disjointed sentences, odd pages torn from the book + of life, some of them blurred with tears; but they were like a cool hand + on a fevered brow to him that heard him. + </p> + <p> + “I was a child, Philip——didn't know what love was then——coming + home by Ramsey steamer——tell the simple truth, Philip——say + we tried to be faithful and loyal and could not, because we loved each + other, and there was no help for——tell Kirry——yes, + Auntie, I have read father's letters——that picture is cracked——” + </p> + <p> + This in the voice of one who speaks in his sleep, and then in a hushed, + hot whisper, “Haven't I a right to you?——yes, I have a right——take + your topcoat, then, the storm is coming——I'll never let you go——don't + you remember?——can you ever forget——my husband!——my + husband!” + </p> + <p> + Pete lifted his head as he listened. He had been thinking that Philip had + robbed him of Kate. Was it he who had robbed Kate of Philip? + </p> + <p> + “I can't live any longer in this house, Philip——the walls are + crushing me; the ceiling is falling on me; the air is stifling me——three + o'clock, Pete——yes, three to-morrow, in the Council Chamber at + Douglas——I'm not a bad woman, Philip Christian——there + is something you have never guessed and I have never told you——is + it the child, Kate?——did you say the child?——you + are sure——you are not deceiving yourself?” + </p> + <p> + All this in a tone of deep entreaty, and then, with quick-coming breath, + “Jemmy, get the carriage at Shimmin's and drive it yourself——if + there is any attempt at Ramsey to take the horse out——drive to + the lane between the chapel and the cottage——the moment the + lady joins you——you are right, Kate——you cannot + live here any longer——this life of deception must end——that's + the churring of the night-jar going up to Ballure Glen.” + </p> + <p> + Jem-y-Lord, who was beating out the pillow, dropped it, in his fumbling, + half over the Deemster's face, and looked at Pete in terror. Would this + cruel delirium never break? Where was the doctor? Would he not come at + all? + </p> + <p> + Pete had risen to his feet, and was gazing down with a look of stupor. He + had been thinking that Philip had robbed him of the child. Was it he who + had robbed Philip? + </p> + <p> + “Yes, Pete is telling the same story. He is writing letters to himself——such + simple things!——poor old Pete——he means no harm——he + never dreams that every word is burning——Jemmy, leave out more + brandy to-night, the decanter is empty——” + </p> + <p> + Pete leaned over the pillow. All at once he started back. Philip's eyes + were open and shining up at him. It was hard to believe that Philip was + not speaking to him eye to eye. But there was a veil between them, the + veil of the hand of God. + </p> + <p> + “I know, Philip, <i>I</i> know,” said the unconscious man in a quick + whisper; he was breathing fast and loud. “Tell him I'm dead——yes, + yes, that's it, that's it——cruel?——no, but kind——'Poor + girl,' he'll say, 'I loved her once, but she's gone'——I'll do + it, I'll do it.” Then, in tones of fear, “It's madness——to + paint faces on the darkness, to hear voices in the air is madness.” And + then, solemnly, with a chill, thick utterance, “There——there——that + one by the wall——” + </p> + <p> + Big drops of sweat broke out on Pete's forehead. Had he been thinking that + Philip had tortured him? It was he who had been torturing Philip. The + letters, the messages, the presents, these had been the whips and + scorpions in his hand. Every innocent word, every look, every sign, had + been as thongs in the instrument of torture. Pete began to feel a great + pity for Philip. “He had suffered plenty,” thought Pete. “He has carried + this cross about far enough.” + </p> + <p> + “Good-night, boatman!——I went too far——yes, I am + back again, thank God——” + </p> + <p> + These words brightly, cheerily, hopefully; then, in the deepest tones, + “Good-bye, Philip——it's all my fault——I've broken + the heart of one man, and I'm destroying the soul of another——I'm + leaving this lock of hair—it is all I have to leave——good-bye!——I + ought to have gone long ago——you will not hate me now——” + </p> + <p> + The last words frayed off, broke in the throat, and stopped. Then quickly, + with panting breath, came, “Kate! Kate! Kate!” again and again repeated, + beginning in a loud beseeching cry and dying down to a long wail, as if + shouted over a gloomy waste wherein the voice was lost. + </p> + <p> + Jem-y-Lord had been beating round towards the door, wringing his white + hands like a woman, and praying to God that the Deemster might never come + out of his unconsciousness. “He has told him everything,” thought Jem. + “The man will take his life.” + </p> + <p> + “I came between them,” thought Pete. “She was not for me. She was not + mine. She was Philip's. It was God's doings.” + </p> + <p> + The bitterness of Pete's heart had passed away. “But I wish——what's + the good of wishing, though? God help us all,” he muttered, in a breaking + voice, and then he crouched down on the stool as before and covered his + face with his hands.. + </p> + <p> + Philip had lifted his head and risen on one elbow. He was looking out on + the empty air with his glassy eyes, as if a picture stood up before them. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, no, yes——don't tell me——that Kate?——it's + a mistake——that's not Kate——that white face!——those + hollow eyes!——that miserable woman!——besides, Kate + is dead——she must be dead——what's to do with the + lamps?——they are going out——in the dock, too, and + before me——she there and I here!——she the + prisoner, I the judge!” + </p> + <p> + All this with violent emotion, and with one arm outstretched over Pete's + crouching head. + </p> + <p> + “If I could hear her voice, though——perhaps her voice now——I'm + going to fall——it's Kate, it's Kate! Oh! oh!” + </p> + <p> + Philip had paused for several seconds, as if trying to listen, and then, + with a loud cry of agony, he had closed his eyes and rolled back on to the + pillow. + </p> + <p> + “God has meant me to hear all this,” thought Pete. God had intended that + for this, the peace of his soul, he should follow the phases of this drama + of a naked heart. He was sobbing, but his sobs were like growls. + </p> + <p> + “What's he doing now?” thought Jem-y-Lord, craning his neck at the door. + “Shall I call for somebody?” + </p> + <p> + Pete had picked up from the floor the lock of hair that had been lying + under his foot, and he was putting it back into Philip's breast. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing but me between them,” he thought, “nothing but me.” + </p> + <p> + “Sit down, sir,” cried the unconscious man. It was only the last outbreak + of Philip's delirium, but Pete trembled and shrank back. + </p> + <p> + Then Philip groaned and his blue lips quivered. He opened his eyes. They + wandered about the room for a moment, and afterwards fixed themselves on + Pete in a long and haggard gaze. Pete's own eyes were too full of tears to + be full of sight, but he could see that the change had come. He panted + with expectation, and looked down at Philip with doglike delight. + </p> + <p> + There was a moment's silence, and then, in a voice as faint as a breath, + Philip murmured. “What's——where's——is it Pete?” + </p> + <p> + At that Pete uttered a shout of joy. “He's himself! He's himself! Thank + God!” + </p> + <p> + “Eh?” said Philip helplessly. + </p> + <p> + “Don't you be bothering yourself now,” cried Pete. “Lie quiet, boy; you're + in your own room, and as nice as nice.” + </p> + <p> + “But,” said Philip, “will you not kindly——” + </p> + <p> + “Not another word, Phil. It's nothing. You're all serene, and about as + right as ninepence.” + </p> + <p> + “Your Honour has been delirious,” said Jem-y-Lord. + </p> + <p> + “Chut!” said Pete behind his hand, and then, with another joyful shout, + “Is it a beefsteak you'll be having, Phil, or a dish of tay and a + herring?” + </p> + <p> + Philip looked perplexed. “But could you not help me——” he + faltered. + </p> + <p> + “You fainted in the Court-house, sir,” said Jem-y-Lord. + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” It had all come back. + </p> + <p> + “Hould your whisht, you gawbie,” whispered Pete, and he made a furtive + kick at Jemmy's shins. + </p> + <p> + Pete was laughing and crying in one breath. In the joyful reflux from evil + passions the great fellow was like a boy. He poked the fire into a blaze, + snuffed the candle with his fingers, sang out “My gough!” when he burnt + them, and then hopped about the floor and cut as many capers as a swallow + after a shower of rain. + </p> + <p> + Philip looked at him and relapsed into silence. It seemed as if he had + been on a journey and something had happened in his absence. The secret + which he had struggled so long to confess had somehow been revealed. + </p> + <p> + Jem-y-Lord was beating out his pillows. “Does he know?” said Philip.— + “Yes,” whispered Jemmy. + </p> + <p> + “Everything!” + </p> + <p> + “Everything. You have been delirious.” + </p> + <p> + “Delirious!” said Philip, with alarm. + </p> + <p> + Then he struggled to rise. “Help me up. Let me go away. Why did you bring + me here?” + </p> + <p> + “I couldn't help it, sir. I tried to prevent——” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot face him,” said Philip. “I am afraid. Help me, help me.” + </p> + <p> + “You are too weak, sir. Lie still. No one shall harm you. The doctor is + coming.” + </p> + <p> + Philip sank back with a look of fear. “Water,” he cried feebly. + </p> + <p> + “Here it is,” said Jem-y-Lord, lifting from the dressing-table the jug out + of which he had moistened the sponge. + </p> + <p> + “Tut!” cried Pete, and he tipped the jug so that half the water spilled. + “Brandy for a man when he's in bed, you goosey gander. Hould, hard, boy; + I've a taste of the rael stuff in the cupboard. Half a minute, mate. A + drop will be doing no harm at all,” and away he went down the stairs like + a flood, almost sweeping over Nancy, who had come creeping up in her + stockings at the sound of voices. + </p> + <p> + The child had awakened in its cradle, and, with one dumpy leg over its + little quilt, it was holding quiet converse with its toes. + </p> + <p> + “Hollo, young cockalorum, is it there you are!” shouted Pete. + </p> + <p> + At the next moment, with a noggin bottle of brandy in his fist, he was + leaping upstairs, three steps at a time. + </p> + <p> + Meanwhile Jem-y-Lord had edged up to the Deemster and whispered, with + looks of fear and mystery, “Don't take it, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “What?” said Philip vacantly.—“The brandy,” said Jem. + </p> + <p> + “Eh?” + </p> + <p> + “It will be——” began Jem, but Pete's step was thundering up + the stairs, and with a big opening of the mouth, rather than an audible + utterance of the tongue, he added, “poisoned.” + </p> + <p> + Philip could not comprehend, and Pete came shouting— + </p> + <p> + “Where's your water, now, ould Snuff-the-Wind?” + </p> + <p> + While Pete was pouring the brandy into a glass and adding the water, Jemmy + caught up a scrap of newspaper that was lying about, rummaged for a + pencil, wrote some words on the margin, tore the piece off, and smuggled + it into the Deemster's hand. + </p> + <p> + “Afraid of Pete!” thought Philip. “It is monstrous! monstrous!” + </p> + <p> + At that moment there was the sound of a horse's hoofs on the road. + </p> + <p> + “The doctor,” cried Jem-y-Lord. “The doctor at last. Wait, sir, wait,” and + he ran downstairs. + </p> + <p> + “Here you are,” cried Pete, coming to the bedside, glass in hand. “Drink + it up, boy. It'll stiffen you. My faith, but it's a oner. Aw, God is good, + though. He's all that. He's good tremenjous.” + </p> + <p> + Pete was laughing; he was crying; he was tasting a new sweetness—the + sweetness of being a good man again. + </p> + <p> + Philip was holding Jem-y-Lord's paper before his eyes, and trying to read + it. + </p> + <p> + “What's this that Jemmy has given me?” he said. “Read it, Pete. My eyes + are dazed.” + </p> + <p> + Pete took the paper in his left hand, still holding the glass in his + right. To get the light on to the writing he went down on his knees by the + bed-head and leaned over towards the fire. Then, like a school-boy + repeating his task, he read in a singsong voice the words that Jem-y-Lord + had written:—“Don't drink the brandy. Pete is trying to kill you.” + </p> + <p> + Pete made a grating laugh. “That's a pretty thing now,” he began, but he + could not finish. His laughter ceased, his eyes opened wide, his tongue + seemed to hang out of his mouth, and he turned his head and looked back + with an agony of doubt into Philip's face. + </p> + <p> + Philip struggled up. “Give me the brandy, Pete.” He took the glass out of + Pete's hand, and without a second thought, with only a smile of faith and + confidence, he raised it to his lips and drank. When the doctor entered + the room a moment afterwards, Pete was sobbing into the bed-clothes, and + Philip's hand was resting on his head. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0121" id="link2H_4_0121"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XI. + </h2> + <p> + Early the next morning Pete visited Kate in prison. He had something to + say to her, something to ask; but he intended to keep back his own + feelings, to bear himself bravely, to sustain the poor girl's courage. The + light was cold and ashen within the prison walls, and as he followed the + sergeant into the cell, he could not help but think of Kate as he had + first known her, so bright, so merry, so full of life and gaiety. He found + her now doubled up on a settle by a newly-kindled fire in the sergeant's + own apartment. She lifted her head, with a terrified look, as he entered, + and she saw his hollow cheeks and deep eyes and ragged beard. + </p> + <p> + “I'm not coming to trouble you,” he said. “I've forgiven <i>him</i>, and + I'm forgiving you, too.” + </p> + <p> + “You are very good,” she answered nervously. + </p> + <p> + “Good?” He gave a crack of bitter laughter. “I meant to kill him—that's + how good I am. And it's the same as if all the devils out of hell had been + at me the night through to do it still. Maybe I hadn't much to forgive. + I'm like a bat in the light—I'm not knowing where I am ezactly. + Daresay the people will laugh at me when they're getting to know. Wouldn't + trust, but they'll think me a poor-spirited cur, anyway. Let them—there's + never much pity for the dog that's licked.” + </p> + <p> + His voice shook, although so hard and so husky. “That's not what I came to + say, though. You'll be laving this place soon, and I'm wanting to ask—I'm + wanting to know——” + </p> + <p> + She had covered her face, and now she said through her hands, “Do as you + like with me, Pete. You are my husband, and I must obey.” + </p> + <p> + He looked down at her for a moment. “But you cannot love me?” + </p> + <p> + “I have deceived you, and whatever you tell me to do I will do it.” + </p> + <p> + “But you cannot love me?” + </p> + <p> + “I'll be a good wife for the future* Pete—I will, indeed, indeed I + will.” + </p> + <p> + “But you cannot love me?” + </p> + <p> + She began to cry. “That's enough,” he said. “I'll not force you.” + </p> + <p> + “You are very good,” she said again. + </p> + <p> + He laughed more bitterly than before. “Dou yo think I'm wanting your body + while another man has your heart? That's a game I've played about long + enough, I'm thinking. Good? Not me, missis.” + </p> + <p> + His eyes, which had been fixed on the fire, wandered to his wife, and then + his lips quivered and his manner changed. + </p> + <p> + “I'm hard—I'll cut it short. Fact is, I've detarmined to do + something, but I've a question to ask first. You've suffered since you + left me, Kate. He has dragged you down a dale—but tell me, do you + love him still?” + </p> + <p> + She shuddered and crept closer to the wall. + </p> + <p> + “Don't be freckened. It's a woman's way to love the man that's done wrong + by her. Being good to her is nothing—sarvice is nothing—kindness + is nothing. Maybe there's some ones that cry shame on her for that—but + not me. Giving herself, body and soul, and thinking nothing what she gets + for it—that's the glory of a woman when she cares for anybody. Spake + up, Kate—do you love him in spite of all?” + </p> + <p> + The answer came in a whisper that was like a breath—“Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “That'll do,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + He pressed his hand against the place of his old wound. “I might have + known you could never care for me—I might have known that,” he said + with difficulty. “But don't think I can't stand my rackups, as the saying + is. I know my course now—I know my job.” + </p> + <p> + She was sobbing into her hands, and he was breathing fast and loud. + </p> + <p> + “One word more—only one—about the child.” + </p> + <p> + “Little Katherine!” + </p> + <p> + “Have I a right to her?” + </p> + <p> + She gasped audibly, but did not answer, and he tried a second time. + </p> + <p> + “Does she belong to me, Kate?” + </p> + <p> + Her confusion increased. He tried a third time, speaking more gently than + before. + </p> + <p> + “If I should lave the island, Kate, could I—must I—may I take + the child along with me?” + </p> + <p> + At that her fear got the better of her shame, and she cried, “Don't take + her away. Oh, don't, don't!” + </p> + <p> + “Ah!” + </p> + <p> + He pressed his hand hard at his side again. + </p> + <p> + “But maybe that's only mother's love, and what mother——” + </p> + <p> + He broke off and then began once more, in a voice so low that it was + scarcely to be heard. “Tell me, when the time comes—and it will + come, Kate, have no fear about that——” + </p> + <p> + He was breaking down, he was struggling hard. “When the time comes for + himself and you to be together, will you be afraid to have the little one + with you—will it seem wrong, Kate—you two and little Katherine—one + household—one family—no?—n—o?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “That's enough.” + </p> + <p> + The words seemed to come out of the depths of his throat. “I've nothing + more to think about. <i>He</i> must think of all the rest.” + </p> + <p> + “And you, Pete?” + </p> + <p> + “What matter about me? D'ye think there's anything worse coming? D'ye + think I'm caring what I ate, and what I drink, and what becomes of me?” + </p> + <p> + He was laughing again, and her sobs broke out afresh. + </p> + <p> + “God is good,” he said more quietly. “He'll take care of the likes of me.” + </p> + <p> + His motionless eyes were on the crackling fire, and he stood in the light + that flashed from it with a face like stone. “I've no child now,” he + muttered, as though speaking to himself. + </p> + <p> + She slid to her knees at his feet, took the hand that hung by his side and + began to cover it with kisses. “Forgive me,” she said; “I have been very + weak and very guilty.” + </p> + <p> + “What's the use of talking like that?” he answered. “What's past is past,” + and he drew his hand away. “No child now, no child now,” he muttered + again, as though his dispair cried out to God. + </p> + <p> + He was feeling like a man wrecked in mid-ocean. A spar came floating + towards him. It was all he could lay hold of from the foundering ship, in + which he had sailed, and sung, and laughed, and slept. He had thought to + save his life by it, but another man was clinging to it, and he had to + drop it and go down. + </p> + <p> + She could not look into his face again; she could not touch his hand; she + could not ask for his forgiveness. He stood over her for a moment without + speaking, and then, with his hollow cheeks, and deep eyes, and ragged + heard, he went away in the morning sunlight. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0122" id="link2H_4_0122"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XII. + </h2> + <p> + Phillip fell into a deep sleep. When he awoke, he saw, as in a mirror, a + solution to the tumultuous drama of his life. It was a glorious solution, + a liberating and redeeming end, an end bringing freedom from the bonds + which had beset him. What matter if it was hard; if it was difficult; if + it was bitter as Marah and steep as Calvary? He was ready, he was eager. + Oh, blessed sleep! Oh, wise and soothing sleep I It had rent the dark + cloud of his past and given the flash of light that illumined the path + before him. + </p> + <p> + He opened his eyes and saw Auntie Nan seated by his side, reading a volume + of sermons. At the change in his breathing the old dove looked round, + dropped the book, and began to flutter about. “Hush, dearest, hush!” she + whispered. + </p> + <p> + There was a heavy, monotonous sound, like the beating of a distant drum or + the throb of an engine under the earth. + </p> + <p> + “Auntie!”—“Yes, dearest.” + </p> + <p> + “What day is it?” + </p> + <p> + “Sunday. Oh, you've had a long, long sleep, Philip. You slept all day + yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “Is that the church-bell ringing?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, dear, and a fine morning, too—so soft and springlike. I'll + open the window.” + </p> + <p> + “Then my hearing must be injured.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! they muffled the bell—that's it. 'The church is so near,' they + said, 'it might trouble him.'” + </p> + <p> + A carriage was coming down the road. It rattled on the paved way; then the + rattling ceased, and there was a dull rumble as of a cart sliding on to a + wooden bridge. “That horse has fallen,” said Philip, trying to rise. + </p> + <p> + “It's only the straw on the street,” said Auntie Nan. “The people brought + it from all parts. 'We must deaden the traffic by the house,' they said. + Oh, you couldn't think how good they've been. Yesterday was market-day, + but there was no business done. Couldn't have been; they were coming and + going the whole day long. 'And how's the Deemster now?' 'And how's he + now?' It was fit to make you cry. I believe in my heart, Philip, nobody in + Ramsey went to bed the first night at all. Everybody waiting and waiting + to see if there wasn't something to fetch, and the kettle kept boiling in + every kitchen round about. But hush, dearest, hush! Not so much talking + all at once. Hush, now!” + </p> + <p> + “Where is Pete?” asked Philip, his face to the wall. + </p> + <p> + “Oiling the hinges of the door, dearest. He was laying carpets on the + stairs all day yesterday. But never the sound of a hammer. The man's + wonderful. He must have hands like iron. His heart's soft enough, though. + But then everybody is so kind—everybody, everybody! The doctor, and + the vicar, and the newspapers—oh, it's beautiful! It's just as Pete + was saying.” + </p> + <p> + “What was Pete saying, Auntie?” + </p> + <p> + “He was saying the angels must think there's somebody sick in every house + in the island.” + </p> + <p> + A sound of singing came through the open window, above the whisper of + young leaves and the twitter of birds. It was the psalm that was being + sung in church— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Blessed is the man that considereth the poor and needy; + The Lord shall deliver him in time of trouble.” + </pre> + <p> + “Listen, Philip. That must be a special psalm. I'm sure they're singing it + for you. How sweet of them! But we are talking too much, dear. The doctor + will scold. I must leave you now, Philip. Only for a little, though, while + I go back to Bal lure, and I'll send up Cottier.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, send up Cottier,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “My darling,” said the old soul, looking down as she tied her bonnet + strings. “You'll lie quiet now? You're sure you'll lie quiet? Well, good + bye! good-bye!” + </p> + <p> + As Philip lay alone the soar and swell of the psalm filled the room. Oh, + the irony of it all! The frantic, hideous, awful irony! He was lying + there, he, the guilty one, with the whole island watching at his bedside, + pitying him, sorrowing for him, holding its breath until he should + breathe, and she, his partner, his victim, his innocent victim, was in + jail, in disgrace, in a degradation more deep than death. Still the psalm + soared and swelled. He tried to bury his head in the pillows that he might + not hear. + </p> + <p> + Jem-y-Lord came in hurriedly and Philip beckoned him close. “Where is + she?” he whispered. + </p> + <p> + “They removed her to Castle Rushen late last night, your Honour,” said + Jemmy softly. + </p> + <p> + “Write immediately to the Clerk of the Bolls,” said Philip. “Say she must + be lodged on the debtors' side and have patients' diet and every comfort. + My Kate! my Kate!” he kept saying, “it shall not be for long, not for + long, my love, not for long!” + </p> + <p> + The convalescence was slow and Philip was impatient. “I feel better + to-day, doctor,” he would say, “don't you think I may get out of bed?” + </p> + <p> + “<i>Traa dy liooar</i> (time enough), Deemster,” the doctor would answer. + “Let us see what a few more days will do.” + </p> + <p> + “I have a great task before me, doctor,” he would say again. “I must begin + immediately.” + </p> + <p> + “You have a life's work before you, Deemster, and you must begin soon, but + not just yet.” + </p> + <p> + “I have something particular to do, doctor,” he said at last. “I must lose + no time.” + </p> + <p> + “You must lose no time indeed, that's why you must stay where you are a + little longer.” + </p> + <p> + One morning his impatience overcame him, and he got out of bed. But, being + on his feet, his head reeled, his limbs trembled, he clutched at the + bed-post, and had to clamber back. “Oh God, bear me witness, this delay is + not my fault,” he murmured. + </p> + <p> + Throughout the day he longed for the night, that he might close his eyes + in the darkness and think of Kate. He tried to think of her as she used to + be—bright, happy, winsome, full of joy, of love, of passion, + dangling her feet from the apple-tree, or tripping along the tree-trunk in + the glen, teasing him? tempting him. It was impossible. He could only + think of her in, the gloom of the prison. That filled his mind with + terrors. Sometimes in the dark hours his enfeebled body beset his brain + with fantastic hallucinations. Calling for paper and pens, he would make + show of writing a letter, producing no words or intelligible signs, but + only a mass of scrawls and blotches. This he would fold and refold with + great elaboration, and give to Jem y-Lord with an air of gravity and + mystery, saying in a whisper, “For her!” Thus night brought no solace, and + the dawn found him waiting for the day, that he might open his eyes in the + sunlight and think, “She is better where she is; God will comfort her.” + </p> + <p> + A fortnight went by and he saw nothing of Pete. At length he made a call + on his courage and said, “Auntie, why does Pete never come?” + </p> + <p> + “He does, dearest. Only when you're asleep, though. He stands there in the + doorway in his stockings. I nod to him and he comes in and looks down at + you. Then he goes away without a word.” + </p> + <p> + “What is he doing now?” + </p> + <p> + “Going to Douglas a good deal seemingly. Indeed, they're saying—but + then people are so fond of talking.” + </p> + <p> + “What are people saying, Auntie?” + </p> + <p> + “It's about a divorce, dearest!” + </p> + <p> + Philip groaned and turned away his face. + </p> + <p> + He opened his eyes one day from a doze, and saw the plain face of Nancy + Joe, framed in a red print handkerchief. The simple creature was talking + with Auntie Nan, holding council, and making common cause with the dainty + old lady as unmarried women and old maids both of them. + </p> + <p> + “'Why don't you keep your word true?' says I. 'Wasn't you saying you'd + take her back,' says I, 'whatever she'd done and whatever she was, so help + you God?' says I. 'Isn't she shamed enough already, poor thing, without + you going shaming her more? Have you no bowels at all? Are you only + another of the gutted herrings on a stick?' says I. 'Why don't you keep + your word true?' 'Because,' says he, 'I want to be even with the other + one,' says he, and then away he went wandering down by the tide.” + </p> + <p> + “It's unchristian, Nancy,” said Auntie Nan, “but it's human; for although + he forgives the woman, he can hardly be expected to forgive the man, and + he can't punish one without punishing both.” + </p> + <p> + “Much good it'll do to punish either, say I. What for should he put up his + fins now the hook's in his gizzard? But that's the way with the men still. + Talking and talking of love and love; but when trouble is coming, no + better than a churn of sour cream on a thundery day. We're best off that + never had no truck with them—I don't know what you think, Miss + Christian, ma'am. They may talk about having no chances—I don't mind + if they do—do you? I had chance enough once, though—I don't + know what you've had, ma'am. I had one sweetheart, anyway—a sort of + a sweetheart, as you might say; but he was sweeter on the money than on + me. Always asking how much I had got saved in the stocking. And when he + heard I had three new dresses done, 'Nancy,' says he, 'we had better be + putting a sight up on the parzon now, before they're all wore out at + you.'” + </p> + <p> + The Governor, who was still in London, wrote a letter full of tender + solicitude and graceful compliment. The Clerk of the Rolls had arranged + from the first that two telegrams should be sent to him daily, giving + accounts of Philip's condition. At last the Clerk came in person, and + threw Auntie Nan into tremors of nervousness by his noise and + robustious-ness. He roared as he came along the path, roared himself + through the hall, up the stairs, and into the bedroom, roared again as he + set eyes on Philip, protesting that the sick man was worth five hundred + dead men yet, and vowing with an oath (and a tear trickling down his nose) + that he would like to give “time” to the fools who frightened good people + with bad reports. Then he cleared the room for a private consultation. + “Out you go, Cottier. Look slippy, man!” + </p> + <p> + Auntie Nan fled in terror. When she had summoned resolution to invade + afresh the place of the bear that had possession of her lamb, the Clerk of + the Rolls was rising from the foot of the bed and saying— + </p> + <p> + “We'll leave it at that then, Christian. These d——— + things <i>will</i> happen; but don't you bother your head about it. I'll + make it all serene. Besides, it's nothing—nothing in a lifetime. + I'll have to send you the summons, though. You needn't trouble about that; + just toss it into the fire.” + </p> + <p> + Philip's head was down, his eyes were on the counterpane, and a faint + tinge of colour overspread his wasted face. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! you're back, Miss Christian? I must be going, though. Good-bye, old + fellow! Take care of yourself—good men are scarce. Good-bye, Miss + Christian! Good-bye, all! Good-bye, Phil! God bless you!” + </p> + <p> + With that he went roaring down the stairs, but came thunging up again in a + moment, put his head round the doorpost, and said— + </p> + <p> + “Lord bless my soul, if I wasn't forgetting an important bit of news—very + important news, too! It hasn't got into the papers yet, but I've had the + official wrinkle. What d'ye think?—the Governor has resigned! True + as gospel. Sent in his resignation to the Home Office the night before + last. I saw it coming. He hasn't been at home since Tynwald. Look sharp + and get better now. Good-bye!” + </p> + <p> + Philip got up for the first time the day following. The weather was soft + and full of whispers of spring; the window was open and Philip sat with + his face in the direction of the sea. Auntie Nan was knitting by his side + and running on with homely gossip. The familiar and genial talk was + floating over the surface of his mind as a sea-bird floats over the + surface of the sea, sometimes reflected in it, sometimes skimming it, + sometimes dipping into it and being lost. + </p> + <p> + “Poor Pete! The good woman here thinks he's hard. Perhaps he is; but I'm + sure he is much to be pitied. Ross has behaved badly and deserves all that + can come to him. 'He's the same to me as you are, dear—in blood, I + mean—but somehow I can't be sorry.... Ah! you're too tender-hearted, + Philip, indeed you are. You'd find excuses for anybody. The doctor says + overwork, dearest; but <i>I</i> say the shock of seeing that poor creature + in that awful position. And what a shock you gave me, too! To tell you the + truth, Philip, I thought it was a fate. Never heard of it? No? Never heard + that grandfather fainted on the bench? He did, though, and he didn't + recover either. How well I remember it! Word broke over the town like a + clap of thunder, 'The Deemster has fallen in the Court-house.' Father + heard it up at Ballure and ran down bareheaded. Grandfather's carriage was + at the Courthouse door, and they brought him up to Ballawhaine. I remember + I was coming downstairs when I saw the carriage draw up at the gate. The + next minute your father, with his wild eyes and his bare head, was lifting + something out of the inside. Poor Tom! He had never set foot in the house + since grandfather had driven him out of it. And little did grandfather + think in whose arms he was to travel the last stage of his life's + journey.” + </p> + <p> + Philip had fallen asleep. Jem-y-Lord entered with a letter. It was in a + large envelope and had come by the insular post. + </p> + <p> + “Shall I open it?” thought Auntie Nan. She had been opening and replying + to Philip's letters during the time of his illness, but this one bore an + official seal, and so she hesitated. “Shall I?” she thought, with the + knitting needle to her lip. “I will. I may save him some worry.” + </p> + <p> + She fixed her glasses and drew out the letter. It was a summons from the + Chancery Division of the High Court of Justice—a petition for + divorce. The petitioner's name was Peter Quilliam; the respondent——, + the co respondent——. + </p> + <p> + As Philip awoke from his doze, with the salt breath of the sea in his + nostrils and the songs of spring in his ears, Auntie Nan was fumbling with + the paper to get it back into the envelope. Her hands trembled, and when + she spoke her voice quivered. Philip saw in a moment what had happened. + She had stumbled into the pit where the secret of his life lay buried. + </p> + <p> + The doctor came in at that instant. He looked attentively at Auntie Nan, + and said significantly, “You have been nursing too long, Miss Christian, + you must go home for a while.” + </p> + <p> + “I will go home at once,” she faltered, in a feeble inward voice. + </p> + <p> + Philip's head was on his breast. Such was the first step on the Calvary he + intended to ascend. O God, help him! God support him! God bear up his + sinking feet that he might not fall from weakness, or fear, or shame. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0123" id="link2H_4_0123"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIII. + </h2> + <p> + Cæsar visited Kate at Castle Rushen. He found her lodged in a large and + light apartment (once the dining-room of the Lords of Man), indulged with + every comfort, and short of nothing but her liberty. As the turnkey pulled + the door behind him, Cæsar lifted both hands and cried, “The Lord is my + refuge and my strength; a very present help in trouble.” Then he inquired + if Pete had been there before him, and being answered “No,” he said, “The + children of this world are wiser in their generation than the children of + light.” After that he fell to the praise of the Deemster, who had not only + given Kate these mercies, comfortable to her carnal body, if dangerous to + her soul, but had striven to lighten the burden of her people at the time + when he had circulated the report of her death, knowing she was dead + indeed, dead in trespasses and sins, and choosing rather that they should + mourn her as one who was already dead in fact, than feel shame for her as + one that was yet alive in iniquity. + </p> + <p> + Finally, he dropped his handkerchief on to the slate floor,-went down on + one knee by the side of his tall hat, and called on her in prayer to cast + in her lot afresh with the people of God. “May her lightness be rebuked, O + Lord!” he cried. “Give her to know that until she repents she hath no + place among Thy children. And, Lord, succour Thy servant in his hour of + tribulation. Let him be well girt up with Christian armour. Help him to + cry aloud, amid his tears and his lamentations, 'Though my heart and hers + should break, Thy name shall not be dishonoured, my Lord and my God!'” + </p> + <p> + Rising from his knee and dusting it, Cæsar took up his tall hat, and left + Kate as he had found her, crouching by the fire inside the wide ingle of + the old hall, covering her face and saying nothing. + </p> + <p> + He was in this mood of spiritual exaltation as he descended the steps into + the Keep, and came upon a man in the dress of a prisoner sweeping with a + besom. It was Black Tom. Cæsar stopped in front of him, moved his lips, + lifted his face to the sky, shut both eyes, then opened them again, and + said in a voice of deep sorrow, “Aw, Thomas! Thomas Quilliam! I'm taking + grief to see thee, man. An ould friend, whose hand has rested in my hand, + and swilling the floor of a prison! Well, I warned thee often. But thou + wast ever stony ground, Thomas. And now thou must see for thyself whether + was I right that honesty is the better policy. Look at thee, and look at + me. The Lord has delivered me, and prospered me even in temporal things. I + have lands and I have houses. And what hast thou thyself? Nothing but thy + conscience and thy disgrace. Even thy very clothes they have taken away + from thee, and they would take thy hair itself if thou had any.” + </p> + <p> + Black Tom stood with feet flatly planted apart, rested himself on the + shank of his besom, and said, “Don't be playing cammag (shindy) with me, + Mr. Holy Ghoster. It isn't honesty that's making the diff'rance between us + at all—it's luck. You've won and I've lost, you've succeeded and + I've failed, you're wearing your chapel hat and I'm in this bit of a + saucepan lid, but you're only a reg'lar ould Pharisee, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + Cæsar waved his hand. “I can't take the anger with thee, Thomas,” he said, + backing himself out. “I thought the devil had been chained since our last + camp-meeting, but I was wrong seemingly. He goeth about still like a + raging lion, seeking whom he may devour.” + </p> + <p> + “Don't be trying to knock me down with your tex'es,” said Thomas, + shouldering his besom. “Any cock can crow on his own midden.” + </p> + <p> + “You can't help it, Thomas,” said Cæsar, edging away. “It isn't my ould + friend that's blaspheming at all. It's the devil that has entered into his + heart and is rending him. But cast the devil out, man, or hell will be thy + portion.” + </p> + <p> + “I was there last night in my dreams, Cæsar,” said Black Tom, following + him up. “'Oh, Lord Devil, let me in,' says I. 'Where d'ye come from?' says + he. 'The Isle of Man,' says I. 'I'm not taking any more from there till my + Bishop comes,' says he. 'Who's that?' says I. 'Bishop Cæsar, the publican—who + else?' says he.” + </p> + <p> + “I marvel at thee, Thomas,” said Cæsar, half through the small door of the + portcullis, “but the sons of Belial have to fight hard for his throne. + I'll pray for thee, though, that it be not remembered against thee + when(D.V.) there will be weeping and wailing and gnashing of teeth.” + </p> + <p> + That night Cæsar visited the Deemster at Elm Cottage. His eyes glittered, + and there was a look of frenzy in his face. He was still in his mood of + spiritual pride, and when he spoke it was always with the thees and the + thous and in the high pitch of the preacher. + </p> + <p> + “The Ballawhaine is dead, your Honour,” he cried, “They wouldn't have me + tell thee before because of thy body's weakness, but now they suffer it. + Groanings and moanings and 'stericks of torment! Ter'ble sir, ter'ble! + Took a notion he would have water poured out for him at the last. It + couldn't wash him clane, though. And shouting with his dying voice, 'I've + sinned, O God, I've sinned!' Oh, I delivered my soul, sir; he can clear me + of that, anyway. 'Lay hould of a free salvation,' says I. 'I've not lived + a right life,' says he. 'Truth enough,' says I; 'you've lived a life of + carnal freedom, but now is the appointed time. Say, “Lord, I belaive; help + thou my unbelaife.”' 'Too late, Mr. Cregeen, too late,' says he, and the + word was scarce out of his mouth when he was key-cold in a minute, and + gone into the night of all flesh that's lost. Well, it was his own son + that killed him, sir; robbed him of every silver sixpence and ruined him. + The last mortgage he raised was to keep the young man out of prison for + forgery. Bad, sir, bad! To indulge a child to its own damnation is bad. A + human infirmity, though; and I'm feeling for the poor sinner myself being + tempted—that is to say inclining—but thank the Lord for his + strengthening arm——” + </p> + <p> + “Is he buried?” asked Philip. + </p> + <p> + “Buried enough, and a poor funeral too, sir,” said Cæsar, walking the room + with a proud step, the legs straightened, the toes conspicuously turned + out. “Driving rain and sleet, sir, the wind in the trees, the grass wet to + your calf, and the parson in his white smock under the umbrella. Nobody + there to spake of, neither; only myself and the tenants mostly.” + </p> + <p> + “Where was Ross?” + </p> + <p> + “Gone, sir, without waiting to see his foolish ould father pushed under + the sod. Well, there was not much to wait for neither. The young man has + been a besom of fire and burnt up everything. Not so much left as would + buy a rope to hang him. And Ballawhaine is mine, sir; mine in a way of + spak-ing—my son-in-law's, anyway—and he has given me the right + to have and to hould it. Aw, a Sabbath time, sir; a Sabbath time. I made + up my mind to have it the night the man struck me in my own house in + Sulby. He betrayed my daughter at last, sir, and took her from her home, + and then her husband lent six thousand pounds on mortgage. 'Do what you + like with it,' said he, and I said to myself, 'The man shall starve; he + shall be a beggar; he shall have neither bread to eat, nor water to drink, + nor a roof to cover him.' And the moment the breath was out of the ould + man's body I foreclosed.” + </p> + <p> + Philip was trembling from head to foot. “Do you mean,” he faltered, “that + that was your reason?” + </p> + <p> + “It is the Lord's hand on a rascal,” said Cæsar, “and proud am I to be the + instrument of his vengeance. 'God moves in a mysterious way,' sir. Oh, the + Lord is opening His word more and more. And I have more to tell thee, too. + Balla-whaine would belong to thyself, sir, if every one had his rights. It + was thy grandfather's inheritance, and it should have been thy father's, + and it ought to be thine. Take it, sir, take it on thy own terms; it is + worth a matter of twelve thousand, but thou shalt have it for nine, and + pay for it when the Lord gives thee substance. Thou hast been good to me + and to mine, and especially to the poor lost lamb who lies in the Castle + to-night in her shame and disgrace. Little did I think I should ever repay + thee, though. But it is the Lord's doings. It is marvellous in our eyes. + 'Deep in unfathomable mines'——” + </p> + <p> + Cæsar was pacing the room and speaking in tones of rapture. Philip, who + was sitting at the table, rose from it with a look of fear. + </p> + <p> + “Frightful! frightful!” he muttered. “A mistake! a mistake!” + </p> + <p> + “The Lord God makes no mistakes, sir,” cried Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + “But what if it was not Ross——” began Philip. Cæsar paid no + heed. + </p> + <p> + “What if it was not Ross——” Cæsar glanced over his shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “What if it was some one else——” said Philip. Cæsar stopped in + front of him. + </p> + <p> + “Some one you have never thought of—some one you have respected and + even held in honour——” + </p> + <p> + “Who, then?” said Cæsar huskily. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Cregeen,” said Philip, “it is hard for me to speak. I had not + intended to speak yet; but I should hold myself in horror if I were silent + now. You have been living in awful error. Whatever the cost, whatever the + consequences, you must not remain in that error a moment longer. It was + not Ross who took away your daughter.” + </p> + <p> + “Who was it?” cried Cæsar. His voice had the sound of a cracked bell. + </p> + <p> + Philip struggled hard. He tried to confess. His eyes wandered about the + walls. “As you have cherished a mistaken resentment,” he faltered, “so you + have nourished a mistaken gratitude.” + </p> + <p> + “Who? who?” cried Cæsar, looking fixedly into Philip's face. + </p> + <p> + Philip's rigid fingers were crawling over the papers on the table like the + claws of crabs. They touched the summons from the Chancery Court, and he + picked it up. + </p> + <p> + “Read this,” he said, and held it out to Cæsar. + </p> + <p> + Cæsar took it, but continued to look at Philip with eyes that were + threatening in their wildness. Philip felt that in a moment their + positions had been changed. He was the judge no longer, but only a + criminal at the bar of this old man, this grim fanatic, half-mad already + with religious mania. + </p> + <p> + “The Lord of Hosts is mighty,” muttered Cæsar; and then Philip heard the + paper crinkle in his hand. + </p> + <p> + Cæsar was feeling for his spectacles. When he had liberated them from the + sheath, he put them on the bridge of his nose upside down. With the two + glasses against the wrinkles of his forehead and his eyes still uncovered, + he held the paper at arm's length and tried to read it. Then he took out + his red print handkerchief to dust the spectacles. Fumbling spectacles and + sheath and handkerchief and paper in his trembling hands together, he + muttered again in a quavering voice, as if to fortify himself against what + he was to see, “The Lord of Hosts is mighty.” + </p> + <p> + He read the paper at length, and there was no mistaking it. “Quilliam v. + Quilliam and Christian (Philip).” + </p> + <p> + He laid the summons on the table, and returned his spectacles to their + sheath. His breathing made noises in his nostrils. “<i>Ugh cha nee!</i>” + (woe is me), he muttered. “<i>Ugh cha nee! Ugh cha nee!</i>” + </p> + <p> + Then he looked helplessly around and said, “Depart from me, for I am a + sinful man, O Lord.” + </p> + <p> + The vengeance that he had built up day by day had fallen in a moment into + ruins. His hypocrisy was stripped naked. “I see how it is,” he said in a + hoarse voice. “The Lord has de-ceaved me to punish me. It is the + public-house. Ye cannot serve God and mammon. What's gained on the devil's + back is lost under his belly. I thought I was a child of God, but the + deceitfulness of riches has choked the word. <i>Ugh cha nee! Ugh cha nee!</i> + My prosperity has been like the quails, only given with the intent of + choking me. <i>Ugh cha nee!</i>” + </p> + <p> + His spiritual pride was broken down. The Almighty had refused to be made a + tool of. He took up his hat and rolled his arm over it the wrong way of + the nap. Half-way to the door he paused. “Well, I'll be laving you; + good-day, sir,” he said, nodding his head slowly. “The Lord's been knowing + what you were all the time seemingly. But what's the use of His knowing—He + never tells on nobody. And I've been calling on sinners to flee from the + wrath, and He's been letting the devils make a mock at myself! <i>Ugh cha + nee! Ugh cha nee!</i>” + </p> + <p> + Philip had slipped back in his chair, and his head had fallen forward' on + the table. He heard the old man go out; he heard his heavy step drop + slowly down the stairs; he heard his foot dragging on the path outside. “<i>Ugh + cha nee! Ugh cha nee!</i>” The word rang in his heart like a knell. + </p> + <p> + Jem-y-Lord, who had been out in the town, came back in great excitement. + </p> + <p> + “Such news, your Honour! Such splendid news!” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” said Philip, without lifting his head. + </p> + <p> + “They're signing petitions all over the island, asking the Queen to make + you Governor.” + </p> + <p> + “God in heaven!” said Philip; “that would be frightful.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0124" id="link2H_4_0124"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIV. + </h2> + <p> + When Philip was fit to go out, they brought up a carriage and drove him + round the bay. The town had awakened from its winter sleep, and the + harbour was a busy and cheerful scene. More than a hundred men had come + from their crofts in the country, and were making their boats ready for + the mackerel-fishing at Kinsale. There was a forest of masts where the + flat hulls had been, the taffrails and companions were touched up with + paint, and the newly-barked nets were being hauled over the quay. + </p> + <p> + “Good morning, Dempster,” cried the men. + </p> + <p> + They all saluted him, and some of them, after their Manx fashion, drew up + at the carriage-door, lifted their caps with their tarry hands, and said— + </p> + <p> + “Taking joy to see you out again, Dempster. When a man's getting over an + attack like that, it's middling clear the Lord's got work for him.” + </p> + <p> + Philip answered with smiles and bows and cheerful words, but the kindness + oppressed him. He was thinking of Kate. She was the victim of his success. + For all that he received she had paid the penalty. He thought of her + dreams, her golden dreams, her dreams of going up side by side and hand in + hand with the man she loved. “Oh, my love, my love!” he murmured. “Only a + little longer.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor was waiting for him when he reached home. + </p> + <p> + “I have something to say to you, Deemster,” he said, with averted face. + “It's about your aunt.” + </p> + <p> + “Is she ill?” said Philip.—“Very ill.” + </p> + <p> + “But I've inquired daily.” + </p> + <p> + “By her express desire the truth has been kept back from you.” + </p> + <p> + “The carriage is still at the door——” began Philip. + </p> + <p> + “I've never seen any one sink so rapidly. She's all nerve. No doubt the + nursing exhausted her.” + </p> + <p> + “It's not that—I'll go up immediately.” + </p> + <p> + “She was to expect you at five.” + </p> + <p> + “I cannot wait,” said Philip, and in a moment he was on the road. “O God!” + he thought, “how steep is the path I have to tread.” + </p> + <p> + On getting to Ballure, he pushed through the hall and stepped upstairs. At + the door of Auntie Nan's bedroom he was met by Martha, the housemaid, now + the nurse. She looked surprised, and made some nervous show of shutting + him out. Before she could dc so he was already in the room. The air was + heavy with the smell of medicines and vinegar and the odours of sick life. + </p> + <p> + “Hush!” said Martha, with a movement of lips and eyebrows. + </p> + <p> + Auntie Nan was asleep in a half-sitting position on the bed. It was a + shock to see the change in her. The beautiful old face was white and drawn + with pain; the chin was hanging heavily; the eyes were half open; there + was no cap on her head; her hair was straggling loosely and was dull as + tow. + </p> + <p> + “She must be very ill,” said Philip under his breath. + </p> + <p> + “Very,” said Martha. “She wasn't expecting you until five, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Has the doctor told her? Does she know?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir; but she doesn't mind that. She knows she's dying, and is quite + resigned—quite—and quite cheerful—but she fears if you + knew—hush!” + </p> + <p> + There was a movement on the bed. + </p> + <p> + “She'll be shocked if she—and she's not ready to receive—in + here, sir,” whispered Martha, and she motioned to the back of a screen + that stood between the door and the bed. + </p> + <p> + There was a deep sigh, a sound as of the moistening of dry lips, and then + the voice of Auntie Nan—not her own familiar voice, but a sort of + vanishing echo of it. “What is the time, Martha?” + </p> + <p> + “Twenty minutes wanting five, ma'am.” + </p> + <p> + “So late! It wasn't nice of you to let me sleep so long, Martha. I'm + expecting the Governor at five. What a mercy he hasn't come earlier. It + wouldn't be right to keep him waiting, and then—bring me the sponge, + girl. Moisten it first. Now the towel. The comb next. That's better. How + lifeless my hair is, though. Oil, you say? I wonder! I've never used it in + my life: but at a time like this—well, just a little, then—there, + that will do. Bring me a cap—the one with the pink bow in it. My + face is so pale—it will give me a little colour. That will do. You + couldn't tell I had been ill, could you? Not very ill, anyway? Now side + everything away. The medicines too—put them in the cupboard. So many + bottles. 'How ill she must have been!' he would say. And now open the + drawer on the left, Martha, the one with the key in it, and bring me the + paper on the top. Yes, the white paper. The folded one with the + endorsement. Endorsement means writing on the back, Martha. Ah! I've lived + all my life among lawyers. Lay it on the counterpane. The keys? Lay them + beside it. No, put them behind my pillow, just at my back. Yes, there—lower, + though, deeper still—that's right. Now set a chair, so that he can + sit beside me. This side of the bed—no, this side. Then the light + will be on him, and I will be able to see his face—my eyes are not + so good as they were, you know. A little farther back—not quite so + much, neither—that will do. Ah!” + </p> + <p> + There was a long breath of satisfaction, and then Auntie Nan said— + </p> + <p> + “I suppose it's——what time is it now, Martha?” + </p> + <p> + “Ten minutes wanting five, ma'am.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you tell Jane about the cutlets? He likes them with bread-crumbs, you + know. I hope she won't forget to say 'Your Excellency.' I shall hear his + voice the moment he comes into the hall. My ears are no worse, if my eyes + are. Perhaps he won't speak, though, 'She's been so ill,' he'll think. + Martha, I think you had better open the door. Jane is so forgetful. She + might say things, too. If he asks, 'How is she to-day, Martha'' you must + answer quite brightly, 'Better to-day, your Excellency.'” + </p> + <p> + There was an exclamation of pain. + </p> + <p> + “Oh! Ugh—Oo! Oh, blessed Lord Jesus!” + </p> + <p> + “Are you sure you are well enough, ma'am? Hadn't I better tell him——” + </p> + <p> + “No, I'll be worse to-morrow, and the next day worse still. Give me a dose + of medicine, Martha—the morning medicine—the one that makes me + cheerful. Thank you, Martha. If I feel the pain when he is here, I'll bear + it as long as I can, and then I'll say, 'I'm finding myself drowsy, + Philip; you had better go and lie down.' Will you understand that, + Martha?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma'am,” said Martha. + </p> + <p> + “I'm afraid we must be a little deceitful, Martha. But we can't help that, + can we? You see he has to be installed yet, and that is always a great + excitement. If he thought I was very ill, now—<i>very</i>, very ill, + you know—yes, I really think he would wish to postpone it, and I + wouldn't have that for worlds and worlds. He has always been so fond of + his old auntie. Well, it's the way with these boys. I daresay people + wonder why he has never married, being so great and so prosperous. That + was for my sake. He knew I should——” + </p> + <p> + Philip was breathing heavily. Auntie Nan listened. “I'm sure there's + somebody in the hall, Martha. Is it——? Yes, it's——; + Go down to him quick——” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, ma'am,” said Martha, making a noise with the screen to cover + Philip's escape on tiptoe. Then she came to him on the landing, wiping her + eyes with her apron, and pretended to lead Philip back to the room. + </p> + <p> + “My boy! my boy!” cried Auntie Nan, and she folded him in her arms. + </p> + <p> + The transformation was wonderful. She had a look of youth now, almost a + look of gaiety. “I've heard the great, great news,” she whispered, taking + his hand. + </p> + <p> + “That's only a rumour, Auntie,” said Philip. “Are you better?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh, but it will come true. Yes, yes, I'm better. I'm sure it will come + true. And, dear heart, what a triumph! I dreamt it all the night before I + heard of it. You were on the top of the Tynwald, and there was a great + crowd. But come and sit down and tell me everything. So you are better + yourself? Quite strong again, dear? Oh, yes, any where, Philip-sit + anywhere. Here, this chair will do—this one by my side. Ah! How well + you look!” + </p> + <p> + She was carried away by her own gaiety. Leaning back on the pillow, but + still keeping his hand in hers, she said, “Do you know, Philip Christian, + who is the happiest person in the world? I'm sure you don't, for all + you're so clever. So I'll tell you. Perhaps you think it's a beautiful + young wife just married to a husband who worships her. Well, you're quite, + quite wrong, sir. It's an old, old lady, very, very old, and very feeble, + just tottering on, and not expecting to live a great while longer, but + with her sons about her, grown up, and big, and strong, and having all the + world before them. That's the happiest person on earth. And I'm the next + thing to it, for my boy—my own boy's boy—-” + </p> + <p> + She broke off, and then, with a far-off look, she said, “I wonder will he + think I've done my duty!” + </p> + <p> + “Who?” asked Philip. + </p> + <p> + “Your father,” she answered. + </p> + <p> + Then she turned to the maid and said, quite gaily, “You needn't wait, + Martha. His Excellency will call you when I want my medicine. Won't you, + your Excellency?” + </p> + <p> + Philip could not find it in his heart to correct her again. The girl left + the room. Auntie Nan glanced at the closing door, then reached over to + Philip with an air of great mystery, and whispered— + </p> + <p> + “You mustn't be shocked, Philip, or surprised, or fancy I'm very ill, or + that I'm going to die; but what do you think I've done?” + </p> + <p> + “Nay, what?” + </p> + <p> + “I've made my will! Is that very terrible?” + </p> + <p> + “You've done right, Auntie,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “Yes, the High Bailiff has been up and everything is in order, every + little thing. See,” and she lifted the paper that the maid had laid on the + counterpane. “Let me tell you.” She nodded her head as she ran over the + items. “Some little legacies first, you know. There's Martha, such a good + girl—I've left her my silk dresses. Then old Mary, the housemaid at + Ballawhaine. Poor old thing! she's been down with rheumatism three years, + and flock beds get so lumpy—I've left her my feather one. I thought + at first I should like you to have my little income. Do you know, your old + auntie is quite an old miser. I've grown so fond of my little money. And + it seemed so sweet to think—but then you don't want it now, Philip. + It would be nothing to you, would it? I've been thinking, though—now, + what do you think I've been thinking of doing with my little fortune?” + </p> + <p> + Philip stroked the wrinkled fingers with his other hand. + </p> + <p> + “What's right, I'm sure, Auntie. What is it?” + </p> + <p> + “You would never guess.”—“No?” + </p> + <p> + “I've been thinking,” with sudden gravity. “Philip, there's nobody in the + world so unhappy as a poor gentlewoman who has slipped and fallen. Then + this one's father, he has turned his back on her, they're telling me, and + of course she can't expect anything from her husband. I've been thinking, + now——” + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” said Philip, with his eyes down. + </p> + <p> + “To tell you the truth, I've been thinking it would be so nice——” + </p> + <p> + And then, nervously, faltering, in a quavering voice, with many excuses, + out came the great secret, the mighty strategy. Auntie Nan had willed her + fortune to Kate. + </p> + <p> + “You're an angel, Auntie,” said Philip in a thick voice. + </p> + <p> + But he saw through her artifice. She was talking of Kate, but she was + thinking of himself. She was trying to relieve him of an embarrassment; to + remove an impediment that lay in his path; to liberate his conscience; to + cover up his fault; to conceal everything. + </p> + <p> + “And then this house, dear,” said Auntie Nan. “It's yours, but you'll + never want it. It's been a dear little harbour of refuge, but the storm is + over now. Would you—do you see any objection—perhaps you might—could + you not let the poor soul come and live here with her little one, after I—when + all is over, I mean—and she is—eh?” + </p> + <p> + Philip could not speak. He took the wrinkled hand and drew it up to his + lips. + </p> + <p> + The old soul was beside herself with joy. “Then you're sure I've done + right? Quite sure? Lock it up in the drawer again, dearest The top one on + the left. Oh, the keys? Dear me, yes; where are the keys? How tiresome! I + remember now. They're at the back of my pillow. Will you call Martha? Or + perhaps you would yourself—will you?” (very artfully)—“you + don't mind then? Yes, that's it; more this way, though, a little more—ah! + My boy! my boy!” + </p> + <p> + The old dove's second strategy had succeeded also. In fumbling behind her + pillow for the keys, Philip had to put his arms about her again, and she + was kissing him on the forehead and on the cheeks. + </p> + <p> + Then came a spasm of pain. It dragged at her features, but her smile + struggled through it. She fetched a difficult breath, and said— + </p> + <p> + “And now—dear—I'm finding myself—a little drowsy—how + selfish of me—your cutlets—browned—nicely browned—breadcrumbs, + you know——” + </p> + <p> + Philip fled from the room and summoned Martha. He wandered aimlessly about + the house for hours that night. At one moment he found himself in the blue + room, Auntie Nan's workroom, so full of her familiar things—the + spinning-wheel, the frame of the sampler, the old-fashioned piano, the + scent of lavender—all the little evidences of her presence, so + dainty, so orderly, so sweet A lamp was burning for the convenience of the + doctor, but there was no fire. + </p> + <p> + The doctor came again towards ten o'clock. There was nothing to be done; + nothing to be hoped; still she might live until morning, if—— + </p> + <p> + At midnight Philip crept noiselessly to the bedroom. The condition was + unaltered. He was going to lie down, but wished to be awakened if there + was any change. + </p> + <p> + It was long before he dropped off, and he seemed to have slept only a + moment when there was a knocking at his door. He heard it while he was + still sleeping. The dawn had broken, the streamers of the sun were rising + out of the sea. A sparrow in the garden was hacking the air with its + monotonous chirp. + </p> + <p> + Auntie Nan was far spent, yet the dragging expression of pain was gone, + and a serenity almost angelic overspread her face. When she recognised + Philip she felt for his hand, guided it to her heart, and kept it there. + Only a few words did she speak, for her breath was short. She commended + her soul to God. Then, with a look of pallid sunshine, she beckoned to + Philip. He stooped his ear to her lips, and she whispered, “Hush, dearest! + Never tell any one, for nobody ever knew—ever dreamt—but I + loved your father—and—<i>God gave him to me in you.</i>” + </p> + <p> + The dear old dove had delivered herself of her last great secret. Philip + put his lips to her cheek, iced already over the damps and chills of + death. Then the eyes closed, the sweet old head slid back, the lips + changed their colour, but still lay open as with a smile. Thus died Auntie + Nan, peacefully, hopefully, trustfully, almost joyfully, in the fulness of + her love and of her pride. + </p> + <p> + “O God,” thought Philip, “let me go on with my task. Give me strength to + withstand the temptation of love like this.” + </p> + <p> + Her love had tempted him all his life His father had been twenty years + dead, but she had kept his spirit alive—his aims, his ambitions, his + fears, and the lessons of his life. There lay the beginnings of his ruin, + his degradation, and the first cause of his deep duplicity. He had + recovered everything that had been lost; he had gained all that his little + world could give; and what was the worth of it? What was the price he had + paid for it? “What shall it profit a man if he gain the whole world and + lose his own soul?” + </p> + <p> + Philip put his lips to the cold forehead. “Sweet soul, forgive me! God + strengthen me! Let me not fail at this last moment.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0125" id="link2H_4_0125"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XV. + </h2> + <p> + Philip did not go back to Elm Cottage. He buried Auntie Nan at the foot of + his father's grave. There was no room at either side, his mother's sunken + grave being on the left and the railed tomb of his grandfather on the + right. They had to remove a willow two feet nearer to the path. + </p> + <p> + When all was over he returned home alone, and spent the afternoon in + gathering up Auntie Nan's personal belongings, labelling some of them and + locking them up in the blue room. The weather had been troubled for some + days. Spots had been seen on the sun. There were magnetic disturbances, + and on the night before the aurora had pulsed in the northern sky. When + the sun was near to sinking there was a brilliant lower sky to the west, + with a bank of rolling cloud above it like a thick thatch roof, and a + shaft of golden light dipping down into the sea, as if an angel had opened + a door in heaven. After the sun had gone a fiery red bar stretched across + the sky, and there were low rumblings of thunder. + </p> + <p> + Pausing in his work to look out on the beach, Philip saw a man riding hard + on horseback. It was a messenger from Government Offices. He drew up at + the gate. A moment later the messenger was in Philip's room handing him a + letter. + </p> + <p> + If anybody had seen the Deemster as he took that letter he must have + thought it his death-warrant. A deadly pallor came to his face when he + broke the seal of the envelope and drew out the contents. It was a + commission from the Home Office. Philip was appointed Governor of the Isle + of Man. “My punishment, my punishment!” he thought. The higher he rose, + the lower he had to fall. It was a cruel kindness, a painful distinction, + an awful penalty. Truly the steps of this Calvary were steep. Would he + ever ascend it? + </p> + <p> + The messenger was bowing and smirking before him. “Thousand + congratulations, your Excellency!” + </p> + <p> + “Thank you, my lad. Go downstairs. They'll give you something to eat.” + </p> + <p> + A moment later Jem-y-Lord came into the room on some pretence and hopped + about like a bird. “Yes, your Excellency—No, your Excellency—Quite + so, your Excellency.” + </p> + <p> + Martha came next, and met Philip on the landing with a courageous smile + and a courtesy. And the whole house, lately so dark and sad, seemed to + lighten and to laugh, as when, after a sleepless night, you look, and lo! + the daylight is on the blind; you listen and the birds are twittering in + their cages below the stairs. + </p> + <p> + “<i>She</i> will hear it too,” thought Philip. + </p> + <p> + He wrote her two lines of a letter, the first that he had penned since his + illness— + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + “Keep up heart, dear; I will be with you soon.” + </pre> + <p> + This, without signature or superscription, he put into an envelope, and + addressed. Then he went out and posted it himself. + </p> + <p> + There was lightning as he returned. He felt as if he would like to wander + away in it down to Port Mooar, and round by the caves, and under the + cliffs, where the sea-birds scream. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0126" id="link2H_4_0126"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVI. + </h2> + <p> + The night had fallen, and he was sitting in his room, when there was a + clamour of loud voices in the hall. Some one was calling for the Deemster. + It was Nancy Joe. She was newly returned from Sulby. Something had + happened to Cæsar, and nobody could control him. + </p> + <p> + “Go to him, your Honour,” she cried from the doorway. “It's only yourself + that has power with him, and we don't know in the world what's doing on + the man. He's got a ram's horn at him, and is going blowing round the + house like the mischief, calling on the Lord to bring it down, and saying + it's the walls of Jericho.” + </p> + <p> + Philip sent for a carriage, and set off for Sulby immediately. The storm + had increased by this time. Loud peals of thunder echoed in the hills. + Forks of lightning licked the trunks of the trees and ran like serpents + along the branches. As they were going by the church at Lezayre, the + coachman reached over from the box, and said, “There's something going + doing over yonder, sir. See?” + </p> + <p> + A bright gleam lit up the dark sky in the direction they were taking. At + the turn of the road by the “Ginger,” somebody passed them running. + </p> + <p> + “What's yonder?” called the coachman. + </p> + <p> + And a voice out of the darkness answered him, “The 'Fairy' is struck by + lightning, and Cæsar's gone mad.” + </p> + <p> + It was the fact. While Cæsar in his mania had been blowing his ram's horn + around his public-house under the delusion that it was Jericho, the + lightning had struck it. The fire was past all hope of subduing. A great + hole had been burnt into the roof, and the flames were leaping through it + as through a funnel. All Sulby seemed to be on the spot. Some were + dragging furniture out of the burning house; others were running with + buckets to the river and throwing water on the blazing thatch. + </p> + <p> + But encircling everything was the figure of a man going round and round + with great plunging strides, over the road, across the river, and through + the mill-pond behind, blowing a horn in fierce, unearthly blasts, and + crying in a voice of triumph and mockery, first to this worker and then to + that, “No use, I tell thee. Thou can never put it out. It's fire from + heaven. Didn't I say I'd bring it down?” + </p> + <p> + It was Cæsar. His eyes glittered, his mouth worked convulsively, and his + cheeks were as black with the flying soot as the “colley” of the pot. + </p> + <p> + When he saw Philip, he came up to him with a terrible smile on his fierce + black face, and, pointing to the house, he cried above the babel of + voices, the roar of the thunder, and crackle of the fire, “An unclean + spirit lived in it, sir. It has been tormenting me these ten years.” + </p> + <p> + He seemed to listen and to hear something. “That's it roaring,” he cried, + and then he laughed with wild delight. + </p> + <p> + “Compose yourself, Mr. Cregeen,” said Philip, and he tried to take him by + the arm. + </p> + <p> + But Cæsar broke away, blew a terrific blast on his ram's horn, and went + striding round the house again. When he came back the next time there was + a deep roll of thunder in the air, and he said, “It's the Ballawhaine. He + had the stone five years, and he used to groan so.” + </p> + <p> + Again Philip entreated him to compose himself. It was useless. Round and + round the burning house he went, blowing his horn, and calling on the + workers to stop their ungodly labour, for the Lord had told him to blow + down the walls of Jericho, and he had burnt them down instead. + </p> + <p> + The people began to be afraid of his frenzy. “They'll have to put the man + in the Castle,” said one. “Or have him chained up in an outhouse,” said + another. “They kept the Kirk Maug-hold lunatic fifteen years on the straw + in the gable loft, and his children in the house grew up to be men and + women.” “It's the girl that's doing on Cæsar. Shame on the daughters that + bring ruin to their old fathers!” + </p> + <p> + Still Cæsar went careering round the fire, blowing his ram's horn and + crying, “No use! It's the Lord God!” + </p> + <p> + The more the fire blazed, the more it resisted the efforts of the people + to subdue it, the more fierce and unearthly were Cæsar's blasts and the + more triumphant his cries. + </p> + <p> + At last Grannie stepped out and stopped him. “Come home, father,” she + whimpered. He looked at her with bewildered eyes, then he looked at the + burning house, and he seemed to recover himself in a moment. + </p> + <p> + “Come home, bogh,” said Grannie tenderly. + </p> + <p> + “I've got no home,” said Cæsar in a helpless way. “And I've got no money. + The fire has taken all.” + </p> + <p> + “No matter, father,” said Grannie. “We had nothing when we began; we'll + begin again.” + </p> + <p> + Then Cæsar fell to mumbling texts of Scripture, and Grannie to soothing + him after her simple fashion. + </p> + <p> + “'My soul is passing through deep waters. I am feeble and sore broken. + Save me, O God, for the waters are come in unto my soul, I sink in deep + mire, where there is no standing.'” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, no Cæsar, we're on the road now. It's dry enough here, anyway.” + </p> + <p> + “'Many bulls have compassed me; great bulls of Bashan have beset me round. + Save me from the lion's mouth; for Thou hast heard me from the horns of + the unicorn.'” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind the lion and the unicorn, father, but come and we'll change + thy wet trousers.” + </p> + <p> + “'Purge me with hyssop, and I shall be clean; wash me, and I shall be + whiter than snow.'” + </p> + <p> + “Aw, yes, we'll wash thee enough when we get to Ramsey. Come, then, bogh.” + </p> + <p> + He had dropped his ram's horn somewhere, and she took him by the hand. + Then he suffered himself to be led away, and the two old children went off + into the darkness. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0127" id="link2H_4_0127"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVII. + </h2> + <p> + There was a letter waiting for Philip at home. It was from the Clerk of + the Rolls. Only a few lines scribbled on the back of a draft deposition, + telling him the petition for divorce had been heard that day within closed + doors. The application had been granted, and all was settled and + comfortable. + </p> + <p> + “I don't want to hurt your already much wounded feelings, Christian,” + wrote the Clerk of the Rolls, “or to add anything to your responsibility + when you come to make provision for the woman, but I must say she has + given up for your sake a deuced good honest fellow.” + </p> + <p> + “I know it,” said Philip aloud. + </p> + <p> + “When I told him that all was over, and that his erring wife would trouble + him no more, I thought he was going to burst out crying.” + </p> + <p> + But Philip had no time yet to think of Pete. All his heart was with Kate. + She would receive the official intimation of the divorce, and it would + fall on her in her prison like a blow. She would think of herself, with + all the world against her, and of him with all the world at his feet. He + wanted to run to her, to pluck her up in his arms, to kiss her on the + lips, and say, “Mine, mine at last!” His wife—her husband—all + forgiven—all forgotten! + </p> + <p> + Philip spent the rest of the night in writing a letter to Kate. He told + her he could not live without her; that now for the first time she was + his, and he was hers, and they were one; that their love was re-born, and + that he would spend the future in atoning for the wrongs he had inflicted + upon her in the past. Then he dropped to the sheer babble of affection and + poured out his heart to her—all the babydom of love, the foolish + prattle, the tender nonsense. What matter that he was Governor now, and + the first man in the island? He forgot all about it. What matter that he + was writing to a fallen woman in prison? He only remembered it to forget + himself the more. + </p> + <p> + “Just a little longer, my love, just a little longer. I am coming to you, + I am coming. Older, perhaps, perhaps sadder, and a boy no more, but + hopeful still, and ready to face whatever fate befall, with her I love + beside me.” + </p> + <p> + Next day Jem-y-Lord took this letter to Castle Rushen and brought back an + answer. It was one line only—“My darling! At last! At last! Oh, + Philip! Philip! <i>But what about our child?</i>” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0128" id="link2H_4_0128"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XVIII. + </h2> + <p> + The proclamation of Philip's appointment as Governor of the Isle of Man + had been read in the churches, and nailed up on the doors of the + Court-houses, and the Clerk of the Rolls was pushing on the arrangements + for the installation. + </p> + <p> + “Let it be on the Tuesday of Easter week,” he wrote, “and of course at + Castle Rushen. The retiring Governor is ready to return for that day to + deliver up his seals of office and to receive your commission.” + </p> + <p> + “P. S.—Private. And if you think that soft-voiced girl has been long + enough 'At Her Majesty's pleasure,' I will release her. Not that she is + taking any harm at all, but we had better get these little accounts + squared off before your great day comes. Meantime you may wish to provide + for her future. Be liberal, Christian; you can afford to treat her + liberally. But what am I saying? Don't I know that you will be + ridiculously over-generous?” + </p> + <p> + Philip answered this letter promptly. “The Tuesday of Easter week will do + as well as any other day. As to the lady, let her stay where she is until + the morning of the ceremony, when I will myself settle everything.” + </p> + <p> + Philip's correspondence was now plentiful, and he had enough work to cope + with it The four towns of the island vied with each other in efforts to + show him honour. Douglas, as the scene of his career, wished to entertain + him at a banquet; Ramsey, as his birthplace, wanted to follow him in + procession. He declined all invitations. + </p> + <p> + “I am in mourning,” he wrote. “And besides, I am not well.” + </p> + <p> + “Ah! no,” he thought, “nobody shall reproach me when the times comes.” + </p> + <p> + There was no pause, no pity, no relenting rest in the world's kindness. It + began to take shapes of almost fiendish cruelty in his mind, as if the + devil's own laughter was behind it. + </p> + <p> + He inquired about Pete. Hardly anybody knew anything; hardly anybody + cared. The spendthrift had come down to his last shilling, and sold up the + remainder of his furniture. The broker was to empty the house on Easter + Tuesday. That was all. Not a word about the divorce. The poor neglected + victim, forgotten in the turmoil of his wrongdoer's glory, had that last + strength of a strong man—the strength to be silent and to forgive. + </p> + <p> + Philip asked about the child. She was still at Elm Cottage in the care of + the woman with the upturned nose and the shrill voice. Every night he + devised plans for getting possession of Kate's little one, and every + morning he abandoned them, as difficult or cruel or likely to be spurned. + </p> + <p> + On Easter Monday he was busy in his room at Ballure, with a mounted + messenger riding constantly between his gate and Government offices. He + had spent the morning on two important letters. Both were to the Home + Secretary. One was sealed with his seal as Deemster; the other was written + on the official paper of Government House. He was instructing the + messenger to register these letters when, through the open door, he heard + a formidable voice in the hall. It was Pete's voice. A moment afterwards + Jem-y-Lord came up with a startled face. + </p> + <p> + “He's here himself, your Excellency. Whatever <i>am</i> I to do with him?” + </p> + <p> + “Bring him up,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + Jem began to stammer. “But—but—and then the Bishop may be here + any minute.” + </p> + <p> + “Ask the Bishop to wait in the room below.” + </p> + <p> + Pete was heard coming upstairs. “Aisy all, aisy! Stoop your lil head, + bogh. That's the ticket!” + </p> + <p> + Philip had not spoken to Pete since the night of the drinking of the + brandy and water in the bedroom. He could not help it—his hand + shook. There would be a painful scene. + </p> + <p> + “Stoop again, darling. There you are.” + </p> + <p> + And then Pete was in the room. He was carrying the child on one shoulder; + they were both in their best clothes. Pete looked older and somewhat + thinner; the tan of his cheeks was fretted out in pale patches under the + eyes, which were nevertheless bright. He had the face of a man who had + fought a brave fight with life and been beaten, yet bore the world no + grudge. Jem-y-Lord and the messenger were gone from the room in a moment, + and the door was closed. + </p> + <p> + “What d'ye think of that, Phil? Isn't she a lil beauty?” + </p> + <p> + Pete was dancing the child on his knee and looking sideways down at it + with eyes of rapture. + </p> + <p> + “She's as sweet as an angel,” said Philip in a low tone. + </p> + <p> + “Isn't she now?” said Pete, and then he rattled on as if he were the + happiest man alive. “You've been wanting something like this yourself this + long time, Phil. 'Deed you have, though. It would be diverting you + wonderful. Ter'ble the fun there is in babies. Talk about play-actorers! + They're only funeral mutes where babies come. Bittending this and + bittending that—it's mortal amusing they are. You'd be getting up + from your books, tired shocking, and ready for a bit of fun, and going to + the stair-head and shouting down, 'Where's my lil woman?' Then up she'd be + coming, step by step, houlding on to the bannisters, dot and carry one. + And my gracious, the dust there'd be here in the study! You down on the + carpet on all fours, and the lil one straddled across your back and + slipping down to your neck. Same for all the world as the man in the + picture with the world atop of his shoulders. And your own lil world would + be up there, too, laughing and crowing mortal. And then at night, Phil, at + night—getting up from your summonses and your warrantees, and going + creeping to the lil one's room tippie-toe, tippie-toe, and 'Is she + sleeping comfor'bly?' thinks you; and listening at the crack of the door, + and hearing her breathing, and slipping in to look, and everything quiet, + and the red fire on her lil face, and 'Grod bless her, the darling!' says + you, and then back to your desk content. Aw, you'll have to be having a + lil one of your own one of these days, Phil.” + </p> + <p> + “He has come to say something,” thought Philip. + </p> + <p> + The child wriggled off Pete's knee and began to creep about the floor. + Philip tried to command himself and to talk easily. + </p> + <p> + “And how have you been yourself, Pete?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” said Pete, meddling with his hair, “only middling, somehow.” He + looked down at the carpet, and faltered, “You'll be wondering at me, Phil, + but, you see “—he hesitated—“not to tell you a word of a lie——” + then, with a rush, “I'm going foreign again; that's the fact.” + </p> + <p> + “Again?” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I am,” said Pete, looking ashamed. “Yes, truth enough, that's what + I'm thinking of doing. You see,” with a persuasive air, “when a man's + bitten by travel it's like the hydrophobia ezactly, he can't rest no time + in one bed at all. Must be running here and running there—and + running reg'lar. It's the way with me, anyway. Used to think the ould + island would be big enough for the rest of my days. But, no! I'm longing + shocking for the mines again, and the compound, and the niggers, and the + wild life out yonder. 'The sea's calling me,' you know.” And then he + laughed. + </p> + <p> + Philip understood him—Pete meant to take himself out of the way. + “Shall you stay long?” he faltered. + </p> + <p> + “Well, yes, I was thinking so,” said Pete. “You see, the stuff isn't + panning out now same as it used to, and fortunes aren't made as fast as + they were in my time. Not that I'm wanting a fortune, neither—is it + likely now? But, still and for all—well, I'll be away a good spell, + anyway.” + </p> + <p> + Philip tried to ask if he intended to go soon. + </p> + <p> + “To-morrow, sir, by the packet to Liverpool, for the sailing on Wednesday. + I've been going the rounds saying 'goodbye' to the ould chums—Jonaique, + and John the Widow, and Niplightly, and Kelly the postman. Not much heart + at some of them; just a bit of a something stowed away in their giblets; + but it isn't right to be expecting too much at all. This is the only one + that doesn't seem willing to part with me.” + </p> + <p> + Pete's dog had followed him into the room, and was sitting soberly by the + side of his chair. “There's no shaking him off, poor ould chap.” + </p> + <p> + The dog got up and wagged his stump. + </p> + <p> + “Well, we've tramped the world together, haven't we, Dempster? He doesn't + seem tired of me yet neither.” Pete's face lengthened. “But there's + Grannie, now. The ould angel is going about like a bit of a thunder-cloud, + and doesn't know in the world whether to burst on me or not. Thinks I've + been cruel, seemingly. I can't be explaining to her neither. Maybe you'll + set it right for me when I'm gone, sir. It's you for a job like that, you + know. Don't want her to be thinking hard of me, poor ould thing.” + </p> + <p> + Pete whistled at the child, and halloed to it, and then, in a lower tone, + he continued, “Not been to Castletown, sir. Got as far as Ballasalla, and + saw the castle tower. Then my heart was losing me, and I turned back. + You'll say good-bye for me, Phil Tell her I forgave—no, not that, + though. Say I left her my love—that won't do neither. <i>You'll</i> + know best what to say when the time comes, Phil, so I lave it with you. + Maybe you'll tell her I went away cheerful and content, and, well, happy—why + not? No harm in saying that at all. Not breaking my heart, anyway, for + when a man's a man—H'm!” clearing his throat, “I'm bad dreadful + these days wanting a smook in the mornings. May I smook here? I may? + You're good, too.” + </p> + <p> + He cut his tobacco with his discoloured knife, rolled it, charged his + pipe, and lit it. + </p> + <p> + “Sorry to be going away just before your own great day, Phil. I'll get the + skipper to fire a round as we're steaming by Castletown, and if there's a + band aboord I'll tip them a trifle to play 'Myle Charaine.' That'll spake + to you like the blackbird's whistle, as the saying is. Looks like + deserting you, though. But, chut! it would be no surprise to me at all. + I've seen it coming these years and years. 'You'll be the first Manxman + living,' says I the day I sailed before. You've not deceaved me neither. + D'ye remember the morning on the quay, and the oath between the pair of + us? Me swearing you same as a high bailiff—nothing and nobody to + come between us—d'ye mind it, Phil? And nothing has, and nothing + shall.” + </p> + <p> + He puffed at his pipe, and said significantly, “You'll be getting married + soon. Aw, you will, I know you will, I'm sarten sure you will.” + </p> + <p> + Philip could not look into his face. He felt little and mean. + </p> + <p> + “You're a wise man, sir, and a great man, but if a plain common chap may + give you a bit of advice—aw, but you'll be losing no time, though, + I'll not be here myself to see it. I'll be on the water, maybe, with the + waves washing agen the gun'ale, and the wind rattling in the rigging, and + the ship burrowing into the darkness of the sea. But I'll be knowing it's + morning at home, and the sun shining, and a sort of a warm quietness + everywhere, and you and her at the ould church together.” + </p> + <p> + The pipe was puffing audibly. + </p> + <p> + “Tell her I lave her my blessing. Tell her—but the way I'm smooking, + it's shocking. Your curtains will be smelling thick twist for a century.” + </p> + <p> + Philip's moist eyes were following the child along the floor. + </p> + <p> + “What about the little one?” he asked with difficulty. + </p> + <p> + “Ah I tell you the truth, Phil, that's the for I came. Well, mostly, + anyway. You see, a child isn't fit for a compound ezactly. Not but they're + thinking diamonds of a lil thing out there, specially if it's a girl. But + still and for all, with niggers about and chaps as rough as a thornbush + and no manners to spake of——” + </p> + <p> + Philip interrupted eagerly—“Will you leave her with Grannie!” + </p> + <p> + “Well, no, that wasn't what I was thinking. Grannie's a bit ould getting + and she's had her whack. Wanting aisement in her ould days, anyway. Then + she'll be knocking under before the lil one's up—that's only to be + expected. No, I was thinking—what d'ye think I was thinking now?” + </p> + <p> + “What?” said Philip with quick-coming breath. He did not raise his head. + </p> + <p> + “I was thinking—well, yes, I was, then—it's a fact, though—I + was thinking maybe yourself, now——” + </p> + <p> + “Pete!” + </p> + <p> + Philip had started up and grasped Pete by the hand, but he could say no + more, he felt crushed by Pete's magnanimity. And Pete went on as if he + were asking a great favour. “'She's been your heart's blood to you, Pete,' + thinks I to my-. self, 'and there isn't nobody but himself you could trust + her with—nobody else you would give her up to. He'll love her,'. + thinks I; 'he'll cherish her; he'll rear her as if she was his own; he'll + be same thing as a father itself to her'——” + </p> + <p> + Philip was struggling to keep up. + </p> + <p> + “I've been laving something for her too,” said Pete. + </p> + <p> + “No, no!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, though, one of the first Manx estates going. Cæsar had the deeds, + but I've been taking them to the High Bailiff, and doing everything + regular. When I'm gone, sir——” + </p> + <p> + Philip tried to protest. + </p> + <p> + “Aw, but a man can lave what he likes to his own, sir, can't he?” + </p> + <p> + Philip was silent. He could say nothing. The make-believe was to be kept + up to the last tragic moment. + </p> + <p> + “And out yonder, lying on my hunk in the sheds—good mattresses and + thick blankets, Phil, nothing to complain of at all—I'll be watching + her growing up, year by year, same as if she was under my eye constant. + 'She's in pinafores now' thinks I. 'Now she's in long frocks, and is doing + up her hair.' 'She's as straight as an osier now, and red as a rose, and + the best looking girl in the island, and the spitting picture of what her + mother used to be.' Aw, I'll be seeing her in my mind's eye, sir, plainer + nor any potegraph.” + </p> + <p> + Pete puffed furiously at his pipe. “And the mother, I'll be seeing + herself, too. A woman every inch of her, God bless her. Wherever there's a + poor girl lying in her shame she'll be there, I'll go bail on that. And + yourself—I'll be seeing yourself, sir, whiter, maybe, and the sun + going down on you, but strong for all. And when any poor fellow has had a + knock-down blow, and the world is darkening round him, he'll be coming to + you for light and for strength, and you'll be houlding out the right hand + to him, because you're knowing yourself what it is to fall and get up + again, and because you're a man, and Grod has made friends with you.” + </p> + <p> + Pete rammed his thumb into his pipe, and stuffed it, still smoking, into + his waistcoat pocket. “Chut!” he said huskily. “The talk a man'll be + putting out when he's going away foreign! All for poethry then, or + something of that spacious. H'm! h'm!” clearing his throat, “must be + giving up the pipe, though. Not much worth for the voice at all.” + </p> + <p> + Philip could not speak. The strength and grandeur of the man overwhelmed + him. It cut him to the heart that Pete could never see, could never hear, + how he would wash away his shame. + </p> + <p> + The child had crawled across the room to an open cabinet that stood in one + corner, and there possessed herself of a shell, which she was making show + of holding to her ear. + </p> + <p> + “Well, did you ever?” cried Pete. “Look at that child now. She's knowing + it's a shell. 'Deed she is, though. Aw, crawling reg'lar, sir, morning to + night. Would you like to see the prettiest sight in the world, Phil?” He + went down on his knees and held out his arms. “Come here, you lil + sandpiper. Fix that chair a piece nearer, sir—that's the ticket. + Good thing Nancy isn't here. She'd be on to us like the mischief. + Wonderful handy with babies, though, and if anybody was wanting a nurse + now—a stepmother's breath is cold—but Nancy! My gough, you + daren't look over the hedge at her lammie but she's shouting fit for an + earth wake. Stand nice, now, Kitty, stand nice, bogh! The woman's about + right, too—the lil one's legs are like bits of qualebone. 'Come, + now, bogh, come?” + </p> + <p> + Pete put the child to stand with its back to the chair, and then leaned + towards it with his arms outspread. The child staggered a step in the sea + of one yard's space that lay between, looked back at the irrecoverable + chair, looked down on the distant ground, and then plunged forward with a + nervous laugh, and fell into Pete's arms. + </p> + <p> + “Bravo! Wasn't that nice, Phil? Ever see anything prettier than a child's + first step? Again, Kitty, bogh! But go to your <i>new</i> father this + time. Aisy, now, aisy!” (in a thick voice). “Grive me a kiss first!” (with + a choking gurgle). “One more, darling!” (with a broken laugh). “Now face + the <i>other</i> way. One—two—are you ready, Phil?” + </p> + <p> + Phil held out his long white trembling hands. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” with a smothered sob. + </p> + <p> + “Three—four—and away!” + </p> + <p> + The child's fingers slipped into Philip's palm; there was another halt, + another plunge, another nervous laugh, and then the child was in Philip's + arms, his head was over it, and he was clasping it to his heart. + </p> + <p> + After a moment, Philip, without raising his eyes, said, “Pete!” + </p> + <p> + But Pete had stolen softly from the room. + </p> + <p> + “Pete! where are you?” + </p> + <p> + Where was he? He was on the road outside, crying like a boy—no, like + a man—at thought of the happiness he had left upstairs. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0129" id="link2H_4_0129"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XIX. + </h2> + <p> + The town of Peel was in a great commotion that night. It was the night of + St. Patrick's Day, and the mackerel fleet were leaving for Kinsale. A + hundred and fifty boats lay in the harbour, each with a light in its + binnacle, a fire in its cabin, smoke coming from its stove-pipe, and its + sails half-set. The sea was fresh; there was a smart breeze from the + northwest, and the air was full of the brine. At the turn of the tide the + boats began to drop down the harbour. Then there was a rush of women and + children and old men to the end of the pier. Mothers were seeing their + sons off, women their husbands, children their fathers, girls their boys—all + full of fun and laughter and joyful cries. + </p> + <p> + One of the girls remembered that the men were leaving the island before + the installation of the new Governor. Straightway they started a game of + make-believe—the make-believe of electing the Governor for + themselves. + </p> + <p> + “Who are you voting for, Mr. Quayle?”—“Aw, Dempster Christian, of + coorse.”—“Throw us your rope, then, and we'll give you a pull.”—“Heave + oh, girls.” And the rope would be whipped round a mooring-post on the + quay, twenty girls would seize it, and the boat would go slipping past the + pier, round the castle rocks, and then away before the north-wester like a + gull. + </p> + <p> + “Good luck, Harry!”—“Whips of money coming home, Jem!”—“Write + us a letter—mind you write, now ÃŽ “—“Goodnight, father!” + </p> + <p> + No crying yet, no sign of tears—nothing but fresh young faces, + bright eyes, and peals of laughter, as one by one the boats slid out into + the fresh, green water of the bay, and the wind took them, and they shot + into the night. Even the dogs on the quay frisked about, and barked as if + they were going crazy with delight. + </p> + <p> + In the midst of this happy scene, a man, wearing a monkey-jacket and a + wide-brimmed soft hat, came up to the harbour with a little misshapen dog + at his heels. He stood for a moment as if bewildered by the strange + midnight spectacle before him. Then he walked through the throng of young + people, and listened awhile to their talk and laughter. No one spoke to + him, and he spoke to no one. His dog followed with its nose at his ankles. + If some other dog, in youthful frolic, frisked and barked about it, it + snarled and snapped, and then croodled down at his master's feet and + looked ashamed. + </p> + <p> + “Dempster, Dempster, getting a bit ould, eh?” said the man. + </p> + <p> + After a little while he went quietly away. Nobody missed him; nobody had + observed him. He had gone back to the town. At a baker's shop, which was + still open for the convenience of the departing fleet, he bought a + seaman's biscuit. With this he returned to the harbour by way of the + shore. At the slip by the Rocket House he went down to the beach and + searched among the shingle until he found a stone like a dumb-bell, large + at the ends and narrow in the middle. Then he went back to the quay. The + dog followed him and watched him. + </p> + <p> + The last of the boats was out in the bay by this time. She could be seen + quite plainly in the moonlight, with the green blade of a wave breaking on + her quarter. Somebody was carrying a light on her deck, and the giant + shadow of a man's figure was cast up on the new lugsail. There were shouts + and answers across the splashing water. Then a fresh young voice on the + boat began to sing “Lovely Mona, fare thee well.” The women took it up, + and the two companies sang it in turns, verse by verse, the women on the + quay and the men on the boat, with the sea growing wider between them. + </p> + <p> + An old fisherman on the skirts of the crowd had a little girl on his + shoulder. + </p> + <p> + “You'll not be going to Kinsale this time, mate?” said a voice behind him. + </p> + <p> + “Aw, no, sir. I've seen the day, though. Thirty years I was going, and + better. But I'm done now.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, that's the way, you see. It's the turn of the young ones now. Let + them sing, God bless them! We're not going to fret, though, are we? + There's one thing we can always do—we can always remember, and + that's some constilation, isn't it.” + </p> + <p> + “I'm doing it reg'lar.” said the old fisherman. + </p> + <p> + “After all, it's been a good thing to live, and when a man's time comes + it'll not be such a darned bad thing to die neither. Don't you hould with + me there, mate?” + </p> + <p> + “I do, sir, I do.” + </p> + <p> + The last boat had rounded the castle rock, and its topsail had diminished + and disappeared. On the quay the song had ended, and the women and + children were turning their faces with a shade of sadness towards the + town. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” with a deep universal inspiration, “wasn't it beautiful?”— + “Wasn't it?”—“Then what are you crying about?” + </p> + <p> + The girls laughed at each other with wet eyes, and went off with + springless steps. The mothers picked up their children and carried them + home whimpering; and the old men went a way with drooping heads and + shambling feet. + </p> + <p> + When all was gone, and the harbour-master had taken his last look round, + the man with the dog went to the end of the empty quay, and sat on the + mooring post that had served for the running of the ropes. All was quiet + enough now. The voices, the singing, the laughter were lost. There was no + sound but the gurgle of the ebbing tide, which was racing out with the + river's flow between the pier and the castle rock. + </p> + <p> + The man looked at his dog, stooped to it, gave it the biscuit, and petted + it and stroked it while it munched its supper. “Dempster, bogh! Dempster! + Getting ould, eh? Travelled far together, haven't we? Tired a bit, aren't + you? Couldn't go through another rough journey, anyway. Hard to part, + though, Machree! Machree!” + </p> + <p> + He took the stone out of his pocket, tied it to one end of the string, + made a noose on the ether end, slipped it about the dog's neck, and + without warning, picked up the dog and stone at once, and dropped them + over the pier. The old creature gave a piteous cry as it descended; there + was a splash, and then—the racing of the water past the pier. + </p> + <p> + The man had turned away quickly, and was going heavily along the quay. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0130" id="link2H_4_0130"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XX. + </h2> + <p> + It had been a night of pain to Philip. All the world seemed to be + conspiring to hold him back from what he had to do. “Thou shalt not” was + the legend that appeared to be written everywhere. Four persons had learnt + his secret, and all four seemed to call upon him to hide it. First, the + Clerk of the Rolls, who had heard the divorce proceedings within closed + doors; next Pete, who might have clamoured the scandal on all hands, and + plucked him down from his place, but had chosen to be silent and to slip + away unseen; then Cæsar, whose awful self-deception was an assurance of + his secrecy; and, finally. Auntie Nan, whose provision for Kate's material + welfare had been intended to prevent the necessity for revelation. All + these had seemed to say to him, whether from affection or from fear, “Hold + your peace. Say nothing. The past is the past; it is dead; it does not + exist. Go on with your career. It is only beginning. What right have you + to break it up? The island looks to you, waits for you. Step forward and + be strong.” + </p> + <p> + Thank God, it was too late to be moved by that temptation. Too late to be + bought by that bribe. Already he had taken the irrevocable course, he had + made the irrevocable step. He could not now go back. + </p> + <p> + But the awful penalty of the island's undeceiving! The pain of that moment + when everybody would learn that he had deceived the whole world! He was a + sham—a whited sepulchre. Every step he had gone up in his quick + ascent had been over the body of some one who had loved him too well. + First Kate, who had been the victim of the Deemstership, and now Pete, who + was paying the price that made him Governor. + </p> + <p> + He could see the darkened looks of the proud; he could hear the execration + of the disappointed; he could feel the tears of the true-hearted at the + downfall of a life that had looked so fair. In the frenzy of that last + hour of trial, it seemed as if he was contending, not with man and the + world, but with the devil, who was using both to make this bitter irony of + his position—who was bribing him with worldly glory that he might + damn his soul forever. + </p> + <p> + And therein lay a temptation that sat closer at his side—the + temptation to turn his face and fly away. It was midnight. The moon was + shining on the boundless plain of the sea. He was in the slack water of + the soul, when the ebb is spent, before the tide has begun to flow. Oh, to + leave everything behind—the shame and the glory together! + </p> + <p> + It was the moment when the girls on Peel Quay were pulling the rope for + the men on the boats who were ready to vote for Christian. + </p> + <p> + The pains of sleep were yet greater. He thought he was in Castletown, + skulking under the walls of the castle. With a look up towards Parliament + House and down to the harbour, he fumbled his private key into the lock of + the side entrance to the council chamber. The old caretaker heard him + creep-down the long corridor, and she came clattering out with a candle, + shaded behind her hand. “Something I've forgotten,” he said. “Pardon, your + Honour,” and then a deep courtesy. + </p> + <p> + He opened noiselessly the little door leading from the council chamber to + the keep, but in the dark shadow of the steps the turnkey challenged him. + “Who's there? Stop!”—“Hush!”—“The Deemster! Beg your Honour's + pardon.”—“Show me the female wards.”—“This way your Honour.”—“Her + cell.” “Here, your Honour.”—“The key; your lantern. Now go back to + the guard-room.” He was with Kate. “My love, my love!”—“My darling!”— + “Come, let us fly away from the island. I cannot face it. I thought I + could, but I cannot. I've got the child too. Come!” And then Kate—“I + would go anywhere with you, Philip, anywhere, anywhere. I only want your + love. But is this worthy of a man like you? Leave me. We have fallen too + low to drop into a pit like that. Away with you! Go!” And he slunk out of + the cell, before the wrathful love that would save him from himself. He, + the Deemster, the Governor, had slunk out like a dog. + </p> + <p> + It was only a dream. When he awoke, the birds were singing and the day was + blue over the sea. The temptation was past; it was under his feet. He + could hesitate no longer; his cup was brimming over; he would drink it to + the dregs. + </p> + <p> + Jem-y-Lord came with his mouth full of news. The town was decorated with + bunting. There was to be a general holiday. A grand stand had been erected + on the green in front of the Court-house. The people were not going to be + deterred by the Deemster's refusals. He who shrank from honours was the + more worthy of being honoured. They intended to present their new Governor + with an address. + </p> + <p> + “Let them—let them,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + Jem looked up inquiringly. His master's face had a strange expression. + </p> + <p> + “Shall I drive you to-day, your Excellency?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, my lad. It may be for the last time, Jemmy.” + </p> + <p> + What was amiss with the Governor? Had the excitement proved too much for + him? + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0131" id="link2H_4_0131"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXI. + </h2> + <p> + It was a perfect morning, soft and fresh, and sweet with the odours and + the colours of spring. New gorse flashed from the hedges, the violets + peeped from the banks; over the freshening green of the fields the young + lambs sported, and the lark sang in the thin blue air. + </p> + <p> + The town, as they dipped into it, was full of life. At the turn of the + Court-house the crowd was densest. A policeman raised his hand in front of + the horses and Jem-y-Lord drew up. Then the High Bailiff stepped to the + gate and read an address. It mentioned Iron Christian, calling him “The + Great Deemster”; the town took pride to itself that the first Manx + Governor of Man was born in Ramsey. + </p> + <p> + Philip answered briefly, confining himself to an expression of thanks; + there was great cheering and then the carriage moved on. The journey + thereafter was one long triumphal passage. At Sulby Street, and at + Ballaugh Street, there were flags and throngs of people. From time to time + other carriages joined them, falling into line behind. The Bishop was + waiting at Bishop's Court, and place was made for his carriage immediately + after the carriage of the Governor. + </p> + <p> + At Tynwald there was a sweet and beautiful spectacle. The children of St. + John's were seated on the four rounds of the mount, boys and girls in + alternate rows, and from that spot, sacred to the memory of their + forefathers for a thousand years, they sang the National Anthem as Philip + passed on the road. + </p> + <p> + The unhappy man lay back in his seat. His eyes filled, his throat rose. + “Oh, for what might have been!” + </p> + <p> + Under Harry Delany's tree a company of fishermen were waiting with a + letter. It was from their mates at Kinsale. They could not be at home that + day, but their hearts were there. Every boat would fly her flag at the + masthead, and at twelve o'clock noon every Manx fisherman on Irish waters + would raise a cheer. If the Irishmen asked them what they meant by that, + they would answer and say, “It's for the fisherman's friend, Governor + Philip Christian.” + </p> + <p> + The unhappy man was no longer in pain. His agony was beyond that. A sort + of divine madness had taken possession of him. He was putting the world + and the prince of the world behind his back. All this worldly glory and + human gratitude was but the temptation of Satan. With God's help he would + not succumb. He would resist. He would triumph over everything. + </p> + <p> + Jem-y-Lord twisted on the box-seat. “See, your Excellency! Listen!” + </p> + <p> + The flags of Castletown were visible on the Eagle Tower of the castle. + Then there was a multitudinous murmur. Finally a great shout. “Now, boys! + Three times three! Hip, hip, hurrah!” + </p> + <p> + At the entrance to the town an evergreen arch had been erected. It bore an + inscription in Manx: “<i>Dooiney Vannin, lhiat myr hoilloo</i>”—“Man + of Man, success as thou deservest.” + </p> + <p> + The carriage had slacked down to a walk. + </p> + <p> + “Drive quicker,” cried Philip. + </p> + <p> + “The streets are crowded, your Excellency,” said Jem-y-Lord. + </p> + <p> + Flags were flying from every window, from every roof, from every + lamp-post. The people ran by the carriage cheering. Their shout was a + deafening uproar. + </p> + <p> + Philip could not respond. “<i>She</i> will hear it,” he thought. His head + dropped. He was picturing Kate in her cell with the clamour of his welcome + coming muffled through the walls. + </p> + <p> + They took the road by the harbour. Suddenly the carriage stopped. The men + were taking the horses out of the shafts. “No, no,” cried Philip. + </p> + <p> + He had an impulse to alight, but the carriage was moving again in a + moment. “It is the last of my punishment,” he thought, and again fell + back. Then the shouting and the laughter ran along the quay with the + crackle and roar of a fire. + </p> + <p> + A regiment of soldiers lined the way from the drawbridge to the + porlcullis. As the carriage drew up, they presented arms in royal salute. + At the same moment the band of the regiment inside the Keep played “God + save the Queen.” + </p> + <p> + The High Bailiff of the town opened the carriage-door and presented an + address. It welcomed the new Governor to the ancient castle wherein his + predecessors had been installed, and took fresh assurance of devotion to + the Crown from the circumstance that one of their own countrymen had been + thought worthy to represent it. No Manxman had ever been so honoured in + that island before since the days of the new Governor's own great kinsman, + familiarly and affectionately known to all Manxmen through two centuries + as Illiam Dhone (Brown William). + </p> + <p> + Philip replied in few words, the cheering broke out afresh, the band + played again, and they entered the castle by the long corridor that led to + the council chamber. + </p> + <p> + In an anteroom the officials were waiting. They were all elderly men and + old men, who had seen long and honourable service, but they showed no + jealousy. The Clerk of the Rolls received bis former pupil with a shout + wherein personal pride struggled with respect, and affection with + humility. Then the Attorney-General welcomed him in the name of the Bar, + as head of the Judicature, as well as head of the Legislature, taking joy + in the fact that one of their own profession had been elevated to the + highest office in the Isle of Man; glancing at his descent from an + historic Manx line, at his brief but distinguished career as judge, which + had revived the best traditions of judicial wisdom and eloquence, and + finally wishing him long life and strength for the fulfilment of the noble + promise of his young and spotless manhood. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Attorney-General,” said Philip, “I will not accept your + congratulations, much as it would rejoice my heart to do so. It would only + be another grief to me if you were to repent, as too soon you may, the + generous warmth of your reception.” + </p> + <p> + There were puzzled looks, but the sage counsellors could not receive the + right impression; they could only understand the reply in the sense that + agreed with their present feelings. “It is beautiful,” they whispered, + “when a young man of real gifts is genuinely modest.” + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me, gentlemen,” said Philip, “I must go into my room.” + </p> + <p> + The Clerk of the Rolls followed him, saying— + </p> + <p> + “Ah! poor Tom Christian would have been a proud man this day—prouder + than if the honour had been his own—ten thousand thousand times.” + </p> + <p> + “Have mercy, have mercy, and leave me alone,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “I didn't mean to offend you, Christian,” said the Clerk. + </p> + <p> + Philip put one hand affectionately on his shoulder. The eyes of the + robustious fellow began to blink, and he returned to his colleagues. + </p> + <p> + There was a confused murmur beyond the farther wall of the room. It was + the room kept for the Deemster when he held court in the council chamber. + One of its two doors communicated with the bench. As usual, a constable + kept this door. The man loosened his chain and removed his helmet. His + head was grey. + </p> + <p> + “Is the Court-house full?” asked Philip. + </p> + <p> + The constable put his eye to the eye-hole. “Crowded, your Excellency. + </p> + <p> + “Keep the passages clear.”—“Yes, your Excellency.” + </p> + <p> + “Is the Clerk of the Court present?”—“He is, your Excellency.” + </p> + <p> + “And the jailor?”—“Downstairs, your Excellency.” + </p> + <p> + “Tell both they will be wanted.” + </p> + <p> + The constable turned the key of the door and left the room. Jem-y-Lord + came puffing and perspiring. + </p> + <p> + “The ex-Governor is coming over by the green, sir. He'll be here in a + moment.” + </p> + <p> + “My wig and gown, Jemmy,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + “Deemster's wig, your Excellency?”—“Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Last time you'll wear it, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “The last, indeed, my lad.” + </p> + <p> + There was a clash of steel outside, followed by the beat of drum. + </p> + <p> + “He's here,” said Jem-y-Lord. + </p> + <p> + Philip listened. The rattling noise came to him through opening doors and + reverberating corridors like the trampling of a wave to a man imprisoned + in a cave. + </p> + <p> + “She'll hear it, too.” That thought was with him constantly. In his mind's + eye he was seeing Kate, crouching in the fire-seat of the palace room that + was now her prison, and covering her ears to deaden the joyous sounds that + broke the usual silence of the gloomy walls. + </p> + <p> + Jem-y-Lord was at the eye-hole of the door. “He's coming on to the bench, + sir. The gentlemen of the council are following him, and the Court-house + is full of ladies.” + </p> + <p> + Philip was pacing to and fro like a man in violent agitation. At the other + side of the wall the confused murmur had risen to a sharp crackle of many + voices. + </p> + <p> + The constable came back with the Clerk of the Court and the jailor. + </p> + <p> + “Everything ready, your Excellency,” said the Clerk of the Court. + </p> + <p> + The constable turned the key of the door, and laid his hand on the knob. + </p> + <p> + “One moment—give me a moment,” said Philip. + </p> + <p> + He was going through the last throes of his temptation. Something was + asking him, as if in tones of indignation, what right he had to bring + people there to make fools of them. And something was laughing as if in + mockery at the theatrical device he had chosen for gathering together the + people of rank and station, and then dismissing them like naughty + school-children. + </p> + <p> + This idea clamoured loud in wild derision, telling him that he was posing, + that he was making a market of his misfortune, that he was an actor, and + that whatever the effect of the scene he was about to perform, it was + unnecessary and must be contemptible. “You talk of your shame and + humiliation—no atonement can wipe it out. You came here prating to + yourself of blotting out the past—no act of man can do so. Vain, + vain, and idle as well as vain! Mere mummery and display, and a blow to + the dignity of justice!” + </p> + <p> + Under the weight of such torment the thought came to him that he should go + through the ceremony after all, that he should do as the people expected, + that he should accept the Governorship, and then defy the social ostracism + of the island by making Kate his wife. “It's not yet too late,” said the + tempter. + </p> + <p> + Philip stopped in his walk and remembered the two letters of yesterday. + “Thank God! it <i>is</i> too late,” he said. + </p> + <p> + He had spoken the words aloud, and the officers in attendance glanced up + at him. Jem-y-Lord was behind, trembling and biting his lip. + </p> + <p> + It was indeed too late for that temptation. And then the vanity of it, the + cruelty and insufficiency of it! He had been a servant of the world long + enough. From this day forth he meant to be its master. No matter if all + the devils of hell should laugh at him! He was going through with his + purpose. There was only one condition on which he could live in the world—that + he should renounce it. There was only one way of renouncing the world—to + return its wages and strip off its livery. His sin was not only against + Kate, against Pete; it was against the island, and the island must set him + free. + </p> + <p> + Philip approached the door, slackened his pace with an air of uncertainty; + at one step from the constable he stopped. He was breathing noisily. If + the officers had observed him at that moment they must have thought he + looked like a man going to execution. But the constable gazed before him + with a sombre expression, held his helmet in one hand, and the knob of the + door in the other. + </p> + <p> + “Now,” said Philip, with a long inspiration. + </p> + <p> + There was a flash of faces, a waft of perfume, a flutter of + pocket-handkerchiefs, and a deafening reverberation. Philip was in the + Court-house. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0132" id="link2H_4_0132"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXII. + </h2> + <p> + It was remarked that his face was fearfully worn, and that it looked the + whiter for the white wig above it and the black gown beneath. His large + eyes flamed as with fire. “The sword too keen for the scabbard,” whispered + somebody. + </p> + <p> + There is a kind of aloofness in strong men at great moments. Nobody + approaches them. They move onward of themselves, and stand or fall alone. + Everybody in court rose as Philip entered, but no one offered his hand. + Even the ex-Governor only bowed from the Governor's seat under the canopy. + </p> + <p> + Philip took his customary place as Deemster. He was then at the right of + the Governor, the Bishop being on the left. Behind the bishop sat the + Attorney-General, and behind Philip the Clerk of the Rolls. The cheers + that had greeted Philip on his entrance ended with the clapping of hands, + and died off like a wave falling back from the shingle. Then he rose and + turned to the Governor. + </p> + <p> + “I do not know if you are aware, your Excellency, that this is Deemster's + Court-day?” + </p> + <p> + The Governor smiled, and a titter went round the court. “We will dispense + with that,” he said. “We have better business this morning.” 34 + </p> + <p> + “Excuse me, your Excellency,” said Philip; “I am still Deemster. With your + leave we will do everything according to rule.” + </p> + <p> + There was a slight pause, a questioning look, then a cold answer. “Of + course, if you wish it; but your sense of duty——” + </p> + <p> + The ladies in the galleries bad ceased to flutter their fans, and the + members of the House of Keys were shifting in their seats in the well + below. + </p> + <p> + The Clerk of the Deemster's Court pushed through to the space beneath the + bench. “There is only one case, your Honour,” he whispered up. + </p> + <p> + “Speak out, sir,” said Philip. “What case is it?” + </p> + <p> + The Clerk gave an informal answer. It was the case of the young woman who + had attempted her life at Ramsey, and had been kept at Her Majesty's + pleasure. + </p> + <p> + “How long has she been in prison?”—“Seven weeks, your Honour.” + </p> + <p> + “Give me the book and I will sign the order for her release.” + </p> + <p> + The book was handed to the bench. Philip signed it, handed it back to the + Clerk, and said with his face to the jailor— + </p> + <p> + “But keep her until somebody comes to fetch her.” + </p> + <p> + There had been a cold silence during these proceedings. When they were + over, the ladies breathed freely. “You remember the case—left her + husband and little child—divorced since, I'm told—a worthless + person.”—“Ah! yes, wasn't she first tried the day the Deemster fell + ill in court?”—“Men are too tender with such creatures.” + </p> + <p> + Philip had risen again. “Your Excellency, I have done the last of my + duties as Deemster.” His voice had hoarsened. He was a worn and stricken + figure. + </p> + <p> + The ex Governor's warmth had been somewhat cooled by the unexpected + interruption. Nevertheless, the pock-marks smoothed out of his forehead, + and he rose with a smile. At the same moment the Clerk of the Rolls + stepped up and laid two books on the desk before him—a New Testament + in a tattered leather binding, and the <i>Liber Juramentorum</i>, the Book + of Oaths. + </p> + <p> + “The regret I feel,” said the ex-Governor, “and feel increasingly, day by + day, at the severance of the ties which have bound me to this beautiful + island is tempered by the satisfaction I experience that the choice of my + successor has fallen upon one whom I know to be a gentleman of powerful + intellect and stainless honour. He will preserve that autonomous + independence which has come down to you from a remote antiquity, at the + same time that he will uphold the fidelity of a people who have always + been loyal to the Crown. I pray that the blessing of Almighty God may + attend his administration, and that, if the time ever comes when he too + shall stand in the position I occupy to-day, he may have recollections as + lively of the support and kindness he has met with, and regrets as deep at + his separation from the little Manx nation which he leaves behind.” + </p> + <p> + Then the Governor took the staff of office, and gave the signal for + rising. Everybody rose. “And now, sir,” he said, turning to Philip with a + smile, “to do everything, as you say, according to rule, let us first take + Her Majesty's commission of your appointment.” + </p> + <p> + There was a moment's pause, and then Philip said in a cold clear voice— + </p> + <p> + “Your Excellency, I have no commission. The commission which I received I + have returned. I have, therefore, no right to be installed as Governor. + Also, I have resigned my office as Deemster, and, though my resignation + has not yet been accepted, I am, in reality, no longer in the service of + the State.” + </p> + <p> + The people looked at the speaker with eyes that were full of the + stupefaction of surprise. Somebody bad risen at the back of the bench. It + was the Clerk of the Rolls. He stretched out his hand as if to touch + Philip on the shoulder. Then he hesitated and sat down again. + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen of the Council and of the Keys,” continued Philip, “you will + think you have assembled to see a man take a leap into an abyss more dark + than death. That is as it may be. You have a right to an explanation, and + I am here to make it. What I have done has been at the compulsion of + conscience. I am not worthy of the office I hold, still less of the office + that is offered me.” + </p> + <p> + There was a half-articulate interruption from behind Philip's chair. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! do not think, old friend, that I am dealing in vague self + depreciation. I should have preferred not to speak more exactly, but what + must be, must be. Your Excellency has spoken of my honour as spotless. + Would to God it were so; but it is deeply stained with sin.” + </p> + <p> + He stopped, made an effort to begin afresh, and stopped again. Then, in a + low tone, with measured utterance, amid breathless silence, he said— + “I have lived a double life. Beneath the life that you have seen there has + been another—God only knows how full of wrongdoing and disgrace and + shame. It is no part of my duty to involve others in this confession. Let + it be enough that my career has been built on falsehood and robbery, that + I have deceived the woman who loved me with her heart of hearts, and + robbed the man who would have trusted me with his soul.” + </p> + <p> + The people began to breathe audibly. There was the scraping of a chair + behind the speaker. The Clerk of the Rolls had risen. His florid face was + violently agitated. + </p> + <p> + “May it please your Excellency,” he began, faltering and stammering, in a + husky voice, “it will be within your Excellency's knowledge, and the + knowledge of every one on the island, that his Honour has only just risen + from a long and serious illness, brought on by overwork, by too zealous + attention to his duties, and that—in fact, that—well, not to + blink the plain truth, that——” + </p> + <p> + A sigh of immense relief had passed over the court, and the Governor, + grown very pale, was nodding in assent. But Philip only smiled sadly and + shook his head. + </p> + <p> + “I have been ill indeed,” he said, “but not from the cause you speak of. + The just judgment of God has overtaken me.” + </p> + <p> + The Clerk of the Rolls sank back into his seat. + </p> + <p> + “The moment came when I had to sit in judgment on my own sin, the moment + when she who had lost her honour in trusting to mine stood in the dock + before me. I, who had been the first cause of her misfortunes, sat on the + bench as her judge. She is now in prison and I am here. The same law which + has punished her failing with infamy has advanced me to power.” + </p> + <p> + There was an icy quiet in the court, such as comes with the first gleam of + the dawn. By that quick instinct which takes possession of a crowd at + great moments, the people understood everything—the impurity of the + character that had seemed so pure, the nullity of the life that had seemed + so noble. + </p> + <p> + “When I asked myself what there was left to me to do, I could see but one + thing. It was impossible to go on administering justice, being myself + unjust, and remembering that higher bar before which I too was yet to + stand. I must cease to be Deemster. But that was only my protection + against the future, not my punishment for the past. I could not surrender + myself to any earthly court, because I was guilty of no crime against + earthly law. The law cannot take a man into the court of the conscience. + He must take himself there.” + </p> + <p> + He stopped again, and then said quietly, “My sentence is this open + confession of my sin, and renunciation of the worldly advantages which + have been bought by the suffering of others.” + </p> + <p> + It was no longer possible to doubt him. He had sinned, and he had reaped + the reward of his sin. Those rewards were great and splendid, but he had + come to renounce them all. The dreams of ambition were fulfilled, the + miracle of life was realised, the world was conquered and at his feet, yet + he was there to give up all. The quiet of the court had warmed to a hush + of awe. He turned to the bench, but every face was down. Then his own eyes + fell. + </p> + <p> + “Gentlemen of the Council, you who have served the island so long and so + honourably, perhaps you blame me for permitting you to come together for + the hearing of this confession. But if you knew the temptation I was under + to fly away without making it, to turn my back on my past, to shuffle, my + fault on to Fate, to lay the blame on Life, to persuade myself that I + could not have acted differently, you would believe it was not lightly, + and God knows, not vainly, that I suffered you to come here to see me + mount my scaffold.” + </p> + <p> + He turned back to the body of the court. + </p> + <p> + “My countrymen and countrywomen, you who have been so much more kind to me + than my character justified or my conduct merited. I say good-bye; but not + as one who is going away. In conquering the impulse to go without + confessing, I conquered the desire to go at all. Here, where my old life + has fallen to ruin, my new life must be built up. That is the only + security. It is also the only justice. On this island, where my fall is + known, my uprising may come—as is most right—only with bitter + struggle and sorrow and tears. But when it comes, it will come securely. + It may be in years, in many years, but I am willing to wait—I am + ready to labour. And, meantime, she who was worthy of my highest honour + will share my lowest degradation. That is the way of all women—God + love and keep them!” + </p> + <p> + The exaltation of his tones infected everybody. + </p> + <p> + “It may be that you think I am to be pitied. There have been hours of my + life when I have been deserving of pity. But they have been the hours, the + dark hours, when, in the prodigality of your gratitude, you have loaded me + with distinctions, and a shadow has haunted me, saying, 'Philip Christian, + they think you a just judge—you are not a just judge; they think you + an upright man—you are not an upright man.' Do not pity me now, when + the dark hours are passed, when the new life has begun, when I am + listening at length to the voice of my heart, which has all along been the + voice of God.” + </p> + <p> + His eyes shone, his mouth was smiling. + </p> + <p> + “If you think how narrowly I escaped the danger of letting things go on as + they were going, of covering up my fault, of concealing my true character, + of living as a sham and dying as a hypocrite, you will consider me worthy + of envy instead. Good-bye! good-bye! God bless you!” + </p> + <p> + Before any one appeared to be aware that his voice had ceased he was gone + from the bench, and the Deemster's chair stood empty. Then the people + turned and looked into each other's stricken faces. They were still + standing, for nobody had thought of sitting down. + </p> + <p> + There was no further speaking that day. Without a word or a sign the + Governor descended from his seat and the proceedings came to an end. Every + one moved towards the door. “A great price to pay for it, though,” thought + the men. “How he must have loved her, after all,” thought the women. + </p> + <p> + At that moment the big Queen Elizabeth clock of the Castle was striking + twelve, and the fishermen on Irish waters were raising a cheer for their + friend at home. A loud detonation rang out over the town. It was the + report of a gun. There was another, and then a third. The shots were from + a steamer that was passing the bay. + </p> + <p> + Philip remembered—it was Pete's last farewell. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0133" id="link2H_4_0133"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + XXIII. + </h2> + <p> + Half an hour later the Keep, the courtyard, and the passage to the + portcullis were filled with an immense crowd. Ladies thronged the two + flights of external steps to the prisoners' chapel and the council + chamber. Men had climbed as high as to the battlements, and were looking + down over the beetle-browed walls. All eyes were on the door to the + debtors' side of the prison, and a path from it was being kept clear. The + door opened and Philip and Kate came out. There was no other exit, and + they must have taken it. He was holding her firmly by the hand, and + half-leading, half-drawing her along. Under the weight of so many eyes, + her head was held down, but those who were near enough to see her face + knew that her shame was swallowed up in happiness and her fear in love. + Philip was like a man transfigured. The extreme pallor of his cheeks was + gone, his step was firm, and his face was radiant. It was the common + remark that never before had he looked so strong, so buoyant, so noble. + This was the hour of his triumph, not that within the walls; this, when + his sin was confessed, when conscience had no power to appal him, when the + world and the pride of the world were beneath his feet, and he was going + forth from a prison cell, hand in hand with the fallen woman by his side, + to face the future with their bankrupt lives. + </p> + <p> + And she? She was sharing his fiery ordeal. Before her outraged sisters and + all the world she was walking with him in the depth of his humiliation, at + the height of his conquest, at the climax of his shame and glory. + </p> + <p> + Once for a moment she halted and stumbled as if under the hot breath that + was beating upon her head. But he put his arm about her, and in a moment + she was strong. The sun dipped down from the great tower on to his + upturned face, and his eyes were glistening through their tears. + </p> + <p> + THE END. <br /> <br /> + </p> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Manxman, by Hall Caine + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MANXMAN *** + +***** This file should be named 25570-h.htm or 25570-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/2/5/5/7/25570/ + +Produced by David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project +Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation” + or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project +Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +“Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.” + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +“Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right +of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + + +</pre> + </body> +</html> |