summaryrefslogtreecommitdiff
path: root/61865-h/61865-h.htm
blob: ed395af933311ce92188ea3ed159f622ba008e49 (plain) 
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559
560
561
562
563
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
571
572
573
574
575
576
577
578
579
580
581
582
583
584
585
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593
594
595
596
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605
606
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614
615
616
617
618
619
620
621
622
623
624
625
626
627
628
629
630
631
632
633
634
635
636
637
638
639
640
641
642
643
644
645
646
647
648
649
650
651
652
653
654
655
656
657
658
659
660
661
662
663
664
665
666
667
668
669
670
671
672
673
674
675
676
677
678
679
680
681
682
683
684
685
686
687
688
689
690
691
692
693
694
695
696
697
698
699
700
701
702
703
704
705
706
707
708
709
710
711
712
713
714
715
716
717
718
719
720
721
722
723
724
725
726
727
728
729
730
731
732
733
734
735
736
737
738
739
740
741
742
743
744
745
746
747
748
749
750
751
752
753
754
755
756
757
758
759
760
761
762
763
764
765
766
767
768
769
770
771
772
773
774
775
776
777
778
779
780
781
782
783
784
785
786
787
788
789
790
791
792
793
794
795
796
797
798
799
800
801
802
803
804
805
806
807
808
809
810
811
812
813
814
815
816
817
818
819
820
821
822
823
824
825
826
827
828
829
830
831
832
833
834
835
836
837
838
839
840
841
842
843
844
845
846
847
848
849
850
851
852
853
854
855
856
857
858
859
860
861
862
863
864
865
866
867
868
869
870
871
872
873
874
875
876
877
878
879
880
881
882
883
884
885
886
887
888
889
890
891
892
893
894
895
896
897
898
899
900
901
902
903
904
905
906
907
908
909
910
911
912
913
914
915
916
917
918
919
920
921
922
923
924
925
926
927
928
929
930
931
932
933
934
935
936
937
938
939
940
941
942
943
944
945
946
947
948
949
950
951
952
953
954
955
956
957
958
959
960
961
962
963
964
965
966
967
968
969
970
971
972
973
974
975
976
977
978
979
980
981
982
983
984
985
986
987
988
989
990
991
992
993
994
995
996
997
998
999
1000
1001
1002
1003
1004
1005
1006
1007
1008
1009
1010
1011
1012
1013
1014
1015
1016
1017
1018
1019
1020
1021
1022
1023
1024
1025
1026
1027
1028
1029
1030
1031
1032
1033
1034
1035
1036
1037
1038
1039
1040
1041
1042
1043
1044
1045
1046
1047
1048
1049
1050
1051
1052
1053
1054
1055
1056
1057
1058
1059
1060
1061
1062
1063
1064
1065
1066
1067
1068
1069
1070
1071
1072
1073
1074
1075
1076
1077
1078
1079
1080
1081
1082
1083
1084
1085
1086
1087
1088
1089
1090
1091
1092
1093
1094
1095
1096
1097
1098
1099
1100
1101
1102
1103
1104
1105
1106
1107
1108
1109
1110
1111
1112
1113
1114
1115
1116
1117
1118
1119
1120
1121
1122
1123
1124
1125
1126
1127
1128
1129
1130
1131
1132
1133
1134
1135
1136
1137
1138
1139
1140
1141
1142
1143
1144
1145
1146
1147
1148
1149
1150
1151
1152
1153
1154
1155
1156
1157
1158
1159
1160
1161
1162
1163
1164
1165
1166
1167
1168
1169
1170
1171
1172
1173
1174
1175
1176
1177
1178
1179
1180
1181
1182
1183
1184
1185
1186
1187
1188
1189
1190
1191
1192
1193
1194
1195
1196
1197
1198
1199
1200
1201
1202
1203
1204
1205
1206
1207
1208
1209
1210
1211
1212
1213
1214
1215
1216
1217
1218
1219
1220
1221
1222
1223
1224
1225
1226
1227
1228
1229
1230
1231
1232
1233
1234
1235
1236
1237
1238
1239
1240
1241
1242
1243
1244
1245
1246
1247
1248
1249
1250
1251
1252
1253
1254
1255
1256
1257
1258
1259
1260
1261
1262
1263
1264
1265
1266
1267
1268
1269
1270
1271
1272
1273
1274
1275
1276
1277
1278
1279
1280
1281
1282
1283
1284
1285
1286
1287
1288
1289
1290
1291
1292
1293
1294
1295
1296
1297
1298
1299
1300
1301
1302
1303
1304
1305
1306
1307
1308
1309
1310
1311
1312
1313
1314
1315
1316
1317
1318
1319
1320
1321
1322
1323
1324
1325
1326
1327
1328
1329
1330
1331
1332
1333
1334
1335
1336
1337
1338
1339
1340
1341
1342
1343
1344
1345
1346
1347
1348
1349
1350
1351
1352
1353
1354
1355
1356
1357
1358
1359
1360
1361
1362
1363
1364
1365
1366
1367
1368
1369
1370
1371
1372
1373
1374
1375
1376
1377
1378
1379
1380
1381
1382
1383
1384
1385
1386
1387
1388
1389
1390
1391
1392
1393
1394
1395
1396
1397
1398
1399
1400
1401
1402
1403
1404
1405
1406
1407
1408
1409
1410
1411
1412
1413
1414
1415
1416
1417
1418
1419
1420
1421
1422
1423
1424
1425
1426
1427
1428
1429
1430
1431
1432
1433
1434
1435
1436
1437
1438
1439
1440
1441
1442
1443
1444
1445
1446
1447
1448
1449
1450
1451
1452
1453
1454
1455
1456
1457
1458
1459
1460
1461
1462
1463
1464
1465
1466
1467
1468
1469
1470
1471
1472
1473
1474
1475
1476
1477
1478
1479
1480
1481
1482
1483
1484
1485
1486
1487
1488
1489
1490
1491
1492
1493
1494
1495
1496
1497
1498
1499
1500
1501
1502
1503
1504
1505
1506
1507
1508
1509
1510
1511
1512
1513
1514
1515
1516
1517
1518
1519
1520
1521
1522
1523
1524
1525
1526
1527
1528
1529
1530
1531
1532
1533
1534
1535
1536
1537
1538
1539
1540
1541
1542
1543
1544
1545
1546
1547
1548
1549
1550
1551
1552
1553
1554
1555
1556
1557
1558
1559
1560
1561
1562
1563
1564
1565
1566
1567
1568
1569
1570
1571
1572
1573
1574
1575
1576
1577
1578
1579
1580
1581
1582
1583
1584
1585
1586
1587
1588
1589
1590
1591
1592
1593
1594
1595
1596
1597
1598
1599
1600
1601
1602
1603
1604
1605
1606
1607
1608
1609
1610
1611
1612
1613
1614
1615
1616
1617
1618
1619
1620
1621
1622
1623
1624
1625
1626
1627
1628
1629
1630
1631
1632
1633
1634
1635
1636
1637
1638
1639
1640
1641
1642
1643
1644
1645
1646
1647
1648
1649
1650
1651
1652
1653
1654
1655
1656
1657
1658
1659
1660
1661
1662
1663
1664
1665
1666
1667
1668
1669
1670
1671
1672
1673
1674
1675
1676
1677
1678
1679
1680
1681
1682
1683
1684
1685
1686
1687
1688
1689
1690
1691
1692
1693
1694
1695
1696
1697
1698
1699
1700
1701
1702
1703
1704
1705
1706
1707
1708
1709
1710
1711
1712
1713
1714
1715
1716
1717
1718
1719
1720
1721
1722
1723
1724
1725
1726
1727
1728
1729
1730
1731
1732
1733
1734
1735
1736
1737
1738
1739
1740
1741
1742
1743
1744
1745
1746
1747
1748
1749
1750
1751
1752
1753
1754
1755
1756
1757
1758
1759
1760
1761
1762
1763
1764
1765
1766
1767
1768
1769
1770
1771
1772
1773
1774
1775
1776
1777
1778
1779
1780
1781
1782
1783
1784
1785
1786
1787
1788
1789
1790
1791
1792
1793
1794
1795
1796
1797
1798
1799
1800
1801
1802
1803
1804
1805
1806
1807
1808
1809
1810
1811
1812
1813
1814
1815
1816
1817
1818
1819
1820
1821
1822
1823
1824
1825
1826
1827
1828
1829
1830
1831
1832
1833
1834
1835
1836
1837
1838
1839
1840
1841
1842
1843
1844
1845
1846
1847
1848
1849
1850
1851
1852
1853
1854
1855
1856
1857
1858
1859
1860
1861
1862
1863
1864
1865
1866
1867
1868
1869
1870
1871
1872
1873
1874
1875
1876
1877
1878
1879
1880
1881
1882
1883
1884
1885
1886
1887
1888
1889
1890
1891
1892
1893
1894
1895
1896
1897
1898
1899
1900
1901
1902
1903
1904
1905
1906
1907
1908
1909
1910
1911
1912
1913
1914
1915
1916
1917
1918
1919
1920
1921
1922
1923
1924
1925
1926
1927
1928
1929
1930
1931
1932
1933
1934
1935
1936
1937
1938
1939
1940
1941
1942
1943
1944
1945
1946
1947
1948
1949
1950
1951
1952
1953
1954
1955
1956
1957
1958
1959
1960
1961
1962
1963
1964
1965
1966
1967
1968
1969
1970
1971
1972
1973
1974
1975
1976
1977
1978
1979
1980
1981
1982
1983
1984
1985
1986
1987
1988
1989
1990
1991
1992
1993
1994
1995
1996
1997
1998
1999
2000
2001
2002
2003
2004
2005
2006
2007
2008
2009
2010
2011
2012
2013
2014
2015
2016
2017
2018
2019
2020
2021
2022
2023
2024
2025
2026
2027
2028
2029
2030
2031
2032
2033
2034
2035
2036
2037
2038
2039
2040
2041
2042
2043
2044
2045
2046
2047
2048
2049
2050
2051
2052
2053
2054
2055
2056
2057
2058
2059
2060
2061
2062
2063
2064
2065
2066
2067
2068
2069
2070
2071
2072
2073
2074
2075
2076
2077
2078
2079
2080
2081
2082
2083
2084
2085
2086
2087
2088
2089
2090
2091
2092
2093
2094
2095
2096
2097
2098
2099
2100
2101
2102
2103
2104
2105
2106
2107
2108
2109
2110
2111
2112
2113
2114
2115
2116
2117
2118
2119
2120
2121
2122
2123
2124
2125
2126
2127
2128
2129
2130
2131
2132
2133
2134
2135
2136
2137
2138
2139
2140
2141
2142
2143
2144
2145
2146
2147
2148
2149
2150
2151
2152
2153
2154
2155
2156
2157
2158
2159
2160
2161
2162
2163
2164
2165
2166
2167
2168
2169
2170
2171
2172
2173
2174
2175
2176
2177
2178
2179
2180
2181
2182
2183
2184
2185
2186
2187
2188
2189
2190
2191
2192
2193
2194
2195
2196
2197
2198
2199
2200
2201
2202
2203
2204
2205
2206
2207
2208
2209
2210
2211
2212
2213
2214
2215
2216
2217
2218
2219
2220
2221
2222
2223
2224
2225
2226
2227
2228
2229
2230
2231
2232
2233
2234
2235
2236
2237
2238
2239
2240
2241
2242
2243
2244
2245
2246
2247
2248
2249
2250
2251
2252
2253
2254
2255
2256
2257
2258
2259
2260
2261
2262
2263
2264
2265
2266
2267
2268
2269
2270
2271
2272
2273
2274
2275
2276
2277
2278
2279
2280
2281
2282
2283
2284
2285
2286
2287
2288
2289
2290
2291
2292
2293
2294
2295
2296
2297
2298
2299
2300
2301
2302
2303
2304
2305
2306
2307
2308
2309
2310
2311
2312
2313
2314
2315
2316
2317
2318
2319
2320
2321
2322
2323
2324
2325
2326
2327
2328
2329
2330
2331
2332
2333
2334
2335
2336
2337
2338
2339
2340
2341
2342
2343
2344
2345
2346
2347
2348
2349
2350
2351
2352
2353
2354
2355
2356
2357
2358
2359
2360
2361
2362
2363
2364
2365
2366
2367
2368
2369
2370
2371
2372
2373
2374
2375
2376
2377
2378
2379
2380
2381
2382
2383
2384
2385
2386
2387
2388
2389
2390
2391
2392
2393
2394
2395
2396
2397
2398
2399
2400
2401
2402
2403
2404
2405
2406
2407
2408
2409
2410
2411
2412
2413
2414
2415
2416
2417
2418
2419
2420
2421
2422
2423
2424
2425
2426
2427
2428
2429
2430
2431
2432
2433
2434
2435
2436
2437
2438
2439
2440
2441
2442
2443
2444
2445
2446
2447
2448
2449
2450
2451
2452
2453
2454
2455
2456
2457
2458
2459
2460
2461
2462
2463
2464
2465
2466
2467
2468
2469
2470
2471
2472
2473
2474
2475
2476
2477
2478
2479
2480
2481
2482
2483
2484
2485
2486
2487
2488
2489
2490
2491
2492
2493
2494
2495
2496
2497
2498
2499
2500
2501
2502
2503
2504
2505
2506
2507
2508
2509
2510
2511
2512
2513
2514
2515
2516
2517
2518
2519
2520
2521
2522
2523
2524
2525
2526
2527
2528
2529
2530
2531
2532
2533
2534
2535
2536
2537
2538
2539
2540
2541
2542
2543
2544
2545
2546
2547
2548
2549
2550
2551
2552
2553
2554
2555
2556
2557
2558
2559
2560
2561
2562
2563
2564
2565
2566
2567
2568
2569
2570
2571
2572
2573
2574
2575
2576
2577
2578
2579
2580
2581
2582
2583
2584
2585
2586
2587
2588
2589
2590
2591
2592
2593
2594
2595
2596
2597
2598
2599
2600
2601
2602
2603
2604
2605
2606
2607
2608
2609
2610
2611
2612
2613
2614
2615
2616
2617
2618
2619
2620
2621
2622
2623
2624
2625
2626
2627
2628
2629
2630
2631
2632
2633
2634
2635
2636
2637
2638
2639
2640
2641
2642
2643
2644
2645
2646
2647
2648
2649
2650
2651
2652
2653
2654
2655
2656
2657
2658
2659
2660
2661
2662
2663
2664
2665
2666
2667
2668
2669
2670
2671
2672
2673
2674
2675
2676
2677
2678
2679
2680
2681
2682
2683
2684
2685
2686
2687
2688
2689
2690
2691
2692
2693
2694
2695
2696
2697
2698
2699
2700
2701
2702
2703
2704
2705
2706
2707
2708
2709
2710
2711
2712
2713
2714
2715
2716
2717
2718
2719
2720
2721
2722
2723
2724
2725
2726
2727
2728
2729
2730
2731
2732
2733
2734
2735
2736
2737
2738
2739
2740
2741
2742
2743
2744
2745
2746
2747
2748
2749
2750
2751
2752
2753
2754
2755
2756
2757
2758
2759
2760
2761
2762
2763
2764
2765
2766
2767
2768
2769
2770
2771
2772
2773
2774
2775
2776
2777
2778
2779
2780
2781
2782
2783
2784
2785
2786
2787
2788
2789
2790
2791
2792
2793
2794
2795
2796
2797
2798
2799
2800
2801
2802
2803
2804
2805
2806
2807
2808
2809
2810
2811
2812
2813
2814
2815
2816
2817
2818
2819
2820
2821
2822
2823
2824
2825
2826
2827
2828
2829
2830
2831
2832
2833
2834
2835
2836
2837
2838
2839
2840
2841
2842
2843
2844
2845
2846
2847
2848
2849
2850
2851
2852
2853
2854
2855
2856
2857
2858
2859
2860
2861
2862
2863
2864
2865
2866
2867
2868
2869
2870
2871
2872
2873
2874
2875
2876
2877
2878
2879
2880
2881
2882
2883
2884
2885
2886
2887
2888
2889
2890
2891
2892
2893
2894
2895
2896
2897
2898
2899
2900
2901
2902
2903
2904
2905
2906
2907
2908
2909
2910
2911
2912
2913
2914
2915
2916
2917
2918
2919
2920
2921
2922
2923
2924
2925
2926
2927
2928
2929
2930
2931
2932
2933
2934
2935
2936
2937
2938
2939
2940
2941
2942
2943
2944
2945
2946
2947
2948
2949
2950
2951
2952
2953
2954
2955
2956
2957
2958
2959
2960
2961
2962
2963
2964
2965
2966
2967
2968
2969
2970
2971
2972
2973
2974
2975
2976
2977
2978
2979
2980
2981
2982
2983
2984
2985
2986
2987
2988
2989
2990
2991
2992
2993
2994
2995
2996
2997
2998
2999
3000
3001
3002
3003
3004
3005
3006
3007
3008
3009
3010
3011
3012
3013
3014
3015
3016
3017
3018
3019
3020
3021
3022
3023
3024
3025
3026
3027
3028
3029
3030
3031
3032
3033
3034
3035
3036
3037
3038
3039
3040
3041
3042
3043
3044
3045
3046
3047
3048
3049
3050
3051
3052
3053
3054
3055
3056
3057
3058
3059
3060
3061
3062
3063
3064
3065
3066
3067
3068
3069
3070
3071
3072
3073
3074
3075
3076
3077
3078
3079
3080
3081
3082
3083
3084
3085
3086
3087
3088
3089
3090
3091
3092
3093
3094
3095
3096
3097
3098
3099
3100
3101
3102
3103
3104
3105
3106
3107
3108
3109
3110
3111
3112
3113
3114
3115
3116
3117
3118
3119
3120
3121
3122
3123
3124
3125
3126
3127
3128
3129
3130
3131
3132
3133
3134
3135
3136
3137
3138
3139
3140
3141
3142
3143
3144
3145
3146
3147
3148
3149
3150
3151
3152
3153
3154
3155
3156
3157
3158
3159
3160
3161
3162
3163
3164
3165
3166
3167
3168
3169
3170
3171
3172
3173
3174
3175
3176
3177
3178
3179
3180
3181
3182
3183
3184
3185
3186
3187
3188
3189
3190
3191
3192
3193
3194
3195
3196
3197
3198
3199
3200
3201
3202
3203
3204
3205
3206
3207
3208
3209
3210
3211
3212
3213
3214
3215
3216
3217
3218
3219
3220
3221
3222
3223
3224
3225
3226
3227
3228
3229
3230
3231
3232
3233
3234
3235
3236
3237
3238
3239
3240
3241
3242
3243
3244
3245
3246
3247
3248
3249
3250
3251
3252
3253
3254
3255
3256
3257
3258
3259
3260
3261
3262
3263
3264
3265
3266
3267
3268
3269
3270
3271
3272
3273
3274
3275
3276
3277
3278
3279
3280
3281
3282
3283
3284
3285
3286
3287
3288
3289
3290
3291
3292
3293
3294
3295
3296
3297
3298
3299
3300
3301
3302
3303
3304
3305
3306
3307
3308
3309
3310
3311
3312
3313
3314
3315
3316
3317
3318
3319
3320
3321
3322
3323
3324
3325
3326
3327
3328
3329
3330
3331
3332
3333
3334
3335
3336
3337
3338
3339
3340
3341
3342
3343
3344
3345
3346
3347
3348
3349
3350
3351
3352
3353
3354
3355
3356
3357
3358
3359
3360
3361
3362
3363
3364
3365
3366
3367
3368
3369
3370
3371
3372
3373
3374
3375
3376
3377
3378
3379
3380
3381
3382
3383
3384
3385
3386
3387
3388
3389
3390
3391
3392
3393
3394
3395
3396
3397
3398
3399
3400
3401
3402
3403
3404
3405
3406
3407
3408
3409
3410
3411
3412
3413
3414
3415
3416
3417
3418
3419
3420
3421
3422
3423
3424
3425
3426
3427
3428
3429
3430
3431
3432
3433
3434
3435
3436
3437
3438
3439
3440
3441
3442
3443
3444
3445
3446
3447
3448
3449
3450
3451
3452
3453
3454
3455
3456
3457
3458
3459
3460
3461
3462
3463
3464
3465
3466
3467
3468
3469
3470
3471
3472
3473
3474
3475
3476
3477
3478
3479
3480
3481
3482
3483
3484
3485
3486
3487
3488
3489
3490
3491
3492
3493
3494
3495
3496
3497
3498
3499
3500
3501
3502
3503
3504
3505
3506
3507
3508
3509
3510
3511
3512
3513
3514
3515
3516
3517
3518
3519
3520
3521
3522
3523
3524
3525
3526
3527
3528
3529
3530
3531
3532
3533
3534
3535
3536
3537
3538
3539
3540
3541
3542
3543
3544
3545
3546
3547
3548
3549
3550
3551
3552
3553
3554
3555
3556
3557
3558
3559
3560
3561
3562
3563
3564
3565
3566
3567
3568
3569
3570
3571
3572
3573
3574
3575
3576
3577
3578
3579
3580
3581
3582
3583
3584
3585
3586
3587
3588
3589
3590
3591
3592
3593
3594
3595
3596
3597
3598
3599
3600
3601
3602
3603
3604
3605
3606
3607
3608
3609
3610
3611
3612
3613
3614
3615
3616
3617
3618
3619
3620
3621
3622
3623
3624
3625
3626
3627
3628
3629
3630
3631
3632
3633
3634
3635
3636
3637
3638
3639
3640
3641
3642
3643
3644
3645
3646
3647
3648
3649
3650
3651
3652
3653
3654
3655
3656
3657
3658
3659
3660
3661
3662
3663
3664
3665
3666
3667
3668
3669
3670
3671
3672
3673
3674
3675
3676
3677
3678
3679
3680
3681
3682
3683
3684
3685
3686
3687
3688
3689
3690
3691
3692
3693
3694
3695
3696
3697
3698
3699
3700
3701
3702
3703
3704
3705
3706
3707
3708
3709
3710
3711
3712
3713
3714
3715
3716
3717
3718
3719
3720
3721
3722
3723
3724
3725
3726
3727
3728
3729
3730
3731
3732
3733
3734
3735
3736
3737
3738
3739
3740
3741
3742
3743
3744
3745
3746
3747
3748
3749
3750
3751
3752
3753
3754
3755
3756
3757
3758
3759
3760
3761
3762
3763
3764
3765
3766
3767
3768
3769
3770
3771
3772
3773
3774
3775
3776
3777
3778
3779
3780
3781
3782
3783
3784
3785
3786
3787
3788
3789
3790
3791
3792
3793
3794
3795
3796
3797
3798
3799
3800
3801
3802
3803
3804
3805
3806
3807
3808
3809
3810
3811
3812
3813
3814
3815
3816
3817
3818
3819
3820
3821
3822
3823
3824
3825
3826
3827
3828
3829
3830
3831
3832
3833
3834
3835
3836
3837
3838
3839
3840
3841
3842
3843
3844
3845
3846
3847
3848
3849
3850
3851
3852
3853
3854
3855
3856
3857
3858
3859
3860
3861
3862
3863
3864
3865
3866
3867
3868
3869
3870
3871
3872
3873
3874
3875
3876
3877
3878
3879
3880
3881
3882
3883
3884
3885
3886
3887
3888
3889
3890
3891
3892
3893
3894
3895
3896
3897
3898
3899
3900
3901
3902
3903
3904
3905
3906
3907
3908
3909
3910
3911
3912
3913
3914
3915
3916
3917
3918
3919
3920
3921
3922
3923
3924
3925
3926
3927
3928
3929
3930
3931
3932
3933
3934
3935
3936
3937
3938
3939
3940
3941
3942
3943
3944
3945
3946
3947
3948
3949
3950
3951
3952
3953
3954
3955
3956
3957
3958
3959
3960
3961
3962
3963
3964
3965
3966
3967
3968
3969
3970
3971
3972
3973
3974
3975
3976
3977
3978
3979
3980
3981
3982
3983
3984
3985
3986
3987
3988
3989
3990
3991
3992
3993
3994
3995
3996
3997
3998
3999
4000
4001
4002
4003
4004
4005
4006
4007
4008
4009
4010
4011
4012
4013
4014
4015
4016
4017
4018
4019
4020
4021
4022
4023
4024
4025
4026
4027
4028
4029
4030
4031
4032
4033
4034
4035
4036
4037
4038
4039
4040
4041
4042
4043
4044
4045
4046
4047
4048
4049
4050
4051
4052
4053
4054
4055
4056
4057
4058
4059
4060
4061
4062
4063
4064
4065
4066
4067
4068
4069
4070
4071
4072
4073
4074
4075
4076
4077
4078
4079
4080
4081
4082
4083
4084
4085
4086
4087
4088
4089
4090
4091
4092
4093
4094
4095
4096
4097
4098
4099
4100
4101
4102
4103
4104
4105
4106
4107
4108
4109
4110
4111
4112
4113
4114
4115
4116
4117
4118
4119
4120
4121
4122
4123
4124
4125
4126
4127
4128
4129
4130
4131
4132
4133
4134
4135
4136
4137
4138
4139
4140
4141
4142
4143
4144
4145
4146
4147
4148
4149
4150
4151
4152
4153
4154
4155
4156
4157
4158
4159
4160
4161
4162
4163
4164
4165
4166
4167
4168
4169
4170
4171
4172
4173
4174
4175
4176
4177
4178
4179
4180
4181
4182
4183
4184
4185
4186
4187
4188
4189
4190
4191
4192
4193
4194
4195
4196
4197
4198
4199
4200
4201
4202
4203
4204
4205
4206
4207
4208
4209
4210
4211
4212
4213
4214
4215
4216
4217
4218
4219
4220
4221
4222
4223
4224
4225
4226
4227
4228
4229
4230
4231
4232
4233
4234
4235
4236
4237
4238
4239
4240
4241
4242
4243
4244
4245
4246
4247
4248
4249
4250
4251
4252
4253
4254
4255
4256
4257
4258
4259
4260
4261
4262
4263
4264
4265
4266
4267
4268
4269
4270
4271
4272
4273
4274
4275
4276
4277
4278
4279
4280
4281
4282
4283
4284
4285
4286
4287
4288
4289
4290
4291
4292
4293
4294
4295
4296
4297
4298
4299
4300
4301
4302
4303
4304
4305
4306
4307
4308
4309
4310
4311
4312
4313
4314
4315
4316
4317
4318
4319
4320
4321
4322
4323
4324
4325
4326
4327
4328
4329
4330
4331
4332
4333
4334
4335
4336
4337
4338
4339
4340
4341
4342
4343
4344
4345
4346
4347
4348
4349
4350
4351
4352
4353
4354
4355
4356
4357
4358
4359
4360
4361
4362
4363
4364
4365
4366
4367
4368
4369
4370
4371
4372
4373
4374
4375
4376
4377
4378
4379
4380
4381
4382
4383
4384
4385
4386
4387
4388
4389
4390
4391
4392
4393
4394
4395
4396
4397
4398
4399
4400
4401
4402
4403
4404
4405
4406
4407
4408
4409
4410
4411
4412
4413
4414
4415
4416
4417
4418
4419
4420
4421
4422
4423
4424
4425
4426
4427
4428
4429
4430
4431
4432
4433
4434
4435
4436
4437
4438
4439
4440
4441
4442
4443
4444
4445
4446
4447
4448
4449
4450
4451
4452
4453
4454
4455
4456
4457
4458
4459
4460
4461
4462
4463
4464
4465
4466
4467
4468
4469
4470
4471
4472
4473
4474
4475
4476
4477
4478
4479
4480
4481
4482
4483
4484
4485
4486
4487
4488
4489
4490
4491
4492
4493
4494
4495
4496
4497
4498
4499
4500
4501
4502
4503
4504
4505
4506
4507
4508
4509
4510
4511
4512
4513
4514
4515
4516
4517
4518
4519
4520
4521
4522
4523
4524
4525
4526
4527
4528
4529
4530
4531
4532
4533
4534
4535
4536
4537
4538
4539
4540
4541
4542
4543
4544
4545
4546
4547
4548
4549
4550
4551
4552
4553
4554
4555
4556
4557
4558
4559
4560
4561
4562
4563
4564
4565
4566
4567
4568
4569
4570
4571
4572
4573
4574
4575
4576
4577
4578
4579
4580
4581
4582
4583
4584
4585
4586
4587
4588
4589
4590
4591
4592
4593
4594
4595
4596
4597
4598
4599
4600
4601
4602
4603
4604
4605
4606
4607
4608
4609
4610
4611
4612
4613
4614
4615
4616
4617
4618
4619
4620
4621
4622
4623
4624
4625
4626
4627
4628
4629
4630
4631
4632
4633
4634
4635
4636
4637
4638
4639
4640
4641
4642
4643
4644
4645
4646
4647
4648
4649
4650
4651
4652
4653
4654
4655
4656
4657
4658
4659
4660
4661
4662
4663
4664
4665
4666
4667
4668
4669
4670
4671
4672
4673
4674
4675
4676
4677
4678
4679
4680
4681
4682
4683
4684
4685
4686
4687
4688
4689
4690
4691
4692
4693
4694
4695
4696
4697
4698
4699
4700
4701
4702
4703
4704
4705
4706
4707
4708
4709
4710
4711
4712
4713
4714
4715
4716
4717
4718
4719
4720
4721
4722
4723
4724
4725
4726
4727
4728
4729
4730
4731
4732
4733
4734
4735
4736
4737
4738
4739
4740
4741
4742
4743
4744
4745
4746
4747
4748
4749
4750
4751
4752
4753
4754
4755
4756
4757
4758
4759
4760
4761
4762
4763
4764
4765
4766
4767
4768
4769
4770
4771
4772
4773
4774
4775
4776
4777
4778
4779
4780
4781
4782
4783
4784
4785
4786
4787
4788
4789
4790
4791
4792
4793
4794
4795
4796
4797
4798
4799
4800
4801
4802
4803
4804
4805
4806
4807
4808
4809
4810
4811
4812
4813
4814
4815
4816
4817
4818
4819
4820
4821
4822
4823
4824
4825
4826
4827
4828
4829
4830
4831
4832
4833
4834
4835
4836
4837
4838
4839
4840
4841
4842
4843
4844
4845
4846
4847
4848
4849
4850
4851
4852
4853
4854
4855
4856
4857
4858
4859
4860
4861
4862
4863
4864
4865
4866
4867
4868
4869
4870
4871
4872
4873
4874
4875
4876
4877
4878
4879
4880
4881
4882
4883
4884
4885
4886
4887
4888
4889
4890
4891
4892
4893
4894
4895
4896
4897
4898
4899
4900
4901
4902
4903
4904
4905
4906
4907
4908
4909
4910
4911
4912
4913
4914
4915
4916
4917
4918
4919
4920
4921
4922
4923
4924
4925
4926
4927
4928
4929
4930
4931
4932
4933
4934
4935
4936
4937
4938
4939
4940
4941
4942
4943
4944
4945
4946
4947
4948
4949
4950
4951
4952
4953
4954
4955
4956
4957
4958
4959
4960
4961
4962
4963
4964
4965
4966
4967
4968
4969
4970
4971
4972
4973
4974
4975
4976
4977
4978
4979
4980
4981
4982
4983
4984
4985
4986
4987
4988
4989
4990
4991
4992
4993
4994
4995
4996
4997
4998
4999
5000
5001
5002
5003
5004
5005
5006
5007
5008
5009
5010
5011
5012
5013
5014
5015
5016
5017
5018
5019
5020
5021
5022
5023
5024
5025
5026
5027
5028
5029
5030
5031
5032
5033
5034
5035
5036
5037
5038
5039
5040
5041
5042
5043
5044
5045
5046
5047
5048
5049
5050
5051
5052
5053
5054
5055
5056
5057
5058
5059
5060
5061
5062
5063
5064
5065
5066
5067
5068
5069
5070
5071
5072
5073
5074
5075
5076
5077
5078
5079
5080
5081
5082
5083
5084
5085
5086
5087
5088
5089
5090
5091
5092
5093
5094
5095
5096
5097
5098
5099
5100
5101
5102
5103
5104
5105
5106
5107
5108
5109
5110
5111
5112
5113
5114
5115
5116
5117
5118
5119
5120
5121
5122
5123
5124
5125
5126
5127
5128
5129
5130
5131
5132
5133
5134
5135
5136
5137
5138
5139
5140
5141
5142
5143
5144
5145
5146
5147
5148
5149
5150
5151
5152
5153
5154
5155
5156
5157
5158
5159
5160
5161
5162
5163
5164
5165
5166
5167
5168
5169
5170
5171
5172
5173
5174
5175
5176
5177
5178
5179
5180
5181
5182
5183
5184
5185
5186
5187
5188
5189
5190
5191
5192
5193
5194
5195
5196
5197
5198
5199
5200
5201
5202
5203
5204
5205
5206
5207
5208
5209
5210
5211
5212
5213
5214
5215
5216
5217
5218
5219
5220
5221
5222
5223
5224
5225
5226
5227
5228
5229
5230
5231
5232
5233
5234
5235
5236
5237
5238
5239
5240
5241
5242
5243
5244
5245
5246
5247
5248
5249
5250
5251
5252
5253
5254
5255
5256
5257
5258
5259
5260
5261
5262
5263
5264
5265
5266
5267
5268
5269
5270
5271
5272
5273
5274
5275
5276
5277
5278
5279
5280
5281
5282
5283
5284
5285
5286
5287
5288
5289
5290
5291
5292
5293
5294
5295
5296
5297
5298
5299
5300
5301
5302
5303
5304
5305
5306
5307
5308
5309
5310
5311
5312
5313
5314
5315
5316
5317
5318
5319
5320
5321
5322
5323
5324
5325
5326
5327
5328
5329
5330
5331
5332
5333
5334
5335
5336
5337
5338
5339
5340
5341
5342
5343
5344
5345
5346
5347
5348
5349
5350
5351
5352
5353
5354
5355
5356
5357
5358
5359
5360
5361
5362
5363
5364
5365
5366
5367
5368
5369
5370
5371
5372
5373
5374
5375
5376
5377
5378
5379
5380
5381
5382
5383
5384
5385
5386
5387
5388
5389
5390
5391
5392
5393
5394
5395
5396
5397
5398
5399
5400
5401
5402
5403
5404
5405
5406
5407
5408
5409
5410
5411
5412
5413
5414
5415
5416
5417
5418
5419
5420
5421
5422
5423
5424
5425
5426
5427
5428
5429
5430
5431
5432
5433
5434
5435
5436
5437
5438
5439
5440
5441
5442
5443
5444
5445
5446
5447
5448
5449
5450
5451
5452
5453
5454
5455
5456
5457
5458
5459
5460
5461
5462
5463
5464
5465
5466
5467
5468
5469
5470
5471
5472
5473
5474
5475
5476
5477
5478
5479
5480
5481
5482
5483
5484
5485
5486
5487
5488
5489
5490
5491
5492
5493
5494
5495
5496
5497
5498
5499
5500
5501
5502
5503
5504
5505
5506
5507
5508
5509
5510
5511
5512
5513
5514
5515
5516
5517
5518
5519
5520
5521
5522
5523
5524
5525
5526
5527
5528
5529
5530
5531
5532
5533
5534
5535
5536
5537
5538
5539
5540
5541
5542
5543
5544
5545
5546
5547
5548
5549
5550
5551
5552
5553
5554
5555
5556
5557
5558
5559
5560
5561
5562
5563
5564
5565
5566
5567
5568
5569
5570
5571
5572
5573
5574
5575
5576
5577
5578
5579
5580
5581
5582
5583
5584
5585
5586
5587
5588
5589
5590
5591
5592
5593
5594
5595
5596
5597
5598
5599
5600
5601
5602
5603
5604
5605
5606
5607
5608
5609
5610
5611
5612
5613
5614
5615
5616
5617
5618
5619
5620
5621
5622
5623
5624
5625
5626
5627
5628
5629
5630
5631
5632
5633
5634
5635
5636
5637
5638
5639
5640
5641
5642
5643
5644
5645
5646
5647
5648
5649
5650
5651
5652
5653
5654
5655
5656
5657
5658
5659
5660
5661
5662
5663
5664
5665
5666
5667
5668
5669
5670
5671
5672
5673
5674
5675
5676
5677
5678
5679
5680
5681
5682
5683
5684
5685
5686
5687
5688
5689
5690
5691
5692
5693
5694
5695
5696
5697
5698
5699
5700
5701
5702
5703
5704
5705
5706
5707
5708
5709
5710
5711
5712
5713
5714
5715
5716
5717
5718
5719
5720
5721
5722
5723
5724
5725
5726
5727
5728
5729
5730
5731
5732
5733
5734
5735
5736
5737
5738
5739
5740
5741
5742
5743
5744
5745
5746
5747
5748
5749
5750
5751
5752
5753
5754
5755
5756
5757
5758
5759
5760
5761
5762
5763
5764
5765
5766
5767
5768
5769
5770
5771
5772
5773
5774
5775
5776
5777
5778
5779
5780
5781
5782
5783
5784
5785
5786
5787
5788
5789
5790
5791
5792
5793
5794
5795
5796
5797
5798
5799
5800
5801
5802
5803
5804
5805
5806
5807
5808
5809
5810
5811
5812
5813
5814
5815
5816
5817
5818
5819
5820
5821
5822
5823
5824
5825
5826
5827
5828
5829
5830
5831
5832
5833
5834
5835
5836
5837
5838
5839
5840
5841
5842
5843
5844
5845
5846
5847
5848
5849
5850
5851
5852
5853
5854
5855
5856
5857
5858
5859
5860
5861
5862
5863
5864
5865
5866
5867
5868
5869
5870
5871
5872
5873
5874
5875
5876
5877
5878
5879
5880
5881
5882
5883
5884
5885
5886
5887
5888
5889
5890
5891
5892
5893
5894
5895
5896
5897
5898
5899
5900
5901
5902
5903
5904
5905
5906
5907
5908
5909
5910
5911
5912
5913
5914
5915
5916
5917
5918
5919
5920
5921
5922
5923
5924
5925
5926
5927
5928
5929
5930
5931
5932
5933
5934
5935
5936
5937
5938
5939
5940
5941
5942
5943
5944
5945
5946
5947
5948
5949
5950
5951
5952
5953
5954
5955
5956
5957
5958
5959
5960
5961
5962
5963
5964
5965
5966
5967
5968
5969
5970
5971
5972
5973
5974
5975
5976
5977
5978
5979
5980
5981
5982
5983
5984
5985
5986
5987
5988
5989
5990
5991
5992
5993
5994
5995
5996
5997
5998
5999
6000
6001
6002
6003
6004
6005
6006
6007
6008
6009
6010
6011
6012
6013
6014
6015
6016
6017
6018
6019
6020
6021
6022
6023
6024
6025
6026
6027
6028
6029
6030
6031
6032
6033
6034
6035
6036
6037
6038
6039
6040
6041
6042
6043
6044
6045
6046
6047
6048
6049
6050
6051
6052
6053
6054
6055
6056
6057
6058
6059
6060
6061
6062
6063
6064
6065
6066
6067
6068
6069
6070
6071
6072
6073
6074
6075
6076
6077
6078
6079
6080
6081
6082
6083
6084
6085
6086
6087
6088
6089
6090
6091
6092
6093
6094
6095
6096
6097
6098
6099
6100
6101
6102
6103
6104
6105
6106
6107
6108
6109
6110
6111
6112
6113
6114
6115
6116
6117
6118
6119
6120
6121
6122
6123
6124
6125
6126
6127
6128
6129
6130
6131
6132
6133
6134
6135
6136
6137
6138
6139
6140
6141
6142
6143
6144
6145
6146
6147
6148
6149
6150
6151
6152
6153
6154
6155
6156
6157
6158
6159
6160
6161
6162
6163
6164
6165
6166
6167
6168
6169
6170
6171
6172
6173
6174
6175
6176
6177
6178
6179
6180
6181
6182
6183
6184
6185
6186
6187
6188
6189
6190
6191
6192
6193
6194
6195
6196
6197
6198
6199
6200
6201
6202
6203
6204
6205
6206
6207
6208
6209
6210
6211
6212
6213
6214
6215
6216
6217
6218
6219
6220
6221
6222
6223
6224
6225
6226
6227
6228
6229
6230
6231
6232
6233
6234
6235
6236
6237
6238
6239
6240
6241
6242
6243
6244
6245
6246
6247
6248
6249
6250
6251
6252
6253
6254
6255
6256
6257
6258
6259
6260
6261
6262
6263
6264
6265
6266
6267
6268
6269
6270
6271
6272
6273
6274
6275
6276
6277
6278
6279
6280
6281
6282
6283
6284
6285
6286
6287
6288
6289
6290
6291
6292
6293
6294
6295
6296
6297
6298
6299
6300
6301
6302
6303
6304
6305
6306
6307
6308
6309
6310
6311
6312
6313
6314
6315
6316
6317
6318
6319
6320
6321
6322
6323
6324
6325
6326
6327
6328
6329
6330
6331
6332
6333
6334
6335
6336
6337
6338
6339
6340
6341
6342
6343
6344
6345
6346
6347
6348
6349
6350
6351
6352
6353
6354
6355
6356
6357
6358
6359
6360
6361
6362
6363
6364
6365
6366
6367
6368
6369
6370
6371
6372
6373
6374
6375
6376
6377
6378
6379
6380
6381
6382
6383
6384
6385
6386
6387
6388
6389
6390
6391
6392
6393
6394
6395
6396
6397
6398
6399
6400
6401
6402
6403
6404
6405
6406
6407
6408
6409
6410
6411
6412
6413
6414
6415
6416
6417
6418
6419
6420
6421
6422
6423
6424
6425
6426
6427
6428
6429
6430
6431
6432
6433
6434
6435
6436
6437
6438
6439
6440
6441
6442
6443
6444
6445
6446
6447
6448
6449
6450
6451
6452
6453
6454
6455
6456
6457
6458
6459
6460
6461
6462
6463
6464
6465
6466
6467
6468
6469
6470
6471
6472
6473
6474
6475
6476
6477
6478
6479
6480
6481
6482
6483
6484
6485
6486
6487
6488
6489
6490
6491
6492
6493
6494
6495
6496
6497
6498
6499
6500
6501
6502
6503
6504
6505
6506
6507
6508
6509
6510
6511
6512
6513
6514
6515
6516
6517
6518
6519
6520
6521
6522
6523
6524
6525
6526
6527
6528
6529
6530
6531
6532
6533
6534
6535
6536
6537
6538
6539
6540
6541
6542
6543
6544
6545
6546
6547
6548
6549
6550
6551
6552
6553
6554
6555
6556
6557
6558
6559
6560
6561
6562
6563
6564
6565
6566
6567
6568
6569
6570
6571
6572
6573
6574
6575
6576
6577
6578
6579
6580
6581
6582
6583
6584
6585
6586
6587
6588
6589
6590
6591
6592
6593
6594
6595
6596
6597
6598
6599
6600
6601
6602
6603
6604
6605
6606
6607
6608
6609
6610
6611
6612
6613
6614
6615
6616
6617
6618
6619
6620
6621
6622
6623
6624
6625
6626
6627
6628
6629
6630
6631
6632
6633
6634
6635
6636
6637
6638
6639
6640
6641
6642
6643
6644
6645
6646
6647
6648
6649
6650
6651
6652
6653
6654
6655
6656
6657
6658
6659
6660
6661
6662
6663
6664
6665
6666
6667
6668
6669
6670
6671
6672
6673
6674
6675
6676
6677
6678
6679
6680
6681
6682
6683
6684
6685
6686
6687
6688
6689
6690
6691
6692
6693
6694
6695
6696
6697
6698
6699
6700
6701
6702
6703
6704
6705
6706
6707
6708
6709
6710
6711
6712
6713
6714
6715
6716
6717
6718
6719
6720
6721
6722
6723
6724
6725
6726
6727
6728
6729
6730
6731
6732
6733
6734
6735
6736
6737
6738
6739
6740
6741
6742
6743
6744
6745
6746
6747
6748
6749
6750
6751
6752
6753
6754
6755
6756
6757
6758
6759
6760
6761
6762
6763
6764
6765
6766
6767
6768
6769
6770
6771
6772
6773
6774
6775
6776
6777
6778
6779
6780
6781
6782
6783
6784
6785
6786
6787
6788
6789
6790
6791
6792
6793
6794
6795
6796
6797
6798
6799
6800
6801
6802
6803
6804
6805
6806
6807
6808
6809
6810
6811
6812
6813
6814
6815
6816
6817
6818
6819
6820
6821
6822
6823
6824
6825
6826
6827
6828
6829
6830
6831
6832
6833
6834
6835
6836
6837
6838
6839
6840
6841
6842
6843
6844
6845
6846
6847
6848
6849
6850
6851
6852
6853
6854
6855
6856
6857
6858
6859
6860
6861
6862
6863
6864
6865
6866
6867
6868
6869
6870
6871
6872
6873
6874
6875
6876
6877
6878
6879
6880
6881
6882
6883
6884
6885
6886
6887
6888
6889
6890
6891
6892
6893
6894
6895
6896
6897
6898
6899
6900
6901
6902
6903
6904
6905
6906
6907
6908
6909
6910
6911
6912
6913
6914
6915
6916
6917
6918
6919
6920
6921
6922
6923
6924
6925
6926
6927
6928
6929
6930
6931
6932
6933
6934
6935
6936
6937
6938
6939
6940
6941
6942
6943
6944
6945
6946
6947
6948
6949
6950
6951
6952
6953
6954
6955
6956
6957
6958
6959
6960
6961
6962
6963
6964
6965
6966
6967
6968
6969
6970
6971
6972
6973
6974
6975
6976
6977
6978
6979
6980
6981
6982
6983
6984
6985
6986
6987
6988
6989
6990
6991
6992
6993
6994
6995
6996
6997
6998
6999
7000
7001
7002
7003
7004
7005
7006
7007
7008
7009
7010
7011
7012
7013
7014
7015
7016
7017
7018
7019
7020
7021
7022
7023
7024
7025
7026
7027
7028
7029
7030
7031
7032
7033
7034
7035
7036
7037
7038
7039
7040
7041
7042
7043
7044
7045
7046
7047
7048
7049
7050
7051
7052
7053
7054
7055
7056
7057
7058
7059
7060
7061
7062
7063
7064
7065
7066
7067
7068
7069
7070
7071
7072
7073
7074
7075
7076
7077
7078
7079
7080
7081
7082
7083
7084
7085
7086
7087
7088
7089
7090
7091
7092
7093
7094
7095
7096
7097
7098
7099
7100
7101
7102
7103
7104
7105
7106
7107
7108
7109
7110
7111
7112
7113
7114
7115
7116
7117
7118
7119
7120
7121
7122
7123
7124
7125
7126
7127
7128
7129
7130
7131
7132
7133
7134
7135
7136
7137
7138
7139
7140
7141
7142
7143
7144
7145
7146
7147
7148
7149
7150
7151
7152
7153
7154
7155
7156
7157
7158
7159
7160
7161
7162
7163
7164
7165
7166
7167
7168
7169
7170
7171
7172
7173
7174
7175
7176
7177
7178
7179
7180
7181
7182
7183
7184
7185
7186
7187
7188
7189
7190
7191
7192
7193
7194
7195
7196
7197
7198
7199
7200
7201
7202
7203
7204
7205
7206
7207
7208
7209
7210
7211
7212
7213
7214
7215
7216
7217
7218
7219
7220
7221
7222
7223
7224
7225
7226
7227
7228
7229
7230
7231
7232
7233
7234
7235
7236
7237
7238
7239
7240
7241
7242
7243
7244
7245
7246
7247
7248
7249
7250
7251
7252
7253
7254
7255
7256
7257
7258
7259
7260
7261
7262
7263
7264
7265
7266
7267
7268
7269
7270
7271
7272
7273
7274
7275
7276
7277
7278
7279
7280
7281
7282
7283
7284
7285
7286
7287
7288
7289
7290
7291
7292
7293
7294
7295
7296
7297
7298
7299
7300
7301
7302
7303
7304
7305
7306
7307
7308
7309
7310
7311
7312
7313
7314
7315
7316
7317
7318
7319
7320
7321
7322
7323
7324
7325
7326
7327
7328
7329
7330
7331
7332
7333
7334
7335
7336
7337
7338
7339
7340
7341
7342
7343
7344
7345
7346
7347
7348
7349
7350
7351
7352
7353
7354
7355
7356
7357
7358
7359
7360
7361
7362
7363
7364
7365
7366
7367
7368
7369
7370
7371
7372
7373
7374
7375
7376
7377
7378
7379
7380
7381
7382
7383
7384
7385
7386
7387
7388
7389
7390
7391
7392
7393
7394
7395
7396
7397
7398
7399
7400
7401
7402
7403
7404
7405
7406
7407
7408
7409
7410
7411
7412
7413
7414
7415
7416
7417
7418
7419
7420
7421
7422
7423
7424
7425
7426
7427
7428
7429
7430
7431
7432
7433
7434
7435
7436
7437
7438
7439
7440
7441
7442
7443
7444
7445
7446
7447
7448
7449
7450
7451
7452
7453
7454
7455
7456
7457
7458
7459
7460
7461
7462
7463
7464
7465
7466
7467
7468
7469
7470
7471
7472
7473
7474
7475
7476
7477
7478
7479
7480
7481
7482
7483
7484
7485
7486
7487
7488
7489
7490
7491
7492
7493
7494
7495
7496
7497
7498
7499
7500
7501
7502
7503
7504
7505
7506
7507
7508
7509
7510
7511
7512
7513
7514
7515
7516
7517
7518
7519
7520
7521
7522
7523
7524
7525
7526
7527
7528
7529
7530
7531
7532
7533
7534
7535
7536
7537
7538
7539
7540
7541
7542
7543
7544
7545
7546
7547
7548
7549
7550
7551
7552
7553
7554
7555
7556
7557
7558
7559
7560
7561
7562
7563
7564
7565
7566
7567
7568
7569
7570
7571
7572
7573
7574
7575
7576
7577
7578
7579
7580
7581
7582
7583
7584
7585
7586
7587
7588
7589
7590
7591
7592
7593
7594
7595
7596
7597
7598
7599
7600
7601
7602
7603
7604
7605
7606
7607
7608
7609
7610
7611
7612
7613
7614
7615
7616
7617
7618
7619
7620
7621
7622
7623
7624
7625
7626
7627
7628
7629
7630
7631
7632
7633
7634
7635
7636
7637
7638
7639
7640
7641
7642
7643
7644
7645
7646
7647
7648
7649
7650
7651
7652
7653
7654
7655
7656
7657
7658
7659
7660
7661
7662
7663
7664
7665
7666
7667
7668
7669
7670
7671
7672
7673
7674
7675
7676
7677
7678
7679
7680
7681
7682
7683
7684
7685
7686
7687
7688
7689
7690
7691
7692
7693
7694
7695
7696
7697
7698
7699
7700
7701
7702
7703
7704
7705
7706
7707
7708
7709
7710
7711
7712
7713
7714
7715
7716
7717
7718
7719
7720
7721
7722
7723
7724
7725
7726
7727
7728
7729
7730
7731
7732
7733
7734
7735
7736
7737
7738
7739
7740
7741
7742
7743
7744
7745
7746
7747
7748
7749
7750
7751
7752
7753
7754
7755
7756
7757
7758
7759
7760
7761
7762
7763
7764
7765
7766
7767
7768
7769
7770
7771
7772
7773
7774
7775
7776
7777
7778
7779
7780
7781
7782
7783
7784
7785
7786
7787
7788
7789
7790
7791
7792
7793
7794
7795
7796
7797
7798
7799
7800
7801
7802
7803
7804
7805
7806
7807
7808
7809
7810
7811
7812
7813
7814
7815
7816
7817
7818
7819
7820
7821
7822
7823
7824
7825
7826
7827
7828
7829
7830
7831
7832
7833
7834
7835
7836
7837
7838
7839
7840
7841
7842
7843
7844
7845
7846
7847
7848
7849
7850
7851
7852
7853
7854
7855
7856
7857
7858
7859
7860
7861
7862
7863
7864
7865
7866
7867
7868
7869
7870
7871
7872
7873
7874
7875
7876
7877
7878
7879
7880
7881
7882
7883
7884
7885
7886
7887
7888
7889
7890
7891
7892
7893
7894
7895
7896
7897
7898
7899
7900
7901
7902
7903
7904
7905
7906
7907
7908
7909
7910
7911
7912
7913
7914
7915
7916
7917
7918
7919
7920
7921
7922
7923
7924
7925
7926
7927
7928
7929
7930
7931
7932
7933
7934
7935
7936
7937
7938
7939
7940
7941
7942
7943
7944
7945
7946
7947
7948
7949
7950
7951
7952
7953
7954
7955
7956
7957
7958
7959
7960
7961
7962
7963
7964
7965
7966
7967
7968
7969
7970
7971
7972
7973
7974
7975
7976
7977
7978
7979
7980
7981
7982
7983
7984
7985
7986
7987
7988
7989
7990
7991
7992
7993
7994
7995
7996
7997
7998
7999
8000
8001
8002
8003
8004
8005
8006
8007
8008
8009
8010
8011
8012
8013
8014
8015
8016
8017
8018
8019
8020
8021
8022
8023
8024
8025
8026
8027
8028
8029
8030
8031
8032
8033
8034
8035
8036
8037
8038
8039
8040
8041
8042
8043
8044
8045
8046
8047
8048
8049
8050
8051
8052
8053
8054
8055
8056
8057
8058
8059
8060
8061
8062
8063
8064
8065
8066
8067
8068
8069
8070
8071
8072
8073
8074
8075
8076
8077
8078
8079
8080
8081
8082
8083
8084
8085
8086
8087
8088
8089
8090
8091
8092
8093
8094
8095
8096
8097
8098
8099
8100
8101
8102
8103
8104
8105
8106
8107
8108
8109
8110
8111
8112
8113
8114
8115
8116
8117
8118
8119
8120
8121
8122
8123
8124
8125
8126
8127
8128
8129
8130
8131
8132
8133
8134
8135
8136
8137
8138
8139
8140
8141
8142
8143
8144
8145
8146
8147
8148
8149
8150
8151
8152
8153
8154
8155
8156
8157
8158
8159
8160
8161
8162
8163
8164
8165
8166
8167
8168
8169
8170
8171
8172
8173
8174
8175
8176
8177
8178
8179
8180
8181
8182
8183
8184
8185
8186
8187
8188
8189
8190
8191
8192
8193
8194
8195
8196
8197
8198
8199
8200
8201
8202
8203
8204
8205
8206
8207
8208
8209
8210
8211
8212
8213
8214
8215
8216
8217
8218
8219
8220
8221
8222
8223
8224
8225
8226
8227
8228
8229
8230
8231
8232
8233
8234
8235
8236
8237
8238
8239
8240
8241
8242
8243
8244
8245
8246
8247
8248
8249
8250
8251
8252
8253
8254
8255
8256
8257
8258
8259
8260
8261
8262
8263
8264
8265
8266
8267
8268
8269
8270
8271
8272
8273
8274
8275
8276
8277
8278
8279
8280
8281
8282
8283
8284
8285
8286
8287
8288
8289
8290
8291
8292
8293
8294
8295
8296
8297
8298
8299
8300
8301
8302
8303
8304
8305
8306
8307
8308
8309
8310
8311
8312
8313
8314
8315
8316
8317
8318
8319
8320
8321
8322
8323
8324
8325
8326
8327
8328
8329
8330
8331
8332
8333
8334
8335
8336
8337
8338
8339
8340
8341
8342
8343
8344
8345
8346
8347
8348
8349
8350
8351
8352
8353
8354
8355
8356
8357
8358
8359
8360
8361
8362
8363
8364
8365
8366
8367
8368
8369
8370
8371
8372
8373
8374
8375
8376
8377
8378
8379
8380
8381
8382
8383
8384
8385
8386
8387
8388
8389
8390
8391
8392
8393
8394
8395
8396
8397
8398
8399
8400
8401
8402
8403
8404
8405
8406
8407
8408
8409
8410
8411
8412
8413
8414
8415
8416
8417
8418
8419
8420
8421
8422
8423
8424
8425
8426
8427
8428
8429
8430
8431
8432
8433
8434
8435
8436
8437
8438
8439
8440
8441
8442
8443
8444
8445
8446
8447
8448
8449
8450
8451
8452
8453
8454
8455
8456
8457
8458
8459
8460
8461
8462
8463
8464
8465
8466
8467
8468
8469
8470
8471
8472
8473
8474
8475
8476
8477
8478
8479
8480
8481
8482
8483
8484
8485
8486
8487
8488
8489
8490
8491
8492
8493
8494
8495
8496
8497
8498
8499
8500
8501
8502
8503
8504
8505
8506
8507
8508
8509
8510
8511
8512
8513
8514
8515
8516
8517
8518
8519
8520
8521
8522
8523
8524
8525
8526
8527
8528
8529
8530
8531
8532
8533
8534
8535
8536
8537
8538
8539
8540
8541
8542
8543
8544
8545
8546
8547
8548
8549
8550
8551
8552
8553
8554
8555
8556
8557
8558
8559
8560
8561
8562
8563
8564
8565
8566
8567
8568
8569
8570
8571
8572
8573
8574
8575
8576
8577
8578
8579
8580
8581
8582
8583
8584
8585
8586
8587
8588
8589
8590
8591
8592
8593
8594
8595
8596
8597
8598
8599
8600
8601
8602
8603
8604
8605
8606
8607
8608
8609
8610
8611
8612
8613
8614
8615
8616
8617
8618
8619
8620
8621
8622
8623
8624
8625
8626
8627
8628
8629
8630
8631
8632
8633
8634
8635
8636
8637
8638
8639
8640
8641
8642
8643
8644
8645
8646
8647
8648
8649
8650
8651
8652
8653
8654
8655
8656
8657
8658
8659
8660
8661
8662
8663
8664
8665
8666
8667
8668
8669
8670
8671
8672
8673
8674
8675
8676
8677
8678
8679
8680
8681
8682
8683
8684
8685
8686
8687
8688
8689
8690
8691
8692
8693
8694
8695
8696
8697
8698
8699
8700
8701
8702
8703
8704
8705
8706
8707
8708
8709
8710
8711
8712
8713
8714
8715
8716
8717
8718
8719
8720
8721
8722
8723
8724
8725
8726
8727
8728
8729
8730
8731
8732
8733
8734
8735
8736
8737
8738
8739
8740
8741
8742
8743
8744
8745
8746
8747
8748
8749
8750
8751
8752
8753
8754
8755
8756
8757
8758
8759
8760
8761
8762
8763
8764
8765
8766
8767
8768
8769
8770
8771
8772
8773
8774
8775
8776
8777
8778
8779
8780
8781
8782
8783
8784
8785
8786
8787
8788
8789
8790
8791
8792
8793
8794
8795
8796
8797
8798
8799
8800
8801
8802
8803
8804
8805
8806
8807
8808
8809
8810
8811
8812
8813
8814
8815
8816
8817
8818
8819
8820
8821
8822
8823
8824
8825
8826
8827
8828
8829
8830
8831
8832
8833
8834
8835
8836
8837
8838
8839
8840
8841
8842
8843
8844
8845
8846
8847
8848
8849
8850
8851
8852
8853
8854
8855
8856
8857
8858
8859
8860
8861
8862
8863
8864
8865
8866
8867
8868
8869
8870
8871
8872
8873
8874
8875
8876
8877
8878
8879
8880
8881
8882
8883
8884
8885
8886
8887
8888
8889
8890
8891
8892
8893
8894
8895
8896
8897
8898
8899
8900
8901
8902
8903
8904
8905
8906
8907
8908
8909
8910
8911
8912
8913
8914
8915
8916
8917
8918
8919
8920
8921
8922
8923
8924
8925
8926
8927
8928
8929
8930
8931
8932
8933
8934
8935
8936
8937
8938
8939
8940
8941
8942
8943
8944
8945
8946
8947
8948
8949
8950
8951
8952
8953
8954
8955
8956
8957
8958
8959
8960
8961
8962
8963
8964
8965
8966
8967
8968
8969
8970
8971
8972
8973
8974
8975
8976
8977
8978
8979
8980
8981
8982
8983
8984
8985
8986
8987
8988
8989
8990
8991
8992
8993
8994
8995
8996
8997
8998
8999
9000
9001
9002
9003
9004
9005
9006
9007
9008
9009
9010
9011
9012
9013
9014
9015
9016
9017
9018
9019
9020
9021
9022
9023
9024
9025
9026
9027
9028
9029
9030
9031
9032
9033
9034
9035
9036
9037
9038
9039
9040
9041
9042
9043
9044
9045
9046
9047
9048
9049
9050
9051
9052
9053
9054
9055
9056
9057
9058
9059
9060
9061
9062
9063
9064
9065
9066
9067
9068
9069
9070
9071
9072
9073
9074
9075
9076
9077
9078
9079
9080
9081
9082
9083
9084
9085
9086
9087
9088
9089
9090
9091
9092
9093
9094
9095
9096
9097
9098
9099
9100
9101
9102
9103
9104
9105
9106
9107
9108
9109
9110
9111
9112
9113
9114
9115
9116
9117
9118
9119
9120
9121
9122
9123
9124
9125
9126
9127
9128
9129
9130
9131
9132
9133
9134
9135
9136
9137
9138
9139
9140
9141
9142
9143
9144
9145
9146
9147
9148
9149
9150
9151
9152
9153
9154
9155
9156
9157
9158
9159
9160
9161
9162
9163
9164
9165
9166
9167
9168
9169
9170
9171
9172
9173
9174
9175
9176
9177
9178
9179
9180
9181
9182
9183
9184
9185
9186
9187
9188
9189
9190
9191
9192
9193
9194
9195
9196
9197
9198
9199
9200
9201
9202
9203
9204
9205
9206
9207
9208
9209
9210
9211
9212
9213
9214
9215
9216
9217
9218
9219
9220
9221
9222
9223
9224
9225
9226
9227
9228
9229
9230
9231
9232
9233
9234
9235
9236
9237
9238
9239
9240
9241
9242
9243
9244
9245
9246
9247
9248
9249
9250
9251
9252
9253
9254
9255
9256
9257
9258
9259
9260
9261
9262
9263
9264
9265
9266
9267
9268
9269
9270
9271
9272
9273
9274
9275
9276
9277
9278
9279
9280
9281
9282
9283
9284
9285
9286
9287
9288
9289
9290
9291
9292
9293
9294
9295
9296
9297
9298
9299
9300
9301
9302
9303
9304
9305
9306
9307
9308
9309
9310
9311
9312
9313
9314
9315
9316
9317
9318
9319
9320
9321
9322
9323
9324
9325
9326
9327
9328
9329
9330
9331
9332
9333
9334
9335
9336
9337
9338
9339
9340
9341
9342
9343
9344
9345
9346
9347
9348
9349
9350
9351
9352
9353
9354
9355
9356
9357
9358
9359
9360
9361
9362
9363
9364
9365
9366
9367
9368
9369
9370
9371
9372
9373
9374
9375
9376
9377
9378
9379
9380
9381
9382
9383
9384
9385
9386
9387
9388
9389
9390
9391
9392
9393
9394
9395
9396
9397
9398
9399
9400
9401
9402
9403
9404
9405
9406
9407
9408
9409
9410
9411
9412
9413
9414
9415
9416
9417
9418
9419
9420
9421
9422
9423
9424
9425
9426
9427
9428
9429
9430
9431
9432
9433
9434
9435
9436
9437
9438
9439
9440
9441
9442
9443
9444
9445
9446
9447
9448
9449
9450
9451
9452
9453
9454
9455
9456
9457
9458
9459
9460
9461
9462
9463
9464
9465
9466
9467
9468
9469
9470
9471
9472
9473
9474
9475
9476
9477
9478
9479
9480
9481
9482
9483
9484
9485
9486
9487
9488
9489
9490
9491
9492
9493
9494
9495
9496
9497
9498
9499
9500
9501
9502
9503
9504
9505
9506
9507
9508
9509
9510
9511
9512
9513
9514
9515
9516
9517
9518
9519
9520
9521
9522
9523
9524
9525
9526
9527
9528
9529
9530
9531
9532
9533
9534
9535
9536
9537
9538
9539
9540
9541
9542
9543
9544
9545
9546
9547
9548
9549
9550
9551
9552
9553
9554
9555
9556
9557
9558
9559
9560
9561
9562
9563
9564
9565
9566
9567
9568
9569
9570
9571
9572
9573
9574
9575
9576
9577
9578
9579
9580
9581
9582
9583
9584
9585
9586
9587
9588
9589
9590
9591
9592
9593
9594
9595
9596
9597
9598
9599
9600
9601
9602
9603
9604
9605
9606
9607
9608
9609
9610
9611
9612
9613
9614
9615
9616
9617
9618
9619
9620
9621
9622
9623
9624
9625
9626
9627
9628
9629
9630
9631
9632
9633
9634
9635
9636
9637
9638
9639
9640
9641
9642
9643
9644
9645
9646
9647
9648
9649
9650
9651
9652
9653
9654
9655
9656
9657
9658
9659
9660
9661
9662
9663
9664
9665
9666
9667
9668
9669
9670
9671
9672
9673
9674
9675
9676
9677
9678
9679
9680
9681
9682
9683
9684
9685
9686
9687
9688
9689
9690
9691
9692
9693
9694
9695
9696
9697
9698
9699
9700
9701
9702
9703
9704
9705
9706
9707
9708
9709
9710
9711
9712
9713
9714
9715
9716
9717
9718
9719
9720
9721
9722
9723
9724
9725
9726
9727
9728
9729
9730
9731
9732
9733
9734
9735
9736
9737
9738
9739
9740
9741
9742
9743
9744
9745
9746
9747
9748
9749
9750
9751
9752
9753
9754
9755
9756
9757
9758
9759
9760
9761
9762
9763
9764
9765
9766
9767
9768
9769
9770
9771
9772
9773
9774
9775
9776
9777
9778
9779
9780
9781
9782
9783
9784
9785
9786
9787
9788
9789
9790
9791
9792
9793
9794
9795
9796
9797
9798
9799
9800
9801
9802
9803
9804
9805
9806
9807
9808
9809
9810
9811
9812
9813
9814
9815
9816
9817
9818
9819
9820
9821
9822
9823
9824
9825
9826
9827
9828
9829
9830
9831
9832
9833
9834
9835
9836
9837
9838
9839
9840
9841
9842
9843
9844
9845
9846
9847
9848
9849
9850
9851
9852
9853
9854
9855
9856
9857
9858
9859
9860
9861
9862
9863
9864
9865
9866
9867
9868
9869
9870
9871
9872
9873
9874
9875
9876
9877
9878
9879
9880
9881
9882
9883
9884
9885
9886
9887
9888
9889
9890
9891
9892
9893
9894
9895
9896
9897
9898
9899
9900
9901
9902
9903
9904
9905
9906
9907
9908
9909
9910
9911
9912
9913
9914
9915
9916
9917
9918
9919
9920
9921
9922
9923
9924
9925
9926
9927
9928
9929
9930
9931
9932
9933
9934
9935
9936
9937
9938
9939
9940
9941
9942
9943
9944
9945
9946
9947
9948
9949
9950
9951
9952
9953
9954
9955
9956
9957
9958
9959
9960
9961
9962
9963
9964
9965
9966
9967
9968
9969
9970
9971
9972
9973
9974
9975
9976
9977
9978
9979
9980
9981
9982
9983
9984
9985
9986
9987
9988
9989
9990
9991
9992
9993
9994
9995
9996
9997
9998
9999
10000
10001
10002
10003
10004
10005
10006
10007
10008
10009
10010
10011
10012
10013
10014
10015
10016
10017
10018
10019
10020
10021
10022
10023
10024
10025
10026
10027
10028
10029
10030
10031
10032
10033
10034
10035
10036
10037
10038
10039
10040
10041
10042
10043
10044
10045
10046
10047
10048
10049
10050
10051
10052
10053
10054
10055
10056
10057
10058
10059
10060
10061
10062
10063
10064
10065
10066
10067
10068
10069
10070
10071
10072
10073
10074
10075
10076
10077
10078
10079
10080
10081
10082
10083
10084
10085
10086
10087
10088
10089
10090
10091
10092
10093
10094
10095
10096
10097
10098
10099
10100
10101
10102
10103
10104
10105
10106
10107
10108
10109
10110
10111
10112
10113
10114
10115
10116
10117
10118
10119
10120
10121
10122
10123
10124
10125
10126
10127
10128
10129
10130
10131
10132
10133
10134
10135
10136
10137
10138
10139
10140
10141
10142
10143
10144
10145
10146
10147
10148
10149
10150
10151
10152
10153
10154
10155
10156
10157
10158
10159
10160
10161
10162
10163
10164
10165
10166
10167
10168
10169
10170
10171
10172
10173
10174
10175
10176
10177
10178
10179
10180
10181
10182
10183
10184
10185
10186
10187
10188
10189
10190
10191
10192
10193
10194
10195
10196
10197
10198
10199
10200
10201
10202
10203
10204
10205
10206
10207
10208
10209
10210
10211
10212
10213
10214
10215
10216
10217
10218
10219
10220
10221
10222
10223
10224
10225
10226
10227
10228
10229
10230
10231
10232
10233
10234
10235
10236
10237
10238
10239
10240
10241
10242
10243
10244
10245
10246
10247
10248
10249
10250
10251
10252
10253
10254
10255
10256
10257
10258
10259
10260
10261
10262
10263
10264
10265
10266
10267
10268
10269
10270
10271
10272
10273
10274
10275
10276
10277
10278
10279
10280
10281
10282
10283
10284
10285
10286
10287
10288
10289
10290
10291
10292
10293
10294
10295
10296
10297
10298
10299
10300
10301
10302
10303
10304
10305
10306
10307
10308
10309
10310
10311
10312
10313
10314
10315
10316
10317
10318
10319
10320
10321
10322
10323
10324
10325
10326
10327
10328
10329
10330
10331
10332
10333
10334
10335
10336
10337
10338
10339
10340
10341
10342
10343
10344
10345
10346
10347
10348
10349
10350
10351
10352
10353
10354
10355
10356
10357
10358
10359
10360
10361
10362
10363
10364
10365
10366
10367
10368
10369
10370
10371
10372
10373
10374
10375
10376
10377
10378
10379
10380
10381
10382
10383
10384
10385
10386
10387
10388
10389
10390
10391
10392
10393
10394
10395
10396
10397
10398
10399
10400
10401
10402
10403
10404
10405
10406
10407
10408
10409
10410
10411
10412
10413
10414
10415
10416
10417
10418
10419
10420
10421
10422
10423
10424
10425
10426
10427
10428
10429
10430
10431
10432
10433
10434
10435
10436
10437
10438
10439
10440
10441
10442
10443
10444
10445
10446
10447
10448
10449
10450
10451
10452
10453
10454
10455
10456
10457
10458
10459
10460
10461
10462
10463
10464
10465
10466
10467
10468
10469
10470
10471
10472
10473
10474
10475
10476
10477
10478
10479
10480
10481
10482
10483
10484
10485
10486
10487
10488
10489
10490
10491
10492
10493
10494
10495
10496
10497
10498
10499
10500
10501
10502
10503
10504
10505
10506
10507
10508
10509
10510
10511
10512
10513
10514
10515
10516
10517
10518
10519
10520
10521
10522
10523
10524
10525
10526
10527
10528
10529
10530
10531
10532
10533
10534
10535
10536
10537
10538
10539
10540
10541
10542
10543
10544
10545
10546
10547
10548
10549
10550
10551
10552
10553
10554
10555
10556
10557
10558
10559
10560
10561
10562
10563
10564
10565
10566
10567
10568
10569
10570
10571
10572
10573
10574
10575
10576
10577
10578
10579
10580
10581
10582
10583
10584
10585
10586
10587
10588
10589
10590
10591
10592
10593
10594
10595
10596
10597
10598
10599
10600
10601
10602
10603
10604
10605
10606
10607
10608
10609
10610
10611
10612
10613
10614
10615
10616
10617
10618
10619
10620
10621
10622
10623
10624
10625
10626
10627
10628
10629
10630
10631
10632
10633
10634
10635
10636
10637
10638
10639
10640
10641
10642
10643
10644
10645
10646
10647
10648
10649
10650
10651
10652
10653
10654
10655
10656
10657
10658
10659
10660
10661
10662
10663
10664
10665
10666
10667
10668
10669
10670
10671
10672
10673
10674
10675
10676
10677
10678
10679
10680
10681
10682
10683
10684
10685
10686
10687
10688
10689
10690
10691
10692
10693
10694
10695
10696
10697
10698
10699
10700
10701
10702
10703
10704
10705
10706
10707
10708
10709
10710
10711
10712
10713
10714
10715
10716
10717
10718
10719
10720
10721
10722
10723
10724
10725
10726
10727
10728
10729
10730
10731
10732
10733
10734
10735
10736
10737
10738
10739
10740
10741
10742
10743
10744
10745
10746
10747
10748
10749
10750
10751
10752
10753
10754
10755
10756
10757
10758
10759
10760
10761
10762
10763
10764
10765
10766
10767
10768
10769
10770
10771
10772
10773
10774
10775
10776
10777
10778
10779
10780
10781
10782
10783
10784
10785
10786
10787
10788
10789
10790
10791
10792
10793
10794
10795
10796
10797
10798
10799
10800
10801
10802
10803
10804
10805
10806
10807
10808
10809
10810
10811
10812
10813
10814
10815
10816
10817
10818
10819
10820
10821
10822
10823
10824
10825
10826
10827
10828
10829
10830
10831
10832
10833
10834
10835
10836
10837
10838
10839
10840
10841
10842
10843
10844
10845
10846
10847
10848
10849
10850
10851
10852
10853
10854
10855
10856
10857
10858
10859
10860
10861
10862
10863
10864
10865
10866
10867
10868
10869
10870
10871
10872
10873
10874
10875
10876
10877
10878
10879
10880
10881
10882
10883
10884
10885
10886
10887
10888
10889
10890
10891
10892
10893
10894
10895
10896
10897
10898
10899
10900
10901
10902
10903
10904
10905
10906
10907
10908
10909
10910
10911
10912
10913
10914
10915
10916
10917
10918
10919
10920
10921
10922
10923
10924
10925
10926
10927
10928
10929
10930
10931
10932
10933
10934
10935
10936
10937
10938
10939
10940
10941
10942
10943
10944
10945
10946
10947
10948
10949
10950
10951
10952
10953
10954
10955
10956
10957
10958
10959
10960
10961
10962
10963
10964
10965
10966
10967
10968
10969
10970
10971
10972
10973
10974
10975
10976
10977
10978
10979
10980
10981
10982
10983
10984
10985
10986
10987
10988
10989
10990
10991
10992
10993
10994
10995
10996
10997
10998
10999
11000
11001
11002
11003
11004
11005
11006
11007
11008
11009
11010
11011
11012
11013
11014
11015
11016
11017
11018
11019
11020
11021
11022
11023
11024
11025
11026
11027
11028
11029
11030
11031
11032
11033
11034
11035
11036
11037
11038
11039
11040
11041
11042
11043
11044
11045
11046
11047
11048
11049
11050
11051
11052
11053
11054
11055
11056
11057
11058
11059
11060
11061
11062
11063
11064
11065
11066
11067
11068
11069
11070
11071
11072
11073
11074
11075
11076
11077
11078
11079
11080
11081
11082
11083
11084
11085
11086
11087
11088
11089
11090
11091
11092
11093
11094
11095
11096
11097
11098
11099
11100
11101
11102
11103
11104
11105
11106
11107
11108
11109
11110
11111
11112
11113
11114
11115
11116
11117
11118
11119
11120
11121
11122
11123
11124
11125
11126
11127
11128
11129
11130
11131
11132
11133
11134
11135
11136
11137
11138
11139
11140
11141
11142
11143
11144
11145
11146
11147
11148
11149
11150
11151
11152
11153
11154
11155
11156
11157
11158
11159
11160
11161
11162
11163
11164
11165
11166
11167
11168
11169
11170
11171
11172
11173
11174
11175
11176
11177
11178
11179
11180
11181
11182
11183
11184
11185
11186
11187
11188
11189
11190
11191
11192
11193
11194
11195
11196
11197
11198
11199
11200
11201
11202
11203
11204
11205
11206
11207
11208
11209
11210
11211
11212
11213
11214
11215
11216
11217
11218
11219
11220
11221
11222
11223
11224
11225
11226
11227
11228
11229
11230
11231
11232
11233
11234
11235
11236
11237
11238
11239
11240
11241
11242
11243
11244
11245
11246
11247
11248
11249
11250
11251
11252
11253
11254
11255
11256
11257
11258
11259
11260
11261
11262
11263
11264
11265
11266
11267
11268
11269
11270
11271
11272
11273
11274
11275
11276
11277
11278
11279
11280
11281
11282
11283
11284
11285
11286
11287
11288
11289
11290
11291
11292
11293
11294
11295
11296
11297
11298
11299
11300
11301
11302
11303
11304
11305
11306
11307
11308
11309
11310
11311
11312
11313
11314
11315
11316
11317
11318
11319
11320
11321
11322
11323
11324
11325
11326
11327
11328
11329
11330
11331
11332
11333
11334
11335
11336
11337
11338
11339
11340
11341
11342
11343
11344
11345
11346
11347
11348
11349
11350
11351
11352
11353
11354
11355
11356
11357
11358
11359
11360
11361
11362
11363
11364
11365
11366
11367
11368
11369
11370
11371
11372
11373
11374
11375
11376
11377
11378
11379
11380
11381
11382
11383
11384
11385
11386
11387
11388
11389
11390
11391
11392
11393
11394
11395
11396
11397
11398
11399
11400
11401
11402
11403
11404
11405
11406
11407
11408
11409
11410
11411
11412
11413
11414
11415
11416
11417
11418
11419
11420
11421
11422
11423
11424
11425
11426
11427
11428
11429
11430
11431
11432
11433
11434
11435
11436
11437
11438
11439
11440
11441
11442
11443
11444
11445
11446
11447
11448
11449
11450
11451
11452
11453
11454
11455
11456
11457
11458
11459
11460
11461
11462
11463
11464
11465
11466
11467
11468
11469
11470
11471
11472
11473
11474
11475
11476
11477
11478
11479
11480
11481
11482
11483
11484
11485
11486
11487
11488
11489
11490
11491
11492
11493
11494
11495
11496
11497
11498
11499
11500
11501
11502
11503
11504
11505
11506
11507
11508
11509
11510
11511
11512
11513
11514
11515
11516
11517
11518
11519
11520
11521
11522
11523
11524
11525
11526
11527
11528
11529
11530
11531
11532
11533
11534
11535
11536
11537
11538
11539
11540
11541
11542
11543
11544
11545
11546
11547
11548
11549
11550
11551
11552
11553
11554
11555
11556
11557
11558
11559
11560
11561
11562
11563
11564
11565
11566
11567
11568
11569
11570
11571
11572
11573
11574
11575
11576
11577
11578
11579
11580
11581
11582
11583
11584
11585
11586
11587
11588
11589
11590
11591
11592
11593
11594
11595
11596
11597
11598
11599
11600
11601
11602
11603
11604
11605
11606
11607
11608
11609
11610
11611
11612
11613
11614
11615
11616
11617
11618
11619
11620
11621
11622
11623
11624
11625
11626
11627
11628
11629
11630
11631
11632
11633
11634
11635
11636
11637
11638
11639
11640
11641
11642
11643
11644
11645
11646
11647
11648
11649
11650
11651
11652
11653
11654
11655
11656
11657
11658
11659
11660
11661
11662
11663
11664
11665
11666
11667
11668
11669
11670
11671
11672
11673
11674
11675
11676
11677
11678
11679
11680
11681
11682
11683
11684
11685
11686
11687
11688
11689
11690
11691
11692
11693
11694
11695
11696
11697
11698
11699
11700
11701
11702
11703
11704
11705
11706
11707
11708
11709
11710
11711
11712
11713
11714
11715
11716
11717
11718
11719
11720
11721
11722
11723
11724
11725
11726
11727
11728
11729
11730
11731
11732
11733
11734
11735
11736
11737
11738
11739
11740
11741
11742
11743
11744
11745
11746
11747
11748
11749
11750
11751
11752
11753
11754
11755
11756
11757
11758
11759
11760
11761
11762
11763
11764
11765
11766
11767
11768
11769
11770
11771
11772
11773
11774
11775
11776
11777
11778
11779
11780
11781
11782
11783
11784
11785
11786
11787
11788
11789
11790
11791
11792
11793
11794
11795
11796
11797
11798
11799
11800
11801
11802
11803
11804
11805
11806
11807
11808
11809
11810
11811
11812
11813
11814
11815
11816
11817
11818
11819
11820
11821
11822
11823
11824
11825
11826
11827
11828
11829
11830
11831
11832
11833
11834
11835
11836
11837
11838
11839
11840
11841
11842
11843
11844
11845
11846
11847
11848
11849
11850
11851
11852
11853
11854
11855
11856
11857
11858
11859
11860
11861
11862
11863
11864
11865
11866
11867
11868
11869
11870
11871
11872
11873
11874
11875
11876
11877
11878
11879
11880
11881
11882
11883
11884
11885
11886
11887
11888
11889
11890
11891
11892
11893
11894
11895
11896
11897
11898
11899
11900
11901
11902
11903
11904
11905
11906
11907
11908
11909
11910
11911
11912
11913
11914
11915
11916
11917
11918
11919
11920
11921
11922
11923
11924
11925
11926
11927
11928
11929
11930
11931
11932
11933
11934
11935
11936
11937
11938
11939
11940
11941
11942
11943
11944
11945
11946
11947
11948
11949
11950
11951
11952
11953
11954
11955
11956
11957
11958
11959
11960
11961
11962
11963
11964
11965
11966
11967
11968
11969
11970
11971
11972
11973
11974
11975
11976
11977
11978
11979
11980
11981
11982
11983
11984
11985
11986
11987
11988
11989
11990
11991
11992
11993
11994
11995
11996
11997
11998
11999
12000
12001
12002
12003
12004
12005
12006
12007
12008
12009
12010
12011
12012
12013
12014
12015
12016
12017
12018
12019
12020
12021
12022
12023
12024
12025
12026
12027
12028
12029
12030
12031
12032
12033
12034
12035
12036
12037
12038
12039
12040
12041
12042
12043
12044
12045
12046
12047
12048
12049
12050
12051
12052
12053
12054
12055
12056
12057
12058
12059
12060
12061
12062
12063
12064
12065
12066
12067
12068
12069
12070
12071
12072
12073
12074
12075
12076
12077
12078
12079
12080
12081
12082
12083
12084
12085
12086
12087
12088
12089
12090
12091
12092
12093
12094
12095
12096
12097
12098
12099
12100
12101
12102
12103
12104
12105
12106
12107
12108
12109
12110
12111
12112
12113
12114
12115
12116
12117
12118
12119
12120
12121
12122
12123
12124
12125
12126
12127
12128
12129
12130
12131
12132
12133
12134
12135
12136
12137
12138
12139
12140
12141
12142
12143
12144
12145
12146
12147
12148
12149
12150
12151
12152
12153
12154
12155
12156
12157
12158
12159
12160
12161
12162
12163
12164
12165
12166
12167
12168
12169
12170
12171
12172
12173
12174
12175
12176
12177
12178
12179
12180
12181
12182
12183
12184
12185
12186
12187
12188
12189
12190
12191
12192
12193
12194
12195
12196
12197
12198
12199
12200
12201
12202
12203
12204
12205
12206
12207
12208
12209
12210
12211
12212
12213
12214
12215
12216
12217
12218
12219
12220
12221
12222
12223
12224
12225
12226
12227
12228
12229
12230
12231
12232
12233
12234
12235
12236
12237
12238
12239
12240
12241
12242
12243
12244
12245
12246
12247
12248
12249
12250
12251
12252
12253
12254
12255
12256
12257
12258
12259
12260
12261
12262
12263
12264
12265
12266
12267
12268
12269
12270
12271
12272
12273
12274
12275
12276
12277
12278
12279
12280
12281
12282
12283
12284
12285
12286
12287
12288
12289
12290
12291
12292
12293
12294
12295
12296
12297
12298
12299
12300
12301
12302
12303
12304
12305
12306
12307
12308
12309
12310
12311
12312
12313
12314
12315
12316
12317
12318
12319
12320
12321
12322
12323
12324
12325
12326
12327
12328
12329
12330
12331
12332
12333
12334
12335
12336
12337
12338
12339
12340
12341
12342
12343
12344
12345
12346
12347
12348
12349
12350
12351
12352
12353
12354
12355
12356
12357
12358
12359
12360
12361
12362
12363
12364
12365
12366
12367
12368
12369
12370
12371
12372
12373
12374
12375
12376
12377
12378
12379
12380
12381
12382
12383
12384
12385
12386
12387
12388
12389
12390
12391
12392
12393
12394
12395
12396
12397
12398
12399
12400
12401
12402
12403
12404
12405
12406
12407
12408
12409
12410
12411
12412
12413
12414
12415
12416
12417
12418
12419
12420
12421
12422
12423
12424
12425
12426
12427
12428
12429
12430
12431
12432
12433
12434
12435
12436
12437
12438
12439
12440
12441
12442
12443
12444
12445
12446
12447
12448
12449
12450
12451
12452
12453
12454
12455
12456
12457
12458
12459
12460
12461
12462
12463
12464
12465
12466
12467
12468
12469
12470
12471
12472
12473
12474
12475
12476
12477
12478
12479
12480
12481
12482
12483
12484
12485
12486
12487
12488
12489
12490
12491
12492
12493
12494
12495
12496
12497
12498
12499
12500
12501
12502
12503
12504
12505
12506
12507
12508
12509
12510
12511
12512
12513
12514
12515
12516
12517
12518
12519
12520
12521
12522
12523
12524
12525
12526
12527
12528
12529
12530
12531
12532
12533
12534
12535
12536
12537
12538
12539
12540
12541
12542
12543
12544
12545
12546
12547
12548
12549
12550
12551
12552
12553
12554
12555
12556
12557
12558
12559
12560
12561
12562
12563
12564
12565
12566
12567
12568
12569
12570
12571
12572
12573
12574
12575
12576
12577
12578
12579
12580
12581
12582
12583
12584
12585
12586
12587
12588
12589
12590
12591
12592
12593
12594
12595
12596
12597
12598
12599
12600
12601
12602
12603
12604
12605
12606
12607
12608
12609
12610
12611
12612
12613
12614
12615
12616
12617
12618
12619
12620
12621
12622
12623
12624
12625
12626
12627
12628
12629
12630
12631
12632
12633
12634
12635
12636
12637
12638
12639
12640
12641
12642
12643
12644
12645
12646
12647
12648
12649
12650
12651
12652
12653
12654
12655
12656
12657
12658
12659
12660
12661
12662
12663
12664
12665
12666
12667
12668
12669
12670
12671
12672
12673
12674
12675
12676
12677
12678
12679
12680
12681
12682
12683
12684
12685
12686
12687
12688
12689
12690
12691
12692
12693
12694
12695
12696
12697
12698
12699
12700
12701
12702
12703
12704
12705
12706
12707
12708
12709
12710
12711
12712
12713
12714
12715
12716
12717
12718
12719
12720
12721
12722
12723
12724
12725
12726
12727
12728
12729
12730
12731
12732
12733
12734
12735
12736
12737
12738
12739
12740
12741
12742
12743
12744
12745
12746
12747
12748
12749
12750
12751
12752
12753
12754
12755
12756
12757
12758
12759
12760
12761
12762
12763
12764
12765
12766
12767
12768
12769
12770
12771
12772
12773
12774
12775
12776
12777
12778
12779
12780
12781
12782
12783
12784
12785
12786
12787
12788
12789
12790
12791
12792
12793
12794
12795
12796
12797
12798
12799
12800
12801
12802
12803
12804
12805
12806
12807
12808
12809
12810
12811
12812
12813
12814
12815
12816
12817
12818
12819
12820
12821
12822
12823
12824
12825
12826
12827
12828
12829
12830
12831
12832
12833
12834
12835
12836
12837
12838
12839
12840
12841
12842
12843
12844
12845
12846
12847
12848
12849
12850
12851
12852
12853
12854
12855
12856
12857
12858
12859
12860
12861
12862
12863
12864
12865
12866
12867
12868
12869
12870
12871
12872
12873
12874
12875
12876
12877
12878
12879
12880
12881
12882
12883
12884
12885
12886
12887
12888
12889
12890
12891
12892
12893
12894
12895
12896
12897
12898
12899
12900
12901
12902
12903
12904
12905
12906
12907
12908
12909
12910
12911
12912
12913
12914
12915
12916
12917
12918
12919
12920
12921
12922
12923
12924
12925
12926
12927
12928
12929
12930
12931
12932
12933
12934
12935
12936
12937
12938
12939
12940
12941
12942
12943
12944
12945
12946
12947
12948
12949
12950
12951
12952
12953
12954
12955
12956
12957
12958
12959
12960
12961
12962
12963
12964
12965
12966
12967
12968
12969
12970
12971
12972
12973
12974
12975
12976
12977
12978
12979
12980
12981
12982
12983
12984
12985
12986
12987
12988
12989
12990
12991
12992
12993
12994
12995
12996
12997
12998
12999
13000
13001
13002
13003
13004
13005
13006
13007
13008
13009
13010
13011
13012
13013
13014
13015
13016
13017
13018
13019
13020
13021
13022
13023
13024
13025
13026
13027
13028
13029
13030
13031
13032
13033
13034
13035
13036
13037
13038
13039
13040
13041
13042
13043
13044
13045
13046
13047
13048
13049
13050
13051
13052
13053
13054
13055
13056
13057
13058
13059
13060
13061
13062
13063
13064
13065
13066
13067
13068
13069
13070
13071
13072
13073
13074
13075
13076
13077
13078
13079
13080
13081
13082
13083
13084
13085
13086
13087
13088
13089
13090
13091
13092
13093
13094
13095
13096
13097
13098
13099
13100
13101
13102
13103
13104
13105
13106
13107
13108
13109
13110
13111
13112
13113
13114
13115
13116
13117
13118
13119
13120
13121
13122
13123
13124
13125
13126
13127
13128
13129
13130
13131
13132
13133
13134
13135
13136
13137
13138
13139
13140
13141
13142
13143
13144
13145
13146
13147
13148
13149
13150
13151
13152
13153
13154
13155
13156
13157
13158
13159
13160
13161
13162
13163
13164
13165
13166
13167
13168
13169
13170
13171
13172
13173
13174
13175
13176
13177
13178
13179
13180
13181
13182
13183
13184
13185
13186
13187
13188
13189
13190
13191
13192
13193
13194
13195
13196
13197
13198
13199
13200
13201
13202
13203
13204
13205
13206
13207
13208
13209
13210
13211
13212
13213
13214
13215
13216
13217
13218
13219
13220
13221
13222
13223
13224
13225
13226
13227
13228
13229
13230
13231
13232
13233
13234
13235
13236
13237
13238
13239
13240
13241
13242
13243
13244
13245
13246
13247
13248
13249
13250
13251
13252
13253
13254
13255
13256
13257
13258
13259
13260
13261
13262
13263
13264
13265
13266
13267
13268
13269
13270
13271
13272
13273
13274
13275
13276
13277
13278
13279
13280
13281
13282
13283
13284
13285
13286
13287
13288
13289
13290
13291
13292
13293
13294
13295
13296
13297
13298
13299
13300
13301
13302
13303
13304
13305
13306
13307
13308
13309
13310
13311
13312
13313
13314
13315
13316
13317
13318
13319
13320
13321
13322
13323
13324
13325
13326
13327
13328
13329
13330
13331
13332
13333
13334
13335
13336
13337
13338
13339
13340
13341
13342
13343
13344
13345
13346
13347
13348
13349
13350
13351
13352
13353
13354
13355
13356
13357
13358
13359
13360
13361
13362
13363
13364
13365
13366
13367
13368
13369
13370
13371
13372
13373
13374
13375
13376
13377
13378
13379
13380
13381
13382
13383
13384
13385
13386
13387
13388
13389
13390
13391
13392
13393
13394
13395
13396
13397
13398
13399
13400
13401
13402
13403
13404
13405
13406
13407
13408
13409
13410
13411
13412
13413
13414
13415
13416
13417
13418
13419
13420
13421
13422
13423
13424
13425
13426
13427
13428
13429
13430
13431
13432
13433
13434
13435
13436
13437
13438
13439
13440
13441
13442
13443
13444
13445
13446
13447
13448
13449
13450
13451
13452
13453
13454
13455
13456
13457
13458
13459
13460
13461
13462
13463
13464
13465
13466
13467
13468
13469
13470
13471
13472
13473
13474
13475
13476
13477
13478
13479
13480
13481
13482
13483
13484
13485
13486
13487
13488
13489
13490
13491
13492
13493
13494
13495
13496
13497
13498
13499
13500
13501
13502
13503
13504
13505
13506
13507
13508
13509
13510
13511
13512
13513
13514
13515
13516
13517
13518
13519
13520
13521
13522
13523
13524
13525
13526
13527
13528
13529
13530
13531
13532
13533
13534
13535
13536
13537
13538
13539
13540
13541
13542
13543
13544
13545
13546
13547
13548
13549
13550
13551
13552
13553
13554
13555
13556
13557
13558
13559
13560
13561
13562
13563
13564
13565
13566
13567
13568
13569
13570
13571
13572
13573
13574
13575
13576
13577
13578
13579
13580
13581
13582
13583
13584
13585
13586
13587
13588
13589
13590
13591
13592
13593
13594
13595
13596
13597
13598
13599
13600
13601
13602
13603
13604
13605
13606
13607
13608
13609
13610
13611
13612
13613
13614
13615
13616
13617
13618
13619
13620
13621
13622
13623
13624
13625
13626
13627
13628
13629
13630
13631
13632
13633
13634
13635
13636
13637
13638
13639
13640
13641
13642
13643
13644
13645
13646
13647
13648
13649
13650
13651
13652
13653
13654
13655
13656
13657
13658
13659
13660
13661
13662
13663
13664
13665
13666
13667
13668
13669
13670
13671
13672
13673
13674
13675
13676
13677
13678
13679
13680
13681
13682
13683
13684
13685
13686
13687
13688
13689
13690
13691
13692
13693
13694
13695
13696
13697
13698
13699
13700
13701
13702
13703
13704
13705
13706
13707
13708
13709
13710
13711
13712
13713
13714
13715
13716
13717
13718
13719
13720
13721
13722
13723
13724
13725
13726
13727
13728
13729
13730
13731
13732
13733
13734
13735
13736
13737
13738
13739
13740
13741
13742
13743
13744
13745
13746
13747
13748
13749
13750
13751
13752
13753
13754
13755
13756
13757
13758
13759
13760
13761
13762
13763
13764
13765
13766
13767
13768
13769
13770
13771
13772
13773
13774
13775
13776
13777
13778
13779
13780
13781
13782
13783
13784
13785
13786
13787
13788
13789
13790
13791
13792
13793
13794
13795
13796
13797
13798
13799
13800
13801
13802
13803
13804
13805
13806
13807
13808
13809
13810
13811
13812
13813
13814
13815
13816
13817
13818
13819
13820
13821
13822
13823
13824
13825
13826
13827
13828
13829
13830
13831
13832
13833
13834
13835
13836
13837
13838
13839
13840
13841
13842
13843
13844
13845
13846
13847
13848
13849
13850
13851
13852
13853
13854
13855
13856
13857
13858
13859
13860
13861
13862
13863
13864
13865
13866
13867
13868
13869
13870
13871
13872
13873
13874
13875
13876
13877
13878
13879
13880
13881
13882
13883
13884
13885
13886
13887
13888
13889
13890
13891
13892
13893
13894
13895
13896
13897
13898
13899
13900
13901
13902
13903
13904
13905
13906
13907
13908
13909
13910
13911
13912
13913
13914
13915
13916
13917
13918
13919
13920
13921
13922
13923
13924
13925
13926
13927
13928
13929
13930
13931
13932
13933
13934
13935
13936
13937
13938
13939
13940
13941
13942
13943
13944
13945
13946
13947
13948
13949
13950
13951
13952
13953
13954
13955
13956
13957
13958
13959
13960
13961
13962
13963
13964
13965
13966
13967
13968
13969
13970
13971
13972
13973
13974
13975
13976
13977
13978
13979
13980
13981
13982
13983
13984
13985
13986
13987
13988
13989
13990
13991
13992
13993
13994
13995
13996
13997
13998
13999
14000
14001
14002
14003
14004
14005
14006
14007
14008
14009
14010
14011
14012
14013
14014
14015
14016
14017
14018
14019
14020
14021
14022
14023
14024
14025
14026
14027
14028
14029
14030
14031
14032
14033
14034
14035
14036
14037
14038
14039
14040
14041
14042
14043
14044
14045
14046
14047
14048
14049
14050
14051
14052
14053
14054
14055
14056
14057
14058
14059
14060
14061
14062
14063
14064
14065
14066
14067
14068
14069
14070
14071
14072
14073
14074
14075
14076
14077
14078
14079
14080
14081
14082
14083
14084
14085
14086
14087
14088
14089
14090
14091
14092
14093
14094
14095
14096
14097
14098
14099
14100
14101
14102
14103
14104
14105
14106
14107
14108
14109
14110
14111
14112
14113
14114
14115
14116
14117
14118
14119
14120
14121
14122
14123
14124
14125
14126
14127
14128
14129
14130
14131
14132
14133
14134
14135
14136
14137
14138
14139
14140
14141
14142
14143
14144
14145
14146
14147
14148
14149
14150
14151
14152
14153
14154
14155
14156
14157
14158
14159
14160
14161
14162
14163
14164
14165
14166
14167
14168
14169
14170
14171
14172
14173
14174
14175
14176
14177
14178
14179
14180
14181
14182
14183
14184
14185
14186
14187
14188
14189
14190
14191
14192
14193
14194
14195
14196
14197
14198
14199
14200
14201
14202
14203
14204
14205
14206
14207
14208
14209
14210
14211
14212
14213
14214
14215
14216
14217
14218
14219
14220
14221
14222
14223
14224
14225
14226
14227
14228
14229
14230
14231
14232
14233
14234
14235
14236
14237
14238
14239
14240
14241
14242
14243
14244
14245
14246
14247
14248
14249
14250
14251
14252
14253
14254
14255
14256
14257
14258
14259
14260
14261
14262
14263
14264
14265
14266
14267
14268
14269
14270
14271
14272
14273
14274
14275
14276
14277
14278
14279
14280
14281
14282
14283
14284
14285
14286
14287
14288
14289
14290
14291
14292
14293
14294
14295
14296
14297
14298
14299
14300
14301
14302
14303
14304
14305
14306
14307
14308
14309
14310
14311
14312
14313
14314
14315
14316
14317
14318
14319
14320
14321
14322
14323
14324
14325
14326
14327
14328
14329
14330
14331
14332
14333
14334
14335
14336
14337
14338
14339
14340
14341
14342
14343
14344
14345
14346
14347
14348
14349
14350
14351
14352
14353
14354
14355
14356
14357
14358
14359
14360
14361
14362
14363
14364
14365
14366
14367
14368
14369
14370
14371
14372
14373
14374
14375
14376
14377
14378
14379
14380
14381
14382
14383
14384
14385
14386
14387
14388
14389
14390
14391
14392
14393
14394
14395
14396
14397
14398
14399
14400
14401
14402
14403
14404
14405
14406
14407
14408
14409
14410
14411
14412
14413
14414
14415
14416
14417
14418
14419
14420
14421
14422
14423
14424
14425
14426
14427
14428
14429
14430
14431
14432
14433
14434
14435
14436
14437
14438
14439
14440
14441
14442
14443
14444
14445
14446
14447
14448
14449
14450
14451
14452
14453
14454
14455
14456
14457
14458
14459
14460
14461
14462
14463
14464
14465
14466
14467
14468
14469
14470
14471
14472
14473
14474
14475
14476
14477
14478
14479
14480
14481
14482
14483
14484
14485
14486
14487
14488
14489
14490
14491
14492
14493
14494
14495
14496
14497
14498
14499
14500
14501
14502
14503
14504
14505
14506
14507
14508
14509
14510
14511
14512
14513
14514
14515
14516
14517
14518
14519
14520
14521
14522
14523
14524
14525
14526
14527
14528
14529
14530
14531
14532
14533
14534
14535
14536
14537
14538
14539
14540
14541
14542
14543
14544
14545
14546
14547
14548
14549
14550
14551
14552
14553
14554
14555
14556
14557
14558
14559
14560
14561
14562
14563
14564
14565
14566
14567
14568
14569
14570
14571
14572
14573
14574
14575
14576
14577
14578
14579
14580
14581
14582
14583
14584
14585
14586
14587
14588
14589
14590
14591
14592
14593
14594
14595
14596
14597
14598
14599
14600
14601
14602
14603
14604
14605
14606
14607
14608
14609
14610
14611
14612
14613
14614
14615
14616
14617
14618
14619
14620
14621
14622
14623
14624
14625
14626
14627
14628
14629
14630
14631
14632
14633
14634
14635
14636
14637
14638
14639
14640
14641
14642
14643
14644
14645
14646
14647
14648
14649
14650
14651
14652
14653
14654
14655
14656
14657
14658
14659
14660
14661
14662
14663
14664
14665
14666
14667
14668
14669
14670
14671
14672
14673
14674
14675
14676
14677
14678
14679
14680
14681
14682
14683
14684
14685
14686
14687
14688
14689
14690
14691
14692
14693
14694
14695
14696
14697
14698
14699
14700
14701
14702
14703
14704
14705
14706
14707
14708
14709
14710
14711
14712
14713
14714
14715
14716
14717
14718
14719
14720
14721
14722
14723
14724
14725
14726
14727
14728
14729
14730
14731
14732
14733
14734
14735
14736
14737
14738
14739
14740
14741
14742
14743
14744
14745
14746
14747
14748
14749
14750
14751
14752
14753
14754
14755
14756
14757
14758
14759
14760
14761
14762
14763
14764
14765
14766
14767
14768
14769
14770
14771
14772
14773
14774
14775
14776
14777
14778
14779
14780
14781
14782
14783
14784
14785
14786
14787
14788
14789
14790
14791
14792
14793
14794
14795
14796
14797
14798
14799
14800
14801
14802
14803
14804
14805
14806
14807
14808
14809
14810
14811
14812
14813
14814
14815
14816
14817
14818
14819
14820
14821
14822
14823
14824
14825
14826
14827
14828
14829
14830
14831
14832
14833
14834
14835
14836
14837
14838
14839
14840
14841
14842
14843
14844
14845
14846
14847
14848
14849
14850
14851
14852
14853
14854
14855
14856
14857
14858
14859
14860
14861
14862
14863
14864
14865
14866
14867
14868
14869
14870
14871
14872
14873
14874
14875
14876
14877
14878
14879
14880
14881
14882
14883
14884
14885
14886
14887
14888
14889
14890
14891
14892
14893
14894
14895
14896
14897
14898
14899
14900
14901
14902
14903
14904
14905
14906
14907
14908
14909
14910
14911
14912
14913
14914
14915
14916
14917
14918
14919
14920
14921
14922
14923
14924
14925
14926
14927
14928
14929
14930
14931
14932
14933
14934
14935
14936
14937
14938
14939
14940
14941
14942
14943
14944
14945
14946
14947
14948
14949
14950
14951
14952
14953
14954
14955
14956
14957
14958
14959
14960
14961
14962
14963
14964
14965
14966
14967
14968
14969
14970
14971
14972
14973
14974
14975
14976
14977
14978
14979
14980
14981
14982
14983
14984
14985
14986
14987
14988
14989
14990
14991
14992
14993
14994
14995
14996
14997
14998
14999
15000
15001
15002
15003
15004
15005
15006
15007
15008
15009
15010
15011
15012
15013
15014
15015
15016
15017
15018
15019
15020
15021
15022
15023
15024
15025
15026
15027
15028
15029
15030
15031
15032
15033
15034
15035
15036
15037
15038
15039
15040
15041
15042
15043
15044
15045
15046
15047
15048
15049
15050
15051
15052
15053
15054
15055
15056
15057
15058
15059
15060
15061
15062
15063
15064
15065
15066
15067
15068
15069
15070
15071
15072
15073
15074
15075
15076
15077
15078
15079
15080
15081
15082
15083
15084
15085
15086
15087
15088
15089
15090
15091
15092
15093
15094
15095
15096
15097
15098
15099
15100
15101
15102
15103
15104
15105
15106
15107
15108
15109
15110
15111
15112
15113
15114
15115
15116
15117
15118
15119
15120
15121
15122
15123
15124
15125
15126
15127
15128
15129
15130
15131
15132
15133
15134
15135
15136
15137
15138
15139
15140
15141
15142
15143
15144
15145
15146
15147
15148
15149
15150
15151
15152
15153
15154
15155
15156
15157
15158
15159
15160
15161
15162
15163
15164
15165
15166
15167
15168
15169
15170
15171
15172
15173
15174
15175
15176
15177
15178
15179
15180
15181
15182
15183
15184
15185
15186
15187
15188
15189
15190
15191
15192
15193
15194
15195
15196
15197
15198
15199
15200
15201
15202
15203
15204
15205
15206
15207
15208
15209
15210
15211
15212
15213
15214
15215
15216
15217
15218
15219
15220
15221
15222
15223
15224
15225
15226
15227
15228
15229
15230
15231
15232
15233
15234
15235
15236
15237
15238
15239
15240
15241
15242
15243
15244
15245
15246
15247
15248
15249
15250
15251
15252
15253
15254
15255
15256
15257
15258
15259
15260
15261
15262
15263
15264
15265
15266
15267
15268
15269
15270
15271
15272
15273
15274
15275
15276
15277
15278
15279
15280
15281
15282
15283
15284
15285
15286
15287
15288
15289
15290
15291
15292
15293
15294
15295
15296
15297
15298
15299
15300
15301
15302
15303
15304
15305
15306
15307
15308
15309
15310
15311
15312
15313
15314
15315
15316
15317
15318
15319
15320
15321
15322
15323
15324
15325
15326
15327
15328
15329
15330
15331
15332
15333
15334
15335
15336
15337
15338
15339
15340
15341
15342
15343
15344
15345
15346
15347
15348
15349
15350
15351
15352
15353
15354
15355
15356
15357
15358
15359
15360
15361
15362
15363
15364
15365
15366
15367
15368
15369
15370
15371
15372
15373
15374
15375
15376
15377
15378
15379
15380
15381
15382
15383
15384
15385
15386
15387
15388
15389
15390
15391
15392
15393
15394
15395
15396
15397
15398
15399
15400
15401
15402
15403
15404
15405
15406
15407
15408
15409
15410
15411
15412
15413
15414
15415
15416
15417
15418
15419
15420
15421
15422
15423
15424
15425
15426
15427
15428
15429
15430
15431
15432
15433
15434
15435
15436
15437
15438
15439
15440
15441
15442
15443
15444
15445
15446
15447
15448
15449
15450
15451
15452
15453
15454
15455
15456
15457
15458
15459
15460
15461
15462
15463
15464
15465
15466
15467
15468
15469
15470
15471
15472
15473
15474
15475
15476
15477
15478
15479
15480
15481
15482
15483
15484
15485
15486
15487
15488
15489
15490
15491
15492
15493
15494
15495
15496
15497
15498
15499
15500
15501
15502
15503
15504
15505
15506
15507
15508
15509
15510
15511
15512
15513
15514
15515
15516
15517
15518
15519
15520
15521
15522
15523
15524
15525
15526
15527
15528
15529
15530
15531
15532
15533
15534
15535
15536
15537
15538
15539
15540
15541
15542
15543
15544
15545
15546
15547
15548
15549
15550
15551
15552
15553
15554
15555
15556
15557
15558
15559
15560
15561
15562
15563
15564
15565
15566
15567
15568
15569
15570
15571
15572
15573
15574
15575
15576
15577
15578
15579
15580
15581
15582
15583
15584
15585
15586
15587
15588
15589
15590
15591
15592
15593
15594
15595
15596
15597
15598
15599
15600
15601
15602
15603
15604
15605
15606
15607
15608
15609
15610
15611
15612
15613
15614
15615
15616
15617
15618
15619
15620
15621
15622
15623
15624
15625
15626
15627
15628
15629
15630
15631
15632
15633
15634
15635
15636
15637
15638
15639
15640
15641
15642
15643
15644
15645
15646
15647
15648
15649
15650
15651
15652
15653
15654
15655
15656
15657
15658
15659
15660
15661
15662
15663
15664
15665
15666
15667
15668
15669
15670
15671
15672
15673
15674
15675
15676
15677
15678
15679
15680
15681
15682
15683
15684
15685
15686
15687
15688
15689
15690
15691
15692
15693
15694
15695
15696
15697
15698
15699
15700
15701
15702
15703
15704
15705
15706
15707
15708
15709
15710
15711
15712
15713
15714
15715
15716
15717
15718
15719
15720
15721
15722
15723
15724
15725
15726
15727
15728
15729
15730
15731
15732
15733
15734
15735
15736
15737
15738
15739
15740
15741
15742
15743
15744
15745
15746
15747
15748
15749
15750
15751
15752
15753
15754
15755
15756
15757
15758
15759
15760
15761
15762
15763
15764
15765
15766
15767
15768
15769
15770
15771
15772
15773
15774
15775
15776
15777
15778
15779
15780
15781
15782
15783
15784
15785
15786
15787
15788
15789
15790
15791
15792
15793
15794
15795
15796
15797
15798
15799
15800
15801
15802
15803
15804
15805
15806
15807
15808
15809
15810
15811
15812
15813
15814
15815
15816
15817
15818
15819
15820
15821
15822
15823
15824
15825
15826
15827
15828
15829
15830
15831
15832
15833
15834
15835
15836
15837
15838
15839
15840
15841
15842
15843
15844
15845
15846
15847
15848
15849
15850
15851
15852
15853
15854
15855
15856
15857
15858
15859
15860
15861
15862
15863
15864
15865
15866
15867
15868
15869
15870
15871
15872
15873
15874
15875
15876
15877
15878
15879
15880
15881
15882
15883
15884
15885
15886
15887
15888
15889
15890
15891
15892
15893
15894
15895
15896
15897
15898
15899
15900
15901
15902
15903
15904
15905
15906
15907
15908
15909
15910
15911
15912
15913
15914
15915
15916
15917
15918
15919
15920
15921
15922
15923
15924
15925
15926
15927
15928
15929
15930
15931
15932
15933
15934
15935
15936
15937
15938
15939
15940
15941
15942
15943
15944
15945
15946
15947
15948
15949
15950
15951
15952
15953
15954
15955
15956
15957
15958
15959
15960
15961
15962
15963
15964
15965
15966
15967
15968
15969
15970
15971
15972
15973
15974
15975
15976
15977
15978
15979
15980
15981
15982
15983
15984
15985
15986
15987
15988
15989
15990
15991
15992
15993
15994
15995
15996
15997
15998
15999
16000
16001
16002
16003
16004
16005
16006
16007
16008
16009
16010
16011
16012
16013
16014
16015
16016
16017
16018
16019
16020
16021
16022
16023
16024
16025
16026
16027
16028
16029
16030
16031
16032
16033
16034
16035
16036
16037
16038
16039
16040
16041
16042
16043
16044
16045
16046
16047
16048
16049
16050
16051
16052
16053
16054
16055
16056
16057
16058
16059
16060
16061
16062
16063
16064
16065
16066
16067
16068
16069
16070
16071
16072
16073
16074
16075
16076
16077
16078
16079
16080
16081
16082
16083
16084
16085
16086
16087
16088
16089
16090
16091
16092
16093
16094
16095
16096
16097
16098
16099
16100
16101
16102
16103
16104
16105
16106
16107
16108
16109
16110
16111
16112
16113
16114
16115
16116
16117
16118
16119
16120
16121
16122
16123
16124
16125
16126
16127
16128
16129
16130
16131
16132
16133
16134
16135
16136
16137
16138
16139
16140
16141
16142
16143
16144
16145
16146
16147
16148
16149
16150
16151
16152
16153
16154
16155
16156
16157
16158
16159
16160
16161
16162
16163
16164
16165
16166
16167
16168
16169
16170
16171
16172
16173
16174
16175
16176
16177
16178
16179
16180
16181
16182
16183
16184
16185
16186
16187
16188
16189
16190
16191
16192
16193
16194
16195
16196
16197
16198
16199
16200
16201
16202
16203
16204
16205
16206
16207
16208
16209
16210
16211
16212
16213
16214
16215
16216
16217
16218
16219
16220
16221
16222
16223
16224
16225
16226
16227
16228
16229
16230
16231
16232
16233
16234
16235
16236
16237
16238
16239
16240
16241
16242
16243
16244
16245
16246
16247
16248
16249
16250
16251
16252
16253
16254
16255
16256
16257
16258
16259
16260
16261
16262
16263
16264
16265
16266
16267
16268
16269
16270
16271
16272
16273
16274
16275
16276
16277
16278
16279
16280
16281
16282
16283
16284
16285
16286
16287
16288
16289
16290
16291
16292
16293
16294
16295
16296
16297
16298
16299
16300
16301
16302
16303
16304
16305
16306
16307
16308
16309
16310
16311
16312
16313
16314
16315
16316
16317
16318
16319
16320
16321
16322
16323
16324
16325
16326
16327
16328
16329
16330
16331
16332
16333
16334
16335
16336
16337
16338
16339
16340
16341
16342
16343
16344
16345
16346
16347
16348
16349
16350
16351
16352
16353
16354
16355
16356
16357
16358
16359
16360
16361
16362
16363
16364
16365
16366
16367
16368
16369
16370
16371
16372
16373
16374
16375
16376
16377
16378
16379
16380
16381
16382
16383
16384
16385
16386
16387
16388
16389
16390
16391
16392
16393
16394
16395
16396
16397
16398
16399
16400
16401
16402
16403
16404
16405
16406
16407
16408
16409
16410
16411
16412
16413
16414
16415
16416
16417
16418
16419
16420
16421
16422
16423
16424
16425
16426
16427
16428
16429
16430
16431
16432
16433
16434
16435
16436
16437
16438
16439
16440
16441
16442
16443
16444
16445
16446
16447
16448
16449
16450
16451
16452
16453
16454
16455
16456
16457
16458
16459
16460
16461
16462
16463
16464
16465
16466
16467
16468
16469
16470
16471
16472
16473
16474
16475
16476
16477
16478
16479
16480
16481
16482
16483
16484
16485
16486
16487
16488
16489
16490
16491
16492
16493
16494
16495
16496
16497
16498
16499
16500
16501
16502
16503
16504
16505
16506
16507
16508
16509
16510
16511
16512
16513
16514
16515
16516
16517
16518
16519
16520
16521
16522
16523
16524
16525
16526
16527
16528
16529
16530
16531
16532
16533
16534
16535
16536
16537
16538
16539
16540
16541
16542
16543
16544
16545
16546
16547
16548
16549
16550
16551
16552
16553
16554
16555
16556
16557
16558
16559
16560
16561
16562
16563
16564
16565
16566
16567
16568
16569
16570
16571
16572
16573
16574
16575
16576
16577
16578
16579
16580
16581
16582
16583
16584
16585
16586
16587
16588
16589
16590
16591
16592
16593
16594
16595
16596
16597
16598
16599
16600
16601
16602
16603
16604
16605
16606
16607
16608
16609
16610
16611
16612
16613
16614
16615
16616
16617
16618
16619
16620
16621
16622
16623
16624
16625
16626
16627
16628
16629
16630
16631
16632
16633
16634
16635
16636
16637
16638
16639
16640
16641
16642
16643
16644
16645
16646
16647
16648
16649
16650
16651
16652
16653
16654
16655
16656
16657
16658
16659
16660
16661
16662
16663
16664
16665
16666
16667
16668
16669
16670
16671
16672
16673
16674
16675
16676
16677
16678
16679
16680
16681
16682
16683
16684
16685
16686
16687
16688
16689
16690
16691
16692
16693
16694
16695
16696
16697
16698
16699
16700
16701
16702
16703
16704
16705
16706
16707
16708
16709
16710
16711
16712
16713
16714
16715
16716
16717
16718
16719
16720
16721
16722
16723
16724
16725
16726
16727
16728
16729
16730
16731
16732
16733
16734
16735
16736
16737
16738
16739
16740
16741
16742
16743
16744
16745
16746
16747
16748
16749
16750
16751
16752
16753
16754
16755
16756
16757
16758
16759
16760
16761
16762
16763
16764
16765
16766
16767
16768
16769
16770
16771
16772
16773
16774
16775
16776
16777
16778
16779
16780
16781
16782
16783
16784
16785
16786
16787
16788
16789
16790
16791
16792
16793
16794
16795
16796
16797
16798
16799
16800
16801
16802
16803
16804
16805
16806
16807
16808
16809
16810
16811
16812
16813
16814
16815
16816
16817
16818
16819
16820
16821
16822
16823
16824
16825
16826
16827
16828
16829
16830
16831
16832
16833
16834
16835
16836
16837
16838
16839
16840
16841
16842
16843
16844
16845
16846
16847
16848
16849
16850
16851
16852
16853
16854
16855
16856
16857
16858
16859
16860
16861
16862
16863
16864
16865
16866
16867
16868
16869
16870
16871
16872
16873
16874
16875
16876
16877
16878
16879
16880
16881
16882
16883
16884
16885
16886
16887
16888
16889
16890
16891
16892
16893
16894
16895
16896
16897
16898
16899
16900
16901
16902
16903
16904
16905
16906
16907
16908
16909
16910
16911
16912
16913
16914
16915
16916
16917
16918
16919
16920
16921
16922
16923
16924
16925
16926
16927
16928
16929
16930
16931
16932
16933
16934
16935
16936
16937
16938
16939
16940
16941
16942
16943
16944
16945
16946
16947
16948
16949
16950
16951
16952
16953
16954
16955
16956
16957
16958
16959
16960
16961
16962
16963
16964
16965
16966
16967
16968
16969
16970
16971
16972
16973
16974
16975
16976
16977
16978
16979
16980
16981
16982
16983
16984
16985
16986
16987
16988
16989
16990
16991
16992
16993
16994
16995
16996
16997
16998
16999
17000
17001
17002
17003
17004
17005
17006
17007
17008
17009
17010
17011
17012
17013
17014
17015
17016
17017
17018
17019
17020
17021
17022
17023
17024
17025
17026
17027
17028
17029
17030
17031
17032
17033
17034
17035
17036
17037
17038
17039
17040
17041
17042
17043
17044
17045
17046
17047
17048
17049
17050
17051
17052
17053
17054
17055
17056
17057
17058
17059
17060
17061
17062
17063
17064
17065
17066
17067
17068
17069
17070
17071
17072
17073
17074
17075
17076
17077
17078
17079
17080
17081
17082
17083
17084
17085
17086
17087
17088
17089
17090
17091
17092
17093
17094
17095
17096
17097
17098
17099
17100
17101
17102
17103
17104
17105
17106
17107
17108
17109
17110
17111
17112
17113
17114
17115
17116
17117
17118
17119
17120
17121
17122
17123
17124
17125
17126
17127
17128
17129
17130
17131
17132
17133
17134
17135
17136
17137
17138
17139
17140
17141
17142
17143
17144
17145
17146
17147
17148
17149
17150
17151
17152
17153
17154
17155
17156
17157
17158
17159
17160
17161
17162
17163
17164
17165
17166
17167
17168
17169
17170
17171
17172
17173
17174
17175
17176
17177
17178
17179
17180
17181
17182
17183
17184
17185
17186
17187
17188
17189
17190
17191
17192
17193
17194
17195
17196
17197
17198
17199
17200
17201
17202
17203
17204
17205
17206
17207
17208
17209
17210
17211
17212
17213
17214
17215
17216
17217
17218
17219
17220
17221
17222
17223
17224
17225
17226
17227
17228
17229
17230
17231
17232
17233
17234
17235
17236
17237
17238
17239
17240
17241
17242
17243
17244
17245
17246
17247
17248
17249
17250
17251
17252
17253
17254
17255
17256
17257
17258
17259
17260
17261
17262
17263
17264
17265
17266
17267
17268
17269
17270
17271
17272
17273
17274
17275
17276
17277
17278
17279
17280
17281
17282
17283
17284
17285
17286
17287
17288
17289
17290
17291
17292
17293
17294
17295
17296
17297
17298
17299
17300
17301
17302
17303
17304
17305
17306
17307
17308
17309
17310
17311
17312
17313
17314
17315
17316
17317
17318
17319
17320
17321
17322
17323
17324
17325
17326
17327
17328
17329
17330
17331
17332
17333
17334
17335
17336
17337
17338
17339
17340
17341
17342
17343
17344
17345
17346
17347
17348
17349
17350
17351
17352
17353
17354
17355
17356
17357
17358
17359
17360
17361
17362
17363
17364
17365
17366
17367
17368
17369
17370
17371
17372
17373
17374
17375
17376
17377
17378
17379
17380
17381
17382
17383
17384
17385
17386
17387
17388
17389
17390
17391
17392
17393
17394
17395
17396
17397
17398
17399
17400
17401
17402
17403
17404
17405
17406
17407
17408
17409
17410
17411
17412
17413
17414
17415
17416
17417
17418
17419
17420
17421
17422
17423
17424
17425
17426
17427
17428
17429
17430
17431
17432
17433
17434
17435
17436
17437
17438
17439
17440
17441
17442
17443
17444
17445
17446
17447
17448
17449
17450
17451
17452
17453
17454
17455
17456
17457
17458
17459
17460
17461
17462
17463
17464
17465
17466
17467
17468
17469
17470
17471
17472
17473
17474
17475
17476
17477
17478
17479
17480
17481
17482
17483
17484
17485
17486
17487
17488
17489
17490
17491
17492
17493
17494
17495
17496
17497
17498
17499
17500
17501
17502
17503
17504
17505
17506
17507
17508
17509
17510
17511
17512
17513
17514
17515
17516
17517
17518
17519
17520
17521
17522
17523
17524
17525
17526
17527
17528
17529
17530
17531
17532
17533
17534
17535
17536
17537
17538
17539
17540
17541
17542
17543
17544
17545
17546
17547
17548
17549
17550
17551
17552
17553
17554
17555
17556
17557
17558
17559
17560
17561
17562
17563
17564
17565
17566
17567
17568
17569
17570
17571
17572
17573
17574
17575
17576
17577
17578
17579
17580
17581
17582
17583
17584
17585
17586
17587
17588
17589
17590
17591
17592
17593
17594
17595
17596
17597
17598
17599
17600
17601
17602
17603
17604
17605
17606
17607
17608
17609
17610
17611
17612
17613
17614
17615
17616
17617
17618
17619
17620
17621
17622
17623
17624
17625
17626
17627
17628
17629
17630
17631
17632
17633
17634
17635
17636
17637
17638
17639
17640
17641
17642
17643
17644
17645
17646
17647
17648
17649
17650
17651
17652
17653
17654
17655
17656
17657
17658
17659
17660
17661
17662
17663
17664
17665
17666
17667
17668
17669
17670
17671
17672
17673
17674
17675
17676
17677
17678
17679
17680
17681
17682
17683
17684
17685
17686
17687
17688
17689
17690
17691
17692
17693
17694
17695
17696
17697
17698
17699
17700
17701
17702
17703
17704
17705
17706
17707
17708
17709
17710
17711
17712
17713
17714
17715
17716
17717
17718
17719
17720
17721
17722
17723
17724
17725
17726
17727
17728
17729
17730
17731
17732
17733
17734
17735
17736
17737
17738
17739
17740
17741
17742
17743
17744
17745
17746
17747
17748
17749
17750
17751
17752
17753
17754
17755
17756
17757
17758
17759
17760
17761
17762
17763
17764
17765
17766
17767
17768
17769
17770
17771
17772
17773
17774
17775
17776
17777
17778
17779
17780
17781
17782
17783
17784
17785
17786
17787
17788
17789
17790
17791
17792
17793
17794
17795
17796
17797
17798
17799
17800
17801
17802
17803
17804
17805
17806
17807
17808
17809
17810
17811
17812
17813
17814
17815
17816
17817
17818
17819
17820
17821
17822
17823
17824
17825
17826
17827
17828
17829
17830
17831
17832
17833
17834
17835
17836
17837
17838
17839
17840
17841
17842
17843
17844
17845
17846
17847
17848
17849
17850
17851
17852
17853
17854
17855
17856
17857
17858
17859
17860
17861
17862
17863
17864
17865
17866
17867
17868
17869
17870
17871
17872
17873
17874
17875
17876
17877
17878
17879
17880
17881
17882
17883
17884
17885
17886
17887
17888
17889
17890
17891
17892
17893
17894
17895
17896
17897
17898
17899
17900
17901
17902
17903
17904
17905
17906
17907
17908
17909
17910
17911
17912
17913
17914
17915
17916
17917
17918
17919
17920
17921
17922
17923
17924
17925
17926
17927
17928
17929
17930
17931
17932
17933
17934
17935
17936
17937
17938
17939
17940
17941
17942
17943
17944
17945
17946
17947
17948
17949
17950
17951
17952
17953
17954
17955
17956
17957
17958
17959
17960
17961
17962
17963
17964
17965
17966
17967
17968
17969
17970
17971
17972
17973
17974
17975
17976
17977
17978
17979
17980
17981
17982
17983
17984
17985
17986
17987
17988
17989
17990
17991
17992
17993
17994
17995
17996
17997
17998
17999
18000
18001
18002
18003
18004
18005
18006
18007
18008
18009
18010
18011
18012
18013
18014
18015
18016
18017
18018
18019
18020
18021
18022
18023
18024
18025
18026
18027
18028
18029
18030
18031
18032
18033
18034
18035
18036
18037
18038
18039
18040
18041
18042
18043
18044
18045
18046
18047
18048
18049
18050
18051
18052
18053
18054
18055
18056
18057
18058
18059
18060
18061
18062
18063
18064
18065
18066
18067
18068
18069
18070
18071
18072
18073
18074
18075
18076
18077
18078
18079
18080
18081
18082
18083
18084
18085
18086
18087
18088
18089
18090
18091
18092
18093
18094
18095
18096
18097
18098
18099
18100
18101
18102
18103
18104
18105
18106
18107
18108
18109
18110
18111
18112
18113
18114
18115
18116
18117
18118
18119
18120
18121
18122
18123
18124
18125
18126
18127
18128
18129
18130
18131
18132
18133
18134
18135
18136
18137
18138
18139
18140
18141
18142
18143
18144
18145
18146
18147
18148
18149
18150
18151
18152
18153
18154
18155
18156
18157
18158
18159
18160
18161
18162
18163
18164
18165
18166
18167
18168
18169
18170
18171
18172
18173
18174
18175
18176
18177
18178
18179
18180
18181
18182
18183
18184
18185
18186
18187
18188
18189
18190
18191
18192
18193
18194
18195
18196
18197
18198
18199
18200
18201
18202
18203
18204
18205
18206
18207
18208
18209
18210
18211
18212
18213
18214
18215
18216
18217
18218
18219
18220
18221
18222
18223
18224
18225
18226
18227
18228
18229
18230
18231
18232
18233
18234
18235
18236
18237
18238
18239
18240
18241
18242
18243
18244
18245
18246
18247
18248
18249
18250
18251
18252
18253
18254
18255
18256
18257
18258
18259
18260
18261
18262
18263
18264
18265
18266
18267
18268
18269
18270
18271
18272
18273
18274
18275
18276
18277
18278
18279
18280
18281
18282
18283
18284
18285
18286
18287
18288
18289
18290
18291
18292
18293
18294
18295
18296
18297
18298
18299
18300
18301
18302
18303
18304
18305
18306
18307
18308
18309
18310
18311
18312
18313
18314
18315
18316
18317
18318
18319
18320
18321
18322
18323
18324
18325
18326
18327
18328
18329
18330
18331
18332
18333
18334
18335
18336
18337
18338
18339
18340
18341
18342
18343
18344
18345
18346
18347
18348
18349
18350
18351
18352
18353
18354
18355
18356
18357
18358
18359
18360
18361
18362
18363
18364
18365
18366
18367
18368
18369
18370
18371
18372
18373
18374
18375
18376
18377
18378
18379
18380
18381
18382
18383
18384
18385
18386
18387
18388
18389
18390
18391
18392
18393
18394
18395
18396
18397
18398
18399
18400
18401
18402
18403
18404
18405
18406
18407
18408
18409
18410
18411
18412
18413
18414
18415
18416
18417
18418
18419
18420
18421
18422
18423
18424
18425
18426
18427
18428
18429
18430
18431
18432
18433
18434
18435
18436
18437
18438
18439
18440
18441
18442
18443
18444
18445
18446
18447
18448
18449
18450
18451
18452
18453
18454
18455
18456
18457
18458
18459
18460
18461
18462
18463
18464
18465
18466
18467
18468
18469
18470
18471
18472
18473
18474
18475
18476
18477
18478
18479
18480
18481
18482
18483
18484
18485
18486
18487
18488
18489
18490
18491
18492
18493
18494
18495
18496
18497
18498
18499
18500
18501
18502
18503
18504
18505
18506
18507
18508
18509
18510
18511
18512
18513
18514
18515
18516
18517
18518
18519
18520
18521
18522
18523
18524
18525
18526
18527
18528
18529
18530
18531
18532
18533
18534
18535
18536
18537
18538
18539
18540
18541
18542
18543
18544
18545
18546
18547
18548
18549
18550
18551
18552
18553
18554
18555
18556
18557
18558
18559
18560
18561
18562
18563
18564
18565
18566
18567
18568
18569
18570
18571
18572
18573
18574
18575
18576
18577
18578
18579
18580
18581
18582
18583
18584
18585
18586
18587
18588
18589
18590
18591
18592
18593
18594
18595
18596
18597
18598
18599
18600
18601
18602
18603
18604
18605
18606
18607
18608
18609
18610
18611
18612
18613
18614
18615
18616
18617
18618
18619
18620
18621
18622
18623
18624
18625
18626
18627
18628
18629
18630
18631
18632
18633
18634
18635
18636
18637
18638
18639
18640
18641
18642
18643
18644
18645
18646
18647
18648
18649
18650
18651
18652
18653
18654
18655
18656
18657
18658
18659
18660
18661
18662
18663
18664
18665
18666
18667
18668
18669
18670
18671
18672
18673
18674
18675
18676
18677
18678
18679
18680
18681
18682
18683
18684
18685
18686
18687
18688
18689
18690
18691
18692
18693
18694
18695
18696
18697
18698
18699
18700
18701
18702
18703
18704
18705
18706
18707
18708
18709
18710
18711
18712
18713
18714
18715
18716
18717
18718
18719
18720
18721
18722
18723
18724
18725
18726
18727
18728
18729
18730
18731
18732
18733
18734
18735
18736
18737
18738
18739
18740
18741
18742
18743
18744
18745
18746
18747
18748
18749
18750
18751
18752
18753
18754
18755
18756
18757
18758
18759
18760
18761
18762
18763
18764
18765
18766
18767
18768
18769
18770
18771
18772
18773
18774
18775
18776
18777
18778
18779
18780
18781
18782
18783
18784
18785
18786
18787
18788
18789
18790
18791
18792
18793
18794
18795
18796
18797
18798
18799
18800
18801
18802
18803
18804
18805
18806
18807
18808
18809
18810
18811
18812
18813
18814
18815
18816
18817
18818
18819
18820
18821
18822
18823
18824
18825
18826
18827
18828
18829
18830
18831
18832
18833
18834
18835
18836
18837
18838
18839
18840
18841
18842
18843
18844
18845
18846
18847
18848
18849
18850
18851
18852
18853
18854
18855
18856
18857
18858
18859
18860
18861
18862
18863
18864
18865
18866
18867
18868
18869
18870
18871
18872
18873
18874
18875
18876
18877
18878
18879
18880
18881
18882
18883
18884
18885
18886
18887
18888
18889
18890
18891
18892
18893
18894
18895
18896
18897
18898
18899
18900
18901
18902
18903
18904
18905
18906
18907
18908
18909
18910
18911
18912
18913
18914
18915
18916
18917
18918
18919
18920
18921
18922
18923
18924
18925
18926
18927
18928
18929
18930
18931
18932
18933
18934
18935
18936
18937
18938
18939
18940
18941
18942
18943
18944
18945
18946
18947
18948
18949
18950
18951
18952
18953
18954
18955
18956
18957
18958
18959
18960
18961
18962
18963
18964
18965
18966
18967
18968
18969
18970
18971
18972
18973
18974
18975
18976
18977
18978
18979
18980
18981
18982
18983
18984
18985
18986
18987
18988
18989
18990
18991
18992
18993
18994
18995
18996
18997
18998
18999
19000
19001
19002
19003
19004
19005
19006
19007
19008
19009
19010
19011
19012
19013
19014
19015
19016
19017
19018
19019
19020
19021
19022
19023
19024
19025
19026
19027
19028
19029
19030
19031
19032
19033
19034
19035
19036
19037
19038
19039
19040
19041
19042
19043
19044
19045
19046
19047
19048
19049
19050
19051
19052
19053
19054
19055
19056
19057
19058
19059
19060
19061
19062
19063
19064
19065
19066
19067
19068
19069
19070
19071
19072
19073
19074
19075
19076
19077
19078
19079
19080
19081
19082
19083
19084
19085
19086
19087
19088
19089
19090
19091
19092
19093
19094
19095
19096
19097
19098
19099
19100
19101
19102
19103
19104
19105
19106
19107
19108
19109
19110
19111
19112
19113
19114
19115
19116
19117
19118
19119
19120
19121
19122
19123
19124
19125
19126
19127
19128
19129
19130
19131
19132
19133
19134
19135
19136
19137
19138
19139
19140
19141
19142
19143
19144
19145
19146
19147
19148
19149
19150
19151
19152
19153
19154
19155
19156
19157
19158
19159
19160
19161
19162
19163
19164
19165
19166
19167
19168
19169
19170
19171
19172
19173
19174
19175
19176
19177
19178
19179
19180
19181
19182
19183
19184
19185
19186
19187
19188
19189
19190
19191
19192
19193
19194
19195
19196
19197
19198
19199
19200
19201
19202
19203
19204
19205
19206
19207
19208
19209
19210
19211
19212
19213
19214
19215
19216
19217
19218
19219
19220
19221
19222
19223
19224
19225
19226
19227
19228
19229
19230
19231
19232
19233
19234
19235
19236
19237
19238
19239
19240
19241
19242
19243
19244
19245
19246
19247
19248
19249
19250
19251
19252
19253
19254
19255
19256
19257
19258
19259
19260
19261
19262
19263
19264
19265
19266
19267
19268
19269
19270
19271
19272
19273
19274
19275
19276
19277
19278
19279
19280
19281
19282
19283
19284
19285
19286
19287
19288
19289
19290
19291
19292
19293
19294
19295
19296
19297
19298
19299
19300
19301
19302
19303
19304
19305
19306
19307
19308
19309
19310
19311
19312
19313
19314
19315
19316
19317
19318
19319
19320
19321
19322
19323
19324
19325
19326
19327
19328
19329
19330
19331
19332
19333
19334
19335
19336
19337
19338
19339
19340
19341
19342
19343
19344
19345
19346
19347
19348
19349
19350
19351
19352
19353
19354
19355
19356
19357
19358
19359
19360
19361
19362
19363
19364
19365
19366
19367
19368
19369
19370
19371
19372
19373
19374
19375
19376
19377
19378
19379
19380
19381
19382
19383
19384
19385
19386
19387
19388
19389
19390
19391
19392
19393
19394
19395
19396
19397
19398
19399
19400
19401
19402
19403
19404
19405
19406
19407
19408
19409
19410
19411
19412
19413
19414
19415
19416
19417
19418
19419
19420
19421
19422
19423
19424
19425
19426
19427
19428
19429
19430
19431
19432
19433
19434
19435
19436
19437
19438
19439
19440
19441
19442
19443
19444
19445
19446
19447
19448
19449
19450
19451
19452
19453
19454
19455
19456
19457
19458
19459
19460
19461
19462
19463
19464
19465
19466
19467
19468
19469
19470
19471
19472
19473
19474
19475
19476
19477
19478
19479
19480
19481
19482
19483
19484
19485
19486
19487
19488
19489
19490
19491
19492
19493
19494
19495
19496
19497
19498
19499
19500
19501
19502
19503
19504
19505
19506
19507
19508
19509
19510
19511
19512
19513
19514
19515
19516
19517
19518
19519
19520
19521
19522
19523
19524
19525
19526
19527
19528
19529
19530
19531
19532
19533
19534
19535
19536
19537
19538
19539
19540
19541
19542
19543
19544
19545
19546
19547
19548
19549
19550
19551
19552
19553
19554
19555
19556
19557
19558
19559
19560
19561
19562
19563
19564
19565
19566
19567
19568
19569
19570
19571
19572
19573
19574
19575
19576
19577
19578
19579
19580
19581
19582
19583
19584
19585
19586
19587
19588
19589
19590
19591
19592
19593
19594
19595
19596
19597
19598
19599
19600
19601
19602
19603
19604
19605
19606
19607
19608
19609
19610
19611
19612
19613
19614
19615
19616
19617
19618
19619
19620
19621
19622
19623
19624
19625
19626
19627
19628
19629
19630
19631
19632
19633
19634
19635
19636
19637
19638
19639
19640
19641
19642
19643
19644
19645
19646
19647
19648
19649
19650
19651
19652
19653
19654
19655
19656
19657
19658
19659
19660
19661
19662
19663
19664
19665
19666
19667
19668
19669
19670
19671
19672
19673
19674
19675
19676
19677
19678
19679
19680
19681
19682
19683
19684
19685
19686
19687
19688
19689
19690
19691
19692
19693
19694
19695
19696
19697
19698
19699
19700
19701
19702
19703
19704
19705
19706
19707
19708
19709
19710
19711
19712
19713
19714
19715
19716
19717
19718
19719
19720
19721
19722
19723
19724
19725
19726
19727
19728
19729
19730
19731
19732
19733
19734
19735
19736
19737
19738
19739
19740
19741
19742
19743
19744
19745
19746
19747
19748
19749
19750
19751
19752
19753
19754
19755
19756
19757
19758
19759
19760
19761
19762
19763
19764
19765
19766
19767
19768
19769
19770
19771
19772
19773
19774
19775
19776
19777
19778
19779
19780
19781
19782
19783
19784
19785
19786
19787
19788
19789
19790
19791
19792
19793
19794
19795
19796
19797
19798
19799
19800
19801
19802
19803
19804
19805
19806
19807
19808
19809
19810
19811
19812
19813
19814
19815
19816
19817
19818
19819
19820
19821
19822
19823
19824
19825
19826
19827
19828
19829
19830
19831
19832
19833
19834
19835
19836
19837
19838
19839
19840
19841
19842
19843
19844
19845
19846
19847
19848
19849
19850
19851
19852
19853
19854
19855
19856
19857
19858
19859
19860
19861
19862
19863
19864
19865
19866
19867
19868
19869
19870
19871
19872
19873
19874
19875
19876
19877
19878
19879
19880
19881
19882
19883
19884
19885
19886
19887
19888
19889
19890
19891
19892
19893
19894
19895
19896
19897
19898
19899
19900
19901
19902
19903
19904
19905
19906
19907
19908
19909
19910
19911
19912
19913
19914
19915
19916
19917
19918
19919
19920
19921
19922
19923
19924
19925
19926
19927
19928
19929
19930
19931
19932
19933
19934
19935
19936
19937
19938
19939
19940
19941
19942
19943
19944
19945
19946
19947
19948
19949
19950
19951
19952
19953
19954
19955
19956
19957
19958
19959
19960
19961
19962
19963
19964
19965
19966
19967
19968
19969
19970
19971
19972
19973
19974
19975
19976
19977
19978
19979
19980
19981
19982
19983
19984
19985
19986
19987
19988
19989
19990
19991
19992
19993
19994
19995
19996
19997
19998
19999
20000
20001
20002
20003
20004
20005
20006
20007
20008
20009
20010
20011
20012
20013
20014
20015
20016
20017
20018
20019
20020
20021
20022
20023
20024
20025
20026
20027
20028
20029
20030
20031
20032
20033
20034
20035
20036
20037
20038
20039
20040
20041
20042
20043
20044
20045
20046
20047
20048
20049
20050
20051
20052
20053
20054
20055
20056
20057
20058
20059
20060
20061
20062
20063
20064
20065
20066
20067
20068
20069
20070
20071
20072
20073
20074
20075
20076
20077
20078
20079
20080
20081
20082
20083
20084
20085
20086
20087
20088
20089
20090
20091
20092
20093
20094
20095
20096
20097
20098
20099
20100
20101
20102
20103
20104
20105
20106
20107
20108
20109
20110
20111
20112
20113
20114
20115
20116
20117
20118
20119
20120
20121
20122
20123
20124
20125
20126
20127
20128
20129
20130
20131
20132
20133
20134
20135
20136
20137
20138
20139
20140
20141
20142
20143
20144
20145
20146
20147
20148
20149
20150
20151
20152
20153
20154
20155
20156
20157
20158
20159
20160
20161
20162
20163
20164
20165
20166
20167
20168
20169
20170
20171
20172
20173
20174
20175
20176
20177
20178
20179
20180
20181
20182
20183
20184
20185
20186
20187
20188
20189
20190
20191
20192
20193
20194
20195
20196
20197
20198
20199
20200
20201
20202
20203
20204
20205
20206
20207
20208
20209
20210
20211
20212
20213
20214
20215
20216
20217
20218
20219
20220
20221
20222
20223
20224
20225
20226
20227
20228
20229
20230
20231
20232
20233
20234
20235
20236
20237
20238
20239
20240
20241
20242
20243
20244
20245
20246
20247
20248
20249
20250
20251
20252
20253
20254
20255
20256
20257
20258
20259
20260
20261
20262
20263
20264
20265
20266
20267
20268
20269
20270
20271
20272
20273
20274
20275
20276
20277
20278
20279
20280
20281
20282
20283
20284
20285
20286
20287
20288
20289
20290
20291
20292
20293
20294
20295
20296
20297
20298
20299
20300
20301
20302
20303
20304
20305
20306
20307
20308
20309
20310
20311
20312
20313
20314
20315
20316
20317
20318
20319
20320
20321
20322
20323
20324
20325
20326
20327
20328
20329
20330
20331
20332
20333
20334
20335
20336
20337
20338
20339
20340
20341
20342
20343
20344
20345
20346
20347
20348
20349
20350
20351
20352
20353
20354
20355
20356
20357
20358
20359
20360
20361
20362
20363
20364
20365
20366
20367
20368
20369
20370
20371
20372
20373
20374
20375
20376
20377
20378
20379
20380
20381
20382
20383
20384
20385
20386
20387
20388
20389
20390
20391
20392
20393
20394
20395
20396
20397
20398
20399
20400
20401
20402
20403
20404
20405
20406
20407
20408
20409
20410
20411
20412
20413
20414
20415
20416
20417
20418
20419
20420
20421
20422
20423
20424
20425
20426
20427
20428
20429
20430
20431
20432
20433
20434
20435
20436
20437
20438
20439
20440
20441
20442
20443
20444
20445
20446
20447
20448
20449
20450
20451
20452
20453
20454
20455
20456
20457
20458
20459
20460
20461
20462
20463
20464
20465
20466
20467
20468
20469
20470
20471
20472
20473
20474
20475
20476
20477
20478
20479
20480
20481
20482
20483
20484
20485
20486
20487
20488
20489
20490
20491
20492
20493
20494
20495
20496
20497
20498
20499
20500
20501
20502
20503
20504
20505
20506
20507
20508
20509
20510
20511
20512
20513
20514
20515
20516
20517
20518
20519
20520
20521
20522
20523
20524
20525
20526
20527
20528
20529
20530
20531
20532
20533
20534
20535
20536
20537
20538
20539
20540
20541
20542
20543
20544
20545
20546
20547
20548
20549
20550
20551
20552
20553
20554
20555
20556
20557
20558
20559
20560
20561
20562
20563
20564
20565
20566
20567
20568
20569
20570
20571
20572
20573
20574
20575
20576
20577
20578
20579
20580
20581
20582
20583
20584
20585
20586
20587
20588
20589
20590
20591
20592
20593
20594
20595
20596
20597
20598
20599
20600
20601
20602
20603
20604
20605
20606
20607
20608
20609
20610
20611
20612
20613
20614
20615
20616
20617
20618
20619
20620
20621
20622
20623
20624
20625
20626
20627
20628
20629
20630
20631
20632
20633
20634
20635
20636
20637
20638
20639
20640
20641
20642
20643
20644
20645
20646
20647
20648
20649
20650
20651
20652
20653
20654
20655
20656
20657
20658
20659
20660
20661
20662
20663
20664
20665
20666
20667
20668
20669
20670
20671
20672
20673
20674
20675
20676
20677
20678
20679
20680
20681
20682
20683
20684
20685
20686
20687
20688
20689
20690
20691
20692
20693
20694
20695
20696
20697
20698
20699
20700
20701
20702
20703
20704
20705
20706
20707
20708
20709
20710
20711
20712
20713
20714
20715
20716
20717
20718
20719
20720
20721
20722
20723
20724
20725
20726
20727
20728
20729
20730
20731
20732
20733
20734
20735
20736
20737
20738
20739
20740
20741
20742
20743
20744
20745
20746
20747
20748
20749
20750
20751
20752
20753
20754
20755
20756
20757
20758
20759
20760
20761
20762
20763
20764
20765
20766
20767
20768
20769
20770
20771
20772
20773
20774
20775
20776
20777
20778
20779
20780
20781
20782
20783
20784
20785
20786
20787
20788
20789
20790
20791
20792
20793
20794
20795
20796
20797
20798
20799
20800
20801
20802
20803
20804
20805
20806
20807
20808
20809
20810
20811
20812
20813
20814
20815
20816
20817
20818
20819
20820
20821
20822
20823
20824
20825
20826
20827
20828
20829
20830
20831
20832
20833
20834
20835
20836
20837
20838
20839
20840
20841
20842
20843
20844
20845
20846
20847
20848
20849
20850
20851
20852
20853
20854
20855
20856
20857
20858
20859
20860
20861
20862
20863
20864
20865
20866
20867
20868
20869
20870
20871
20872
20873
20874
20875
20876
20877
20878
20879
20880
20881
20882
20883
20884
20885
20886
20887
20888
20889
20890
20891
20892
20893
20894
20895
20896
20897
20898
20899
20900
20901
20902
20903
20904
20905
20906
20907
20908
20909
20910
20911
20912
20913
20914
20915
20916
20917
20918
20919
20920
20921
20922
20923
20924
20925
20926
20927
20928
20929
20930
20931
20932
20933
20934
20935
20936
20937
20938
20939
20940
20941
20942
20943
20944
20945
20946
20947
20948
20949
20950
20951
20952
20953
20954
20955
20956
20957
20958
20959
20960
20961
20962
20963
20964
20965
20966
20967
20968
20969
20970
20971
20972
20973
20974
20975
20976
20977
20978
20979
20980
20981
20982
20983
20984
20985
20986
20987
20988
20989
20990
20991
20992
20993
20994
20995
20996
20997
20998
20999
21000
21001
21002
21003
21004
21005
21006
21007
21008
21009
21010
21011
21012
21013
21014
21015
21016
21017
21018
21019
21020
21021
21022
21023
21024
21025
21026
21027
21028
21029
21030
21031
21032
21033
21034
21035
21036
21037
21038
21039
21040
21041
21042
21043
21044
21045
21046
21047
21048
21049
21050
21051
21052
21053
21054
21055
21056
21057
21058
21059
21060
21061
21062
21063
21064
21065
21066
21067
21068
21069
21070
21071
21072
21073
21074
21075
21076
21077
21078
21079
21080
21081
21082
21083
21084
21085
21086
21087
21088
21089
21090
21091
21092
21093
21094
21095
21096
21097
21098
21099
21100
21101
21102
21103
21104
21105
21106
21107
21108
21109
21110
21111
21112
21113
21114
21115
21116
21117
21118
21119
21120
21121
21122
21123
21124
21125
21126
21127
21128
21129
21130
21131
21132
21133
21134
21135
21136
21137
21138
21139
21140
21141
21142
21143
21144
21145
21146
21147
21148
21149
21150
21151
21152
21153
21154
21155
21156
21157
21158
21159
21160
21161
21162
21163
21164
21165
21166
21167
21168
21169
21170
21171
21172
21173
21174
21175
21176
21177
21178
21179
21180
21181
21182
21183
21184
21185
21186
21187
21188
21189
21190
21191
21192
21193
21194
21195
21196
21197
21198
21199
21200
21201
21202
21203
21204
21205
21206
21207
21208
21209
21210
21211
21212
21213
21214
21215
21216
21217
21218
21219
21220
21221
21222
21223
21224
21225
21226
21227
21228
21229
21230
21231
21232
21233
21234
21235
21236
21237
21238
21239
21240
21241
21242
21243
21244
21245
21246
21247
21248
21249
21250
21251
21252
21253
21254
21255
21256
21257
21258
21259
21260
21261
21262
21263
21264
21265
21266
21267
21268
21269
21270
21271
21272
21273
21274
21275
21276
21277
21278
21279
21280
21281
21282
21283
21284
21285
21286
21287
21288
21289
21290
21291
21292
21293
21294
21295
21296
21297
21298
21299
21300
21301
21302
21303
21304
21305
21306
21307
21308
21309
21310
21311
21312
21313
21314
21315
21316
21317
21318
21319
21320
21321
21322
21323
21324
21325
21326
21327
21328
21329
21330
21331
21332
21333
21334
21335
21336
21337
21338
21339
21340
21341
21342
21343
21344
21345
21346
21347
21348
21349
21350
21351
21352
21353
21354
21355
21356
21357
21358
21359
21360
21361
21362
21363
21364
21365
21366
21367
21368
21369
21370
21371
21372
21373
21374
21375
21376
21377
21378
21379
21380
21381
21382
21383
21384
21385
21386
21387
21388
21389
21390
21391
21392
21393
21394
21395
21396
21397
21398
21399
21400
21401
21402
21403
21404
21405
21406
21407
21408
21409
21410
21411
21412
21413
21414
21415
21416
21417
21418
21419
21420
21421
21422
21423
21424
21425
21426
21427
21428
21429
21430
21431
21432
21433
21434
21435
21436
21437
21438
21439
21440
21441
21442
21443
21444
21445
21446
21447
21448
21449
21450
21451
21452
21453
21454
21455
21456
21457
21458
21459
21460
21461
21462
21463
21464
21465
21466
21467
21468
21469
21470
21471
21472
21473
21474
21475
21476
21477
21478
21479
21480
21481
21482
21483
21484
21485
21486
21487
21488
21489
21490
21491
21492
21493
21494
21495
21496
21497
21498
21499
21500
21501
21502
21503
21504
21505
21506
21507
21508
21509
21510
21511
21512
21513
21514
21515
21516
21517
21518
21519
21520
21521
21522
21523
21524
21525
21526
21527
21528
21529
21530
21531
21532
21533
21534
21535
21536
21537
21538
21539
21540
21541
21542
21543
21544
21545
21546
21547
21548
21549
21550
21551
21552
21553
21554
21555
21556
21557
21558
21559
21560
21561
21562
21563
21564
21565
21566
21567
21568
21569
21570
21571
21572
21573
21574
21575
21576
21577
21578
21579
21580
21581
21582
21583
21584
21585
21586
21587
21588
21589
21590
21591
21592
21593
21594
21595
21596
21597
21598
21599
21600
21601
21602
21603
21604
21605
21606
21607
21608
21609
21610
21611
21612
21613
21614
21615
21616
21617
21618
21619
21620
21621
21622
21623
21624
21625
21626
21627
21628
21629
21630
21631
21632
21633
21634
21635
21636
21637
21638
21639
21640
21641
21642
21643
21644
21645
21646
21647
21648
21649
21650
21651
21652
21653
21654
21655
21656
21657
21658
21659
21660
21661
21662
21663
21664
21665
21666
21667
21668
21669
21670
21671
21672
21673
21674
21675
21676
21677
21678
21679
21680
21681
21682
21683
21684
21685
21686
21687
21688
21689
21690
21691
21692
21693
21694
21695
21696
21697
21698
21699
21700
21701
21702
21703
21704
21705
21706
21707
21708
21709
21710
21711
21712
21713
21714
21715
21716
21717
21718
21719
21720
21721
21722
21723
21724
21725
21726
21727
21728
21729
21730
21731
21732
21733
21734
21735
21736
21737
21738
21739
21740
21741
21742
21743
21744
21745
21746
21747
21748
21749
21750
21751
21752
21753
21754
21755
21756
21757
21758
21759
21760
21761
21762
21763
21764
21765
21766
21767
21768
21769
21770
21771
21772
21773
21774
21775
21776
21777
21778
21779
21780
21781
21782
21783
21784
21785
21786
21787
21788
21789
21790
21791
21792
21793
21794
21795
21796
21797
21798
21799
21800
21801
21802
21803
21804
21805
21806
21807
21808
21809
21810
21811
21812
21813
21814
21815
21816
21817
21818
21819
21820
21821
21822
21823
21824
21825
21826
21827
21828
21829
21830
21831
21832
21833
21834
21835
21836
21837
21838
21839
21840
21841
21842
21843
21844
21845
21846
21847
21848
21849
21850
21851
21852
21853
21854
21855
21856
21857
21858
21859
21860
21861
21862
21863
21864
21865
21866
21867
21868
21869
21870
21871
21872
21873
21874
21875
21876
21877
21878
21879
21880
21881
21882
21883
21884
21885
21886
21887
21888
21889
21890
21891
21892
21893
21894
21895
21896
21897
21898
21899
21900
21901
21902
21903
21904
21905
21906
21907
21908
21909
21910
21911
21912
21913
21914
21915
21916
21917
21918
21919
21920
21921
21922
21923
21924
21925
21926
21927
21928
21929
21930
21931
21932
21933
21934
21935
21936
21937
21938
21939
21940
21941
21942
21943
21944
21945
21946
21947
21948
21949
21950
21951
21952
21953
21954
21955
21956
21957
21958
21959
21960
21961
21962
21963
21964
21965
21966
21967
21968
21969
21970
21971
21972
21973
21974
21975
21976
21977
21978
21979
21980
21981
21982
21983
21984
21985
21986
21987
21988
21989
21990
21991
21992
21993
21994
21995
21996
21997
21998
21999
22000
22001
22002
22003
22004
22005
22006
22007
22008
22009
22010
22011
22012
22013
22014
22015
22016
22017
22018
22019
22020
22021
22022
22023
22024
22025
22026
22027
22028
22029
22030
22031
22032
22033
22034
22035
22036
22037
22038
22039
22040
22041
22042
22043
22044
22045
22046
22047
22048
22049
22050
22051
22052
22053
22054
22055
22056
22057
22058
22059
22060
22061
22062
22063
22064
22065
22066
22067
22068
22069
22070
22071
22072
22073
22074
22075
22076
22077
22078
22079
22080
22081
22082
22083
22084
22085
22086
22087
22088
22089
22090
22091
22092
22093
22094
22095
22096
22097
22098
22099
22100
22101
22102
22103
22104
22105
22106
22107
22108
22109
22110
22111
22112
22113
22114
22115
22116
22117
22118
22119
22120
22121
22122
22123
22124
22125
22126
22127
22128
22129
22130
22131
22132
22133
22134
22135
22136
22137
22138
22139
22140
22141
22142
22143
22144
22145
22146
22147
22148
22149
22150
22151
22152
22153
22154
22155
22156
22157
22158
22159
22160
22161
22162
22163
22164
22165
22166
22167
22168
22169
22170
22171
22172
22173
22174
22175
22176
22177
22178
22179
22180
22181
22182
22183
22184
22185
22186
22187
22188
22189
22190
22191
22192
22193
22194
22195
22196
22197
22198
22199
22200
22201
22202
22203
22204
22205
22206
22207
22208
22209
22210
22211
22212
22213
22214
22215
22216
22217
22218
22219
22220
22221
22222
22223
22224
22225
22226
22227
22228
22229
22230
22231
22232
22233
22234
22235
22236
22237
22238
22239
22240
22241
22242
22243
22244
22245
22246
22247
22248
22249
22250
22251
22252
22253
22254
22255
22256
22257
22258
22259
22260
22261
22262
22263
22264
22265
22266
22267
22268
22269
22270
22271
22272
22273
22274
22275
22276
22277
22278
22279
22280
22281
22282
22283
22284
22285
22286
22287
22288
22289
22290
22291
22292
22293
22294
22295
22296
22297
22298
22299
22300
22301
22302
22303
22304
22305
22306
22307
22308
22309
22310
22311
22312
22313
22314
22315
22316
22317
22318
22319
22320
22321
22322
22323
22324
22325
22326
22327
22328
22329
22330
22331
22332
22333
22334
22335
22336
22337
22338
22339
22340
22341
22342
22343
22344
22345
22346
22347
22348
22349
22350
22351
22352
22353
22354
22355
22356
22357
22358
22359
22360
22361
22362
22363
22364
22365
22366
22367
22368
22369
22370
22371
22372
22373
22374
22375
22376
22377
22378
22379
22380
22381
22382
22383
22384
22385
22386
22387
22388
22389
22390
22391
22392
22393
22394
22395
22396
22397
22398
22399
22400
22401
22402
22403
22404
22405
22406
22407
22408
22409
22410
22411
22412
22413
22414
22415
22416
22417
22418
22419
22420
22421
22422
22423
22424
22425
22426
22427
22428
22429
22430
22431
22432
22433
22434
22435
22436
22437
22438
22439
22440
22441
22442
22443
22444
22445
22446
22447
22448
22449
22450
22451
22452
22453
22454
22455
22456
22457
22458
22459
22460
22461
22462
22463
22464
22465
22466
22467
22468
22469
22470
22471
22472
22473
22474
22475
22476
22477
22478
22479
22480
22481
22482
22483
22484
22485
22486
22487
22488
22489
22490
22491
22492
22493
22494
22495
22496
22497
22498
22499
22500
22501
22502
22503
22504
22505
22506
22507
22508
22509
22510
22511
22512
22513
22514
22515
22516
22517
22518
22519
22520
22521
22522
22523
22524
22525
22526
22527
22528
22529
22530
22531
22532
22533
22534
22535
22536
22537
22538
22539
22540
22541
22542
22543
22544
22545
22546
22547
22548
22549
22550
22551
22552
22553
22554
22555
22556
22557
22558
22559
22560
22561
22562
22563
22564
22565
22566
22567
22568
22569
22570
22571
22572
22573
22574
22575
22576
22577
22578
22579
22580
22581
22582
22583
22584
22585
22586
22587
22588
22589
22590
22591
22592
22593
22594
22595
22596
22597
22598
22599
22600
22601
22602
22603
22604
22605
22606
22607
22608
22609
22610
22611
22612
22613
22614
22615
22616
22617
22618
22619
22620
22621
22622
22623
22624
22625
22626
22627
22628
22629
22630
22631
22632
22633
22634
22635
22636
22637
22638
22639
22640
22641
22642
22643
22644
22645
22646
22647
22648
22649
22650
22651
22652
22653
22654
22655
22656
22657
22658
22659
22660
22661
22662
22663
22664
22665
22666
22667
22668
22669
22670
22671
22672
22673
22674
22675
22676
22677
22678
22679
22680
22681
22682
22683
22684
22685
22686
22687
22688
22689
22690
22691
22692
22693
22694
22695
22696
22697
22698
22699
22700
22701
22702
22703
22704
22705
22706
22707
22708
22709
22710
22711
22712
22713
22714
22715
22716
22717
22718
22719
22720
22721
22722
22723
22724
22725
22726
22727
22728
22729
22730
22731
22732
22733
22734
22735
22736
22737
22738
22739
22740
22741
22742
22743
22744
22745
22746
22747
22748
22749
22750
22751
22752
22753
22754
22755
22756
22757
22758
22759
22760
22761
22762
22763
22764
22765
22766
22767
22768
22769
22770
22771
22772
22773
22774
22775
22776
22777
22778
22779
22780
22781
22782
22783
22784
22785
22786
22787
22788
22789
22790
22791
22792
22793
22794
22795
22796
22797
22798
22799
22800
22801
22802
22803
22804
22805
22806
22807
22808
22809
22810
22811
22812
22813
22814
22815
22816
22817
22818
22819
22820
22821
22822
22823
22824
22825
22826
22827
22828
22829
22830
22831
22832
22833
22834
22835
22836
22837
22838
22839
22840
22841
22842
22843
22844
22845
22846
22847
22848
22849
22850
22851
22852
22853
22854
22855
22856
22857
22858
22859
22860
22861
22862
22863
22864
22865
22866
22867
22868
22869
22870
22871
22872
22873
22874
22875
22876
22877
22878
22879
22880
22881
22882
22883
22884
22885
22886
22887
22888
22889
22890
22891
22892
22893
22894
22895
22896
22897
22898
22899
22900
22901
22902
22903
22904
22905
22906
22907
22908
22909
22910
22911
22912
22913
22914
22915
22916
22917
22918
22919
22920
22921
22922
22923
22924
22925
22926
22927
22928
22929
22930
22931
22932
22933
22934
22935
22936
22937
22938
22939
22940
22941
22942
22943
22944
22945
22946
22947
22948
22949
22950
22951
22952
22953
22954
22955
22956
22957
22958
22959
22960
22961
22962
22963
22964
22965
22966
22967
22968
22969
22970
22971
22972
22973
22974
22975
22976
22977
22978
22979
22980
22981
22982
22983
22984
22985
22986
22987
22988
22989
22990
22991
22992
22993
22994
22995
22996
22997
22998
22999
23000
23001
23002
23003
23004
23005
23006
23007
23008
23009
23010
23011
23012
23013
23014
23015
23016
23017
23018
23019
23020
23021
23022
23023
23024
23025
23026
23027
23028
23029
23030
23031
23032
23033
23034
23035
23036
23037
23038
23039
23040
23041
23042
23043
23044
23045
23046
23047
23048
23049
23050
23051
23052
23053
23054
23055
23056
23057
23058
23059
23060
23061
23062
23063
23064
23065
23066
23067
23068
23069
23070
23071
23072
23073
23074
23075
23076
23077
23078
23079
23080
23081
23082
23083
23084
23085
23086
23087
23088
23089
23090
23091
23092
23093
23094
23095
23096
23097
23098
23099
23100
23101
23102
23103
23104
23105
23106
23107
23108
23109
23110
23111
23112
23113
23114
23115
23116
23117
23118
23119
23120
23121
23122
23123
23124
23125
23126
23127
23128
23129
23130
23131
23132
23133
23134
23135
23136
23137
23138
23139
23140
23141
23142
23143
23144
23145
23146
23147
23148
23149
23150
23151
23152
23153
23154
23155
23156
23157
23158
23159
23160
23161
23162
23163
23164
23165
23166
23167
23168
23169
23170
23171
23172
23173
23174
23175
23176
23177
23178
23179
23180
23181
23182
23183
23184
23185
23186
23187
23188
23189
23190
23191
23192
23193
23194
23195
23196
23197
23198
23199
23200
23201
23202
23203
23204
23205
23206
23207
23208
23209
23210
23211
23212
23213
23214
23215
23216
23217
23218
23219
23220
23221
23222
23223
23224
23225
23226
23227
23228
23229
23230
23231
23232
23233
23234
23235
23236
23237
23238
23239
23240
23241
23242
23243
23244
23245
23246
23247
23248
23249
23250
23251
23252
23253
23254
23255
23256
23257
23258
23259
23260
23261
23262
23263
23264
23265
23266
23267
23268
23269
23270
23271
23272
23273
23274
23275
23276
23277
23278
23279
23280
23281
23282
23283
23284
23285
23286
23287
23288
23289
23290
23291
23292
23293
23294
23295
23296
23297
23298
23299
23300
23301
23302
23303
23304
23305
23306
23307
23308
23309
23310
23311
23312
23313
23314
23315
23316
23317
23318
23319
23320
23321
23322
23323
23324
23325
23326
23327
23328
23329
23330
23331
23332
23333
23334
23335
23336
23337
23338
23339
23340
23341
23342
23343
23344
23345
23346
23347
23348
23349
23350
23351
23352
23353
23354
23355
23356
23357
23358
23359
23360
23361
23362
23363
23364
23365
23366
23367
23368
23369
23370
23371
23372
23373
23374
23375
23376
23377
23378
23379
23380
23381
23382
23383
23384
23385
23386
23387
23388
23389
23390
23391
23392
23393
23394
23395
23396
23397
23398
23399
23400
23401
23402
23403
23404
23405
23406
23407
23408
23409
23410
23411
23412
23413
23414
23415
23416
23417
23418
23419
23420
23421
23422
23423
23424
23425
23426
23427
23428
23429
23430
23431
23432
23433
23434
23435
23436
23437
23438
23439
23440
23441
23442
23443
23444
23445
23446
23447
23448
23449
23450
23451
23452
23453
23454
23455
23456
23457
23458
23459
23460
23461
23462
23463
23464
23465
23466
23467
23468
23469
23470
23471
23472
23473
23474
23475
23476
23477
23478
23479
23480
23481
23482
23483
23484
23485
23486
23487
23488
23489
23490
23491
23492
23493
23494
23495
23496
23497
23498
23499
23500
23501
23502
23503
23504
23505
23506
23507
23508
23509
23510
23511
23512
23513
23514
23515
23516
23517
23518
23519
23520
23521
23522
23523
23524
23525
23526
23527
23528
23529
23530
23531
23532
23533
23534
23535
23536
23537
23538
23539
23540
23541
23542
23543
23544
23545
23546
23547
23548
23549
23550
23551
23552
23553
23554
23555
23556
23557
23558
23559
23560
23561
23562
23563
23564
23565
23566
23567
23568
23569
23570
23571
23572
23573
23574
23575
23576
23577
23578
23579
23580
23581
23582
23583
23584
23585
23586
23587
23588
23589
23590
23591
23592
23593
23594
23595
23596
23597
23598
23599
23600
23601
23602
23603
23604
23605
23606
23607
23608
23609
23610
23611
23612
23613
23614
23615
23616
23617
23618
23619
23620
23621
23622
23623
23624
23625
23626
23627
23628
23629
23630
23631
23632
23633
23634
23635
23636
23637
23638
23639
23640
23641
23642
23643
23644
23645
23646
23647
23648
23649
23650
23651
23652
23653
23654
23655
23656
23657
23658
23659
23660
23661
23662
23663
23664
23665
23666
23667
23668
23669
23670
23671
23672
23673
23674
23675
23676
23677
23678
23679
23680
23681
23682
23683
23684
23685
23686
23687
23688
23689
23690
23691
23692
23693
23694
23695
23696
23697
23698
23699
23700
23701
23702
23703
23704
23705
23706
23707
23708
23709
23710
23711
23712
23713
23714
23715
23716
23717
23718
23719
23720
23721
23722
23723
23724
23725
23726
23727
23728
23729
23730
23731
23732
23733
23734
23735
23736
23737
23738
23739
23740
23741
23742
23743
23744
23745
23746
23747
23748
23749
23750
23751
23752
23753
23754
23755
23756
23757
23758
23759
23760
23761
23762
23763
23764
23765
23766
23767
23768
23769
23770
23771
23772
23773
23774
23775
23776
23777
23778
23779
23780
23781
23782
23783
23784
23785
23786
23787
23788
23789
23790
23791
23792
23793
23794
23795
23796
23797
23798
23799
23800
23801
23802
23803
23804
23805
23806
23807
23808
23809
23810
23811
23812
23813
23814
23815
23816
23817
23818
23819
23820
23821
23822
23823
23824
23825
23826
23827
23828
23829
23830
23831
23832
23833
23834
23835
23836
23837
23838
23839
23840
23841
23842
23843
23844
23845
23846
23847
23848
23849
23850
23851
23852
23853
23854
23855
23856
23857
23858
23859
23860
23861
23862
23863
23864
23865
23866
23867
23868
23869
23870
23871
23872
23873
23874
23875
23876
23877
23878
23879
23880
23881
23882
23883
23884
23885
23886
23887
23888
23889
23890
23891
23892
23893
23894
23895
23896
23897
23898
23899
23900
23901
23902
23903
23904
23905
23906
23907
23908
23909
23910
23911
23912
23913
23914
23915
23916
23917
23918
23919
23920
23921
23922
23923
23924
23925
23926
23927
23928
23929
23930
23931
23932
23933
23934
23935
23936
23937
23938
23939
23940
23941
23942
23943
23944
23945
23946
23947
23948
23949
23950
23951
23952
23953
23954
23955
23956
23957
23958
23959
23960
23961
23962
23963
23964
23965
23966
23967
23968
23969
23970
23971
23972
23973
23974
23975
23976
23977
23978
23979
23980
23981
23982
23983
23984
23985
23986
23987
23988
23989
23990
23991
23992
23993
23994
23995
23996
23997
23998
23999
24000
24001
24002
24003
24004
24005
24006
24007
24008
24009
24010
24011
24012
24013
24014
24015
24016
24017
24018
24019
24020
24021
24022
24023
24024
24025
24026
24027
24028
24029
24030
24031
24032
24033
24034
24035
24036
24037
24038
24039
24040
24041
24042
24043
24044
24045
24046
24047
24048
24049
24050
24051
24052
24053
24054
24055
24056
24057
24058
24059
24060
24061
24062
24063
24064
24065
24066
24067
24068
24069
24070
24071
24072
24073
24074
24075
24076
24077
24078
24079
24080
24081
24082
24083
24084
24085
24086
24087
24088
24089
24090
24091
24092
24093
24094
24095
24096
24097
24098
24099
24100
24101
24102
24103
24104
24105
24106
24107
24108
24109
24110
24111
24112
24113
24114
24115
24116
24117
24118
24119
24120
24121
24122
24123
24124
24125
24126
24127
24128
24129
24130
24131
24132
24133
24134
24135
24136
24137
24138
24139
24140
24141
24142
24143
24144
24145
24146
24147
24148
24149
24150
24151
24152
24153
24154
24155
24156
24157
24158
24159
24160
24161
24162
24163
24164
24165
24166
24167
24168
24169
24170
24171
24172
24173
24174
24175
24176
24177
24178
24179
24180
24181
24182
24183
24184
24185
24186
24187
24188
24189
24190
24191
24192
24193
24194
24195
24196
24197
24198
24199
24200
24201
24202
24203
24204
24205
24206
24207
24208
24209
24210
24211
24212
24213
24214
24215
24216
24217
24218
24219
24220
24221
24222
24223
24224
24225
24226
24227
24228
24229
24230
24231
24232
24233
24234
24235
24236
24237
24238
24239
24240
24241
24242
24243
24244
24245
24246
24247
24248
24249
24250
24251
24252
24253
24254
24255
24256
24257
24258
24259
24260
24261
24262
24263
24264
24265
24266
24267
24268
24269
24270
24271
24272
24273
24274
24275
24276
24277
24278
24279
24280
24281
24282
24283
24284
24285
24286
24287
24288
24289
24290
24291
24292
24293
24294
24295
24296
24297
24298
24299
24300
24301
24302
24303
24304
24305
24306
24307
24308
24309
24310
24311
24312
24313
24314
24315
24316
24317
24318
24319
24320
24321
24322
24323
24324
24325
24326
24327
24328
24329
24330
24331
24332
24333
24334
24335
24336
24337
24338
24339
24340
24341
24342
24343
24344
24345
24346
24347
24348
24349
24350
24351
24352
24353
24354
24355
24356
24357
24358
24359
24360
24361
24362
24363
24364
24365
24366
24367
24368
24369
24370
24371
24372
24373
24374
24375
24376
24377
24378
24379
24380
24381
24382
24383
24384
24385
24386
24387
24388
24389
24390
24391
24392
24393
24394
24395
24396
24397
24398
24399
24400
24401
24402
24403
24404
24405
24406
24407
24408
24409
24410
24411
24412
24413
24414
24415
24416
24417
24418
24419
24420
24421
24422
24423
24424
24425
24426
24427
24428
24429
24430
24431
24432
24433
24434
24435
24436
24437
24438
24439
24440
24441
24442
24443
24444
24445
24446
24447
24448
24449
24450
24451
24452
24453
24454
24455
24456
24457
24458
24459
24460
24461
24462
24463
24464
24465
24466
24467
24468
24469
24470
24471
24472
24473
24474
24475
24476
24477
24478
24479
24480
24481
24482
24483
24484
24485
24486
24487
24488
24489
24490
24491
24492
24493
24494
24495
24496
24497
24498
24499
24500
24501
24502
24503
24504
24505
24506
24507
24508
24509
24510
24511
24512
24513
24514
24515
24516
24517
24518
24519
24520
24521
24522
24523
24524
24525
24526
24527
24528
24529
24530
24531
24532
24533
24534
24535
24536
24537
24538
24539
24540
24541
24542
24543
24544
24545
24546
24547
24548
24549
24550
24551
24552
24553
24554
24555
24556
24557
24558
24559
24560
24561
24562
24563
24564
24565
24566
24567
24568
24569
24570
24571
24572
24573
24574
24575
24576
24577
24578
24579
24580
24581
24582
24583
24584
24585
24586
24587
24588
24589
24590
24591
24592
24593
24594
24595
24596
24597
24598
24599
24600
24601
24602
24603
24604
24605
24606
24607
24608
24609
24610
24611
24612
24613
24614
24615
24616
24617
24618
24619
24620
24621
24622
24623
24624
24625
24626
24627
24628
24629
24630
24631
24632
24633
24634
24635
24636
24637
24638
24639
24640
24641
24642
24643
24644
24645
24646
24647
24648
24649
24650
24651
24652
24653
24654
24655
24656
24657
24658
24659
24660
24661
24662
24663
24664
24665
24666
24667
24668
24669
24670
24671
24672
24673
24674
24675
24676
24677
24678
24679
24680
24681
24682
24683
24684
24685
24686
24687
24688
24689
24690
24691
24692
24693
24694
24695
24696
24697
24698
24699
24700
24701
24702
24703
24704
24705
24706
24707
24708
24709
24710
24711
24712
24713
24714
24715
24716
24717
24718
24719
24720
24721
24722
24723
24724
24725
24726
24727
24728
24729
24730
24731
24732
24733
24734
24735
24736
24737
24738
24739
24740
24741
24742
24743
24744
24745
24746
24747
24748
24749
24750
24751
24752
24753
24754
24755
24756
24757
24758
24759
24760
24761
24762
24763
24764
24765
24766
24767
24768
24769
24770
24771
24772
24773
24774
24775
24776
24777
24778
24779
24780
24781
24782
24783
24784
24785
24786
24787
24788
24789
24790
24791
24792
24793
24794
24795
24796
24797
24798
24799
24800
24801
24802
24803
24804
24805
24806
24807
24808
24809
24810
24811
24812
24813
24814
24815
24816
24817
24818
24819
24820
24821
24822
24823
24824
24825
24826
24827
24828
24829
24830
24831
24832
24833
24834
24835
24836
24837
24838
24839
24840
24841
24842
24843
24844
24845
24846
24847
24848
24849
24850
24851
24852
24853
24854
24855
24856
24857
24858
24859
24860
24861
24862
24863
24864
24865
24866
24867
24868
24869
24870
24871
24872
24873
24874
24875
24876
24877
24878
24879
24880
24881
24882
24883
24884
24885
24886
24887
24888
24889
24890
24891
24892
24893
24894
24895
24896
24897
24898
24899
24900
24901
24902
24903
24904
24905
24906
24907
24908
24909
24910
24911
24912
24913
24914
24915
24916
24917
24918
24919
24920
24921
24922
24923
24924
24925
24926
24927
24928
24929
24930
24931
24932
24933
24934
24935
24936
24937
24938
24939
24940
24941
24942
24943
24944
24945
24946
24947
24948
24949
24950
24951
24952
24953
24954
24955
24956
24957
24958
24959
24960
24961
24962
24963
24964
24965
24966
24967
24968
24969
24970
24971
24972
24973
24974
24975
24976
24977
24978
24979
24980
24981
24982
24983
24984
24985
24986
24987
24988
24989
24990
24991
24992
24993
24994
24995
24996
24997
24998
24999
25000
25001
25002
25003
25004
25005
25006
25007
25008
25009
25010
25011
25012
25013
25014
25015
25016
25017
25018
25019
25020
25021
25022
25023
25024
25025
25026
25027
25028
25029
25030
25031
25032
25033
25034
25035
25036
25037
25038
25039
25040
25041
25042
25043
25044
25045
25046
25047
25048
25049
25050
25051
25052
25053
25054
25055
25056
25057
25058
25059
25060
25061
25062
25063
25064
25065
25066
25067
25068
25069
25070
25071
25072
25073
25074
25075
25076
25077
25078
25079
25080
25081
25082
25083
25084
25085
25086
25087
25088
25089
25090
25091
25092
25093
25094
25095
25096
25097
25098
25099
25100
25101
25102
25103
25104
25105
25106
25107
25108
25109
25110
25111
25112
25113
25114
25115
25116
25117
25118
25119
25120
25121
25122
25123
25124
25125
25126
25127
25128
25129
25130
25131
25132
25133
25134
25135
25136
25137
25138
25139
25140
25141
25142
25143
25144
25145
25146
25147
25148
25149
25150
25151
25152
25153
25154
25155
25156
25157
25158
25159
25160
25161
25162
25163
25164
25165
25166
25167
25168
25169
25170
25171
25172
25173
25174
25175
25176
25177
25178
25179
25180
25181
25182
25183
25184
25185
25186
25187
25188
25189
25190
25191
25192
25193
25194
25195
25196
25197
25198
25199
25200
25201
25202
25203
25204
25205
25206
25207
25208
25209
25210
25211
25212
25213
25214
25215
25216
25217
25218
25219
25220
25221
25222
25223
25224
25225
25226
25227
25228
25229
25230
25231
25232
25233
25234
25235
25236
25237
25238
25239
25240
25241
25242
25243
25244
25245
25246
25247
25248
25249
25250
25251
25252
25253
25254
25255
25256
25257
25258
25259
25260
25261
25262
25263
25264
25265
25266
25267
25268
25269
25270
25271
25272
25273
25274
25275
25276
25277
25278
25279
25280
25281
25282
25283
25284
25285
25286
25287
25288
25289
25290
25291
25292
25293
25294
25295
25296
25297
25298
25299
25300
25301
25302
25303
25304
25305
25306
25307
25308
25309
25310
25311
25312
25313
25314
25315
25316
25317
25318
25319
25320
25321
25322
25323
25324
25325
25326
25327
25328
25329
25330
25331
25332
25333
25334
25335
25336
25337
25338
25339
25340
25341
25342
25343
25344
25345
25346
25347
25348
25349
25350
25351
25352
25353
25354
25355
25356
25357
25358
25359
25360
25361
25362
25363
25364
25365
25366
25367
25368
25369
25370
25371
25372
25373
25374
25375
25376
25377
25378
25379
25380
25381
25382
25383
25384
25385
25386
25387
25388
25389
25390
25391
25392
25393
25394
25395
25396
25397
25398
25399
25400
25401
25402
25403
25404
25405
25406
25407
25408
25409
25410
25411
25412
25413
25414
25415
25416
25417
25418
25419
25420
25421
25422
25423
25424
25425
25426
25427
25428
25429
25430
25431
25432
25433
25434
25435
25436
25437
25438
25439
25440
25441
25442
25443
25444
25445
25446
25447
25448
25449
25450
25451
25452
25453
25454
25455
25456
25457
25458
25459
25460
25461
25462
25463
25464
25465
25466
25467
25468
25469
25470
25471
25472
25473
25474
25475
25476
25477
25478
25479
25480
25481
25482
25483
25484
25485
25486
25487
25488
25489
25490
25491
25492
25493
25494
25495
25496
25497
25498
25499
25500
25501
25502
25503
25504
25505
25506
25507
25508
25509
25510
25511
25512
25513
25514
25515
25516
25517
25518
25519
25520
25521
25522
25523
25524
25525
25526
25527
25528
25529
25530
25531
25532
25533
25534
25535
25536
25537
25538
25539
25540
25541
25542
25543
25544
25545
25546
25547
25548
25549
25550
25551
25552
25553
25554
25555
25556
25557
25558
25559
25560
25561
25562
25563
25564
25565
25566
25567
25568
25569
25570
25571
25572
25573
25574
25575
25576
25577
25578
25579
25580
25581
25582
25583
25584
25585
25586
25587
25588
25589
25590
25591
25592
25593
25594
25595
25596
25597
25598
25599
25600
25601
25602
25603
25604
25605
25606
25607
25608
25609
25610
25611
25612
25613
25614
25615
25616
25617
25618
25619
25620
25621
25622
25623
25624
25625
25626
25627
25628
25629
25630
25631
25632
25633
25634
25635
25636
25637
25638
25639
25640
25641
25642
25643
25644
25645
25646
25647
25648
25649
25650
25651
25652
25653
25654
25655
25656
25657
25658
25659
25660
25661
25662
25663
25664
25665
25666
25667
25668
25669
25670
25671
25672
25673
25674
25675
25676
25677
25678
25679
25680
25681
25682
25683
25684
25685
25686
25687
25688
25689
25690
25691
25692
25693
25694
25695
25696
25697
25698
25699
25700
25701
25702
25703
25704
25705
25706
25707
25708
25709
25710
25711
25712
25713
25714
25715
25716
25717
25718
25719
25720
25721
25722
25723
25724
25725
25726
25727
25728
25729
25730
25731
25732
25733
25734
25735
25736
25737
25738
25739
25740
25741
25742
25743
25744
25745
25746
25747
25748
25749
25750
25751
25752
25753
25754
25755
25756
25757
25758
25759
25760
25761
25762
25763
25764
25765
25766
25767
25768
25769
25770
25771
25772
25773
25774
25775
25776
25777
25778
25779
25780
25781
25782
25783
25784
25785
25786
25787
25788
25789
25790
25791
25792
25793
25794
25795
25796
25797
25798
25799
25800
25801
25802
25803
25804
25805
25806
25807
25808
25809
25810
25811
25812
25813
25814
25815
25816
25817
25818
25819
25820
25821
25822
25823
25824
25825
25826
25827
25828
25829
25830
25831
25832
25833
25834
25835
25836
25837
25838
25839
25840
25841
25842
25843
25844
25845
25846
25847
25848
25849
25850
25851
25852
25853
25854
25855
25856
25857
25858
25859
25860
25861
25862
25863
25864
25865
25866
25867
25868
25869
25870
25871
25872
25873
25874
25875
25876
25877
25878
25879
25880
25881
25882
25883
25884
25885
25886
25887
25888
25889
25890
25891
25892
25893
25894
25895
25896
25897
25898
25899
25900
25901
25902
25903
25904
25905
25906
25907
25908
25909
25910
25911
25912
25913
25914
25915
25916
25917
25918
25919
25920
25921
25922
25923
25924
25925
25926
25927
25928
25929
25930
25931
25932
25933
25934
25935
25936
25937
25938
25939
25940
25941
25942
25943
25944
25945
25946
25947
25948
25949
25950
25951
25952
25953
25954
25955
25956
25957
25958
25959
25960
25961
25962
25963
25964
25965
25966
25967
25968
25969
25970
25971
25972
25973
25974
25975
25976
25977
25978
25979
25980
25981
25982
25983
25984
25985
25986
25987
25988
25989
25990
25991
25992
25993
25994
25995
25996
25997
25998
25999
26000
26001
26002
26003
26004
26005
26006
26007
26008
26009
26010
26011
26012
26013
26014
26015
26016
26017
26018
26019
26020
26021
26022
26023
26024
26025
26026
26027
26028
26029
26030
26031
26032
26033
26034
26035
26036
26037
26038
26039
26040
26041
26042
26043
26044
26045
26046
26047
26048
26049
26050
26051
26052
26053
26054
26055
26056
26057
26058
26059
26060
26061
26062
26063
26064
26065
26066
26067
26068
26069
26070
26071
26072
26073
26074
26075
26076
26077
26078
26079
26080
26081
26082
26083
26084
26085
26086
26087
26088
26089
26090
26091
26092
26093
26094
26095
26096
26097
26098
26099
26100
26101
26102
26103
26104
26105
26106
26107
26108
26109
26110
26111
26112
26113
26114
26115
26116
26117
26118
26119
26120
26121
26122
26123
26124
26125
26126
26127
26128
26129
26130
26131
26132
26133
26134
26135
26136
26137
26138
26139
26140
26141
26142
26143
26144
26145
26146
26147
26148
26149
26150
26151
26152
26153
26154
26155
26156
26157
26158
26159
26160
26161
26162
26163
26164
26165
26166
26167
26168
26169
26170
26171
26172
26173
26174
26175
26176
26177
26178
26179
26180
26181
26182
26183
26184
26185
26186
26187
26188
26189
26190
26191
26192
26193
26194
26195
26196
26197
26198
26199
26200
26201
26202
26203
26204
26205
26206
26207
26208
26209
26210
26211
26212
26213
26214
26215
26216
26217
26218
26219
26220
26221
26222
26223
26224
26225
26226
26227
26228
26229
26230
26231
26232
26233
26234
26235
26236
26237
26238
26239
26240
26241
26242
26243
26244
26245
26246
26247
26248
26249
26250
26251
26252
26253
26254
26255
26256
26257
26258
26259
26260
26261
26262
26263
26264
26265
26266
26267
26268
26269
26270
26271
26272
26273
26274
26275
26276
26277
26278
26279
26280
26281
26282
26283
26284
26285
26286
26287
26288
26289
26290
26291
26292
26293
26294
26295
26296
26297
26298
26299
26300
26301
26302
26303
26304
26305
26306
26307
26308
26309
26310
26311
26312
26313
26314
26315
26316
26317
26318
26319
26320
26321
26322
26323
26324
26325
26326
26327
26328
26329
26330
26331
26332
26333
26334
26335
26336
26337
26338
26339
26340
26341
26342
26343
26344
26345
26346
26347
26348
26349
26350
26351
26352
26353
26354
26355
26356
26357
26358
26359
26360
26361
26362
26363
26364
26365
26366
26367
26368
26369
26370
26371
26372
26373
26374
26375
26376
26377
26378
26379
26380
26381
26382
26383
26384
26385
26386
26387
26388
26389
26390
26391
26392
26393
26394
26395
26396
26397
26398
26399
26400
26401
26402
26403
26404
26405
26406
26407
26408
26409
26410
26411
26412
26413
26414
26415
26416
26417
26418
26419
26420
26421
26422
26423
26424
26425
26426
26427
26428
26429
26430
26431
26432
26433
26434
26435
26436
26437
26438
26439
26440
26441
26442
26443
26444
26445
26446
26447
26448
26449
26450
26451
26452
26453
26454
26455
26456
26457
26458
26459
26460
26461
26462
26463
26464
26465
26466
26467
26468
26469
26470
26471
26472
26473
26474
26475
26476
26477
26478
26479
26480
26481
26482
26483
26484
26485
26486
26487
26488
26489
26490
26491
26492
26493
26494
26495
26496
26497
26498
26499
26500
26501
26502
26503
26504
26505
26506
26507
26508
26509
26510
26511
26512
26513
26514
26515
26516
26517
26518
26519
26520
26521
26522
26523
26524
26525
26526
26527
26528
26529
26530
26531
26532
26533
26534
26535
26536
26537
26538
26539
26540
26541
26542
26543
26544
26545
26546
26547
26548
26549
26550
26551
26552
26553
26554
26555
26556
26557
26558
26559
26560
26561
26562
26563
26564
26565
26566
26567
26568
26569
26570
26571
26572
26573
26574
26575
26576
26577
26578
26579
26580
26581
26582
26583
26584
26585
26586
26587
26588
26589
26590
26591
26592
26593
26594
26595
26596
26597
26598
26599
26600
26601
26602
26603
26604
26605
26606
26607
26608
26609
26610
26611
26612
26613
26614
26615
26616
26617
26618
26619
26620
26621
26622
26623
26624
26625
26626
26627
26628
26629
26630
26631
26632
26633
26634
26635
26636
26637
26638
26639
26640
26641
26642
26643
26644
26645
26646
26647
26648
26649
26650
26651
26652
26653
26654
26655
26656
26657
26658
26659
26660
26661
26662
26663
26664
26665
26666
26667
26668
26669
26670
26671
26672
26673
26674
26675
26676
26677
26678
26679
26680
26681
26682
26683
26684
26685
26686
26687
26688
26689
26690
26691
26692
26693
26694
26695
26696
26697
26698
26699
26700
26701
26702
26703
26704
26705
26706
26707
26708
26709
26710
26711
26712
26713
26714
26715
26716
26717
26718
26719
26720
26721
26722
26723
26724
26725
26726
26727
26728
26729
26730
26731
26732
26733
26734
26735
26736
26737
26738
26739
26740
26741
26742
26743
26744
26745
26746
26747
26748
26749
26750
26751
26752
26753
26754
26755
26756
26757
26758
26759
26760
26761
26762
26763
26764
26765
26766
26767
26768
26769
26770
26771
26772
26773
26774
26775
26776
26777
26778
26779
26780
26781
26782
26783
26784
26785
26786
26787
26788
26789
26790
26791
26792
26793
26794
26795
26796
26797
26798
26799
26800
26801
26802
26803
26804
26805
26806
26807
26808
26809
26810
26811
26812
26813
26814
26815
26816
26817
26818
26819
26820
26821
26822
26823
26824
26825
26826
26827
26828
26829
26830
26831
26832
26833
26834
26835
26836
26837
26838
26839
26840
26841
26842
26843
26844
26845
26846
26847
26848
26849
26850
26851
26852
26853
26854
26855
26856
26857
26858
26859
26860
26861
26862
26863
26864
26865
26866
26867
26868
26869
26870
26871
26872
26873
26874
26875
26876
26877
26878
26879
26880
26881
26882
26883
26884
26885
26886
26887
26888
26889
26890
26891
26892
26893
26894
26895
26896
26897
26898
26899
26900
26901
26902
26903
26904
26905
26906
26907
26908
26909
26910
26911
26912
26913
26914
26915
26916
26917
26918
26919
26920
26921
26922
26923
26924
26925
26926
26927
26928
26929
26930
26931
26932
26933
26934
26935
26936
26937
26938
26939
26940
26941
26942
26943
26944
26945
26946
26947
26948
26949
26950
26951
26952
26953
26954
26955
26956
26957
26958
26959
26960
26961
26962
26963
26964
26965
26966
26967
26968
26969
26970
26971
26972
26973
26974
26975
26976
26977
26978
26979
26980
26981
26982
26983
26984
26985
26986
26987
26988
26989
26990
26991
26992
26993
26994
26995
26996
26997
26998
26999
27000
27001
27002
27003
27004
27005
27006
27007
27008
27009
27010
27011
27012
27013
27014
27015
27016
27017
27018
27019
27020
27021
27022
27023
27024
27025
27026
27027
27028
27029
27030
27031
27032
27033
27034
27035
27036
27037
27038
27039
27040
27041
27042
27043
27044
27045
27046
27047
27048
27049
27050
27051
27052
27053
27054
27055
27056
27057
27058
27059
27060
27061
27062
27063
27064
27065
27066
27067
27068
27069
27070
27071
27072
27073
27074
27075
27076
27077
27078
27079
27080
27081
27082
27083
27084
27085
27086
27087
27088
27089
27090
27091
27092
27093
27094
27095
27096
27097
27098
27099
27100
27101
27102
27103
27104
27105
27106
27107
27108
27109
27110
27111
27112
27113
27114
27115
27116
27117
27118
27119
27120
27121
27122
27123
27124
27125
27126
27127
27128
27129
27130
27131
27132
27133
27134
27135
27136
27137
27138
27139
27140
27141
27142
27143
27144
27145
27146
27147
27148
27149
27150
27151
27152
27153
27154
27155
27156
27157
27158
27159
27160
27161
27162
27163
27164
27165
27166
27167
27168
27169
27170
27171
27172
27173
27174
27175
27176
27177
27178
27179
27180
27181
27182
27183
27184
27185
27186
27187
27188
27189
27190
27191
27192
27193
27194
27195
27196
27197
27198
27199
27200
27201
27202
27203
27204
27205
27206
27207
27208
27209
27210
27211
27212
27213
27214
27215
27216
27217
27218
27219
27220
27221
27222
27223
27224
27225
27226
27227
27228
27229
27230
27231
27232
27233
27234
27235
27236
27237
27238
27239
27240
27241
27242
27243
27244
27245
27246
27247
27248
27249
27250
27251
27252
27253
27254
27255
27256
27257
27258
27259
27260
27261
27262
27263
27264
27265
27266
27267
27268
27269
27270
27271
27272
27273
27274
27275
27276
27277
27278
27279
27280
27281
27282
27283
27284
27285
27286
27287
27288
27289
27290
27291
27292
27293
27294
27295
27296
27297
27298
27299
27300
27301
27302
27303
27304
27305
27306
27307
27308
27309
27310
27311
27312
27313
27314
27315
27316
27317
27318
27319
27320
27321
27322
27323
27324
27325
27326
27327
27328
27329
27330
27331
27332
27333
27334
27335
27336
27337
27338
27339
27340
27341
27342
27343
27344
27345
27346
27347
27348
27349
27350
27351
27352
27353
27354
27355
27356
27357
27358
27359
27360
27361
27362
27363
27364
27365
27366
27367
27368
27369
27370
27371
27372
27373
27374
27375
27376
27377
27378
27379
27380
27381
27382
27383
27384
27385
27386
27387
27388
27389
27390
27391
27392
27393
27394
27395
27396
27397
27398
27399
27400
27401
27402
27403
27404
27405
27406
27407
27408
27409
27410
27411
27412
27413
27414
27415
27416
27417
27418
27419
27420
27421
27422
27423
27424
27425
27426
27427
27428
27429
27430
27431
27432
27433
27434
27435
27436
27437
27438
27439
27440
27441
27442
27443
27444
27445
27446
27447
27448
27449
27450
27451
27452
27453
27454
27455
27456
27457
27458
27459
27460
27461
27462
27463
27464
27465
27466
27467
27468
27469
27470
27471
27472
27473
27474
27475
27476
27477
27478
27479
27480
27481
27482
27483
27484
27485
27486
27487
27488
27489
27490
27491
27492
27493
27494
27495
27496
27497
27498
27499
27500
27501
27502
27503
27504
27505
27506
27507
27508
27509
27510
27511
27512
27513
27514
27515
27516
27517
27518
27519
27520
27521
27522
27523
27524
27525
27526
27527
27528
27529
27530
27531
27532
27533
27534
27535
27536
27537
27538
27539
27540
27541
27542
27543
27544
27545
27546
27547
27548
27549
27550
27551
27552
27553
27554
27555
27556
27557
27558
27559
27560
27561
27562
27563
27564
27565
27566
27567
27568
27569
27570
27571
27572
27573
27574
27575
27576
27577
27578
27579
27580
27581
27582
27583
27584
27585
27586
27587
27588
27589
27590
27591
27592
27593
27594
27595
27596
27597
27598
27599
27600
27601
27602
27603
27604
27605
27606
27607
27608
27609
27610
27611
27612
27613
27614
27615
27616
27617
27618
27619
27620
27621
27622
27623
27624
27625
27626
27627
27628
27629
27630
27631
27632
27633
27634
27635
27636
27637
27638
27639
27640
27641
27642
27643
27644
27645
27646
27647
27648
27649
27650
27651
27652
27653
27654
27655
27656
27657
27658
27659
27660
27661
27662
27663
27664
27665
27666
27667
27668
27669
27670
27671
27672
27673
27674
27675
27676
27677
27678
27679
27680
27681
27682
27683
27684
27685
27686
27687
27688
27689
27690
27691
27692
27693
27694
27695
27696
27697
27698
27699
27700
27701
27702
27703
27704
27705
27706
27707
27708
27709
27710
27711
27712
27713
27714
27715
27716
27717
27718
27719
27720
27721
27722
27723
27724
27725
27726
27727
27728
27729
27730
27731
27732
27733
27734
27735
27736
27737
27738
27739
27740
27741
27742
27743
27744
27745
27746
27747
27748
27749
27750
27751
27752
27753
27754
27755
27756
27757
27758
27759
27760
27761
27762
27763
27764
27765
27766
27767
27768
27769
27770
27771
27772
27773
27774
27775
27776
27777
27778
27779
27780
27781
27782
27783
27784
27785
27786
27787
27788
27789
27790
27791
27792
27793
27794
27795
27796
27797
27798
27799
27800
27801
27802
27803
27804
27805
27806
27807
27808
27809
27810
27811
27812
27813
27814
27815
27816
27817
27818
27819
27820
27821
27822
27823
27824
27825
27826
27827
27828
27829
27830
27831
27832
27833
27834
27835
27836
27837
27838
27839
27840
27841
27842
27843
27844
27845
27846
27847
27848
27849
27850
27851
27852
27853
27854
27855
27856
27857
27858
27859
27860
27861
27862
27863
27864
27865
27866
27867
27868
27869
27870
27871
27872
27873
27874
27875
27876
27877
27878
27879
27880
27881
27882
27883
27884
27885
27886
27887
27888
27889
27890
27891
27892
27893
27894
27895
27896
27897
27898
27899
27900
27901
27902
27903
27904
27905
27906
27907
27908
27909
27910
27911
27912
27913
27914
27915
27916
27917
27918
27919
27920
27921
27922
27923
27924
27925
27926
27927
27928
27929
27930
27931
27932
27933
27934
27935
27936
27937
27938
27939
27940
27941
27942
27943
27944
27945
27946
27947
27948
27949
27950
27951
27952
27953
27954
27955
27956
27957
27958
27959
27960
27961
27962
27963
27964
27965
27966
27967
27968
27969
27970
27971
27972
27973
27974
27975
27976
27977
27978
27979
27980
27981
27982
27983
27984
27985
27986
27987
27988
27989
27990
27991
27992
27993
27994
27995
27996
27997
27998
27999
28000
28001
28002
28003
28004
28005
28006
28007
28008
28009
28010
28011
28012
28013
28014
28015
28016
28017
28018
28019
28020
28021
28022
28023
28024
28025
28026
28027
28028
28029
28030
28031
28032
28033
28034
28035
28036
28037
28038
28039
28040
28041
28042
28043
28044
28045
28046
28047
28048
28049
28050
28051
28052
28053
28054
28055
28056
28057
28058
28059
28060
28061
28062
28063
28064
28065
28066
28067
28068
28069
28070
28071
28072
28073
28074
28075
28076
28077
28078
28079
28080
28081
28082
28083
28084
28085
28086
28087
28088
28089
28090
28091
28092
28093
28094
28095
28096
28097
28098
28099
28100
28101
28102
28103
28104
28105
28106
28107
28108
28109
28110
28111
28112
28113
28114
28115
28116
28117
28118
28119
28120
28121
28122
28123
28124
28125
28126
28127
28128
28129
28130
28131
28132
28133
28134
28135
28136
28137
28138
28139
28140
28141
28142
28143
28144
28145
28146
28147
28148
28149
28150
28151
28152
28153
28154
28155
28156
28157
28158
28159
28160
28161
28162
28163
28164
28165
28166
28167
28168
28169
28170
28171
28172
28173
28174
28175
28176
28177
28178
28179
28180
28181
28182
28183
28184
28185
28186
28187
28188
28189
28190
28191
28192
28193
28194
28195
28196
28197
28198
28199
28200
28201
28202
28203
28204
28205
28206
28207
28208
28209
28210
28211
28212
28213
28214
28215
28216
28217
28218
28219
28220
28221
28222
28223
28224
28225
28226
28227
28228
28229
28230
28231
28232
28233
28234
28235
28236
28237
28238
28239
28240
28241
28242
28243
28244
28245
28246
28247
28248
28249
28250
28251
28252
28253
28254
28255
28256
28257
28258
28259
28260
28261
28262
28263
28264
28265
28266
28267
28268
28269
28270
28271
28272
28273
28274
28275
28276
28277
28278
28279
28280
28281
28282
28283
28284
28285
28286
28287
28288
28289
28290
28291
28292
28293
28294
28295
28296
28297
28298
28299
28300
28301
28302
28303
28304
28305
28306
28307
28308
28309
28310
28311
28312
28313
28314
28315
28316
28317
28318
28319
28320
28321
28322
28323
28324
28325
28326
28327
28328
28329
28330
28331
28332
28333
28334
28335
28336
28337
28338
28339
28340
28341
28342
28343
28344
28345
28346
28347
28348
28349
28350
28351
28352
28353
28354
28355
28356
28357
28358
28359
28360
28361
28362
28363
28364
28365
28366
28367
28368
28369
28370
28371
28372
28373
28374
28375
28376
28377
28378
28379
28380
28381
28382
28383
28384
28385
28386
28387
28388
28389
28390
28391
28392
28393
28394
28395
28396
28397
28398
28399
28400
28401
28402
28403
28404
28405
28406
28407
28408
28409
28410
28411
28412
28413
28414
28415
28416
28417
28418
28419
28420
28421
28422
28423
28424
28425
28426
28427
28428
28429
28430
28431
28432
28433
28434
28435
28436
28437
28438
28439
28440
28441
28442
28443
28444
28445
28446
28447
28448
28449
28450
28451
28452
28453
28454
28455
28456
28457
28458
28459
28460
28461
28462
28463
28464
28465
28466
28467
28468
28469
28470
28471
28472
28473
28474
28475
28476
28477
28478
28479
28480
28481
28482
28483
28484
28485
28486
28487
28488
28489
28490
28491
28492
28493
28494
28495
28496
28497
28498
28499
28500
28501
28502
28503
28504
28505
28506
28507
28508
28509
28510
28511
28512
28513
28514
28515
28516
28517
28518
28519
28520
28521
28522
28523
28524
28525
28526
28527
28528
28529
28530
28531
28532
28533
28534
28535
28536
28537
28538
28539
28540
28541
28542
28543
28544
28545
28546
28547
28548
28549
28550
28551
28552
28553
28554
28555
28556
28557
28558
28559
28560
28561
28562
28563
28564
28565
28566
28567
28568
28569
28570
28571
28572
28573
28574
28575
28576
28577
28578
28579
28580
28581
28582
28583
28584
28585
28586
28587
28588
28589
28590
28591
28592
28593
28594
28595
28596
28597
28598
28599
28600
28601
28602
28603
28604
28605
28606
28607
28608
28609
28610
28611
28612
28613
28614
28615
28616
28617
28618
28619
28620
28621
28622
28623
28624
28625
28626
28627
28628
28629
28630
28631
28632
28633
28634
28635
28636
28637
28638
28639
28640
28641
28642
28643
28644
28645
28646
28647
28648
28649
28650
28651
28652
28653
28654
28655
28656
28657
28658
28659
28660
28661
28662
28663
28664
28665
28666
28667
28668
28669
28670
28671
28672
28673
28674
28675
28676
28677
28678
28679
28680
28681
28682
28683
28684
28685
28686
28687
28688
28689
28690
28691
28692
28693
28694
28695
28696
28697
28698
28699
28700
28701
28702
28703
28704
28705
28706
28707
28708
28709
28710
28711
28712
28713
28714
28715
28716
28717
28718
28719
28720
28721
28722
28723
28724
28725
28726
28727
28728
28729
28730
28731
28732
28733
28734
28735
28736
28737
28738
28739
28740
28741
28742
28743
28744
28745
28746
28747
28748
28749
28750
28751
28752
28753
28754
28755
28756
28757
28758
28759
28760
28761
28762
28763
28764
28765
28766
28767
28768
28769
28770
28771
28772
28773
28774
28775
28776
28777
28778
28779
28780
28781
28782
28783
28784
28785
28786
28787
28788
28789
28790
28791
28792
28793
28794
28795
28796
28797
28798
28799
28800
28801
28802
28803
28804
28805
28806
28807
28808
28809
28810
28811
28812
28813
28814
28815
28816
28817
28818
28819
28820
28821
28822
28823
28824
28825
28826
28827
28828
28829
28830
28831
28832
28833
28834
28835
28836
28837
28838
28839
28840
28841
28842
28843
28844
28845
28846
28847
28848
28849
28850
28851
28852
28853
28854
28855
28856
28857
28858
28859
28860
28861
28862
28863
28864
28865
28866
28867
28868
28869
28870
28871
28872
28873
28874
28875
28876
28877
28878
28879
28880
28881
28882
28883
28884
28885
28886
28887
28888
28889
28890
28891
28892
28893
28894
28895
28896
28897
28898
28899
28900
28901
28902
28903
28904
28905
28906
28907
28908
28909
28910
28911
28912
28913
28914
28915
28916
28917
28918
28919
28920
28921
28922
28923
28924
28925
28926
28927
28928
28929
28930
28931
28932
28933
28934
28935
28936
28937
28938
28939
28940
28941
28942
28943
28944
28945
28946
28947
28948
28949
28950
28951
28952
28953
28954
28955
28956
28957
28958
28959
28960
28961
28962
28963
28964
28965
28966
28967
28968
28969
28970
28971
28972
28973
28974
28975
28976
28977
28978
28979
28980
28981
28982
28983
28984
28985
28986
28987
28988
28989
28990
28991
28992
28993
28994
28995
28996
28997
28998
28999
29000
29001
29002
29003
29004
29005
29006
29007
29008
29009
29010
29011
29012
29013
29014
29015
29016
29017
29018
29019
29020
29021
29022
29023
29024
29025
29026
29027
29028
29029
29030
29031
29032
29033
29034
29035
29036
29037
29038
29039
29040
29041
29042
29043
29044
29045
29046
29047
29048
29049
29050
29051
29052
29053
29054
29055
29056
29057
29058
29059
29060
29061
29062
29063
29064
29065
29066
29067
29068
29069
29070
29071
29072
29073
29074
29075
29076
29077
29078
29079
29080
29081
29082
29083
29084
29085
29086
29087
29088
29089
29090
29091
29092
29093
29094
29095
29096
29097
29098
29099
29100
29101
29102
29103
29104
29105
29106
29107
29108
29109
29110
29111
29112
29113
29114
29115
29116
29117
29118
29119
29120
29121
29122
29123
29124
29125
29126
29127
29128
29129
29130
29131
29132
29133
29134
29135
29136
29137
29138
29139
29140
29141
29142
29143
29144
29145
29146
29147
29148
29149
29150
29151
29152
29153
29154
29155
29156
29157
29158
29159
29160
29161
29162
29163
29164
29165
29166
29167
29168
29169
29170
29171
29172
29173
29174
29175
29176
29177
29178
29179
29180
29181
29182
29183
29184
29185
29186
29187
29188
29189
29190
29191
29192
29193
29194
29195
29196
29197
29198
29199
29200
29201
29202
29203
29204
29205
29206
29207
29208
29209
29210
29211
29212
29213
29214
29215
29216
29217
29218
29219
29220
29221
29222
29223
29224
29225
29226
29227
29228
29229
29230
29231
29232
29233
29234
29235
29236
29237
29238
29239
29240
29241
29242
29243
29244
29245
29246
29247
29248
29249
29250
29251
29252
29253
29254
29255
29256
29257
29258
29259
29260
29261
29262
29263
29264
29265
29266
29267
29268
29269
29270
29271
29272
29273
29274
29275
29276
29277
29278
29279
29280
29281
29282
29283
29284
29285
29286
29287
29288
29289
29290
29291
29292
29293
29294
29295
29296
29297
29298
29299
29300
29301
29302
29303
29304
29305
29306
29307
29308
29309
29310
29311
29312
29313
29314
29315
29316
29317
29318
29319
29320
29321
29322
29323
29324
29325
29326
29327
29328
29329
29330
29331
29332
29333
29334
29335
29336
29337
29338
29339
29340
29341
29342
29343
29344
29345
29346
29347
29348
29349
29350
29351
29352
29353
29354
29355
29356
29357
29358
29359
29360
29361
29362
29363
29364
29365
29366
29367
29368
29369
29370
29371
29372
29373
29374
29375
29376
29377
29378
29379
29380
29381
29382
29383
29384
29385
29386
29387
29388
29389
29390
29391
29392
29393
29394
29395
29396
29397
29398
29399
29400
29401
29402
29403
29404
29405
29406
29407
29408
29409
29410
29411
29412
29413
29414
29415
29416
29417
29418
29419
29420
29421
29422
29423
29424
29425
29426
29427
29428
29429
29430
29431
29432
29433
29434
29435
29436
29437
29438
29439
29440
29441
29442
29443
29444
29445
29446
29447
29448
29449
29450
29451
29452
29453
29454
29455
29456
29457
29458
29459
29460
29461
29462
29463
29464
29465
29466
29467
29468
29469
29470
29471
29472
29473
29474
29475
29476
29477
29478
29479
29480
29481
29482
29483
29484
29485
29486
29487
29488
29489
29490
29491
29492
29493
29494
29495
29496
29497
29498
29499
29500
29501
29502
29503
29504
29505
29506
29507
29508
29509
29510
29511
29512
29513
29514
29515
29516
29517
29518
29519
29520
29521
29522
29523
29524
29525
29526
29527
29528
29529
29530
29531
29532
29533
29534
29535
29536
29537
29538
29539
29540
29541
29542
29543
29544
29545
29546
29547
29548
29549
29550
29551
29552
29553
29554
29555
29556
29557
29558
29559
29560
29561
29562
29563
29564
29565
29566
29567
29568
29569
29570
29571
29572
29573
29574
29575
29576
29577
29578
29579
29580
29581
29582
29583
29584
29585
29586
29587
29588
29589
29590
29591
29592
29593
29594
29595
29596
29597
29598
29599
29600
29601
29602
29603
29604
29605
29606
29607
29608
29609
29610
29611
29612
29613
29614
29615
29616
29617
29618
29619
29620
29621
29622
29623
29624
29625
29626
29627
29628
29629
29630
29631
29632
29633
29634
29635
29636
29637
29638
29639
29640
29641
29642
29643
29644
29645
29646
29647
29648
29649
29650
29651
29652
29653
29654
29655
29656
29657
29658
29659
29660
29661
29662
29663
29664
29665
29666
29667
29668
29669
29670
29671
29672
29673
29674
29675
29676
29677
29678
29679
29680
29681
29682
29683
29684
29685
29686
29687
29688
29689
29690
29691
29692
29693
29694
29695
29696
29697
29698
29699
29700
29701
29702
29703
29704
29705
29706
29707
29708
29709
29710
29711
29712
29713
29714
29715
29716
29717
29718
29719
29720
29721
29722
29723
29724
29725
29726
29727
29728
29729
29730
29731
29732
29733
29734
29735
29736
29737
29738
29739
29740
29741
29742
29743
29744
29745
29746
29747
29748
29749
29750
29751
29752
29753
29754
29755
29756
29757
29758
29759
29760
29761
29762
29763
29764
29765
29766
29767
29768
29769
29770
29771
29772
29773
29774
29775
29776
29777
29778
29779
29780
29781
29782
29783
29784
29785
29786
29787
29788
29789
29790
29791
29792
29793
29794
29795
29796
29797
29798
29799
29800
29801
29802
29803
29804
29805
29806
29807
29808
29809
29810
29811
29812
29813
29814
29815
29816
29817
29818
29819
29820
29821
29822
29823
29824
29825
29826
29827
29828
29829
29830
29831
29832
29833
29834
29835
29836
29837
29838
29839
29840
29841
29842
29843
29844
29845
29846
29847
29848
29849
29850
29851
29852
29853
29854
29855
29856
29857
29858
29859
29860
29861
29862
29863
29864
29865
29866
29867
29868
29869
29870
29871
29872
29873
29874
29875
29876
29877
29878
29879
29880
29881
29882
29883
29884
29885
29886
29887
29888
29889
29890
29891
29892
29893
29894
29895
29896
29897
29898
29899
29900
29901
29902
29903
29904
29905
29906
29907
29908
29909
29910
29911
29912
29913
29914
29915
29916
29917
29918
29919
29920
29921
29922
29923
29924
29925
29926
29927
29928
29929
29930
29931
29932
29933
29934
29935
29936
29937
29938
29939
29940
29941
29942
29943
29944
29945
29946
29947
29948
29949
29950
29951
29952
29953
29954
29955
29956
29957
29958
29959
29960
29961
29962
29963
29964
29965
29966
29967
29968
29969
29970
29971
29972
29973
29974
29975
29976
29977
29978
29979
29980
29981
29982
29983
29984
29985
29986
29987
29988
29989
29990
29991
29992
29993
29994
29995
29996
29997
29998
29999
30000
30001
30002
30003
30004
30005
30006
30007
30008
30009
30010
30011
30012
30013
30014
30015
30016
30017
30018
30019
30020
30021
30022
30023
30024
30025
30026
30027
30028
30029
30030
30031
30032
30033
30034
30035
30036
30037
30038
30039
30040
30041
30042
30043
30044
30045
30046
30047
30048
30049
30050
30051
30052
30053
30054
30055
30056
30057
30058
30059
30060
30061
30062
30063
30064
30065
30066
30067
30068
30069
30070
30071
30072
30073
30074
30075
30076
30077
30078
30079
30080
30081
30082
30083
30084
30085
30086
30087
30088
30089
30090
30091
30092
30093
30094
30095
30096
30097
30098
30099
30100
30101
30102
30103
30104
30105
30106
30107
30108
30109
30110
30111
30112
30113
30114
30115
30116
30117
30118
30119
30120
30121
30122
30123
30124
30125
30126
30127
30128
30129
30130
30131
30132
30133
30134
30135
30136
30137
30138
30139
30140
30141
30142
30143
30144
30145
30146
30147
30148
30149
30150
30151
30152
30153
30154
30155
30156
30157
30158
30159
30160
30161
30162
30163
30164
30165
30166
30167
30168
30169
30170
30171
30172
30173
30174
30175
30176
30177
30178
30179
30180
30181
30182
30183
30184
30185
30186
30187
30188
30189
30190
30191
30192
30193
30194
30195
30196
30197
30198
30199
30200
30201
30202
30203
30204
30205
30206
30207
30208
30209
30210
30211
30212
30213
30214
30215
30216
30217
30218
30219
30220
30221
30222
30223
30224
30225
30226
30227
30228
30229
30230
30231
30232
30233
30234
30235
30236
30237
30238
30239
30240
30241
30242
30243
30244
30245
30246
30247
30248
30249
30250
30251
30252
30253
30254
30255
30256
30257
30258
30259
30260
30261
30262
30263
30264
30265
30266
30267
30268
30269
30270
30271
30272
30273
30274
30275
30276
30277
30278
30279
30280
30281
30282
30283
30284
30285
30286
30287
30288
30289
30290
30291
30292
30293
30294
30295
30296
30297
30298
30299
30300
30301
30302
30303
30304
30305
30306
30307
30308
30309
30310
30311
30312
30313
30314
30315
30316
30317
30318
30319
30320
30321
30322
30323
30324
30325
30326
30327
30328
30329
30330
30331
30332
30333
30334
30335
30336
30337
30338
30339
30340
30341
30342
30343
30344
30345
30346
30347
30348
30349
30350
30351
30352
30353
30354
30355
30356
30357
30358
30359
30360
30361
30362
30363
30364
30365
30366
30367
30368
30369
30370
30371
30372
30373
30374
30375
30376
30377
30378
30379
30380
30381
30382
30383
30384
30385
30386
30387
30388
30389
30390
30391
30392
30393
30394
30395
30396
30397
30398
30399
30400
30401
30402
30403
30404
30405
30406
30407
30408
30409
30410
30411
30412
30413
30414
30415
30416
30417
30418
30419
30420
30421
30422
30423
30424
30425
30426
30427
30428
30429
30430
30431
30432
30433
30434
30435
30436
30437
30438
30439
30440
30441
30442
30443
30444
30445
30446
30447
30448
30449
30450
30451
30452
30453
30454
30455
30456
30457
30458
30459
30460
30461
30462
30463
30464
30465
30466
30467
30468
30469
30470
30471
30472
30473
30474
30475
30476
30477
30478
30479
30480
30481
30482
30483
30484
30485
30486
30487
30488
30489
30490
30491
30492
30493
30494
30495
30496
30497
30498
30499
30500
30501
30502
30503
30504
30505
30506
30507
30508
30509
30510
30511
30512
30513
30514
30515
30516
30517
30518
30519
30520
30521
30522
30523
30524
30525
30526
30527
30528
30529
30530
30531
30532
30533
30534
30535
30536
30537
30538
30539
30540
30541
30542
30543
30544
30545
30546
30547
30548
30549
30550
30551
30552
30553
30554
30555
30556
30557
30558
30559
30560
30561
30562
30563
30564
30565
30566
30567
30568
30569
30570
30571
30572
30573
30574
30575
30576
30577
30578
30579
30580
30581
30582
30583
30584
30585
30586
30587
30588
30589
30590
30591
30592
30593
30594
30595
30596
30597
30598
30599
30600
30601
30602
30603
30604
30605
30606
30607
30608
30609
30610
30611
30612
30613
30614
30615
30616
30617
30618
30619
30620
30621
30622
30623
30624
30625
30626
30627
30628
30629
30630
30631
30632
30633
30634
30635
30636
30637
30638
30639
30640
30641
30642
30643
30644
30645
30646
30647
30648
30649
30650
30651
30652
30653
30654
30655
30656
30657
30658
30659
30660
30661
30662
30663
30664
30665
30666
30667
30668
30669
30670
30671
30672
30673
30674
30675
30676
30677
30678
30679
30680
30681
30682
30683
30684
30685
30686
30687
30688
30689
30690
30691
30692
30693
30694
30695
30696
30697
30698
30699
30700
30701
30702
30703
30704
30705
30706
30707
30708
30709
30710
30711
30712
30713
30714
30715
30716
30717
30718
30719
30720
30721
30722
30723
30724
30725
30726
30727
30728
30729
30730
30731
30732
30733
30734
30735
30736
30737
30738
30739
30740
30741
30742
30743
30744
30745
30746
30747
30748
30749
30750
30751
30752
30753
30754
30755
30756
30757
30758
30759
30760
30761
30762
30763
30764
30765
30766
30767
30768
30769
30770
30771
30772
30773
30774
30775
30776
30777
30778
30779
30780
30781
30782
30783
30784
30785
30786
30787
30788
30789
30790
30791
30792
30793
30794
30795
30796
30797
30798
30799
30800
30801
30802
30803
30804
30805
30806
30807
30808
30809
30810
30811
30812
30813
30814
30815
30816
30817
30818
30819
30820
30821
30822
30823
30824
30825
30826
30827
30828
30829
30830
30831
30832
30833
30834
30835
30836
30837
30838
30839
30840
30841
30842
30843
30844
30845
30846
30847
30848
30849
30850
30851
30852
30853
30854
30855
30856
30857
30858
30859
30860
30861
30862
30863
30864
30865
30866
30867
30868
30869
30870
30871
30872
30873
30874
30875
30876
30877
30878
30879
30880
30881
30882
30883
30884
30885
30886
30887
30888
30889
30890
30891
30892
30893
30894
30895
30896
30897
30898
30899
30900
30901
30902
30903
30904
30905
30906
30907
30908
30909
30910
30911
30912
30913
30914
30915
30916
30917
30918
30919
30920
30921
30922
30923
30924
30925
30926
30927
30928
30929
30930
30931
30932
30933
30934
30935
30936
30937
30938
30939
30940
30941
30942
30943
30944
30945
30946
30947
30948
30949
30950
30951
30952
30953
30954
30955
30956
30957
30958
30959
30960
30961
30962
30963
30964
30965
30966
30967
30968
30969
30970
30971
30972
30973
30974
30975
30976
30977
30978
30979
30980
30981
30982
30983
30984
30985
30986
30987
30988
30989
30990
30991
30992
30993
30994
30995
30996
30997
30998
30999
31000
31001
31002
31003
31004
31005
31006
31007
31008
31009
31010
31011
31012
31013
31014
31015
31016
31017
31018
31019
31020
31021
31022
31023
31024
31025
31026
31027
31028
31029
31030
31031
31032
31033
31034
31035
31036
31037
31038
31039
31040
31041
31042
31043
31044
31045
31046
31047
31048
31049
31050
31051
31052
31053
31054
31055
31056
31057
31058
31059
31060
31061
31062
31063
31064
31065
31066
31067
31068
31069
31070
31071
31072
31073
31074
31075
31076
31077
31078
31079
31080
31081
31082
31083
31084
31085
31086
31087
31088
31089
31090
31091
31092
31093
31094
31095
31096
31097
31098
31099
31100
31101
31102
31103
31104
31105
31106
31107
31108
31109
31110
31111
31112
31113
31114
31115
31116
31117
31118
31119
31120
31121
31122
31123
31124
31125
31126
31127
31128
31129
31130
31131
31132
31133
31134
31135
31136
31137
31138
31139
31140
31141
31142
31143
31144
31145
31146
31147
31148
31149
31150
31151
31152
31153
31154
31155
31156
31157
31158
31159
31160
31161
31162
31163
31164
31165
31166
31167
31168
31169
31170
31171
31172
31173
31174
31175
31176
31177
31178
31179
31180
31181
31182
31183
31184
31185
31186
31187
31188
31189
31190
31191
31192
31193
31194
31195
31196
31197
31198
31199
31200
31201
31202
31203
31204
31205
31206
31207
31208
31209
31210
31211
31212
31213
31214
31215
31216
31217
31218
31219
31220
31221
31222
31223
31224
31225
31226
31227
31228
31229
31230
31231
31232
31233
31234
31235
31236
31237
31238
31239
31240
31241
31242
31243
31244
31245
31246
31247
31248
31249
31250
31251
31252
31253
31254
31255
31256
31257
31258
31259
31260
31261
31262
31263
31264
31265
31266
31267
31268
31269
31270
31271
31272
31273
31274
31275
31276
31277
31278
31279
31280
31281
31282
31283
31284
31285
31286
31287
31288
31289
31290
31291
31292
31293
31294
31295
31296
31297
31298
31299
31300
31301
31302
31303
31304
31305
31306
31307
31308
31309
31310
31311
31312
31313
31314
31315
31316
31317
31318
31319
31320
31321
31322
31323
31324
31325
31326
31327
31328
31329
31330
31331
31332
31333
31334
31335
31336
31337
31338
31339
31340
31341
31342
31343
31344
31345
31346
31347
31348
31349
31350
31351
31352
31353
31354
31355
31356
31357
31358
31359
31360
31361
31362
31363
31364
31365
31366
31367
31368
31369
31370
31371
31372
31373
31374
31375
31376
31377
31378
31379
31380
31381
31382
31383
31384
31385
31386
31387
31388
31389
31390
31391
31392
31393
31394
31395
31396
31397
31398
31399
31400
31401
31402
31403
31404
31405
31406
31407
31408
31409
31410
31411
31412
31413
31414
31415
31416
31417
31418
31419
31420
31421
31422
31423
31424
31425
31426
31427
31428
31429
31430
31431
31432
31433
31434
31435
31436
31437
31438
31439
31440
31441
31442
31443
31444
31445
31446
31447
31448
31449
31450
31451
31452
31453
31454
31455
31456
31457
31458
31459
31460
31461
31462
31463
31464
31465
31466
31467
31468
31469
31470
31471
31472
31473
31474
31475
31476
31477
31478
31479
31480
31481
31482
31483
31484
31485
31486
31487
31488
31489
31490
31491
31492
31493
31494
31495
31496
31497
31498
31499
31500
31501
31502
31503
31504
31505
31506
31507
31508
31509
31510
31511
31512
31513
31514
31515
31516
31517
31518
31519
31520
31521
31522
31523
31524
31525
31526
31527
31528
31529
31530
31531
31532
31533
31534
31535
31536
31537
31538
31539
31540
31541
31542
31543
31544
31545
31546
31547
31548
31549
31550
31551
31552
31553
31554
31555
31556
31557
31558
31559
31560
31561
31562
31563
31564
31565
31566
31567
31568
31569
31570
31571
31572
31573
31574
31575
31576
31577
31578
31579
31580
31581
31582
31583
31584
31585
31586
31587
31588
31589
31590
31591
31592
31593
31594
31595
31596
31597
31598
31599
31600
31601
31602
31603
31604
31605
31606
31607
31608
31609
31610
31611
31612
31613
31614
31615
31616
31617
31618
31619
31620
31621
31622
31623
31624
31625
31626
31627
31628
31629
31630
31631
31632
31633
31634
31635
31636
31637
31638
31639
31640
31641
31642
31643
31644
31645
31646
31647
31648
31649
31650
31651
31652
31653
31654
31655
31656
31657
31658
31659
31660
31661
31662
31663
31664
31665
31666
31667
31668
31669
31670
31671
31672
31673
31674
31675
31676
31677
31678
31679
31680
31681
31682
31683
31684
31685
31686
31687
31688
31689
31690
31691
31692
31693
31694
31695
31696
31697
31698
31699
31700
31701
31702
31703
31704
31705
31706
31707
31708
31709
31710
31711
31712
31713
31714
31715
31716
31717
31718
31719
31720
31721
31722
31723
31724
31725
31726
31727
31728
31729
31730
31731
31732
31733
31734
31735
31736
31737
31738
31739
31740
31741
31742
31743
31744
31745
31746
31747
31748
31749
31750
31751
31752
31753
31754
31755
31756
31757
31758
31759
31760
31761
31762
31763
31764
31765
31766
31767
31768
31769
31770
31771
31772
31773
31774
31775
31776
31777
31778
31779
31780
31781
31782
31783
31784
31785
31786
31787
31788
31789
31790
31791
31792
31793
31794
31795
31796
31797
31798
31799
31800
31801
31802
31803
31804
31805
31806
31807
31808
31809
31810
31811
31812
31813
31814
31815
31816
31817
31818
31819
31820
31821
31822
31823
31824
31825
31826
31827
31828
31829
31830
31831
31832
31833
31834
31835
31836
31837
31838
31839
31840
31841
31842
31843
31844
31845
31846
31847
31848
31849
31850
31851
31852
31853
31854
31855
31856
31857
31858
31859
31860
31861
31862
31863
31864
31865
31866
31867
31868
31869
31870
31871
31872
31873
31874
31875
31876
31877
31878
31879
31880
31881
31882
31883
31884
31885
31886
31887
31888
31889
31890
31891
31892
31893
31894
31895
31896
31897
31898
31899
31900
31901
31902
31903
31904
31905
31906
31907
31908
31909
31910
31911
31912
31913
31914
31915
31916
31917
31918
31919
31920
31921
31922
31923
31924
31925
31926
31927
31928
31929
31930
31931
31932
31933
31934
31935
31936
31937
31938
31939
31940
31941
31942
31943
31944
31945
31946
31947
31948
31949
31950
31951
31952
31953
31954
31955
31956
31957
31958
31959
31960
31961
31962
31963
31964
31965
31966
31967
31968
31969
31970
31971
31972
31973
31974
31975
31976
31977
31978
31979
31980
31981
31982
31983
31984
31985
31986
31987
31988
31989
31990
31991
31992
31993
31994
31995
31996
31997
31998
31999
32000
32001
32002
32003
32004
32005
32006
32007
32008
32009
32010
32011
32012
32013
32014
32015
32016
32017
32018
32019
32020
32021
32022
32023
32024
32025
32026
32027
32028
32029
32030
32031
32032
32033
32034
32035
32036
32037
32038
32039
32040
32041
32042
32043
32044
32045
32046
32047
32048
32049
32050
32051
32052
32053
32054
32055
32056
32057
32058
32059
32060
32061
32062
32063
32064
32065
32066
32067
32068
32069
32070
32071
32072
32073
32074
32075
32076
32077
32078
32079
32080
32081
32082
32083
32084
32085
32086
32087
32088
32089
32090
32091
32092
32093
32094
32095
32096
32097
32098
32099
32100
32101
32102
32103
32104
32105
32106
32107
32108
32109
32110
32111
32112
32113
32114
32115
32116
32117
32118
32119
32120
32121
32122
32123
32124
32125
32126
32127
32128
32129
32130
32131
32132
32133
32134
32135
32136
32137
32138
32139
32140
32141
32142
32143
32144
32145
32146
32147
32148
32149
32150
32151
32152
32153
32154
32155
32156
32157
32158
32159
32160
32161
32162
32163
32164
32165
32166
32167
32168
32169
32170
32171
32172
32173
32174
32175
32176
32177
32178
32179
32180
32181
32182
32183
32184
32185
32186
32187
32188
32189
32190
32191
32192
32193
32194
32195
32196
32197
32198
32199
32200
32201
32202
32203
32204
32205
32206
32207
32208
32209
32210
32211
32212
32213
32214
32215
32216
32217
32218
32219
32220
32221
32222
32223
32224
32225
32226
32227
32228
32229
32230
32231
32232
32233
32234
32235
32236
32237
32238
32239
32240
32241
32242
32243
32244
32245
32246
32247
32248
32249
32250
32251
32252
32253
32254
32255
32256
32257
32258
32259
32260
32261
32262
32263
32264
32265
32266
32267
32268
32269
32270
32271
32272
32273
32274
32275
32276
32277
32278
32279
32280
32281
32282
32283
32284
32285
32286
32287
32288
32289
32290
32291
32292
32293
32294
32295
32296
32297
32298
32299
32300
32301
32302
32303
32304
32305
32306
32307
32308
32309
32310
32311
32312
32313
32314
32315
32316
32317
32318
32319
32320
32321
32322
32323
32324
32325
32326
32327
32328
32329
32330
32331
32332
32333
32334
32335
32336
32337
32338
32339
32340
32341
32342
32343
32344
32345
32346
32347
32348
32349
32350
32351
32352
32353
32354
32355
32356
32357
32358
32359
32360
32361
32362
32363
32364
32365
32366
32367
32368
32369
32370
32371
32372
32373
32374
32375
32376
32377
32378
32379
32380
32381
32382
32383
32384
32385
32386
32387
32388
32389
32390
32391
32392
32393
32394
32395
32396
32397
32398
32399
32400
32401
32402
32403
32404
32405
32406
32407
32408
32409
32410
32411
32412
32413
32414
32415
32416
32417
32418
32419
32420
32421
32422
32423
32424
32425
32426
32427
32428
32429
32430
32431
32432
32433
32434
32435
32436
32437
32438
32439
32440
32441
32442
32443
32444
32445
32446
32447
32448
32449
32450
32451
32452
32453
32454
32455
32456
32457
32458
32459
32460
32461
32462
32463
32464
32465
32466
32467
32468
32469
32470
32471
32472
32473
32474
32475
32476
32477
32478
32479
32480
32481
32482
32483
32484
32485
32486
32487
32488
32489
32490
32491
32492
32493
32494
32495
32496
32497
32498
32499
32500
32501
32502
32503
32504
32505
32506
32507
32508
32509
32510
32511
32512
32513
32514
32515
32516
32517
32518
32519
32520
32521
32522
32523
32524
32525
32526
32527
32528
32529
32530
32531
32532
32533
32534
32535
32536
32537
32538
32539
32540
32541
32542
32543
32544
32545
32546
32547
32548
32549
32550
32551
32552
32553
32554
32555
32556
32557
32558
32559
32560
32561
32562
32563
32564
32565
32566
32567
32568
32569
32570
32571
32572
32573
32574
32575
32576
32577
32578
32579
32580
32581
32582
32583
32584
32585
32586
32587
32588
32589
32590
32591
32592
32593
32594
32595
32596
32597
32598
32599
32600
32601
32602
32603
32604
32605
32606
32607
32608
32609
32610
32611
32612
32613
32614
32615
32616
32617
32618
32619
32620
32621
32622
32623
32624
32625
32626
32627
32628
32629
32630
32631
32632
32633
32634
32635
32636
32637
32638
32639
32640
32641
32642
32643
32644
32645
32646
32647
32648
32649
32650
32651
32652
32653
32654
32655
32656
32657
32658
32659
32660
32661
32662
32663
32664
32665
32666
32667
32668
32669
32670
32671
32672
32673
32674
32675
32676
32677
32678
32679
32680
32681
32682
32683
32684
32685
32686
32687
32688
32689
32690
32691
32692
32693
32694
32695
32696
32697
32698
32699
32700
32701
32702
32703
32704
32705
32706
32707
32708
32709
32710
32711
32712
32713
32714
32715
32716
32717
32718
32719
32720
32721
32722
32723
32724
32725
32726
32727
32728
32729
32730
32731
32732
32733
32734
32735
32736
32737
32738
32739
32740
32741
32742
32743
32744
32745
32746
32747
32748
32749
32750
32751
32752
32753
32754
32755
32756
32757
32758
32759
32760
32761
32762
32763
32764
32765
32766
32767
32768
32769
32770
32771
32772
32773
32774
32775
32776
32777
32778
32779
32780
32781
32782
32783
32784
32785
32786
32787
32788
32789
32790
32791
32792
32793
32794
32795
32796
32797
32798
32799
32800
32801
32802
32803
32804
32805
32806
32807
32808
32809
32810
32811
32812
32813
32814
32815
32816
32817
32818
32819
32820
32821
32822
32823
32824
32825
32826
32827
32828
32829
32830
32831
32832
32833
32834
32835
32836
32837
32838
32839
32840
32841
32842
32843
32844
32845
32846
32847
32848
32849
32850
32851
32852
32853
32854
32855
32856
32857
32858
32859
32860
32861
32862
32863
32864
32865
32866
32867
32868
32869
32870
32871
32872
32873
32874
32875
32876
32877
32878
32879
32880
32881
32882
32883
32884
32885
32886
32887
32888
32889
32890
32891
32892
32893
32894
32895
32896
32897
32898
32899
32900
32901
32902
32903
32904
32905
32906
32907
32908
32909
32910
32911
32912
32913
32914
32915
32916
32917
32918
32919
32920
32921
32922
32923
32924
32925
32926
32927
32928
32929
32930
32931
32932
32933
32934
32935
32936
32937
32938
32939
32940
32941
32942
32943
32944
32945
32946
32947
32948
32949
32950
32951
32952
32953
32954
32955
32956
32957
32958
32959
32960
32961
32962
32963
32964
32965
32966
32967
32968
32969
32970
32971
32972
32973
32974
32975
32976
32977
32978
32979
32980
32981
32982
32983
32984
32985
32986
32987
32988
32989
32990
32991
32992
32993
32994
32995
32996
32997
32998
32999
33000
33001
33002
33003
33004
33005
33006
33007
33008
33009
33010
33011
33012
33013
33014
33015
33016
33017
33018
33019
33020
33021
33022
33023
33024
33025
33026
33027
33028
33029
33030
33031
33032
33033
33034
33035
33036
33037
33038
33039
33040
33041
33042
33043
33044
33045
33046
33047
33048
33049
33050
33051
33052
33053
33054
33055
33056
33057
33058
33059
33060
33061
33062
33063
33064
33065
33066
33067
33068
33069
33070
33071
33072
33073
33074
33075
33076
33077
33078
33079
33080
33081
33082
33083
33084
33085
33086
33087
33088
33089
33090
33091
33092
33093
33094
33095
33096
33097
33098
33099
33100
33101
33102
33103
33104
33105
33106
33107
33108
33109
33110
33111
33112
33113
33114
33115
33116
33117
33118
33119
33120
33121
33122
33123
33124
33125
33126
33127
33128
33129
33130
33131
33132
33133
33134
33135
33136
33137
33138
33139
33140
33141
33142
33143
33144
33145
33146
33147
33148
33149
33150
33151
33152
33153
33154
33155
33156
33157
33158
33159
33160
33161
33162
33163
33164
33165
33166
33167
33168
33169
33170
33171
33172
33173
33174
33175
33176
33177
33178
33179
33180
33181
33182
33183
33184
33185
33186
33187
33188
33189
33190
33191
33192
33193
33194
33195
33196
33197
33198
33199
33200
33201
33202
33203
33204
33205
33206
33207
33208
33209
33210
33211
33212
33213
33214
33215
33216
33217
33218
33219
33220
33221
33222
33223
33224
33225
33226
33227
33228
33229
33230
33231
33232
33233
33234
33235
33236
33237
33238
33239
33240
33241
33242
33243
33244
33245
33246
33247
33248
33249
33250
33251
33252
33253
33254
33255
33256
33257
33258
33259
33260
33261
33262
33263
33264
33265
33266
33267
33268
33269
33270
33271
33272
33273
33274
33275
33276
33277
33278
33279
33280
33281
33282
33283
33284
33285
33286
33287
33288
33289
33290
33291
33292
33293
33294
33295
33296
33297
33298
33299
33300
33301
33302
33303
33304
33305
33306
33307
33308
33309
33310
33311
33312
33313
33314
33315
33316
33317
33318
33319
33320
33321
33322
33323
33324
33325
33326
33327
33328
33329
33330
33331
33332
33333
33334
33335
33336
33337
33338
33339
33340
33341
33342
33343
33344
33345
33346
33347
33348
33349
33350
33351
33352
33353
33354
33355
33356
33357
33358
33359
33360
33361
33362
33363
33364
33365
33366
33367
33368
33369
33370
33371
33372
33373
33374
33375
33376
33377
33378
33379
33380
33381
33382
33383
33384
33385
33386
33387
33388
33389
33390
33391
33392
33393
33394
33395
33396
33397
33398
33399
33400
33401
33402
33403
33404
33405
33406
33407
33408
33409
33410
33411
33412
33413
33414
33415
33416
33417
33418
33419
33420
33421
33422
33423
33424
33425
33426
33427
33428
33429
33430
33431
33432
33433
33434
33435
33436
33437
33438
33439
33440
33441
33442
33443
33444
33445
33446
33447
33448
33449
33450
33451
33452
33453
33454
33455
33456
33457
33458
33459
33460
33461
33462
33463
33464
33465
33466
33467
33468
33469
33470
33471
33472
33473
33474
33475
33476
33477
33478
33479
33480
33481
33482
33483
33484
33485
33486
33487
33488
33489
33490
33491
33492
33493
33494
33495
33496
33497
33498
33499
33500
33501
33502
33503
33504
33505
33506
33507
33508
33509
33510
33511
33512
33513
33514
33515
33516
33517
33518
33519
33520
33521
33522
33523
33524
33525
33526
33527
33528
33529
33530
33531
33532
33533
33534
33535
33536
33537
33538
33539
33540
33541
33542
33543
33544
33545
33546
33547
33548
33549
33550
33551
33552
33553
33554
33555
33556
33557
33558
33559
33560
33561
33562
33563
33564
33565
33566
33567
33568
33569
33570
33571
33572
33573
33574
33575
33576
33577
33578
33579
33580
33581
33582
33583
33584
33585
33586
33587
33588
33589
33590
33591
33592
33593
33594
33595
33596
33597
33598
33599
33600
33601
33602
33603
33604
33605
33606
33607
33608
33609
33610
33611
33612
33613
33614
33615
33616
33617
33618
33619
33620
33621
33622
33623
33624
33625
33626
33627
33628
33629
33630
33631
33632
33633
33634
33635
33636
33637
33638
33639
33640
33641
33642
33643
33644
33645
33646
33647
33648
33649
33650
33651
33652
33653
33654
33655
33656
33657
33658
33659
33660
33661
33662
33663
33664
33665
33666
33667
33668
33669
33670
33671
33672
33673
33674
33675
33676
33677
33678
33679
33680
33681
33682
33683
33684
33685
33686
33687
33688
33689
33690
33691
33692
33693
33694
33695
33696
33697
33698
33699
33700
33701
33702
33703
33704
33705
33706
33707
33708
33709
33710
33711
33712
33713
33714
33715
33716
33717
33718
33719
33720
33721
33722
33723
33724
33725
33726
33727
33728
33729
33730
33731
33732
33733
33734
33735
33736
33737
33738
33739
33740
33741
33742
33743
33744
33745
33746
33747
33748
33749
33750
33751
33752
33753
33754
33755
33756
33757
33758
33759
33760
33761
33762
33763
33764
33765
33766
33767
33768
33769
33770
33771
33772
33773
33774
33775
33776
33777
33778
33779
33780
33781
33782
33783
33784
33785
33786
33787
33788
33789
33790
33791
33792
33793
33794
33795
33796
33797
33798
33799
33800
33801
33802
33803
33804
33805
33806
33807
33808
33809
33810
33811
33812
33813
33814
33815
33816
33817
33818
33819
33820
33821
33822
33823
33824
33825
33826
33827
33828
33829
33830
33831
33832
33833
33834
33835
33836
33837
33838
33839
33840
33841
33842
33843
33844
33845
33846
33847
33848
33849
33850
33851
33852
33853
33854
33855
33856
33857
33858
33859
33860
33861
33862
33863
33864
33865
33866
33867
33868
33869
33870
33871
33872
33873
33874
33875
33876
33877
33878
33879
33880
33881
33882
33883
33884
33885
33886
33887
33888
33889
33890
33891
33892
33893
33894
33895
33896
33897
33898
33899
33900
33901
33902
33903
33904
33905
33906
33907
33908
33909
33910
33911
33912
33913
33914
33915
33916
33917
33918
33919
33920
33921
33922
33923
33924
33925
33926
33927
33928
33929
33930
33931
33932
33933
33934
33935
33936
33937
33938
33939
33940
33941
33942
33943
33944
33945
33946
33947
33948
33949
33950
33951
33952
33953
33954
33955
33956
33957
33958
33959
33960
33961
33962
33963
33964
33965
33966
33967
33968
33969
33970
33971
33972
33973
33974
33975
33976
33977
33978
33979
33980
33981
33982
33983
33984
33985
33986
33987
33988
33989
33990
33991
33992
33993
33994
33995
33996
33997
33998
33999
34000
34001
34002
34003
34004
34005
34006
34007
34008
34009
34010
34011
34012
34013
34014
34015
34016
34017
34018
34019
34020
34021
34022
34023
34024
34025
34026
34027
34028
34029
34030
34031
34032
34033
34034
34035
34036
34037
34038
34039
34040
34041
34042
34043
34044
34045
34046
34047
34048
34049
34050
34051
34052
34053
34054
34055
34056
34057
34058
34059
34060
34061
34062
34063
34064
34065
34066
34067
34068
34069
34070
34071
34072
34073
34074
34075
34076
34077
34078
34079
34080
34081
34082
34083
34084
34085
34086
34087
34088
34089
34090
34091
34092
34093
34094
34095
34096
34097
34098
34099
34100
34101
34102
34103
34104
34105
34106
34107
34108
34109
34110
34111
34112
34113
34114
34115
34116
34117
34118
34119
34120
34121
34122
34123
34124
34125
34126
34127
34128
34129
34130
34131
34132
34133
34134
34135
34136
34137
34138
34139
34140
34141
34142
34143
34144
34145
34146
34147
34148
34149
34150
34151
34152
34153
34154
34155
34156
34157
34158
34159
34160
34161
34162
34163
34164
34165
34166
34167
34168
34169
34170
34171
34172
34173
34174
34175
34176
34177
34178
34179
34180
34181
34182
34183
34184
34185
34186
34187
34188
34189
34190
34191
34192
34193
34194
34195
34196
34197
34198
34199
34200
34201
34202
34203
34204
34205
34206
34207
34208
34209
34210
34211
34212
34213
34214
34215
34216
34217
34218
34219
34220
34221
34222
34223
34224
34225
34226
34227
34228
34229
34230
34231
34232
34233
34234
34235
34236
34237
34238
34239
34240
34241
34242
34243
34244
34245
34246
34247
34248
34249
34250
34251
34252
34253
34254
34255
34256
34257
34258
34259
34260
34261
34262
34263
34264
34265
34266
34267
34268
34269
34270
34271
34272
34273
34274
34275
34276
34277
34278
34279
34280
34281
34282
34283
34284
34285
34286
34287
34288
34289
34290
34291
34292
34293
34294
34295
34296
34297
34298
34299
34300
34301
34302
34303
34304
34305
34306
34307
34308
34309
34310
34311
34312
34313
34314
34315
34316
34317
34318
34319
34320
34321
34322
34323
34324
34325
34326
34327
34328
34329
34330
34331
34332
34333
34334
34335
34336
34337
34338
34339
34340
34341
34342
34343
34344
34345
34346
34347
34348
34349
34350
34351
34352
34353
34354
34355
34356
34357
34358
34359
34360
34361
34362
34363
34364
34365
34366
34367
34368
34369
34370
34371
34372
34373
34374
34375
34376
34377
34378
34379
34380
34381
34382
34383
34384
34385
34386
34387
34388
34389
34390
34391
34392
34393
34394
34395
34396
34397
34398
34399
34400
34401
34402
34403
34404
34405
34406
34407
34408
34409
34410
34411
34412
34413
34414
34415
34416
34417
34418
34419
34420
34421
34422
34423
34424
34425
34426
34427
34428
34429
34430
34431
34432
34433
34434
34435
34436
34437
34438
34439
34440
34441
34442
34443
34444
34445
34446
34447
34448
34449
34450
34451
34452
34453
34454
34455
34456
34457
34458
34459
34460
34461
34462
34463
34464
34465
34466
34467
34468
34469
34470
34471
34472
34473
34474
34475
34476
34477
34478
34479
34480
34481
34482
34483
34484
34485
34486
34487
34488
34489
34490
34491
34492
34493
34494
34495
34496
34497
34498
34499
34500
34501
34502
34503
34504
34505
34506
34507
34508
34509
34510
34511
34512
34513
34514
34515
34516
34517
34518
34519
34520
34521
34522
34523
34524
34525
34526
34527
34528
34529
34530
34531
34532
34533
34534
34535
34536
34537
34538
34539
34540
34541
34542
34543
34544
34545
34546
34547
34548
34549
34550
34551
34552
34553
34554
34555
34556
34557
34558
34559
34560
34561
34562
34563
34564
34565
34566
34567
34568
34569
34570
34571
34572
34573
34574
34575
34576
34577
34578
34579
34580
34581
34582
34583
34584
34585
34586
34587
34588
34589
34590
34591
34592
34593
34594
34595
34596
34597
34598
34599
34600
34601
34602
34603
34604
34605
34606
34607
34608
34609
34610
34611
34612
34613
34614
34615
34616
34617
34618
34619
34620
34621
34622
34623
34624
34625
34626
34627
34628
34629
34630
34631
34632
34633
34634
34635
34636
34637
34638
34639
34640
34641
34642
34643
34644
34645
34646
34647
34648
34649
34650
34651
34652
34653
34654
34655
34656
34657
34658
34659
34660
34661
34662
34663
34664
34665
34666
34667
34668
34669
34670
34671
34672
34673
34674
34675
34676
34677
34678
34679
34680
34681
34682
34683
34684
34685
34686
34687
34688
34689
34690
34691
34692
34693
34694
34695
34696
34697
34698
34699
34700
34701
34702
34703
34704
34705
34706
34707
34708
34709
34710
34711
34712
34713
34714
34715
34716
34717
34718
34719
34720
34721
34722
34723
34724
34725
34726
34727
34728
34729
34730
34731
34732
34733
34734
34735
34736
34737
34738
34739
34740
34741
34742
34743
34744
34745
34746
34747
34748
34749
34750
34751
34752
34753
34754
34755
34756
34757
34758
34759
34760
34761
34762
34763
34764
34765
34766
34767
34768
34769
34770
34771
34772
34773
34774
34775
34776
34777
34778
34779
34780
34781
34782
34783
34784
34785
34786
34787
34788
34789
34790
34791
34792
34793
34794
34795
34796
34797
34798
34799
34800
34801
34802
34803
34804
34805
34806
34807
34808
34809
34810
34811
34812
34813
34814
34815
34816
34817
34818
34819
34820
34821
34822
34823
34824
34825
34826
34827
34828
34829
34830
34831
34832
34833
34834
34835
34836
34837
34838
34839
34840
34841
34842
34843
34844
34845
34846
34847
34848
34849
34850
34851
34852
34853
34854
34855
34856
34857
34858
34859
34860
34861
34862
34863
34864
34865
34866
34867
34868
34869
34870
34871
34872
34873
34874
34875
34876
34877
34878
34879
34880
34881
34882
34883
34884
34885
34886
34887
34888
34889
34890
34891
34892
34893
34894
34895
34896
34897
34898
34899
34900
34901
34902
34903
34904
34905
34906
34907
34908
34909
34910
34911
34912
34913
34914
34915
34916
34917
34918
34919
34920
34921
34922
34923
34924
34925
34926
34927
34928
34929
34930
34931
34932
34933
34934
34935
34936
34937
34938
34939
34940
34941
34942
34943
34944
34945
34946
34947
34948
34949
34950
34951
34952
34953
34954
34955
34956
34957
34958
34959
34960
34961
34962
34963
34964
34965
34966
34967
34968
34969
34970
34971
34972
34973
34974
34975
34976
34977
34978
34979
34980
34981
34982
34983
34984
34985
34986
34987
34988
34989
34990
34991
34992
34993
34994
34995
34996
34997
34998
34999
35000
35001
35002
35003
35004
35005
35006
35007
35008
35009
35010
35011
35012
35013
35014
35015
35016
35017
35018
35019
35020
35021
35022
35023
35024
35025
35026
35027
35028
35029
35030
35031
35032
35033
35034
35035
35036
35037
35038
35039
35040
35041
35042
35043
35044
35045
35046
35047
35048
35049
35050
35051
35052
35053
35054
35055
35056
35057
35058
35059
35060
35061
35062
35063
35064
35065
35066
35067
35068
35069
35070
35071
35072
35073
35074
35075
35076
35077
35078
35079
35080
35081
35082
35083
35084
35085
35086
35087
35088
35089
35090
35091
35092
35093
35094
35095
35096
35097
35098
35099
35100
35101
35102
35103
35104
35105
35106
35107
35108
35109
35110
35111
35112
35113
35114
35115
35116
35117
35118
35119
35120
35121
35122
35123
35124
35125
35126
35127
35128
35129
35130
35131
35132
35133
35134
35135
35136
35137
35138
35139
35140
35141
35142
35143
35144
35145
35146
35147
35148
35149
35150
35151
35152
35153
35154
35155
35156
35157
35158
35159
35160
35161
35162
35163
35164
35165
35166
35167
35168
35169
35170
35171
35172
35173
35174
35175
35176
35177
35178
35179
35180
35181
35182
35183
35184
35185
35186
35187
35188
35189
35190
35191
35192
35193
35194
35195
35196
35197
35198
35199
35200
35201
35202
35203
35204
35205
35206
35207
35208
35209
35210
35211
35212
35213
35214
35215
35216
35217
35218
35219
35220
35221
35222
35223
35224
35225
35226
35227
35228
35229
35230
35231
35232
35233
35234
35235
35236
35237
35238
35239
35240
35241
35242
35243
35244
35245
35246
35247
35248
35249
35250
35251
35252
35253
35254
35255
35256
35257
35258
35259
35260
35261
35262
35263
35264
35265
35266
35267
35268
35269
35270
35271
35272
35273
35274
35275
35276
35277
35278
35279
35280
35281
35282
35283
35284
35285
35286
35287
35288
35289
35290
35291
35292
35293
35294
35295
35296
35297
35298
35299
35300
35301
35302
35303
35304
35305
35306
35307
35308
35309
35310
35311
35312
35313
35314
35315
35316
35317
35318
35319
35320
35321
35322
35323
35324
35325
35326
35327
35328
35329
35330
35331
35332
35333
35334
35335
35336
35337
35338
35339
35340
35341
35342
35343
35344
35345
35346
35347
35348
35349
35350
35351
35352
35353
35354
35355
35356
35357
35358
35359
35360
35361
35362
35363
35364
35365
35366
35367
35368
35369
35370
35371
35372
35373
35374
35375
35376
35377
35378
35379
35380
35381
35382
35383
35384
35385
35386
35387
35388
35389
35390
35391
35392
35393
35394
35395
35396
35397
35398
35399
35400
35401
35402
35403
35404
35405
35406
35407
35408
35409
35410
35411
35412
35413
35414
35415
35416
35417
35418
35419
35420
35421
35422
35423
35424
35425
35426
35427
35428
35429
35430
35431
35432
35433
35434
35435
35436
35437
35438
35439
35440
35441
35442
35443
35444
35445
35446
35447
35448
35449
35450
35451
35452
35453
35454
35455
35456
35457
35458
35459
35460
35461
35462
35463
35464
35465
35466
35467
35468
35469
35470
35471
35472
35473
35474
35475
35476
35477
35478
35479
35480
35481
35482
35483
35484
35485
35486
35487
35488
35489
35490
35491
35492
35493
35494
35495
35496
35497
35498
35499
35500
35501
35502
35503
35504
35505
35506
35507
35508
35509
35510
35511
35512
35513
35514
35515
35516
35517
35518
35519
35520
35521
35522
35523
35524
35525
35526
35527
35528
35529
35530
35531
35532
35533
35534
35535
35536
35537
35538
35539
35540
35541
35542
35543
35544
35545
35546
35547
35548
35549
35550
35551
35552
35553
35554
35555
35556
35557
35558
35559
35560
35561
35562
35563
35564
35565
35566
35567
35568
35569
35570
35571
35572
35573
35574
35575
35576
35577
35578
35579
35580
35581
35582
35583
35584
35585
35586
35587
35588
35589
35590
35591
35592
35593
35594
35595
35596
35597
35598
35599
35600
35601
35602
35603
35604
35605
35606
35607
35608
35609
35610
35611
35612
35613
35614
35615
35616
35617
35618
35619
35620
35621
35622
35623
35624
35625
35626
35627
35628
35629
35630
35631
35632
35633
35634
35635
35636
35637
35638
35639
35640
35641
35642
35643
35644
35645
35646
35647
35648
35649
35650
35651
35652
35653
35654
35655
35656
35657
35658
35659
35660
35661
35662
35663
35664
35665
35666
35667
35668
35669
35670
35671
35672
35673
35674
35675
35676
35677
35678
35679
35680
35681
35682
35683
35684
35685
35686
35687
35688
35689
35690
35691
35692
35693
35694
35695
35696
35697
35698
35699
35700
35701
35702
35703
35704
35705
35706
35707
35708
35709
35710
35711
35712
35713
35714
35715
35716
35717
35718
35719
35720
35721
35722
35723
35724
35725
35726
35727
35728
35729
35730
35731
35732
35733
35734
35735
35736
35737
35738
35739
35740
35741
35742
35743
35744
35745
35746
35747
35748
35749
35750
35751
35752
35753
35754
35755
35756
35757
35758
35759
35760
35761
35762
35763
35764
35765
35766
35767
35768
35769
35770
35771
35772
35773
35774
35775
35776
35777
35778
35779
35780
35781
35782
35783
35784
35785
35786
35787
35788
35789
35790
35791
35792
35793
35794
35795
35796
35797
35798
35799
35800
35801
35802
35803
35804
35805
35806
35807
35808
35809
35810
35811
35812
35813
35814
35815
35816
35817
35818
35819
35820
35821
35822
35823
35824
35825
35826
35827
35828
35829
35830
35831
35832
35833
35834
35835
35836
35837
35838
35839
35840
35841
35842
35843
35844
35845
35846
35847
35848
35849
35850
35851
35852
35853
35854
35855
35856
35857
35858
35859
35860
35861
35862
35863
35864
35865
35866
35867
35868
35869
35870
35871
35872
35873
35874
35875
35876
35877
35878
35879
35880
35881
35882
35883
35884
35885
35886
35887
35888
35889
35890
35891
35892
35893
35894
35895
35896
35897
35898
35899
35900
35901
35902
35903
35904
35905
35906
35907
35908
35909
35910
35911
35912
35913
35914
35915
35916
35917
35918
35919
35920
35921
35922
35923
35924
35925
35926
35927
35928
35929
35930
35931
35932
35933
35934
35935
35936
35937
35938
35939
35940
35941
35942
35943
35944
35945
35946
35947
35948
35949
35950
35951
35952
35953
35954
35955
35956
35957
35958
35959
35960
35961
35962
35963
35964
35965
35966
35967
35968
35969
35970
35971
35972
35973
35974
35975
35976
35977
35978
35979
35980
35981
35982
35983
35984
35985
35986
35987
35988
35989
35990
35991
35992
35993
35994
35995
35996
35997
35998
35999
36000
36001
36002
36003
36004
36005
36006
36007
36008
36009
36010
36011
36012
36013
36014
36015
36016
36017
36018
36019
36020
36021
36022
36023
36024
36025
36026
36027
36028
36029
36030
36031
36032
36033
36034
36035
36036
36037
36038
36039
36040
36041
36042
36043
36044
36045
36046
36047
36048
36049
36050
36051
36052
36053
36054
36055
36056
36057
36058
36059
36060
36061
36062
36063
36064
36065
36066
36067
36068
36069
36070
36071
36072
36073
36074
36075
36076
36077
36078
36079
36080
36081
36082
36083
36084
36085
36086
36087
36088
36089
36090
36091
36092
36093
36094
36095
36096
36097
36098
36099
36100
36101
36102
36103
36104
36105
36106
36107
36108
36109
36110
36111
36112
36113
36114
36115
36116
36117
36118
36119
36120
36121
36122
36123
36124
36125
36126
36127
36128
36129
36130
36131
36132
36133
36134
36135
36136
36137
36138
36139
36140
36141
36142
36143
36144
36145
36146
36147
36148
36149
36150
36151
36152
36153
36154
36155
36156
36157
36158
36159
36160
36161
36162
36163
36164
36165
36166
36167
36168
36169
36170
36171
36172
36173
36174
36175
36176
36177
36178
36179
36180
36181
36182
36183
36184
36185
36186
36187
36188
36189
36190
36191
36192
36193
36194
36195
36196
36197
36198
36199
36200
36201
36202
36203
36204
36205
36206
36207
36208
36209
36210
36211
36212
36213
36214
36215
36216
36217
36218
36219
36220
36221
36222
36223
36224
36225
36226
36227
36228
36229
36230
36231
36232
36233
36234
36235
36236
36237
36238
36239
36240
36241
36242
36243
36244
36245
36246
36247
36248
36249
36250
36251
36252
36253
36254
36255
36256
36257
36258
36259
36260
36261
36262
36263
36264
36265
36266
36267
36268
36269
36270
36271
36272
36273
36274
36275
36276
36277
36278
36279
36280
36281
36282
36283
36284
36285
36286
36287
36288
36289
36290
36291
36292
36293
36294
36295
36296
36297
36298
36299
36300
36301
36302
36303
36304
36305
36306
36307
36308
36309
36310
36311
36312
36313
36314
36315
36316
36317
36318
36319
36320
36321
36322
36323
36324
36325
36326
36327
36328
36329
36330
36331
36332
36333
36334
36335
36336
36337
36338
36339
36340
36341
36342
36343
36344
36345
36346
36347
36348
36349
36350
36351
36352
36353
36354
36355
36356
36357
36358
36359
36360
36361
36362
36363
36364
36365
36366
36367
36368
36369
36370
36371
36372
36373
36374
36375
36376
36377
36378
36379
36380
36381
36382
36383
36384
36385
36386
36387
36388
36389
36390
36391
36392
36393
36394
36395
36396
36397
36398
36399
36400
36401
36402
36403
36404
36405
36406
36407
36408
36409
36410
36411
36412
36413
36414
36415
36416
36417
36418
36419
36420
36421
36422
36423
36424
36425
36426
36427
36428
36429
36430
36431
36432
36433
36434
36435
36436
36437
36438
36439
36440
36441
36442
36443
36444
36445
36446
36447
36448
36449
36450
36451
36452
36453
36454
36455
36456
36457
36458
36459
36460
36461
36462
36463
36464
36465
36466
36467
36468
36469
36470
36471
36472
36473
36474
36475
36476
36477
36478
36479
36480
36481
36482
36483
36484
36485
36486
36487
36488
36489
36490
36491
36492
36493
36494
36495
36496
36497
36498
36499
36500
36501
36502
36503
36504
36505
36506
36507
36508
36509
36510
36511
36512
36513
36514
36515
36516
36517
36518
36519
36520
36521
36522
36523
36524
36525
36526
36527
36528
36529
36530
36531
36532
36533
36534
36535
36536
36537
36538
36539
36540
36541
36542
36543
36544
36545
36546
36547
36548
36549
36550
36551
36552
36553
36554
36555
36556
36557
36558
36559
36560
36561
36562
36563
36564
36565
36566
36567
36568
36569
36570
36571
36572
36573
36574
36575
36576
36577
36578
36579
36580
36581
36582
36583
36584
36585
36586
36587
36588
36589
36590
36591
36592
36593
36594
36595
36596
36597
36598
36599
36600
36601
36602
36603
36604
36605
36606
36607
36608
36609
36610
36611
36612
36613
36614
36615
36616
36617
36618
36619
36620
36621
36622
36623
36624
36625
36626
36627
36628
36629
36630
36631
36632
36633
36634
36635
36636
36637
36638
36639
36640
36641
36642
36643
36644
36645
36646
36647
36648
36649
36650
36651
36652
36653
36654
36655
36656
36657
36658
36659
36660
36661
36662
36663
36664
36665
36666
36667
36668
36669
36670
36671
36672
36673
36674
36675
36676
36677
36678
36679
36680
36681
36682
36683
36684
36685
36686
36687
36688
36689
36690
36691
36692
36693
36694
36695
36696
36697
36698
36699
36700
36701
36702
36703
36704
36705
36706
36707
36708
36709
36710
36711
36712
36713
36714
36715
36716
36717
36718
36719
36720
36721
36722
36723
36724
36725
36726
36727
36728
36729
36730
36731
36732
36733
36734
36735
36736
36737
36738
36739
36740
36741
36742
36743
36744
36745
36746
36747
36748
36749
36750
36751
36752
36753
36754
36755
36756
36757
36758
36759
36760
36761
36762
36763
36764
36765
36766
36767
36768
36769
36770
36771
36772
36773
36774
36775
36776
36777
36778
36779
36780
36781
36782
36783
36784
36785
36786
36787
36788
36789
36790
36791
36792
36793
36794
36795
36796
36797
36798
36799
36800
36801
36802
36803
36804
36805
36806
36807
36808
36809
36810
36811
36812
36813
36814
36815
36816
36817
36818
36819
36820
36821
36822
36823
36824
36825
36826
36827
36828
36829
36830
36831
36832
36833
36834
36835
36836
36837
36838
36839
36840
36841
36842
36843
36844
36845
36846
36847
36848
36849
36850
36851
36852
36853
36854
36855
36856
36857
36858
36859
36860
36861
36862
36863
36864
36865
36866
36867
36868
36869
36870
36871
36872
36873
36874
36875
36876
36877
36878
36879
36880
36881
36882
36883
36884
36885
36886
36887
36888
36889
36890
36891
36892
36893
36894
36895
36896
36897
36898
36899
36900
36901
36902
36903
36904
36905
36906
36907
36908
36909
36910
36911
36912
36913
36914
36915
36916
36917
36918
36919
36920
36921
36922
36923
36924
36925
36926
36927
36928
36929
36930
36931
36932
36933
36934
36935
36936
36937
36938
36939
36940
36941
36942
36943
36944
36945
36946
36947
36948
36949
36950
36951
36952
36953
36954
36955
36956
36957
36958
36959
36960
36961
36962
36963
36964
36965
36966
36967
36968
36969
36970
36971
36972
36973
36974
36975
36976
36977
36978
36979
36980
36981
36982
36983
36984
36985
36986
36987
36988
36989
36990
36991
36992
36993
36994
36995
36996
36997
36998
36999
37000
37001
37002
37003
37004
37005
37006
37007
37008
37009
37010
37011
37012
37013
37014
37015
37016
37017
37018
37019
37020
37021
37022
37023
37024
37025
37026
37027
37028
37029
37030
37031
37032
37033
37034
37035
37036
37037
37038
37039
37040
37041
37042
37043
37044
37045
37046
37047
37048
37049
37050
37051
37052
37053
37054
37055
37056
37057
37058
37059
37060
37061
37062
37063
37064
37065
37066
37067
37068
37069
37070
37071
37072
37073
37074
37075
37076
37077
37078
37079
37080
37081
37082
37083
37084
37085
37086
37087
37088
37089
37090
37091
37092
37093
37094
37095
37096
37097
37098
37099
37100
37101
37102
37103
37104
37105
37106
37107
37108
37109
37110
37111
37112
37113
37114
37115
37116
37117
37118
37119
37120
37121
37122
37123
37124
37125
37126
37127
37128
37129
37130
37131
37132
37133
37134
37135
37136
37137
37138
37139
37140
37141
37142
37143
37144
37145
37146
37147
37148
37149
37150
37151
37152
37153
37154
37155
37156
37157
37158
37159
37160
37161
37162
37163
37164
37165
37166
37167
37168
37169
37170
37171
37172
37173
37174
37175
37176
37177
37178
37179
37180
37181
37182
37183
37184
37185
37186
37187
37188
37189
37190
37191
37192
37193
37194
37195
37196
37197
37198
37199
37200
37201
37202
37203
37204
37205
37206
37207
37208
37209
37210
37211
37212
37213
37214
37215
37216
37217
37218
37219
37220
37221
37222
37223
37224
37225
37226
37227
37228
37229
37230
37231
37232
37233
37234
37235
37236
37237
37238
37239
37240
37241
37242
37243
37244
37245
37246
37247
37248
37249
37250
37251
37252
37253
37254
37255
37256
37257
37258
37259
37260
37261
37262
37263
37264
37265
37266
37267
37268
37269
37270
37271
37272
37273
37274
37275
37276
37277
37278
37279
37280
37281
37282
37283
37284
37285
37286
37287
37288
37289
37290
37291
37292
37293
37294
37295
37296
37297
37298
37299
37300
37301
37302
37303
37304
37305
37306
37307
37308
37309
37310
37311
37312
37313
37314
37315
37316
37317
37318
37319
37320
37321
37322
37323
37324
37325
37326
37327
37328
37329
37330
37331
37332
37333
37334
37335
37336
37337
37338
37339
37340
37341
37342
37343
37344
37345
37346
37347
37348
37349
37350
37351
37352
37353
37354
37355
37356
37357
37358
37359
37360
37361
37362
37363
37364
37365
37366
37367
37368
37369
37370
37371
37372
37373
37374
37375
37376
37377
37378
37379
37380
37381
37382
37383
37384
37385
37386
37387
37388
37389
37390
37391
37392
37393
37394
37395
37396
37397
37398
37399
37400
37401
37402
37403
37404
37405
37406
37407
37408
37409
37410
37411
37412
37413
37414
37415
37416
37417
37418
37419
37420
37421
37422
37423
37424
37425
37426
37427
37428
37429
37430
37431
37432
37433
37434
37435
37436
37437
37438
37439
37440
37441
37442
37443
37444
37445
37446
37447
37448
37449
37450
37451
37452
37453
37454
37455
37456
37457
37458
37459
37460
37461
37462
37463
37464
37465
37466
37467
37468
37469
37470
37471
37472
37473
37474
37475
37476
37477
37478
37479
37480
37481
37482
37483
37484
37485
37486
37487
37488
37489
37490
37491
37492
37493
37494
37495
37496
37497
37498
37499
37500
37501
37502
37503
37504
37505
37506
37507
37508
37509
37510
37511
37512
37513
37514
37515
37516
37517
37518
37519
37520
37521
37522
37523
37524
37525
37526
37527
37528
37529
37530
37531
37532
37533
37534
37535
37536
37537
37538
37539
37540
37541
37542
37543
37544
37545
37546
37547
37548
37549
37550
37551
37552
37553
37554
37555
37556
37557
37558
37559
37560
37561
37562
37563
37564
37565
37566
37567
37568
37569
37570
37571
37572
37573
37574
37575
37576
37577
37578
37579
37580
37581
37582
37583
37584
37585
37586
37587
37588
37589
37590
37591
37592
37593
37594
37595
37596
37597
37598
37599
37600
37601
37602
37603
37604
37605
37606
37607
37608
37609
37610
37611
37612
37613
37614
37615
37616
37617
37618
37619
37620
37621
37622
37623
37624
37625
37626
37627
37628
37629
37630
37631
37632
37633
37634
37635
37636
37637
37638
37639
37640
37641
37642
37643
37644
37645
37646
37647
37648
37649
37650
37651
37652
37653
37654
37655
37656
37657
37658
37659
37660
37661
37662
37663
37664
37665
37666
37667
37668
37669
37670
37671
37672
37673
37674
37675
37676
37677
37678
37679
37680
37681
37682
37683
37684
37685
37686
37687
37688
37689
37690
37691
37692
37693
37694
37695
37696
37697
37698
37699
37700
37701
37702
37703
37704
37705
37706
37707
37708
37709
37710
37711
37712
37713
37714
37715
37716
37717
37718
37719
37720
37721
37722
37723
37724
37725
37726
37727
37728
37729
37730
37731
37732
37733
37734
37735
37736
37737
37738
37739
37740
37741
37742
37743
37744
37745
37746
37747
37748
37749
37750
37751
37752
37753
37754
37755
37756
37757
37758
37759
37760
37761
37762
37763
37764
37765
37766
37767
37768
37769
37770
37771
37772
37773
37774
37775
37776
37777
37778
37779
37780
37781
37782
37783
37784
37785
37786
37787
37788
37789
37790
37791
37792
37793
37794
37795
37796
37797
37798
37799
37800
37801
37802
37803
37804
37805
37806
37807
37808
37809
37810
37811
37812
37813
37814
37815
37816
37817
37818
37819
37820
37821
37822
37823
37824
37825
37826
37827
37828
37829
37830
37831
37832
37833
37834
37835
37836
37837
37838
37839
37840
37841
37842
37843
37844
37845
37846
37847
37848
37849
37850
37851
37852
37853
37854
37855
37856
37857
37858
37859
37860
37861
37862
37863
37864
37865
37866
37867
37868
37869
37870
37871
37872
37873
37874
37875
37876
37877
37878
37879
37880
37881
37882
37883
37884
37885
37886
37887
37888
37889
37890
37891
37892
37893
37894
37895
37896
37897
37898
37899
37900
37901
37902
37903
37904
37905
37906
37907
37908
37909
37910
37911
37912
37913
37914
37915
37916
37917
37918
37919
37920
37921
37922
37923
37924
37925
37926
37927
37928
37929
37930
37931
37932
37933
37934
37935
37936
37937
37938
37939
37940
37941
37942
37943
37944
37945
37946
37947
37948
37949
37950
37951
37952
37953
37954
37955
37956
37957
37958
37959
37960
37961
37962
37963
37964
37965
37966
37967
37968
37969
37970
37971
37972
37973
37974
37975
37976
37977
37978
37979
37980
37981
37982
37983
37984
37985
37986
37987
37988
37989
37990
37991
37992
37993
37994
37995
37996
37997
37998
37999
38000
38001
38002
38003
38004
38005
38006
38007
38008
38009
38010
38011
38012
38013
38014
38015
38016
38017
38018
38019
38020
38021
38022
38023
38024
38025
38026
38027
38028
38029
38030
38031
38032
38033
38034
38035
38036
38037
38038
38039
38040
38041
38042
38043
38044
38045
38046
38047
38048
38049
38050
38051
38052
38053
38054
38055
38056
38057
38058
38059
38060
38061
38062
38063
38064
38065
38066
38067
38068
38069
38070
38071
38072
38073
38074
38075
38076
38077
38078
38079
38080
38081
38082
38083
38084
38085
38086
38087
38088
38089
38090
38091
38092
38093
38094
38095
38096
38097
38098
38099
38100
38101
38102
38103
38104
38105
38106
38107
38108
38109
38110
38111
38112
38113
38114
38115
38116
38117
38118
38119
38120
38121
38122
38123
38124
38125
38126
38127
38128
38129
38130
38131
38132
38133
38134
38135
38136
38137
38138
38139
38140
38141
38142
38143
38144
38145
38146
38147
38148
38149
38150
38151
38152
38153
38154
38155
38156
38157
38158
38159
38160
38161
38162
38163
38164
38165
38166
38167
38168
38169
38170
38171
38172
38173
38174
38175
38176
38177
38178
38179
38180
38181
38182
38183
38184
38185
38186
38187
38188
38189
38190
38191
38192
38193
38194
38195
38196
38197
38198
38199
38200
38201
38202
38203
38204
38205
38206
38207
38208
38209
38210
38211
38212
38213
38214
38215
38216
38217
38218
38219
38220
38221
38222
38223
38224
38225
38226
38227
38228
38229
38230
38231
38232
38233
38234
38235
38236
38237
38238
38239
38240
38241
38242
38243
38244
38245
38246
38247
38248
38249
38250
38251
38252
38253
38254
38255
38256
38257
38258
38259
38260
38261

<!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" xml:lang="en" lang="en">
<head>
<meta http-equiv="Content-Type" content="text/html;charset=UTF-8" />
<meta http-equiv="Content-Style-Type" content="text/css" />
<title>The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Master of Man, by Hall Caine</title>
<link rel="coverpage" href="images/cover.jpg" />
<style type="text/css">

body { color: black;
       background: white;
       margin-right: 10%;
       margin-left: 10%;
       font-family: "Times New Roman", serif;
       text-align: justify }

p {text-indent: 4% }

p.noindent {text-indent: 0% }

p.t1 {text-indent: 0% ;
      font-size: 200%;
      text-align: center }

p.t2 {text-indent: 0% ;
      font-size: 150%;
      text-align: center }

p.t2b {text-indent: 0% ;
      font-size: 150%;
      font-weight: bold;
      text-align: center }

p.t3 {text-indent: 0% ;
      font-size: 100%;
      text-align: center }

p.t3b {text-indent: 0% ;
      font-size: 100%;
      font-weight: bold;
      text-align: center }

p.t4 {text-indent: 0% ;
      font-size: 80%;
      text-align: center }

p.t4b {text-indent: 0% ;
      font-size: 80%;
      font-weight: bold;
      text-align: center }

p.t5 {text-indent: 0% ;
      font-size: 60%;
      text-align: center }

h1 { text-align: center }
h2 { text-align: center }
h3 { text-align: center }
h4 { text-align: center }
h5 { text-align: center }

p.poem {text-indent: 0%;
        margin-left: 10%; }

p.thought {text-indent: 0% ;
           letter-spacing: 4em ;
           text-align: center }

p.letter {text-indent: 4%;
          margin-left: 10% ;
          margin-right: 0% }

p.footnote {text-indent: 0% ;
            font-size: 80%;
            margin-left: 10% ;
            margin-right: 10% }

.smcap { font-variant: small-caps }

p.transnote {text-indent: 0% ;
             margin-left: 10% ;
             margin-right: 10% }

p.intro {font-size: 90% ;
         text-indent: -5% ;
         margin-left: 5% ;
         margin-right: 0% }

p.quote {text-indent: 4% ;
         margin-left: 10% ;
         margin-right: 0% }

p.report {text-indent: 4% ;
         margin-left: 0% ;
         margin-right: 0% }

p.finis { font-size: larger ;
          text-align: center ;
          text-indent: 0% ;
          margin-left: 0% ;
          margin-right: 0% }

</style>

</head>

<body>
<div>*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 61865 ***</div>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="noindent">
  <i>The Novels of Hall Caine</i><br />
</p>

<p class="noindent">
  THE SHADOW OF A CRIME<br />
  A SON OF HAGAR<br />
  THE DEEMSTER<br />
  THE BONDMAN<br />
  THE SCAPEGOAT<br />
  THE MANXMAN<br />
  THE CHRISTIAN<br />
  THE ETERNAL CITY<br />
  THE WHITE PROPHET<br />
  THE PRODIGAL SON<br />
  THE WOMAN THOU GAVEST ME<br />
  THE MASTER OF MAN<br />
</p>

<h1>
<br /><br />
  The Master of Man<br />
</h1>

<p class="t3b">
  The Story of a Sin<br />
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
  By<br />
</p>

<p class="t2">
  Hall Caine<br />
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3">
  "<i>Be sure your sin will find you out</i>"<br />
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3">
  Philadelphia &amp; London<br />
  J. B. Lippincott Company<br />
  1921<br />
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p class="noindent">
  The Master of Man<br />
  <i>is published also in</i><br />
  ENGLAND<br />
  CANADA<br />
  AUSTRALIA<br />
  FRANCE<br />
  DENMARK<br />
  HOLLAND<br />
  SWEDEN<br />
  FINLAND<br />
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t4">
  COPYRIGHT, 1920, 1921, BY SIR HALL CAINE, K.B.E.<br />
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t4">
  <i>Electrotyped and Printed by J. B. Lippincott Company<br />
  The Washington Square Press, Philadelphia, U.S.A.</i><br />
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
  CONTENTS<br />
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p class="t3">
  FIRST BOOK<br />
</p>

<p class="noindent">
  <a href="#chap0101">THE SIN</a><br />
</p>

<p class="noindent">
  1. <a href="#chap0101">The Breed of the Ballamoar</a><br />
  2. <a href="#chap0102">The Boyhood of Victor Stowell</a><br />
  3. <a href="#chap0103">Father and Sons</a><br />
  4. <a href="#chap0104">Enter Fenella Stanley</a><br />
  5. <a href="#chap0105">The Student-at-Law</a><br />
  6. <a href="#chap0106">The World of Woman</a><br />
  7. <a href="#chap0107">The Day of Temptation</a><br />
  8. <a href="#chap0108">The Call of Bessie Collister</a><br />
  9. <a href="#chap0109">The Master of Man</a><br />
  10. <a href="#chap0110">The Call of the Ballamoars</a><br />
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p class="t3">
  SECOND BOOK<br />
</p>

<p class="noindent">
  <a href="#chap0211">THE RECKONING</a><br />
</p>

<p class="noindent">
  11. <a href="#chap0211">The Return of Fenella</a><br />
  12. <a href="#chap0212">The Death of the Deemster</a><br />
  13. <a href="#chap0213">The Saving of Kate Kinrade</a><br />
  14. <a href="#chap0214">The Everlasting Song of the Sea</a><br />
  15. <a href="#chap0215">The Woman's Secret</a><br />
  16. <a href="#chap0216">At the Speaker's</a><br />
  17. <a href="#chap0217">The Burning Boat</a><br />
  18. <a href="#chap0218">The Great Winter</a><br />
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p class="t3">
  THIRD BOOK<br />
</p>

<p class="noindent">
  <a href="#chap0319">THE CONSEQUENCE</a><br />
</p>

<p class="noindent">
  19. <a href="#chap0319">The Eve of Mary</a><br />
  20. <a href="#chap0320">Victor Stowell's Vow</a><br />
  21. <a href="#chap0321">Mother's Law or Judge's Law?</a><br />
  22. <a href="#chap0322">The Soul of Hagar</a><br />
  23. <a href="#chap0323">Stowell in London</a><br />
  24. <a href="#chap0324">Alick Gell</a><br />
  25. <a href="#chap0325">The Deemster's Oath</a><br />
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p class="t3">
  FOURTH BOOK<br />
</p>

<p class="noindent">
  <a href="#chap0426">THE RETRIBUTION</a><br />
</p>

<p class="noindent">
  26. <a href="#chap0426">The Wind and the Whirlwind</a><br />
  27. <a href="#chap0427">The Judge and the Man</a><br />
  28. <a href="#chap0428">The Trial</a><br />
  29. <a href="#chap0429">The Two Women&mdash;The Two Men</a><br />
  30. <a href="#chap0430">The Verdict</a><br />
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p class="t3">
  FIFTH BOOK<br />
</p>

<p class="noindent">
  <a href="#chap0531">THE REPARATION</a><br />
</p>

<p class="noindent">
  31. <a href="#chap0531">"Victor!  Victor!  My Victor!"</a><br />
  32. <a href="#chap0532">The Voice of the Sea</a><br />
  33. <a href="#chap0533">The Heart of a Woman</a><br />
  34. <a href="#chap0534">The Man and the Law</a><br />
  35. <a href="#chap0535">"And God Made Man of the Dust of the Ground"</a><br />
  36. <a href="#chap0536">Out of the Depths</a><br />
  37. <a href="#chap0537">The Escape</a><br />
  38. <a href="#chap0538">The Grave of a Sin</a><br />
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p class="t3">
  SIXTH BOOK<br />
</p>

<p class="noindent">
  <a href="#chap0639">THE REDEMPTION</a><br />
</p>

<p class="noindent">
  39. <a href="#chap0639">The Birth of a Lie</a><br />
  40. <a href="#chap0640">The Call of a Woman's Soul</a><br />
  41. <a href="#chap0641">In the Valley of the Shadow</a><br />
  42. <a href="#chap0642">"He Drove Out the Man"</a><br />
  43. <a href="#chap0643">The Dawn of Morning</a><br />
  44. <a href="#chap0644">"God Gave Him Dominion"</a><br />
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p class="t3">
  SEVENTH BOOK<br />
</p>

<p class="noindent">
  <a href="#chap0745">THE RESURRECTION</a><br />
</p>

<p class="noindent">
  45. <a href="#chap0745">The Way of the Cross</a><br />
  46. <a href="#chap0746">Victory Through Defeat</a><br />
  47. <a href="#chap0747">The Resurrection</a><br />
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p class="noindent">
  <a href="#conclusion">CONCLUSION</a><br />
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
<i>AUTHOR'S NOTE</i>
</p>

<p>
<i>I wish to acknowledge my indebtedness to conversations, many years
ago, with the late Karl Emil Franzos for important incidents in Chapter
Forty-Four, which, founded on fact, were in part incorporated by the
Russo-Jewish writer in his noble book, "The Chief Justice."</i>
</p>

<p>
<i>Also I wish to say that Tolstoy told me, through his daughter, that
similar incidents occurring in Russia (although he altered them
materially) had suggested the theme of his great novel, "Resurrection."</i>
</p>

<p>
<i>For as much knowledge as I may have been able to acquire of Manx
law and legal procedure, I am indebted to Mr. Ramsey B. Moore, the
Attorney-General in the Isle of Man, the scene of my story.</i>
</p>

<p class="noindent">
<i>H. C.</i>
</p>

<p class="noindent">
  <i>Greeba Castle,<br />
  &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Isle of Man.</i><br />
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p><a id="chap0101"></a></p>

<p class="t2b">
The Master of Man
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<h2>
<i>FIRST BOOK</i>
<br />
THE SIN
</h2>

<p><br /></p>

<h3>
CHAPTER ONE
<br />
THE BREED OF THE BALLAMOAR
</h3>

<p>
We were in full school after breakfast, when the Principal
came from his private room with his high, quick, birdlike step and
almost leapt up to his desk to speak to us.  He was a rather small,
slight man, of middle age, with pale face and nervous gestures,
liable to alternate bouts of a somewhat ineffectual playfulness and
gusts of ungovernable temper.  It was easy to see that he was in
his angry mood that morning.  He looked round the school for a
moment over the silver rims of his spectacles, and then said,
</p>

<p>
"Boys, before you go to your classes for the day I have something
to tell you.  One of you has brought disgrace upon King
William's, and I must know which of you it is."
</p>

<p>
Then followed the "degrading story."  The facts of it had
just been brought to his notice by the Inspector of Police for
Castletown.  He had no intention of entering into details.  They
were too shameful.  Briefly, one of our boys, a senior boy apparently,
had lately made a practice of escaping from his house after
hours, and had so far forfeited his self-respect as to go walking in
the dark roads with a young girl&mdash;a servant girl, he was ashamed
to say, from the home of the High Bailiff.  He had been seen
repeatedly, and although not identified, he had been recognised by
his cap as belonging to the College.  Last night two young townsmen
had set out to waylay him.  There had been a fight, in which
our boy had apparently used a weapon, probably a stick.  The
result was that one of the young townsmen was now in hospital, still
insensible, the other was seriously injured about the face.
Probably a pair of young blackguards who had intervened from base
motives of their own and therefore deserved no pity.  But none the
less the conduct of the King William's boy had been disgraceful.
It must be punished, no matter who he was, or how high he might
stand in the school.
</p>

<p>
"I tell you plainly, boys, I don't know who he is.  Neither do
the police&mdash;the townsmen never having heard his name and the
girl refusing to speak."
</p>

<p>
But he had a suspicion&mdash;a very strong suspicion, based upon an
unmistakable fact.  He might have called the boy he suspected
to his room and dealt with him privately.  But a matter like this,
known to the public authorities and affecting the honour and
welfare of the college, was not to be hushed up.  In fact the police
had made it a condition of their foregoing proceedings in the
Courts that an open inquiry should be made here.  He had
undertaken to make it, and he must make it now.
</p>

<p>
"Therefore, I give the boy who has been guilty of this degrading
conduct the opportunity of voluntary confession&mdash;of revealing
himself to the whole school, and asking pardon of his Principal, his
masters and his fellow-pupils for the disgrace he has brought on
them.  Who is it?"
</p>

<p>
None of us stirred, spoke or made sign.  The Principal was
rapidly losing his temper.
</p>

<p>
"Boys," he said, "there is something I have not told you.
According to the police the disgraceful incident occurred between
nine and nine-thirty last night, and it is known to the house-master
of one of your houses that one boy, and one only, who had been out
without permission, came in after that hour.  I now give that boy
another chance.  Who is he?"
</p>

<p>
Still no one spoke or stirred.  The Principal bit his lip, and
again looked down the line of our desks over the upper rims of
his spectacles.
</p>

<p>
"Does nobody speak?  Must I call a name?  Is it possible
that any King William's boy can ask for the double shame of being
guilty and being found out?"
</p>

<p>
Even yet there was no sign from the boys, and no sound except
their audible breathing through the nose.
</p>

<p>
"Very well.  So be it.  I've given that boy his chance.  Now
he must take the consequences."
</p>

<p>
With that the Principal stepped down from his desk, turned his
blazing eyes towards the desks of the fifth form and said,
</p>

<p>
"Stowell, step forward."
</p>

<p>
We gasped.  Stowell was the head boy of the school and an
immense and universal favourite.  Through the mists of years
some of us can see him still, as he heaved up from his seat that
morning and walked slowly across the open floor in front to where
the Principal was standing.  A big, well-grown boy, narrowly
bordering on eighteen, dark-haired, with broad forehead, large
dark eyes, fine features, and, even in those boyish days, a singular
air of distinction.  There was no surprise in his face, and not a
particle of shame, but there was a look of defiance which raised to
boiling point the Principal's simmering anger.
</p>

<p>
"Stowell," he said, "you will not deny that you were out after
hours last night?"
</p>

<p>
"No, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"Then it was you who were guilty of this disgraceful conduct?"
</p>

<p>
Stowell seemed to be about to speak, and then with a proud
look to check himself, and to close his mouth as with a snap.
</p>

<p>
"It was you, wasn't it?"
</p>

<p>
Stowell straightened himself up and answered, "So you
say, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"<i>I</i> say?  Speak for yourself.  You've a tongue in your head,
haven't you?"
</p>

<p>
"Perhaps I have, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"Then it <i>was</i> you?"
</p>

<p>
Stowell made no answer.
</p>

<p>
"Why don't you answer me?  Answer, Sir!  It <i>was</i> you," said
the Principal.
</p>

<p>
And then Stowell, with a little toss of the head and a slight
curl of the lip, replied,
</p>

<p>
"If <i>you</i> say it was, what is the use of <i>my</i> saying anything, Sir?"
</p>

<p>
The last remnant of the Principal's patience left him.  His
eyes flamed and his nostrils quivered.  A cane, seldom used, was
lying along the ledge of his desk.  He turned to it, snatched it up,
and brought it down in two or three rapid sweeps on Stowell's
back, and (as afterwards appeared) his bare neck also.
</p>

<p>
It was all over in a flash.  We gasped again.  There was a moment
of breathless silence.  All eyes were on Stowell.  He was face
to face with the Principal, standing, in his larger proportions, a
good two inches above him, ghastly white and trembling with
passion.  For a moment we thought anything might happen.  Then
Stowell appeared to recover his self-control.  He made another
little toss of the head, another curl of the lip and a shrug of
the shoulders.
</p>

<p>
"Now go back to your study, Sir," said the Principal, between
gusts of breath, "and stay there until you are told to leave it."
</p>

<p>
Stowell was in no hurry, but he turned after a moment and
walked out, with a strong step, almost a haughty one.
</p>

<p>
"Boys, go to your classes," said the Principal, in a hoarse voice,
and then he went out, too, but more hurriedly.
</p>

<p>
Something had gone wrong, wretchedly wrong, we scarcely
knew what&mdash;that was our confused impression as we trooped off to
the class-rooms, a dejected lot of lads, half furious, half afraid.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
II
</p>

<p>
At seven o'clock that night Stowell was still confined to his
study, a little, bare room, containing an iron bedstead, a deal
washstand, a table, one chair, a trunk, some books on a hanging
bookshelf, and a small rug before an iron fender.  It was November and
the day had been cold.  Jamieson (the Principal's valet) had smuggled
up some coal and lit a little fire for him.  Mrs. Gale (the
Principal's housekeeper), bringing his curtailed luncheon, had seen the
long red wheal which the cane had left across the back of his neck,
and insisted on cooling it with some lotion and bandaging it with
linen.  He was sitting alone in the half-darkness of his little room,
crouching over the fire, gloomy, morose, fierce and with a burning
sense of outraged justice.  The door opened and another boy came
into the room.  It was Alick Gell, his special chum, a lad of his
own age, but fair-haired, blue-eyed, and with rather feminine
features.  In a thick voice that was like a sob half-choked in his
throat, he said,
</p>

<p>
"Vic, I can't stand this any longer."
</p>

<p>
"Oh, it's you, is it?  I thought you'd come."
</p>

<p>
"Of course you didn't do that disgraceful thing, as they call
it, but you've got to know who did.  It was I."
</p>

<p>
Stowell did not answer.  He had neither turned nor looked
up, and Gell, standing behind him, tugged at his shoulders and
said again,
</p>

<p>
"Don't you hear me?  It was I."
</p>

<p>
"I know."
</p>

<p>
"You know?  How do you know?  When did you know?  Did
you know this morning?"
</p>

<p>
"I knew last night."
</p>

<p>
Going into town he had seen Gell on the opposite side of the
road.  Yes, it was true enough he was out after hours.  The Principal
himself had sent him!  Early in the day he had told him that
after "prep" he was to go to the station for something.
</p>

<p>
"Good Lord!  Then he must have forgotten all about it!"
</p>

<p>
"He had no business to forget."
</p>

<p>
"Why didn't you tell him?"
</p>

<p>
"Not I&mdash;not likely!"
</p>

<p>
"But being out after hours wasn't anything.  It wasn't knocking
those blackguards about.  Why didn't you deny that anyway?"
</p>

<p>
"Oh, shut up, Alick."
</p>

<p>
Again Gell tugged at his shoulders and said,
</p>

<p>
"But why didn't you?"
</p>

<p>
"If you must know, I'll tell you&mdash;because they would have had
you for it next."
</p>

<p>
Mrs. Gale had found the big window of the lavatory open at a
quarter-past nine, and when she sent Jamieson down he saw
Gell closing it.
</p>

<p>
"Do you mean that.... that to save me, you allowed
yourself to...."
</p>

<p>
"Shut up, I tell you!"
</p>

<p>
There was silence for a moment and then Gell began to cry
openly, and to pour out a torrent of self-reproaches.  He was a
coward; a wretched, miserable, contemptible coward&mdash;that's what
he was and he had always known it.  He would never forgive
himself&mdash;never!  But perhaps he had not been thinking of saving
his own skin only.
</p>

<p>
"That was little Bessie Collister."
</p>

<p>
"I know."
</p>

<p>
If he had stood up to the confounded thing and confessed, and
given her away, after she had been plucky and refused to speak,
and his father had heard of it.... <i>her</i> father also.... her
stepfather....
</p>

<p>
"Dan Baldromma, you know what he is, Vic?"
</p>

<p>
"Oh, yes, there would have been the devil to pay all round."
</p>

<p>
"Wouldn't there?"
</p>

<p>
"The College, too!  Dan would have had something to say to
old Peacock (nickname for the Principal) on that subject also."
</p>

<p>
Yes, that was what Gell had thought, and it was the reason (one
of the reasons) why he had stood silent when the Principal
challenged them.  Nobody knew anything except the girl.  The Police
didn't know; the Principal didn't know.  If he kept quiet the
inquiry would end in nothing and there would be no harm done to
anybody&mdash;except the town ruffians, and they deserved all they got.
How was he to guess that somebody else was out after hours, and
that to save him from being exposed, perhaps expelled, his own
chum, like the brick he was and always had been....
</p>

<p>
"Hold your tongue, you fool!"
</p>

<p>
Gell made for the door.  "Look here," he said, "I'm going
to tell the Principal that if you were out last night it was on an
errand for him&mdash;that can't hurt anybody."
</p>

<p>
"No, you're not."
</p>

<p>
"Yes, I am&mdash;certainly I am."
</p>

<p>
"If you do, I'll never speak to you again&mdash;on my soul, never."
</p>

<p>
"But he's certain to remember it sooner or later."
</p>

<p>
"Let him."
</p>

<p>
"And when he does, what's he to think of himself?"
</p>

<p>
"That's his affair, isn't it?  Leave him alone."
</p>

<p>
Gell's voice rose to a cry.  "No, I will not leave him alone.
And since you won't let me say that about you, I'll tell him about
myself.  Yes, I will, and nobody shall prevent me!  I don't care
what happens about father, or anybody else, now.  I can't stand
this any longer.  I can't and I won't."
</p>

<p>
"Alick!  Alick Gell!  Old fellow...."
</p>

<p>
But the door had been slammed to and Gell was gone.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
III
</p>

<p>
The Principal was in his Library, a well-carpeted room,
warmed by a large fire and lighted by a red-shaded lamp.  His
half-yearly examination had just finished and his desk was piled
high with examination papers, but he could not settle himself to his
work on them.  He was harking back to the event of the morning,
and was not too pleased with himself.  He had lost his temper
again; he had inflicted a degrading punishment on a senior boy,
and to protect the good name of the school he had allowed himself
to be intimidated by the police into a foolish and ineffectual
public inquiry.
</p>

<p>
"Wretched!  Wretched!  Wretched!" he thought, rising for
the twentieth time from his chair before the fire and pacing the
room in a disorder.
</p>

<p>
He thought of Stowell with a riot of mingled anger and affection.
He had always liked that boy&mdash;-a fine lad, with good heart
and brain in spite of obvious limitations.  He had shown the boy
some indulgence, too, and this was how he had repaid him!  Defying
him in the face of the whole school!  Provoking him with his
prevarication, the proud curl of his lip and his damnable iteration:
"If <i>you</i> say so, Sir...."  It had been maddening.  Any master
in the world might have lost his temper.
</p>

<p>
Of course the boy was guilty!  But then he was no sneak or
coward.  Good gracious, no, that was the last thing anybody would
say about him.  Quite the contrary!  Only too apt to take the
blame of bad things on himself when he might make others equally
responsible.  That was one reason the under-masters liked him
and the boys worshipped him.  Then why, in the name of goodness,
hadn't he spoken out, made some defence, given some explanation?
After all the first offence was nothing worse than being
out after hours for a little foolish sweethearting.  The Principal
saw Stowell making a clean breast of everything, and himself
administering a severe admonition and then fighting it all out with
the police for school and scholar.  But that was impossible
now&mdash;quite impossible!
</p>

<p>
"Wretched!  Wretched!  Wretched!"
</p>

<p>
He thought of the boy's father&mdash;the senior judge or Deemster
of the island, and easily the first man in it.  One of the trustees of
the college also, to whom serious matters were always mentioned.
This had become a serious matter.  Even if nothing worse happened
to that young blackguard in the hospital the police might
insist on expulsion.  If so, what would be the absolute evidence
against the boy?  Only that he had been out of school when the
disgraceful incident had happened!  The Deemster, who was cool
and clear-headed, might say the boy could have been out on some
other errand.  Or perhaps that some other boy might have been
out at the same time.
</p>

<p>
But that couldn't be!  Good heavens, no!  Stowell wasn't a
fool.  If he had been innocent, why on earth should he have taken
his degrading punishment lying down?  No, no, he had been guilty
enough.  He had admitted that he was out after hours, and, having
nothing else to say even about that (why or by whose permission),
he had tried to carry the whole thing off with a sort of silent
braggadocio.
</p>

<p>
"Wretched!  Wretched!  Wretched!"
</p>

<p>
The Principal had at length settled himself at his desk, and
was taking up some of the examination papers, when he uncovered
a small white packet.  Obviously a chemist's packet, sealed with
red wax and tied with blue string.  Not having seen it before he
picked it up, and looked at it.  It was addressed to himself, and
was marked "By Passenger Train&mdash;to be called for."
</p>

<p>
The Principal felt his thin hair rising from his scalp.  Something
he had forgotten had come back upon him with the force and
suddenness of a blow.  Off and on for a week he had suffered from
nervous headaches.  Somebody had recommended an American
patent medicine and he had written to Douglas for it.  The
Douglas chemist had replied that it was coming by the afternoon
steamer, and he would send it on to Castletown by the last train.
The letter had arrived when he was in class, and Jamieson the
valet, being out of reach, he had asked Stowell, who was at hand,
to go to the Station for the parcel after preparation and leave it
on his Library table.  And then the headache had passed off, and in
the pressure of the examination he had forgotten the whole matter!
</p>

<p>
The Principal got up again.  His limbs felt rigid, and he had
the sickening sensation of his body shrinking into insignificance.
At that moment there came a knocking at his door.  He could not
answer at first and the knocking was repeated.
</p>

<p>
"Come in then," he said, and Gell entered, his face flooded
with tears.
</p>

<p>
He knew the boy as one who was nearly always in trouble, and
his first impulse was to drive him out.
</p>

<p>
"Why do you come here?  Go to your house-master, or to
your head, or...."
</p>

<p>
"It's about Stowell himself, Sir.  He's innocent," said Gell.
</p>

<p>
"Innocent?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes, Sir&mdash;it was I," said Gell.  And then came a flood of
words, blurted out like water from an inverted bottle.  It was true
that he was with the girl last night, but it was a lie that he had
made a practice of walking out with her.  She came from the north
of the island, a farm near his home, and he hadn't known she was
living in Castletown until he met her in the town yesterday
afternoon.  They were on the Darby Haven Road, just beyond the
college cricket ground, about nine o'clock, when the blackguards
dropped out on them from the Hango Hill ruins and started to
rag him.  It was true he smashed them and he would do it again,
and worse next time, but it was another lie that he had done it with
a stick.  <i>They</i> had the stick, and it was just when he was knocking
out one of them that the other aimed a blow at him which fell on his
chum instead and tumbled him over insensible.  The girl had gone
off screaming before that, and seeing the police coming up he had
leapt into the cricket ground and got back into school by the
lavatory window.
</p>

<p>
"But why, boy .... why .... why didn't you say all this
in school this morning?"
</p>

<p>
"I was afraid, Sir," said Gell, and then came the explanation
he had given to Stowell.  He had been afraid his father would
get to know, and the girl's father, too&mdash;that was to say her
step-father.  Her step-father was a tenant of his own father's; they
were always at cross purposes, and he had thought if the girl got
into any trouble at the High Bailiff's and it came out that he had
been the cause of it, her step-father....
</p>

<p>
"Who is he?  What's his name?"
</p>

<p>
"Dan Collister&mdash;but they call him Baldromma after the
farm, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"That wind-bag and agitator who is always in the newspapers?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"But, good heavens, boy, don't you see what you've done for
me?&mdash;allowed me to punish an innocent person?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes, I know," said Gell, and then, through another gust of
sobs, came further explanations.  It had all been over before he
had had time to think.  The Principal had said that nobody knew,
and he had thought he had only to hold his tongue and nothing
would be found out.  But if he had known that Stowell knew, and
that he had been out himself....
</p>

<p>
"And did he know?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes, Sir.  He saw me with Bessie Collister as he was going
to the station and he thought he couldn't get out of this himself
without letting me in for it."
</p>

<p>
"Do you mean to tell me that he took that punishment to
.... to save you from being discovered?"
</p>

<p>
Gell hesitated for a moment, then choked down his sobs, and
said with a defiant cry:
</p>

<p>
"Yes, he did&mdash;to save me, and the school, and .... and you,
too, Sir."
</p>

<p>
The Principal staggered back a step, and then said: "Leave
me, boy, leave me."
</p>

<p>
He did not go to bed that night, or to school next day, or the
day after, or the day after that.  On the fourth day he wrote a
long letter to the Deemster, telling him with absolute truthfulness
what had happened, and concluding:
</p>

<p>
"That is all, your Honour, but to me it is everything.  I have
not only punished an innocent boy, but one who, in taking his
punishment, was doing an act of divine unselfishness.  I am humiliated
in my own eyes.  I feel like a little man in the presence of
your son.  I can never look into his face again.
</p>

<p>
"My first impulse was to resign my post, but on second
thoughts I have determined to leave the issue to your decision.  If
I am to remain as head of your school you must take your boy
away.  If he is to stay I must go.  Which is it to be?"
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p><a id="chap0102"></a></p>

<h3>
CHAPTER TWO
<br />
THE BOYHOOD OF VICTOR STOWELL
</h3>

<p>
Deemster Stowell was the only surviving member of an old
Manx family.  They had lived for years beyond memory at
Ballamoar (the Great Place) an estate of nearly a thousand acres
on the seaward angle of the Curragh lands which lie along the
north-west of the island.  The fishermen say the great gulf-stream
which sweeps across the Atlantic strikes the Manx coast at that
elbow.  Hence the tropical plants which grow in the open at
Ballamoar, and also the clouds of snow-white mist which too often
hang over it, hiding the house, and the lands around, and making
the tower of Jurby Church on the edge of the cliff look like a
lighthouse far out at sea.
</p>

<p>
The mansion house, in the Deemster's day, was a ramshackle old
place which bore signs of having been altered and added to by
many generations of his family.  It stood back to the sea and
facing a broad and undulating lawn, which was bordered by lofty elms
that were inhabited by undisturbed colonies of rooks.  From a
terrace behind, opening out of the dining-room, there was a far
view on clear days of the Mull of Galloway to the north, and of the
Morne Mountains to the west.  People used to say&mdash;
</p>

<p>
"The Stowells have caught a smatch of the Irish and the
Scotch in their Manx blood."
</p>

<p>
The Deemster was sixty years of age at that time.  A large,
spare man with an almost Jovian white head, clean-shaven face,
powerful yet melancholy eyes, bold yet sensitive features and long
yet delicate hands&mdash;a strong, silent, dignified, rather solemn
personality.
</p>

<p>
He was a man of the highest integrity.  Occupying an office
too often associated, in his time, with various forms of corruption,
the breath of scandal never touched him.  He was a legislator, as
well as a Judge, being <i>ex officio</i> a member of the little Manx
Parliament, but in his double capacity (so liable to abuse) nobody with
a doubtful scheme would have dared to approach him.
</p>

<p>
"What does the old Deemster say?"&mdash;the answer to that
question often settled a dispute, for nobody thought of appealing
against his judgment.
</p>

<p>
"Justice is the strongest and most sacred thing on earth"&mdash;that
was his motto, and he lived up to it.
</p>

<p>
His private life had been saddened by a great sorrow.  He
married, rather late in life, a young Englishwoman, out of
Cumberland&mdash;a gentle creature with a kind of moonlight beauty.  She died
four or five years afterwards and the Manx people knew little
about her.  To the last they called her the "Stranger."
</p>

<p>
The Deemster bore his loss in characteristic silence.  Nobody
intruded on his sorrow, or even entered his house, but on the day
of the funeral half "the north" lined the long grass-grown road
from the back gates of Ballamoar to the little wind-swept churchyard
over against the sea.  He thanked none of them and saluted
none, but his head was low as his coach passed through.
</p>

<p>
Next day he took his Court as usual, and from that day onward
nobody saw any difference in him.  But long afterwards, Janet
Curphey, the lady housekeeper at Ballamoar, was heard to say in
the village post-office, which was also the grocer's shop, that every
morning after breakfast the Deemster had put a vase of fresh-cut
flowers on the writing-desk in his library under his young wife's
portrait, until it was now a white-haired man who was making
his daily offering to the picture of a young woman.
</p>

<p>
"Aw, yes, Mrs. Clucas, yes!  And what did it matter to the
woman to be a stranger when she was loved like that?"
</p>

<p>
The "Stranger" had left a child, and this had been at once the
tragedy and the triumph of her existence.  Although an ancient
family of exceptional longevity the Stowells had carried on their
race by a very thin line.  One child, rarely two, never three, and
only one son at any time&mdash;that had been all that had stood from
generation to generation between the family name and extinction.
After three years of childlessness the Deemster's wife had realised
the peril, and, for her husband's sake, begun to pray for a son.
With all her soul she prayed for him.  The fervour of her prayers
made her a devoutly religious woman.  When her hope looked like
a certainty her joy was that of an angel rejoicing in the goodness
and greatness and glory of God.  But by that time the sword had
almost worn out its scabbard.  She had fought a great fight and
under the fire of her spirit her body had begun to fail.
</p>

<p>
The Deemster had sent for famous physicians and some of
them had shaken their heads.
</p>

<p>
"She may get through it; but we must take care, your Honour,
we must take care."
</p>

<p>
Beneath his calm exterior the Deemster had been torn by the
red strife of conflicting hopes, but his wife had only had one desire.
When her dread hour came she met it with a shining face.  Her son
was born and he was to live, but she was dying.  At the last
moment she asked for her husband, and drew his head down to her.
</p>

<p>
"Call him Victor," she said&mdash;she had conquered.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
II
</p>

<p>
It was then that the lady housekeeper took service at Ballamoar.
Janet Curphey was the last relic of a decayed Manx family
that had fallen on evil times, and having lost all she had come for
life.  She quickly developed an almost slave-like devotion to the
Deemster (during her first twenty years she would never allow
anybody else to wait on him at table) as well as a motherly love for
his motherless little one.  The child called her his mother, nobody
corrected him, and for years he knew nothing to the contrary.
</p>

<p>
He grew to be a braw and bright little man, and was idolized by
everybody.  Having no relations of his own, except "mother," and
the Deemster, he annexed everybody else's.  Bobbie, the young son
of the Ballamoar farmer (there was a farm between the
mansion-house and the sea) called his father "Dad," so Robbie Creer was
"Dad" to Victor too.  The old widow in the village who kept the
post-office-grocer's shop was "Auntie Kitty" to her orphan niece,
Alice, so she was "Auntie Kitty" to Victor also.
</p>

<p>
"Everybody loves that child," said Janet.  It was true.  As
far back as that, under God knows what guidance, he was laying
his anchor deep for the days of storm and tempest.
</p>

<p>
During his earlier years he saw little of his father, but every
evening after his bath he was taken into the Library to bid Good-night
to him, and then the Deemster would lift him up to the picture
to bid Good-night to his mother also.
</p>

<p>
"You must love and worship her all your life, darling.  I'll
tell you why, some day."
</p>

<p>
He was a born gipsy, often being lost in the broad plantations
about the house, and then turning up with astonishing stories of
the distances he had travelled.
</p>

<p>
"I didn't went no farther nor Ramsey to-day, mother"&mdash;seven
miles as the crow flies.
</p>

<p>
He was born a poet too, and after the Deemster had made a
"Limerick" on his Christian name, he learnt to rhyme to the same
measure, making quatrains almost as rapidly as he could speak,
though often with strange words of his own compounding.  Thus
he celebrated his pet lamb, his kid, his rabbits, the rooks on the
lawn, and particularly a naughty young pony his father had given
him, who "lived in the fiel'" and whom he "wanted to go to Peel,"
but whenever he went out to fetch her she "always kicked up her
heel."  Janet thought this marvellous, miraculous.  It was a gift!
The little prophet Samuel might have been more saintly but he
couldn't have been more wonderful.
</p>

<p>
Janet was not the only one to be impressed.  It is known now
that day by day the Deemster copied the boy's rhymes, with much
similar matter, into a leather-bound book which he had labelled
strangely enough, "Isabel's Diary."  He kept this secret volume
under lock and key, and it was never seen by anyone else until
years afterwards, when, in a tragic hour, the childish jingles in the
Judge's sober handwriting, under the eyes that looked at them,
burnt like flame and cut like a knife.
</p>

<p>
It was remarked by Janet that the Deemster's affection for the
child grew greater, while the expression of it became less as the
years went on.  "Is the boy up yet?" would be the first word he
would say when she took his early tea to him in the morning; and
if a long day in the Courts kept him from home until after the
child had been put to bed, he would never sit down until he had
gone upstairs to look at the little one in his cot.
</p>

<p>
In common with other imaginative children brought up alone
the boy invented a playmate, but contrary to custom his invisible
comrade was of the opposite sex, not that of the little dreamer.  He
called her "Sadie," nobody knew why, or how he had come by the
name, for it was quite unknown in the island.  "Sadie" lived with
her mother, "Mrs. Corlett," in the lodge of Ballamoar, which had
been empty and shut up since "the Stranger" died, when the
coachman, who had occupied it, was no longer needed.  On returning
from some of his runaway jaunts the boy accounted for his
absence by saying he had been down to the gate to see "Sadie."  He
filled the empty house with an entire scheme of domestic economy,
and could tell you all that happened there.
</p>

<p>
"Sadie was peeling the potatoes this morning and Mrs. Corlett
was washing up, mamma."
</p>

<p>
His pony's name was Molly and by six years of age he had
learnt to ride her with such ease and confidence that to see them
cantering up the drive was to think that boy and pony must be a
single creature.  Molly developed a foal, called Derry, which
always wanted to be trotting after its mother.  That suited the boy
perfectly.  Derry had to carry "Sadie"&mdash;a rare device which
enabled his invisible comrade to be nearly always with him.
</p>

<p>
But at length came a dire event which destroyed "Sadie."  The
master of Ballamoar was rising seven when a distant relative of the
Derby family (formerly the Lords of Man) was appointed
Lieutenant-Governor of the island.  This was Sir John Stanley, an
ex-Indian officer&mdash;a man in middle life, not brilliant, but the
incarnation of commonsense, essentially a product of his time, firm of
will, conservative in opinions, impatient of all forms of romantic
sentiment, but kindly, genial and capable of constant friendship.
</p>

<p>
The Deemster and the new Governor, though their qualities had
points of difference, became good friends instantly.  They met
first at the swearing-in at Castle Rushen where, as senior Judge
of the island, the Deemster administered the oath.  But their
friendship was sealed by an experience in common&mdash;the Governor
having also lost a beloved wife, who had died in childbirth, leaving
him with an only child.  This was a girl called Fenella, a year and
a half younger than Victor, a beautiful little fairy, but a little
woman, too, with a will of her own also.
</p>

<p>
The children came together at Ballamoar, the Governor having
brought his little daughter, with her French governess, on his first
call.  There was the usual ceremonious meeting of the little people,
the usual eyeing of each other from afar, the usual shy aloofness.
Then came swift comradeship, gurgling laughter, a frantic romping
round the rooms, and out on to the lawn, and then&mdash;a wild
quarrel, with shrill voices in fierce dispute.  The two fathers rose
from their seats in the Library and looked out of the windows.
The girl was running towards the house with screams of terror,
and the boy was stoning her off the premises.
</p>

<p>
"You mustn't think as this is your house, 'cause it isn't."
</p>

<p>
Janet made peace between them, and the children kissed at
parting, but going home in the carriage Fenella confided to the
French governess her fixed resolve to "marry to a girl," not a boy,
when her time came to take a husband.
</p>

<p>
The effect on Victor was of another kind but no less serious.  It
was remarked that the visit of little Fenella Stanley had in some
mysterious way banished his invisible playmate.  Sadie was
dead&mdash;stone dead and buried.  No more was ever heard of her, and
Mrs. Corlett's cottage returned to its former condition as a
closed-up gate-lodge.  When Derry trotted by Molly's side there was
apparently somebody else astride of her now.  But&mdash;strange
whispering of sex&mdash;whoever she was the boy never helped her to mount,
and when she dismounted he always looked another way.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
III
</p>

<p>
Four years passed, and boy and girl met again.  This time it
was at Government House and the boot was on the other leg.
Fenella, a tall girl for her age, well-grown, spirited, a little spoiled,
was playing tennis with the three young Gell girls&mdash;daughters of a
Manx family of some pretensions.  When Victor, in his straw hat
and Eton jacket, appeared in the tennis court (having driven over
with his father and been sent out to the girls by the Governor) the
French governess told Fenella to let him join in the game.  She did
so, taking a racquet from one of the Gell girls and giving it to the
boy.  But though Victor, who was now at the Ramsey Grammar
School, could play cricket and football with any boy of his age on
the island, he knew nothing about tennis, and again and again, in
spite of repeated protests, sent the balls flying out of the court.
</p>

<p>
The Gells tittered and sniffed, and at length Fenella, calling
him a booby, snatched the racquet out of his hand and gave it back
to the girl.  At this humiliation his eyes flashed and his cheeks
coloured, and after a moment he marched moodily back to the open
window of the drawing-room.  There the Governor and the
Deemster were sitting, and the Governor said,
</p>

<p>
"Helloa!  What's amiss?  Why aren't you playing with
the girls?"
</p>

<p>
"Because I'm not," said the boy.
</p>

<p>
"Victor!" said the Deemster, but the boy's eyes had began to
fill, so the matter ended.
</p>

<p>
There was a show of peace when the girls came in to tea, but on
returning to Ballamoar the boy communicated to Janet in "open
Court" his settled conviction that "girls were no good anyway."
</p>

<p>
Boy and girl did not meet again for yet another four years and
then the boot had changed its leg once more.  By that time Victor
had made his boy-friendship.  It was with Alick Gell, brother of
the three Gell girls and only son of Archibald Gell, a big man in
Manxland, Speaker of the House of Keys, the representative
branch of the little Manx Parliament.  Archibald Gell's lands,
which were considerable, made boundary with the Deemster's, and
his mansion house was the next on the Ramsey Road, but his principal
activities were those of a speculative builder.  In this capacity
he had put up vast numbers of boarding-houses all over the
island to meet the needs of the visiting industry, borrowing from
English Insurance Companies enormous sums on mortgage,
which could only be repaid by the thrift and forethought of a
second generation.
</p>

<p>
Alick knew what was expected of him, but down to date he had
shown no promise of capacity to fulfil his destiny.  He had less of
his father's fiery energy than of the comfortable contentment of his
mother, who came of a line of Manx parsons, always shockingly
ill-paid, generally thriftless and sometimes threadbare.  Yet he
was a lovable boy, not too bright of brain but with a heart of gold
and a genuine gift of friendship.
</p>

<p>
At the Ramsey Grammar School he had attached himself to
Victor, fetching and carrying for him, and looking up to him with
worshipful devotion.  Now they were together at King William's
College, the public school of the island, fine lads both, but neither
of them doing much good there.
</p>

<p>
It was the morning of the annual prize day at the end of the
summer term.  The Governor had come to present the prizes, and
he was surrounded by all the officials of Man, except the Deemster,
who rarely attended such functions.  The boys were on platforms
on either side of the hall, and the parents were in the body of it,
with the wives and sisters of the big people in the front row, and
Fenella, the Governor's daughter, now a tall girl in white, with her
French governess, in the midst of them.
</p>

<p>
At this ceremony Gell played no part, and even Stowell did not
shine.  One boy after another went down to a tumult of hand-clapping
and climbed back with books piled up to his chin.  When
Stowell's turn came, the Principal, who had been calling out the
names of the prize-winners, and making little speeches in their
praise, tried to improve the occasion with a moral homily.
</p>

<p>
"Now here," he said, making one of his bird-like steps forward,
"is a boy of extraordinary talents&mdash;quite extraordinary.  Yet he
has only one prize to receive.  Why?  Want of application!  If
boys of such great natural gifts .... yes, I might almost say
genius, would only apply themselves, there is nothing whatever, at
school or in after life...."
</p>

<p>
P'shew!  During this astonishing speech Stowell was already
on the platform, only a pace back from the Principal, in full view
of everybody, with face aflame and a burning sense of injustice.
And, although, when the interlude was over, and he stepped forward
to receive his Horace (he had won the prize for Classics) the
Governor rose and shook hands with him and said he was sure the
son of his old friend, the Deemster, would justify himself yet, and
make his father proud of him, he was perfectly certain that Fenella
Stanley's eyes were on him and she was thinking him a "booby."
</p>

<p>
But his revenge came later.  In the afternoon he captained in
the cricket match, with fifteen of the junior house against the school
eleven.  Things went badly for the big fellows from the moment
he took his place at the wicket, so they put on their best and fastest
bowlers.  But he scored all round the wicket for nearly an hour,
driving the ball three times over the roof of the school chapel and
twice into the ruins beyond the Darby-Haven road, and carrying
his bat for more than sixty runs.  Then, as he came in, the little
fellows who had been frantic, and Gell, who had been turning
cart-wheels in delirious excitement, and the big fellows, who had been
beaten, stood up together and cheered him lustily.
</p>

<p>
But at that moment he wasn't thinking about any of them.  He
knew&mdash;although, of course, he did not look&mdash;that in the middle of
the people in the pavilion, who were all on their feet and waving
their handkerchiefs, there was Fenella Stanley, with glistening
eyes and cheeks aglow.  Perhaps she thought he would salute her
now, or even stop and speak.  But no, not likely!  He doffed his
cap to the Governor as he ran past, but took no more notice of the
Governor's winsome daughter than if she had been a crow.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
IV
</p>

<p>
After that&mdash;nothing!  Neither of the boys distinguished himself
at college.  This was a matter of no surprise to the masters in
Gell's case, but in Stowell's it was a perpetual problem.  Their
favourite solution was that the David-and-Jonathan friendship
between two boys of widely differing capacity was at the root of the
trouble&mdash;Gell being slow and Stowell unwilling to shame him.
</p>

<p>
As year followed year without tangible results the rumour
came home to Ballamoar that the son of the Deemster was not
fulfilling expectations.  "<i>Traa de liooar</i>" (time enough) said
Robbie Creer of the farm; but Dan Baldromma, of the mill-farm
in the glen, who prided himself on being no respecter of persons,
and made speeches in the market-place denouncing the "aristocraks"
of the island, and predicting the downfall of the old order,
was heard to say he wasn't sorry.
</p>

<p>
"If these young cubs of the Spaker and the Dempster," said
Dan, "hadn't been born with the silver spoon in their mouths we
should be hearing another story.  When the young birds get their
wings push them out of the nest, I say.  It's what I done with
my own daughter&mdash;my wife's, I mane.  Immajetly she was fifteen
I packed her off to sarvice at the High Bailiff's at Castletown, and
now she may shift for herself for me."
</p>

<p>
The effect on the two fathers was hardly less conflicting.  The
Speaker stormed at his son, called him a "poop" (Anglo-Manx for
numskull), wondered why he had troubled to bring a lad into the
world who would only scatter his substance, and talked about making
a new will to protect his daughters and to save the real estate
which the law gave his son by heirship.
</p>

<p>
The Deemster was silent.  Term by term he read, without comment,
the Principal's unfavourable reports, with the "ifs" and
"buts" and "althoughs," which were intended to soften the hard
facts with indications of what might have been.  And he said not a
word of remonstrance or reproach when the boy came home without
prizes, though he wrote in his leather-bound book that he felt
sometimes as if he could have given its weight in gold for the least
of them.
</p>

<p>
At seventeen and a half Stowell became head of the school, not
so much by scholastic attainment as by seniority, by proficiency in
games and by influence over the boys.  But even in this capacity
he had serious shortcomings.  Gell had by this time developed a
supernatural gift of getting into scrapes, and Stowell, as head boy,
partly responsible for his conduct, often allowed himself to become
his scapegoat.
</p>

<p>
Then the rumour came home that Victor was not only a waster
but a wastrel.  Janet wouldn't believe a word of it, 'deed she
wouldn't, and "Auntie Kitty" said the boy was the son of the
Deemster, and she had never yet seen a good cow with a bad calf.
But Dan Baldromma was of another opinion.
</p>

<p>
"The Dempster may be a grand man," said Dan, "but sarve
him right, I say.  Spare the rod, spoil the child!  Show me the
man on this island will say I ever done that with my own
child&mdash;my wife's, I mane."
</p>

<p>
Finally came a report of the incident on the Darby-Haven road.
John Cæsar, a "lump" of a lad, son of Qualtrough, the butcher
(a respectable man and a member of the Keys), had been brutally
assaulted while doing his best to protect a young nurse-girl from
the unworthy attentions of a college boy.  The culprit was Victor
Stowell, and the father of the victim had demanded his prosecution
with the utmost rigour of the law.  But out of respect for the
Deemster, and regard for the school, he was not to be arrested
on condition that he was to be expelled.
</p>

<p>
For three days this circumstantial story was on everybody's
lips, yet the Deemster never heard it.  But he was one of those who
learn ill tidings without being told, and see disasters before they
happen, so when the Principal's letter came he showed no surprise.
</p>

<p>
Janet saw him coming downstairs dressed for dinner (he had
dressed for dinner during his married days and kept up the habit
ever afterwards, though he nearly always dined alone) just as old
Willie Killip, the postman, with his red lantern at his belt, came
through the open porch to the vestibule door.  Taking his letter
and going into the Library, he had stood by the writing desk under
the "Stranger's" picture, while he opened the envelope and looked
at the contents of it.  His face had fallen after he read the first
page, and it was the same as if the sun was setting on the man, but
when he turned the second it had lightened, and it was just as if
the day was dawning on him.
</p>

<p>
Then, without a moment's hesitation, he sat at the desk and
wrote a telegram for old Willie to take back.  It was to the
Principal at King William's, and there was only one line in it&mdash;
</p>

<p>
"Send him home&mdash;<i>Stowell</i>."
</p>

<p>
After that&mdash;Janet was ready to swear on the Holy Book to it&mdash;he
rose and looked up into the "Stranger's" face and said, in a
low voice that was like that of a prayer:
</p>

<p>
"It's all right, Isobel&mdash;it is well."
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p><a id="chap0103"></a></p>

<h3>
CHAPTER THREE
<br />
FATHERS AND SONS
</h3>

<p>
Next day the Deemster drove to Douglas to meet his son coming
back.  The weather was cold, he had to leave home in the grey
of morning, and he was driving in an open dog-cart, but the
Deemster knew what he was doing.  Ten minutes before the train
came in from Castletown he had drawn up in the station yard.
The passengers came through from the platform and saw him
there, and he sainted some of them.  Cæsar Qualtrough was
among them, a gross-bodied and dark-faced man, darker than ever
that day with a look of animosity and scorn.
</p>

<p>
When, at the tail of the crowd, Victor came, in the sour silence
of the disgraced, no longer wearing his college cap, and with his
discoloured college trunk being trundled behind him, the Deemster
said nothing, but he indicated the seat by his side, and the boy
climbed up to it.  Then with his white head erect and his strong
eyes shining he drove out of the station yard.
</p>

<p>
It was still early morning and he was in no hurry to return
home.  For half an hour he passed slowly through the principal
thoroughfares of the town, bowing to everybody he knew and
speaking to many.  It was market day and he made for the open
space about the old church on the quay, where the farmers' wives
were standing in rows with their baskets of butter and eggs, the
farmers' sons with their tipped-up carts of vegetables, and the
smaller of the farmers themselves, from all parts of the island,
with their carcases of sheep and oxen.  Without leaving his seat
the Deemster bought of several of them and had his purchases
packed about the college trunk behind him.
</p>

<p>
It was office hours by this time and he began to call on his
friends, leaving Victor outside to take care of the horse and
dog-cart.  His first call was on the Attorney-General, Donald
Wattleworth, who had been an old school-fellow of his own at King
William's, where forty odd years ago he had saved him from
many troubles.
</p>

<p>
The Attorney was now a small, dapper, very correct and rather
religious old gentleman (he had all his life worn a white tie and
elastic side-boots), with the round and wrinkled face that is oftenest
seen in a good old woman.  For a quarter of an hour the Deemster
talked with him on general subjects, his Courts and forthcoming
cases, without saying a word about the business which had brought
him to Douglas.  But the Attorney divined it.  From his chair at
his desk on the upper story he could see Victor, with his pale face,
in the dog-cart below, twiddling the slack of the reins in his
nervous fingers, and when the Deemster rose to go he followed him
downstairs to the street, and whispered to the boy from behind, as
his father was taking his seat in front,
</p>

<p>
"Cheer up, my lad!  Many a good case has a bad start, you
know."
</p>

<p>
The Deemster's last call was at Government House, and again
Victor, to his relief, was left outside.  But when, ten minutes
later, the Governor, with his briar-root pipe in his hand, came into
the porch to see the Deemster off, and found Victor in the dog-cart,
looking cold and miserable, with his overcoat buttoned up to
his throat, he stepped out bareheaded, with the wind in his grey
hair, and shook hands with him, and said,
</p>

<p>
"Glad to see you again, my boy.  You remember my girl,
Fenella?  Yes?  Well, she's at college now, but she'll be home
for her holiday one of these days&mdash;and then I must bring her over
to see you.  Good-bye!"
</p>

<p>
The Deemster was satisfied.  Not a syllable had he said from
first to last about the bad story that had come from Castletown, but
before he left Douglas that day, it was dead and done for.
</p>

<p>
"Now we'll go home," he said, and for two hours thereafter,
father and son, sitting side by side, and never speaking except on
indifferent subjects, followed the high mountain road, with its far
view of Ireland and Scotland, like vanishing ghosts across a broken
sea, the deep declivity of the glen, with Dan Baldromma's flour
mill at the foot of it, and the turfy lanes of the Curraghs, where
the curlews were crying, until they came to the big gates of Ballamoar,
with the tall elms and the great silence inside of them, broken
only by the loud cawing of the startled rooks, and then to Janet, in
her lace cap, at the open door of the house, waiting for her boy and
scarcely knowing whether to laugh or cry over him.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
II
</p>

<p>
Meantime there had been another and very different homecoming.
In a corner of an open third-class carriage of the train that
brought Victor Stowell from Castletown there was a little servant
girl with a servant's tin box, tied about with a cord, on the seat
beside her.  This was Bessie Collister, dismissed from the High
Bailiff's service and being sent home to her people.  She was very
young, scarcely more than fifteen, with coal-black eyes and
eyebrows and bright complexion&mdash;a bud of a girl just breaking
into womanhood.
</p>

<p>
Dan Baldromma had no need to say she was not his daughter.
Her fatherhood was doubtful.  Rumour attributed it to a dashing
young Irish Captain, who sixteen years before had put into Ramsey
for repairs after his ship, a coasting schooner had run on the
Carrick rock.  Half the girls of "the north" had gone crazy over
this intoxicating person, and in the wild conflict as to who should
win him Liza Corteen had both won and lost, for as soon as his ship
was ready for sea he had disappeared, and never afterwards been
heard of.
</p>

<p>
Liza's baby had been born in the following spring, and two
years later Dan Collister, a miller from "the south" who had not
much cause to be proud of his own pedigree, had made a great
virtue of marrying her, child and all, being, as he said, on
"conjergal" subjects a man of liberal views and strong opinions.
</p>

<p>
In the fourteen years that followed Liza had learned the liberality
of Dan's views on marriage and Bessie the strength of his
hand as well as opinions.  But while the mother's nerves had been
broken by the reproaches about her "by-child," which had usually
preceded her husband's night-long nasal slumbers, the spirits of
the girl had not suffered much, except from fear of a certain strap
which he had hung in the ingle.
</p>

<p>
"The world will never grow cold on that child," people used to
say in her earliest days, and it seemed as if it was still true, even in
the depth of her present trouble.
</p>

<p>
The open railway carriage was full of farming people going up
to market, and among them were two buxom widows with their
baskets of butter and eggs on their broad knees and their faces
resplendent from much soap.  Facing these was a tough and rough
old sinner who bantered them, in language more proper to the stud
and the farmyard, on their late married lives and the necessity of
beginning on fresh ones.  The unvarnished gibes provoked loud
laughter from the other passengers, and Bessie's laugh was loudest
of all.  This led to the widows looking round in her direction,
and presently, in the recovered consciousness of her situation, she
heard whispers of "Johnny Qualtrough" and the "Dempster's
son" and then turned back to her window and cried.
</p>

<p>
There was no one to help her with her luggage when she had to
change at Douglas, so she carried her tin box across the platform
to the Ramsey train.  The north-going traffic was light at that
hour, and sitting in an empty compartment she had time to think
of home and what might happen when she got there.  This was a
vision of Dan Baldromma threatening, her mother pleading,
herself screaming and all the hurly-burly she had heard so often.
</p>

<p>
But even that did not altogether frighten her now, for she had
one source of solace which she had never had before.  She was
wearing a big hat with large red roses, a straw-coloured frock and
openwork stockings, with shoes that were much too thin for the
on-coming winter.  And looking down at these last and remembering
she had bought them out of her wages, expressly for that walk
with Alick Gell, she thought of something that was immeasurably
more important in her mind than the incident which had led to all
the trouble&mdash;Alick had kissed her!
</p>

<p>
She was still thinking of this, and tingling with the memory of
it, and telling herself how good she had been not to say who her
boy was when the "big ones" questioned her, and how she would
never tell that, 'deed no, never, no matter what might happen to
other people, when the train drew up suddenly at the station that
was her destination and she saw her mother, a weak-eyed woman,
with a miserable face, standing alone on the shingly platform.
</p>

<p>
"Sakes alive, girl, what have thou been doing now?" said
Mrs. Collister, as soon as the train had gone on.  "Hadn't I
trouble enough with thy father without this?"
</p>

<p>
But Bessie was in tears again by that time, so mother and
daughter lifted the tin box into a tailless market cart that stood
waiting in the road, climbed over the wheel to the plank seat
across it, and turned their horse's head towards home.
</p>

<p>
Dan Baldromma's mill stood face to the high road and back to
the glen and the mountains&mdash;a substantial structure with a
thatched and whitewashed dwelling-house attached, a few farm
buildings and a patch of garden, which, though warm and bright
in summer under its mantle of gillie-flower and fuchsia, looked
bleak enough now with its row of decapitated cabbage stalks and
the straw roofs of its unprotected beehives.
</p>

<p>
As mother and daughter came up in their springless cart they
heard the plash of the mill-wheel and the groan of the mill-stone,
and by that they knew that their lord and master was at work
within.  So they stabled their horse for themselves, tipped up their
cart and went into the kitchen&mdash;a bare yet clean and cosy place,
with earthen floor, open ingle and a hearth fire, over which a kettle
hung by a sooty chain.
</p>

<p>
But hardly had Bessie taken off her coat and hat and sat down
to the cup of tea her mother had made her when the throb of the
mill-wheel ceased, and Dan Baldromma's heavy step came over the
cobbled "street" outside to the kitchen door.
</p>

<p>
He was a stoutly-built man, short and gross, with heavy black
eyebrows, thick and threatening lips, a lowering expression, and a
loud and growling voice.  Seeing the girl at her meal he went over
to the ingle and stood with his back to the fire, and his big hands
behind him, while he fell on her with scorching sarcasm.
</p>

<p>
"Well!  Well!" he said.  "Back again, I see!  And you such
a grand woman grown since you were sitting and eating on that
seat before.  Only sixteen years for Spring, yet sooreying
(sweet-hearting) already, I hear!  With no wooden-spoon man neither,
like your father&mdash;your stepfather, I mane!  The son and heir of
one of the big ones of the island, they're telling me!  And yet
you're not thinking mane of coming back to the house of a common
man like me!  Wonderful!  Wonderful!"
</p>

<p>
Bessie felt as if her bread-and-butter were choking her, but
Dan, whose impure mind was not satisfied with the effect of his
sarcasm, began to lay out at her with a bludgeon.
</p>

<p>
"You fool!" he said.  "You've been mixing yourself up with
bad doings on the road, and now a dacent lad is lying at death's
door through you, and the High Bailiff is after flinging you out of
his house as unfit for his family&mdash;that's it, isn't it?"
</p>

<p>
Bessie had dropped her head on the table, but Mrs. Collister's
frightened face was gathering a look of courage.
</p>

<p>
"Aisy, man veen, aisy," said the mother.  "Take care of thy
tongue, Dan."
</p>

<p>
"My tongue?" said Dan.  "It's my character I have to take
care of, woman.  When a girl is carrying a man's name that has no
legal claim to it, he has a right to do that, I'm thinking."
</p>

<p>
"But the girl's only a child&mdash;only a child itself, man."
</p>

<p>
"Maybe so, but I've known girls before now, not much older
than she is, to bring disgrace into a dacent house and lave others
to live under it.  'What's bred in the bone comes out in the flesh,'
they're saying."
</p>

<p>
The woman flinched as if the lash of a whip had fallen on her
face, and Dan turned back to the girl.
</p>

<p>
"So you're a fine lady that belaves in the aristocracks, are you?
Well, I'm a plain man that doesn't, and nobody living in my house
can have any truck with them."
</p>

<p>
"But goodness me, Dan, the boy is not a dale older than herself,"
said Mrs. Collister.  "Nineteen years at the most, and a
fine boy at that."
</p>

<p>
"Chut!  Nineteen or ninety, it's all as one to me," said Dan,
"and this island will be knowing what sort of boy he is before
he has done with it."
</p>

<p>
The young cubs of the "big ones" began early.  They treated
the daughters of decent men as their fathers treated everybody&mdash;using
them, abusing them, and then treading on them like dirt.
</p>

<p>
"But Manx girl are hot young huzzies," said Dan, "and the
half of them ought to be ducked in the mill pond....  What did
you expect this one would do for you, girl, after you had been
colloquing and cooshing and kissing with him in the dark roads?
Marry you?  Make you the mistress of Ballamoar?  Bessie
Corteen, the by-child of Liza Collister?  You toot!  You booby!
You boght!  You damned idiot!"
</p>

<p>
Just then there was the sound of wheels on the road, and Dan
walked to the door to look out.  It was the Deemster's dog-cart,
coming down the glen, with father and son sitting side by side.
The women heard the Deemster's steady voice saluting the miller
as he went by.
</p>

<p>
"Fine day, Mr. Collister!"
</p>

<p>
"Middlin', Dempster, middlin'," said Dan, in a voice that was
like a growl.  And then, the dog-cart being gone, he faced back
to the girl and said, with a bitter snort:
</p>

<p>
"So that's your man, is it&mdash;driving with the Dempster?"
</p>

<p>
"No, no," said the girl, lifting her face from the table.
</p>

<p>
"No?  Hasn't he been flung out of his college for it&mdash;for what
came of it, I mane?  And isn't the Dempster taking him home
in disgrace?"
</p>

<p>
"It was a mistake&mdash;it wasn't the Dempster's son," said Bessie.
</p>

<p>
"Then who was it?"
</p>

<p>
There was no reply.
</p>

<p>
"Who was it?"
</p>

<p>
"I can't tell you."
</p>

<p>
"You mean you won't.  We'll see about that, though," said
Dan, and returning to the fireplace, he took a short, thick leather
strap from a nail inside the ingle.
</p>

<p>
At sight of this the girl got up and began to scream.  "Father!
Father!  Father!"
</p>

<p>
"Don't father me!  Who was it?" said Dan.
</p>

<p>
The blood was rising in the mother's pallid face.  "Collister,"
she cried, "if thou touch the girl again, I'll walk straight out of
thy house."
</p>

<p>
"Walk, woman!  Do as you plaze!  But I must know who
brought disgrace on my name.  Who was it?"
</p>

<p>
"Don't!  Don't!  Don't!" cried the girl.
</p>

<p>
The mother stepped to the door.  "Collister," she repeated,
"for fourteen years thou's done as thou liked with me, and I've
been giving thee lave to do it, but lay another hand on my child..."
</p>

<p>
"No, no, don't go, mother.  I'll tell him," cried the girl.  "It
was .... it was Alick Gell."
</p>

<p>
"You mean the son of the Spaker?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes."
</p>

<p>
"That's good enough for me," said Dan, and then, with another
snort, half bitter and half triumphant, he tossed the strap on
to the table, went out of the house and into the stable.
</p>

<p>
An hour afterwards, in his billycock hat and blue suit of Manx
homespun, he was driving his market-cart up the long, straight,
shaded lane to the Speaker's ivy-covered mansion-house, with the
gravelled courtyard in front of it, in which two or three peacocks
strutted and screamed.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
III
</p>

<p>
The Speaker had only just returned from Douglas.  There had
been a sitting of the Keys that day and he had hurried home to tell
his wife an exciting story.  It was about the Deemster.  The big
man was down&mdash;going down anyway!
</p>

<p>
Archibald Gell was a burly, full-bearded man of a high complexion.
Although he belonged to what we called the "aristocracy"
of the island, the plebeian lay close under his skin.
Rumour said he was subject to paralysing brain-storms, and that
he could be a foul-mouthed man in his drink.  But he was
generally calm and nearly always sober.
</p>

<p>
His ruling passion was a passion for power, and his fiercest lust
was a lust of popularity.  The Deemster was his only serious rival
in either, and therefore the object of his deep and secret jealousy.
He was jealous of the Deemster's dignity and influence, but above
all (though he had hitherto hidden it even from himself) of his son.
</p>

<p>
Stooping over the fire in the drawing-room to warm his hands
after his long journey, he was talking, with a certain note of
self-congratulation, of what he had heard in Douglas.  That ugly
incident at King William's had come to a head!  The Stowell boy
had been expelled, and the Deemster had had to drive into town to
fetch him home.  He, the Speaker, had not seen him there, but
Cæsar Qualtrough had.  Cæsar was a nasty customer to cross (he
had had experience of the man himself), and in the smoking-room
at the Keys he had bragged of what he could have done.  He could
have put the Deemster's son in jail!  Yes, ma'am, in jail!  If he
had had a mind for it young Stowell might have slept at Castle
Rushen instead of Ballamoar to-night.  And if he hadn't, why
hadn't he?  Cæsar wouldn't say, but everybody knew&mdash;he had a
case coming on in the Courts presently!
</p>

<p>
"Think of it," said the Speaker, "the first Judge in the island
in the pocket of a man like that!"
</p>

<p>
Mrs. Gell, who was a fat, easy-going, good-natured soul, with
the gentle eyes of a sheep (her hair was a little disordered at the
moment, for she had only just awakened from her afternoon
sleep, and was still wearing her morning slippers), began to
make excuses.
</p>

<p>
"But mercy me, Archie," she said, "what does it amount to
after all&mdash;only a schoolboy squabble?"
</p>

<p>
"Don't talk nonsense, Bella," said the Speaker.  "It may
have been a little thing to begin with, but the biggest river that ever
plunged into the sea could have been put into a tea-cup somewhere."
</p>

<p>
This ugly business would go on, until heaven knew what it
would come to.  The Deemster, who had bought his son's safety
from a blackguard without bowels, would never be able to hold up
his head again&mdash;he, the Speaker never would, he knew that much
anyway.  As for the boy himself, he was done for.  Being
expelled from King William's no school or university across the
water would want him, and if he ever wished to be admitted to the
Manx Bar it would be the duty of his own father to refuse him.
</p>

<p>
"So that's the end of the big man, Bella&mdash;the beginning of the
end anyway."
</p>

<p>
Just then the peacocks screamed in the courtyard&mdash;-they always
screamed when visitors were approaching.  Mrs. Gell looked
up and the Speaker walked to the window and looked out without
seeing anybody.  But at the next moment the drawing-room door
was thrust open and their eldest daughter, Isabella, with wide eyes
and a blank expression was saying breathlessly,
</p>

<p>
"It's Alick.  He has run away from school."
</p>

<p>
Alick came behind her, a pitiful sight, his college cap in his
hand, his face pale, drawn and smudged with sweat, his hair disordered,
his clothes covered with dust, and his boots thick with soil.
</p>

<p>
"What's this she says&mdash;that you've run away?" said the
Speaker.
</p>

<p>
"Yes, I have&mdash;I told her so myself," said Alick, who was
half crying.
</p>

<p>
"Did you though?  And now perhaps you will tell me
something&mdash;why?"
</p>

<p>
"Because Stowell had been expelled, and I couldn't stay when
he was gone."
</p>

<p>
"Couldn't you now?  And why couldn't you?"
</p>

<p>
"He was innocent."
</p>

<p>
"Innocent, was he?  Who says he was innocent?"
</p>

<p>
"I do, Sir, because .... it was <i>I</i>."
</p>

<p>
It was a sickening moment for the Speaker.  He gasped as if
something had smitten him in the mouth, and his burly figure
almost staggered.
</p>

<p>
"You did it .... what Stowell was expelled for?" he
stammered.
</p>

<p>
"Yes, Sir," said Alick, and then, still with the tremor of a sob
in his voice, he told his story.  It was the same that he had told
twice before, but with a sequel added.  Although he had confessed
to the Principal, they had expelled Stowell.  Not publicly perhaps,
but it had been expelling him all the same.  Four days they
had kept him in his study, without saying what they meant to do
with him.  Then this morning, while the boys were at prayers
they had heard carriage wheels come up to the door of the
Principal's house, and when they came out of Chapel the Study was
empty and Stowell was gone.
</p>

<p>
"And then," said the Speaker (with a certain pomp of
contempt now), "without more ado you ran away?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes, Sir," answered the boy, "by the lavatory window when
we were breaking up after breakfast."
</p>

<p>
"Where did you get the money to travel with?"
</p>

<p>
"I had no money, Sir.  I walked."
</p>

<p>
"Walked from Castletown?  What have you eaten since
breakfast?"
</p>

<p>
"Only what I got on the road, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"You mean .... begged?"
</p>

<p>
"I asked at a farm by Foxdale for a glass of milk and the
farmer's wife gave me some bread as well, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"Did she know who you were?"
</p>

<p>
"She asked me&mdash;I had to answer her."
</p>

<p>
"You told her you were my son?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"And perhaps&mdash;feeling yourself such a fine fellow, what you
were doing there, and why you were running away from school?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"You fool!  You infernal fool!"
</p>

<p>
The Speaker had talked himself out of breath and for a
moment his wife intervened.
</p>

<p>
"Alick," she said, "if it was you, as you say, who walked
out with the girl, who was she?"
</p>

<p>
"She was .... a servant girl, mother."
</p>

<p>
"But who?"
</p>

<p>
"Tut!" said the Speaker, "what does it matter who? .... You
say you confessed to the Principal?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"Then if he chose to disregard your confession, and to act on
his own judgment, what did it matter to you?"
</p>

<p>
"It was wrong to expel Stowell for what I had done and I
couldn't stand it," said the boy.
</p>

<p>
"You couldn't stand it!  You dunce!  If you were younger I
should take the whip to you."
</p>

<p>
The Speaker was feeling the superiority of his son's position,
but that only made him the more furious.
</p>

<p>
"I suppose you know what this running away will mean when
people come to hear of it?"
</p>

<p>
Alick made no answer.
</p>

<p>
"You've given the story a fine start, it seems, and it won't take
long to travel."
</p>

<p>
Still Alick made no answer.
</p>

<p>
"Stowell will be the martyr and you'll be the culprit, and that
ugly incident of the boy with the broken skull will wear another
complexion."
</p>

<p>
"I don't care about that," cried Alick.
</p>

<p>
"You don't care!"
</p>

<p>
"I had to do my duty to my chum, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"And what about your duty to me, and to your mother and to
your sisters?  Was it your 'duty' to bring disgrace on all of us?"
</p>

<p>
Alick dropped his head.
</p>

<p>
"You shan't do that, though, if I can help it.  Go away and
wash your dirty face and get something on your stomach.  You're
going back to Castletown in the morning."
</p>

<p>
"I won't go back to school, Sir," said Alick.
</p>

<p>
"Won't you, though?  We'll see about that.  I'll take you
back."
</p>

<p>
"Then I'll run away again, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"Where to, you jackass?  Not to this house, I promise you."
</p>

<p>
"I'll get a ship and go to sea, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"Then get a ship and go to sea, and to hell, too, if you want to.
You fool!  You damned blockhead!"
</p>

<p>
After the Speaker had swept the boy from the room, his mother
was crying.  "Only eighteen years for harvest," she was saying,
as if trying to excuse him.  And then, as if seeking to fix the
blame elsewhere, she added,
</p>

<p>
"Who was the girl, I wonder?"
</p>

<p>
"God's sake, woman," cried the Speaker, "what does it
matter who she was?  Some Castletown huzzy, I suppose."
</p>

<p>
The peacocks were screaming again; they had been screaming
for some time, and the front-door bell had been ringing, but in the
hubbub nobody had heard them.  But now the parlour-maid came
to tell the Speaker that Mr. Daniel Collister of Baldromma was in
the porch and asking to see him.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
IV
</p>

<p>
Dan came into the room with his rolling walk, his eyes wild and
dark, his billy-cock hat in his hand and his black hair 'strooked'
flat across his forehead, where a wet brush had left it.
</p>

<p>
"Good evening, Mr. Spaker!  You too, Mistress Gell!  It's
the twelfth to-morrow, but I thought I would bring my Hollantide
rent to-day."
</p>

<p>
"Sit down," said the Speaker, who had given him meagre
welcome.
</p>

<p>
Dan drew a chair up to a table, took from the breast pocket of
his monkey-jacket a bulging parcel in a red print handkerchief
(looking like a roadman's dinner), untied the knots of it, and
disclosed a quantity of gold and silver coins, and a number of
Manx bank notes creased and soiled.  These he counted out with
much deliberation amid a silence like that which comes between
thunderclaps&mdash;the Speaker, standing by the fireplace, coughing to
compose himself, his wife blowing her nose to get rid of her tears,
and no other sounds being audible except the nasal breathing of
Dan Baldromma, who had hair about his nostrils.
</p>

<p>
"Count it for yourself; I belave you'll find it right, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"Quite right.  I suppose you'll want a receipt?"
</p>

<p>
"If you plaze."
</p>

<p>
The Speaker sat at a small desk, and, as well as he could (for
his hand was trembling), he wrote the receipt and handed it across
the table.
</p>

<p>
"And now about my lease," said Dan.
</p>

<p>
"What about it?" said the Speaker.
</p>

<p>
"It runs out a year to-day, Sir, and Willie Kerruish, the
advocate, was telling me at the Michaelmas mart you were not for
renewing it.  Do you still hould to that, Mr. Spaker?"
</p>

<p>
"Certainly I do," said the Speaker.  "I don't want to enter
into discussions, but I think you'll be the better for another
landlord and I for another tenant."
</p>

<p>
There was another moment of silence, broken only by Dan's
nasal breathing, and then he said:
</p>

<p>
"Mr. Spaker, the Dempster's son has come home in disgrace,
they're saying."
</p>

<p>
"What's that got to do with it?" said the Speaker.
</p>

<p>
"My daughter has come home in disgrace, too&mdash;my wife's
daughter, I mane."
</p>

<p>
Mrs. Gell raised herself in her easy chair.  "Was it your girl,
then..." she began.
</p>

<p>
"It was, ma'am.  Bessie Corteen&mdash;Collister, they're calling
her."
</p>

<p>
"What's all this to me?" said the Speaker.
</p>

<p>
"She's telling me it's a mistake about the Dempster's son, Sir.
It was somebody else's lad did the mischief."
</p>

<p>
"I see you are well informed," said the Speaker.  "Well,
what of it?"
</p>

<p>
"Cæsar Qualtrough might have prosecuted but he didn't, out
of respect for the Dempster," said Dan.
</p>

<p>
"So they <i>say</i>," said the Speaker.
</p>

<p>
"But if somebody gave him a scute into the truth he mightn't
be so lenient with another man&mdash;one other anyway."
</p>

<p>
The Speaker was silent.
</p>

<p>
"There have been bits of breezes in the Kays, they're
telling me."
</p>

<p>
Still the Speaker was silent.
</p>

<p>
"Cæsar and me were middling well acquaint when I was milling
at Ballabeg and he was hutching at Port St. Mary&mdash;in fact we
were same as brothers."
</p>

<p>
"I see what you mean to do, Mr. Collister," said the Speaker,
"but you can save yourself the trouble.  My lad is in this house
now if you want to know, but I'm sending him to sea, and before
you can get to Castletown he will have left the island."
</p>

<p>
"And what will the island say to that, Sir?" said Dan.  "That
Archibald Gell, Spaker of the Kays, chairman of everything, and
the biggest man going, barring the Dempster, has had to send his
son away to save him from the lock-up."
</p>

<p>
The Speaker took two threatening strides forward, and Dan
rose to his feet.  There was silence again as the two men stood face
to face, but this time it was broken by the Speaker's breathing also.
Then he turned aside and said, with a shamefaced look:
</p>

<p>
"I'll hear what Kerruish has to say.  I have to see him in
the morning."
</p>

<p>
"I lave it with you, Sir; I lave it with you," said Dan.
</p>

<p>
"Good-day, Mr. Collister."
</p>

<p>
"Good-day to you, Mr. Spaker!  And you, too, Mistress Gell!"
said Dan.  But having reached the door of the room he stopped
and added:
</p>

<p>
"There's one thing more, though.  If my girl is to live with me
she must work for her meat, and there must be no more sooreying."
</p>

<p>
"That will be all right&mdash;I know my son," said the Speaker.
</p>

<p>
"And I know my step-daughter," said Dan.  "These things go
on.  A rolling snowball doesn't get much smaller.  Maybe that
Captain out of Ireland isn't gone from the island yet&mdash;his spirit,
I mane.  Keep your lad away from Baldromma.  It will be best,
I promise you."
</p>

<p>
Then the peacocks in the courtyard screamed again and the
jolting of a springless cart was heard going over the gravel.  The
two in the drawing-room listened until the sound of the wheels had
died away in the lane to the high road, and then the Speaker said:
</p>

<p>
"That's what comes of having children!  We thought it bad
for the Deemster to be in the pocket of a man like Cæsar
Qualtrough, but to be under the harrow of Dan Baldromma!"
</p>

<p>
"Aw, dear!  Aw, dear!" said Mrs. Gell.
</p>

<p>
"He was right about Alick going to sea, though," said the
Speaker, and, touching the bell for the parlour-maid, he told her
to tell his son to come back to him.
</p>

<p>
Alick was in the dining-room by this time, washed and brushed
and doing his best to drink a pot of tea and eat a plate of
bread-and-butter, amid the remonstrances of his three sisters, who,
seeing events from their own point of view, were rating him roundly
on associating with a servant.
</p>

<p>
"I wonder you hadn't more respect for your sisters?" said
Isabella.
</p>

<p>
"What are people to think of us&mdash;Fenella Stanley, for
instance?" said Adelaide.
</p>

<p>
"I declare I shall be ashamed to show my face in Government
House again," said Verbena.
</p>

<p>
"Oh, shut up and let a fellow eat," said Alick, and then
something about "first-class flunkeys."
</p>

<p>
But at that moment the parlour-maid came with his father's
message and he had to return to the drawing-room.
</p>

<p>
"On second thoughts," said the Speaker, "we have decided
that you are not to go to sea.  We have only one son, and I suppose
we must do our best with him.  You haven't brains enough for
building, so, if you are not to go back to school, you must stay on
the land and learn to look after these farms in Andreas."
</p>

<p>
"I'll do my best to please you, Sir," said Alick.
</p>

<p>
"But listen to this," said the Speaker, "Dan Baldromma has
been here, and we know who the girl was.  There is to be no more
mischief in that quarter.  You must never see her or hear from
her again as long as you live&mdash;is it a promise?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes, Sir," said Alick, and he meant to keep it.
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p><a id="chap0104"></a></p>

<h3>
CHAPTER FOUR
<br />
ENTER FENELLA STANLEY
</h3>

<p>
The winter passed, the spring came and nothing was done for
Victor.  His father made no effort to provide for his future,
whether at another school, at college, or in a profession.
</p>

<p>
"I wonder at the Dempster, I really do," said Auntie Kitty.
</p>

<p>
"Leave him alone," said Janet&mdash;it would all come right
some day.
</p>

<p>
Left to himself, Victor became the great practical joker of the
countryside.  Every prank for which no other author could be
found was attributed to him.  If any pretentious person fell into
a ridiculous mare's nest people would say,
</p>

<p>
"But where was young Stowell while that was going on?"
</p>

<p>
In this dubious occupation of "putting the fun" on folks he
soon found the powerful assistance of Alick Gell.  That young
gentleman, for his training on the land, had been handed over
to the charge of old Tom Kermode, the Speaker's steward.  But
Tom, good man, foresaw the possibility of being supplanted in his
position if the Speaker's son acquired sufficient knowledge to take
it, and therefore he put no unnecessary obstacles in the way of the
boy's industrious efforts not to do so.  On the contrary he
encouraged them, with the result that Alick and Victor foregathered
again, and having nothing better to do than to make mischief, they
proceeded to make it.
</p>

<p>
How much the Deemster heard of his son's doings nobody
knew.  Twice a day he sat at meat with him without speaking a
word of reproof.  But Janet saw that when report was loudest he
wrote longer than usual in his leather-bound book before going to
bed, and that his head was lower than ever in the morning.
</p>

<p>
At length Janet entered into a secret scheme with herself for
lifting it up again.  This consisted in prompting her dear boy to do
something, to make an effort, to justify himself.  So making
excuse of the Deemster's business she would take Victor's
breakfast to his bedroom before he had time to get up to it.
</p>

<p>
It was a bright room to the north-east, flooded with sunshine at
that season after she had drawn the blind, and fresh, after she had
thrown up the sash, with morning air that smacked of the blue sea
(which came humming down from the dim ghost of Galloway), and
relished of the sandy soil of Man, with its yellowing crops of
rustling oats, over which the larks and the linnets tumbled and sang.
</p>

<p>
Victor was always asleep when she went in at eight o'clock, for
he slept like a top, and after she had scolded him for lying late, he
would sit up in bed, with his sleepy eyes and tousled hair, to eat
his breakfast, while she turned his stockings, shook out his shirt,
gathered up his clothes (they were usually distributed all over the
room) and talked.
</p>

<p>
Victor noticed whatever she began upon she always ended
with the same subject.  It was Fenella Stanley.  That girl was
splendid, and she was getting on marvellously.  Still at college
"across"?  Yes, Newnham they were calling it, and she was
carrying everything before her&mdash;prizes, scholarships,
honours&mdash;goodness knows what.
</p>

<p>
The island was ringing with her praise but Janet was hearing
everything direct from Miss Green, the Governor's housekeeper,
with whom she kept up a constant correspondence.  That woman
worshipped the girl&mdash;you never saw the like, never!  As for the
Governor, it was enough to bring tears into a woman's eyes to see
how proud he was of his daughter.  When he had news that she
had taken a new honour it was like new life to the old man.  You
would think the sun was shining all over the house, and that was
saying something there&mdash;the Keys being so troublesome.  Of
course he was "longing" for his daughter to come home to him,
and that was only natural, but knowing how hard she was working
now&mdash;six in the morning until six in the evening, Catherine Green
was saying&mdash;he was waiting patiently.
</p>

<p>
"Aw, yes, yes, that's the way with fathers," said Janet.
"Big men as they may be themselves, they are prouder of their
children's successes than of their own&mdash;far prouder."
</p>

<p>
The effect of Janet's scheme was the reverse of what she had
expected.  By a law of the heart of a boy, which the good soul
knew nothing of, Victor resented the industry, success and
reputation of Fenella Stanley.  It was a kind of rebuke to his own
idleness.  The girl was a bookworm and would develop into a
blue-stocking!  He had not seen her for years and did not want to
see her, but in his mind's eye he pictured her as she must be now&mdash;a
pale-faced young person in a short blue skirt and big boots, with
cropped hair and perhaps spectacles!
</p>

<p>
Describing this vision to Alick Gell, as they were drying themselves
on the shore after a swim, Victor said with emphasis that if
there was one thing he hated it was a woman who was half a man.
</p>

<p>
"Same here," said Alick, who had had liberal doses of the
same medicine at home, less delicately administered by his
sister Isabella.
</p>

<p>
But where Janet failed, a greater advocate, nature itself, was
soon to succeed.  The boys were then in their nineteenth year,
a pair of full-grown, healthy, handsome lads as ever trod the
heather, or stripped to the sea, but there was a great world which
had not yet been revealed to either of them&mdash;the world of woman.
That world was to be revealed to one of them now.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
II
</p>

<p>
It was a late afternoon early in September.  The day had been
wonderful.  Over the bald crown above Druidsdale the sun came
slanting across the Irish Sea from a crimsoning sky beyond the
purple crests of the Morne mountains.  Stowell and Gell had been
camping out for two days in the Manx hills, and, parting at a
junction of paths, Gell had gone down towards Douglas while
Stowell had dropped into the cool dark depths of the glen that
led homewards.
</p>

<p>
Victor was as brown as a berry.  He was wearing long, thick-soled
yellow boots almost up to his knees, with his trousers tucked
into them, a loose yellow shirt, rolled up to the elbows of his strong
round arms, no waistcoat, his Norfolk jacket thrown over his left
shoulder, and a knapsack strapped on his back.
</p>

<p>
With long, plunging strides he was coming down the glen, singing
sometimes in a voice that was partly drowned by the louder
water where it dipped into a dub, when, towards the Curragh end
of it, on the "brough" side of the river, he came upon a
startling vision.
</p>

<p>
It was a girl.  She was about seventeen years of age,
bare-headed and bare-footed, and standing ankle-deep in the water.
Her lips, and a little of the mouth at either side, were stained blue
with blackberries&mdash;she had clearly been picking them and had
taken off shoes and stockings to get at a laden bush.
</p>

<p>
She was splendidly tall, and had bronze brown hair, with a glint
of gold when the sun shone on it.  The sun was shining on it now,
through a gap in the thinning trees that overhung the glen, and
with the leaves pattering over her head, and the river running at
her feet, it was almost as if she herself were singing.
</p>

<p>
With her spare hand she was holding up her dress, which was
partly of lace&mdash;light and loose and semi-transparent&mdash;and when
a breeze, which was blowing from the sea, lapped it about her body
there was a hint of the white, round, beautiful form beneath.  Her
eyes were dark and brilliantly full, and her face was magnificently
intellectual, so clear-cut and clean.  And yet she was so feminine,
so womanly, such a girl!
</p>

<p>
She must have heard Stowell's footsteps, and perhaps his
singing as he approached, for she turned to look up at him&mdash;calmly,
rather seriously, a little anxiously but without the slightest
confusion.  And he looked at her, pausing to do so, without being
quite aware of it, and feeling for one brief moment as if wind and
water had suddenly stopped and the world stood still.
</p>

<p>
There was a moment of silence, in which he felt a certain chill,
and she a certain warmth, and both a certain dryness at the throat.
The girl was the first to recover self-control.  Her face sweetened
to a smile, and then, in a voice that was a little husky, and yet
sounded to him like music, she said, as if she had asked and
answered an earlier question for herself:
</p>

<p>
"But of course you don't know who <i>I</i> am, do you?"
</p>

<p>
He did.  Although she was so utterly unlike what he had
expected (what he had told himself he expected) he knew&mdash;she
was Fenella Stanley.
</p>

<p>
As often as he thought of it afterwards he could never be quite
sure what he had said to her in those first moments.  He could only
guess at what it must have been by his vivid memory of what she
had said in reply.
</p>

<p>
She watched him, womanlike, for a moment longer, to see what
impression she had made upon him, now that she knew what
impression he had made upon her.  Then she glanced down at her
bare feet, that looked yellow on the pebbles in the running water,
and then at her shoes and stockings, which, with her parasol, lay
on the bank, and said:
</p>

<p>
"I suppose you ought to go away while I get out of this?"
</p>

<p>
"Why?"
</p>

<p>
He never knew what made him say that, but she glanced up at
him again, with the answering sunshine of another smile, and said:
</p>

<p>
"Well, you needn't, if you don't want to."
</p>

<p>
After that she stepped out of the river, and sat on the grass to
dry her feet and pull on her stockings.  As she did so, and he stood
watching, forgetting (such was the spell of things) to turn his
eyes away, she shot another look up at him, and said:
</p>

<p>
"I remember that the last time I was in these parts you ordered
me off, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"And the last time I was at Government House you turned me
out of the tennis court," he answered.
</p>

<p>
She laughed.  He laughed.  They both laughed together.  Also
they both trembled.  But by the time she had put on her shoes he
was feeling braver, so he went down on his knees to tie her laces.
</p>

<p>
It was a frightening ordeal, but he got through at last, and to
cover their embarrassment, while the lacing was going on, they
came to certain explanations.
</p>

<p>
Yesterday the Governor had telegraphed to the Deemster that
he would like to fulfil his promise to visit Ballamoar and stay
the night if convenient.  So they had driven over in the carriage
and arrived about two hours ago, and were going back
to-morrow morning.
</p>

<p>
"Of course you were not there when we came," she said, "being,
it seems, a gentleman of gipsy habits, so when Janet (I mean
Miss Curphey) mentioned at tea that you were likely to come down
the glen about sunset....
</p>

<p>
"Then you were coming to meet me?" he said.
</p>

<p>
She laughed again, having said more than she had intended and
finding no way of escape from it.
</p>

<p>
When all was done and he had helped her up (how his fingers
tingled!) and they stood side by side for the first time (she was
less than half a head shorter than himself and her eyes seemed
almost on the level of his own) and they were ready to go, he
suddenly remembered that they were on the wrong side for the
road.  So if she hadn't to take off her boots and stockings and wade
through the water again, or else walk half a mile down the glen to
the bridge, he would have to carry her across the river.
</p>

<p>
Without more ado she let him do it&mdash;picking her up in his
quivering arms and striding through the water in his long boots.
</p>

<p>
Then being dropped to her feet she laughed again; and he
laughed, and they went on laughing, all the way down the glen
road, and through the watery lanes of the Curragh, where the sally
bushes were singing loud in the breeze from the sea&mdash;but not so
loud as the hearts of this pair of children.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
III
</p>

<p>
That night, after dinner, leaving the Deemster and the Governor
at the table, discussing insular subjects (a constitutional
change which was then being mooted), Victor took Fenella out on
to the piazza, (his mother had called it so), the uncovered wooden
terrace which overlooked the coast.
</p>

<p>
He was in a dark blue jacket suit, not yet having possessed
evening wear, but she was in a gauzy light dress with satin
slippers, and her bronze-brown hair was curled about her face in
bewitching ringlets.
</p>

<p>
The evening was very quiet, almost breathless, with hardly a
leaf stirring.  The revolving light in the lighthouse on the Point
of Ayre (seven miles away on its neck of land covered by a
wilderness of white stones) was answering to the far-off gleam of the
light on the Mull of Galloway, while the sky to the west was a
slumberous red, as if the night were dreaming of the departed day.
</p>

<p>
They had not yet recovered from their experience in the glen,
and, sitting out there in the moonlight (for the moon had just sailed
through a rack of cloud), they were still speaking involuntarily,
and then laughing nervously at nothing&mdash;nothing but that tingling
sense of sex which made them afraid of each other, that mysterious
call of man to maid which, when it first comes, is as pure as an
angel's whisper.
</p>

<p>
"What a wonderful day it has been!" she said,
</p>

<p>
"The most wonderful day I have ever known," he answered.
</p>

<p>
"And what a wonderful home you have here," she said.
</p>

<p>
"Haven't we?" he replied.  And then he told her that over
there in the dark lay Ireland, and over there Scotland, and over
there England, and straight ahead was Norway and the North
Pole.
</p>

<p>
That caught them up into the zone of great things, the eternities,
the vast darkness out of which the generations come and
towards which they go; and, having found his voice at last, he began
to tell her how the island came to be peopled by its present race.
</p>

<p>
This was the very scene of the Norse invasion&mdash;the Vikings
from Iceland having landed on this spot a thousand years ago.
When the old sea king (his name was Orry) came ashore at the
Lhen (it was on a starlight night like this) the native inhabitants
of Man had gone down to challenge him.  "Where do you come
from?" they had cried, and then, pointing to the milky way, he
had answered, "That's the road to my country."  But the native
people had fought him to throw him back into the sea&mdash;yes, men
and women, too, they say.  This very ground between them and the
coast had been the battlefield, and it must still be full of the dead
who had died that day.
</p>

<p>
"What a wonderful story!" she said.
</p>

<p>
"Isn't it?"
</p>

<p>
"The women fought too, you say?"
</p>

<p>
"Thousands of them, side by side with their men, and they
were the mothers of the Manxmen of to-day."
</p>

<p>
"How glorious!  How perfectly glorious!"
</p>

<p>
And then, clasping her hands about her knee, and looking
steadfastly into the dark of the night, she, on her part, told him
something.  It was about a great new movement which was beginning
in England for a change in the condition of women.  Oh, it
was wonderful!  Miss Clough, the Principal, and all the girls at
Newnham were ablaze with it, and it was going to sweep through
the world.  In the past the attitude towards women of literature,
law, even religion, had been so unfair, so cruel.  She could cry to
think of it&mdash;the long martyrdom of woman through all the ages.
</p>

<p>
"Do you know," she said, "I think a good deal of the Bible
itself is very wicked towards women .... That's shocking,
isn't it?"
</p>

<p>
"Oh, no, no," said Victor&mdash;he was struggling to follow her,
and not finding it easy.
</p>

<p>
"But all that will be changed some day," said Fenella.
</p>

<p>
It might require some terrible world-trouble to change it, some
cataclysm, some war, perhaps (she didn't know what), but it <i>would</i>
be changed&mdash;she was sure it would.  And then, when woman took
her rightful place beside man, as his equal, his comrade, his other
self, they would see what would happen.
</p>

<p>
"What?"
</p>

<p>
All the old laws, so far as they concerned the sexes (and which
of them didn't?) would have to be made afresh, and all the old
tales about men and women (and which of them were not?) would
have to be re-told.
</p>

<p>
"The laws made afresh, you say?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes, and some of the judges, too, perhaps."
</p>

<p>
"And all the old tales re-told?"
</p>

<p>
"Every one of them, and then they will be new ones, because
woman will have a new and far worthier place in them."
</p>

<p>
They had left the stained-glass door to the dining-room ajar,
and at a pause in Fenella's story they heard the voice of the
Governor, in conversation with the Deemster on the constitutional
question, saying,
</p>

<p>
"Well, well, old friend, I don't suppose either the millennium
will dawn or the deluge come whether the Keys are reformed
or not."
</p>

<p>
That led Victor to ask Fenella what her father thought of her
opinions.
</p>

<p>
"Oh well," she said, "he doesn't agree.  But then .... (her
voice was coming with a laugh from her throat now) I don't
quite approve of father."
</p>

<p>
This broke the spell of their serious talk, and he asked if she
would like to go down to an ancient church on the seaward boundary
of the old battlefield&mdash;it was a ruin and looked wonderful in
the moonlight.
</p>

<p>
She said she would love to, and, slipping indoors to make
ready, she came back in a moment with a silk handkerchief about
her head, which made her face intoxicating to the boy who was
waiting for it, and feeling for the first time the thrilling, quivering
call of body and soul that is the secret of the continued race.  So
off they went together with a rhythmic stride, down the sandy road
to the shore&mdash;he bareheaded, and she in her white dress and the
satin slippers in which her footsteps made no noise.
</p>

<p>
The ruined church was on a lonesome spot on the edge of the
sea, with the sea's moan always over it, and the waves thundering
in the dark through the cavernous rocks beneath.
</p>

<p>
Fenella bore herself bravely until they reached the roofless
chancel, where an elm tree grew, and the moonlight, now coming
and going among the moving clouds, was playing upon the tomb of
some old churchman whose unearthed bones the antiquaries had
lately covered with a stone and surrounded by an iron railing, and
then she clutched at Victor's arm, held on tightly and trembled
like a child.
</p>

<p>
That restored the balance of things a little, and going home (it
was his turn to hold on now) he could not help chaffing her on her
feminine fear.  Was that one of the old stories that would have to
be re-told .... when the great world-change came, the great
cataclysm?
</p>

<p>
"Oh, that?  Well, of course .... (he believed she was
blushing, though in the darkness he could not see) women may not
have the strength and courage of men&mdash;the physical courage,
I mean...."
</p>

<p>
"Only physical?" he asked.
</p>

<p>
She stammered again, and said that naturally men would always
be men and women, women.
</p>

<p>
"You don't want that altered, do you?" she said.
</p>

<p>
"Oh no, not I, not a bit," said Victor, and then there was more
laughter (rather tremulous laughter now) and less talking for the
next five minutes.
</p>

<p>
They had got back to the piazza by this time, and knowing that
her face was in the shaft of light that came through the glass door
from the dining-room, Fenella turned quickly and shot away
upstairs.
</p>

<p>
For the first time in his life Victor did not sleep until after
three o'clock next morning.  He saw the moonlight creep across
the cocoa-nut matting on his bedroom floor and heard the clock on
the staircase landing strike every hour from eleven to three.
</p>

<p>
Now that he was alone he was feeling degraded and ashamed.
Here was this splendid girl touching life at its core, dealing with
the great things, the everlasting things, attuning her heart to the
future and the big eternal problems .... while he!
</p>

<p>
But under all the self-reproach there was something joyous
too, something delicious, something that made him hot and dizzy
and would not let him sleep, because a blessed hymn of praise was
singing within, and it was so wonderful to be alive.
</p>

<p>
He could have kicked himself next morning when he awoke
late, and found the broad sunshine in his bedroom, and heard from
Janet that Fenella had been up two hours and all over the stables
and the plantation.
</p>

<p>
After breakfast (downstairs for him this time) the Governor's
big blue landau, with two fine Irish bays, driven by an English
coachman, came sweeping round to the front and he went out in the
morning sunshine, with the Deemster and Janet, to see their
guests away.
</p>

<p>
The Governor shook hands with him warmly, but Fenella (who
was wearing a coat and some kind of transparent green scarf about
her neck, and thanked the Deemster and kissed Janet as she was
stepping into the carriage) looked another way when she was
saying good-bye to him.
</p>

<p>
He slammed the door to, and stepped back, and the carriage
started, and (while the other two went indoors) he stood and
looked after it as it went winding down the drive, amid the awakened
clamour of the rooks, until it came to the turn where the trees
were to hide it, and then Fenella faced round and waved a hand to
him.  At the next moment the carriage had gone&mdash;and then the sun
went out, and the world was dead.
</p>

<p>
That night after dinner Victor told his father that he would
like to go into the Attorney-General's office, as a first step towards
taking up the profession of the law.
</p>

<p>
"Good&mdash;very good," said the Deemster.
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p><a id="chap0105"></a></p>

<h3>
CHAPTER FIVE
<br />
THE STUDENT-AT-LAW
</h3>

<p>
Fenella Stanley had not awakened early, as Janet had
supposed&mdash;she had never been to sleep.  Her bedroom had been to the
north-east, and she, too, had seen the moonlight creep across her
floor; and when it was gone, and all else was dark, she had felt the
revolving light from the stony neck of the Point of Ayre passing
every other minute over her closed eyelids.
</p>

<p>
She was too much of a woman not to know what was happening
to her, but none the less she was confused and startled.  Do what
she would to compose herself she could not lie quiet for more than
a moment.  Her blood was alternately flowing through her veins
like soft milk and bounding to her heart like a geyser.
</p>

<p>
As soon as the daylight came and the rooks began to caw she
got up and dressed, and went through the sleeping house, with its
drawn blinds, and let herself out by the glass door to the piazza.
</p>

<p>
Of course she turned towards the shore.  It was glorious to be
down there alone, on the ribbed sand, with the salt air on her lips
and the odour of the seaweed in her nostrils and the rising sun
glistening in her eyes over the shimmering and murmuring sea.
But it was still sweeter to return by the sandy road, past the
chancel of the old church (how silly to have been afraid of it!)
and to see footsteps here and there&mdash;his and hers.
</p>

<p>
The world was astir by this time, with the sun riding high and
the earth smoking from its night-long draughts of dew, the sheep
munching the wet grass in the fields on either side, and the cattle
lowing in the closed-up byres, waiting to be milked.  But the
white blind of Victor's room (she was sure it was Victor's) was still
down, like a closed eyelid, and she had half a mind to throw a
handful of gravel at it and then dart indoors.
</p>

<p>
Back in the house there were some embarrassing moments.
Breakfast was rather a trying time after Victor came down, looking
a little sheepish, and that last moment on the path was difficult,
when he was holding the carriage door open and saying good-bye
to her; but she could not deny herself that wave of the hand as
they turned the corner of the drive&mdash;she was perfectly sure he
must be looking after them.
</p>

<p>
After that&mdash;misery!  Every day at Government House seemed
to bring her an increasing heartache, and when she returned to
College a fortnight later, and fell back into the swing of her
former life there (the glowing and thrilling life she had described
to Victor) a bitter struggle with herself began.
</p>

<p>
It was a struggle between the mysterious new-born desires of
her awakening womanhood and the task she had supposed to be her
duty&mdash;to consecrate her whole life to the liberation of her sex,
giving up, like a nun if need be, all the joys that were for ever
whispering in the ears of women, that she might devote herself
body and soul to the salvation of her suffering sisters.
</p>

<p>
Three months passed in which Fenella believed herself to be
the unhappiest girl in the world.  Moments of guilty joy and
defiance mingled with hours of self-reproach.  And then dear,
good people were sometimes so cruel!  Miss Green, her father's
housekeeper, never wrote without saying something about Victor
Stowell.  He was a student-at-law now, and was getting along
wonderfully.
</p>

<p>
Once Miss Green enclosed a letter from Janet asking Fenella
for her photograph.  For nearly a week that was a frightful
ordeal, but in the end the woman triumphed over the nun and she
sent the picture.
</p>

<p>
"Dear Janet," she wrote, "it was very sweet of you to wish for
my photograph to remind you of that dear and charming day I
spent at Ballamoar, so I have been into Cambridge and had one
specially taken for you, in the dress I wore on that lovely August
afternoon which I shall never forget...."
</p>

<p>
It had been a tingling delight to write that letter, but the
moment she had posted it, with the new Cambridge photograph,
she could have died of vexation and shame&mdash;it must be so utterly
obvious whom she had sent them to.
</p>

<p>
As the Christmas vacation approached she began to be afraid
of herself.  If she returned to the island she would be sure to
see Victor Stowell (he must be in Douglas now) and that would
be the end of everything.
</p>

<p>
After a tragic struggle, and many secret tears, she wrote to her
father to say what numbers of the Newnham girls were going to
Italy for the holidays and how she would love to see the pictures
at Florence.  To her consternation the Governor answered
immediately, saying,
</p>

<p>
"Excellent idea!  It will do you good, and I shall be happy to
get away from 'the Kays' for a month or two, so I am writing
at once to engage rooms at the Washington."
</p>

<p>
She could have cried aloud after reading this letter, but there
was no help for it now.
</p>

<p>
Truly, the heart of a girl is a deep riddle and only He Who
made can read it.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
II
</p>

<p>
In the Attorney-General's office Victor Stowell was going from
strength to strength.  There was a vast deal of ordinary drudgery
in his probationary stage, but he was bearing it with amazing
patience.  His natural talents were recognised as astonishing and
he was being promoted by rapid degrees.  After a few months the
Attorney wrote to the Deemster:
</p>

<p>
"Unless I am mistaken your boy is going to be a great
lawyer&mdash;the root of the matter seems to be in him."
</p>

<p>
Not content with the routine work of the office he took up (by
help of some scheme of University extension) the higher education
which had been cut short by his dismissal from King William's,
and in due course obtained degrees.  One day, after talking with
Victor, the Bishop of the island was heard to say:
</p>

<p>
"If that young fellow had been sent up to Oxford, as he ought
to have been, he might have taken a first-class in <i>Literae
Humaniores</i> and became the most brilliant man of his year."
</p>

<p>
The Attorney-General's office was a large one, and it contained
several other students-at-law.  Among them now was Alick Gell,
who had prevailed upon his mother to prevail upon his father to
permit him to follow Stowell.
</p>

<p>
"God's sake, woman," the Speaker had said, "let him go then,
and make one more rascally Manx lawyer."
</p>

<p>
But neither Alick's industrious idleness, nor the distractions of
a little holiday town in its season, could tempt Stowell from his
studies.  His successes seemed lightly won, but Alick, who lodged
with him in Athol Street, knew that he was a hard worker.  He
worked early and late as if inspired by a great hope, a great ideal.
</p>

<p>
His only recreation was to spend his week-ends at home.  When
he arrived on the Saturday afternoons he usually found his father,
who was looking younger every day, humming to himself as he
worked in an old coat among the flowers in the conservatory.  At
night they dined together, and after dinner, if the evenings were
cool, the Deemster would call on him to stir the peats and draw
up to the fire, and then the old man would talk.
</p>

<p>
It was wonderful talking, but nearly always on the same
subject&mdash;the great Manx trials, the great crimes (often led up to by
great temptations), the great advocates and the great Deemsters.
Victor noticed that whatever the Deemster began with he usually
came round to the same conclusion&mdash;the power and sanctity of
Justice.  After an hour, or more, he would rise in his stately way,
to go to the blue law-papers for his next Court which his clerk,
old Joshua Scarf, had laid out under the lamp on the library
table, saying:
</p>

<p>
"That's how it is, you see.  Justice is the strongest and most
sacred thing in the world, and in the end it must prevail."
</p>

<p>
But Victor's greatest joy in his weekly visits to Ballamoar was
to light his candle at ten o'clock on the mahogany table on the
landing under the clock and fly off to his bedroom, for Janet would
be there at that hour, blowing up his fire, turning down his bed,
opening his bag to take out his night-gear and ready to talk on a
still greater subject.
</p>

<p>
With the clairvoyance of the heart of a woman who had never
had a lover of her own ("not exactly a real lover," she used to
say) she had penetrated the mystery of the change in Victor.  She
loved to dream about the glories of his future career (even her
devotion to the Deemster was in danger of being eclipsed by that)
but above everything else, about the woman who was to be his wife.
</p>

<p>
In some deep womanlike way, unknown to man, she identified
herself with Fenella Stanley and courted Victor for her in her
absence.  She had visions of their marriage day, and particularly
of the day after it, when they would come home, that lovely and
beloved pair, to this very house, this very room, this very bed,
and she would spread the sheets for them.
</p>

<p>
"Is that you, dear?" she would say, down on her knees at the
fire, as he came in with his candle.
</p>

<p>
And then he, too, would play his little part, asking about the
servants, the tenants, Robbie Creer, and his son Robin (now a big
fellow and the Deemster's coachman) and Alice and "Auntie
Kitty," and even the Manx cat with her six tailless kittens, and
then, as if casually, about Fenella.
</p>

<p>
"Any news from Miss Green lately, Janet?"
</p>

<p>
One night Janet had something better than news&mdash;a letter and
a photograph.
</p>

<p>
"There!  What do you think of that, now?"
</p>

<p>
Victor read the letter in its bold, clear, unaffected handwriting,
and then holding the photograph under the lamp in his trembling
fingers (Janet was sure they were trembling) he said, in a
voice that was also trembling:
</p>

<p>
"Don't you think she's like my mother&mdash;just a little like?"
</p>

<p>
"'Deed she is, dear," said Janet.  "You've put the very name
to it.  And that's to say she's like the loveliest woman that ever
walked the world&mdash;in this island anyway."
</p>

<p>
Victor could never trust his voice too soon after Janet said
things like that (she was often saying them), but after a while he
laughed and answered:
</p>

<p>
"I notice she doesn't walk the island too often, though.  She
hasn't come here for ages."
</p>

<p>
"Oh, but she will, boy, she will," said Janet, and then she left
him, for he was almost undressed by this time, to get into bed
and dream.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
III
</p>

<p>
At length, Victor Stowell's term as a student-at-law came to an
end and he was examined for the Manx bar.  The examiner was
the junior Deemster of the island&mdash;Deemster Taubman, an elderly
man with a yellow and wrinkled face which put you in mind of sour
cream.  He was a bachelor, notoriously hard on the offences of
women, having been jilted, so rumor said, by one of them (a
well-to-do widow), on whose person or fortune he had set his heart
or expectations.
</p>

<p>
Stowell and Gell went up together, being students of the same
year, and Deemster Taubman received them at his home, two
mornings running, in his dressing-gown and slippers.  Stowell's
fame had gone before him, so he got off lightly; but Gell came in
for a double dose of the examiner's severity.
</p>

<p>
"Mr. Gell," said Deemster Taubman, "if somebody consulted
you in the circumstance that he had lent five hundred pounds on a
promissory note, payable upon demand, but without security, to a
rascal (say a widow woman) who refused to pay and declared her
intention of leaving the island to-morrow and living abroad, what
would you advise your client to do for the recovery of his money?"
</p>

<p>
Alick had not the ghost of an idea, but knowing Deemster
Taubman was vain, and thinking to flatter him, he said,
</p>

<p>
"I should advise my client, your Honour, to lay the facts, in
an <i>ex parte</i> petition before your Honour at your Honour's next
Court" (it was to be held a fortnight later) "and be perfectly
satisfied with your Honour's judgment."
</p>

<p>
"Dunce!" said Deemster Taubman, and sitting down to his
desk, he advised the Governor to admit Mr. Stowell but remand
Mr. Gell for three months' further study.
</p>

<p>
Victor telegraphed the good news to his father, packed up his
belongings in his lodging at Athol Street, and took the next train
back to Ballamoar.  Young Robbie Creer met him at the station
with the dog-cart, and took up his luggage, but Victor was too
excited to ride further, so he walked home by a short cut across
the Curragh.
</p>

<p>
His spirits were high, for after many a sickening heartache
from hope deferred (the harder to bear because it had to be
concealed) he had done something to justify himself.  It wasn't much,
it was only a beginning, but he saw himself going to Government
House one day soon on a thrilling errand that would bring
somebody back to the island who had been too long away from it.
</p>

<p>
Of course he must speak to his own father first, and naturally
he must tell Janet.  But seeing no difficulties in these quarters he
went swinging along the Curragh lane, with the bees humming in
the gold of the gorse on either side of him and the sea singing
under a silver haze beyond, until he came to the wicket gate on the
west of the tall elms and passed through to the silence inside
of them.
</p>

<p>
He found the Deemster in the conservatory, re-potting geraniums,
and when he came up behind with a merry shout, his father
turned with glad eyes, a little moist, wiped his soiled fingers on his
old coat and shook hands with him (for the first time in his life)
saying, in a thick voice,
</p>

<p>
"Good&mdash;very good!"
</p>

<p>
They dined together, as usual, and when they had drawn up at
opposite cheeks of the hearth, with the peat fire between them, the
Deemster talked as Victor thought he had never heard him
talk before.
</p>

<p>
It was the proper aspiration of every young advocate to become
a Judge, and there was no position of more dignity and authority.
Diplomatists, statesmen, prime ministers and even presidents might
be influenced in their conduct by fears or hopes, or questions of
policy, but the Judge alone of all men was free to do the right, as
God gave him to see the right, no matter if the sky should fall.
</p>

<p>
"But if the position of the Judge is high," said the Deemster,
"still higher is his responsibility.  Woe to the Judge who permits
personal interests to pervert his judgment and thrice woe to him
who commits a crime against Justice."
</p>

<p>
Victor found it impossible to break in on that high theme with
mention of his personal matter, so, as soon as the clock on the
landing began to warn for ten he leapt up, snatched his candle, and flew
off to his bedroom in the hope of talk of quite another kind
with Janet.
</p>

<p>
But Janet was not there, and neither was his bed turned down
as usual, nor his night-gear laid out, nor his lamp lighted.  He had
asked for her soon after his arrival and been told that she had gone
to her room early in the afternoon, and had not since been heard of.
</p>

<p>
"Headache," thought Victor, remembering that she was subject
to this malady, and without more thought of the matter, he
tumbled into bed and fell asleep.
</p>

<p>
But the first sight that met his eyes when he opened them in the
morning was Janet, with a face dissolved in tears, and the tray in
her hand, asking him in a muffled voice to sit up to his breakfast.
</p>

<p>
"Lord alive, Janet, what's amiss?" he asked, but she only
shook her head and called on him to eat.
</p>

<p>
"Tell me what's happened," he said, but not a word would she
say until he had taken his breakfast.
</p>

<p>
He gulped down some of the food, under protest, Janet
standing over him, and then came a tide of lamentation.
</p>

<p>
"God comfort you, my boy!  God strengthen and comfort
you!" said Janet.
</p>

<p>
In the whirl of his stunned senses, Victor caught at the first
subject of his thoughts.
</p>

<p>
"Is it about Fenella?" he asked, and Janet nodded and-wiped
her eyes.
</p>

<p>
"Is she&mdash;dead?"
</p>

<p>
Janet threw up her hands.  "Thank the Lord, no, not that,
anyway."
</p>

<p>
"Is she ill?"
</p>

<p>
"Not that either."
</p>

<p>
"Then why make all this fuss?  What does it matter to me?"
</p>

<p>
"It matters more to you than to anybody else in the world,
dear," said Janet.
</p>

<p>
Victor took her by the shoulders as she stood by his bed.  "In
the name of goodness, Janet, what is it?" he said.
</p>

<p>
It came at last, a broken story, through many gusts of breath,
all pretences down between them now and their hearts naked
before each other.
</p>

<p>
Fenella Stanley, who, since she left Newnham, had been working
(as he knew) as a voluntary assistant at some Women's Settlement
in London, had just been offered and had accepted the position
of its resident Lady Warden, and signed on for seven years.
</p>

<p>
"Seven years, you say?"
</p>

<p>
"Seven years, dear."
</p>

<p>
The Governor had prayed and protested, saying he had only
one daughter, and asking if she meant that he was to live the rest
of his life alone, but Fenella, who had written heart-breaking
letters, had held to her purpose.  It was like taking the veil, like
going into a nunnery; the girl was lost to them, they had seen the
last of her.
</p>

<p>
"I had it all from Catherine Green," said Janet.
</p>

<p>
Willie Killip, the postman, had given her the letter just when
she was standing at the porch, looking down the Curragh lane for
Victor, and seeing him coming along with his high step and the
sunset behind him, swishing the heads off the cushags with his cane.
</p>

<p>
"I couldn't find it in my heart to tell you last night, and you
looking so happy, so I ran away to my room, and it's a sorrowful
woman I am to tell you this morning."
</p>

<p>
She knew it would be bitter hard to him&mdash;as hard as it must
have been to Jacob to serve seven years for Rachel and then lose
her, and that was the saddest story in the old Book, she thought.
</p>

<p>
"But we must bear it as well as we can, dear, and&mdash;who
knows?&mdash;it may all be for the best some day."
</p>

<p>
Victor, resting on his elbow, had listened with mouth agape.
The flaming light which had crimsoned his sky for five long years,
sustaining him, inspiring him, had died out in an instant.  For
some moments he did not speak, and in the intervals of Janet's
lamentations nothing was audible but the cry of some sea-gulls
who had come up from the sea, where a storm was rising.  Then
he began to laugh.  It was wild, unnatural laughter, beginning
thick in his throat and ending with a scream.
</p>

<p>
"Lord, what a joke!" he cried.  "What a damned funny joke!"
</p>

<p>
But at the next moment he broke into a stifling sob, and fell
face down on to the pillow and soaked it with his tears.
</p>

<p>
Janet hung over him like a mother-bird over a broken nest, her
wrinkled face working hard with many emotions&mdash;sorrow for her
boy and even anger with Fenella.
</p>

<p>
"Aw, dear! aw, dear!" she moaned, "many a time I've wished
I had been your real mother, dear; but never so much as now that
I might have a right to comfort you."
</p>

<p>
At that word, though sadly spoken, Victor raised himself from
his pillow, brushed his eyes fiercely and said, in a firm, decided
voice,
</p>

<p>
"That's all right, mother.  I've been a fool.  But it shall
never happen again&mdash;never!"
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p><a id="chap0106"></a></p>

<h3>
CHAPTER SIX
<br />
THE WORLD OF WOMAN
</h3>

<p>
Victor Stowell spent his first two hours after Janet left him
in destroying everything which might remind him of Fenella.
Her picture, which Janet had framed and hung over his mantel-piece,
he put face-down in a drawer.  The flowers she had placed
in front of it he flung out of the window.  A box full of
newspaper cuttings and extracts from books dealing with the hardships
of the laws relating to women (the collection of five laborious
years) he stuffed into the grate and set fire to.
</p>

<p>
But having done all this he found he had done nothing.  Only
once, since her childhood, had Fenella been to Ballamoar, yet she
had left her ghost all over it.  He could not sit on the piazza, or
walk down the sandy road to the sea, without being ripped and
raked by the thought of her.  And sight of the turn of the drive
at which she had waved her hand, and turned the glory of her face
on him, was enough to make the bluest sky a blank.
</p>

<p>
For a long month he went about with a look too dark for so
young a face and a step too heavy for so light a foot, blackening his
fate and his future.  He never doubted that he had lost something
that could never be regained.  Without blaming Fenella for so
much as a moment he felt humiliated and ashamed, and like a fool
who had built his house upon the sand.  God, how hollow living
seemed!  Life had lost its savour; effort was useless and there
was nothing left in the world but dead-sea fruit.
</p>

<p>
How much the Deemster had learnt of his trouble he never
knew, but one night, as they drew up to the cheeks of the hearth
after dinner, he said:
</p>

<p>
"Victor, how would you like to go round the world?  Travel is
good for a young man.  It helps him to get things into proportion."
</p>

<p>
Victor leapt at the prospect of escaping from Ballamoar, but
thought it seemly to say something about the expense.
</p>

<p>
"That needn't trouble you," said the Deemster, "and you
wouldn't be beholden to me either, for there is something I have
never told you."
</p>

<p>
His mother had had a fortune of her own, and the last act of
her sweet life had been to make it over to her new-born son, at the
discretion of his father, signing her dear will a few minutes before
she died, against every prayer and protest, in the tragic and
unrecognizable handwriting of the dying.
</p>

<p>
"It was five hundred a year then," said the Deemster, "but
I've not touched it for twenty-four years, so it's nine hundred now."
</p>

<p>
"That's water enough to his wheel, I'm thinking," said Dan
Baldromma, when he heard of it, and Cæsar Qualtrough was
known to say:
</p>

<p>
"It's a horse that'll drive him to glory or the devil, and I
belave in my heart I'm knowing which."
</p>

<p>
Two months later Victor Stowell was ready for his journey.
Alick Gell was to go with him&mdash;that gentleman having scrambled
through his examination and prevailed on his mother to prevail
on his father to permit him to follow Stowell.
</p>

<p>
"God's sake, woman," the Speaker had said again, "let him
go, and give him the allowance he asks for, and bother me no more
about him."
</p>

<p>
Turning westward the young travellers crossed the Atlantic;
stood in awe on the ship's deck at their first sight of the new world,
with its great statue of Liberty to guard its portals; passed over
the breathless American continent, where life scours and roars
through Time like a Neap tide on a shingly coast, casting up its
pebbles like spray; then through Japan, where it flows silent and
deep, like a mill race under adumbrous overgrowth; and so on
through China, India and Egypt and back through Europe.
</p>

<p>
It was a wonderful tour&mdash;to Gell like sitting in the bow of a
boat where the tumult of life was for ever smiting his face in
freshening waves; to Stowell (for the first months at least) like
sitting miserably in the stern, with only the backwash visible that
was carrying him away, with every heave of the sea, from something
he had left and lost.
</p>

<p>
But before long Stowell's heavy spirit regained its wings.
Although he could not have admitted it even to himself without a
sense of self-betrayal, Fenella Stanley's face, in the throng of
other and nearer faces, became fainter day by day.  There are no
more infallible physicians for the heart-wounds inflicted by women
than women themselves, and when a man is young, and in the first
short period of virginal manhood, the world is full of them.
</p>

<p>
So it came to pass that whatever else the young men saw that
was wonderful and marvellous in the countries they passed
through, they were always seeing women's eyes to light and warm
them.  And being handsome and winsome themselves their interest
was rewarded according to the conditions&mdash;sometimes with a
look, sometimes with a smile, and sometimes in the freer
communities, with a handful of confetti or a bunch of spring flowers
flung in their faces, or perhaps the tap of a light hand on
their shoulders.
</p>

<p>
Thus the thought of Fenella Stanley, steadily worn down in
Victor's mind, became more and more remote as time and distance
separated them, until at length there were moments when it
seemed like a shadowy memory.
</p>

<p>
Stowell and Gell were two years away, and when they returned
home the old island seemed to them to have dwarfed and dwindled,
the very mountains looking small and squat, and the insular affairs,
which had once loomed large, to have become little, mean and
almost foolish.
</p>

<p>
"Now they'll get to work; you'll see they will," said Janet,
and for the first weeks it looked as if they would.
</p>

<p>
For the better prosecution of their profession, as well as to
remove the sense of rivalry, they took chambers in different towns,
Stowell in Old Post Office Place in Ramsey, and Gell in Preaching
House Lane in Douglas&mdash;-two outer rooms each for offices and two
inner ones for residential apartments.
</p>

<p>
But having ordered their furniture and desks, inscribed their
names in brass on their door-posts ("VICTOR STOWELL,
Advocate"), engaged junior assistants to sit on high stools and
take the names of the clients who might call, and arranged for
sleeping-out housekeepers to attend to their domestic necessities
(Victor's was a comfortable elderly body, Mrs. Quayle, once a
servant of his mother's at Ballamoar, afterwards married to a
fisherman, and then left a widow, like so many of her class, when
our hungry sea had claimed her man), they made no attempt to
practise, being too well off to take the cases of petty larceny and
minor misdemeanour which usually fall to the High Bailiff's Court,
and nobody offering them the cases proper to the Deemster's.
</p>

<p>
Those were the days of Bar dinners (social functions much in
favour with our unbriefed advocates), and one such function was
held in honour of the returned travellers.  At this dinner Stowell,
being the principal speaker, gave a racy account of the worlds they
had wandered through, not forgetting the world of women&mdash;the
sleepy daintiness of the Japanese, the warm comeliness of the
Italian, the vivacious loveliness of the French, and above all, the
frank splendour of the American women, with their free step,
their upturned faces and their conquering eyes.
</p>

<p>
That was felt by various young Manxmen to be a feast that
could be partaken of more than once, so a club was straightway
founded for the furtherance of such studies.  It met once a week
at Mount Murray, an old house a few miles out of Douglas, in the
middle of a forest of oak and pine trees, now an inn, but formerly
the home of a branch of the Athols, when they were the Lords of
Man, and kept a swashbuckler court of half-pay officers who had
come to end their days on the island because the living and liquor
were cheap.
</p>

<p>
One room of this house, the dining-room, still remained as it
used to be when the old bloods routed and shouted there, though
its coat-of-arms was now discoloured by damp and its table was as
worm-eaten as their coffins must have been.  And here it was that
the young bloods of the "Ellan Vannin" (the Isle of Man) held
their weekly revel&mdash;riding out in the early evening on their hired
horses, twenty or thirty together, sitting late over their cups and
pipes, and (the last toast drunk and the last story told) breaking
up in the dark of the morning, stumbling out to the front, where a
line of lanterns would be lining the path, the horses champing the
gravel and the sleepy stable-boys chewing their quids to keep
themselves awake, and then leaping into their saddles, singing their
last song at the full bellows of their lungs in the wide clearing of
the firs to the wondering sky, and galloping home, like so many
Gilpins (as many of them as were sober enough to get there at the
same time as their mounts) and clattering up the steep and stony
streets of Douglas to the scandal of its awakened inhabitants.
</p>

<p>
Victor Stowell was president of the "Ellan Vannin," and in
that character he made one contribution to its dare-devil jollity,
which terminated its existence and led to other consequences more
material to this story.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
II
</p>

<p>
In his heavy days at Ballamoar, before he went abroad, his
father's house had been like a dam to which the troubled waters of
the island flowed&mdash;the little jealousies and envies of the island
community, the bickerings of church and chapel, of town and
country, of town and town, not to speak of the darker maelstrom
of more unworthy quarrels.  While the Deemster had moved
through all this with his calm dignity as the great mediator, the
great pacifier, Victor with his quick brain and wounded heart had
stood by, seeing all and saying nothing.  But now, making a call
upon his memory, for the amusement of his fellow clubmen, out of
sheer high spirits and with no thought of evil, he composed a
number of four-line "Limericks" on the big-wigs of the island.
</p>

<p>
Such scorching irony and biting satire had never been heard in
the island before.  If any pompous or hypocritical person (by
preference a parson, a local preacher, a High Bailiff or a Key)
had a dark secret, which he would have given his soul's salvation
not to have disclosed, it was held up, under some thin disguise, to
withering ridicule.
</p>

<p>
A long series of these reckless lampoons Victor fired off weekly
over the worm-eaten table at Mount Murray, to the delirious
delight of the clubmen, who, learning them by heart, carried them to
their little world outside, with the result that they ran over the
island like a fiery cross and set the Manx people aroar with
laughter.
</p>

<p>
The good and the unco' good were scandalized, but the victims
were scarified.  And to put an end to their enemy, and terminate
his hostilities, these latter, laying their heads together to tar him
with his own brush, found a hopeful agency to their hand in the
person of a good-looking young woman of doubtful reputation
called Fanny, who kept a house of questionable fame in the unlit
reaches of the harbour south of the bridge.
</p>

<p>
One early morning word went through the town like a searching
wind that Fanny's house had been raided by the police, in the
middle of the night, about the hour when the Clubmen usually
clattered back to Douglas.  The raid had been intended to capture
Stowell, but had failed in its chief object&mdash;that young gentleman
having gone on, when some of his comrades had stopped, put up
his horse at his job-master's and proceeded to Gell's chambers
where he slept on his nights in town.  Others of his company had
also escaped by means of a free fight, in which they had used their
hunting crops and the police their truncheons.  But Alick Gell,
with his supernatural capacity for getting into a scrape, had been
arrested and carried off, with Fanny herself, to the Douglas
lock-up.
</p>

<p>
Next day these two were brought up in the Magistrate's Court,
which was presided over by his Worship the Colonel of the
"Nunnery," a worthy and dignified man, to whom the turn of recent
events was shocking.  The old Court-house was crowded with the
excited townspeople, and as many of the Clubmen were present as
dare show their bandaged heads out of their bedrooms.
</p>

<p>
When the case was called, and the two defendants entered the
dock, they made a grotesque and rather pitiful contrast&mdash;Gell in
his tall, slim, fair-haired gentlemanliness, and Fanny in her warm
fat comeliness, decked out in some gaudy finery which she had sent
home for, having been carried off in the night with streaming locks
and naked bosom.
</p>

<p>
In the place of the Attorney-General, the prosecutor was a
full-bodied, elderly advocate named Hudgeon, who had been the
subject of one of the most withering of the lampoons.  He opened
with bitter severity, spoke of the case as the worst of the kind the
island had known; referred to the "most unholy hour of the
morning" which had lately been selected for scenes of unseemly riot;
said his "righteous indignation" was roused at such disgraceful
doings, and finally hoped the Court would, for the credit of
lawyers "hereafter" make an example, "without respect of persons,"
of the representative of a group of young roysterers, who were a
disgrace to the law, and had nothing better to do (so rumour and
report were saying) than to traduce the good names of their elders
and betters.
</p>

<p>
When he had examined the constables and closed his case it
looked as if Gell were in danger of Castle Rushen, and the
consequent wrecking of his career at the Bar, and that nothing was
before Fanny but banishment from the island, with such solace as
the bribe of her employers might bring her.
</p>

<p>
But then, to a rustle of whispering, Stowell, who was in wig
and gown for the first time, got up for the defence.  It had been
expected that he would do so, and many old advocates who had
heard much of him, had left their offices, and filled the advocates'
box, to see for themselves what mettle he was made of.
</p>

<p>
They had not long to wait.  In five minutes he had made such
play with his "learned friend's" "unholy hour of the morning,"
"his righteous indignation" and his "hereafter" for lawyers
(not without reference to a traditional personage with horns and
a fork) that the merriment of the people in Court rose from a titter
to a roar, which the ushers were powerless to suppress.  Again and
again the writhing prosecutor, with flaming face and foaming and
spluttering mouth, appealed in vain to the Bench, until at length,
getting no protection, and being lashed by a wit more cutting than
a whip, he gathered up his papers and, leaving the case to his
clerk, fled from the Court like an infuriated bat, saying he would
never again set foot in it.
</p>

<p>
Then Stowell, calling back the constables, confused them, made
them contradict themselves, and each other, and step down at last
like men whose brains had fallen into their boots.  After that he
called Gell and caused him to look like a harmless innocent who
had strayed out of a sheepfold into a shambles.  And finally he
called Fanny, and getting quickly on the woman's side of her, he
so coaxed and cajoled and flattered and then frightened her, that
she seemed to be on the point of blurting out the whole plot, and
giving away the names of half the big men in the island.
</p>

<p>
His Worship of the Nunnery closed up the case quickly, saying
"young men will be young men," but regretting that the eminent
talents exhibited in the defence were not being employed in the
service of the island.
</p>

<p>
The Court-house emptied to a babel of talking and a burst of
irrepressible laughter, and that was the end of the "Ellan
Vannin."  But the one ineffaceable effect of the incident, most
material to this story, was that Alick Gell, who was still as innocent
as the baby of a girl, had acquired a reputation for dark misdoings
(especially with women) whereof anything might be expected in
the future.
</p>

<p>
After the insular newspapers had dwelt with becoming severity
on this aspect of the "distressing proceedings," the Speaker
walked over in full-bearded dignity to remonstrate with the
Deemster.
</p>

<p>
"Your son is dragging my lad down to the dirt," he said, "and
before long I shall not be able to show my face anywhere."
</p>

<p>
"What do you wish me to do, Mr. Speaker?" asked the
Deemster.
</p>

<p>
"Do?  Do?  I don't know what I want you to do," said
the Speaker.
</p>

<p>
"I thought you didn't," said the Deemster, and then the
full-bearded dignity disappeared.
</p>

<p>
Concerning Victor, although he had made the island laugh (the
shortest cut to popularity), opinions were widely divided.
</p>

<p>
"There's only the breadth of a hair between that young man
and a scoundrel," said Hudgeon, the advocate.
</p>

<p>
"Lave him rope and he'll hang himself," said Cæsar Qualtrough,
from behind his pipe in the smoking-room of the Keys.
</p>

<p>
"Clever!  Clever uncommon!  But you'll see, you'll see," said
the Speaker.
</p>

<p>
"I've not lost faith in that young fellow yet," said the Governor.
"Some great fact will awaken a sense of responsibility and
make a man of him."
</p>

<p>
The great fact was not long in coming, but few could have
foreseen the source from which it came.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
III
</p>

<p>
With the first breath of the first summer after their return to
the island Stowell and Gell went up into the glen to camp.  They
had no tent; two hammocks swung from neighbouring trees served
them for beds and the horizontal boughs of other trees for
wardrobes.
</p>

<p>
There, for a long month, amidst the scent of the honeysuckle,
the gorse and the heather, and the smell of the bracken and the
pine, they fished, they shot, they smoked, they talked.  Late in the
evening, after they had rolled themselves into their hammocks,
they heard the murmuring of the trees down the length of the glen,
like near and distant sea-waves, and saw, above the soaring
pine-trunks, the gleaming of the sky with its stars.  As they shouted
their last "Good-night" to each other from the depths of their
swaying beds the dogs would be barking at Dan Baldromma's mill
at the bottom of the glen and the water would be plashing in the
topmost fall of it.  And then night would come, perfect night,
and the silence of unbroken sleep.
</p>

<p>
Awaking with the dawn they would see the last stars pale out
and hear the first birds begin to call; then the cock would crow at
old Will Skillicorne's croft on the "brough," the sheep would
bleat in the fields beyond, the squirrels would squeak in the
branches over their heads and the fish would leap in the river below.
And then, as the sun came striding down on them from the hilltops
to the east, they would tumble out of their hammocks, strip
and plunge into the glen stream&mdash;the deep, round, blue dubs of it,
in which the glistening water would lash their bodies like a living
element.  And then they would run up to the headland (still in
the state of nature) and race over the heather like wild horses in
the fresh and nipping air.
</p>

<p>
They were doing this one midsummer morning when they had
an embarrassing experience, which, in the devious ways of destiny,
was not to be without its results.  Flying headlong down the naked
side of the glen (for sake of the faster run) they suddenly became
aware of somebody coming up.  It was a young woman in a
sunbonnet.  She was driving four or five heifers to the mountain.
Swishing a twig in her hand and calling to her cattle, she was
making straight for their camping-place.
</p>

<p>
The young men looked around, but there was no escape on any
side, so down they went full length on their faces in the long grass
(how short!) and buried their noses in the earth.
</p>

<p>
In that position of blind helplessness, there was nothing to do
but wait until the girl and her cattle had passed, and hope to be
unobserved.  They could hear the many feet of the heifers, the
flapping of their tails (the flies must be pestering them) and the
frequent calls of the girl.  On she came, with a most deliberate
slowness, and her voice, which had been clear and sharp when she
was lower down the glen, seemed to them to have a gurgling note
in it as she came nearer to where they lay.
</p>

<p>
"Come out of that, you gawk, and get along, will you?" she
cried, and Victor could not be quite sure that it was only the cattle
she was calling to.
</p>

<p>
At one moment, when they thought the girl and the cattle must
be very close, there was a sickening silence, and then the young
men remembered their breeches which were hanging open over a
bough and their shirts which were dangling at the end of it.
</p>

<p>
"Get up, stupid!  What are you lying there for?" cried the
girl, and then came another swish of the twig and a further
thudding of the feet of the heifers.
</p>

<p>
"The devil must be in that girl," thought Victor, and he would
have given something to look up, but dare not, so he lay still and
listened, telling himself that never before had two poor men been
in such an unfair and ridiculous predicament.
</p>

<p>
At length the feet of the cattle sounded faint over the rippling
of the river, and the girl's voice thin through the pattering of the
leaves.  And then the two sons of Adam rose cautiously from the
grass, slithered down the glen-side and slipped into the essential
part of their garments.
</p>

<p>
Half-an-hour later, the lark being loud in the sky, and the world
astir and decent, they were cooking their breakfast (Gell holding
a frying-pan over a crackling gorse fire, and Stowell, in his
Wellington boots, striding about with a tea-pot) when they heard the
girl coming back.  And being now encased in the close armour of
their clothes they felt that the offensive had changed its front and
stepped boldly forward to face her.
</p>

<p>
She was a strapping girl of three or four and twenty, full-blooded
and full-bosomed, with coal-black hair and gleaming black
eyes under her sun-bonnet, which was turned back from her
forehead, showing a comely face of a fresh complexion, with eager
mouth and warm red lips.  Her sleeves were rolled back above
her elbows, leaving her round arms bare and sun-brown; her
woollen petticoat was tucked up, at one side, into her waist, and as
she came swinging down the glen with a jaunty step, her hips
moved, with her whole body, to a rhythm of health and happiness.
</p>

<p>
"Attractive young person, eh?" said Victor.
</p>

<p>
But Gell, after a first glance, went back without a word to his
frying-pan, leaving his comrade, who was still carrying his teapot,
to meet the girl, who came on with an unconcerned and unconscious
air, humming to herself at intervals, as if totally unaware
of the presence of either of them.
</p>

<p>
"Nice morning, miss," said Victor, stepping out into the path.
</p>

<p>
The girl made a start of surprise, looked him over from head to
foot, glanced at his companion, whose face was to the fire,
recognised both, smiled and answered:
</p>

<p>
"Yes, Sir, nice, very nice."
</p>

<p>
Then followed a little fencing, which was intended by Victor
to find out if the girl had seen them.
</p>

<p>
Came up this way a while ago, didn't she?  Aw, yes, she did,
to take last year's heifers to graze on the mountains.  Seen
anything hereabouts&mdash;that is to say on the tops?  Aw, no, nothing
at all&mdash;had he?  Well, yes, he thought he'd seen something
running on the ridge just over the waterfall.
</p>

<p>
The girl gave him a deliberate glance from her dark eyes, then
dropped them demurely and said, with an innocent air,
</p>

<p>
"Must have been some of the young colts broken out of the
top field, I suppose."
</p>

<p>
"That's all right," thought Victor, not knowing the ways of
women though he thought himself so wise in them.
</p>

<p>
After that, feeling braver, he began to make play with the
girl, asking her how far she had come, and if she wouldn't be
lonesome going back without company.
</p>

<p>
She looked at him quizzically for a moment, and then said, with
her eyes full of merriment,
</p>

<p>
"What sort of company, sir?"
</p>

<p>
"Well, mine for instance," he answered.
</p>

<p>
She laughed, a fresh and merry laugh from her throat, and said,
</p>

<p>
"You daren't come home with me, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"Why daren't I?"
</p>

<p>
"You'd be afraid of father.  He's not used of young men
coming about the place, and he'd frighten the life out of you."
</p>

<p>
Victor put down his tea-pot and made a stride forward.
"Come on&mdash;where is he?"
</p>

<p>
But the girl swung away, with another laugh, crying over
her shoulder,
</p>

<p>
"Aw, no, no, plaze, plaze!"
</p>

<p>
"Ah, then it's you that are afraid, eh?" said Victor.
</p>

<p>
"It's not that," replied the girl.
</p>

<p>
"What is it?" said Victor.
</p>

<p>
She gave him another deliberate glance from her dark eyes&mdash;he
thought he could feel the warm glow of her body across the
distance dividing them&mdash;and said,
</p>

<p>
"The old man might be sending somebody else up with the
heifers next time, and then...."
</p>

<p>
"What then?"
</p>

<p>
She laughed again with eyes full of mischief, and seemed to
prepare to fly.
</p>

<p>
"Then maybe I'd be missing seeing something," she said, and
shot away at a bound.
</p>

<p>
Victor stood for a moment looking down the glen.
</p>

<p>
"God, what a girl!" he said.  "I've a good mind to go after
her."
</p>

<p>
"I shouldn't if I were you," said Gell.  "You know who
she is?"
</p>

<p>
"Who?"
</p>

<p>
"Bessie Collister."
</p>

<p>
"The little thing who was in Castletown?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes."
</p>

<p>
"Then I suppose she belongs to you?"
</p>

<p>
"Not a bit.  I haven't spoken to her from that day to this,"
said Gell, and then he told of the promise he had made to his father.
</p>

<p>
"But Lord alive, that was when you were a lad."
</p>

<p>
"Maybe so, but 'as long as you live'&mdash;that was the word, and
I mean to keep it.  Besides, there's Dan Baldromma."
</p>

<p>
"That blatherskite?" said Victor.
</p>

<p>
"He'd be an ugly customer if anything went wrong, you
know."
</p>

<p>
"But, good Lord, man, what is going to go wrong?"
</p>

<p>
When they had finished breakfast and Gell was washing up at
the water's edge, Victor was on a boulder, looking down the glen
again, and saying, as if to himself,
</p>

<p>
"My God, what a girl, though!  Such lips, such flesh,
such...."
</p>

<p>
"I say, old fellow!" cried Gell.
</p>

<p>
Victor leapt down and laughed to cover his confusion.
</p>

<p>
"Well, why not?  We're all creatures of earth, aren't we?"
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p><a id="chap0107"></a></p>

<h3>
CHAPTER SEVEN
<br />
THE DAY OF TEMPTATION
</h3>

<p>
Fenella Stanley had been two and a half years at the head
of the Women's Settlement.  Her work as Lady Warden had been
successful.  It had been a great, human, palpitating experience.
There were days, and even weeks, when she felt that it had brought
her a little nearer to the soul of the universe and helped her to
touch hands across the ages with the great women who had walked
through Gethsemane for the poor, despoiled and despairing
victims of their own sex.
</p>

<p>
But nevertheless it had left her with a certain restlessness
which at first she found it hard to understand.  Only little by
little did she come to realise that nature, with its almighty voice,
was calling to her, and that under all the thrill of self-sacrifice she
was suffering from the gnawing hunger of an underfed heart.
</p>

<p>
The seven years that had passed since her last visit to the island
had produced their physical effects.  From a slim and beautiful
school-girl she had developed into a full and splendid woman.
When the ladies of her Committee (matrons chiefly) saw the swing
of her free step and the untamed glance of her eye they would say,
</p>

<p>
"She's a fine worker, but we shall never be able to keep
her&mdash;you'll see we shall not."
</p>

<p>
And as often as the men of the Committee (clergymen generally,
but manly persons, for the most part, not too remote from
the facts of life) came within range of the glow and flame of her
womanhood, they would think,
</p>

<p>
"That splendid girl ought to become the mother of children."
</p>

<p>
During the first year of her wardenship her chief touch with
home (her father being estranged) had been through correspondence
with his housekeeper.  Miss Green's letters were principally
about the Governor, but they contained a good deal about Victor
Stowell also.  Victor had been called to the Bar, but for some
reason which nobody could fathom he seemed to have lost heart
and hope and the Deemster had sent him round the world.
</p>

<p>
Fenella found herself tingling with a kind of secret joy at this
news.  She was utterly ashamed of the impulse to smile at the
thought of Victor's sufferings, yet do what she would she could
not conquer it.
</p>

<p>
Her tours abroad with her father had ceased by this time, but
in her second year at the Settlement she took holiday with a girl
friend, going through Switzerland and Italy and as far afield as
Egypt.  During that journey fate played some tantalizing pranks
with her.
</p>

<p>
The first of them was at Cairo, where, going into Cook's, to
enter her name for a passage to Italy, her breath was almost
smitten out of her body by the sight of Victor's name, in his own
bold handwriting, in the book above her own&mdash;he had that day
sailed for Naples.
</p>

<p>
The second was at Naples itself (she would have died rather
than admit to herself that she was following him), where she saw
his name again, with Alick Gell's, in the Visitors' List, and being
a young woman of independent character, marched up to his hotel
to ask for him&mdash;he had gone on to Rome.
</p>

<p>
The third, and most trying, was in the railway station at
Zurich, where stepping out of the train from Florence she collided
on the crowded platform with the Attorney-General and his
comfortable old wife from the Isle of Man, and was told that young
Stowell and young Gell had that moment left by train for Paris.
</p>

<p>
But back in London she found her correspondence with Miss
Green even more intoxicating than before, and every new letter
seemed like a hawser drawing her home.  Victor Stowell had
returned to the island, but he was not showing much sign of
settling to work.  He seemed to have no aim, no object, no ambition.
In fact it was the common opinion that the young man was going
steadily to the dogs.
</p>

<p>
"So if you ever had any thoughts in that direction, dear," said
Miss Green, "what a lucky escape you had (though we didn't
think so at the time) when you signed on at the Settlement!"
</p>

<p>
But the conquering pull of the hawser that was dragging her
home came in the letters of Isabella Gell, with whom she had
always kept up a desultory correspondence.
</p>

<p>
The Deemster was failing fast ("and no wonder!"); and
Janet Curphey, who had been such a bustling body, was always
falling asleep over her needles; and the Speaker (after a violent
altercation in the Keys) had had a profuse bleeding at the nose,
which Dr. Clucas said was to be taken as a warning.
</p>

<p>
But the only exciting news in the island just now was about
Victor Stowell.  Really, he was becoming impossible!  Not
content with making her brother Alick the scapegoat of his own
misdoings in a disgraceful affair of some sort (her father had
forbidden Alick the house ever since, and her mother was always moping
with her feet inside the fender), he was behaving scandalously.
A good-looking woman couldn't pass him on the road without his
eyes following her!  Any common thing out of a thatched cottage,
if she only had a pretty face, was good enough for him now!!  The
simpletons!!  Perhaps they expected him to marry them, and give
them his name and position?  But not he!!  Indeed no!!  And
heaven pity the poor girl of a better class who ever took him for
a husband!!!
</p>

<p>
Fenella laughed&mdash;seeing through the feminine spitefulness of
these letters as the sun sees through glass.  So mistress Isabella
herself had been casting eyes in that direction!  What fun!  She
had visions of the Gell girls having differences among themselves
about Victor Stowell.  The idea of his marrying any of them, and
keeping step for the rest of his life with the conventions of the
Gell family, was too funny for anything.
</p>

<p>
But those Manx country girls, with their black eyes and eager
mouths, were quite a different proposition.  Fenella had visions
of them also, fresh as milk and warm as young heifers, watching
for Victor at their dairy doors or from the shade of the apple trees
in their orchards, and before she was aware of what was happening
to her she was aflame with jealousy.
</p>

<p>
That Isabella Gell was a dunce!  It was nonsense to say that
the Manx country girls out of the thatched cottages expected Victor
to marry them.  Of course they didn't, and neither did they want
his name or his position.  What they really wanted was Victor
himself, to flirt with and flatter them and make love to them,
perhaps.  But good gracious, what a shocking thing!  That should
never happen&mdash;never while she was about!
</p>

<p>
Of course this meant that she must go back to save Victor.
Naturally she could not expect to do so over a blind distance of
three hundred miles, while those Manx country girls in their new
Whitsuntide hats were shooting glances at him every Sunday in
Church, or perhaps hanging about for him on week-evenings, in
their wicked sun-bonnets, and even putting up their chins to be
kissed in those shady lanes at the back of Ballamoar, when the
sun would be softening, and the wood-pigeons would be cooing,
and things would be coming together for the night.
</p>

<p>
That settled matters!  Her womanhood was awake by this
time.  Seven years of self-sacrifice had not been sufficient to quell
it.  After a certain struggle, and perhaps a certain shame, she put
in her resignation.
</p>

<p>
Her Committee did not express as much surprise as she had
expected.  The ladies hoped her native island would provide a
little world, a little microcosm, in which she could still carry on
her work for women, (she had given that as one of her excuses),
and the gentlemen had no doubt her father, "and others," would
receive her back "with open arms."
</p>

<p>
She was to leave the Settlement at the close of the half year,
that is to say at the end of July, but she decided to say nothing,
either to her father or to Miss Green, about her return to the
island until the time came for it at the beginning of August.
</p>

<p>
She was thinking of Victor again, and cherishing a secret hope
of taking him unawares somewhere&mdash;of giving him another
surprise, such as she gave him that day in the glen, when he came
down bareheaded, with the sea wind in his dark hair, and then
stopped suddenly at the sight of her, with that entrancing look of
surprise and wonder.
</p>

<p>
And if any of those Manx country girls were about him when
that happened .... Well, they would disappear like a shot.
Of course they would!
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
II
</p>

<p>
Meantime, another woman was hearing black stories about
Victor, and that was Janet.  She believed them, she disbelieved
them, she dreaded them as possibilities and resented them as
slanders.  But finally she concluded that, whether they were true
or false, she must tell Victor all about them.
</p>

<p>
Yet how was she to do so?  How put a name to the evil things
that were being said of him&mdash;she who had been the same as a
mother to him all the way up since he was a child, and held him
in her arms for his christening?
</p>

<p>
For weeks her soft heart fought with her maidenly modesty,
but at length her heart prevailed.  She could not see her dear boy
walk blindfold into danger.  Whatever the consequences she must
speak to him, warn him, stop him if necessary.
</p>

<p>
But where and when and how was she to do so?  To write
was impossible (nobody knew what might become of a letter) and
Victor had long discontinued his week-end visits to Ballamoar.
</p>

<p>
One day the Deemster told her to prepare a room for the
Governor who was coming to visit him, and seizing her
opportunity she said,
</p>

<p>
"And wouldn't it be nice to ask Victor to meet him, your
Honour?"
</p>

<p>
The Deemster paused for a moment, then bowed his head and
answered,
</p>

<p>
"Do as you please, Miss Curphey."
</p>

<p>
Five minutes afterwards Janet was writing in hot haste
to Ramsey.
</p>

<p>
"He is to come on Saturday, dear, but mind you come on
Friday, so that I may have you all to myself for a while before
the great men take you from me."
</p>

<p>
Victor came on Friday evening and found Janet alone, the
Deemster being away for an important Court and likely to sleep
the night in Douglas.  She was in her own little sitting-room&mdash;a
soft, cushiony chamber full of embroidered screens and pictures
of himself as a child worked out in coloured silk.  A tea-tray, ready
laid, was on a table by her side, and she rose with a trembling
cry as he bounded in and kissed her.
</p>

<p>
Tea was a long but tremulous joy to her, and by the time it was
over the darkness was gathering.  The maid removed the tray and
was about to bring in a lamp, but Janet, being artful, said:
</p>

<p>
"No, Jane, not yet.  It would be a pity to shut out this lovely
twilight.  Don't you think so, dear?"
</p>

<p>
Victor agreed, not knowing what was coming, and for an hour
longer they sat at opposite sides of the table, with their faces to
the lawn, while the rooks cawed out their last congress, and the
thrush sang its last song, and Janet talked on indifferent
matters&mdash;whether Mrs. Quayle (his sleeping-out housekeeper) was making
him comfortable at Ramsey, and if Robbie Creer should not be told
to leave butter and fresh eggs for him on market-day.
</p>

<p>
But when, the darkness having deepened, there was no longer
any danger that Victor could see her face, Janet (trembling with
fear of her nursling now that he had grown to be a man) plunged
into her tragic subject.
</p>

<p>
People were talking and talking.  The Manx ones were terrible
for talking.  Really, it ought to be possible to put the law on
people who talked and talked.
</p>

<p>
"Who are they talking about now, Janet?  Is it about me?"
said Victor.
</p>

<p>
"Well, yes .... yes, it's about you, dear."
</p>

<p>
Oh, nothing serious, not to say serious!  Just a few flighty
girls boasting about the attentions he was paying them.  And then
older people, who ought to know better, gibble-gabbling about the
dangers to young women&mdash;as if the dangers to young men were
not greater, sometimes far greater.
</p>

<p>
"Not that I don't sympathise with the girls," said Janet,
"living here, poor things, on this sandy headland, while the best
of the Manx boys are going away to America, year after year, and
never a man creature younger than their fathers and grandfathers
about to pass the time of day with, except the heavy-footed
omathauns that are left."
</p>

<p>
What wonder that when a young man of another sort came
about, and showed them the courtesy a man always shows to a
woman, whatever she is, when he is a gentleman born&mdash;just a
smile, or a nod, or a kind word on the road, or the lifting of his
hat, or a hand over a stile perhaps&mdash;what wonder if the poor
foolish young things began to dream dreams and see visions.
</p>

<p>
"But that's just where the danger comes in, dear," said Janet.
"Oh, I'm a woman myself, and I was young once, you know, and
perhaps I remember how the heavens seem to open for a girl
when she thinks two eyes look at her with love, and she feels as if
she could give herself away, with everything she is or will be, and
care nothing for the future.  But only think what a terrible thing
it would be if some simple girl of that sort got into trouble on
your account."
</p>

<p>
"Don't be afraid of that, Janet," said Victor in a low voice.
"No girl in the island, or in the world either, has ever come to
any harm through me&mdash;or ever will do."
</p>

<p>
There came the sound of a faint gasp in the darkness, and then
Janet cried:
</p>

<p>
"God bless you for saying that, dear!  I knew you would!
And don't think your silly old Janet believed the lying stories they
told of you.  'Deed no, that she didn't and never will do, never!
But all the same a young man can't be too careful!"
</p>

<p>
There were bad girls about also&mdash;real scheming, designing
huzzies!  Some of them were good-looking young vixens too, for it
wasn't the good ones only that God made beautiful.  And when
a man was young and handsome and clever and charming and
well-off and had all the world before him, they threw themselves in
his way, and didn't mind what disgrace they got into if they could
only compel him to marry them.
</p>

<p>
"But think of a slut like that coming to live as mistress
here&mdash;here in the house of Isobel Stowell!"
</p>

<p>
Then the men folk of such women were as bad as they were.
There was a wicked, lying, evil spirit abroad these days that Jack
was as good as his master, and if you were up you had to be pulled
down, and if you were big you had to be made little.
</p>

<p>
"Only think what a cry these people would make if anything
happened," said Janet, "wrecking your career perhaps, and
making promotion impossible."
</p>

<p>
"Don't be afraid of that either, Janet.  I can take care of
myself, you know."
</p>

<p>
"So you can, dear," said Janet, "but then think of your
father.  Forty years a judge, and not a breath of scandal has ever
touched him!  But that's just why some of these dirts would like to
destroy him, calling to him in the Courts themselves, perhaps, with
all the dirty tongues at them, to come down from the judgment-seat
and set his own house in order."
</p>

<p>
"My father can take care of himself, too, Janet," said Victor.
</p>

<p>
"I know, dear, I know," said Janet.  "But think what he'll
suffer if any sort of trouble falls on his son!  More, far more, than
if it fell on himself.  That's the way with fathers, isn't it?
Always has been, I suppose, since the days of David.  Do you
remember his lamentations over his son Absalom?  I declare I feel
fit enough to cry in Church itself whenever the Vicar reads it: 'O
my son Absalom!  Would God I had died for thee, O Absalom,
my son, my son.'"
</p>

<p>
There was silence for a moment, for Victor found it difficult
to speak, and then Janet began to plead with him in the name
of his family also.
</p>

<p>
"The Deemster is seventy years old now," she said, "and he
has four hundred years of the Ballamoars behind him, and there
has never been a stain on the name of any of them.  That's always
been a kind of religion in your family, hasn't it&mdash;that if a man
belongs to the breed of the Ballamoars he will do the right&mdash;he can
be trusted?  That's something to be born to, isn't it?  It seems to
me it is more worth having than all the jewels and gold and titles
and honours the world has in it.  Oh, my dear, my dear, you know
what your father is; he'll say nothing, and you haven't a mother
to speak to you; so don't be vexed with your old Janet who loves
you, and would die for you, if she could save you from trouble and
disgrace; but think what a terrible, fearful, shocking thing it
would be for you, and for your father, and for your family, and
.... yes, for the island itself if anything should happen now."
</p>

<p>
"Nothing <i>shall</i> happen&mdash;I give you my word for that, Janet,"
said Victor.
</p>

<p>
"God bless you!" said Janet, and rising and reaching over in
the darkness she kissed him&mdash;her face was wet.
</p>

<p>
After that she laughed, in a nervous way, and said she wasn't
a Puritan either, like some of the people in those parts whom she
saw on Sunday mornings, walking from chapel in their chapel
hats, after preaching and praying against "carnal transgression"
and "bodily indulgence" and "giving way to the temptations of
the flesh"&mdash;as if they hadn't as many children at home as there
were chickens in a good-sized hen-roost.
</p>

<p>
"Young men are young men and girls are girls," said Janet,
"and some of these Manx girls are that pretty and smart that they
are enough to tempt a saint.  And if David was tempted by the
beauty of Bathsheba&mdash;and we're told he was a man after God's
own heart&mdash;what better can the Lord expect of poor lads these
days who are making no such pretensions?"
</p>

<p>
She was only an old maid herself, but she supposed it was
natural for a young man to be tempted by the beauty of a young
woman, or the Lord wouldn't have allowed it to go on so long.  But
the moral of that was that it was better for a man to marry.
</p>

<p>
"So find a good woman and marry her, dear.  The Deemster
will be delighted, having only yourself to follow him yet.  And as
for you," she added (her voice was breaking again), "you may not
think it now, being so young and strong, but when you are as old
as I am .... and feeling feebler every year .... and you are
looking to the dark day that is coming .... and no one of your
own to close your eyes for you .... only hired servants, or
strangers, perhaps...."
</p>

<p>
It was Victor's turn to rise now, and to stop her speaking by
taking her in his arms.  After a moment, not without a tremor in
his own voice also, he said,
</p>

<p>
"I shall never marry, and you know why, Janet.  But neither
will I bring shame on my father, or stain my name, as God is my
help and witness."
</p>

<p>
The rooks were silent in the elms by this time, but the gong
was sounding in the hall, so, laughing and crying together, and
with all her trouble gone like chased clouds, Janet ran off to her
room to wipe her eyes and fix her cap before showing her face
at supper.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
III
</p>

<p>
Next morning the Deemster returned from Douglas, and in the
afternoon, the Governor arrived.  They took tea on the piazza, the
days being long and the evenings warm.
</p>

<p>
The Deemster was uneasy about the case they had tried the day
before, and talked much about it.  A farmer had killed a girl on
his farm after every appearance of gross ill-usage.  The crime and
the motive had been clear and therefore the law could show no
clemency.  But there had been external circumstances which might
have affected the man's conduct.  Down to ten years before he had
been a right-living man, clean and sober and honest and even
religious.  Then he had been thrown by a young horse and kicked
on the head and had had to undergo an operation.  After he came
out of the hospital his whole character was found to have changed.
He had become drunken, dishonest, a sensualist and a foul-mouthed
blasphemer, and finally he had committed the crime for
which he now stood condemned.
</p>

<p>
"It makes me tremble to think of it," said the Deemster, "that
a mere physical accident, a mere chance, or a mere spasm of animal
instinct, may cause any of us at any time to act in a way that is
utterly contrary to our moral character and most sincere
resolutions."
</p>

<p>
"It's true, though," said the Governor, "and it doesn't require
the kick of a horse to make a man act in opposition to his character.
The loudest voice a man hears is the call of his physical nature, and
law and religion have just got to make up their minds to it."
</p>

<p>
Next morning, Sunday morning, they went to church.  Janet
drove in the carriage by way of the high road, but the three men
walked down the grassy lane at the back, which, with its gorse
hedges on either side, looked like a long green picture in a golden
frame.  The Deemster, who walked between the Governor and
Victor, was more than usually bent and solemn.  He had had an
anonymous letter about his son that morning&mdash;he had lately had
shoals of them.
</p>

<p>
The morning was warm and quiet; the clover fields were sleeping
in the sunlight to the lullaby of the bees; the slumberous
mountains behind were hidden in a palpitating haze, and against
the broad stretch of the empty sea in front stood the gaunt square
tower from which the far-off sound of the church bells was coming.
</p>

<p>
Nowhere in the island could they have found a more tragic
illustration of the law of life they had talked about the evening
before than in the person of the Vicar of the Church they were
going to.
</p>

<p>
His name was Cowley, and down to middle life he had been all
that a clergyman should be.  But then he had lost a son under
circumstances of tragic sorrow.  The boy had been threatened
with a consumption, so the father had sent him to sea, and going
to town to meet him on his return to the island, he had met his body
instead, as it was being brought ashore from his ship, which was
lying at anchor in the bay.
</p>

<p>
The sailors had said that at sight of them and their burthen,
Parson Cowley had fallen to the stones of Ramsey harbour like a
dead man, and it was long before they could bring him to, or
staunch the wound on his forehead.  What is certain is that after
his recovery he began to drink, and that for fifteen years he had
been an inveterate drunkard.
</p>

<p>
This had long been a cause of grief and perhaps of shame to
his parishioners; but it had never lessened their love of him, for
they knew that in all else he was still a true Christian.  If any
lone "widow man" lay dying in his mud cabin on the Curragh,
Parson Cowley would be there to sit up all the night through with
him; and if any barefooted children were going to bed hungry in
the one-roomed hovel that was their living-room, sleeping-room,
birth-room and death-room combined, Parson Cowley would be seen
carrying them the supper from his own larder.
</p>

<p>
But his weakness had become woeful, and after a shocking
moment in which he had staggered and fallen before the altar, a
new Bishop, who knew nothing of the origin of his infirmity, and
was only conscious of the scandal of it, had threatened that if
the like scene ever occurred again he would not only forbid him
to exercise his office, but call upon the Governor (in whose gift it
was) to remove him from his living.
</p>

<p>
The bells were loud when the three men reached the white-washed
church on the cliff, with the sea singing on the beach below
it, and Illiam Christian, the shoemaker and parish clerk, standing
bareheaded at the bottom of the outside steps to the tower to give
warning to the bell-ringers that the Governor had arrived.
</p>

<p>
In expectation of his visit the church was crowded, and with
Victor going first to show the way, the Governor next, and the
Deemster last, with his white head down, the company from Ballamoar
walked up the aisle to the family pew, in which Janet, in her
black silk mantle, was already seated.
</p>

<p>
The Deemster's pew was close to the communion rails, and
horizontal to the church with the reading-desk and pulpit in the
open space in front of it, and a marble tablet on the wall behind,
containing the names of a long line of the Ballamoars, going as
far back as the sixteenth century.
</p>

<p>
The vestry was at the western end of the church, under the
tower, and as soon as the bells stopped and the clergy came out,
it was seen that the Vicar was far from sober.  Nevertheless he
kept himself erect while coming through the church behind his
choir and curate, and tottered into the carved chair within the
rail of the communion.
</p>

<p>
The curate took the prayers, and might have taken the rest of
the service also, but the Vicar, thinking his duty compelled him to
take his part in the presence of the Governor, rose to read the
lessons.  With difficulty he reached the reading-desk, which was close
to the Deemster's pew, and opened the Book and gave out the place.
But hardly had he begun, in a husky and indistinct voice, with
"Here beginneth the first chapter of the Second Book of Samuel"
(for it was the sixth Sunday after Trinity) when he stopped as if
unable to go farther.
</p>

<p>
For a moment he fumbled with his spectacles, taking them off
and wiping them on the sleeve of his surplice, and then he began
afresh.  But scarcely had he said, in a still thicker voice, "Now it
came to pass" .... when he stopped again, as if the words of
the Book before him had run into each other and become an
unreadable jumble.
</p>

<p>
After that he looked helplessly about him for an instant, as if
wondering what to do.  Then he grasped the reading-desk with his
two trembling hands, and the perspiration was seen to be breaking
in beads from his forehead.
</p>

<p>
A breathless silence passed over the church.  The congregation
saw what was happening, and dropped their heads, as if
knowing that for their beloved old Vicar this (before the eyes of
the Governor) was the end of everything.
</p>

<p>
But suddenly they became aware that something was happening.
Quietly, noiselessly, almost before they were conscious of
what he was doing, Victor Stowell, who had been sitting at the end
of the Deemster's pew, had risen, stepped across to the reading-desk,
put a soft hand on the Vicar's arm, and was reading the
lesson for him.
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p class="quote">
"<i>Saul and Jonathan were lovely and pleasant in their lives,
and in their death they were not divided .... I am
distressed for thee, my brother Jonathan; thy love to me was
wonderful, passing the love of women.</i>"
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p>
People who were there that morning said afterwards that never
before had the sublime lament of the great King, the great warrior
and the great poet, for his dead friend and dead enemy been read
as it was read that day by the young voice, so rich and resonant,
that was ringing through the old church.
</p>

<p>
But it was not that alone that was welling through every bosom.
It was the thrilling certainty that out of the greatness of his heart
the son of the Deemster (of whom too many of them had been
talking ill) had covered the nakedness of the poor stricken sinner
who had sunk back in his surplice to a seat behind him.
</p>

<p>
When the service was over, and the clergy had returned to the
vestry, the congregation remained standing until the Governor had
left the church.  But nobody looked at him now, for all eyes were
on the two who followed him&mdash;the Deemster and Victor.
</p>

<p>
The Deemster had taken his son's arm as he stepped out of his
pew, and as he walked down the aisle, through the lines of his
people, his head was up and his eyes were shining.
</p>

<p>
"Did thou see that, Mistress?" said Robbie Creer, in triumphant
tones to Janet Curphey, as she was stepping back, with a
beaming face, into her carriage at the gate.
</p>

<p>
"Thou need have no fear of thy lad, I tell thee.  <i>The Ballamoar
will out!</i>"
</p>

<p>
But the day of temptation was coming, and too soon it came.
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p><a id="chap0108"></a></p>

<h3>
CHAPTER EIGHT
<br />
THE CALL OF BESSIE COLLISTER
</h3>

<p>
It was the first Saturday in August, when the throbbing and
thunging of the vast machinery of the mills and factories of the
English industrial counties comes to a temporary stop, and for
three days at least, tens of thousands of its servers, male and
female, pour into the island for health and holiday.
</p>

<p>
Stowell and Gell had never yet seen the inrushing of the liberated
ones, so with no other thought, and little thinking what fierce
game fate was playing with them, they had come into Douglas that
day, in flannels and straw hats, in eager spirits and with high
steps, to look on its sights and scenes.
</p>

<p>
It was late afternoon, and they made first for the pier, where a
crowd of people had already assembled to witness the arrival of
an incoming steamer.
</p>

<p>
She was densely crowded.  Every inch of her deck seemed to
be packed with passengers, chiefly young girls, as the young men
thought, some of them handsome, many of them pretty, all of them
comely.  With sparkling eyes and laughing mouths they shouted
their salutations to their friends on the pier, while they untied the
handkerchiefs which they had bound about their heads to keep
down their hair in the breeze on the sea, and pinned on their hats
before landing.
</p>

<p>
The young men found the scene delightful.  A little crude,
perhaps a little common, even a little coarse, but still delightful.
</p>

<p>
Then they walked along the promenade, and that, too, was
crowded.  From the water's edge to the round hill-tops at the back
of the town, every thoroughfare seemed to be thrilling with joyous
activity.  Hackney carriages, piled high with luggage and higher
still with passengers, were sweeping round the curve of the bay;
windows and doors were open and filled with faces, and the whole
sea-front, from end to end, seemed to be as full of women's eyes as
a midnight sky of stars.
</p>

<p>
For tea they went up to Castle Mona&mdash;a grave-looking mansion
in the middle of the bay, built for a royal residence by one of
the Earls of Derby when they were lords of Man before the
Athols, but now declined to the condition of an hotel for English
visitors, with its wooded slopes to the sea (wherein more than one
of our old Manx Kings may have pondered the problems of his
island kingdom), transformed into a public tea-garden, on which
pretty women were sitting under coloured sunshades and a string
band from London was playing the latest airs from Paris.
</p>

<p>
The young men took a table at the seaward end of the lawn,
with the rowing boats skimming the fringe of the water in front,
the white yachts scudding across the breast of the bay, the brown-sailed
luggers dropping out of the harbour with the first flood of
the flowing tide; and then the human tide of joyous life running
fast on the promenade below&mdash;girls chiefly, as they thought,
usually in white frocks, white stockings and white shoes, skipping
along like human daisy-chains with their arms entwined about each
other's waists, and sometimes turning their heads over their
shoulders to look up at them and laugh.
</p>

<p>
The sun went down behind the hills at the back of the town,
the string band stopped, the coloured sunshades disappeared, the
gong was sounded from the hall of the hotel and they went indoors
for dinner.
</p>

<p>
They sat by an open window of the stately dining-room
(wherein our old Earls and their Countesses once kept court), and
being in higher spirits than ever by this time, they ate of every
dish that was put before them, drank a bottle of champagne,
toasted each other and every pretty woman they could remember of
the many they had seen that day ("Here's to that fine girl with the
black eyes who was standing by the funnel"), and looked at
intervals at the scenes outside until the light failed and the
darkness claimed them.
</p>

<p>
At one moment they saw the dark hull of another steamer, lit
up in every port-hole, gliding towards the pier, and at the next
(or what seemed like the next), shooting across the white sheet
of light from the uncovered windows of their dining-room, a large
blue landau, drawn by a pair of Irish bays, driven by a liveried
coachman.  Gell leapt up to look at it.
</p>

<p>
"Vic," he cried, "I think that must be the Governor's
carriage."
</p>

<p>
"It is," said Stowell.
</p>

<p>
"And that's the Governor himself inside of it."
</p>

<p>
"No doubt."
</p>

<p>
"And the lady sitting beside him is .... yes, no .... yes
..... upon my soul I believe it was his daughter."
</p>

<p>
"Impossible," said Stowell, and, remembering what Janet had
told him, he thought no more of the matter.
</p>

<p>
They returned to the lawn to smoke after dinner, and then the
sky was dark and the stars had begun to appear; the tide was up
but the sea was silent; the rowing-boats were lying on the shingle
of the beach; the yachts were at anchor in the bay; the last of the
fishing-boats, each with a lamp in its binnacle, were doubling the
black brow of the head, and from the farthest rock of it the
revolving light in the lighthouse was sweeping the darkness from
the face of the town as with an illuminated fan.  The young
men were enraptured.  It was wonderful!  It was enchanting!
It was like walking on the terrace at Monte Carlo!
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p>
Then suddenly, as at the striking of a clock, the town itself
began to flame.  One by one the façades of the theatres and
dancing palaces that lined the front were lit up by electricity.  It
raced along like ignited gunpowder and in a few minutes the broad
curve of the bay from headland to headland, was sparkling and
blazing under ten thousand lights.
</p>

<p>
It was now the beginning of night in the little gay town.  The
young men could hear the creak of the iron turn-stile to one of the
dancing-halls near at hand, and the shuffling of the feet of the
multitudes who were passing through it, and then, a few minutes
later, the muffled music of the orchestra and the deadened
drumming of the dancing within.
</p>

<p>
That was more than they could bear, in their present state of
excitement, without taking part in the scene of it, so within five
minutes more, they were passing through the turn-stile themselves
and hurrying down a tunnel of trees, lit up by coloured lamps, to
the open door of the dancing-hall&mdash;deep in a dark garden which
seemed to sleep in shadow on either side of them.
</p>

<p>
The vast place, decorated in gold and domed with glass, was
crowded, but going up into the gallery the young men secured seats
by the front rail and were able to look down.  What a spectacle!
Never before, they thought, though they had travelled round the
world, had they seen anything to compare with it.  To the clash of
the brass instruments and the boom of the big drums, five thousand
young men and young women were dancing on the floor below.
Most of the men wore flannels and coloured waist-scarves, and
most of the girls were in muslin and straw hats.  They were only
the workers from the mills and factories of Lancashire and Yorkshire,
but the flush of the sun and the sea was in their faces and
the joy and health of young life was in their blood.
</p>

<p>
Stowell felt himself becoming giddy.  Waves of perfume were
floating up to him, with the warmth of women's bright eyes, red
lips and joyous laughter.  His nerves were quivering; his pulses
were beating with a pounding rush.  He was beginning to feel
afraid of himself and he had an almost irresistable impulse to get
up and go.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
II
</p>

<p>
One other person important to this story had come to Douglas
that day&mdash;Bessie Collister.  During the first three years after her
return home from Castletown she had lived in physical fear of
Dan Baldromma; but during the next three years, having grown
big and strong and become useful on the farm, she had been more
than able to hold her own with him, and he had even been compelled
to pay her wages.
</p>

<p>
"I don't know in the world what's coming over the girls," he
would say.  "In my young days they were content with priddhas
and herrings three times a day, and welcome, but nothing will do
now, if it's your own daughter itself, but ten pounds a year per
annum, and as much loaf bread and butcher's mate as would fill
the inside of a lime kiln."
</p>

<p>
"Aw, but the girl's smart though," Mrs. Collister would
answer.
</p>

<p>
"I'm saying nothing against her," Dan would reply.  "A
middling good girl enough, and handy with the bases, but imperent
grown&mdash;imperent uncommon and bad with the tongue."
</p>

<p>
There was scarcely a farmer on the island who would not have
given Bessie twice the wages Dan paid her, but she remained at
home, partly for reasons of her own and partly to protect her
mother from Dan's brutalities by holding over his head the threat
of leaving him.
</p>

<p>
Mrs. Collister, who had been stricken with sciatica and was
hobbling about on a stick, had by this time taken refuge from her
life-long martyrdom in religion, having joined the "Primitives,"
whose chapel (a whitewashed barn) stood at the opposite angle of
the glen and the high road.  She had tried to induce her daughter
to follow her there, but Bessie had refused, having come to the
conclusion that the "locals" on the "plan-beg," whose favourite
subject was the crucifixion of the flesh, were always preaching at
her mother, or pointing at her.
</p>

<p>
So on Sunday mornings when the church bells were ringing
across the Curragh, and the chapel-going women of the parish
were going by with their hymn-books in their handkerchiefs, and
old Will Skillicorne, who was a class-leader, was coming down
from his thatched cottage in his tall beaver, black frock coat and
black kid gloves, Bessie, in her sunbonnet and a pair of Dan's
old boots, and with her skirt tucked up over her linsey-wolsey
petticoat, would be seen feeding the pigs or washing out a bowl of
potatoes at the pump.
</p>

<p>
And on Sunday evenings, while the Primitives were singing a
hymn outside their chapel before going in for service, she would be
tripping past, lightly shod, and wearing a hat with an ostrich
feather, on her way to town, where a German band played sacred
music on the promenade, and young people, walking arm-in-arm,
laughed and "glimed" at each other under the gas-light.
</p>

<p>
"I wonder at herself though, bringing up her daughter like a
haythen in a Christian land," old Will would say.  "But then
what can you expect from a child of sin and a son of Belial"&mdash;the
latter being a dig at Dan, whose lusty voice could always be heard
over the singing, reading aloud to himself in the kitchen the
"Rights of Man" or "The Mistakes of Moses."
</p>

<p>
Bessie was a full-developed and warm-blooded woman by this
time, living all day and every day in the natural world of the
farmyard, ready to break loose at the first touch of the hand of a
live man if only he were the right one, and having no better relief
for the fever of her womanhood than an occasional dance in the
big barn at Kirk Michael Fair.
</p>

<p>
But then came her adventure with Stowell and Gell in the glen
and it altered everything.  Running down in her excitement she
told her mother what had happened, and her mother, in a moment
of tenderness, told Dan, and Dan, in the impurity of his heart,
drew his own conclusions.
</p>

<p>
"It's the Spaker's son again," he said, making a noise in
his nostrils.
</p>

<p>
The young men had camped out there expressly to meet Bessie,
and it wasn't the first time the girl had gone up to them.
</p>

<p>
"Goodness sakes, man veen, how do thou know that?  And
what's the harm done anyway?" said Mrs. Collister.
</p>

<p>
"Wait and see what's the harm, woman.  Girls is not to trust
when a wastrel like that is about.  We've known it before now,
haven't we?"
</p>

<p>
To one other person Bessie told the story of the glen, and that
was her chief friend, Susie Stephen, the English barmaid at the
Ginger Hall Inn&mdash;a girl of fair complexion and some good looks
who had shocked the young wives of the parish by wearing short
frocks, transparent stockings and a blouse cut low over the bosom.
</p>

<p>
It was at closing-time a few nights after the event, and as the
girls stood whispering together by the half-open door, with the
lights put out in the bar behind them, they squealed with laughter,
laid hold of each other and shuddered.
</p>

<p>
The young men had gone from the glen by that time, but the
August holidays were coming, so they decided to go up to Douglas
on the Saturday following to dance off their excitement.
</p>

<p>
At five o'clock that day, having milked her cows, and given a
drink of meal and water to her calves, Bessie was in her bedroom
making ready for her journey.
</p>

<p>
It was a stuffy little one-eyed chamber over the dairy, entered
from the first landing of the stairs, open to the whitewashed
scraas (which gave it a turfy odour), having a skylight in the
thatch, a truckle bed, a deal table for wash-stand and a few dried
sheepskins on the floor for rugs.
</p>

<p>
Bessie threw off the big unlaced boots and the other garments
of the cow-house, kicking the one into a corner and throwing the
others in a disorderly mass on to the bed over her pink-and-white
sunbonnet, washed to the waist and then folded her arms over each
other in their warmth and roundness and laughed to herself in
sheer joy of bounding health and conscious beauty.
</p>

<p>
While doing so she heard her step-father's voice in the kitchen
below, loud as usual and as full of protest, but she had a matter
of more moment to think of now&mdash;what to wear out of her
scanty wardrobe.
</p>

<p>
The question was easily decided.  After putting on white rubber
shoes and white stockings, she drew aside a sheet on the wall
that ran on a string and took down a white woollen skirt and a new
cream-coloured blouse cut low at the neck like Susie's.
</p>

<p>
But the anchor of her hope was her hat, which she was to wear
for the first time, having bought it the day before in Ramsey.
It was shaped like a shell, with a round lip in front, and to find the
proper angle for it on her head was a perplexing problem.  So she
stood long and twisted about before an unframed sheet of silvered
glass which hung by a nail on the wall, with a lash comb in her
hand, a number of hat-pins across her mouth, while the floor
creaked under her, and the conversation went on below.
</p>

<p>
She got it right at last, just tilted a little aside, to look pert and
saucy, with her black hair, which was long and wavy, creeping up
to it like a cushion.  And then, standing off from her glass to
look at it again over her shoulder, with eyes that danced with
delight, she turned to the door and walked with a buoyant step
downstairs.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
III
</p>

<p>
Dan Baldromma also had made an engagement for that day,
handbills having been distributed in Ramsey during the morning
saying that "Mr. Daniel Collister of Baldromma" would deliver
an address in the market-place at seven o'clock in the evening.
</p>

<p>
At five Dan had strapped down the lever which stopped the flow
of water on to his overshot wheel and stepped into the dwelling-house,
where Liza, his wife, had laid tea for two and was blowing
up a fire of dry gorse to boil the kettle.
</p>

<p>
"Tell your girl to put a lil rub on my Sunday boots," he said.
</p>

<p>
"But she's upstairs dressing for Douglas," said Mrs. Collister.
</p>

<p>
"You don't say?" said Dan.  "So that's the way she's earning
her living?"
</p>

<p>
"Chut, man," said Mrs. Collister.  "If a girl's in life she
wants aisement sometimes, doesn't she?  And her ragging and
tearing to keep the farm going, and a big wash coming on next
week, too."
</p>

<p>
"Well, that's good!  That's rich!  I thought it was myself
that was keeping the farm going.  Douglas, you say?  Well, well!
I wonder at you, encouraging your girl to go to such places, and
you a bound Methodist.  Tell her to put a rub on my boots, ma'am."
</p>

<p>
"I'll do it myself, Dan," said Mrs. Collister.  "It's little
enough time the girl will have to catch the train, and her fixing
on her new hat, too."
</p>

<p>
"New hat, eh?"
</p>

<p>
"Aw, yes, man, the one she bought at Miss Corkill's
yesterday."
</p>

<p>
"What a woman!  And you telling me, when you got five
goolden sovereigns out of me on Monday that she was for wearing
it at the Sulby Anniversary.  I wonder you are not afraid for
your quarterly ticket."
</p>

<p>
"But it was only the girl's half year's wages, and the labourer
is worthy of his hire.  Thou art always saying so at the Cross
anyway."
</p>

<p>
"Hould thy tongue, woman, and don't be milking that ould
cow any more&mdash;it's dry, I tell thee."
</p>

<p>
It was at this moment that Bessie came downstairs, and Dan,
who was on the three-legged stool before the fire, making wry
faces as he dragged off his mill-boots with a boot-jack, fell on
her at first with his favourite weapon, irony.
</p>

<p>
"Aw, the smart you are in your new hat, girl&mdash;smart
tremenjous!"
</p>

<p>
"I didn't think you'd have the taste to like it," said Bessie,
sitting at the table.
</p>

<p>
"Taste, is it?" said Dan.  "Aw, the grand we are!  The
pride that's in some ones is extraordinary though.  There'll be
no holding you!  You'll be going up and up!  Your mother has
always been used of a poor man's house and the wind above the
thatch.  But you'll be wanting feather beds and marble halls,
I'm thinking."
</p>

<p>
"They won't be yours to find then, so you needn't worry,"
said Bessie.
</p>

<p>
"You think not?  I'm not so sure of that.  Man is born to
trouble as the sparks fly upwards .... So you're for Douglas,
are you?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes, I am, if you'll let me take my tea in time for the train."
</p>

<p>
"Aisy, bogh, aisy!" said Mrs. Collister.
</p>

<p>
"Well, you're your own woman now, so I suppose you've got
lave to go," said Dan.
</p>

<p>
And then rising to his stockinged feet, his face hard and all his
irony gone, he added, "But I'm my own man, too, and this is my
own house, I'm thinking, and if you're not home for eleven o'clock
to-night, my door will be shut on you."
</p>

<p>
Bessie leapt up from the table.
</p>

<p>
"Shut your door if you like.  There'll be lots of ones to open
theirs," she cried, and swept out of the house.
</p>

<p>
"There you are, woman!" said Dan.  "What did I say?
Imperent uncommon and dirty with the tongue!  She'll have to
clane it this time though.  If she's not back for eleven she'll take
the road and no more two words about it."
</p>

<p>
Mrs. Collister struggled to her feet and followed Bessie,
pretending she had forgotten something.
</p>

<p>
"Bessie!  Bessie!"
</p>

<p>
Bessie stopped at the end of the "street" and her mother
hobbled up to her.
</p>

<p>
"Be home for eleven, bogh," she whispered.  "It's freckened
mortal I am that himself has some bad schame on."
</p>

<p>
"What schame?" asked Bessie.
</p>

<p>
"I don't know what, but something, so give him no chance."
</p>

<p>
"What do I care about his chance?"
</p>

<p>
"Aw, bolla veen, bolla veen, haven't I enough to bear with
thy father and thee?  Catch the ten train back&mdash;promise me,
promise me."
</p>

<p>
"Very well, I promise," said Bessie, and at the next moment
she was gone.
</p>

<p>
Five minutes later, arm-in-arm with Susie, she was swinging
down the road to the railway station for Douglas.
</p>

<p>
The little gay town, when they reached it, was at full tide,
with pianos banging in the open-windowed houses, guitars
twanging in the streets, and lines of young men marching along the
pavements and singing in chorus.  The girls, fresh from their
twinkling village by the lonely hills, with the river burrowing
under the darkness of the bridge, were almost dizzy with the sights
and sounds.
</p>

<p>
When they came skipping down the steep streets to the front,
and plunged into the electric light which illuminated the bay, they
could scarcely restrain themselves from running.  And when,
bubbling with the animal life which had been suppressed, famished
and starved in them, they passed through the turn-stile to the
dancing-palace and hurried down the tunnel of trees, lit by
coloured lamps, and saw the stream of white light which came from
the open door, and heard the crash of the band and the drumming
of the dancers within, their feet were scarcely touching the ground
and they felt as if they wanted to fly.  And when at last, having
entered the hall, the whole blazing scene burst on them in a
blinding flash, they drew up with a breathless gasp.
</p>

<p>
"Oh!  Oh!"
</p>

<p>
One moment they stood by the door with blinking and sparkling
eyes, their linked arms quivering in close grip.  Then Bessie,
who was the first to recover from the intoxicating shock, looked up
and around, and saw Stowell and Gell sitting in the gallery.
</p>

<p>
"Good sakes alive," she whispered, "they're there!"
</p>

<p>
"Who?  The gentlemen?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes, in the front row.  Be quiet, girl.  They see us.  Don't
look up.  They might come down."
</p>

<p>
And then the girls laughed with glee at their conscious
make-believe, and their arms quivered again to the rush of their
warm blood.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
IV
</p>

<p>
"Alick, isn't that our young friend of the glen?"
</p>

<p>
"Bessie Collister?  Where?"
</p>

<p>
"Down there, standing with the fair girl, just inside the door."
</p>

<p>
"Well, yes, upon my word, I think it is!"
</p>

<p>
"I've a great mind to go down to them.  Let us go."
</p>

<p>
"No?  Really?  In a place like this?"
</p>

<p>
"Why not, man?"
</p>

<p>
"Well, if you don't mind, I don't."
</p>

<p>
A few minutes later, in an interval between the dances, Victor,
coming behind Bessie, touched her on the shoulder.
</p>

<p>
"How are those sweet-smelling heifers&mdash;&mdash;still grazing on
the mountains?"
</p>

<p>
Bessie, who had watched the young men coming downstairs,
and felt them at her back, turned with a look of surprise, then
laughed merrily and introduced Susie.  For a few nervous moments
there were the light nothings which at such times are the
only wisdom.  Then the violins began to flourish for another
dance, and the two couples paired off&mdash;Victor with Bessie and
Susie with Gell.
</p>

<p>
Victor took Bessie's hand with a certain delicacy to which she
was quite unaccustomed and which flattered her greatly.  The
dance was a waltz, and she had never waltzed before, so they had
to go carefully at first, but when the dance was coming to an end
she was swinging to the rhythm of the orchestra as if she had
waltzed a hundred times.
</p>

<p>
In the interval the two couples came together again, and there
was much general chatter and laughter.  Gell joined freely in
both, and if at first he had had any backward thoughts of the
promise he had given to his father they were gone by this time.
</p>

<p>
Another dance began and without changing partners they set
off afresh, Stowell taking Bessie's hand with a firmer grasp and
Bessie holding to his shoulder with a stronger sense of possession.
His nerves were tingling.  Turning round and round among
women's smiling faces, and with Bessie's smiling face by his side,
he had the sense of sweeping his partner along with an energy
of physical power he had never felt before.
</p>

<p>
When the orchestra stopped the second time and they went in
search of their companions, they discovered Susie on a seat,
panting and perspiring, and Gell fanning her with the brim of his
straw hat.
</p>

<p>
Victor's excitement was becoming feverish.  He wanted Bessie
to himself, and during the third dance he felt himself dragging
her to the opposite side of the hall.  She knew what he was doing,
and found it enchanting to be carried off by sheer force.
</p>

<p>
When the dance came to an end Victor put Bessie's moist hand
through his arm and walked up and down with her.  Her throat
was throbbing and her breast rising and falling under her low-cut
blouse.  They spoke little, but sometimes he turned his head to
look at her, and then she turned her eyes to his.  He thought her
black eyes were looking blacker than ever.
</p>

<p>
The evening was now at its zenith, and the orchestra was
tuning up for the "shadow-dance."  The white lights on the walls
went out, and over the arc lamps in the glass roof a number of
coloured disks were passed, to throw shadows over the dancers, as
of the sunrise, the sunset, the moon and the night with its stars.
The dance itself was of a nondescript kind in which at intervals,
the man, with a whoop, lifted his partner off her feet and swung
her round him in his arms&mdash;a sort of symbol of marriage by
capture.
</p>

<p>
When the shadow-dance ended there was much hand-clapping
among the dancers.  It had to be repeated, this time with a more
rapid movement and to the accompaniment of a song, which, being
sung by the men in chorus, made the hall throb like the inside of a
drum.  Many of the dancers fell out exhausted, but Victor and
Bessie kept up to the last.
</p>

<p>
Then the big side doors were thrown open, and amid a babel of
noise, cries and laughter, nearly all the dancers trooped out of the
hall into the garden to cool.  Victor gave his arm to Bessie and
they went out also.
</p>

<p>
Lights gleamed here and there in the darkness of the trees,
throwing shadows full of mystery and charm.  After a while the
orchestra within was heard beginning again, and most of the
dancers hastened back to the hall, but Victor said,
</p>

<p>
"Let us stay out a little longer."
</p>

<p>
Bessie agreed and for some minutes more they wandered
through the garden, in and out of the electric light, with the low
murmur of the sea coming to them from the shore and the muffled
music from the hall.
</p>

<p>
She was breathing deeply, and he was feeling a little dizzy.
They found themselves talking in whispers, both in the
Anglo-Manx, and then laughing nervously.
</p>

<p>
"Did you raelly, raelly see the young colts racing on the
tops, though?"
</p>

<p>
"'Deed no, not I, woman.  But I belave in my heart I know
who did."
</p>

<p>
"Who?"
</p>

<p>
"Why you!"
</p>

<p>
At that word, and the touch of his hand about her waist, she
made a nervous laugh, and turned to him, her eyes closed, her
lips parted and her white teeth showing, and they drew together
in a long kiss.
</p>

<p>
At the next moment a clock struck coldly through the still air
from the tower of a neighboring church and Bessie broke away.
</p>

<p>
"Gracious me, that must be ten o'clock.  I have to catch the
ten train home."
</p>

<p>
"You can't now.  It's impossible," he said, and he tried
to hold her.
</p>

<p>
"I must&mdash;I promised," she cried, and she bounded off.  He
called and followed a few steps, but she was gone.
</p>

<p>
Feeling like a torn wound he returned to the dancing-hall.
The scene was the same as before but it seemed crude and tame and
even dead to him now.  Where was Gell?  He must have gone to see
the fair girl off by the ten train.  He would come back presently.
</p>

<p>
Victor returned to the hotel.  To compose his nerves while he
waited he called for another half bottle of wine, and drank it,
iced.  The music was still murmuring in his ears.  After a while
it stopped; there were a few bars of the National Anthem, and
then the pattering like rain of innumerable feet on the paved way
from the dancing-hall to the promenade.  It was now a few
minutes to eleven, and remembering that that was the hour of the
last train to the north he walked up to the station.
</p>

<p>
A noisy throng was on the platform, chiefly young Manx
farming people of both sexes, returning to their homes in the
country.  The open third-class carriages were full of them, all
talking and laughing together.
</p>

<p>
Victor walked down the line of the train and looked into each
of the dim-lit carriages for Bessie, thinking it impossible that she
could have caught the earlier one.  Not finding her, he inquired if
the ten train had left promptly and was told it had been half-an-hour
late.  She must have gone.
</p>

<p>
He got into an empty first-class compartment, folded his arms
and closed his eyes and the train started.  While it ran into the dark
country the farming people, being unable to talk with comfort,
sang.  Over the rolling of the wheels their singing came in a dull
roar, and when the train stopped at the wayside stations it went up
in the sudden silence in a wild discord of male and female voices.
</p>

<p>
Victor was beginning to feel cold.  He put up the window.
His brain which had been blurred was becoming lucid.  He recalled
the scenes he had taken part in and some of them seemed to
him now to have been crude and common and even a little vulgar.
He thought of Bessie and felt ashamed.
</p>

<p>
When the train drew up at the station for the glen he turned his
face from the direction of the mill, and to defeat a desire to look
at it he opened the window at the other side of the carriage and
put out his head.
</p>

<p>
The free air was refreshing to body and brain, but when his
eyes had become accustomed to the darkness he saw the broad belt
of the trees of Ballamoar.  That brought a stabbing memory of
Janet and the promise he had given her, and then of the Deemster
and his conversation with the Governor.
</p>

<p>
He began to shiver, and to feel as if he were awakening from a
fit of moral intoxication.  To-morrow he would go home, and since
he could not trust himself any longer, he would put himself out of
the reach of temptation by living at Ballamoar in future.
</p>

<p>
When the train drew up at Ramsey it was half-past twelve.
As he walked out of the quiet station into the echoing streets of
the sleeping town he was drawing a deep breath and saying
to himself:
</p>

<p>
"Thank God!"
</p>

<p>
It was all over.
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p><a id="chap0109"></a></p>

<h3>
CHAPTER NINE
<br />
THE MASTER OF MAN
</h3>

<p>
Dan Baldromma's meeting in the market-place had not been
the success he had expected.  Standing on the steps of the town
lamp, between the Saddle Inn and the Ship Store, he had
discoursed on the rights of the labourer to the land he cultivated.
</p>

<p>
The Earth was the Lord's, and the fulness thereof.  Therefore
it could not belong to the big ones who were adding field to
field&mdash;least of all to their wastrels of sons who were doing nothing but
hang about the roads and the glens to ruin the daughters of decent
men.  The moral of this was that the land belonged to the people
and the time was coming when they would pay no rent for it.
</p>

<p>
Dan's audience of Manx farmers had listened to this new gospel
with Manx stolidity, but a group of young English visitors,
clerks from the cotton factories, looking down from the balcony
of the Saddle Inn, had received it with open derision.
</p>

<p>
Dan had ignored their opposition as long as possible, merely
saying, when his audience laughed at their sallies,
</p>

<p>
"We must make allowance for some ones, comrades&mdash;children
still, they've not been rocked enough."
</p>

<p>
But when at length they had called him Bradlaugh Junior and
Ingersoll the Second and told him to keep his tongue off better
men, Dan had looked up at the balcony and cried,
</p>

<p>
"If you're calling me by them honoured names I'm taking my
hat off to you" (suiting the action to the word), "but if you're
saying you are better men we'll be going into a back coort
somewheres and taking off our jackets and westcots."
</p>

<p>
To preserve the peace the police had had to put an end to the
meeting, whereupon Dan, spitting contemptuously and snorting
about "The Cottonies" and "the Cotton balls," had harnessed his
horse at the Plough Inn and driven home in a dull rage.
</p>

<p>
It had been ten o'clock when he got back to Baldromma, and
after unharnessing his horse in his undrained stable, and wiping
his best boots with a wisp of straw, he had stepped round to
the kitchen.
</p>

<p>
His wife was there, beating time on the hearthstone to a long-drawn
Methodist hymn while she stirred the porridge in a pot that
hung over a slow peat fire.
</p>

<p class="poem">
  "<i>Tell me the old, old story, ....<br />
  Of Jesus and His love.</i>"<br />
</p>

<p>
"Your daughter isn't back then?" said Dan with a growl.
</p>

<p>
"Be raisonable, man," said Mrs. Collister.  "Eleven o'clock
thou said, and it's only a piece after ten yet."
</p>

<p>
She poured out the porridge and hobbled to the dairy for a
basin of milk, and then Dan, after a sour silence, sat down to
his supper.
</p>

<p>
"They were telling me in Ramsey," he said, making noises
with his spoon, "that the Spaker's son went up to Douglas to-day."
</p>

<p>
"Like enough!" said Mrs. Collister.
</p>

<p>
"I'll go bail your girl went up to meet him."
</p>

<p>
"Sakes alive, man veen, what for should thou be saying that?"
</p>

<p>
"She's fit enough for it anyway."
</p>

<p>
"But what has the girl done?  Twenty-four years for Spring
and not a man at her yet."
</p>

<p>
"Chut!  Once they cut the cables that sort is the worst that's
going.  She'd be an angel itself though to stand up against a
waistrel like yander."
</p>

<p>
"Bessie will be home for eleven," said Mrs. Collister.
</p>

<p>
"She'd better, or she'll find Dan Baldromma a man of his
word, ma'am."
</p>

<p>
After that there was another sour silence in which both watched
the open-faced clock whose pendulum swung by the wall.  Tick,
tick tick, said the clock.  To the man it was going slowly, to the
woman it seemed to fly.  But hardly had the fingers pointed to
eleven, or the chain begun to shake for the first stroke of the hour,
when Dan was at the door, bolting and locking it.
</p>

<p>
"Will thou not give the girl a few minutes' grace, even?"
</p>

<p>
"Not half a minute."
</p>

<p>
"But the ten train hasn't whistled at the bridge yet."
</p>

<p>
"I've nothing to do with trains, Misthress Collister.  Eleven
o'clock, I said, and now it's eleven and better."
</p>

<p>
"But surely thou'll never shut thy door on a poor girl in the
middle of the night?"
</p>

<p>
"There's others that's open to her&mdash;she said so herself, remember.
She's not for coming home to-night, so take your candle and
get to bed, woman."
</p>

<p>
"But the train must be late&mdash;I'll wait up myself for her."
</p>

<p>
"You might burn your candle to the snuff&mdash;she's not for
coming, I tell you."
</p>

<p>
"But she promised me&mdash;faithfully promised me...."
</p>

<p>
"Get to bed, ma'am.  I wonder you're not thinking shame,
making excuses for the bad doings of your by-child, and you
a Methodist."
</p>

<p>
The woman was on the verge of tears.
</p>

<p>
"Shame enough it is, Dan Collister, when a mother has to shut
her heart to her own child if she's not to show disrespect to
her husband."
</p>

<p>
In the intimacy of the bedroom Dan threw off all disguise.
Winding his silver-lever watch and hanging it with its Albert on a
hook in the bed-post, and then sitting on the side of the bed to
undress, he almost crowed over his prospects.  That son of the
Speaker would have to pay for his whistle this time!  Baldromma
would be his by heirship, and a father had a right to damages for
the loss of the services of his daughter.
</p>

<p>
"There'll be no more rent going paying by me, I'm thinking,"
said Dan.
</p>

<p>
So that was his scheme!  Mrs. Collister stood long in her cotton
nightdress, fumbling with the strings of her night-cap, and
wondering if she could ever lie down with the man again.
</p>

<p>
"Are you never for putting out that candle and coming to bed,
woman?"
</p>

<p>
Half-an-hour passed and the mother lay still and listened.
Dan was asleep by this time and breathing audibly, but there was
no sound outside save the slipping of the water from the fixed
wheel and the stamping of the horse in the stable.  At last came
the whistling of the train, and a few minutes later, Bessie's step on
the "street" and then the rattling of the latch of the kitchen door.
</p>

<p>
Mrs. Collister tried to slip out of bed without awakening Dan,
but her sciatica had made her limbs stiff and she knocked over the
candlestick that stood on a chair beside her.  This awakened her
husband, and hearing the noise downstairs, he rolled out of bed,
saying, in a threatening voice,
</p>

<p>
"Lie thou there&mdash;I'll settle her."
</p>

<p>
He went out to the stairhead, slamming the bedroom door
behind him, threw up the sash of a window on the landing, and
shouted into the darkness:
</p>

<p>
"Who's there?"
</p>

<p>
"Me, of course," cried Bessie.
</p>

<p>
A fierce altercation followed, in which Dan's voice was harsh
and coarse, and Bessie's shrill with anger.
</p>

<p>
"Then find your bed where you've found your company,"
shouted Dan.  And shutting down the window with a crash he
returned to the bedroom.
</p>

<p>
The mother heard Bessie going off, and the fading sound of
the girl's footsteps tore her terribly.  But after a few minutes
more Dan was making noise in his nostrils again and she got up
and crept downstairs to the kitchen (where the dull red of the
dying turf left just enough light to see by), slid the bolts back
noiselessly, opened the door and called in a whisper:
</p>

<p>
"Bessie!"
</p>

<p>
No answer came back to her, so she stepped out to the end of
the cobbled way, barefooted and in her nightdress and nightcap,
and called again:
</p>

<p>
"Bessie!  Bessie!"
</p>

<p>
Still there was no reply; so she returned to the kitchen, leaving
the door on the latch, and sat for a long hour in a rocking chair
by the hearth (souvenir of the days when Bessie was a child, and
she had rocked her to sleep in it), fighting, in the misery of her
heart, with the black thought which Dan had put there.
</p>

<p>
At length she remembered Susie and persuaded herself that
Bessie must have gone to the Ginger Hall to sleep.
</p>

<p>
"Yes, Bessie must have gone to Susie."
</p>

<p>
Being comforted by this thought, and feeling cold, for the fire
had gone out, she crept upstairs.  It was hard to go by Bessie's
room on the landing.  Every night for years she had stopped there
on her way to bed.  And in the winter, when the wind in the trees
in the glen made a roar like the sea, she had called through the
closed door: "Art thou warm enough, Bessie, or will I bring thee
my flannel petticoat?"  And now the door was open and the
room was empty!
</p>

<p>
Dan was still asleep when she got back to the bedroom and her
approach did not awaken him, so she fumbled her way to the bed
(knowing where she was when her feet touched the warm sheepskin
that lay by the side of it) and then opened the clothes and
crept in.
</p>

<p>
The cold air she brought with her awakened Dan, and he
turned on the pillow and said,
</p>

<p>
"You've not been letting in that girl of yours, have you?"
</p>

<p>
"No!"
</p>

<p>
Dan made a grunt of satisfaction, and then said, with his face
to the wall,
</p>

<p>
"Remember, you'll have to be up early to milk for yourself
in the morning."
</p>

<p>
"Yes."
</p>

<p>
Then came a yawn, and then a snore, and then silence fell on
the little house.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
II
</p>

<p>
Bessie had run all the way to the station and then found that
the train had nearly half-an-hour to wait for the passengers by the
last of the day's steamers.  The carriages were full of English
visitors, but there were very few Manx people and she could not see
Susie anywhere.  This vexed her with the thought of having to
tear herself away a good hour earlier than anybody else.  It was
all her mother's fault&mdash;getting her to make that ridiculous promise.
</p>

<p>
From such thoughts, as the train ran into the country, her mind
swung back to the memory of Stowell.  She recalled his looks,
his smile, his whole person, and every word he had said to her
down to the moment of that burning kiss.
</p>

<p>
What pleased her most was the certainty that he had never
kissed a girl before.  The trembling of his lips, when they were
lip to lip, told her that.  And in spite of all that had been said of
him she was sure he had never had a woman in his arms until
to-night&mdash;never!
</p>

<p>
And she?  Well, she had never before been kissed by a man.
Alick Gell?  She was only a child then.  Kiss-in-the-ring at
Michael Fair?  Chut!  A girl felt that no more than the wind
blowing over her bare cheek.
</p>

<p>
By the clocks at the wayside stations she saw she was going
to be late getting home, but she didn't care.  Dan Baldromma
wasn't fool enough to shut her out.  But let him if he liked to!
Where would he go to get another girl to work for her
wages&mdash;summer and winter, as if the creatures had been her own, up
all hours calving, and out before the dawn in the lambing season,
when the hoar-frost was on the fields?
</p>

<p>
It was twenty minutes past eleven when she got down at the
glen station, and there was Susie getting down also!  Susie was in
the sulks.  Not only had Bessie deliberately lost her in the
dancing-hall, but after she had hurried away to catch the ten train,
knowing Bessie had promised to return by it, she had had to come
back alone!
</p>

<p>
This added to Bessie's vexation, and when she reached the
house, and found the door locked on her, it expressed itself in her
hand when she rattled the kitchen latch.
</p>

<p>
Then came the scene with Dan Baldromma who shouted down
at her from the upper window as if she had been a thief&mdash;it was
suffocating!  And when he said, "Find your bed where you've
found your company," and banged down the sash on her, she flung
away, crying, as well as she could for the anger that was
choking her,
</p>

<p>
"So I will, and you'll be sorry for it some day."
</p>

<p>
At that moment she meant to sleep with Susie at the Ginger
Hall Inn, and offer herself next day to one or other of the farmers
who had so often asked for her.  But she had not gone many steps
before she reflected that all the farmers' houses would be full now
and nobody could take her in until Michaelmas.
</p>

<p>
No matter!  She might have been no better off.  Those old
farmers were all the same.  If it wasn't the bullying of brutes like
Dan Baldromma it was the meanness of old hypocrites like Teare
of Lezayre, who laid foundation stones, and put purses of money
on top of them, and then went home and gave his girls cold
potatoes and salt herrings for supper!
</p>

<p>
That made her think of young Willie Teare.  She had met him
in Ramsey the day before, when he had said he was tired of slaving
for his father, and meant to set up in a farm for himself as soon
as he could find the right wife.  But no thank you, no marrying
with a farmer for her!  After a woman had worn herself to the
bone, keeping things together and gathering the stock, and she
was doubled up with sciatica, and ought to be in bed, with
somebody to wait on her, the husband was nagging and ragging her
from morning to night.  That was marriage!  Hadn't she seen
enough of it?
</p>

<p>
Bessie had reached the Ginger Hall by this time, and, seeing
a light in Susie's window, she was about to call up when (with
Dan's insult 'Find your bed, etc.' still rankling in her mind) a
startling thought seized her and made her heart leap and the hot
blood to rush through and through her.  There was one way to
escape from Dan Baldromma and his tyrannies&mdash;Mr. Stowell!
</p>

<p>
Mr. Stowell would return by the last train to Ramsey, having
bachelor rooms there, in which he lived alone&mdash;so people were
saying.  If she were to meet him on his arrival and tell him what
had happened he would find some way out for her.  Of course he
would!  She was sure he would!
</p>

<p>
Ashamed?  Why should she be?  People had said all they
could say about a girl like her while she was a baby in arms, and
who was there to say anything now?
</p>

<p>
And then Mr. Stowell wouldn't care either.  He was rich,
therefore he had no need to be afraid of anybody.  And if he were
fond of a girl he would stand up for her and defy the whole
island&mdash;that was the sort of young man he was!
</p>

<p>
The last train could not reach Ramsey before midnight, and
it might be later.  It was only half-past eleven yet.  There was
still time.  Why shouldn't she?
</p>

<p>
"'Find your bed,' indeed!  We'll see!  We'll see!"
</p>

<p>
Three-quarters of an hour later she was approaching Ramsey.
The stars had gone out; the night was becoming gloomy; she was
tired and her spirit of defiance was breaking down under a chilling
thought.  What if Mr. Stowell did not want her?  It was one
thing for a young man to amuse himself with a girl in the glen or
in a dancing-hall, but to become responsible for her....
</p>

<p>
"If he felt like that and found me in Ramsey what would
he think?"
</p>

<p>
Afraid and ashamed she was slowing down with the thought
of returning to the Ginger Hall when she heard the train whistle
behind her, and looking back, saw its fiery head forging through
the darkness.  That sent the hot blood bounding to her heart again,
and within a few minutes she was walking slowly down the main
street of the town, which was all shut up and silent.
</p>

<p>
She knew where Mr. Stowell's rooms were&mdash;in Old Post Office
Place&mdash;and that he would have to come this way to get to them.
She heard the train drawing up in the station, the passengers
trooping out, parting in the square and shouting their good-nights
as they went off by the streets to the north and south.  One group
was coming behind, on the other side of the way, laughing over
something they had seen at a place of entertainment.  They passed
and turned down a side street and the echo of their voices died
away at the back of the houses.
</p>

<p>
Then came a few moments of sickening silence.  Bessie, as she
walked on, could hear nothing more, and another chilling thought
came to her.  What if Mr. Stowell had not returned by the train
and were sleeping the night in Douglas?
</p>

<p>
All her courage and defiance ebbed away, and she saw herself
for the first time as she was&mdash;a miserable girl, cast out of her
step-father's house, in which she had worked so hard but in which
nothing belonged to her, homeless, penniless (for she had spent
her half-year's wages on her clothes) without a shelter, in the
middle of the night, alone!
</p>

<p>
It was beginning to rain and Bessie was crying.  All at once
she heard a firm step behind her.  It was he!  She was sure of it!
Her heart again beat high and all her nerves began to tingle.  He
was overtaking her.  She turned her head aside and wiped her
eyes.  He was walking beside her.  She could hear his breathing.
</p>

<p>
"Bessie!"
</p>

<p>
"Mr. Stowell!"
</p>

<p>
"Good gracious, girl, what are you doing here?"
</p>

<p>
And then she told him.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
III
</p>

<p>
"The brute!  The beast!  Did you tell him your train was late?"
</p>

<p>
"No.  He ought to have known that for himself."
</p>

<p>
"So he ought.  You are quite right there, Bessie.  But didn't
your mother...."
</p>

<p>
"Mother is afraid of her life of the man.  She daren't say
anything."
</p>

<p>
"Was there any other house he might have thought you would
go to&mdash;any neighbour's, any relation's?"
</p>

<p>
"I have no relations, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"Ah! .... Then he deliberately shut you out of his house in
the middle of the night, knowing you had nowhere else to go to?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes!"
</p>

<p>
"The damned scoundrel!"
</p>

<p>
Bessie, who had been crying again, was looking up at him with
wet but shining eyes.
</p>

<p>
"Well, what are you going to do now?  Do you know anybody
in town who can take you in for to-night?"
</p>

<p>
"No."
</p>

<p>
"Then I must knock up one of the Inns for you.  Here's the
old Plough&mdash;what do you say to the Plough?"
</p>

<p>
"Dan Baldromma goes there&mdash;Mrs. Beatty would get into
trouble."
</p>

<p>
"The Saddle then?"
</p>

<p>
"I go there myself, every market-day, with butter and
eggs&mdash;people would be talking."
</p>

<p>
There was only the Mitre Hotel left, and Stowell himself
shrank from that.  To go to the Mitre with a girl at this time of
night would be like shouting into the mouth of a megaphone.
Within twenty-four hours the whole town would hear the story,
with every explanation except the right one.
</p>

<p>
"But, good heavens, girl, I can't go home and go to bed and
leave you to walk about in the streets."
</p>

<p>
"I'll do whatever you think best, Sir," said Bessie, crying
again and stammering.
</p>

<p>
They were at the corner of Old Post Office Place by this time,
and, after a moment's hesitation, he took the girl's hand and drew
it through his arm and then turned quickly in the opposite
direction, saying:
</p>

<p>
"Come, then, let us think."
</p>

<p>
It was still raining but Stowell was scarcely aware of that.
With the girl walking close by his side he was only conscious of a
return of the faint dizziness he had felt in the garden at Douglas.
To conquer this and to keep up his indignation about Dan Baldromma,
while they walked round the square of streets, he asked
what the man had said when he finally shut down the window.
</p>

<p>
"He said I was to find my bed where I had found my company,"
said Bessie, stammering again and with her head down.
</p>

<p>
"Meaning that you had been in bad company?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes."
</p>

<p>
"The foul-minded ruffian!"
</p>

<p>
His nerves were quivering, and he knew that the hot tide of his
indignation was ebbing rapidly.  Suddenly an idea came to him
and he felt an immense relief&mdash;Mrs. Quayle!  She was a good,
religious woman, who had seen sorrow herself, and that was the
best kind to go to in a time of trouble.  She would take Bessie in
for to-night, and to-morrow they would all three go back together
to Baldromma, and then&mdash;then he would tell that old blackguard
what he thought of him.
</p>

<p>
"That's it, Bessie!  I wonder why in the world I didn't think
of it before?"
</p>

<p>
Bessie was answering "Yes" and "Yes," but her beaming
eyes were looking sideways up at him, and the blood was pounding
through his body with a rush.
</p>

<p>
They had got back to the corner of Old Post Office Place when
Stowell stopped and said:
</p>

<p>
"Wait!  Mrs. Quayle's house is rather a long way off&mdash;one of
the little fishermen's cottages on the south beach, you know.  I'm
not quite sure that she has a second bed.  And then she might be
alarmed if two of us turned up at this time of night.  What if I
run over first and make sure?"
</p>

<p>
Again Bessie answered "Yes" and "Yes."
</p>

<p>
"But it's raining heavily now, and, of course, you can't stay
out in the streets any longer.  Here are my rooms&mdash;just here.
Why shouldn't you step in and wait?  I shall have to go upstairs
for an overcoat anyway."
</p>

<p>
Bessie showed no embarrassment, and Victor felt at first that
what he was doing was something a little courageous and rather
noble.  But as soon as they reached the door, and he began to
fumble with his key to open it, he became nervous and a voice
within him seemed to say, "Take care!"
</p>

<p>
"Come in," he said bravely, but when Bessie brushed him on
entering the house he trembled, and from that moment onwards
he was conscious of a struggle between his blood and his brain.
</p>

<p>
As he was closing the door on the inside he saw that there was a
letter in the letter-box at the back of it, but he left it there, and
held out his hand to Bessie to guide her up the stairs, saying:
</p>

<p>
"It's dark here.  Give me your hand.  Now come this way.
Don't be afraid.  You shan't fall.  I'll take care of you."
</p>

<p>
There were two short flights and then a landing, from which a
door opened on either side&mdash;on the right to Victor's offices, on the
left to his living-rooms.  He opened the door on the left, leaving
Bessie to stand on the landing until he had found matches and
lit the gas.
</p>

<p>
He was long in finding them, and while rummaging in the dark
room he heard the girl's quick breathing behind him.
</p>

<p>
"Ah, here they are at last!" he cried in a tremulous voice,
and then he lit up a branch under a white globe on one side of
the mantelpiece.
</p>

<p>
"Now you can come in," he said, and turning to the window he
loosened the cord of the Venetian blind and it came clattering down.
</p>

<p>
Bessie stepped into the room.  It was a warm and cosy chamber,
with a thick Persian carpet, two easy chairs, an open bookcase
full of law books, a desk-table with ink-stand, writing-pad
and reading-lamp (looking so orderly as to suggest that no work
was done there) and a large pier-glass with a small bust of a
pretty Neapolitan girl and a little silver-cased clock in front of it.
The clock was striking one.
</p>

<p>
"One o'clock!  It was stupid to stay out in the streets so
long, wasn't it?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes."
</p>

<p>
"Your hat is dripping.  Hadn't you better take it off for the
few minutes you'll have to stay?"
</p>

<p>
"Should I?"
</p>

<p>
"Do; and I'll light the gas-fire&mdash;a bachelor has to have
gas-fires, you know."
</p>

<p>
While he was down on his knees lighting the fire, and regulating
its burning from blue to red, Bessie, with trembling fingers,
was drawing the pins out of her hat&mdash;the wonderful new hat of a
few hours ago, now wet and bedraggled.  In doing so she pulled
down her hair and made a faint cry,
</p>

<p>
"Oh!"
</p>

<p>
"Don't mind that at this time of night," said Victor.  But at
sight of the girl's face, now framed in its shower of waving black
hair, his nervousness increased.  He had always thought her a
good-looking girl, but he had never known before that she was
beautiful.
</p>

<p>
"My coat is wet, too.  I must change it," he said, getting up
and going towards his bedroom door.  "It would be foolish to put
an overcoat over a wet jacket, wouldn't it?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes."
</p>

<p>
"But your blouse seems to be soaking.  Why shouldn't you
take it off and dry it at the fire while I'm away at Mrs. Quayle's?"
</p>

<p>
"Should I?"
</p>

<p>
"Why not?"
</p>

<p>
While he was in the inner room, opening and closing his wardrobe,
and changing his wet coat for a dry one, he kept on talking.
Mrs. Quayle was a good creature who had lost her husband in that
January gale a few years ago.  She would take Bessie in&mdash;he was
sure she would.  But this was only to drown the clamour of two
voices within himself, one of which was saying, "Must you go?"
and the other "Certainly you must!  Be a man and play the
game, for God's sake."
</p>

<p>
When he returned to the sitting-room the breath was almost
smitten out of his body by what he saw.  Bessie had taken off her
blouse, and was kneeling by the fire to dry it.  She did not raise
her eyes to his, and after a first glance he did not look at her.
Opening the outer door to the landing, where the hat-rail stood,
he pulled on a cap and dragged on an ulster, saying, in a
nervous voice,
</p>

<p>
"It's only a hop-skip-and-a-jump to Mrs. Quayle's.  I shall
be back presently."
</p>

<p>
Suddenly there came a flash of lightning which lit up the
dark bedroom, and then a clap of thunder, loud and long, which
rattled the window frames.
</p>

<p>
"It would be foolish to go out in a storm like that, wouldn't
it?" he said.
</p>

<p>
"'Deed it would," said Bessie.  She had risen with a start, but
now she knelt again and held her steaming blouse before the fire.
</p>

<p>
Stowell took off his cap and ulster and dropped them on to a
chair.  Then he walked about the room, trying to keep his eyes
from the girl, and to fill the difficult silence by talking on
indifferent subjects&mdash;other storms he had seen in other countries.
</p>

<p>
After a while the thunder went off in the direction of Ireland,
its echo becoming fainter and fainter in the sonority of the sea.
</p>

<p>
"It's gone&mdash;now I can go," he said.
</p>

<p>
But hardly had he taken up his cap again when the rain, which
had ceased for a moment, came in a sudden torrent.
</p>

<p>
"Only a thunder shower&mdash;it will soon be over," he said.
</p>

<p>
But the rain went on and on.  Good Lord, were the very forces
of nature conspiring to keep him there all night?
</p>

<p>
It was half-past one by the clock on the mantelpiece, and the
rain was still pelting on the pavement of the street outside with a
sound like that of an army in retreat.  Stowell was feeling
alternately hot and cold, and the voice within him was saying, "Must
you go?  You would be drenched through before you got back
from Mrs. Quayle's, and the girl would be as wet in getting there
as if you had dropped her into the sea."  After a few minutes
more he said,
</p>

<p>
"Bessie, I'm afraid we shall have to give up the idea of going
to Mrs. Quayle's."
</p>

<p>
"Yes?"
</p>

<p>
"But you can stay here, and I can go over to the Mitre."
</p>

<p>
"No, no."
</p>

<p>
"It's nothing&mdash;only two yards away."
</p>

<p>
Johnny Kelly, the boots, slept on the ground floor&mdash;he could
get him up without ringing the bell.  Of course he would have
to tell the old man some cock-and-bull story&mdash;that he had lost
his key or something.
</p>

<p>
"But it's the very thing.  I wonder I didn't think of it before."
</p>

<p>
He half hoped and half feared she might make some further
protest.  But she did not, so he picked up his cap and ulster and
was making for the door when he thought of the gas.  Would
Bessie, who had been brought up in a thatched cottage, know how
to put it out?
</p>

<p>
"Well, no, no," she stammered.
</p>

<p>
"It's quite simple.  You turn the tap, so...."
</p>

<p>
He had to kneel by her side to show her, and he was feeling
the warm glow he had felt in the glen.
</p>

<p>
"But not being used of it...."
</p>

<p>
"Then I know&mdash;the reading-lamp!"
</p>

<p>
He leapt up to light it, and having done so, he turned out the
branch under the white globe, saying, with a laugh, it was lucky
he had thought of the lamp, for if old Johnny had seen the light
in the window the story of the key would have sounded thin,
wouldn't it?
</p>

<p>
Then she laughed too, and they laughed together, but their
laughter broke into a sharp and breathless silence.
</p>

<p>
He carried the lamp into the bedroom, put it on the table by the
bedside and then pulled down the white window-blind, breaking
the cord by the tug of his trembling fingers.  He was feeling as if
another storm, a storm of emotions, were now thundering within
him.  "Must you go?"  "You must!  You shall!  Good Lord,
could a man of any conscience .... Never!  Never!"
</p>

<p>
When he returned to the sitting-room Bessie had risen to her
feet.  She was standing at the opposite side of the mantelpiece
and the intoxicating red light of the fire was over her.  Stowell
thought he had never seen anything so beautiful.  But he could
not trust himself to look twice.
</p>

<p>
"You'll be all right here, Bessie," he said, in a loud voice,
snatching up his coat and cap and making for the door.  "You
can let yourself out of the house as early as you like in the
morning; and if you decide to go back to that damned old devil at
Baldromma you can tell him from me where you passed the night,
and I'll stand up for you&mdash;why shouldn't I?"
</p>

<p>
Then he heard a breathless cry behind him, and then the words,
</p>

<p>
"Must you go?"
</p>

<p>
He stopped and turned.  Was it Bessie who had spoken?  She
had taken a step towards him, was breathing irregularly and
looking at him with gleaming eyes.
</p>

<p>
He felt as if the floor were rocking under his feet, as if the
walls were reeling round him, as if he were seeing the face of
woman for the first time.
</p>

<p>
At the next moment they were clasped in each other's arms.
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p><a id="chap0110"></a></p>

<h3>
CHAPTER TEN
<br />
THE CALL OF THE BALLAMOARS
</h3>

<p>
"What a mistake!  What a hideous blunder!"
</p>

<p>
Stowell, who had slept little, was awakening as from a bad
dream.  A dull lead-coloured light was filtering through the white
window-blind.
</p>

<p>
He could not help seeing it&mdash;Bessie was not as pretty as he had
thought.  There was something common about her beauty when
she was asleep which had been effaced by her eyes while she
was awake.
</p>

<p>
Ashamed to look any longer he stepped into the sitting-room.
A close odour hung in the air.  The gas fire was still burning, and
Bessie's blouse was lying, where she had flung it, on the floor.
With a sense of moral and physical suffocation, he went
downstairs and out into the streets.
</p>

<p>
The morning was fine and the dawn was breaking, but the town
was still asleep.  So great was the upheaval within himself that in
some vague way he expected everything to look changed.  But no,
everything was the same&mdash;the shops, the signs, the lamps, which
had not yet been put out.  There was no sound except that of his
own footsteps on the pavement, and to deaden this he walked in
the middle of the streets.
</p>

<p>
He wanted to be alone, to leave the town behind him.  Turning
northward he crossed the harbour bridge and made for the red pier
which stood out into the bay with a light-house at the end of it.
</p>

<p>
The tide hummed far off on the shore.  It was the bottom of
the ebb.  Trading schooners were lying half on their sides in the
mud.  Seagulls were calling over it.  Sand, slime, sea-wrack and
the broken refuse of the town lay uncovered at the harbour's
mouth, and the last draught of the ebbing water was playing about
them with a guttural sound.
</p>

<p>
When he came to the light-house he saw that some fragments
of stone and glass were lying about, but his mind was too confused
to ask itself what had happened.  He sat down on the light-house
steps, looked down into the harbour-basin and tried to think.
</p>

<p>
Good Lord, what a fool he had been!  To ask the girl into his
rooms, being who and what she was, alone, in the middle of the
night, just after he had formed the resolution to go home and put
himself out of the reach of temptation .... what a fool!
</p>

<p>
He thought of the stories people had told of him and how he
had justified the very ugliest and worst of them .... what
a fool!
</p>

<p>
He remembered what he had said to Janet, that no girl on the
island or in the world had ever come to any harm through him,
or ever should.  That was only a little while ago and now
.... what a fool!
</p>

<p>
He recalled the white heat of his indignation against Dan
Baldromma for what he had done to his step-daughter.  That
was only last night, and now he himself .... what a fool!
What a fool!
</p>

<p>
Then the sense of his folly gave way to a sense of shame.
Down to yesterday he had lived a decent life.  Reckless, heedless,
careless, stupid perhaps, but decent anyway.  And now .... what
shame!
</p>

<p>
The light was then clearing, and raising his eyes he saw on the
south beach a one-story fisherman's cottage from which the smoke
was rising.  It was Mrs. Quayle's cottage.  She was making
her early breakfast, and presently she would go to his room to
make his.  He shuddered at a vision of what she would find there&mdash;the
close air, the gas fire, the girl's blouse on the floor, the girl
herself .... how degrading it all was!
</p>

<p>
He saw Dan Baldromma ferreting out the facts (as of course
he would, having to find excuses for his own barbarity), and then
blazoning them abroad to his own disgrace and the discredit of his
class.  Or worse&mdash;a hundredfold worse&mdash;holding them as a threat
over his father.  What a disgusting bog he had strayed into!
</p>

<p>
He saw the truth leaking out one way or other and putting an
end to his career at the bar.  It was not the same here as in the
greater communities, where a man might commit a fault and then
submerge it in the fathomless tide of life.  In this little island,
where everybody knew everybody, it was the man himself who
was submerged.
</p>

<p>
If the story of last night became known to anyone it would
become known to everyone, from the Governor himself to the
meanest beggar on the roads.  No position of honour or authority
would ever be possible to him after that.  The black fact would
be a clanking chain which he would have to drag after him as
long as he lived.
</p>

<p>
When he thought of this&mdash;that the event of one night might
alter the whole course of his life, and bring scandal upon the
Deemster, and that it was due to a miserable accident in the first
instance&mdash;the accident of meeting Bessie on the streets after
midnight&mdash;he was filled with a fierce and consuming rage, and for one
bad moment he had an almost uncontrollable desire to return to
his rooms and drive her out of them.
</p>

<p>
That horrified him.  He hated himself for it, and after a while
his self-pity gave place to pity for the girl.
</p>

<p>
"Good heavens, what are my risks compared to hers?" he
asked himself.
</p>

<p>
The poor girl had so many excuses.  Back in the past, before
she was born even, she had been condemned and branded, and the
damned hypocritical world had been deepening the injury every
day since.  If he had found her in the streets it was only because
her brutal step-father had turned her from his door.  And if she
had come into his rooms it was because she had no other shelter.
</p>

<p>
She had been a good girl too.  No other man had been allowed
to lead her astray.  He could hear her voice still, repeating his
own words after him: "You <i>will</i> stand up for me, won't you?"
and he had promised that he would.  He could not cast her off now
without being a scoundrel.  Could the son of Deemster Stowell
be a scoundrel?
</p>

<p>
"No, by God!"
</p>

<p>
A few minutes later he saw himself going back to Bessie and
saying, "Look here, my dear girl.  It was neither your fault nor
mine, but take this, and this, and remember if you ever find it is
not enough, there'll be more where that comes from."
</p>

<p>
But no, he could not do that either.  If he made the girl take
money he would put her in the position of a harlot; and once a
woman accepted that position there was no bottom to the
unguessed depths to which she might descend.
</p>

<p>
Bessie's future stood up before him like a spectre.  Other men,
each more brutal than the last, quarrels, violence, all the miseries
of such a life&mdash;until some day, perhaps, some hideous fact with
which he had had nothing to do, would look at him with accusing
eyes and say,
</p>

<p>
"You are responsible for this, because you were the first."
</p>

<p>
Down to that moment he had been thinking of the event of last
night as a blunder, but now he saw it as a crime.  To prevent the
possible consequences of that crime he must keep the girl with him,
take care of her, protect her as the saying was.
</p>

<p>
But no, that was impossible also.  Justification for such a
relation there might be&mdash;no doubt was&mdash;where law or custom or other
impediment were keeping apart a man and woman who belonged
together.  But to put a girl into the position of a mistress, because
she was unworthy to be a wife, and to hide her away behind a
curtain of duplicity and lies, was to destroy her body and soul.
</p>

<p>
Again Bessie's future stood up before him as a spectre&mdash;that
high-spirited girl who, but for him, might have married a decent
man of her own class, and held her head proud, declining, after a
few vain months of fine clothes and idleness, to the condition of a
slattern, and going down to the dirt and degeneration of drink.
</p>

<p>
And then he saw that what had happened last night was not
merely a crime&mdash;it was a sin.
</p>

<p>
But what was he to do?  What?  What?
</p>

<p>
Just at that moment the sun had come up out of the sea in
crimsoning clouds, and the white mist that is the shroud of night
had risen above the houses of the town, the steeples of the churches,
the hills and the mountain tops, and was vanishing away in that
new birth of morning light that is the world's daily resurrection.
</p>

<p>
"I know!  I know!" he thought, and he leapt to his feet.
</p>

<p>
He had remembered something that Janet had said about the
men of his family&mdash;that it had always been a kind of religion
with them to do the right.  Four hundred years of the Ballamoars
and not a stain on the name of any of them!  That was something
to be born to, wasn't it?  It was worth all the titles and honours
the world had in it.
</p>

<p>
And then, in that moment of strange and solemn splendour,
when the things of the other world appear to be as real as the
things of this one, it seemed as if the Ballamoars were calling to
him!  Four hundred years of the dead Ballamoars were calling to
the last of their sons&mdash;"<i>Do the right!</i>"
</p>

<p>
"I must marry that girl," he told himself.
</p>

<p>
But at the next moment there came, with the shock of a blow,
the memory of his mother.
</p>

<p>
Marriage had always been associated in his mind with such
different conditions.  Such a different woman; somebody who
would be your equal, perhaps your superior; somebody who would
sustain and inspire you; somebody who would help you feel the
throbbing pulse of life, and listen to all the suffering hearts that
beat; somebody who, if she had to go before you, would leave
behind her, for as long as your life should last, the fragrance of
flowers and the halo of a holy saint.
</p>

<p>
That was marriage as he had always thought of it.  And now
this girl&mdash;illiterate, inadequate, with that mother, that father
.... in the presence of the Deemster .... the home of Isobel
Stanley .... Oh, God!
</p>

<p>
Then a mocking voice seemed to say,
</p>

<p>
"Good Lord, what a joke!  If every man who ever made a
tragic blunder (there have been hundreds of thousands of you)
had acted on your exaggerated sense of responsibility, what a mess
the old world would be in by this time!  Why, there is scarcely a
man alive who would not laugh at you and call you a fool."
</p>

<p>
"Let them," he thought, for louder at that moment than any
other voice was the voice that cried,
</p>

<p>
"<i>Do the right!</i>"
</p>

<p>
The marriage need not take place immediately.  Bessie could
be educated.  She was bright; there was no saying how quickly
she might develop.  That would soften the blow to his father,
and anyhow the Deemster would see that he was trying to be true
to his blood, his race.
</p>

<p>
"Yes, yes, I must do the right; whatever it may cost me."
</p>

<p>
But then came another chilling thought.  Love!  There could
be no love in such a marriage.  This brought, with the pain of a
bleeding wound, the memory of Fenella.
</p>

<p>
In spite of all he had said to himself through so many years
he had never really been reconciled to the loss of her.  Down in
some dark and secret chamber of his consciousness there had
always been a phantom hope that notwithstanding her devotion to
her work for women, and the dedication to celibacy (as stern as the
consecration of the veil) which she believed to be demanded by it,
Fenella would return to the island, and his great love would
be rewarded.
</p>

<p>
That had been the real cause of his idleness.  He had been
waiting, waiting, waiting for Fenella to come back and make it
worth while .... and now .... by his own act .... the
consequences of it .... Oh, God!  Oh, God!
</p>

<p>
For the first time, save once since he was a child, he felt tears
in his eyes, but he brushed them away impatiently.
</p>

<p>
"It's too late to think of that now," he thought.
</p>

<p>
A duty claimed him.  He must put such dreams away.  Besides
where was the merit of doing the right if you had not to
sacrifice something?  Love might be the light of life, but men and
women all the world over had for one reason or other to marry
without it.  Millions of hearts in all ages were like old battlefields,
with dead things, which nobody knew of, lying about in the dark
places.  And yet the world went on.
</p>

<p>
He might have struggles, heart-aches, heart-hunger, and more
than he could do to keep the pot boiling, with the fire out and the
hearth cold, but nobody need know anything about that.  This
girl need never know.  Fenella need never know.  Nobody need
know.  It was a matter for himself only.
</p>

<p>
"Yes, yes, I must do the right," he kept on saying, "whatever
it may cost me."
</p>

<p>
Having arrived at this decision he felt an immense relief and
got up to go back.
</p>

<p>
The windows of the town were reflecting the morning sun and
the smoke was rising from the chimneys.  He saw an elderly
woman, with a little shawl pinned over her head and under her
chin, trudging along past the storm-cone station on the other side
of the harbour.  It was Mrs. Quayle, on her way to his rooms.
But he shuddered no longer at the thought of her.  She was a good
creature and when she heard what he meant to do she would help
him with the care of Bessie.
</p>

<p>
As he walked towards the town he told himself he had another
reason now for setting to work in earnest&mdash;he had to justify what
he was going to do in the eyes of the island and of the Deemster.
Therefore the event of last night might be a good thing after all,
little as he had thought so.
</p>

<p>
At the mouth of the bridge he met the harbour-master, whose
face wore a look of dismay.
</p>

<p>
"This is a ter'ble shocking thing that has happened in the
night, Mr. Stowell."
</p>

<p>
Stowell caught his breath and asked "What?"
</p>

<p>
"Why, the light-house.  Struck by lightning in the storm.
Didn't you see it, Sir?"
</p>

<p>
"Oh yes, of course, certainly."
</p>

<p>
"I'm just after telegraphing to the Governor and the Receiver-General.
The old light has gone out with the tide, Sir, and it will
be middlin' bad for the boats coming in at night until we get a
new one."
</p>

<p>
"It will, Captain, it will.  Good-morning!"
</p>

<p>
His eyes were positively shining with joy as he walked sharply
through the town, and as he opened his door he was saying to
himself again,
</p>

<p>
"I must do the right, <i>whatever</i> it may cost me."
</p>

<p>
He was closing the door on the inside when he saw in the
letter-box the letter which had caught his eye last night.  Now
he could open it.
</p>

<p>
It was marked "Immediate."  Recognising the Ballamoar
crest and Janet's handwriting, he trembled and turned pale.
</p>

<p class="letter">
"A line in frantic haste, dear, to say I have just heard
from Miss Green that Fenella is crossing by the steamer due
to arrive at eight o'clock this evening.  She has left her
Settlement and is coming back to stay in the island for good.  I
thought you might like to go up to Douglas to meet her.
Trust me, dear, she will be simply delighted.
</p>

<p>
"Robbie Creer is taking this into town by hand, so that
you may receive it at the earliest possible moment.  I am
frightfully excited, and oh, so glad and happy."
</p>

<p>
</p>

<p>
Stowell reeled and laid hold of the hand-rail.  And when
at length he went upstairs he staggered as if he were carrying a
crushing load.
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p class="t3">
END OF FIRST BOOK
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p><a id="chap0211"></a></p>

<h2>
<i>SECOND BOOK</i>
<br />
THE RECKONING
</h2>

<p><br /></p>

<h3>
CHAPTER ELEVEN
<br />
THE RETURN OF FENELLA
</h3>

<p>
"Fate has played me a scurvy trick," thought Stowell.  "No
matter!  I'll go on."
</p>

<p>
Within an hour he settled Bessie Collister temporarily with
Mrs. Quayle.  He told her they were to be married ultimately, but
meantime (that she might feel more comfortable in her new
condition) he intended to find some suitable place in which she would
complete her education.
</p>

<p>
He tried to say this tenderly so as not to hurt the girl's pride,
and even affectionately, so as to convey the idea that it was she who
would be doing the favour.  But a certain shallowness in Bessie's
nature disappointed him.  While he unfolded his plans she said
"Yes" and "yes," looking alternately surprised and startled,
but it was with a troubled face, rather than a glad one, that she
went off with Mrs. Quayle, whose own face was grave also.
</p>

<p>
Two days later Stowell went up to see Gell.  He had determined
to say nothing about his intimate relations with Bessie.
Why should he?  If it was his duty to marry the girl, it was equally
his duty to protect her honour&mdash;the honour of the woman who
was to become his wife.
</p>

<p>
Gell was astounded.  He listened, with a twinkling eye, to
Stowell's story of how he had come upon Bessie in the street, after
midnight, friendless and homeless, being shut out by her
abominable father, and how he had taken her to Mrs. Quayle's.  But
when Stowell went on to say that, feeling a certain responsibility
for the girl's misfortune, having been a principal cause of it (by
keeping her out too late at night) and having seen something of
her since, he had come to like and even to love her, and had made
up his mind to marry her, Gell broke into exclamations of
astonishment which cut Stowell to the quick.
</p>

<p>
"But Bessie?  Bessie Collister?  Do you really mean it?"
</p>

<p>
"Why not?"
</p>

<p>
"Well .... it is not for me to say why not.  She was a sort
of old flame of my own, you know."
</p>

<p>
Stowell flinched at this, but went on with his story.  For Bessie's
sake he had decided to put back the marriage until she could be
educated a little.  And if Gell knew of any school, not too well
known, and far enough away....
</p>

<p>
"Why, yes, of course I do," said Gell.
</p>

<p>
It was that of the Misses Brown at Derby Haven&mdash;a remote
village at the south of the island.  Two old maids who had formerly
been governesses to his sisters.  Only yesterday the elder of
them had written asking if there was anything he could put in
her way.  It looked like the very thing.  At all events he would
go down and see.  And if Stowell wished to keep things quiet for a
while, as of course he would, if it was only for the sake of the
Deemster, he was ready to act as go-between.
</p>

<p>
"What a good fellow you are, Alick!"
</p>

<p>
"Not a bit!  It's no more than you would have done for
me&mdash;less than you've done already."
</p>

<p>
Next day Stowell had a letter from Gell saying he had
arranged everything.  The Misses Brown, who had no other pupil
at present, would be only too delighted.  Bessie might be sent up
at any time and he would see her to her destination.
</p>

<p>
Within a week the girl was despatched to Douglas, with such
belongings as Mrs. Quayle had bought for her, and in due course
Stowell had a second letter from Gell, saying,
</p>

<p>
"It's all right.  I've delivered the goods!  Of course I made
no unnecessary explanations, and old Miss Brown, smelling a
secret, thinks I am to be the happy man.  What larks!  But I
don't mind if you don't.  Bessie looked a little wistful when I
came away, so I had to promise to run down and see her
sometimes.  That's all right, I suppose?"
</p>

<p>
Then Stowell set to work.  Letting it be known that he was
willing to accept cases of all kinds it was not long before he was
fully occupied.  Common assault, drunkenness, petty larceny&mdash;he
took anything and everything that came his way.  He did his
work well.  In a little while people began to whisper that he was
a chip of the old block and to employ the Deemster's son was to
ensure success.
</p>

<p>
Meantime he saw nothing of Fenella.  Having made up his
mind to do the right thing he tried his best to banish all thought
of her.  But everybody was talking of the Governor's daughter.
She was beautiful; she was charming; she was wonderful!  Oh,
the joy of it all!  But the pain and the misery of it, also!
</p>

<p>
One day he met Janet driving in the street, and after she had
asked if he had received her letter, and he had answered no, it had
arrived too late, she said,
</p>

<p>
"But of course you'll call, dear.  I'm sure she'll expect it."
</p>

<p>
The Governor sent out invitations to a garden-party in honour
of his daughter's return home, but Stowell excused himself on the
ground of urgent work.  A little later Fenella herself issued
invitations to a meeting towards the establishment of a League for the
Protection of Women, but again Stowell excused himself&mdash;a case
in the Courts.
</p>

<p>
Still later he went out to Ballamoar to see his father, whom he
had neglected of late, and the Deemster (who looked older and
feebler and had a duller light in his great but melancholy eyes)
flamed up with a kind of youth when he talked of Fenella.
</p>

<p>
"It's extraordinary," he said.  "Do you know, Victor, she
is the only woman I have ever met who has reminded me of your
mother?  And if I close my eyes when she is speaking, I can
almost persuade myself it is the same."
</p>

<p>
Stowell began to think he hated the very name of Fenella.
But there were moments when he felt that he could have given the
whole world, if he had possessed it, just to look upon her face.
</p>

<p>
One day Gell came to "report progress" about Bessie.  She
was getting on all right, but "longing" a little in those
unaccustomed surroundings, so he had to go down in the evenings
sometimes to take her out for walks.
</p>

<p>
"We'll have to be careful about that, though," he said, "for
what do you think?"
</p>

<p>
"What?"
</p>

<p>
"Dan Baldromma suspects <i>me</i>, and is having me watched."
</p>

<p>
Stowell was startled and ashamed.  Where had his head been
that he had not thought of this before?  He had got up from his
desk and was looking vacantly out of the window when he became
aware that the Governor's big blue landau was drawing up in
the street below.
</p>

<p>
At the next moment there was a light step on the stairs, and at
the next the door of his room was opened by his young clerk, and
through the doorway came someone who was like a vision from
a thousand of his dreams, but now grown in her stately height out
of the beauty of a bewitching girl into the full bloom of womanly
loveliness.
</p>

<p>
It was Fenella Stanley.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
II
</p>

<p>
"You wouldn't come to see me, so I've come to see you."
</p>

<p>
Stowell never knew what answer he made when he took her
outstretched hand; but after a moment he said,
</p>

<p>
"You know my friend Gell?"
</p>

<p>
"Indeed I do .... And how's Isabella? .... And
Adelaide? .... And Verbena?"
</p>

<p>
While Fenella was talking to Gell, Stowell had time to look
at her.  She was the most beautiful woman in the world!  Those
dark eyes, beaming with bluish opal; those lips like an opening
rose; that spacious forehead, with its brown hair shot with
gold&mdash;they had not told him the half.
</p>

<p>
Gell made shift to answer for the sisters he had not seen for
months, and then went off.
</p>

<p>
And then Fenella, taking the chair that Stowell had set for her,
and dropping her voice to a deeper note, said,
</p>

<p>
"And now to business.  You know we've established on the
island a branch of the Women's Protection League?"
</p>

<p>
"I know."
</p>

<p>
"One of its objects is to protect women from the law."
</p>

<p>
"The law?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes, sir, the law," said Fenella smiling.  "Your law can be
very cruel sometimes&mdash;especially to women.  But our first case is
not one of that kind.  It is a case in which the law, if rightly
guided, can best do justice by showing mercy."
</p>

<p>
A young wife in Castletown had killed her husband.  She had
already appeared at the High Bailiff's Court and been committed
for trial to the Court of General Gaol Delivery&mdash;the Manx Court
of Assize.
</p>

<p>
"There seems to be no question of her guilt," said Fenella, "so
we can neither expect nor desire that she should escape punishment
altogether.  The poor thing&mdash;she's scarcely more than a girl&mdash;will
say nothing in self-defence, but when we remember how
the soul of a woman shrinks from a crime of that kind we feel that
she must have suffered some great injustice, some secret wrong,
which, if it could be brought out in Court...."
</p>

<p>
"I see," said Stowell.
</p>

<p>
Fenella paused a moment and then said, in a voice that was
becoming tremulous,
</p>

<p>
"Therefore we have thought that for this case we need an
advocate who loves women as women and can see into the heart
of a woman when she's down and done, because God has made
him so.  And that's why...."
</p>

<p>
"Yes?"
</p>

<p>
"That's why I've brought this first case to you."
</p>

<p>
Stowell could scarcely speak to answer her.  But after a
moment he stammered that he would do his utmost; and then
Fenella brought out of her hand-bag some printed papers that were
a report of the preliminary inquiry.
</p>

<p>
"I'll read them to-night," he said, putting them into his
breast pocket.
</p>

<p>
"Of course you'll require to see the prisoner?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes."
</p>

<p>
"She hasn't opened her lips yet, but you must get her to
speak."
</p>

<p>
"I'll try."
</p>

<p>
"That's all for the present," said Fenella, rising; and at the
next moment she was smiling again, and her eyes were beginning
to glow.
</p>

<p>
"So this is where you live?"
</p>

<p>
"No, this is my office; I live at the other side of the house."
</p>

<p>
"Really?  I wonder...."
</p>

<p>
"You would like to see my living rooms?"
</p>

<p>
"I'd love to.  I've always wanted to see how young
bachelors live alone."
</p>

<p>
"Come this way then."
</p>

<p>
Stowell had not realised what he was doing for himself until
he was on the landing, with the key in the lock, and Fenella
behind him, but then came a stabbing memory of another woman in
the same position.
</p>

<p>
"Come in," he cried (his voice was quivering now), and drawing
up the Venetian blind he let in a flood of sunshine and the soft
song of the sea.
</p>

<p>
"What a comfy little room!" said Fenella.
</p>

<p>
As she looked around her eyes seemed to light up everything.
</p>

<p>
"It's easy to see that you've been racing all over the earth,
sir.  That Neapolitan girl on the mantelpiece came from Rome,
didn't she?"
</p>

<p>
"She did."
</p>

<p>
"And that lamp from Venice, and that silver bowl from
Cairo, and that cedar-wood photograph frame from Sorrento?"
</p>

<p>
"Quite right."
</p>

<p>
"Books!  Books!  Books!  All law books, I see.  Not a
human thing among them, I'll be bound.  And yet they're all
terribly, fearfully, tragically human, I suppose?"
</p>

<p>
"That's so."
</p>

<p>
"Gas fire?  So you have a gas fire for the cold wet nights?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes, a bachelor has to have...."  But another stabbing
memory came, and he could get no further.
</p>

<p>
"And so this is where you sit alone until all hours of the
night&mdash;reading, reading, reading?"
</p>

<p>
He tried to speak but could not.  She glanced at the bedroom
door which stood open, and said, with eyes that seemed
to laugh,
</p>

<p>
"Is that your....?"
</p>

<p>
He nodded, breathing deeply, and trying to turn his eyes away.
</p>

<p>
"May I perhaps....?"
</p>

<p>
"If you would like to."
</p>

<p>
"What fun!"
</p>

<p>
She stood in the doorway, looking into the room for a moment,
with the sunlight on her bronze-brown hair, and then, turning
back to him with the warmer sunshine of her smile, she said,
</p>

<p>
"Well, you young bachelors know how to make yourselves
comfortable, I must say.  But I seem to scent a woman about
this place."
</p>

<p>
He found himself stammering: "There's my housekeeper,
Mrs. Quayle.  She comes every morning...."
</p>

<p>
"Ah, that accounts for it."
</p>

<p>
She walked downstairs by his side, and said, as he opened the
carriage door for her,
</p>

<p>
"You'll do your best for that poor girl?"
</p>

<p>
"My very best."
</p>

<p>
"And by the way, the Deemster has invited the Governor and
me to Ballamoar.  We go on Monday and stay a week.  Of course
you'll be there?"
</p>

<p>
"I'm afraid...."
</p>

<p>
"Oh, but you must."
</p>

<p>
"I'll .... I'll try."
</p>

<p>
"Au revoir!"
</p>

<p>
He stood, after the carriage had gone until it had crossed to the
other side of the square, where, from the shade of the inside (it
had been closed in the meantime) Fenella reached her smiling face
forward and bowed to him again.  Then he went back to his
room&mdash;now empty, silent and dead.
</p>

<p>
Oh, God, why had that senseless thing been allowed to happen!
Lord, what a little step in front of him on life's highway a man
was permitted to see!
</p>

<p>
Stowell did not return to his office that afternoon.  His young
clerk locked up, left the keys, went downstairs and shut the door
after him, but still he sat in the gathering darkness like a man
nursing an incurable wound.  He would never forgive himself for
allowing Fenella to come into his rooms&mdash;never!
</p>

<p>
"You fool!" he thought, leaping up at last.  "What's done is
done, and all you've got to do now is to stand up to it."
</p>

<p>
Then he lit the gas and taking the report out of his pocket he
began to read it.  What a shock!  As, little by little, through the
thick-set hedge of question and answer, the story of the wretched
young wife came out to him, he saw, to his horror, that it was
the story of Bessie Collister as he had imagined it might be if
he deserted her.
</p>

<p>
What devil out of hell had brought this case to him as a
punishment?  By the hand of Fenella, too!  No matter!  If
the unseen powers were concerning themselves with his miserable
misdoings perhaps it was only to strengthen him in his
resolution&mdash;to compel him to go on.
</p>

<p>
Suffer?  Of course he would suffer!  It was only right that
he should suffer.  And as for the haunting presence of Fenella's
face in that room, there was a way to banish that.
</p>

<p>
So, sitting at his desk, he wrote,
</p>

<p class="letter">
"DEAR BESSIE,&mdash;Please go into Castletown to-morrow and
have your photograph taken, and send it on to me immediately."
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p>
After that he felt more at ease and sat down before the fire to
study his case.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
III
</p>

<p>
"I must not go to Ballamoar while she's there.  It would be
madness," thought Stowell.
</p>

<p>
To escape from the temptation he made a still deeper plunge
into the cauldron of work, going to Courts all over the island and
winning his cases everywhere.
</p>

<p>
Twice he went to Castle Rushen to see the young wife in her
cell.  What happened there was made known to the frequenters of
the "Manx Arms" by Tommy Vondy, the gaoler.  Tommy, who
had been coachman at Ballamoar in the "Stranger's" days, and
appointed to his present post by the Deemster's influence, was
accustomed to scenes of loud lamentation.  But having listened
outside the cell door, and even taken a peep or two through the
grill, he was "free to confess" that "the young Master" could
not get a word out of the prisoner.
</p>

<p>
As the week of Fenella's visit to Ballamoar was coming to a
close, Stowell's nervousness became feverish.  One day, as he was
walking down the street, a dog-cart drew up by his side and a
voice called,
</p>

<p>
"Mr. Stowell!"
</p>

<p>
It was Dr. Clucas, a jovial, rubicund full-bearded man of
middle age, not liable to alarms.
</p>

<p>
"I've just been out to Ballamoar to see the Deemster, and I
think perhaps you ought to keep in touch with him."
</p>

<p>
"Is my father....?"
</p>

<p>
"Oh no, nothing serious, no immediate danger.  Still, at his
age, you know...."
</p>

<p>
"I'll go home to-morrow," said Stowell.
</p>

<p>
On the following afternoon he walked to Ballamoar.  It was a
bright day in early September.  There was a hot hum of bees on
the gorse hedges and the light rattle of the reaper in the fields, but
inside the tall elms there was the usual silence, unbroken even by
the cawing of the rooks.
</p>

<p>
The house, too, when he reached it, seemed to be deserted.
The front door was open but the rooms were empty.
</p>

<p>
"Janet!" he cried, but there came no answer.  Then he heard
a burst of laughter from the back, and going through the
dining-room to the piazza, he saw what was happening.
</p>

<p>
The yellow corn field which had been waving to a light breeze
when he was there a fortnight before, was now bare save for the
stooks which were dotted over part of it, and in the corner nearest
to the mansion house a group of persons stood waiting for the
cutting of the last armful of the crop&mdash;the Deemster, leaning on
his stick; the Governor smoking his briar-root pipe; Parson
Cowley, with his round red face; Janet in her lace cap; the house
servants in their white aprons; Robbie Creer, in his sleeve
waistcoat; young Robbie, stripped to the shirt; a large company of
farm lads and farm girls, and&mdash;Fenella, in a sunbonnet and with
a sickle in her hand.  It was the Melliah&mdash;the harvest home.
</p>

<p>
"Now for it," cried Robbie, "strike them from their legs,
miss."  And at a stroke from her sickle Fenella brought the last
sheaf to the ground.
</p>

<p>
Then there was a shout of "Hurrah for the Melliah!" and
at the next moment Robbie was dipping mugs into a pail and
handing them round to the males of the company, saying, when he
came to the Parson,
</p>

<p>
"The Parson was the first man that ever threw water in my
face" (meaning his baptism), "but there's a jug of good Manx
ale for his own."
</p>

<p>
The rough jest was received with laughter, and then the
Deemster, being called for, spoke a few words with his calm
dignity, leaning both hands on his stick:
</p>

<p>
"'Custom must be indulged with custom, or custom will weep.'  So
says our old Manx proverb.  The sun is going west on me, and
I cannot hope to see many more Melliahs.  But I trust my dear
son, when he comes after me, will encourage you to keep up all
that is good in our old traditions."
</p>

<p>
Then there was another shout, followed by some wild horseplay,
with the farm-boys vaulting the stocks and the girls stretching
straw ropes to trip them up, while the Deemster and his
company turned back to the house.
</p>

<p>
Fenella, coming along in her sun bonnet (a little awry) and
with her sheaf over her arm, was the first to see Victor, and she
cried,
</p>

<p>
"At last!  The Stranger has come at last!"
</p>

<p>
Janet was in raptures, and the Deemster said, while his slow
eyes smiled,
</p>

<p>
"You are sleeping at home to-night, Victor?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes, father."
</p>

<p>
"Good!"
</p>

<p>
After saluting everybody Victor found himself walking by
Fenella's side, and she was saying in a low voice, with a
side-long glance,
</p>

<p>
"And how do you like me in a sun bonnet, sir?  You rather
fancy sun bonnets, I believe."  But at that moment a wasp had
settled on her arm and he was too busy removing it to reply.
</p>

<p>
At dinner that night Stowell found himself drawn into the
home atmosphere as never before since his days as a student-at-law.
The dining-table was bright with silver and many candles, and the
wood fire, crackling on the hearth, filled the low-ceiled room with
the resinous odour of the pine.
</p>

<p>
Everybody except himself and the doctor (who had arrived as
they were sitting down) had dressed.  The beauty of Fenella,
who came in with the Deemster, seemed to be softened and
heightened by her pale pink evening gown&mdash;like the beauty of a
flower-bud when it opens and becomes a rose.
</p>

<p>
With Janet's complete approval Fenella had taken control of
everything, and as Victor entered she said,
</p>

<p>
"That's your place, Mr. Stranger," putting him at the end of
the table, with Janet and the doctor on either side.
</p>

<p>
She herself sat by the Deemster, whose powerful face wore an
expression of suffering, although, as often as she spoke to him,
he turned to her and smiled.
</p>

<p>
"She's lovelier than ever, really," whispered Janet, and then
(with that clairvoyance in the heart of a woman which enables
her to read mysteries without knowing it), "What a pity she ever
went away!"
</p>

<p>
As a sequel to the Melliah the talk during dinner was of the
ancient customs and old life of the island.  The Deemster, who
could have told most, said little, but the Governor spoke of the
riots of the Manx people (especially the copper riot when they
wanted to burn down Government House), and Janet of the roysterers
and haffsters of the Athols who kept racehorses and fought
duels&mdash;her mother in her girlhood had seen the blue mark of the
bullet on the dead forehead of one of them.
</p>

<p>
Such sweetness, such nobility, the men, the women, and the
manners!  Fenella joined in the talk with great animation, but
Stowell was silent and in pain.  Here they were, his family and
friends, without a suspicion that some day, perhaps soon, he would
bring quite another atmosphere into this house, this room.  Visions
of the mill, the miller, his wife and his daughter rose before him,
and he felt like a traitor.
</p>

<p>
But it was not until they went into the library (it was library
and drawing-room combined) that he knew the full depth of his
humiliation.  The Deemster, who was by the fire, asked Fenella to
sing to them, and she did so, sitting at the piano, with Doctor
Clucas (who in his youth had been the best dancer in the island)
tripping about her with old-fashioned gallantry to find the music
and turn over the leaves.
</p>

<p>
"This is for the Stranger," she said (cutting deeper than she
knew), and then followed a series of old Manx ballads, some of
them like the wailing of the wind among the rushes on the
Curraghs, and some like the dancing of the water in the harbour
before a fresh breeze on a summer day.
</p>

<p>
Then the doctor brought out from a cupboard a few faded
sheets inscribed "Isobel Stowell," and Fenella sang "Allan
Water" and "Annie Laurie."  And then the Deemster closed his
eyes, and it seemed to Victor who sat on a hassock by his side, that
his father's blue-veined hands trembled on his knees.
</p>

<p>
"And this is for myself," said Fenella, dropping into a deeper
tone as she sang:
</p>

<p class="poem">
  <i>Less than the weed that grows beside thy door....<br />
  Even less am I.</i>"<br />
</p>

<p>
Victor wanted to fly out of the room and burst into tears.  But
just then the clock on the landing struck, and Fenella rose from
the piano.
</p>

<p>
"Ten o'clock!  Time to go upstairs, Deemster."
</p>

<p>
The old man seemed to like to be controlled by the young
woman, and leaning on her arm, he bowed all around in his stately
way, and permitted himself to be led from the room.
</p>

<p>
Then the Governor (being a privileged person) lit his pipe
with a piece of red turf from the fire, and Janet whispered to the
maid who had come back for the coffee-tray,
</p>

<p>
"See that Mr. Victor's night-things are laid out, Jane."
</p>

<p>
But Victor himself was in the hall, helping the Doctor with his
overcoat, and saying,
</p>

<p>
"Can you take me back to town with you?"
</p>

<p>
"Certainly, if you'll wait at the lodge while I look in on the
cowman's wife."
</p>

<p>
"Why, what's this mischief you are plotting?"  It was
Fenella coming downstairs.
</p>

<p>
The doctor explained, and Victor said,
</p>

<p>
"There's that case.  It comes on soon.  I must see the poor
woman again in the morning."
</p>

<p>
"Well, if you must, you must, and I'll go down to the gate
with you," said Fenella.  And putting something over her head
she walked by his side (the doctor having gone on), taking his
arm unasked and keeping step with him.
</p>

<p>
"I was just wanting a word with you."
</p>

<p>
"Yes?"
</p>

<p>
"It's about your father.  You must really come back to live
with him."
</p>

<p>
"Has he asked...."
</p>

<p>
"Not to say asked!  'Victor doesn't come to see me very
often'&mdash;that's all."
</p>

<p>
"After this case is over I'll...."
</p>

<p>
"Do.  You can't think how much it will mean to him."
</p>

<p>
On the way back to Ramsey, with the lamps of the dog-cart
opening up the dark road in front of them, Stowell was silent, but
the doctor talked continuously, and always on the same subject.
</p>

<p>
"I've seen something of the ladies in my time, Mr. Stowell,
sir, but I really think .... yes, sir I really do think...."
and then rapturous praises of Fenella.  They rang like joy-bells
in Stowell's ear but struck like minute-bells also.
</p>

<p>
When he closed the street door to his chambers he found a
large envelope in the letter-box behind it.  Bessie's photograph!
As he held it under the gas globe in his cold room the pictured face
gave him a shock.  Beautiful?  Yes, but there was something
common in its beauty which he had never observed before.
</p>

<p>
His first impulse was to hide the photograph out of sight.
But at the next moment he tore open the cedar-wood frame on the
mantelpiece, removed the portrait it contained, inserted Bessie's in
its place, and then put it to stand on the table by the side of his bed.
</p>

<p>
"There!  That shall be the last face I see at night and the
first I see in the morning!"
</p>

<p>
But oh vain and foolish thought!  With the first sleep of the
night another face was in his dream.
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p><a id="chap0212"></a></p>

<h3>
CHAPTER TWELVE
<br />
THE DEATH OF THE DEEMSTER
</h3>

<p>
The Deemster had not intended to sit at the next Court of
General Gaol Delivery, and had already arranged for the second
Deemster to take his place, but when, next morning at breakfast,
he heard from Fenella that Victor was to plead, he determined
to preside.
</p>

<p>
"I must hear Victor's first case at the General Gaol," he said.
</p>

<p>
"We shall have to be careful, then," said Dr. Clucas.  "No
excitement, your Honour!  No more heart-strain!"
</p>

<p>
On the morning of the trial he was up early.  Janet heard him
humming to himself in the conservatory as he cut the flowers for
the vase in front of his young wife's picture.  When he was ready
to go she helped him on with his overcoat, turning up the collar
and putting a muffler about his neck.  And when young Robbie
came round with the dog-cart he stepped up into it with
surprising strength.
</p>

<p>
And then Janet, who had smuggled a brandy-flask into the
luncheon basket at the back of the dog-cart, stood with a swollen
heart and watched the old man as he went off in the morning mist,
with the awakened rooks cawing over the unseen tops of the trees.
</p>

<p>
Three hours later, the Deemster arrived at Castletown.  The
sun was up, and there was a crowd at the castle gate.  All hats
were off as he passed through the Judge's private passage-way to
the dark robing-room with its deeply recessed window.  The
Governor, in General's uniform, was there already, for he sat also in
the high court of the island.
</p>

<p>
A few minutes later they were in the Court-house.  It was
densely crowded, and all rose as they entered.  But at that
moment the Deemster was conscious of one presence only&mdash;his own
youth in wig and gown (himself as he used to be forty years before)
in the curved benches for the advocates immediately below.  It
was Victor.
</p>

<p>
Then the prisoner was brought in&mdash;a forlorn-looking creature
of three or four-and-twenty, not without traces of former
comeliness, but now a rag of a woman, ill-clad and slatternly.
</p>

<p>
When asked to plead she said nothing, therefore the customary
plea of Not Guilty was made for her, and without more ado the
Attorney-General embarked on the history of her crime.
</p>

<p>
It was not a case for refinement; the crime was palpable; it
had no redeeming feature, and for the protection of life in the
island it called for the extreme penalty of the law.
</p>

<p>
Then, with the usual long pauses, the woman's story was raked
out of the witnesses&mdash;her neighbours in the low streets that crept
under the Castle walls, the police and the doctor.  She had been
an orphan from her birth, brought up at the expense of the parish
by a woman who had ill-treated her.  As a young servant-girl she
had been "taken advantage of" in the big house she lived in,
perhaps by the footman, more probably by an officer of the
regiment then garrisoned in the town.  Finally she had married the
dead man, lived a cat-and-dog life with him (there was a dark
record of drink and assaults) and at last stabbed him to the heart
in a fatal quarrel and been found standing over his body with a
table-knife in her hand.
</p>

<p>
Stowell's cross-examination consisted of three questions only.
When the dead man was found had he anything in his hand?
"Yes, a poker," said the policeman.  When the prisoner was
arrested were there any wounds on her?  "Yes, three on the head,"
said the doctor.  Were there any wounds on the dead man's body
except the heart-stab from which he died?  "None whatever."
</p>

<p>
"Ah!" said the Deemster, and he reached forward to make
a note.
</p>

<p>
When the Court adjourned for luncheon, the case for the
Crown was over, and it almost seemed as if the rope of the
hangman were already about the prisoner's neck.
</p>

<p>
Stowell did not leave the Court-house.  He sat in his place
with folded arms and closed eyes.  Tommy Vondy, the gaoler,
looked in on him sitting alone, and presently returned (from the
direction of the Deemster's room) with a plate of sandwiches and
something in a glass, but he sent back both untouched.
</p>

<p>
When the Court resumed it appeared to be still more crowded
and excited than before.  As the Deemster took his seat, he saw
that his son's face was strongly illumined by the sun (which was
now streaming from a lantern light in the roof) and that it was
pale and drawn.  Immediately behind Victor a lady was
sitting&mdash;it was Fenella Stanley.
</p>

<p>
Then Stowell rose for the defence.  There was a hush, and the
Deemster found himself breathing audibly and wishing that he
could pour something of himself into his son&mdash;himself as he used
to be in the old days when God had given him strength.
</p>

<p>
But that was only for a moment.  Stowell began slowly,
almost nervously, but was soon speaking with complete command,
and the Deemster, who had been bending forward, leaned back.
</p>

<p>
He did not intend to call witnesses.  Neither would he put the
prisoner into the box.  He would content himself with the
evidence for the Crown.  He knew no more about the crime than the
jury did.  The accused had told him nothing, and degraded as they
might think her, he had not thought it right to invade the sanctity
of a woman's soul.  That she had killed her husband was clear.
If killing him was a crime she was guilty.  But was it a crime?
To answer that let the jury follow him while he did his best to
piece together, from the evidence before them, the torn manuscript
of this poor creature's story.
</p>

<p>
Then followed such speaking as none could remember to have
heard in that court before.  Flash after flash of spiritual light
seemed to recreate the stages of the prisoner's life.  First, as the
child, who should have been happy as the birds and bright as the
flowers, but had never known one hour of the love and guidance of
her natural protectors.  Next, as the young girl, pretty perhaps,
with the light of love dawning on her, but betrayed and abandoned.
Next, as the deserted creature, braving out her disgrace with
"Wait!  only wait!  My gentleman will come back and marry me
yet!"  Next, as the badgered and shame-ridden woman, with all
hope gone, saying to her despairing heart, "What do I care what
happens to me now?  Not a toss!" and then marrying (as the last
cover for a hunted dog) the brute who afterwards had beaten her,
brutalized her, cursed her, taught her to drink, and brought her
down, down, down to .... what they saw.
</p>

<p>
Kill him?  Yes, she had killed him&mdash;there couldn't be a doubt
about that.  But if she had three wounds on her body, and he had
only the wound from which he died, was it not clear as noonday
that she had been the victim of a murderous assault, and had
struck back to save her life?  If so her act was not murder and
the only righteous verdict would be Not Guilty.
</p>

<p>
For the last passage of his defence Stowell faced full upon the
jury, and spoke in a ringing and searching voice:
</p>

<p>
"Long ago, in Galilee, out of the supreme compassion which
covered with forgiveness the transgressions of one who had sinned
much but loved much, it was said, 'Let him that is without sin
among you cast the first stone.'  We have all done something we
would fain forget, and when we lay our heads on our pillow we
pray that the darkness may hide it.  But does anybody doubt that
if the all-seeing Justice could enter this Court this day another
figure would be standing there in the dock by the side of that
unhappy woman&mdash;a man in scarlet uniform perhaps, with decorations
on his breast, and that the Deemster would have to say to
him, 'You did this, for you were the first.'  Mercy, then&mdash;mercy
for the beaten, the broken, the scapegoat, the sinner."
</p>

<p>
People said afterwards that Stowell was a full half minute in
his seat before anybody seemed to be aware that he was no longer
speaking.
</p>

<p>
The spectators had listened without making a sound; the jury
(a panel of stolid Manx farmers) had sat without moving a muscle;
the prisoner had raised her head for the first time during the
trial and then dropped it lower than before and her shoulders had
shaken as if from inaudible sobs; the Governor, who had all day
been drawing geometrical patterns on the sheet of foolscap in front
of him, had let his pencil fall and stared down at the paper, and
the Deemster had looked up at the lantern light from which the
sunlight (it had moved on) was now streaming upon his face,
showing at last a solitary tear that was rolling slowly down his
cheek to the end of his firm-set mouth.
</p>

<p>
Then there was a rustle, as if the windows of a room on the
edge of the sea had suddenly been thrown open.  The Attorney-General
was speaking again.  After the defence they had just
listened to (there being no evidence to rebut) he would waive his
right of reply&mdash;the Crown desired justice, not revenge.
</p>

<p>
The Deemster's summing-up was the shortest that had ever
been heard from him.  There were legal reasons which justified
the taking of human life, but the cases to which they applied were
few.  If the jury thought the prisoner had wilfully killed her
husband they would find her Guilty.  If they were satisfied from
what they had heard that she had reasonable grounds for thinking
that a felony was being committed upon her which endangered her
own life they would find her Not Guilty.
</p>

<p>
Without leaving their box the jury promptly gave a verdict of
Not Guilty; and then the Deemster in a loud, clear, almost
triumphant voice said:
</p>

<p>
"Let the prisoner be discharged."
</p>

<p>
A few minutes later there was a scene of excitement on the
green within the Castle walls.  The spectators, being turned out
of the Court-house with difficulty, were waiting for the chief actors
in the life-drama to come down the stone steps, and from the
private door to the Deemster's room.
</p>

<p>
"Wonderful!  He snatched the woman out of the jaws of
death, Sir!"  "The Deemster's a grand man, but he'll have to be
looking to his laurels!"  "Man alive, that was a speech that must
have been dear to a father's heart, though!"
</p>

<p>
Stowell was one of the first to appear.  He looked pale, almost
ill, and was carrying his soft felt hat in his hand, for the
Courthouse had been close and there was perspiration on his forehead
still.  A way was made for him and he passed through the courtyard
without speaking or making sign, until he came under the
arch of the Portcullis and there he was stopped by someone.  It
was Fenella.  She was waiting for the Governor and hoping she
might come upon Stowell also.  Her eyes were red and swollen.
</p>

<p>
"How magnificent you were!" she said.  And then with a
half-tremulous laugh: "But how could you see into a woman's
heart like that?  I shall always be afraid of you in future, Sir!"
</p>

<p>
The Deemster came next.  He was muffled in his great-coat
and scarf, and was walking heavily on his stick, but there was a
proud look in his uplifted face.  With his left hand he grasped
Victor's right, but he did not look at him, and he passed on without
a word.  Fenella followed, offering her arm, but he insisted on
giving his&mdash;the grand old gentleman to the last.
</p>

<p>
But this time the Attorney-General had taken possession of
Stowell.  He had lost his case, but one of his "boys" had won
it.  "I've just been telling your father I always knew the root of
the matter was in you," he said, and then others gathered around.
</p>

<p>
The Governor came last, having had documents to sign, and
taking Stowell's arm, he carried him away, saying, "Come
along&mdash;they'll kill you."
</p>

<p>
The Deemster's dog-cart had now gone, but the Governor's
carriage was at the gate, with Fenella inside.
</p>

<p>
"Don't forget your promise about Ballamoar," she said.
</p>

<p>
"I'm going to-morrow," said Stowell.
</p>

<p>
Just then there was a commotion among the crowd.  The liberated
woman was coming out of the Castle, surrounded by a tumultuous
company of her friends from the back streets.  She saw
Stowell by the carriage door, and breaking away from her
companions she rushed up to him, threw herself at his feet, laid hold
of his hand and covered it with kisses.
</p>

<p>
"That settles it," said Fenella, in a thick voice, after the
woman had been carried off.  "Now you know what the future of
your life is to be&mdash;that of the champion of wronged and helpless
women."
</p>

<p>
At the railway station, and in the railway carriage, Stowell's
fellow advocates overwhelmed him with congratulations, but he
hardly heard them.  At last he folded his arms and closed his
eyes, and, thinking he was tired, they left off troubling him.
</p>

<p>
On arriving at Ramsey his pulses were beating fast, and on
going down the High Street, past the Old Plough Inn, he hardly
felt the ground under his feet.
</p>

<p>
Clashing his door behind him he went into his bedroom and
threw himself down on his bed.  An immense joy had taken
possession of him.  Ambition, dead so long, had been restored to
vivid life under Fenella's last words.
</p>

<p>
And then came a shock.  Turning to the table by his bedside,
his eyes fell on the photograph that stood upon it.
</p>

<p>
Bessie Collister!
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
II
</p>

<p>
The Deemster had a cheerful homegoing.  Young Robbie
Creer said afterwards that he had never seen the old man so strong
and hearty.  Driving himself, he saluted everybody on the roads,
always by name and generally in the Anglo-Manx.  All the way
back it was "How do, John?" or "Grand day done, Mr. Killip."
</p>

<p>
Janet was waiting for him at the porch of Ballamoar.
</p>

<p>
"You must be tired after your long day, your Honour?"
</p>

<p>
"Not at all!"
</p>

<p>
"And Victor&mdash;how did he get on, Sir?"
</p>

<p>
"Wonderfully!  Won his case and covered himself with
honour."
</p>

<p>
At dinner (he insisted on Janet dining with him) he talked of
nothing but Victor and the trial.
</p>

<p>
"He has got his foot on the ladder now, Miss Curphey, and
there is no height to which he may not ascend."
</p>

<p>
Janet could do nothing but wipe her shining eyes and say,
</p>

<p>
"Aw, well now!  Think of that now!"  And then, with a
wise shake of her old head, "But nobody can say I didn't know
he would make us proud of him some day."
</p>

<p>
Night fell.  Janet began to be afraid of the Deemster's
excitement.  She remembered Doctor Clucas's order (privately given
to her) to knock at the Deemster's door between six and seven
every morning, and, if she got no answer, to go into the room.
She would do so to-morrow.
</p>

<p>
After Janet had gone to bed the Deemster sat at his desk in the
Library and wrote for a long time in his leather-bound book.
When he rose the clock on the landing was striking twelve.
</p>

<p>
He closed the book, but instead of putting it under lock and
key, as he had always done before, he left it open on the desk,
merely shutting the lid on it.  Then with a long look round the
room he put out the lamps and turned to go upstairs.
</p>

<p>
The reaction had begun by this time, and he staggered a little
and laid hold of the handrail.  He paused three times on the
stairs, but his weakness did not frighten him.  Lighting his candle
on the landing, he wound the clock, extinguished the lamp that
stood by it and faced the last flight with a smile.  All was silent
in the house now.
</p>

<p>
On reaching his own bedroom he paused again, and then
stepped down the corridor to Victor's.  The door was ajar.  He
pushed it open, took a step into the empty room and looked round&mdash;at
the cocoa-nut matting, the rugs, the bed in the shadow, the
discoloured school trunk in the corner.  And then he smiled again.
But he was breathing deeply at intervals and had the look of a
man who knew that he was doing familiar things for the last time.
</p>

<p>
The window in his own room was open, and the smell of tropical
plants (especially the magnolia, with its sleep-inducing odour)
was coming up from the garden.  He remembered that his own
father had brought them from the East long ago, when he was
himself a boy.
</p>

<p>
The sky was dark, but the hidden moon broke through silvery
clouds for a moment, and, looking through the surrounding blackness,
he saw the bald crown of Snaefell, far beyond the trees and
above the glen.  He remembered that he had seen it so all the way
up since he was a child.
</p>

<p>
He closed the curtains slowly and taking his candle again he
walked around the room and looked long at the pictures on the
walls.  They were chiefly portraits or miniatures of Victor, at
various periods of childhood and youth&mdash;the latest being a
photograph sent home to him from abroad.
</p>

<p>
That was the last oscillation of the pendulum.  When he was
about to prepare for bed he found his strength exhausted, and he
was compelled to sit several times while he undressed.  But he
continued to smile, and when he lay down at length and put his
head on the-pillow he did it with a will.
</p>

<p>
Then he closed his eyes, and drew a deep breath, as one who
has gone through a long day's labour but has seen it finish up well
at the end.  And then he closed his eyes and the surge of sleep
passed over him.
</p>

<p>
Outside the house everything seemed to slumber.  It was a
night strangely calm and dark.  The tall elms stood like soundless
sentinels in the darkness.  Not a leaf stirred.  The rivers flowed
without noise, as if a supernatural hand had been laid on them to
silence them.  The only sound was the slow boom of the sea, which
seemed to come up out of the ground and to be the pulse of the
earth itself.  The deep mystery of night was over all.
</p>

<p>
Towards morning there was a faint waft of wind in the trees
and along the grass.  Was it the movement in the earth's bosom
of the new day about to be born?  Or some invisible presence
striding along with noiseless footsteps?
</p>

<p>
Within the house everything seemed to sleep.  But the
Deemster lay dead.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
III
</p>

<p>
"Mr. Victor, Sir!  Mr. Victor!"
</p>

<p>
It was Robbie Creer, who, after knocking in vain at Stowell's
door in the grey hours of morning, was shouting up at his window.
He had driven into town in the dog-cart and the little mare was
steaming with perspiration.
</p>

<p>
Stowell threw up the window and heard the dread news.
After a moment he answered, in a voice that sounded strange in
Robbie's ears:
</p>

<p>
"Wait for me.  I will go back with you."
</p>

<p>
When he was ready to go he wrote a message to Fenella, and
left it for Mrs. Quayle to send off as soon as the telegraph
office opened:
</p>

<p>
"<i>He has gone, heaven, forgive me.  I am going home now.</i>"
</p>

<p>
It was Sunday morning, and the sleeping streets echoed to the
rattle of the flying wheels.  When they got into the country (they
were taking the shortest cuts) the farms were lying idle and quiet.
Stowell sat with folded arms while they raced past the whitewashed
cottages with thatched roofs, and scattered flocks of geese that
went off with screams and stretched necks.
</p>

<p>
On arriving at Ballamoar he paused before entering the house.
The pastoral tranquillity of the place was heart-breaking.  The
sun had risen, the rooks were cawing, the linnets were twittering
in the eaves, a kitten was playing with a butterfly in the
porch&mdash;it was just as if nothing had happened during the night.
</p>

<p>
Janet was in his father's room, with red eyes and a handkerchief
in her hand.  She did not speak, but her silence seemed to
say, "Why didn't you come before?"
</p>

<p>
Stowell advanced to the side of the bed.  The august face on
the pillow, in the majesty and tranquillity of death, had never
before looked so calm and noble, but that also seemed to say:
"Why didn't you come before?"  He reached over and put his
lips to the cold forehead.  And then, with head down, he hurried
from the room.
</p>

<p>
He could never afterwards remember what he did during the
rest of that day&mdash;only that to escape from the vague cheerfulness,
the hushed bustle, the half-smothered hysteria, which come to a
house after a death, he had strolled along the shore and past the
ruined church in which he had walked with Fenella.
</p>

<p>
At length Janet came to him in the library to say "Good-night"
and to sob out something about not grieving too much.
And then he was left alone.
</p>

<p>
Sitting at the desk, where his father had sat the night before,
he took up the leather-bound book and read it from end to end&mdash;not
without a sense of looking into the sanctuary of another soul,
where only God's eyes should see.
</p>

<p>
It was a large volume, of some five hundred quarto pages, with
"Isobel's Diary" inscribed on its first page, and these words
below:
</p>

<p class="quote">
"Inasmuch as I cannot believe that my beloved companion
who has died to-day is lost to me even in this life, and
being convinced that the divine purpose in leaving me behind
is that I may care for and guard her child, I dedicate this
book to the record of my sacred duty."
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p>
Then followed, in the Deemster's steady handwriting, a daily
entry, sometimes only a phrase or a line, sometimes a page, but
always about his son:
</p>

<p class="quote">
"This morning in the library, making my desk under
your portrait his altar, Parson Cowley baptised your
boy&mdash;Janet Curphey standing godmother, and the Attorney his
other sponsor.  We called him Victor, so the last of your dear
wishes has been fulfilled."
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p>
Stowell looked up and around him.  He was on the very spot
of that scene of so many years ago.  Then came records of his
childhood, his childish talk, his childish rhymes, his childish
ailments:
</p>

<p class="quote">
"Your boy contracted a cold yesterday, and fearing it
might develop into bronchitis, I sat up most of the night that
I might go into the nursery at intervals to mend the fire under
the steam kettle, Janet being worn out and sleepy.  Thank
God his breathing is better this morning!"
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p>
Stowell felt as if he were choking.  Then came the records of
his school-days; his expulsion; the slack times before he set to
work; the bright ones when he was a student-at-law; the dark
ones when he was going headlong to the dogs.  After these latter
entries it would be:
</p>

<p class="quote">
"A son is a separate being, Isobel.  I can only stand
and wait."
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p>
Or sometimes, as if for comfort, a line from one of the great
books, not rarely the Bible:
</p>

<p class="quote">
"Thy way is in the sea, and thy path is the great waters,
and thy footsteps are not known."
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p>
It was now the middle of the night.  A dog was howling somewhere
in the farm.  Stowell paused and thought of the superstition
about a howling dog and a dead body.  When he resumed his
reading he turned the pages with a trembling hand:
</p>

<p class="quote">
"It is six months since Victor returned to the island and
he has only been here twice.  I had hoped he would come to
live with me at Ballamoar.  But I must not complain.  Nature
looks forward, not backward.  No son can love his father as
the father loves the son.  That is the law of life, Isobel, and
we who are fathers must reconcile ourselves to it."
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p>
Stowell felt his head reel and his eyes swim.  If he had only
known.  If somebody had only told him!
</p>

<p>
The fire behind him had gone out by this time and he had
begun to shiver.  But he turned back to the book for the few
remaining pages.  And then came a shock.  They were all about
Fenella, and the Deemster's hope that she and his son would marry.
</p>

<p class="quote">
"Never were two young people better matched to the
outer eye, Isobel&mdash;that splendid girl with her conquering
loveliness or your son with his mother's face.  Her influence on
him seems to be wonderful.  She has only been a month back
from London, but he is like a new man already."
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p>
Overwhelmed with confusion Stowell tried to close the book,
but he could not do so.
</p>

<p class="quote">
"A man looks for a woman who is a heroine, and a woman
for a man who is a hero, and please God these two have found
each other."
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p>
Then came a glowing account of the trial at Castle Rushen,
and then:
</p>

<p class="quote">
"So it's all well at last, Isobel.  Your son can do without
me now.  He needs his father no longer.  With that fine
woman by his side he will go up and up.  They will marry
and carry on the tradition of the Ballamoars.  It is the
dearest wish of my heart that they should do so."
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p>
There was only one entry after that, and it ran:
</p>

<p class="quote">
"I am tired and my work is done.  Now I can rejoin you,
having waited so long.  When I close my eyes to-night I
shall see your face&mdash;I know I shall.  So Good-night, Isobel!
Or should I say, Good-morning?"
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p>
The clock on the landing was striking three&mdash;the most solemn
hour of day and night, for it is the hour between.  Stowell, with
a heavy heart, the book in one hand and his candle in the other,
was going to bed.  Reaching the door of his father's room he
dropped to his knees.
</p>

<p>
"Forgive me!  Forgive me!  Forgive me!"
</p>

<p>
But after a while a light seemed to break on him.  Where his
father now was he would know that there was no help for it&mdash;that
he, too, must follow the line of honour.
</p>

<p>
"Yes," he thought, rising and going on to his own room.  "I
must do the right, whatever it may cost me."
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
IV
</p>

<p>
On the morning of the burial, Stowell received a letter from
Bessie Collister:
</p>

<p class="letter">
"Dere Victor,
</p>

<p class="letter">
"I am sorry to here from Alick about the death of the
Deemster you must feel it verry much the loss of such a good
kinde father everrybody is talking about him and saying he
was the best gentleman that everr was thank you for the nice
cloths Mrs. Quayle bought me.  Alick is very kinde&mdash;
</p>

<p class="letter">
"Bessie."
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p>
The poor, illiterate, inadequate, ill-spent message made
Stowell's heart grow cold, and with a certain shame he read it by
stealth and then smuggled it away.
</p>

<p>
The news of the Deemster's death had fallen on the Manx
people like a thunder-bolt.  The one great man of Man had gone.
It was almost as if the island had lost its soul.
</p>

<p>
No work was done on the day of the funeral.  At ten o'clock
in the morning the whole population seemed to be crossing the
Curragh lanes to Ballamoar.  By eleven the broad lawn was
covered with a vast company of all classes, from the officials to the
crofters.  A long line of carriages, cars and stiff carts, lined the
roads that surrounded the house.
</p>

<p>
The day had broken fair, with a kind of mild brightness, but
out on that sandy headland the wind had risen and white wreaths
of mist were floating over the land.  It was late September and
the leaves were falling rapidly.
</p>

<p>
Nobody entered the house.  According to Manx custom all
stood outside.  At half-past eleven the front door was opened and
the body was brought out, under a pall, and laid on four chairs in
front of it.  A moment later Victor Stowell came behind, bare-headed
and very pale.  A wide space was left for him by the bier.
A creeper that covered the house was blood-red at his back.
</p>

<p>
Somebody started a hymn&mdash;"Abide with me"&mdash;and it was
taken up by the vast company in front.  The rooks swirled and
screamed over the heads of the singers.  The bald head of old
Snaefell looked down through the trees.
</p>

<p>
Then the procession was formed.  It took the grassy lane at
the back by which the Deemster had always gone to church.
Everybody walked, and six sets of bearers claimed the right "to
carry the old man home."
</p>

<p>
They sang two hymns on the way: "Lead, Kindly Light"
and "Rock of Ages."  Between the verses the wind whistled
through the gorse hedges on either side.  Sometimes it raised the
skirt of the pall and showed the bare oak beneath.
</p>

<p>
When they reached the cross roads in front of the church the
bell began to toll.  At that moment a white mist was driving
across the church tower and almost obscuring it.
</p>

<p>
The Bishop of the island was at the gate, waiting for the
procession, but Parson Cowley, pale and trembling, was also there,
and he would have fought to the death for his right to bury
the Deemster.
</p>

<p>
"I am the Resurrection and the Life," he began in his quavering
voice, as the procession came up, and at the next moment the
mists vanished.  The little churchyard with its weather-beaten
stones, seemed to look up at the wonderful sky and out on the
sightless sea.  The bearers had to bend their knees as they passed
through the low door.
</p>

<p>
Every seat in the body of the church was occupied, and great
numbers had to remain outside.  But Victor Stowell sat alone in
the pew of the Ballamoars with the marble tablet on the wall
behind him&mdash;four hundred years of his family and he the last of
them.  During the reading of the Epistle the lashing and wailing
of the wind outside almost drowned the Bishop's voice.
</p>

<p>
The service ended with the singing of another hymn, "O God
our help in ages past."  Everybody knew the words, and they were
taken up by the people outside:
</p>

<p class="poem">
  "<i>Time, like an ever-rolling stream,<br />
  Bears all its sons away.</i>"<br />
</p>

<p>
Thus far Victor Stowell had gone through everything in a kind
of stupor.  He was conscious that the island was there to do honour
to her greatest son, but that was nothing to him now.  When he
came to himself he was standing by the open vault of the Stowells.
A line of stones lay over the closed part of it, some of them old
and worn and with the lettering almost obliterated.  But a cross
of white marble, which had been dislodged from its place, lay at
his feet, and it bore the words:
</p>

<p class="quote">
"<i>To the dear memory of Isabel, the beloved wife of
Douglas Stowell, Deemster of this Isle.</i>"
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p>
Victor's throat was throbbing.  He was losing (what no man
can lose twice) his father and greatest friend, whose slightest
word and wish should be as sacred to him as his soul.
</p>

<p>
He heard the words "dust to dust" and they were like the
reverberation of eternity.  Then came a dead void, after Parson
Cowley's voice had ceased, and it was just as if the pulse of the
world had stopped.
</p>

<p>
And then, at that last moment as he stepped forward and
looked down, and everybody fell back for him, and only the sea's
boom was audible as it beat on the cliffs below, somebody (he did
not turn to look, for he knew who it was) coming up to his side, and
putting her arm through his, said in a tremulous voice,
</p>

<p>
"He is better there.  In their death they are not divided."
</p>

<p>
It was Fenella.
</p>

<p>
At the next moment, something he could not resist, something
unconquerable and overwhelming, made him put his arms about
her and kiss her.
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p><a id="chap0213"></a></p>

<h3>
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
<br />
THE SAVING OF KATE KINKADE
</h3>

<p>
The Governor was waiting for Stowell at the side gate to
Ballamoar.
</p>

<p>
"You look ill, my boy, and no wonder," he said.  "Fenella
and I are to take a short cruise in the yacht before the autumn
ends.  You must come along with us."
</p>

<p>
For the farmers and fishermen who had travelled long distances
a meal had been provided in the barn&mdash;a kind of robustious
after-wake for the Deemster, presided over by the elder and younger
Robbie Creers.
</p>

<p>
Alick Gell alone returned with Stowell to the house.  In his
black frock coat and tall silk hat he had walked back from the
Church by Stowell's side, snuffling audibly but saying nothing.  To
Stowell's relief he was still silent through luncheon and for several
hours afterwards.  It was not until they were in the porch, and
Gell was on the point of going, that anything of consequence
was said.
</p>

<p>
"What about Bessie?" asked Stowell.
</p>

<p>
"Oh, Bessie?" said Gell (he looked a little confused)
"Bessie's all right, I think.  But there's trouble coming in that
quarter, I'm afraid."
</p>

<p>
"What trouble?"
</p>

<p>
"As we were walking along Langness yesterday&mdash;I went
down to tell her about the Deemster&mdash;we met Cæsar Qualtrough
coming from the farm."
</p>

<p>
"Qualtrough?"
</p>

<p>
"You know&mdash;father of the young scoundrel who got us into
that scrape at King William's."
</p>

<p>
"I remember."
</p>

<p>
"He's a friend of Dan Baldromma's, and Dan is a tenant of
my father's and .... But good Lord, what matter!  I've worse
things than that to worry about."
</p>

<p>
As Gell was going out of the gate, the night was falling and
the stars were out, and he was saying to himself, "Does he really
care for the girl, or is it only a sense of duty?"
</p>

<p>
And Stowell, as he closed the door and went back into the house
(empty and vault-like now, as a house is on the first night after
the being who has been the soul of it has been left outside) was
thinking, "I can't allow Alick to be my scapegoat any longer."
</p>

<p>
But at the next moment he was thinking of Fenella.  With
mingled shame and joy he was asking himself what was being
thought of the incident in the churchyard&mdash;by Fenella herself, by
the Governor, by everybody.
</p>

<p>
Next day the Attorney-General came with the will.  Except
for a few legacies to servants, the Deemster had left everything
to his son.
</p>

<p>
"So, with your mother's fortune, you are one of the rich men
of the island, now, Victor.  A great responsibility, my boy!  I
pray God you may choose the right partner.  But" (with a
meaning smile) "that will be all right, I think."
</p>

<p>
During the next days Stowell occupied himself with Joshua
Scarff, the Deemster's clerk (a tall, thin, elderly man wearing
dark spectacles) in paying-off the legacies.  Only one of these
gave him any anxiety.  This was Janet's, and it was accompanied
by a pension, in case Victor should decide to superannuate her.
Against doing so all his heart cried out, but something whispered
that if Janet were gone it might be the easier for Bessie.
</p>

<p>
Janet was in floods of tears at the possibility.
</p>

<p>
"I couldn't have believed it of the Deemster!" she said.  "I
really couldn't!  You can keep the legacy, dear.  I have no use for
it except to give it back to you.  But I won't leave Ballamoar.
'Deed, I won't!  Not until another woman comes to be mistress in
it, and wants me to go.  And she never will, the darling&mdash;I'll trust
her for that, anyway."
</p>

<p>
A day or two later Stowell was in his father's room, when he
came upon an envelope inscribed: "<i>To be opened by my son.</i>"  It
contained a ring, a beautiful and valuable gem, with a note saying:
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p>
"<i>This was your mother's engagement ring.  I wish you to give
it to Fenella Stanley.  Take it yourself.</i>"
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p>
Stowell was stupefied.  Struggling with a sense of his duty to
the girl whom he had sent to Derby Haven he had been telling
himself that he must never see Fenella again.  But here was a
sacred command from the dead.
</p>

<p>
For three days he thought he could not possibly go to Government
House.  On the fourth day he went.
</p>

<p>
The beauty and charm of the atmosphere of Fenella's home
were heart-breaking.  And Fenella herself, in a soft tea-gown,
was almost more than he could bear to look upon.
</p>

<p>
She, too, seemed embarrassed, and when Miss Green (an
English counterpart of Janet) left them alone with each other,
and he gave her the ring, saying what his father had told him to
do with it, her embarrassment increased.
</p>

<p>
She held it in her fingers, turned it over and looked at it, and
said, "How lovely!  How good of him!"  And then, trembling
and tingling, and with a slightly heightened colour, she looked at
Stowell.
</p>

<p>
Suddenly a thought flashed upon him.  Why had his father
told him to take the ring to her himself?  The answer was speaking
in Fenella's eyes&mdash;that, at the topmost moment of their love,
he should put it on.
</p>

<p>
At the next instant the Governor entered the drawing-room,
and Fenella, holding up her hand (she had put the ring on for
herself by this time) cried:
</p>

<p>
"See what the Deemster has left to me!"
</p>

<p>
"Beautiful!" said the Governor, and then he looked from
Stowell to his daughter.
</p>

<p>
Stowell rose to go.  He had the sense of flying from the house.
Fenella must have thought him a fool.  The Governor must have
thought him a fool.  But better be a fool than a traitor!
</p>

<p>
A week passed and then an idea came to him.  He would tell
the truth to Bessie's people&mdash;the whole truth if necessary.  That
would commit him once for all to the line of honour.  Having
taken that public plunge there could be no looking back, and the
bitter struggle between his passion and his duty would then be over.
</p>

<p>
With a certain pride at the thought of being about to do an
heroic thing he set out one day for Ramsey, intending to return
by Baldromma.  But on entering his outer office his young clerk
told him that Mr. Daniel Collister was in his private room, that he
had been waiting there for two hours, and refusing to go away.
</p>

<p>
Dan, with his short, gross figure, was standing astride on the
hearthrug, and without so much as a bow he plunged into his
business.
</p>

<p>
A respectable man's house was in disgrace.  His step-daughter
had run away.  Been carried off by a scoundrel&mdash;there couldn't
be a doubt of it.  A month gone and not the whisper of a word
from her.  The mother was broken-hearted, so he had been
traipsing the island over to find the girl.
</p>

<p>
"I belave I'm on the track of her at last though.  She's down
Castletown way, and the man that's been the cause of her trouble
isn't far off, I'm thinking."
</p>

<p>
"And whom do you say it is, Mr. Collister?"
</p>

<p>
"Somebody that's middling close to yourself, sir&mdash;Mr. Alick
Gell, the son of the Spaker."
</p>

<p>
"No, no, no!"
</p>

<p>
"Who else then?"
</p>

<p>
Stowell tried to speak but could not.
</p>

<p>
"Wasn't he the cause of her disgrace at the High Bailiff's?
And hasn't he been keeping up his bad character ever since&mdash;standing
by the side of disorderly walkers in the Douglas Coorts,
they're saying?"
</p>

<p>
He must have promised to marry the girl.  But he hadn't.  He
(Dan) had been to the Registrar's at Douglas and found that out.
</p>

<p>
"The toot!  The boght!  The booby!  I was warning her
enough.  The man that takes advantage of a dacent girl isn't much
for marrying her afterwards."
</p>

<p>
Remembering Dan's share in the catastrophe, Stowell was feeling
the vertigo of a temptation to take the gross creature by the
neck and fling him through the window.
</p>

<p>
"Why do you come to me?" he asked.
</p>

<p>
"To ask you to tell your friend that he's got to make an
honest woman of the girl."
</p>

<p>
"Is that all you are thinking about?"
</p>

<p>
Dan drew a quick breath, then dug both hands into the upright
pockets of his trousers, thrust forward his thick neck, with a
gesture peculiar to the bull, and answered:
</p>

<p>
"No, I'm thinking of myself as well, and what for shouldn't
I?  I'm going to stand up for my own rights, too.  The man that
treats my girl like that has got to marry her, and I'm not going to
be satisfied with nothing less."
</p>

<p>
Then picking up his billycock hat and making for the door
he said:
</p>

<p>
"I lave it with you, Mr. Stowell, Sir.  If the Dempster was the
grand gentleman people are saying, his son will be seeing justice
done to me and mine.  If not, the island will be too hot for the
guilty man, I'm thinking."
</p>

<p>
When Dan had gone Stowell felt sick and dizzy, and as if he
were drawing back from the edge of a precipice.  His heroic act
of self-sacrifice had dwindled to a ridiculous weakness.
</p>

<p>
This man, with his blatant vulgarity of mind and soul, at
Ballamoar!  His father-in-law!  A member of his family!
Riding over him with a degrading tyranny!  In the dining-room,
with his broad buttocks to the fire&mdash;never, never, never!
</p>

<p>
Hardly had Dan's footsteps ceased on the stair when the young
clerk came from the outer office in great excitement.
</p>

<p>
"His Excellency is here.  He's coming upstairs, Sir."
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
II
</p>

<p>
"Helloa, I've found you."
</p>

<p>
The Governor was in yachting costume.
</p>

<p>
"Well, the yacht is lying outside, and Fenella and I are doing
a little circumnavigating of the island, so come along."
</p>

<p>
Stowell tried to excuse himself, but the Governor would listen
to no excuses.
</p>

<p>
"Everybody says you are looking like a ghost these days, and
so you are.  Therefore come, let's get a breath of sea-air into you."
</p>

<p>
"But your Excellency...."
</p>

<p>
"I've brought one of the ship's boys ashore for your bag,
so pack it quick...."
</p>

<p>
"But really...."
</p>

<p>
"Where's your bedroom and I'll pack it myself."
</p>

<p>
"No, no!  But if I must...."
</p>

<p>
"That's better!  I'll smoke a pipe and wait for you."
</p>

<p>
"After all, why not?" thought Stowell, as he packed his bag
and put on flannels and a blue jacket.  This flying away from
Fenella was unworthy of a man.  It was cowardly, contemptible.
He must learn to resist temptation.
</p>

<p>
Half an hour later he was riding with the Governor in a dinghy
over the fresh waters of the bay towards a large white yacht,
"The Fenella," with the red ensign fluttering over her.  The
gangway was open and as Stowell stepped on to the spotless deck
of the ship, her namesake, also in yachting costume, was waiting
to receive him.
</p>

<p>
The mainsail, mizzen and jib being set, the grey-bearded captain,
in blue with brass buttons, called on his boys to swing the
dinghy up to the davits and haul in the anchor.  In a few minutes
more, to the hiss and simmer of the sea, the yacht was running
free before the wind, leaving the town to the south behind it.
</p>

<p>
The bell rang for luncheon, and with the Governor and Fenella,
Stowell crossed to the companion and went down to the saloon.
Books and field-glasses were lying about the sofas and the table
was glistening with silver and glass.  Blue silk curtains, with the
sunlight shining through them, were fluttering over the skylight
and the port-holes.  How fresh!  How charming!
</p>

<p>
When they came up on deck an hour afterwards they were
doubling the Point of Ayre, and the lighthouse at the northernmost
end of it was looking like a marble column with a glittering eye.
Towards six o'clock they cast anchor for the night off Peel.
</p>

<p>
The sun was then setting, and the herring fleet (a hundred
boats) going out for the night were passing in front of the red sky
like a flight of black birds.  By the time dinner was over the
drowsy spirit of the sunset had died over the waters behind them,
the twilight had deepened to a ghostly grey, and the moon had
risen over the little fishing town in front and the gaunt walls of the
ruined Peel Castle which stands on an island rock.
</p>

<p>
The Governor, who had sent ashore for the day's newspapers,
remained in the cabin to read them.  But Stowell and Fenella sat
on deck under the moon and the stars.  The air had become very
quiet.  There was no sound anywhere except the tranquil wash of
the waves against the yacht and the whispering of the sea outside.
</p>

<p>
Fenella talked and laughed.  Stowell laughed and talked.
They found it so easy to talk to each other.
</p>

<p>
The night wore on.  The moon going westward made the
broken walls of the Castle stand up black above the shore, with its
empty window-sockets like eyes looking from the lighter sky.
</p>

<p>
Stowell talked of the old ruin and its legendary and historical
associations&mdash;St. Patrick, the spectre hound (<i>the Mauthe Doa</i>),
the ecclesiastical prison and the graves in the roofless Cathedral.
</p>

<p>
"But I'll tell you a story that beats all that," he said.
</p>

<p>
"About a woman of course?" said Fenella.
</p>

<p>
"Yes&mdash;a fallen woman."
</p>

<p>
"Ah!"
</p>

<p>
"Her name was Kate Kinrade.  She gave birth to an illegitimate
child, and the Bishop&mdash;he was a saint&mdash;thinking that her
conduct tended to the dishonour of the Christian name, ordered
that, for the saving of her soul, she should be dragged after a
boat across the bay of Peel on the fair of St. Patrick at the height
of the market."
</p>

<p>
"And was she?"
</p>

<p>
"The fishermen refused at first to carry out the censure, and
then excused themselves on the ground that St. Patrick's day was
too tempestuous.  But being threatened with fines, they did it at
last&mdash;in the depth of winter."
</p>

<p>
Fenella's gaiety had gone.  Stowell gazed at her face in the
moonlight.  It was quivering and her bosom was heaving.
</p>

<p>
"And the Bishop was a saint, you say?"
</p>

<p>
"If ever there was one."
</p>

<p>
"He ordered the woman to be dragged through the sea at the
tail of a boat?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes."
</p>

<p>
"And what did he do to <i>the man</i>?"
</p>

<p>
Stowell gasped.  There was silence for a moment, and then the
Governor's voice came from the skylight of the cabin:
</p>

<p>
"Are you people never going to turn in?"
</p>

<p>
"Presently."
</p>

<p>
"I am, anyway."
</p>

<p>
It was late.  The lights of the little town had blinked out one
by one.  Only the red light on the stone pier was burning.
</p>

<p>
Fenella recovered her gaiety after a while, shouted for echoes
to the Castle rock, and then took Stowell's arm to go down the
companion.
</p>

<p>
On reaching the darkened saloon she stepped on tiptoe and
dropped her voice under pretence of not disturbing her father, who
would be asleep.  At the door of her cabin she ceased laughing
and said,
</p>

<p>
"Hush!  I'm going to say something."
</p>

<p>
"What?"
</p>

<p>
"I don't know if you're aware of it, but ever since I came home
you've been calling me 'Miss Stanley,' and I've been calling
you&mdash;anything."
</p>

<p>
"Well?"
</p>

<p>
"We used to call each other by our Christian names before.
Couldn't we go back to that?"
</p>

<p>
"Would you like to?"
</p>

<p>
There was a pause, and then, in a whisper,
</p>

<p>
"Victor!"
</p>

<p>
"Fenella!"
</p>

<p>
"Good-night!"
</p>

<p>
It had been like a kiss.
</p>

<p>
Stowell went to his cabin in rapture, in pain, with a delicious
thrill and a sense of stifling hypocrisy.  What a hypocrite he had
been!  It was not to resist temptation but to dally with it that
he had come on this cruise.
</p>

<p>
He was there under false pretences.  He had pledged himself
to the girl at Derby Haven, and yet....
</p>

<p>
Thank God, he had gone no farther!  There was only one way
of escape from the perpetual fire of temptation&mdash;to hasten his
marriage with Bessie Collister.  He must see her as soon as possible
and suggest that they should marry immediately.  It was heart-breaking,
but there was no help for it, if he was to stand upright
as an honourable man.
</p>

<p>
Dan Baldromma?  Well, what of him?  He could shut the
door on Dan&mdash;of course he could!
</p>

<p>
Next morning Stowell was the first on deck.  The air was salt
and chill; the day had not yet opened its eyes; there was a
whirring of wings and a calling of sea-birds; and through a sleepy
white mist, that might have been the smoke of the moon, the
herring fleet were coming like pale ghosts back to harbour.
</p>

<p>
A fresh breeze sprang up with the sunrise and the Captain
lifted anchor and stood out towards the south.  Sheep were
bleating on the head-land of Contrary, and as they opened the broad
bay of the Niarbyl the thatched cottages under the cliffs were
smoking for breakfast.
</p>

<p>
When they reached Port Erin the Governor came up and
ordered anchor to be cast again, saying they would lie there and
go out with the herring fleet in the evening.
</p>

<p>
Seeing his opportunity, Stowell said he would like to go ashore
for a few hours&mdash;a little business.
</p>

<p>
"Mind you're back by four o'clock then&mdash;we'll sail at high-water."
</p>

<p>
As Stowell was being sculled ashore in the dinghy he was
saying to himself:
</p>

<p>
"No Kate Kinrade for me&mdash;never, never!"
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
III
</p>

<p>
An hour later Stowell was in Derby Haven, a little fishing
village, smelling of sea-wrack and echoing with the cry
of gulls.
</p>

<p>
The Misses Brown, in their oiled ringlets and faded satin
dresses, received him, in their old maids' sitting-room, with much
ceremony, and he speedily realised that Gell, in trying to shield
him, had gone farther than he expected.
</p>

<p>
"You wish to see Miss Collister?  Well, since you are such a
close friend of Mr. Gell there can be no objection....  Bessie!
A gentleman to see you."
</p>

<p>
Stowell heard Bessie coming downstairs with great alacrity, but
on seeing him she drew up with a certain embarrassment.
</p>

<p>
"Oh, it's you?"
</p>

<p>
She was shorter than he had thought, and the impression made
by her photograph of something common in her beauty was
deepened by the reality.
</p>

<p>
"Should we take a walk?" he said.
</p>

<p>
She hesitated for a moment, then went upstairs and returned
presently in a round hat and a close-fitting costume which sat
awkwardly upon her.  What a change!  Where was the free,
warm, natural, full-bosomed girl with bare neck and sunburnt arms
who had fascinated him in the glen?
</p>

<p>
They took the unfrequented path on the western side of
Langness&mdash;a long serpentine tongue of land which protruded from
the open mouth of the sea.  He tried to begin upon the subject
of his errand but found it impossible to do so.
</p>

<p>
"Bye and bye," he thought, "bye and bye."
</p>

<p>
Bessie kept step with him, but was almost silent.  He asked if
she was comfortable in her new quarters, and she said they were
lonesome after the farm, but old Miss Brown was a dear and Miss
Ethel a "dozey duck."
</p>

<p>
The common expression humiliated him.  He inquired if she
had been able to relieve her mother's anxiety, and she answered
no, how could she, without letting her stepfather know where
she was?
</p>

<p>
"They're telling me he's travelling the island over looking for
me, but I don't know why.  He was always dead nuts on me when
I was at home."
</p>

<p>
Again he felt ashamed.  He found it impossible to keep up a
conversation with the girl.  To attempt to do so was like throwing
a stone into the sand&mdash;no echo, no response.
</p>

<p>
Only once did Bessie say anything for herself.  She was walking
on the landward side of the path, and seeing an old man, with
a pair of horses, grubbing a hungry-looking field, with a cloud of
sea-gulls swirling behind him, she said it was dirty land, full of
scutch, and the farmer was laying it open to the frosts of winter.
</p>

<p>
Stowell was feeling the sweat on his forehead.  How was it
possible to lift up a girl like this?  She would be the farm girl to
the last.  Good Lord, what magic was there in marriage to change
people and ensure their happiness?
</p>

<p>
Ballamoar?  That lonesome place inside the tall trees!  He
might shut out her family, but would not she&mdash;illiterate,
uninteresting, inadequate&mdash;shut out his friends?  And then, he and she
together there, with nothing in common, alone, in the long nights
of winter .... Oh God!
</p>

<p>
Ashamed of thinking like that of the girl, and having reached
the lighthouse by this time, he drew her arm through his and
turned to go back.  The warmth of the contact revived a little of
the former thrill, and he laughed and talked.
</p>

<p>
The voice of the sea was low that day, and across the bay came
shouts and cheers in fresh young voices&mdash;the boys of King
William's were playing football.  That brought memories to both
of them and he began to talk about Gell.
</p>

<p>
"Dear old Alick, he's such a good fellow, isn't he?"
</p>

<p>
"'Deed he is," said Bessie.
</p>

<p>
"By the way, he's a sort of old flame of yours, I believe," said
Stowell, looking sideways at the girl, and Bessie blushed and
laughed, but made no answer.
</p>

<p>
Those black eyes, those full red lips.  Yes, this was the
girl who....
</p>

<p>
But the idea of a marriage founded on the passion which had
brought them together revolted him now, and he let Bessie's arm
fall to his side.
</p>

<p>
When they got back to the old maid's cottage he had still said
nothing of what he had come to say.  "Later on," he was telling
himself, but a secret voice inside was whispering, "Never!  It
is impossible!"
</p>

<p>
The elder of the Miss Browns followed him to the gate to ask
if he did not see a great improvement in her charge, and when he
said that Bessie seemed to be a little subdued, she cried:
</p>

<p>
"Bessie?  Oh dear no, not generally!  Ask Mr. Gell."
</p>

<p>
Perhaps the girl was not well to-day&mdash;they had thought she
had not been very well lately.
</p>

<p>
"And how is she getting on with...." (the word stuck in
his throat) "with her lessons?"
</p>

<p>
"Wonderfully!  Of course she has long arrears to make up,
but the way she works to fit herself for her new station
.... well, it's enough to make a person cry, really."
</p>

<p>
Stowell felt as if something were taking him by the throat.
</p>

<p>
"In fact my sister and I used to wonder and wonder what she
did with her bedroom candles until we found out she was sitting
up after everybody had gone to sleep to learn her grammar
and spelling."
</p>

<p>
Stowell felt as if something had struck him in the face.  Every
hard thought about Bessie seemed to be wiped out of his mind
in a moment.
</p>

<p>
Going back to Port Erin (he walked all the way) he could think
of nothing but that girl sitting up in her bedroom to educate
herself, in her poor little way, that she might become worthy to
be his wife.
</p>

<p>
If he disappointed her now what would become of her?  Would
she kill herself?  Would the world kill her?  Kate Kinrade?
The days of the Bishop and the woman were not over yet.
</p>

<p>
No, he must keep his pledge, and make no more wry faces
about it.  If it had been his duty before it was more than ever his
duty now.
</p>

<p>
But Fenella?
</p>

<p>
He must put her out of his mind for ever.  He would be the
most unhappy man alive, but then his own happiness was not the
only thing he had to think about.  He could not live any longer
under false pretences.  He must find some way of telling Fenella
that he had engaged himself while she was away&mdash;that he was a
pledged man.
</p>

<p>
But what then?  There would be nothing more between them
as long as they lived&mdash;not a smile or the clasp of a hand!  She
whom he had loved so long, never having loved anybody else!  It
would be like signing his death-warrant.
</p>

<p>
The dead leaves from the roadside were driving over his feet;
his eyes ached and his throat throbbed, but he gulped down his
emotion.  After all he would be the only sufferer!  Thank God
for that anyway!
</p>

<p>
As he reached Port Erin, he saw the white sails of the yacht
against the blue sea and sky.
</p>

<p>
"Yes, I must tell Fenella&mdash;I must tell her to-night," he
thought.
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p><a id="chap0214"></a></p>

<h3>
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
<br />
THE EVERLASTING SONG OF THE SEA
</h3>

<p>
"Ah, here you are at last!  Just in time!  A breeze sprang
up an hour ago, and the Captain would have gone without you but
for me.  The herring fleet have gone already.  Look, there they
are, sailing into the sunset."
</p>

<p>
Fenella was in high spirits.  Having prevailed upon the Governor
to let them have a real night with the herrings (turning the
yacht into a fishing boat) she had borrowed a net and hired
fishermen's clothes&mdash;oilskins and a sou'-wester for herself and a
"ganzy" and big boots for Stowell.
</p>

<p>
It was impossible to resist the contagion of Fenella's gaiety.
"Why try?" thought Stowell.  It would be his last night of
happiness.  To-morrow he would have to bury it for ever.
</p>

<p>
In a few minutes, having cleared the harbour, they had opened
the land on either side and were standing out for the fishing
ground.  Within two hours, in the midst of the fleet, they were
sailing over the Carlingford sands, midway between the island and
Ireland, and the sea-birds skimming above the water were showing
them the shoal.
</p>

<p>
Dinner was over, and Stowell, in jersey and big boots up to his
thighs, saw Fenella come on deck in her oilskin coat and
sou'-wester&mdash;with the new and surprising beauty which fresh garments,
whatever they are, give to every woman in the eyes of the man who
loves her.
</p>

<p>
What shouts!  What laughter!  Stowell kept saying to himself:
</p>

<p>
"Why not?  It will soon be over."
</p>

<p>
They slackened sail and waited for the sun to go down before
shooting their nets.  Presently the great ball of flame descended
into the sea, the admiral of the fleet ran his flag to his masthead,
and the Captain cried, "Shoot!"
</p>

<p>
Then the brown net, with its floats, was dropped over the stern
(Fenella taking a hand and shouting with the men), the foresail
was hauled down, and the mizzen set to keep the ship head to the
wind.  And then, all being snug for the night, came the
fisherman's prayer:
</p>

<p>
"<i>Dy hannie Patrick Noo shin as nyn maaty</i>" (May St. Patrick
bless us and our boat) with something about the living and
the dead&mdash;the crew and the fish.
</p>

<p>
After that came the throwing of the salt, a more robustious and
less religious ceremony, which threw Fenella into fits of laughter.
</p>

<p>
"What does it mean?" she asked.
</p>

<p>
"Goodness knows!"
</p>

<p>
"How delightful!"
</p>

<p>
The grey twilight came down from the northern heavens, and
then night fell&mdash;a dark night without moon but with a world of
stars.  Stowell and Fenella were leaning over the side to watch the
phosphorescent gleams which, like flashes of light under the
surface, came from the fish that were darting away from the prow.
</p>

<p>
"Isn't it wonderful&mdash;the fish going on and on to the goal of
their perpetual travels?" said Fenella.
</p>

<p>
"They always come back to the place they were spawned,
though," said Stowell.
</p>

<p>
"Like humans, are they?  You remember&mdash;'Back to the
heart's place here I keep for thee.'"
</p>

<p>
Stowell felt as if a hand were at his throat again.  "Bye and
bye," he thought.  Before they turned in for the night he would
tell her everything.
</p>

<p>
Suddenly there was a crash at the stern&mdash;the anchor had been
lifted up and then banged down on the deck.
</p>

<p>
"What's that?" cried Fenella.
</p>

<p>
"They're proving the nets to see if the fish are coming," said
Stowell, and hurrying aft together they found the water milky
white and full of irridescent rays.
</p>

<p>
A couple of warps of the net were hauled aboard, and twelve or
fifteen herring fell on to the deck.  Fenella picked them up,
wriggling, cheeping and twisting in her hands and threw them into a
basket&mdash;she was in a fever of excitement.
</p>

<p>
After that several of the boats that were fishing alongside
called across to know the result of the proving, and the Captain
answered them in Manx, with the crude symbolism of the sea.
</p>

<p>
"Let me do it next time," said Fenella.
</p>

<p>
"Do you think you can, miss?" asked the Captain.
</p>

<p>
"She can do anything," said Stowell, and when the next boat
called, Fenella (with Stowell to prompt her) stood ready to reply.
</p>

<p>
"<i>R'ou promal, bhoy?</i>" cried the voice out of the darkness.
</p>

<p>
"What's he saying?  Quick!"
</p>

<p>
"He's asking were you proving, boy.  Say '<i>Va</i>&mdash;I was.'"
</p>

<p>
Fenella put her open palms at each side of her mouth, under
her sou'-wester, and cried, "<i>Va!</i>"
</p>

<p>
"<i>Quoid oo er y piyr?</i>"
</p>

<p>
"He asks what you found in your net.  Say '<i>Pohnnar</i>&mdash;a
child.'"
</p>

<p>
"Oh my goodness!  <i>Pohnnar</i>," cried Fenella.
</p>

<p>
"<i>Cre'n eash dy pohnnar?</i>"
</p>

<p>
"He asks what is the age of your child.  Say '<i>Dussan ny
quieg-yeig</i>&mdash;twelve to fifteen.'"
</p>

<p>
"My goodness gracious!  <i>Dussan ny quieg-yeig</i>," cried Fenella.
</p>

<p>
By this time everybody was in convulsions of laughter, and
Stowell could scarcely resist the impulse to throw his arms about
Fenella and kiss her.  "Soon!  Soon!  I must tell her soon!"
he thought.
</p>

<p>
The wind had dropped and a great stillness had fallen on the
sea.  The glow from the lights of the Dublin was in the western
sky; the revolving light of the Chicken Rock (the most southerly
point of Man) was in the east; and for two miles round lay the
herring boats, with their watch-lights burning on the roofs of their
net houses, and looking like stars which had fallen from the
darkening sky on to the bosom of the sea.
</p>

<p>
Fenella began to sing, and before Stowell knew what he was
doing he was singing with her:
</p>

<p class="poem">
  She: <i>Oh Molla-caraine, where got you your gold?</i><br />
  He: <i>Lone, lone, you have left me here.</i><br />
</p>

<p>
It was entrancing&mdash;the hour, the surroundings, the charm and
sonority of the sea!  "But this is madness," thought Stowell.
It would only make it the harder to do&mdash;what he had to do.
</p>

<p>
Nevertheless he went on, and when they came to the end of
another Manx ballad <i>Kiree fo naightey</i> (the sheep under the snow)
he said:
</p>

<p>
"Would you like to know where that old song was written?"
</p>

<p>
"Where?"
</p>

<p>
"In Castle Rushen&mdash;by a poor wretch whose life had been
sworn away by a vindictive woman."
</p>

<p>
"And what had he done to her?  Betrayed her, and then deserted
her for another woman, I suppose.  That's the one thing
a woman can never forgive&mdash;never should, perhaps."
</p>

<p>
"I must tell her soon," thought Stowell.  But he could think
of no way to begin&mdash;no natural way to lead up to what he had
to say.
</p>

<p>
The night was now very dark and silent.  The majesty and
solemnity around were grand and moving.  Fenella, who had been
laughing all the evening, was serious enough at last.
</p>

<p>
"It's almost as if the sea, grown old, had gone to sleep with
the going down of the sun, isn't it?" she said.
</p>

<p>
"The sea isn't always like this, though," said Stowell.
</p>

<p>
"No, it can be very cruel, can't it?  Rolling on and on, with
its incessant, monotonous roar through the ages!  What heartless
things it has done!  Millions and millions of women have prayed
and it has no heed to them."
</p>

<p>
"How can I do it?  How can I do it?" Stowell was asking
himself.
</p>

<p>
"Oh, what a thing it is to be a sailor's wife!" said Fenella.
"Only think of her with her little brood, in her cottage at Peel,
perhaps, when a sudden storm comes on!  Giving the children
their supper and washing them and undressing them, and hearing
them say their prayers and hushing them to sleep, and then going
downstairs to the kitchen, and listening to the roar of the sea on
the castle rocks, and thinking of her man out here in the darkness,
struggling between life and death."
</p>

<p>
Stowell knew, though he dare not look, that she was brushing
her handkerchief over her eyes.
</p>

<p>
"Victor," she said, "don't you think women are rather brave
creatures?"
</p>

<p>
"The bravest creatures in the world!" he answered.
</p>

<p>
"I knew you would say that," said Fenella, in a low voice.
"And that's why I always think of you as their champion, fighting
their battles for them when they are wronged and helpless."
</p>

<p>
Stowell felt as if he were choking.  He could not go on with
this hypocrisy any longer.  He must tell her now.  It would be
like committing suicide, but what must be, must be.
</p>

<p>
"Fenella...."
</p>

<p>
But just then the loud voice of the Captain cried "Strike!"
and at the next moment Fenella was flying aft, to tug at the net
and shake out the herrings that came up with it.
</p>

<p>
What shouts!  What screams!  What peals of laughter!
</p>

<p>
It was midnight before the joy and bustle of the catch were
over, and the net was shot again.  The Governor was then smoking
his last pipe in the Captain's cabin, and Stowell, with Fenella
on his arm, was walking to and fro on the deck.
</p>

<p>
"Need I tell her at all?" he was thinking.
</p>

<p>
He felt as if he were being swept along by an irresistible flood.
He could not doom himself to death.  With Fenella by his side he
could think of nobody and nothing but her.  Sometimes, when they
crossed the light from the skylight, they turned their faces
towards each other and smiled.
</p>

<p>
After a while Stowell found himself bantering Fenella.  Catching
a flash of her ring (his mother's ring) on the hand that was
on his arm, he pretended it was gone and asked if it had fallen
off while she was pulling at the net.
</p>

<p>
"Gone!  The ring you ga&mdash; .... I mean the Deemster
gave me!  No, here it is!  What a shock!  I should have died
if I had lost it."
</p>

<p>
She was radiant; he was reckless; the little trick had uncovered
their hearts to each other.
</p>

<p>
They heard a step on the other side of the deck.
</p>

<p>
"Fenella!"
</p>

<p>
It was the Governor going down the companion.  "Time to
turn in, girl!  We are to breakfast at Port St. Mary at nine in
the morning, you know."
</p>

<p>
"I'm coming, father."
</p>

<p>
"Good-night, Stowell!"
</p>

<p>
"Good-night, Sir!"
</p>

<p>
But he could not let Fenella go.  It was a sin to go to bed at
all on such a heavenly night.  At last, at the top of the companion,
he loosed her arm, with a slow asundering, and said,
</p>

<p>
"The Governor says we are to breakfast at Port St. Mary&mdash;do
you think we shall if this calm continues?"
</p>

<p>
She laughed (her laugh seemed to come up from her heart)
and said, "I'm not worrying about that."
</p>

<p>
"No?"
</p>

<p>
"When a woman has all she wants in the world in one place
why should she wish to go to another?"
</p>

<p>
"And have you?"
</p>

<p>
"Good-night!" she said, holding out both hands.
</p>

<p>
He caught them, and the touch communicated fire.  At the next
moment he had lifted her hands to his lips.
</p>

<p>
She drew them down, and his hands with them, pressed them to
her breast and then broke away, and was gone in an instant.
</p>

<p>
Stowell gasped.  "She loves me!  She loves me!  She loves me!"
</p>

<p>
Nothing else mattered!  Let the world rip!
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
II
</p>

<p>
Stowell did not go below that night.  For two hours he tramped
the deck, laughing to himself like a lunatic.
</p>

<p>
"She loves me!  She loves me!  She loves me!"
</p>

<p>
When the watch had to be changed at two o'clock he sent the
man to his berth and took his place.  And when the dawn broke
and the lamps of the fishing fleet blinked out, and the boats showed
grey, like ghosts, on the colourless waste around, and the
monotonous chanting of the crews far and near told him the nets were
being hauled in, he shouted down the fo'c'sle for the men.  And
when they came on deck he helped them to haul in their own net
and to empty their catch (it was the Governor's order) into the
first "Nickey" that came along.
</p>

<p>
The grey sky in the east had reddened to a flame by this time.
Then up from the round rim of the sea rose the everlasting sun,
and lo, it was day!  God, what an enchanted world it was!  All
the glory and majesty of the sea seemed to be singing hymns to the
same tune as that of his own heart:
</p>

<p>
"She loves me!  She loves me!  She loves me!"
</p>

<p>
A light wind sprang up, a cool blowing from the south, just
enough to ripple the surface of the water.  Already some of the
fishing boats had swung about and were standing off for home.
Stowell helped to haul the mainsail, and shouted with the men as
they pulled at the ropes and the white canvas rose above them.
</p>

<p>
"She loves me!  She loves me!  She loves me!"
</p>

<p>
Within half an hour the wind had freshened to a summer gale
and they were running before a roaring sea.  The sails bellied
out, the yacht listed over, the scuppers were half full of water,
but Stowell would not go below.  For a long hour more he held on
and looked around at the fishing boats as they flew together in the
brilliant sunshine between the two immensities of sky and sea.
</p>

<p>
"She loves me!  She loves me!  She loves me!"
</p>

<p>
Helloa!  Here was his own little island with the sun riding
over the mountain-tops!  The plunging and rearing of the yacht
gave the notion that the mountains were nodding to him.  "Good
morning, son."  What nonsense came into a man's head when
his heart was glad!
</p>

<p>
"She loves me!  She loves me!  She loves me!"
</p>

<p>
Ah, here were the cliffs of the Calf, with their hoary heads in
the flying sky and their feet in the thunder of the sea!  And here
was the brown-belted lighthouse of the Chicken Rock, which
Fenella and he had picked up last night!  And here was the
shoulder of Spanish Head, and here was the belly of the Chasms,
ringing with the cry of ten thousand sea fowl!
</p>

<p>
"She loves me!  She loves me!  She loves me!"
</p>

<p>
Suddenly there came a shock.  They were opening the bay of
Port St. Mary, with the little fishing town lying asleep along its
sheltered arm, when he saw across the Poolvaish (the pool of
death) the grey walls of Castle Rushen, and the long reach of
Langness.  And then memory flowed back on him like a tidal wave.
</p>

<p>
Derby Haven!  The old maids' house!  The girl burning her
candle in her bedroom to educate herself that she might become
worthy to be his wife!
</p>

<p>
"Oh God!  Oh God!"
</p>

<p>
If Fenella loved him he had stolen her love.  He had no right
to it, being married already, virtually married&mdash;bound by every
tie that could hold an honourable man.
</p>

<p>
He felt like a traitor&mdash;a traitor to Fenella now.  He recalled
what he had said last night.  One step more and&mdash;&mdash;
</p>

<p>
Thank God, he had gone no farther!  If he had allowed
Fenella to engage herself to him, and then the facts about Bessie
Collister had become known, as they might have done through
Dan Baldromma&mdash;&mdash;
</p>

<p>
He must go.  He must go immediately.  His miserable
mistake must not bring disgrace on Fenella also.
</p>

<p>
The yacht was sliding into the slack water of the bay, and the
row-boats of the fish-buyers, each flying its little flag, were coming
out to meet the fishing boats, when Stowell went down to the
saloon&mdash;still dark with its blue silk curtains over skylight and
portholes.
</p>

<p>
He took off his fisherman's clothes, put on his own, and sat
down at the table to scribble a note to the Governor:
</p>

<p class="letter">
"Excuse me!  I must go up to Douglas by the first
train.  Have just remembered an important engagement.
</p>

<p class="letter">
Hope to call at Government Office to-morrow."
</p>

<p>
As he was leaving the saloon he looked back towards the cabin
in which Fenella lay asleep.  His eyes were wet, his heart
throbbed painfully, he felt as if he were being banished from her
presence as by a curse.  Renunciation&mdash;life-long
renunciation&mdash;that was all that was left to him now.
</p>

<p>
The fleet were in harbour when he went on deck, a hundred
boats huddled together.  And when he stepped ashore the fish
salesmen were selling the night's catch by auction, and the
bronze-faced and heavy-bearded fishermen, in their big boots, were
counting their herrings in mixed English and Manx:
</p>

<p>
"Nane, jeer, three, kiare, quieg .... warp, tally!"
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p><a id="chap0215"></a></p>

<h3>
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
<br />
THE WOMAN'S SECRET
</h3>

<p>
When Stowell awoke next morning at Ballamoar a flock of
sheep, liberated from a barn, were bleating before a barking dog.
He had passed a restless night.  All his soul revolted against the
renunciation he had imposed upon himself.  It was like life-long
imprisonment.  Yet what was he to do?  He must decide and
decide quickly.
</p>

<p>
Suddenly he thought of the Governor.  The strong sense and
practical wisdom of the Governor might help him to a decision.
But Fenella's father!  How could he tell his story to Fenella's
father?
</p>

<p>
At last an idea came to him whereby he could obtain the Governor's
counsel without betraying his secret.  He was at the crisis.
On what he did now the future of his life depended.  And not his
own life, only, but Fenella's also, perhaps, and .... Bessie
Collister's.
</p>

<p>
At three o'clock he was at the Government offices in Douglas.
Police inspectors were at the door and moving about in the
corridors.  One of them took him up to the Governor's room&mdash;a
large chamber overlooking the street and noisy from the
tram-cars that ran under the windows.  The Governor's iron-grey head
was bent over a desk-table.
</p>

<p>
"Sit down&mdash;I shall not be long."
</p>

<p>
Stowell felt his heart sink in advance.  Never would he be
able to say what he had come to say.
</p>

<p>
"Well, you gave us the slip nicely, didn't you?" said the
Governor, raising his head from his papers.
</p>

<p>
"I'm sorry, Sir," said Stowell (he felt his lip trembling).
"It was an important matter, and I've come to town to-day to ask
your advice on it."
</p>

<p>
"Something you've been consulted about?"
</p>

<p>
"Well .... yes."
</p>

<p>
"I'm no authority on law, you know."
</p>

<p>
"It's not so much a matter of law, Sir, as of morality&mdash;what an
honourable man ought to do under difficult circumstances."
</p>

<p>
The Governor looked up sharply.  Stowell struggled on.
</p>

<p>
"A client .... I should say a friend .... engaged himself
to a young woman awhile ago, and now, owing to circumstances
which have arisen since, he finds it difficult to decide whether it is
his duty to marry her."
</p>

<p>
"Manxman?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes."
</p>

<p>
"What class?"
</p>

<p>
Stowell felt his voice as well as his lips trembling.  "Oh,
good enough class, I think."
</p>

<p>
The Governor picked up his pipe from the table, charged it,
lighted it, turned his chair towards the fireplace, threw his leg
over the rail-fender and said:
</p>

<p>
"Fire away."
</p>

<p>
Then trembling and ashamed, but making a strong call on his
resolution, Stowell told his own story&mdash;as if it had been that of
another man.
</p>

<p>
When he had come to an end there was a long silence.  The
Governor pulled hard at his pipe and there was no other sound in
the room except the rattle of the tram-cars in the street.
</p>

<p>
Stowell felt hot, his lips felt dry, and pushing back his black
hair, he found sweat on his forehead.
</p>

<p>
"It was a shocking blunder, of course," he said.  "My man
doesn't defend himself.  Still he thinks the circumstances...."
</p>

<p>
"You mean it wasn't deliberate?"
</p>

<p>
"Good Lord, no!"
</p>

<p>
"In fact a kind of accident?"
</p>

<p>
"One might say so."
</p>

<p>
"Any harm done?"
</p>

<p>
"Harm?"  Stowell turned white and began to stammer.  "I
.... no, that is to say .... no, I've never heard...."
</p>

<p>
"And yet he promised to marry the girl?"
</p>

<p>
"He felt responsible for her.  He couldn't be a scoundrel."
</p>

<p>
"Did he care for her&mdash;love her?"
</p>

<p>
"I can't say that, Sir.  He might have thought he did."
</p>

<p>
"And now he loves another woman?"
</p>

<p>
"With all his heart and soul, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"But" (the Governor was puffing placidly) "he has promised
to marry the little farm girl, and she's away somewhere educating
herself to become his wife?"
</p>

<p>
"That's it, Sir," said Stowell (his head was down), "and now
he is asking himself what it is his duty to do.  I have told him it is
his duty as a man of honour to carry out his promise&mdash;to marry the
girl, whatever the consequences to himself.  Am I right, Sir?"
</p>

<p>
There was another moment of silence, and then the Governor,
taking his pipe out of his mouth, and bringing his open palm down
on the table, said:
</p>

<p>
"No!"
</p>

<p>
"No?"
</p>

<p>
"It would be marrying the wrong woman, wouldn't it?"
</p>

<p>
"Well .... yes, one might say that, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"Then it would be a crime."
</p>

<p>
"A crime?"
</p>

<p>
"A three-fold crime."
</p>

<p>
The Governor rose, crossed the floor, then drew up in front of
Stowell and spoke with sudden energy.
</p>

<p>
"First, against the girl herself.  She's an attractive young
person, I suppose, eh?"
</p>

<p>
Stowell nodded.
</p>

<p>
"But uneducated, illiterate, out of another world, as they say?"
</p>

<p>
Stowell nodded again.
</p>

<p>
"Then does your man suppose that by sending her to school
for a few months he will bridge the gulf between them?  Is that
how he expects to make her happy?  Ten to one the girl will be
a miserable outsider in her husband's house to the last day of her
life.  But that's not the worst, by a long way."
</p>

<p>
"No?"
</p>

<p>
"If he marries her it will out of a sense of duty will it not?"
</p>

<p>
"Ye-es."
</p>

<p>
"Well, what woman on God's earth wants to be married out
of a sense of duty?  And if he loves another woman do you think
his wife will not find it out some day?  Of course she will!  And
when she does what do you think will happen?  I'll tell you what
will happen.  If she's one of the sensitive kind she'll feel herself
crushed, superfluous, and pine away and die of grief and shame,
or perhaps take a dose of something .... we've heard of such
happenings, haven't we?  And if she's a woman of the other sort
she'll go farther."
</p>

<p>
"You mean...."
</p>

<p>
"Suspicion, jealousy, envy!  She may not care a brass farthing
about her husband, but her pride as a wife will be wounded.
She won't give him a day's peace, or herself either.  He'll never
be an hour out of her sight but she'll think he's with the other
woman.  And then&mdash;what's sauce for the goose is sauce for the
gander!  If he has another woman as likely as not she'll have
another man&mdash;we've heard of that, too, haven't we?"
</p>

<p>
Stowell dropped his head.  His heart was beating high, and
he was afraid his face was betraying it.  The Governor touched
him on the shoulder, and continued,
</p>

<p>
"In the next place, it would be a crime against the man
himself.  He's a young fellow of some prospects, I suppose?"
</p>

<p>
"I .... I think so."
</p>

<p>
"And the girl has some family, hasn't she?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes."
</p>

<p>
"They may be good and worthy folk of whom he would have
no reason to be ashamed.  But isn't it just as likely that they are
people of quite another kidney?  Sisters and brothers and cousins
to the tenth degree?  Some vulgar and rapacious old father,
perhaps, who hasn't taken too much trouble to keep the girl out of
temptation while she has been at home, but freezes on to her fast
enough after she has made a good marriage.  Possible, isn't it?"
</p>

<p>
"Quite possible, sir."
</p>

<p>
"Well, what are your man's own friends going to do with him
with a menagerie like that at his heels?  No, he has fettered
himself for life to failure as well as misery, and while his wife is
railing at him about the other woman he is reproaching her with
standing in his light.  So the end of his noble endeavour is that
he has set up a little private hell for himself in the house he calls
his home."
</p>

<p>
Stowell was wincing at every word, but all the same he knew
that his eyes were shining.  The Governor looked sharply up at
him for a moment, lit his pipe afresh and said,
</p>

<p>
"Then there's the other woman.  I suppose her case is worthy
of some consideration?"
</p>

<p>
"Indeed, yes."
</p>

<p>
"If she cares for the man...."
</p>

<p>
"I can't say that, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"Well, if she does, she too will suffer, will she not?  And
what has she done to deserve suffering?  Nothing at all!  She's
the innocent scapegoat, isn't she?"
</p>

<p>
"That's true."
</p>

<p>
"Fine woman, I suppose?"
</p>

<p>
"The finest woman in the world, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"Just so!  But your man would doom her to renunciation&mdash;a
solitary life of sorrow and regret.  And so the only result of his
praiseworthy principles, his sense of duty, as you say, and all the
rest of it, is that he will have ruined three lives&mdash;the life of the
woman he marries and does not love, the life of the woman he
loves and does not marry, and his own life also."
</p>

<p>
"Then you think, Sir .... you think he should stop even yet?"
</p>

<p>
"Even at the church door, at the altar-steps&mdash;if there's no
harm done, and he is sure she is the wrong woman."
</p>

<p>
Stowell felt as if the vapours which had clouded his brain so
long had been swept away as by a mountain breeze, but he thought
it necessary to keep up the disguise.
</p>

<p>
"I feel you must be right, sir," rising to go.  "At all events
I cannot argue against you.  But I think you'll agree that .... that
if my man can wipe out this bad passage in his life without
injury to anybody and without scandal .... I think you will
agree that his first duty is to tell the woman he loves...."
</p>

<p>
"Eh?  What the deuce .... Good heavens, no!"
</p>

<p>
"But surely he couldn't ask a pure-minded girl...."
</p>

<p>
"To take the other woman's leavings?  Certainly he couldn't
if she knew anything about it.  But why should she?  Why should
a pure-minded girl, as you say, be told about something that
happened before she came on to the scene?"
</p>

<p>
Stowell's scruples were overcome.  He had argued against
himself, but he knew well that he had wished to be beaten.  He
was going off when the Governor, following him to the door, laid
a hand on his shoulder and said,
</p>

<p>
"When a man has done wrong the thing he has got to do next
is to say nothing about it.  That's what your man has got to do
now.  It's the woman secret, isn't it?  Very well, he must never
reveal it to anybody&mdash;never, under any circumstances&mdash;never
in this world!"
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
II
</p>

<p>
Next day, at Ballamoar, after many fruitless efforts to begin,
Stowell was writing to Bessie Collister.
</p>

<p class="letter">
"DEAR BESSIE,&mdash;I am sorry to send you this letter and it
is very painful for me to write it.  But I cannot allow you to
look forward any longer to something which can never
happen.
</p>

<p class="letter">
"The truth is&mdash;I must tell you the truth, Bessie&mdash;since
you went to Derby Haven I have found that I do not love
you as I ought, to become your husband.  That being so, I
cannot do you the great wrong of marrying you.  It would
not be either for your good or for mine.  And since I cannot
marry you I feel that we must part.  I am miserable when I
say this, but I see that in justice to you, as well as to myself,
nothing else can be...."
</p>

<p>
He could go no further.  A wave of tenderness towards Bessie
came over him.  He had visions of the girl receiving and reading
his letter.  It would be at night in her little bedroom, perhaps&mdash;the
room in which she burnt her candle to learn her lessons.
</p>

<p>
No, it would be too cruel, too cowardly.  He would not
write&mdash;he would go to Derby Haven and break the news to the
girl himself.
</p>

<p>
But that evoked other and more fearful visions.  They would
be walking along the sandy path at Langness with the stark white
lighthouse at the end of it.  "Bessie," he would be saying, "We
must part; it will be better for both of us.  It has all been my
fault.  You have nothing to reproach yourself with.  But you
must try to forget me, and if there is anything else I can do...."  And
then the reproaches, the recriminations, the tears, the
supplications, the appeals: "Don't throw me over!  You promised
to stand up for me, you know.  I will be good."
</p>

<p>
It would be terrible.  It would make his heart bleed.
Nevertheless he must bear it.  It was a part of his punishment.
</p>

<p>
He had torn up his letter and was putting his hand on the bell
to order the dog-cart to be brought round to take him to the
railway station, when a servant came into the room and said,
</p>

<p>
"Mr. Alick Gell to see you, sir."
</p>

<p>
Gell came in with a gloomy and half-shamefaced look.  His
tall figure was bent, his fair hair was disordered, and his voice
trembled as he said,
</p>

<p>
"Can't we take a walk in the wood, old fellow?  I have
something to say."
</p>

<p>
"I don't know how to tell you," he began.  They were crossing
the lawn towards the plantation.  "Its about Bessie."
</p>

<p>
"Bessie?"
</p>

<p>
"I .... I'm madly in love with her."
</p>

<p>
Stowell stopped and looked without speaking into Gell's
twitching face.
</p>

<p>
"I knew you wouldn't be able to believe it, but don't look at
me like that."
</p>

<p>
"Tell me," said Stowell.
</p>

<p>
And then, stammering and trembling, Gell told his story.  He
didn't know how it began.  Perhaps it was pity.  He had been
sorry for the girl, over there in that lonely place, so he went down
at first just to cheer her up.  Then he had found himself going
frequently, buying her presents and taking her out for walks.
When he had realised how things were he had tried to pull up, but
it was too late.  He had struggled to be loyal&mdash;to strengthen
himself by talking of Stowell&mdash;praising him to the girl, excusing
him for not coming to see her&mdash;but it was useless.  His pity had
developed into love, and before he had known what he was doing
Bessie was in his arms.  At the next instant he had felt like a
traitor.  He was frantically happy and yet he wanted to
kill himself.
</p>

<p>
"It was terrible," he said.  "I couldn't sleep at night for
thinking of it.  Bessie wanted you to be told.  In fact she wrote
you a letter, saying we couldn't help loving each other, and asking
you to release her.  But I couldn't let her go that far.  'Then go
to Ballamoar and tell him yourself,' she said.  And at last I've
come.  And now .... now you know."
</p>

<p>
Stowell listened in silence.  His first feeling was one of
wounded pride.  He had really been a great fool about the girl!
What fathomless depths of conceit had led him to think she would
break her heart if he gave her up?  And then the long struggle
between his love and his duty&mdash;what a mountebank Fate seemed
to have made of him!  But his next feeling was one of relief&mdash;boundless,
inexpressible relief.  The iron chain he had been dragging
after him had been broken.  He was free!
</p>

<p>
Gell, who was breathing hard, was watching Stowell from
under his cap, which was pulled down over his forehead.  They
were walking in a path that was thick with fallen leaves, and there
was no sound for some moments but that of the rustling under
their feet.
</p>

<p>
"Why don't you speak, old fellow?  I've behaved like a cad,
I know.  But for God's sake, don't torture me.  Strike me in the
face with your fist.  I would rather that&mdash;upon my soul, I would."
</p>

<p>
"Alick," said Stowell, putting his arm through Gell's.  "I'm
going to tell you something."
</p>

<p>
"What?"
</p>

<p>
"Do you know what I was on the point of doing when you
came?  Going down to Derby Haven to ask Bessie to let me off."
</p>

<p>
"Is that true?  You're not saying it merely to .... But why?"
</p>

<p>
"Because what's happened to her has happened to me also&mdash;I
love somebody else."
</p>

<p>
"No?  Really? .... But who .... who is the other
girl? .... Is it .... It's Fenella, isn't it?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes."
</p>

<p>
"How splendid!  I'm glad!  And of course I congratulate you
.... No? .... You've not asked her yet?  But that will
be all right&mdash;of course it will!"
</p>

<p>
Taking off his cap to fan himself with, Gell broke into fits of
half hysterical laughter.  Then he said:
</p>

<p>
"You don't mind my saying something now that it's all over?
No?  Well, to tell you the truth I could never believe you really
cared for Bessie.  I thought you were only marrying her as a sort
of duty, having got her into trouble with Dan Baldromma.  And it
was so&mdash;partly so&mdash;wasn't it?  That didn't excuse me, though,
did it?  Lord, what a relief!  I feel as if you had lifted ten tons
off my head."
</p>

<p>
A dark memory came to Stowell.  "Has she told him?"
</p>

<p>
"Bessie will be relieved, too, and just as glad as I am.  Do
you know, there's a heart of gold in that girl.  She's never had a
dog's chance yet.  Not much education, I admit, but such
spirit, such character!  Such a woman too&mdash;you said so
yourself, remember."
</p>

<p>
A still darker memory of something the Governor had said
came to Stowell.  "Didn't you say Bessie had written to me?"
he asked.
</p>

<p>
"Yes, she did, yesterday; but I destroyed her letter."
</p>

<p>
"Do you know, I wrote to Bessie to-day, and I destroyed my
letter also."
</p>

<p>
"No?  What fun if your letters had crossed in the post," said
Gell, and tossing his cap into the air, he broke into still louder
peals of laughter.
</p>

<p>
Again Stowell felt immense relief.  It was impossible that
Bessie could have told him.  And if she hadn't, why should he?
Why injure the girl in Gell's eyes?  Why tarnish his faith in her?
It was the woman's secret, therefore he must never reveal
it&mdash;never in this world.
</p>

<p>
They were walking on.  Gell with a high step was kicking up
the withered leaves.
</p>

<p>
"What about your people?" asked Stowell.
</p>

<p>
"Ah, that's what I've got to find out.  I'm going home now
to tell them.  My mother is always advising me to marry and
settle down, but of course she'll jib at Bessie, and the sisters will
follow suit.  As for my father, he has only one son, as he says,
and I must have a better allowance.  He cut it down after that
affair in the Courts, you know."
</p>

<p>
They were at the gate to the road, and pulling it open,
Gell said:
</p>

<p>
"Phew!  How different I feel from what I did when I was
coming in here half an hour ago!  I thought you would kick me
out the minute I had told you.  But now we're going to be better
friends than ever, aren't we?"
</p>

<p>
"Good-bye and good luck, old fellow," said Stowell.
</p>

<p>
"Good-bye, and God bless you, old chap," said Gell.
</p>

<p>
Stowell stood at the gate and watched him going off with long
strides, his shoulders working vigorously.
</p>

<p>
"Never again!  We can never be the same friends again,"
thought Stowell, as he turned back to the house.
</p>

<p>
He was feeling like a man who in a moment of passion has
secretly wronged his life-long friend and can never look straight
into his eyes again.
</p>

<p>
But the sense of a barrier between Gell and himself was soon
wiped out by the memory of Fenella.  He was free to love her at
last!  No more hypocrisy!  No more self-denial!  No more struggles
between passion and duty!  The past was dead.  Life from
that day forward was beginning again for all of them.
</p>

<p>
"Was that Alick Gell in the wood with you?" asked Janet,
who had come to the door to call Stowell in to tea.
</p>

<p>
"Yes."
</p>

<p>
"Goodness me!  He must be a happy boy.  He was laughing
enough, anyway."
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
III
</p>

<p>
Stowell went to bed early that night, slept soundly and was
up with the coming of light in the morning.
</p>

<p>
The farm lads were not yet astir, but going round to the stable
he saddled a horse for himself (a young chestnut mare that had
been born on one of his own birthdays) and set off for a ride
to relieve the intoxication of his spirits.
</p>

<p>
The air was keen, but both he and his horse sniffed it with
delight.  As they passed out of Ballamoar the sun rose and played
among the red and yellow leaves of the plantation, for the summer
was going out in a blaze of glory.  They crossed the Curragh,
dipped into the glen, and climbed the corkscrew path to the
mountain.
</p>

<p>
Stowell thought he had never felt so well.  And the little mare,
catching the contagion of his high spirits, snorted and swung her
head at every stride and dug her feet into the ringing ground.
</p>

<p>
"Helloa, Molly, here we are at the top!"
</p>

<p>
Looking hack he saw the flat plain below, dotted over with
farms, each with its little farmhouse surrounded by its clump of
sheltering trees.  God, how good to think that every one of them
was a home of love!  Love!  That was the great uniter, the great
comforter, the great liberator, the great redeemer!
</p>

<p>
And to think that all this had been going on since the beginning
of the world!  That generation after generation some boy had
come up this lovely glen to court his girl!  Lord, what a glorious
place the world was, after all!
</p>

<p>
His eyes were beaming like the sunshine, and to make his joy
complete he galloped over the mountain-tops until he came to a
point at which he could look down on Douglas and catch a glimpse
of Fenella's home in the midst of its trees.
</p>

<p class="poem">
  "<i>Peace in her chamber, wheresoe'er it be,<br />
  &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;A holy place....</i>"<br />
</p>

<p>
Then back to Ballamoar at a brisk canter, with the air musical
with the calls of cattle, the bleating of sheep and the songs of
birds.  And then breakfast for a hungry man&mdash;cowrie and eggs and
fresh butter and honey and junket, which the Manx called pinjean.
</p>

<p>
At three o'clock in the afternoon he was on his way to Government
House, and by that time the intoxication of his high spirits
had suffered a check.
</p>

<p>
What had Fenella thought of his flight from the yacht?  Had
she believed his excuse for it?  What interpretation had she put
upon his intention of calling at Government Offices the following
day?  And the Governor&mdash;had he seen through the thin disguise
of that story?
</p>

<p>
But the cruellest question of all, and the hardest to answer, was
whether after all, even now that he was free, he had any right to
ask Fenella to become his wife?  He, a sin-soiled man, and she a
stainless woman!
</p>

<p>
He felt as if he ought to purge his soul by telling Fenella
everything.  Yet how could he do that without inflicting an incurable
wound on her faith in him?  And then what had the Governor
said?  "Never under any circumstances."
</p>

<p>
As he walked up the carriage drive to Government House he
saw the Governor's tall figure, and the Attorney-General's short
one, through the windows of the smoking-room.  The Governor
came to the door to meet him.
</p>

<p>
"The very man we were talking about.  Come in!  Sit down.
We have something to propose to you."
</p>

<p>
The Governor was going up to London on urgent business at
the Home Office and the Attorney had to go with him.  In these
circumstances it had been necessary to arrange that the Court of
General Gaol Delivery (interrupted by the Deemster's death, but
now summoned to resume) should sit without the Governor, and
the Attorney had been suggesting that Stowell should represent
him in an important case.
</p>

<p>
"What is it, Sir?" asked Stowell.
</p>

<p>
"Murder again, my boy; but of a different kind this time."
</p>

<p>
A Peel fisherman had killed his wife with shocking brutality,
yet everybody seemed to sympathise with him, and there was a
danger that a Manx jury might let him off.
</p>

<p>
"Splendid opportunity to uphold law and order!  You'll take
the case?"
</p>

<p>
"With pleasure!"
</p>

<p>
"Good!  The Attorney will send you the papers.  And now, I
suppose, you would like to see Fenella?"
</p>

<p>
"May I?"
</p>

<p>
"Why not?  You'll find her in the drawing-room."
</p>

<p>
On his way to the drawing-room Stowell met Miss Green coming
out of it.  She smiled at him, and said, in a half-whisper,
</p>

<p>
"I think you are expected."
</p>

<p>
When he opened the door he saw Fenella sitting with her back
to him at a little desk on one side of the bay window, with a glint
of its light on her bronze-brown hair.
</p>

<p>
"Who is it?" she said as he entered.  But at the next
moment she seemed to know, and, rising, she turned round to
him and smiled.
</p>

<p>
He thought she had never looked so beautiful.  He wanted to
crush her in his arms, and at the same time to fall at her feet
and kiss the hem of her dress.
</p>

<p>
There was a moment of passionate silence.  He stepped towards
her but stopped when two or three paces away.  A riot of
conflicting emotions were going on within him.  He felt strong, he
felt weak, he felt brave, he felt cowardly, he felt proud, he
felt ashamed.
</p>

<p>
Still nothing was said by either of them.  Her eyes were
glistening, she was breathing quickly and her bosom was heaving.
He saw her moving towards him.  Her hand was trailing along
the desk.  He felt as if she were drawing him to her, and by a
nervous, but irresistible impulse he held out his arms.
</p>

<p>
"Fenella," he said, hardly audibly.
</p>

<p>
At the next moment, as in a flash of light, she sprang upon his
breast, and at the next her arms were about his neck, his own
were around her waist, her mouth was to his mouth, and the world
had melted away.
</p>

<p>
Ten minutes later, with faces aflame, they went, hand in hand,
into the smoking-room.  The Governor wheeled about on his
revolving chair to look at them.
</p>

<p>
"Well," he said, "it's easy to see what you two have come
about.  But not for six months!  I won't agree to a day
less, remember."
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p><a id="chap0216"></a></p>

<h3>
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
<br />
AT THE SPEAKER'S
</h3>

<p>
Before Alick Gell reached his father's house another had been
there on the same errand.
</p>

<p>
Earlier in the afternoon Dan Baldromma, while running his
hands through the ground flour in the mill, with the wheel
throbbing and the stones groaning about him, had been struck by a
new idea.
</p>

<p>
"Liza," he said, returning to the dwelling house and standing
with his back to the fire and his big hands behind him, "that
young wastrel ought to be freckened into marrying the girl, and
I'm thinking I know the way to do it, too."
</p>

<p>
"It's like thou do, Dan," said Mrs. Collister.
</p>

<p>
Dan's device was of the simplest.  It was that of sending the
mother of Bessie Collister to the mother of Alick Gell to threaten
and intimidate her.
</p>

<p>
"But sakes alive, man, that's an ugly job, isn't it?"
</p>

<p>
"It's got to be done, woman, or there'll be worse to do next,
I tell thee.  Thou don't want to see thy daughter where her mother
was before her."
</p>

<p>
"Well, well, if I must, I must," said Mrs. Collister.  "But,
aw dear, aw dear!  If thou hadn't thrown the girl into the way of
temptation by shutting the door on her...."
</p>

<p>
"Hould thy whist, woman, and do as I tell thee, and that will
be the best night's work I ever done for her."
</p>

<p>
Half an hour later, having swept the earthen floor, hung the
kettle on its sooty chain, and laid the table for Dan's tea,
Mrs. Collister toiled upstairs to dress for her journey, and came down
in the poke bonnet and satin mantle which she wore to chapel
on Sunday.
</p>

<p>
Meantime Dan had harnessed the old mare to the stiff cart
and brought it round to the door.  Having helped his wife over
the wheel and put the rope reins in her hands, he gave her his
parting instructions.
</p>

<p>
"See thou stand up for thy rights, now!  This is thy chance
and thou's got to make the best of it!"
</p>

<p>
"Aw well, we'll see," said the old woman, and then the stiff
cart rattled over the cobbled "street" on its way to the Speaker's.
</p>

<p>
In her comfortable sitting-room, thickly carpeted and plentifully
cushioned, Mrs. Gell was awakened from her afternoon nap
by the scream of the peacocks.
</p>

<p>
"It's Mistress Daniel Collister of Baldromma to see you,
ma'am," said the maid.
</p>

<p>
At the next moment, Mrs. Collister, with a timid air, hobbled
into the room on her stick, and the two mothers came face to face.
</p>

<p>
"You wish to speak to me," said Mrs. Gell.
</p>

<p>
"If you plaze, ma'am," said Mrs. Collister, huskily.
</p>

<p>
Isabella Gell, a sour-faced young woman, came into the room
and stood behind her mother's chair.  Mrs. Collister took the seat
that was assigned to her, and fumbled the ribbons of her bonnet to
loosen them.
</p>

<p>
"It's about my daughter, ma'am."
</p>

<p>
"Well?"
</p>

<p>
"My daughter and your son, ma'am."
</p>

<p>
"Eh?"
</p>

<p>
"Cæsar Qualtrough of the Kays has seen them together.
They're living down Castletown way, they're saying."
</p>

<p>
"Living .... my son and your daughter?"
</p>

<p>
"So they're saying, ma'am."
</p>

<p>
"I don't believe it!  I don't believe a word of it!"
</p>

<p>
"I wish in my heart I could say the same, ma'am.  But it's
truth enough, I'm fearing."
</p>

<p>
"And if it is&mdash;I don't say it is, but if it is&mdash;why have you
come to me?"
</p>

<p>
Then trembling all over, Mrs. Collister continued her story.
Her poor girl was in trouble.  When a girl was in trouble the
world could be cruel hard on her.  Nobody would think the cruel
hard it could be.  If a girl did wrong it was because somebody
she was fond of had promised to marry her.  What else would she
do it for?  When a young man had behaved like that to a poor girl
he ought to keep his word to her.  And if he had a mother, and
she was a good Christian woman....
</p>

<p>
Mrs. Gell, who was beating her foot on the carpet, broke
in impatiently.
</p>

<p>
"In short, you think my son ought to marry your daughter?"
</p>

<p>
"It's nothing but right, ma'am."
</p>

<p>
"And you've come here to ask me to tell him to do so?"
</p>

<p>
"If you plaze, ma'am."
</p>

<p>
"Well, I never!" said Isabella.
</p>

<p>
"She's a mother herself, I was thinking, and if one of her
own girls was in the same position...."
</p>

<p>
"The idea!" said Isabella.
</p>

<p>
"Mrs. Collister," said Mrs. Gell, with a proud lift of her
head, "I was sorry when I heard of the trouble your daughter
had brought on you, but what you are doing now is a piece of
great assurance."
</p>

<p>
"But Bessie is a good girl, ma'am.  And if she married your
son you would never have raison to be ashamed of her."
</p>

<p>
"Good indeed!  If a girl isn't ashamed to be living with a
young man the less said about her goodness the better."
</p>

<p>
"Aw well, ma'am," said Mrs. Collister (her faltering tongue
had become firmer and her timid eyes had begun to flash), "if
she's living with the young man, he's living with her, and the
shame is the same for both, I'm thinking."
</p>

<p>
Mrs. Gell drew herself up in her chair.
</p>

<p>
"I'm astonished at you, Mrs. Collister!  A woman yourself,
and not seeing the difference."
</p>

<p>
"Aw yes, difference enough, ma'am!  And when a young man
doesn't keep his word it's the woman that's knowing it best by
the trouble that's coming on her."
</p>

<p>
Mrs. Gell, whose anger was rising, lifted her chin again
and said, "If your daughter is in trouble, Mrs. Collister, how
are we to know that she had not brought it on her own head, just
to get Alick to marry her?"
</p>

<p>
"The creature!" said Isabella.
</p>

<p>
"And how are we to know that you and your husband have
not encouraged the girl in her wickedness just to get our son for
your son-in-law?"
</p>

<p>
"Aw well, ma'am," said Mrs. Collister (she was fumbling at
the strings of her bonnet to tighten them), "if you are thinking
as bad of me as that...."
</p>

<p>
"You talk of the danger to your daughter if my son doesn't
marry her," said Mrs. Gell.  "But what of the danger to my son
if he does?  His life will be ruined.  He will never be able to
raise his head in the island again.  His father will disown him.
Marry your daughter indeed!  Not only will I not ask him to
marry her, but if I see the slightest danger of his doing
anything so foolish I will do everything I can to prevent it."
</p>

<p>
"Aw well, we'll say no more, ma'am," said Mrs. Collister, and
she shuffled to her feet.
</p>

<p>
But Mrs. Gell was up before her.
</p>

<p>
"Alexander Gell, son of the Speaker and grandson of Archdeacon
Mylechreest, married to the step-daughter of Dan Baldromma
and the nameless offspring of Liza Collister....
</p>

<p>
"Ma'am!"
</p>

<p>
Mrs. Collister had hobbled to the door, and was going out,
humbled and beaten, when Mrs. Gell's last words cut her to the
quick.  For more than twenty years she had taken the punishment
of her own sin and bowed her head to the lash of it, but
at this insult to her child the weak and timid creature turned about,
as brave as a lion and as fierce as a fury.
</p>

<p>
"I'm not your quality, I know that, ma'am," she said, breathing
quickly, "but a day is coming, and maybe it's near, when we'll
be standing together where we'll both be equal.  Just two old
mothers, and nothing else between us.  If you've loved your son,
I've loved my daughter, whatever she is, ma'am.  And when the
One who reads all hearts is after asking me what I did for my
child in the day of her trouble, I'll be telling Him I came here to
beg you on my knees to save her from a life of sin and shame, and
you wouldn't, because your worldly pride prevented.  And then
it's Himself, ma'am, will be judging between us!"
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
II
</p>

<p>
There had been a sitting of the Keys that day, and when the
Speaker returned home he found his wife on the sofa with a damp
handkerchief over her forehead and a bottle of smelling-salts in
her hand.  She told him what had happened.
</p>

<p>
"Well, well," he said, "so that's what it means.  But there's
no knowing what hedge the hare will jump from."
</p>

<p>
His figure was less burly than before, his head was more bald
and his full beard was whiter, but his eyes flashed with the same
ungovernable fire.
</p>

<p>
"That girl must be a thoroughly bad one," said Mrs. Gell.
"It's not the first time she has got our Alick into trouble,
remember.  We must save our son from the designing young huzzy."
</p>

<p>
"Tut!  It's not the girl I'm troubling about."
</p>

<p>
"Who else, then?"
</p>

<p>
"The man!  I might have expected as much, though!"
</p>

<p>
Coming home in the train he had had some talk with Kerruish,
his advocate and agent.  Dan Baldromma, who was back with his
rent, was refusing to pay, and saying "Let the Spaker fetch me
to Coort, and I'll tell him the raison."
</p>

<p>
"Then can't you settle with the man, Archie?"
</p>

<p>
"Settle with Dan?  I'll settle with Alick first, Bella, and if he
has given that scoundrel the whip hand of me I'll break every
bone in his body."
</p>

<p>
"But it may not be true.  It cannot be true.  Unless Alick
tells me so himself I'll never believe a word of it."
</p>

<p>
They were at tea in the dining-room, country fashion, the
Speaker at the head of the table with a plate of fish before him,
and his wife and daughters at either side, when Alick entered.
</p>

<p>
"Helloa!" he cried, with a forced gaiety.  But only his
mother responded to his greeting and made room for him by her
side.  She saw that he was paler and thinner, and that his hand
trembled when he took his cup.
</p>

<p>
The Speaker, who had turned his rough shoulder to his son,
tried to restrain himself from breaking out on him until the meal
would be over and he could take him into his own room, but before
long his impatience overcame him.
</p>

<p>
"What's this we're hearing about you&mdash;that you are carrying
on with a girl?"
</p>

<p>
"Do you mean Bessie Collister, Sir?" said Alick.
</p>

<p>
"Certainly I mean Bessie Collister.  And I thought you gave
me your word that you would see no more of her."
</p>

<p>
"But that was the promise of a boy, Sir.  Did you expect it
to bind the man also?"
</p>

<p>
"The man?  The man!" said the Speaker, mimicking his son's
voice in a mincing treble.  "Do you call yourself a man, bringing
disgrace on your name and family."
</p>

<p>
"What disgrace, Sir?"
</p>

<p>
"What disgrace?  All the island seems to have heard of it.
Is it necessary to tell you?  Living secret, so they say, with a
woman who isn't fit company for your mother and sisters."
</p>

<p>
"If anybody told you that, Sir," said Alick (his lower lip was
trembling), "he told you a lie&mdash;a damned lie, Sir!"
</p>

<p>
"There!" cried Mrs. Gell, turning to her husband.  "What
did I say?  It isn't true, you see."
</p>

<p>
"Of course it isn't true, mother; and the best proof that I'm
not behaving dishonourably to Bessie Collister is that I intend to
marry her."
</p>

<p>
It was a sickening moment for Mrs. Gell, and the Speaker, for
an instant, was dumbfounded.
</p>

<p>
"Eh?  What?  You intend to marry...."
</p>

<p>
"Yes, Sir; and that's why I'm here to-day&mdash;to bring you the
news, and to ask you to restore the allowance you cut down in the
spring, you know."
</p>

<p>
"That .... that .... that bast&mdash;...."
</p>

<p>
"Archie!" cried Mrs. Gell, indicating their daughters.
</p>

<p>
"Bessie is a good girl, father," said Alick.  "What happened
before she was born wasn't her fault, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"So you've come to bring us the news and to ask me to double
your allowance?
</p>

<p>
"If you please, Sir.  You couldn't wish your son and his
wife...."
</p>

<p>
"His wife!  There you are, Bella!  That's what I've been
working day and night thirty years for&mdash;to see my son throw half
my earnings&mdash;all that I can't will away from him&mdash;into the hands
of a man like Dan Baldromma!"
</p>

<p>
"But Alick will be reasonable," said Mrs. Gell.  "He'll give
the girl up."
</p>

<p>
"He'll have to do that, and quick too, or I'll cut off his
allowance altogether."
</p>

<p>
"Do you mean it, Sir?" said Alick&mdash;he was pushing his
chair back.
</p>

<p>
"Do I mean it?  Certainly I mean it.  You'll give the girl up
or never another penny of mine shall you see as long as I live!"
</p>

<p>
"All right," said Alick, rising from the table, "I'll earn my
own living."
</p>

<p>
The Speaker broke into a peal of scornful laughter.  "You
earn your living!  That's rich!"
</p>

<p>
"Give her up?" cried Alick.  "I'll break stones on the highway
or porter on the pier before I'll give up her little finger!"
</p>

<p>
"You fool!  You confounded fool!  But no fear!  She'll
give you up when she finds you've lost your income."
</p>

<p>
"Will she?  I'll trust her for that, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"Then get away back to her&mdash;you'll not be the first by a
long way."
</p>

<p>
Alick, who had been trying to laugh, stopped his laughter
suddenly, and said, "What do you mean by that, Sir?"
</p>

<p>
"Mean?  Do you want me to tell you what I mean?"
</p>

<p>
"Archie," cried Mrs. Gell, and again she indicated their
daughters.
</p>

<p>
"Get out of this, will you?" cried the Speaker to the girls,
who had been sitting with their noses in their teacups.
</p>

<p>
The girls fled from the room, but stood outside to listen.
</p>

<p>
"Father," said Alick, "you must tell me what you mean."
</p>

<p>
"Mean!  Mean!  Don't stand there cross-examining your own
father.  You know what I mean!  If half they say about the
young b&mdash; .... is true she's fit enough for it, anyway."
</p>

<p>
"If any other man had said that," said Alick, quivering, "I
should have knocked him down, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"What's that?  You threaten me?" cried the Speaker.  His
voice was like the scream of a sea-gull, and making a step
towards Alick he lifted his clenched fist to him.
</p>

<p>
Mrs. Gell intervened, and Alick retreated a pace or two.
</p>

<p>
"Take care, Sir," he said.  "You can't treat me like that
now.  I'm not a child any longer."
</p>

<p>
"Then get away to your woman .... and to hell, if you
want to."
</p>

<p>
"There was no need to tell me twice, Sir.  I'm going.  And as
God is my witness, I'll never set foot in this house again."
</p>

<p>
At the next moment the peacocks were screaming outside, and
the Speaker, who had thrown up the window, was shouting through
it in a broken roar,
</p>

<p>
"Alick!  Alick Gell!  Come back, you damned scoundrel!
Alick!  Alexander...."
</p>

<p>
They had to carry him upstairs and send for Dr. Clucas.  It
had been another of his paralysing brain-storms.  It was not to
be expected that he could bear many more of them.
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p><a id="chap0217"></a></p>

<h3>
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
<br />
THE BURNING BOAT
</h3>

<p>
Two days later, Gell was stepping into the train for
Castletown on his way to Derby Haven.
</p>

<p>
"Give me up because my income is gone?  Not Bessie!  Not
Bessie Collister!"
</p>

<p>
But Bessie had gone through deep waters since he had seen
her last.
</p>

<p>
From the first Victor Stowell had disappointed her.  To live
in the dark&mdash;hidden away, unrecognised, suppressed&mdash;it had not
been according to her expectations.  Her pride, too, had been
wounded by being sent back to school.  It was true that without
being asked, Mr. Stowell had promised to marry her at some
future time, but perhaps that was only because he was the son of
the Deemster and therefore afraid of her step-father and of the
cry there would be all over the island if anything became known.
</p>

<p>
If it had only been Alick!  Alick would not have been ashamed
of her.  He would have taken her just as she was and never seen
any shortcomings.
</p>

<p>
After the first days at Derby Haven she had found herself
looking forward to Alick's visits.  When she knew he was coming
everything brightened up in her eyes and even her tiresome lessons
became delightful.  Before long she felt her heart leap up whenever
the Misses Brown called, "Bessie, a gentleman to see you!"
</p>

<p>
It is easy to kindle a fire on a warm hearth.  Alick had been
Bessie's first sweetheart, perhaps her only one.  Suddenly a
wonderful thing happened to her.  She found herself in love.  She had
thought she had always been in love with somebody, but now she
realized that she had never been in love before.  She was in love
with Alick Gell.  And she wished to become his wife.
</p>

<p>
That altered everything.  She began to see how ignorant she
was compared with Alick and how much she was beneath him.
She remembered his three tall sisters who held their heads so high
at anniversaries and bazaars, and thought what a shocking thing
it would be if they were able to look down on her.  How she
worked to be worthy of him!
</p>

<p>
She had no qualms about Stowell.  Her only anxiety was
about Alick.  She was certain that he loved her, yet what a fight
she had for him!  He was always talking about Stowell, and
praising him up to her.  When he excused his friend for not
coming to see her she was quite sure it was all nonsense.  And
when he gave her presents and said they were from Stowell she
knew where they came from.
</p>

<p>
One day he brought a wrist-watch with the usual message, and
after he had put it on (how his hands were trembling!) she tried
to thank him, but didn't know how to do so.
</p>

<p>
At last an idea occurred to her.  They were walking on the
Langness, just by the ruin of a windmill, whose walls and roof had
been carried away by a gale.
</p>

<p>
"Alick," she said, "I wonder if my new watch is right by the
clock at Castle Rushen?"
</p>

<p>
Alick put his hands to his eyes like blinkers (for the sun was
setting) and looked across the bay.  While he did so, Bessie
slipped off on tiptoe and hid behind the walls of the windmill.  As
soon as she was missed there was a laugh and a shout and then a
chase.  Bessie dodged and Alick doubled, Bessie dodged again,
but at length she slipped into a hole, and at the next moment Alick
caught her up and kissed her.
</p>

<p>
"Now, what have you done?" she said, and her face was
suffused with blushes.
</p>

<p>
After that there could be no disguise between them.  Bessie
felt no shame, and it never occurred to her that she had been guilty
of treason.  But Gell talked about disloyalty and said he would
never be at ease until she had made a clean breast of it to Stowell.
</p>

<p>
"Then go and tell him we couldn't help loving each other,"
she said.
</p>

<p>
When he was gone she was very happy.  Mr. Stowell would
give her up.  Of course he would.  What had happened between
them was dead and buried.  Whatever else he was Victor Stowell
was a gentleman.  He would say nothing to Alick.
</p>

<p>
Then came a shock.  On the following morning she felt unwell.
She had often felt unwell since she came to Derby Haven, and the
Misses Brown, simple old maids, seeing no cause except the change
in the girl's way of life, wanted to send for a doctor.  But doctors
were associated in Bessie's mind with death.  If you saw a doctor
going into a farmhouse one day you saw a coffin going in the next.
</p>

<p>
Chemists were not open to the same objection.  Often on
market days, after she had sold out her basket of butter and eggs,
she had called at the chemist's at Ramsey for medicine for her
mother.  So, saying nothing to her housemates, she slipped round
to the chemist's at Castletown and asked for a bottle of mixture.
</p>

<p>
The chemist, an elderly man with a fatherly face, smiled at
her, and said:
</p>

<p>
"But what is it for, miss?"
</p>

<p>
Bessie described her symptoms, and then the smiling face
was grave.
</p>

<p>
"Are you a married woman, ma'am?" asked the chemist.
</p>

<p>
Bessie caught her breath, stared at the man for a moment with
eyes full of fear, and then turned and fled out of the shop.
</p>

<p>
All that day she felt dizzy and deaf.  The earth seemed to be
slipping from under her.  Memories of what she had heard from
older women came springing to the surface of her mind, and she
asked herself why she had not thought of this before.  For a long
time she struggled to persuade herself that the chemist was wrong,
but conviction forced itself upon her at last.
</p>

<p>
Then she asked herself what she was to do, and remembering
what she had learned as a child at home of her mother's miserable
life before her marriage, she found only one answer to that
question.  She must ask Mr. Stowell to marry her.  The thought of
parting from Alick was heart-breaking.  But the most terrible
thing was that she found herself hoping that Stowell would refuse
to release her.
</p>

<p>
It had been a wretched day, dark and cheerless, with driving
mist and drizzling rain.  Towards nightfall the old maids lighted
a fire for her in the sitting-room, which was full of quaint
nicknacks and old glass and china.  The tide, which was at the bottom
of the ebb, was sobbing against the unseen breakwater, and the
gulls on the cobbles of the shore were calling continually.
</p>

<p>
Bessie was crouching over the fire with her chin in her hand
when she heard the sneck of the garden gate, a quick step on the
gravel, a light knock at the front door, a familiar voice in the
lobby, and then old Miss Ethel saying behind her:
</p>

<p>
"A gentleman to see you, Bessie."
</p>

<p>
Her heart did not leap up as before, and she did not rise with
her former alacrity, but Alick Gell came into the room like a
rush of wind.
</p>

<p>
"What's this&mdash;unwell?" he cried.
</p>

<p>
"It's nothing!  I shall be better in the morning," she said.
</p>

<p>
"Of course you will."
</p>

<p>
And then, after a kiss, Gell sat on a low stool at Bessie's
feet, stretched his long legs towards the fire, and began to pour
out his story.
</p>

<p>
He had seen Stowell and the matter had turned out just as she
had expected.  Splendid fellow!  Best chap in the world, bar none!
</p>

<p>
"But what do you think, Bess?  The most extraordinary
coincidence!  Dear old Vic, he has been busy falling in love, too!
Fact!  Fenella Stanley, daughter of the Governor!  Magnificent
girl, and Vic is madly in love with her!  So there's to be no
heart-breaking on either side, and that's the best of it.  Makes one think
there must be something in Providence, doesn't it?"
</p>

<p>
He was laughing so loud that the china in the room rang, but
Bessie was turning cold with terror.
</p>

<p>
"And .... what about your father?" she faltered.
</p>

<p>
"My father?"
</p>

<p>
"Well .... to tell you the truth there was a bit of a breeze
there," he said, and then followed the story of the scene at
the Speaker's.
</p>

<p>
"But no matter!  I'm not without money, so we can be
married at once, and the sooner the better."
</p>

<p>
"But Alick," she said (he was stroking her hand and she was
trying to draw it away), "do you think it's best?"
</p>

<p>
"Best?  Why, of course I think it's best.  Don't you?"
</p>

<p>
She did not reply.
</p>

<p>
"Don't you?" he said again, and then, getting no answer, he
became aware that she, who had been so eager for their marriage
before he went to Ballamoar, was now holding back.
</p>

<p>
"Bessie," he said, "has anything happened while I've been
away?"
</p>

<p>
"No!  Oh no!"
</p>

<p>
"You're .... you're not thinking of the loss of the income,
are you?"
</p>

<p>
"No, no; 'deed!, no!"
</p>

<p>
"I knew you wouldn't.  When my father taunted me with
that, saying you would give me up as soon as you knew my allowance
was gone, I said, 'Not Bessie!  I'll trust her for that, Sir.'"
</p>

<p>
Bessie began to cry.  Alick was bewildered.
</p>

<p>
"What is it, then?  Tell me!  Are you .... are you thinking
of Stowell?"
</p>

<p>
At that name she was seized by the mad impulse which comes
to people on dizzy heights when they wish to throw themselves
over&mdash;she wanted to blurt out the truth, to confess everything.
But before she could speak Alick was saying,
</p>

<p>
"I shouldn't blame you if you were.  I'm not his equal&mdash;I
know that, Bessie.  But even if he were free I shouldn't give you
up to him now.  No, by God, not to him or to anyone."
</p>

<p>
His voice was breaking.  She looked at him.  There were tears
in his eyes.  She could bear up no longer.  With the cry of a
drowning soul she flung her arms about him and sobbed on
his breast.
</p>

<p>
An hour later, having comforted and quietened her, Gell was
going off with swinging strides through the mist to catch the
last train back to Douglas.
</p>

<p>
"She was thinking of me&mdash;that was it," he was telling himself.
"Thought I would come to regret the sacrifice and wanted
to save me from being cut off by my family.  So unselfish!  Never
thinking of herself, bless her!"
</p>

<p>
And Bessie, in her bedroom was saying to herself, "He's that
fond of me that he'll forgive me, whatever happens."
</p>

<p>
She lay a long time awake, with her arms under her head,
looking up at the ceiling.
</p>

<p>
"Yes, Alick will forgive me, whatever happens," she thought.
</p>

<p>
And then she blew out her candle, buried her head in her
pillow, and fell asleep.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
II
</p>

<p>
When Gell reached the railway-station he found the carriages
waiting at the platform, half-full of impatient passengers.  A
trial, which was going on in the Castle, was nearing its close, and
the station-master had received orders that the last train to town
was to be kept back for the Judges and advocates.
</p>

<p>
"The Peel fisherman," thought Gell.  And, remembering that
this was the case in which Stowell was to represent the
Attorney-General, he walked over to the Court-house, whose lantern-light
was showing like a hazy white cloud above the Castle walls.
</p>

<p>
The little place was thick with sea mist, hot with the acid
odour of perspiration, and densely crowded but breathlessly silent.
The trial was over, the prisoner had been found guilty, and the
Deemster (it was Deemster Taubman, sitting with the Clerk of the
Rolls as Acting Governor) was beginning to pronounce sentence:
</p>

<p>
"Prisoner at the bar, it will be my duty to communicate to the
proper quarter the Jury's recommendation to mercy, but I can
hold out no hope that it will be of any avail.  You have been
found guilty of the wilful murder of your wife, therefore I bid
you prepare...."
</p>

<p>
And then followed those dread words in that dead stillness,
which bring thoughts of the day of doom.
</p>

<p>
Gell caught one glimpse of the prisoner, as he stood in the dock,
in his fisherman's guernsey, looking steadfastly into the face of
his Judge, and another glimpse as a way was cleared through
the spectators and he walked with a strong step to the door leading
to the cells.
</p>

<p>
Then the court-house cleared to a low rumble that was like the
muffled murmuring that is heard after a funeral.
</p>

<p>
Gell asked for Stowell, and was told that his friend had gone
down to the Deemster's room with one of the advocates for the
defence to draw up the terms of the recommendation.  Therefore
he returned to the station with a group of his fellow advocates,
and on the way back he heard the story of the trial&mdash;little knowing
how close it was to come to him.
</p>

<p>
The prisoner (his name was Morrison) had married the murdered
woman in the winter.  She had been a comely girl who had
always borne a good character.  On their wedding morning they
had received many presents, one of them being a fishing-boat.
This had been the gift of a distant relation of the bride's, a
middle-aged man who had since married a rich widow.
</p>

<p>
At Easter, Morrison had gone off with the fleet to the mackerel
fishing at Kinsale, and while there he had received an anonymous
letter.  It told him that his young wife had given birth,
less than six months after their marriage, to a still-born child.
</p>

<p>
Morrison had said nothing about the letter, but he had made
inquiries about the man who had given him the boat, and been told
that he had borne a bad reputation.
</p>

<p>
At the end of the mackerel season Morrison had returned to the
island with the rest of the fleet, and for everybody else there had
been the usual joyful homecoming.
</p>

<p>
It had been late at night on the first of June, when the stars
were out and the moon was in its first quarter.  As soon as the
boats had been sighted outside the Castle Rock the sound signal had
gone up from the Rocket House, and within five minutes the fishermen's
wives had come flying down to the quay, with their little
shawls thrown over their heads and pinned under their chins.
</p>

<p>
Then, as the boats had come gliding into harbour, there had
been the shrill questions of the women ashore and the deep-toned
answers of the man afloat:
</p>

<p>
"Are you there, Bill?"  "Is it yourself, Nancy?"
</p>

<p>
Some of the younger women, who had had babies born while
their husbands had been away, had brought them down with them,
and one young wife, holding up her little one for her man to see,
by the light of the moon and the harbour-master's lantern,
had cried:
</p>

<p>
"Here he is, boy!  What do you think of him?"
</p>

<p>
Almost before the boats could be brought to their moorings the
fishermen had leapt ashore in their long boots and gone off home
with their wives, laughing and talking.
</p>

<p>
Morrison had not gone.  His wife had not been down to meet
him.  Somebody had shouted from the quay that she was still
keeping her bed and was waiting at home for him.  But he had
been in no hurry to go to her.  When everything was quiet he had
shouldered his boat to the top of the harbour, unstepped her mast,
and run her ashore on the dry bank above the bridge.
</p>

<p>
Then going back to the quay, which was now deserted, he had
broken the padlock of an open yard for ship's stores, taken possession
of a barrel of pitch, rolled it down to the bank by the bridge,
fixed it under his boat, pulled out its plug, applied a match to it,
and then waited until both barrel and boat were afire and burning
fiercely.
</p>

<p>
After that he had walked home through the little sleeping town
to his house in the middle of a cobweb of streets at the back of the
beach.  Opening the door (it had been left on the latch for him)
he had bolted it on the inside, and then going to the bedroom and
finding his young wife in bed, with a frightened look under a timid
smile, he had charged her with her unchastity, compelled her to
confess to it, and then strangled her to death with his big
hands&mdash;the marks of his broad thumbs, black with tar, being on her
throat and bosom.
</p>

<p>
In the middle of the night the fishermen who lived in the streets
nearest to the harbour, awakened by a red glow in their bedrooms,
had said to their wives:
</p>

<p>
"What for are they burning the gorse on Peel hill at this time
of the year?"
</p>

<p>
But others, who were neighbours of Morrison's, having heard
cries from his house in the night, had gathered in front of his door
in the morning, and, getting no answer to their knocking, had burst
it open and found the woman lying dead on the bed and the man
huddled up on the floor at the foot of it.  And when they had
pushed him and roused him he had lifted his haggard face and said,
</p>

<p>
"I've killed my sweetheart."
</p>

<p>
Such was the fisherman's story, and when the defence had concluded
their case, asking for an acquittal on the ground of unbearable
moral provocation, and saying that never could there have
been better grounds for the application of the unwritten law, the
Jury was obviously impressed, and somebody at the back of the
court was saying,
</p>

<p>
"If they hang him for that they'll hang a man for anything."
</p>

<p>
Against this sympathy for the accused, Stowell had risen to
make his reply for the Crown.
</p>

<p>
He did not deny the dead woman's transgression.  It was true
that she must have known when she married the prisoner that she
was about to become the mother of a child by another man.  But
if that moral fact could be urged against the wife, was there
nothing of the same kind that could be advanced in her favour?
</p>

<p>
She had been cruelly betrayed and abandoned.  Looking to the
future she had seen the contempt of her little world before her.
What had happened?  In the dark hour of her desertion the prisoner
had come with the offer of his love and protection.  It was in
evidence that for a time she had held back and that he had pressed
himself upon her.  None could know the secret of the dead
woman's soul, but was it unreasonable to think that standing
between the two fires of public scorn and the prisoner's affection she
had said to herself, as poor misguided women in like cases did
every day: "He loves me so much that he will forgive me
whatever happens."
</p>

<p>
But had he forgiven her?  No, he had killed her, wilfully,
cruelly, brutally, not in the heat of blood, but after long
deliberation&mdash;he, the big powerful brute and she the weak, helpless,
half-naked woman&mdash;the woman who had been faithful to him since the
day he married her, the woman he had sworn to love and cherish
until death parted them.
</p>

<p>
No, the plea of moral justification was rotten to the heart's
core, and had nothing to say for itself in a Court of Law.  The
defence had urged that it was founded on the laws of nature&mdash;that
marriage implied chastity on the woman's part, and this
woman had come to her husband unchaste.  On the contrary, it
was founded on the barbarous law of man&mdash;the infamous theory
that a wife was the property of her husband and he was at liberty
to do as he liked with her.
</p>

<p>
A wife was not the property of her husband.  He was not at
liberty to do as he liked with her.  There was no such thing as
the unwritten law.  What was not written was not law.  And if,
as the result of the verdict in that court, it should go forth that
any man had a right to kill his wife in any circumstances&mdash;to be
judge and jury and accuser and executioner over her&mdash;the reign of
law and order in this island would be at an end, no woman's life
would be secure, the daughter of no member of that jury would
any longer be safe, and human society would dissolve into a welter
of civilised savagery&mdash;the worst savagery of all.
</p>

<p>
The effect of Stowell's reply had been overwhelming.  The
jury had either been frightened or convinced, and even the prisoner
himself, during the more intimate passages, had held down his
head as if he felt himself to be the vilest scoundrel on earth.
</p>

<p>
Among the advocates (they had reached the station by this
time, got into their carriages, and lit up their pipes) opinion was
more divided.  The younger men were enthusiastic, but some of
the older ones thought the closing speech for the Crown had been
false in logic and bad in law.
</p>

<p>
One of the latter, with a special cock of the hat, (it was old
Hudgeon, the young men called him "Fanny" now), sat with his
shaven chin on the top of his stick and said:
</p>

<p>
"Well, it's a big gospel the young man has got to live up to,
with all his tall talk about women.  But we'll see!  We'll see!"
</p>

<p>
Gell, who was wildly excited by his friend's success, was
walking to and fro on the platform waiting for Stowell's arrival.
When he came (he was the last to come) he had a graver look on
his face than Gell had ever seen there before, except once, and he
seemed to be painfully preoccupied.
</p>

<p>
"Ah, is it you?" he had said, when Gell laid hold of him&mdash;he
had started as if he had seen a ghost.
</p>

<p>
They got into the train together and had a carriage to themselves.
Gell began with his congratulations, but Stowell brushed
them aside, and said:
</p>

<p>
"What happened with your father?"
</p>

<p>
Gell told his story as he had told it at Derby Haven&mdash;that the
Speaker had cut up badly and turned him out of the house.
</p>

<p>
"But what do I care?  Not a ha'porth!  Best thing that ever
happened to me, perhaps."
</p>

<p>
"And Bessie?"
</p>

<p>
"Oh, Bessie?  Well, that's all right now.  A bit troubled
at first about my being cut off by the family and losing my income.
Just like a woman!  So unselfish!"
</p>

<p>
There was silence for some time after that save for the rumble
of the carriage wheels.  Then Gell said he was sorry he had told
Bessie about the loss of the income.  She would always be
thinking he would regret the sacrifice he had made for her.  If he
could only find some way of showing her it didn't matter, because
he could always get plenty of money....
</p>

<p>
"And why can't you?" said Stowell.
</p>

<p>
"How?"
</p>

<p>
"It's two pounds a week you draw on me for Miss Brown,
isn't it?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes."
</p>

<p>
"Then I'll make it ten on condition that you don't pay me back
a penny until I ask for it."
</p>

<p>
"What a good chap...."  But Gell could get no farther&mdash;his
eyes were full and his throat was hurting him.
</p>

<p>
On arriving at Douglas he saw Stowell across the platform to
the northern train, and just as it was about to start, he said:
</p>

<p>
"By the way, old man, you don't mind my saying something?"
</p>

<p>
"Not a bit!  What is it?"
</p>

<p>
"You've hanged that poor devil of a Peel fisherman, and I
suppose he deserved it.  But I caught a glimpse of him as he was
going down to the cells, and I thought he looked a fine fellow."
</p>

<p>
"He <i>is</i> a fine fellow."
</p>

<p>
"Do <i>you</i> say that?  He made a big mistake in killing the
wife, though, didn't he?  If I had been in his place do you know
what <i>I</i> should have done?"
</p>

<p>
"What?"
</p>

<p>
"<i>Killed the other man.</i>"
</p>

<p>
Stowell drew back in his seat and at the next moment the
train started.
</p>

<p>
As it ran into the country a black thought, a vague shadow of
something, was swirling like a bat in the darkness of Stowell's
brain.  That was not the first time it had come to him.  It had
come to him in Court, while he was speaking, startling him, stifling
him, almost compelling him to sit down.
</p>

<p>
"But Bessie's case was different," he thought.  "She was not
deserted.  She sent Alick to me herself.  Therefore it's
impossible, quite impossible."
</p>

<p>
Nevertheless, he slept badly that night, and as often as he
awoke he had the sense of a red glow in his bedroom and of being
blinded by the fierce glare from a burning boat.
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p><a id="chap0218"></a></p>

<h3>
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
<br />
THE GREAT WINTER
</h3>

<p>
"Come in, my boy.  Sit down.  Take a cigarette.  I have
important news for you."
</p>

<p>
The Governor had returned from London and was calling
Stowell into his smoking-room.
</p>

<p>
"First, about that recommendation to mercy.  It has gone
through.  The death sentence has been commuted to ten years'
imprisonment."
</p>

<p>
"I am glad, Sir&mdash;very glad."
</p>

<p>
"Next, your speech, deputizing for the Attorney, was
reported&mdash;part of it&mdash;in the London newspapers and made a good
impression."
</p>

<p>
"I'm very proud, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"I dined with the Home Secretary the following night, and the
Lord Chief Justice, who was among the guests, was warm in his
approval.  Acid old fellow with noisy false teeth, but quite
enthusiastic about your defence of law and order.  Crime was
contagious like disease, and there was an epidemic of violence in
the world now.  If society was to be saved from anarchy then law
alone could save it.  Some of their English courts&mdash;judges as well
as juries&mdash;had been criminally indulgent to crimes of passion.
Our little Manx court had shown them a good example."
</p>

<p>
"That is very encouraging, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"Very!  And now the last thing I have to tell you is that
Tynwald Court this morning voted a sum for a memorial to your
father, leaving the form of it to me.  I've decided on a portrait
by Mylechreest, your Manx artist, to be hung in the Court-house
at Castle Rushen.  Mylechreest knew the Deemster (saw him at
his last Court, in fact) and thinks he can paint the portrait from
memory.  But if you have any photographs let him have them
without delay.  And now off you go!  Somebody's waiting for you
in the drawing-room."
</p>

<p>
During the next six months Stowell worked as he had never
worked before.  Four hours a day at his office or in the Courts, and
uncounted hours at home.  Janet used to say she could never
look out of her bedroom window at night without seeing his light
from the library on the lawn.
</p>

<p>
Nevertheless he was at Government House every day, and
Fenella and he had their cheerful hours together.
</p>

<p>
Winter came on.  It was such a winter as nobody in the island
could remember to have seen before.  First wind that lashed the
sea into loud cries about the coast, blew over the Curraghs with a
perpetual wailing, ran up the glen with a roar, and brought the
"boys" out of their beds to hold the roofs on their houses
by throwing ropes over the thatch and fastening them down,
with stones.
</p>

<p>
Then rain that deluged the low-lying lands, so that women
had to go to market in boats; and then mist that hid the island
for a week and brought more ships ashore than anybody had seen
since the days of the ten black brothers of Jurby who (long
suspected of wrecking) were caught stuffing the box tombs in the
churchyard with rolls of Irish cloth.
</p>

<p>
But neither wind, nor rain, nor mist, kept Stowell from Fenella.
</p>

<p>
Clad in boots up to his thighs, with an oilskin coat tightly
belted about the waist and a sou'wester strapped down from crown
to chin, he would cross the mountains on his young chestnut mare,
with the island roaring about him like a living thing, and arrive
at Fenella's door with his horse's flanks steaming and his own
face ablaze.
</p>

<p>
After the wind and the rain came a long frost, which laid its
unseen hand on the rivers and waterfalls, making a deep hush that
was like a great peace after a great war.  In the middle of the
island (the valley of Baldwin) there was a tarn into which the
mountains drained, and as soon as this was frozen over Stowell
and Fenella skated on it.
</p>

<p>
What a delight!  The ice humming under their feet like a
muffled drum; the air ringing to their voices like a cup; the sun
sparkling in the hoar frost on the bare boughs of the trees; the
blue sky sailing over the hilltops, capped with white clouds that
looked like soft lamb's wool.
</p>

<p>
God, how good it was to be alive!
</p>

<p>
Then came a great snow that brought a still deeper silence,
broken at Ballamoar only by the skid of the steel runners of the
stiff carts, whose wheels had been removed, and the smothered
calling of the cattle which had been shut up in the houses.
</p>

<p>
But what rapture!  Every morning the farmers looked out of
their windows, thick with ice, to see if the snow had gone, but as
Stowell drew his blind and the snow light of the winter's sun came
pouring in upon him, he thought only of another joyous day
with Fenella.
</p>

<p>
Then up to Injebreck in white sweaters and woollen helmets
to fly down the long slopes on ski, with all the world around them
robed and veiled like a bride.
</p>

<p>
There was a broad ridge on the top, a great divide, separating
the north of the island from the south, and as they skimmed across
it from sight of eastern to sight of western sea, it was just as if
they were sailing through the sky with the white round hills for
clouds and the earth lying somewhere far below.
</p>

<p>
They were doing this one day when Stowell came upon a place
where the snow was honeycombed with holes.
</p>

<p>
"Helloa!  There's something here!" he cried.
</p>

<p>
Digging into the snow he found a buried sheep, still alive but
unable to stand.  So, taking it by its front and back legs he swung
it over his head on to his shoulders and carried it to a shepherd's
hut a mile away, where a turf fire was burning, and dogs, with
snow on their snouts, were barking about a pen of bleating sheep
that had been similarly recovered.
</p>

<p>
His delight at this rescue was so boisterous that he went back
and back for hours and brought in other and other sheep.
</p>

<p>
Fenella, who followed him with his ski staffs, was in raptures.
This was a new side of Victor Stowell, and she had a woman's
joy in it.  He was not only clever, he was strong.  He could not
only make speeches (as nobody else in the world could), he could
ride and skate and ski, and (if he liked) he could lift a woman
in his arms and throw her over his shoulder.  Something would
come of this some day&mdash;she was sure it would.
</p>

<p>
They were at the top of the pass, stamping the snow off their
ski, and shaking it out of their gloves, before going down to the
Governor's carriage which (also on runners) was waiting for them
at the inn at the bottom of the hill.  The sun was setting and the
red light of it was flushing Fenella's face.  She looked sideways
at Stowell with a mischievous light in her eyes and said,
</p>

<p>
"Now I know what you are, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"Yes?"
</p>

<p>
"You are not a lawyer, really."
</p>

<p>
"No?"
</p>

<p>
"You're an old Viking, born a thousand years after your time."
</p>

<p>
"You don't say."
</p>

<p>
"Yes," she said, making ready for flight, "one of those sea
robbers you told me of, who came to take possession of the island
and capture its women."
</p>

<p>
"Really?"
</p>

<p>
"I dare say you're sorry you're not back with your ridiculous
old ancestors, catching a woman for your wife."
</p>

<p>
"Not a bit!  I've caught one already."
</p>

<p>
"Eh?  What?  If you mean .... Don't be too sure, Sir!
You've not caught me yet!"
</p>

<p>
"Haven't I?  Look out then&mdash;I'm going to catch you now."
</p>

<p>
"Catch me!" she cried, and away she flew down the slopes,
laughing, screaming, rocking, reeling, and leaping over the drifts,
until at length she tumbled into a deep one, with head down and
ski in air, and came up half blind, with Stowell's arms about her
and his lips kissing the snow off her chin and nose.
</p>

<p>
What a winter!  Could there be any sorrow or sin or crime in
the world at all?  And what did it want its prisons and courts for?
</p>

<p>
But the thaw came at length, and then the noises of the garrulous
old island began again with the rattle of the cart wheels, the
rumble of the rivers running to the sea, and the mooing and bleating
of the liberated cattle and sheep, coming out of their Ark and
going back to the discoloured grass of the fields.
</p>

<p>
Stowell and Fenella felt as if they were descending to a world
of reality from a world of dreams.
</p>

<p>
"Good-night!"
</p>

<p>
They were in the porch at Government House after the last of
their winter expeditions.  He was crushing her in his arms again,
to the ruin of her beautiful hair, and whispering of the time that
was coming when there would be no need for such partings.
</p>

<p>
"Three months yet, Sir!"
</p>

<p>
"Heavens, what an age!"
</p>

<p>
And then home to Ballamoar, with his young chestnut under
him sniffing the night air, and over his head a paradise of stars.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
II
</p>

<p>
"<i>Come immediately.  Important news for you.</i>"
</p>

<p>
It was a telegram from the Governor, who had been in London
again.  Stowell went up to Douglas by the first train.
</p>

<p>
"It's about the Deemstership."
</p>

<p>
"Ah!"
</p>

<p>
"Old Taubman, as you know, has been complaining of overwork
ever since your father died.  The winter had crippled him
and he is down with rheumatism.  Fortnightly courts being postponed,
cases in arrears&mdash;it was necessary to do something.  So I
went up to Whitehall last week and told them a successor would
have to be appointed.  They asked me to recommend a name and
I recommended yours."
</p>

<p>
"Mine, Sir?"
</p>

<p>
"Yours!  It was all right, too, until I had to tell them your
age, and then&mdash;phew!  A judge and not yet thirty!  I stood to my
ground, said this was the age of youth, quoted the classical
examples.  Anyhow, there was my recommendation&mdash;take it or leave it."
</p>

<p>
"And what was the result, Sir?"
</p>

<p>
"The result was that the Lord Chief was consulted, and then
our insignificance saved us.  Yes, there was precedent enough for
young judges in colonies and dependencies.  And this being a case
of a worthy son succeeding a worthy father .... and so on and
so forth."
</p>

<p>
"Well?"
</p>

<p>
"Well, the end of it is that you are to go up to see the Home
Secretary after the House has risen at Easter."
</p>

<p>
Stowell's heart was beating high, yet he hardly knew whether
he was more proud than afraid.  He mumbled something about
the claims of his seniors at the bar.
</p>

<p>
"Oh yes, I know!  All the old stick-in-the-muds!  But keep
your end up in London and I'll keep mine up here."
</p>

<p>
"You are very good, Sir.  You have always been good to me."
</p>

<p>
The Governor, who had been rattling on, in a rush of high
spirits, suddenly became grave and spoke slowly.
</p>

<p>
"Not at all," he said.  "And I'm not thinking of you as .... what
you are going to be.  I'm thinking of you as your father's
son, and expecting you to live up to your traditions.  We want the
spirit of the great Deemster in the island these days.  Violence!
Violence!  Violence!  I agree with the Lord Chief.  It seems as if
the world is getting out of hand.  Justice is the only thing that
can save it from anarchy&mdash;utter anarchy and ruin.  Let's have
no more recommendations to mercy!  When people commit crime
let them suffer.  When they take life&mdash;no matter who or what they
are&mdash;let them die for it."
</p>

<p>
"And by the way" (Stowell was leaving the room), "your
father's portrait is finished.  We must unveil it before you go up
to London."
</p>

<p>
Trembling all over, Stowell went into the library to tell Fenella.
</p>

<p>
"How splendid!" she said.  She was glowing with excitement.
"You've done magnificent work for women as an advocate,
but only think what you will be able to do as a judge!  There
isn't a poor, wronged girl in the island who won't know that she
has a friend on the Bench!"
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p class="t3">
END OF SECOND BOOK
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p><a id="chap0319"></a></p>

<h2>
<i>THIRD BOOK</i>
<br />
THE CONSEQUENCE
</h2>

<p><br /></p>

<h3>
CHAPTER NINETEEN
<br />
THE EVE OF MARY
</h3>

<p>
Bessie Collister had passed through a very different winter.
</p>

<p>
When she read in the insular newspaper the long report of the
trial of the Peel fisherman she was terrified.  Men did not forgive
their wives, then, in such cases?  On the contrary the more they
loved them the less they forgave them.
</p>

<p>
Gell came bounding into the sitting-room while she had the
newspaper in her hand and before she had time to hide it away
he saw what she had been reading.
</p>

<p>
"Terrible, isn't it?" he said.  "Poor devil, I was sorry for
him.  When a woman deceives a man like that the law ought to
allow him to put her away.  He did wrong, of course, but he had
no legal remedy&mdash;not an atom.  Old Vic made out a magnificent
case for the woman, but she deserved all she got, I'm afraid."
</p>

<p>
Bessie gave a frightened cry, and then Gell said, as if to
conciliate her.
</p>

<p>
"I'll tell you what, though.  If the woman was guilty there
was somebody else who was ten times guiltier, and that was the
other man.  The scoundrel!  The treacherous, deceitful scoundrel,
skulking away in the dark!  I should like to choke the life out of
him.  That's what I said to Stowell going up in the train.  'If I
had been in the husband's place do you know what I should have
done?' I said.  'I should have killed the other man.'"
</p>

<p>
Bessie's terror increased ten-fold.  Dread of what Gell might
do sat on her like a nightmare.  To marry him seemed to be
impossible, yet not to marry him, now that she loved him so
much, seemed to be impossible also.
</p>

<p>
A secret hope came to her.  It was early days yet.  Perhaps
something would happen to her bye-and-bye, which, being over
and done with, would leave her free to marry Alick with a clean
heart and conscience.
</p>

<p>
To help it to come to pass, she stayed indoors, took no exercise,
and ate as little as possible.  Her health declined, and her
face in the glass began to look peaky.  She took a fierce joy in
these signs of increasing weakness.  The Miss Browns kept a few
chickens in their back garden, and one morning, after the snow
had begun to fall, they found Bessie in bare feet going out to
feed them.
</p>

<p>
"Bessie, what are you doing?" they cried.
</p>

<p>
"It's nothing," she said.  "I'm used of it, you know.  I was
eight years old before I wore shoe or stocking."
</p>

<p>
Meantime she was putting Gell off and off.  "Time enough
yet, boy," she would say as often as he asked her.
</p>

<p>
"She's thinking of me again," thought Gell, and he began on
a long series of fictions to account for his new-found prosperity.
He was getting along wonderfully in his profession, and was
better off now than he had been before he lost his allowance.  But
still it was "Bye-and-bye!  Time enough yet, boy!"
</p>

<p>
One day Gell came with an almost irresistible story.  He had
bespoken a house in Athol Street.  It was just what they wanted.
Close to the Law Library and nearly opposite the new Court
House.  Two rooms on the ground floor for his offices, two on
the first floor for their living apartments, and two on the top for
the kitchen and for the maid.
</p>

<p>
It is the temptation that no woman can resist&mdash;the desire to
have a home that shall be all her own&mdash;and for a few weeks Bessie
fell to it.  Evening after evening, she and Alick sat side by side
in the sitting-room making catalogues of all they would require
to set up a household.  Gell took charge of the tables and chairs
and side-boards.  Bessie was the authority on the blankets and
linen.  It was such a delight to construct a home from memory!
And then what laughs and thrills and shamefaced looks when, in
spite of all their thinking, they remembered some intimate and
essential thing which they had hitherto forgotten.
</p>

<p>
"Sakes alive, boy, you've forgotten the bedstead."
</p>

<p>
"Lord, so I have.  We shall want a bedstead, shan't we?"
</p>

<p>
But even this fierce gambling with her fate broke down at last
with Bessie.  The certainty had fallen on her.  The natural
strength of her constitution had withstood all the attacks she had
made upon it.  Whether she married Gell, or did not marry him,
there was nothing before her except suffering and disgrace.  How
could she keep his love against the shame that was striding down
on her?
</p>

<p>
Christmas had come.  It was Christmas Eve.  The Manx
people call it Oie'l Verry (the Eve of Mary), and during the last
hour before midnight they take possession of their parish churches,
over the heads of their clergy, for the singing of their ancient
Manx carvals (carols).  The old Miss Browns were to keep Oie'l
Verry at their church in Castletown.  They had always done so,
and this time Bessie was to go with them.
</p>

<p>
It was a clear cold winter's night with crisp snow underfoot,
and overhead a world of piercing stars.
</p>

<p>
As the two old maids in their long black boas, and Bessie in a
fur-lined coat which Gell had sent as a Christmas present, crossed
the foot-bridge over the harbour and walked under the blind walls
of the dark castle, the great clock in the square tower was striking
eleven.  But it was bright enough in the market place, with the
light from the church windows on the white ground, and people
hurrying to church at a quick trot and stamping the snow off their
boots at the door.
</p>

<p>
It was brighter still inside, for the altar and pulpit had been
decorated with ivy and holly, and, though the church was lit by
gas, most of the worshippers, according to ancient custom, had
brought candles also.
</p>

<p>
The church was very full, but the old Miss Browns, with Bessie
behind them, walked up the aisle to the pew under the reading-desk
which they had always rented.  The congregation about them
was a strangely mixed one, and the atmosphere was half solemn
and half hilarious.
</p>

<p>
The gallery was occupied by farm lads and fisher-lads chiefly,
and they were craning their necks to catch glimpses of the girls
in the pews below, while the girls themselves (as often as they
could do so without being observed by their elders) were glancing
up with gleaming eyes.  In the body of the church there were
middle-aged folks with soberer faces, and in the front seats sat
old people, with slower and duller eyes and cheeks scored deep
with wrinkles&mdash;the mysterious hieroglyphics of life's troubled
story, sickness and death, husbands lost at half-tide and children
gone before them.
</p>

<p>
An opening hymn had just been sung, the last notes of the
organ were dying down, the clergyman, in his surplice, was sitting
by the side of the altar, and the first of the carol singers had risen
in his pew, candle in hand, to sing his carval.
</p>

<p>
He was a rugged old man from the mountains of Rushen, half
landsman and half seaman, and his carol (which he sang in the
Manx, while the tallow guttered down on his discoloured fingers)
was a catalogue of all the bad women mentioned in the Bible, from
Eve, the mother of mankind, who brought evil into the world, to
"that graceless wench, Salome."
</p>

<p>
After that came similar carols, sung by similar carol-singers
and received by the boys in the gallery with gusts of laughter
which the Clerk tried in vain to suppress.  But at last there came
a carval sung in chorus by twelve young girls with sweet young
voices and faces that were chaste and pure and full of joy&mdash;all
carrying their candles as they walked slowly up the aisle from the
western end of the church to the altar steps.
</p>

<p>
Their carol was an account of the Nativity, scarcely less crude
than the carols that had gone before it, though the singers seemed
to know nothing of that&mdash;how Joseph, being a just man, had
espoused a virgin, and finding she was with child before he married
her, he had wished to put her away, but the angel of the Lord
had appeared to him and told him not to, and how at last he had
carried his wife and child away into the land of Egypt, out of
reach of the wrath of Herod the King, who was trying to disgrace
and destroy them.
</p>

<p>
A little before midnight the clergyman rose and asked for
silence.  And then, while all heads were bowed and there was a
solemn hush within, the great clock of the Castle struck twelve in
the darkness outside.  After that the organ pealed out "Hark, the
herald angels sing," and everybody who had a candle extinguished
it, and all stood up and sang.
</p>

<p>
The bells were ringing joyfully as the congregation trooped
out of the church, but for some while longer they moved about on
the crinkling snow in front of it, saluting and shaking hands,
everybody with everybody.
</p>

<p>
"A Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year to yea."
</p>

<p>
"Same to you, and many of them."
</p>

<p>
They saluted and shook hands with Bessie also.
</p>

<p>
Then the Verger put out the lights in the church behind them,
and in the sudden darkness the crowd broke up, one more Oie'l
Verry over, and under the slow descent of the starlight the cheerful
voices and crinkling footsteps went their various ways home.
</p>

<p>
Back at Derby Haven, Bessie, who had been on the point of
crying during the latter part of the service, ran up to her room,
flung herself face down on her bed and burst into a flood of tears.
</p>

<p>
If she, too, could only fly away, and stay away, until her
trouble was over!  But how could she do that?  And where could
she go to?
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
II
</p>

<p>
Two months passed.  Bessie's time was fast approaching, and
the nearer it came the more she was terrified by the signs of it.
The symptoms of coming maternity which are a joy and a pride to
married mothers were a dread and a terror to her.  Had she
brought herself so low that she could not live through the time that
was before her?  At one moment she thought of going to Fenella.
Everybody said how good Miss Stanley was to girls in trouble.
But when she remembered Fenella's relation to Stowell, and
Stowell's to Gell, and her own to all three, she told herself that
Fenella Stanley was the one woman in the world whom she must
never come face to face with.
</p>

<p>
At length, thinking death was certain, she saw only one thing
left to do&mdash;to go back to her mother.  It was not thus that she
had expected to return, but nothing else was possible now.  In
her helplessness and ignorance, having no one to reassure her, the
high-spirited girl became a child again.  Twenty years of her life
slipped back at a stride, and she felt as she used to do when she
ran bare-foot on the roads and fell and bruised her knees, or tore
her little hairy legs in the gorse and then went home to lie on her
mother's lap and be rocked before the fire and comforted.
</p>

<p>
But going home had its terrors also.  There was Dan Baldromma!
What could she do?  Was there no way out for her?
</p>

<p>
One day the elder of the Miss Browns (she gave music lessons
to old pupils at their own homes) came back from Castletown
with a "shocking story."  It was about a witch-doctor at
Cregnaish&mdash;a remote village at the southernmost extremity of the
island, where the inhabitants were supposed to be descended from
a crew of Spanish sailors who had been wrecked on the rocky
coast below.
</p>

<p>
The witch-doctor was a woman, seventy years of age, and
commonly called Nan.  Hitherto she had lived by curing ringworms
on children and blood-letting in strong men by means of
charms that were half in Latin and half in Manx.  But now young
wives were going to her to be cured of barrenness, or for mixtures
to make their husbands love them; and worst of all, the young girls
from all parts of the island were flocking to her to be told their
fortunes&mdash;whether their boys at the mackerel fishing were true to
them, or going astray with the Irish girls of Kinsale and Cork.
</p>

<p>
"It's shocking, this witchcraft," said old Miss Brown.  "In
my young days it was given for law that the women who practised
such arts should stand in a white sheet on a platform in the
marketplace with the words <i>For Charming</i> and <i>Sorcery</i> in capital letters
on their breasts."
</p>

<p>
Bessie said nothing, but next day, after breakfast, making
excuse of her need of a walk, she hurried out, took train to Port
Erin, and climbed, with many pauses, the zigzag path up the
Mull Hills to where a Druids' circle sits on the brow, and Cregnaish
(like a gipsy encampment of mud huts thatched with straw)
sprawls over the breast of them.
</p>

<p>
It was a fine spring morning, with the sea lying still on either
side of the uplands, and the sun, through clouds of broken crimson,
peering over the shoulder of the Calf like a blood-shot eye.
</p>

<p>
Bessie had no need to ask her way to the witch-doctor's house,
for troops of young girls were coming down from it, generally in
pairs, whispering and laughing merrily.  At length she came upon
it&mdash;a one-storey thatched cottage with a queue of girls outside.
</p>

<p>
When the last of the girls had gone, and Bessie still stood
waiting on the opposite side of the rutted space which served for a
road, a wisp of a woman, with hair and eyebrows as black as a
shoe, but a face as wrinkled as the trunk of the trammon tree, came
to the door and said,
</p>

<p>
"Come in, my fine young woman.  There's nothing to be
freckened of."
</p>

<p>
It was Nan, the witch-doctor, and Bessie followed her into
the house.
</p>

<p>
The inside was a single room with a fire at one end and a bed
at the other.  The floor was of hardened clay and the scraas of
the roof were so low overhead that a tall man could scarcely have
stood erect under them.  Bundles of herbs hung from nails in the
sooty rafters and when the old woman closed the door, Bessie
saw that the <i>Crosh cuirn</i> (the cross of mountain ash) was standing
at the back of it.
</p>

<p>
"I'm in trouble, ma'am," said Bessie, who was on the verge
of tears, "and I'm wanting to know what to do and what is to
happen to me."
</p>

<p>
The witch-doctor, whose quick eyes had taken in the situation
at a glance, said,
</p>

<p>
"Aw yes, bogh, trouble enough.  But knock that cat off the
cheer in the choillagh and sit down and make yourself
comfortable."
</p>

<p>
Bessie loosened her fur-lined cloak and sat in the ingle, with
the fire at her feet and a peep of the blue sky coming down on her
from the wide chimney.
</p>

<p>
"They were telling me a fine young woman was coming," said
the witch-doctor (she meant the invisible powers), "and it was
wondering and wondering I was would she have strength to climb
the brews.  But here you are, my chree, and now a cup o' tay
will do no harm at all."
</p>

<p>
Bessie tried to refuse, but the old woman said,
</p>

<p>
"Chut!  A cup o' tay is nothing and here's my taypot on
the warm turf and the tay at the best, too."
</p>

<p>
While Bessie sipped at her cup the witch-doctor went on talking,
but she took quick glances at the girl from time to time and
sometimes asked a question.
</p>

<p>
At length she bolted the door, drew a thick blind over the
window, knelt before the hearth, and called on Bessie to do the
same, so that they were kneeling side by side, with no light in the
darkened room except the red glow from the fire on their faces and
the blue streak from the sky behind the smoke from the chimney.
</p>

<p>
After that the witch-doctor mumbled some rhymes about
St. Patrick and the blessed St. Bridget, then put her ear to the
ground, saying she was listening to the <i>Sheean ny Feaynid</i>, the
invisible beings who were always wandering over the world.  And
then she began on the fortune, which Bessie, who was trembling,
interrupted with involuntary cries.
</p>

<p>
"There's a fair young man in your life, my chree (<i>Yes</i>) and
if you're not his equal you're the apple of his eye.  There's a poor
ould woman, too, and she praying and praying for her bogh-millish
to come home to her (<i>Oh!</i>) and the longing that's taking the
woman at times is pitiful to see.  'Where is my wandering girl
to-night,' she's singing when she's sitting by her fireside; and
when she's going to bed she's saying, 'In Jesu's keeping nought
can harm my erring child.'"
</p>

<p>
At this Bessie broke down utterly, and the witch-doctor had to
stop for a moment.  Then she began again in a different strain,
</p>

<p>
"There's an ould man too .... yes .... no .... (<i>Yes,
yes!</i>) as imperent as sin and as bould as a white stone, and with a
vice at him as loud as a trambone.  Aw, yes, woman-bogh, yes,
there's trouble coming on you, but take heart, gel, for things will
come out right before long and it's a proud woman you're going to
be some day.  But you must go home to the mother, my chree, and
never take rest till you're laying your head under the same roof
with her."
</p>

<p>
"And will the young man be true to me whatever happens?"
</p>

<p>
"True as true, my chree, and his heart that warm to you at last
that it will be like gorse and ling burning on the mountains."
</p>

<p>
"And will the old man be able to do him any injury?"
</p>

<p>
"Lough bless me, no!  Neither to him nor you, gel.  Roaring
and tearing and mad as a wasp, maybe, but nothing to do no
harm at all."
</p>

<p>
Bessie had crossed the old woman's palm with sixpence as she
came into the house, but she emptied her purse into it going out,
and then went down the hill with a light step and a lighter heart.
</p>

<p>
Alick Gell was at Derby Haven when she got back, having
been waiting for more than an hour.  Seeing her coming down the
road with her face aglow, he dashed off to meet her, and broke into
a flood of joyous words.
</p>

<p>
"Helloa!  Here you are at last!  Looking as fresh as a
flower, too?  What did I say?  Didn't I tell you that you had only
to get about and take exercise and you would be as right as rain in
no time?  But, look here, Bess" (he had drawn her arm through
his), "you've kept me waiting all winter and now that you're
getting better I'm going to stand no more nonsense."
</p>

<p>
Bessie was laughing.
</p>

<p>
"I'm not!  Upon my soul, I'm not!  You wouldn't let me put
up the banns at Malew, thinking Dan Baldromma would hear of
them through Cæsar Qualtrough, and come here making a noise
at Miss Brown's, though he has no more right over you than the
Coroner, and no more power over me than a tomtit.  But there are
other ways of marrying besides being called in church, and one of
them is by Bishop's licence."
</p>

<p>
"Bishop's licence?"
</p>

<p>
"Certainly!  You just go up to the Registrar's in Douglas,
sign your names in a book, pay a few pounds, get the Bishop's
certificate, and then you can be married wherever you like and as
quietly as you please.  And that's what we're going to do now."
</p>

<p>
"Now?  You mean to-day?"
</p>

<p>
"Well, no, not to-day.  I have to go to the Castle this afternoon.
They're unveiling a portrait of the old Deemster.  And
what do you think, Bess?"
</p>

<p>
"What?"
</p>

<p>
"There's a whisper that Stowell is to be made Deemster in
succession to his father.  Glorious, isn't it?  Splendid chap!
Straight as a die!  Rather young, certainly, but there's not one of
the old gang fit to hold a candle to him.  He's to go up to London
to-morrow, so I want to see the last of him.  But I'll be down
by the first train after the boat sails in the morning, and then
we'll go back to Douglas together."
</p>

<p>
They had reached the gate of the old maid's house by this time
and Gell was looking at his watch.
</p>

<p>
"Pshew!  I must be off!  Ceremony begins at three and it's
that already.  Wouldn't miss it for worlds.  By-bye! ... Another
one! .... Oh, but you must, though."
</p>

<p>
Bessie looked after him as he hurried down the road, swinging
his arms and pitching his shoulders, as he always did when his
heart was glad.  Then she went indoors, ran upstairs and set
herself to think things out.
</p>

<p>
She must go before Alick could get back.  When he arrived
to-morrow she must be on her way to her mother's.  It was earlier
than she had intended, but there was no help for that now.  And
then it would be all right in the end&mdash;the <i>Sheean ny Feaynid</i> (the
Voices of Infinity) had said so.
</p>

<p>
After her child had been born her mother would take it and
bring it up as her own&mdash;she had heard of such things happening
in Manx houses, hadn't she?  And when all was over and everything
was covered up, she would come back, and then .... then
Alick and she would be married.
</p>

<p>
In the light of what the witch-doctor had said it seemed to her
so natural, so simple, so sure.  But later in the evening, it tore her
heart woefully to think of Alick coming from Douglas on the
following day and finding her gone.  So she wrote this note and
stole out and posted it:
</p>

<p class="letter">
"Don't come to-morrow.  I'll be writing again in the
morning, telling you the reason why."
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p><a id="chap0320"></a></p>

<h3>
CHAPTER TWENTY
<br />
VICTOR STOWELL'S VOW
</h3>

<p>
The old Court-house at Castle Rushen was full to overflowing.
Nearly all the great people of the island were there&mdash;the Legislative
Council, the Keys, the leaders of the Bar, the more prominent
members of the clergy, the long line of insular officials, with
their wives and daughters.
</p>

<p>
A pale shaft of spring sunshine from the lantern light was on
the new portrait of the Deemster, which had been hung on the
eastern wall and was still covered by a white sheet.
</p>

<p>
The time of waiting for the proceedings to begin was passed in
a low buzz of conversation, chiefly on one subject.  "Is it true
that he is to follow his father?"  "So they say."  "So young
and with so many before him&mdash;I call it shocking."  "So do I,
but then he's the son of the old Deemster, and is to marry the
daughter of the Governor."
</p>

<p>
At the last moment Stowell and Fenella arrived and were shown
into seats reserved for them at the end of the Jury-box.  Then the
conversation (among the women at least) took another turn.
"Well, they're a lovely pair&mdash;I will say that for them."
</p>

<p>
The Governor, accompanied by the Bishop and the Attorney-General,
stepped on to the crimson-covered dais, and the proceedings
commenced.
</p>

<p>
The Governor's own speech was a short one.  They had gathered
to do honour to the memory of one of the most honoured of
their countrymen.  The memory of its great men was a nation's
greatest inheritance.  If that was true of the larger communities
it was no less true of the little realm of Man.
</p>

<p>
"Hence the island," said the Governor, "is doing a service to
itself in setting up in this Court-house, the scene of his principal
activities, the memorial to its great Deemster which I have now
the honour to unveil."
</p>

<p>
When the Governor pulled a cord and the white sheet fell from
the face of the picture there was a gasp of astonishment.  The
impression of reality was startling.  The Deemster had been
painted in wig and gown and as if sitting on the bench in that very
Court-house.  The powerful yet melancholy eyes, the drawn yet
firm-set mouth, the suggestion of suffering yet strength&mdash;it was
just as he had been seen there last, summing up after the trial
of the woman who had killed her husband.
</p>

<p>
As soon as the spectators, who had risen, had resumed their
seats, the Governor called on the Attorney-General.
</p>

<p>
The old man was deeply moved.  The Deemster had been his
oldest and dearest friend.  It was difficult for him to remember a
time when they had not been friends and impossible to recall an
hour in which their friendship had been darkened by so much as a
cloud.  If it was true that the memory of its great men was a
nation's greatest inheritage, the island had a great heritage in the
memory of Deemster Stowell.  He had been great as a lawyer,
great as a judge, great as a gentleman, as a friend, as a lover, as a
husband, and (with a glance in the direction of the jury-box)
as a father also.
</p>

<p>
"I pray and believe," said the Attorney, "that this memorial
to our great Deemster may be a stimulus and an inspiration to all
our young men whatsoever, particularly to such as are in the
profession of the Bar, and especially to one who bears his name,
has inherited many of his splendid talents, and may yet be called,
please God, to fill his place and follow in his footsteps."
</p>

<p>
When the old man sat down there was general applause, a
little damped, perhaps, by the last of his references, and then
followed the event of the afternoon.
</p>

<p>
By the blind instinct that animates a crowd, all eyes turned in
the direction of Victor Stowell.  He sat by Fenella's side,
breathing audibly with head down and hands clasped tightly about one
of his knees.
</p>

<p>
There was a pause and then a low stamping of feet and
Fenella whispered,
</p>

<p>
"They want you to speak, dear."
</p>

<p>
But Stowell did not seem to hear, and at length the Governor
called on him by name.
</p>

<p>
When he rose he looked pale and much older, and bore a
resemblance to the picture of his father on the opposite wall which
few had observed before.
</p>

<p>
He began in a low tense voice, thanking His Excellency for
asking him to speak, but saying he would have given a great deal
not to do so.
</p>

<p>
"The only excuse I can have for standing here to-day," he
said, "is that I may thank you, Sir, and this company, and my
countrymen and countrywomen generally, in the name of one
whose voice, so often heard within these walls, must now be silent."
</p>

<p>
After that he paused, as if not quite sure that he ought to go
further, and then continued,
</p>

<p>
"If my father was a great Judge, it was chiefly because he
was a great lover of Justice.  Justice was the most sacred thing
on earth to him, and no man ever held higher the dignity and duty
of a Judge.  Woe to the Judge who permitted personal motives
to pervert his judgment, and thrice woe to him who committed a
crime against justice.  Therefore, if I know my father's heart
and have any right to speak for him, I will say that what you
have done this afternoon is not so much to perpetuate the memory
of Douglas Stowell, Deemster of Man, as to set up in this old
Court-house, which has witnessed so many tragic scenes, an altar
to the spirit of Justice, so that no Judge, following him in his
place, may ever forget that his first and last and only duty is to be
just and fear not."
</p>

<p>
He paused again and seemed to be about to stop, but, in a voice
so low as to be scarcely audible, he said,
</p>

<p>
"As for myself I hardly dare to speak at all.  What my dear
master has said of me makes it difficult to say anything.  Some
people seem to think it is a great advantage to a young man to be
the son of a great father.  But if it is a great help it is also a
great responsibility and may sometimes be the source of a great
sorrow.  I never knew what my father had been to me until I
lost him.  I had always been proud of him, but I had rarely or
never given him reason to be proud of me.  That is a fault I
cannot repair now.  But there is one thing I can do and one thing
only.  I can take my solemn vow&mdash;and here and now I do so&mdash;that
whatever the capacity in which my duty calls me to this place,
I will never wilfully do anything in the future, with my father's
face on the wall in front of me, that shall be unworthy of my
father's son."
</p>

<p>
There were husky cheers and some clapping of hands when
Stowell sat down, but most of the men were clearing their throats
and wiping the mist off their spectacles, and nearly all of the
women were coughing and drying their eyes.
</p>

<p>
Others were to have spoken but the Governor closed up the
proceedings quickly, and then there was a general conversazione.
</p>

<p>
The officials were talking in groups:&mdash;"Wonderful!  The
Governor and the old Attorney were grand, but the young man was
wonderful!"  "We might go farther and fare worse."  "Like
his father, you say?" (it was the Attorney-General) "so like
what his father was at his age that sometimes when I look at him I
think I'm a young man myself again, and then it's a shock to go
home and see an old man's face in the glass."
</p>

<p>
A group of old ladies had gathered about Fenella, whose great
eyes were ablaze.
</p>

<p>
"It was beautiful, my dear, but there was just one other person
who ought to have been here to hear it."
</p>

<p>
"Who?"
</p>

<p>
"The old Deemster himself, dear."
</p>

<p>
"But he was," said Fenella.
</p>

<p>
The Governor drew Stowell aside.  "It's all right, my boy!
Must have been instinct, but you touched your people on their
tenderest place.  Pretty hard on you, perhaps, but I knew what
I was doing.  The opposition in the island is as dead as a door
nail already.  Get into the saddle in London and you'll never
hear another word about it."
</p>

<p>
There were only two dissentients.
</p>

<p>
"Aw well, we'll see, we'll see," said the Speaker&mdash;he was
going out of the Castle (head down and his big beard on his
breast), with old Hudgeon the advocate.
</p>

<p>
As he passed through the outer gate his son Alick came
running hotfoot up to it.
</p>

<p>
It was a cruel moment.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
II
</p>

<p>
Victor Stowell left the island for London at nine o'clock next
morning.  The first bell of the steamer had been rung, the mails
were aboard, and the more tardy of the passengers were hurrying
to the gangway, with their porters behind them, when the
Governor's carriage drew up and Stowell leapt out of it.
</p>

<p>
A large company of the younger advocates (all former members
of the "Ellan Vannin") were waiting for him.
</p>

<p>
"Come to see me off?  Yes?  Jolly good of you," said
Stowell, and he stood talking to them at the top of the pier steps
till the second bell had been rung.
</p>

<p>
Down to that moment nobody had said a word about the object
of his journey, although every eye betrayed knowledge of it.  But
just as he was crossing the gangway to the steamer one of the
advocates (a little fat man with the reputation of a wag) cried,
with a broad smatch of the Anglo-Manx,
</p>

<p>
"Bring it back in your bres' pockat, boy"&mdash;meaning the
King's commission for the Deemstership.
</p>

<p>
"You go bail," said Stowell, and there was general laughter.
</p>

<p>
He was settling himself with his portmanteau in the deck cabin
that had been reserved for him when somebody darkened
the doorway.
</p>

<p>
"Helloa!"
</p>

<p>
It was Gell.  His cheeks were white, his face looked troubled,
and he was breathing rapidly as if he had been running.
</p>

<p>
"What's amiss?" said Stowell.  "Something has happened
to you.  What is it?"
</p>

<p>
Gell stepped into the cabin, and with a suspicion of tears both
in his eyes and voice, told his story.
</p>

<p>
It was Bessie again.  He didn't know what had come over the
girl.  She had been holding off all winter.  First one excuse,
then another.
</p>

<p>
"I've done all I can think of.  Taken a house in Athol Street
and furnished it beautifully (thanks to you, old fellow), but it's
no use, seemingly."
</p>

<p>
"When did you see her last?"
</p>

<p>
"Yesterday, and I thought I had settled everything at last.
She wouldn't be called in church, so I arranged that I was to go
down to Derby Haven this morning, as soon as your boat sailed,
and we were to come up to the Registrar's to sign for a Bishop's
license.  And now, by the first post .... this."
</p>

<p>
With a trembling hand Gell took out of his pocket the letter
which Bessie had written the night before and handed it to Stowell.
</p>

<p>
With a momentary uneasiness Stowell read the letter.
</p>

<p>
"Reason?  What is it likely to be, think you?"
</p>

<p>
"I don't know.  I can't say.  It's a mystery.  I've racked
my brains and can only think of one thing now."
</p>

<p>
"And what's that?"
</p>

<p>
"That she finds out at last that she doesn't care enough for
me to marry me."
</p>

<p>
"Nonsense, old fellow."
</p>

<p>
"What else can it be?  There can be nothing else, can there?"
</p>

<p>
Stowell's uneasiness increased.  "What do you intend to do?"
</p>

<p>
"Go down just the same.  I've been telegraphing saying I'm
coming.  That's why I'm late getting down to the boat."
</p>

<p>
"And if she persists?"
</p>

<p>
"Give her up and clear out, I suppose."
</p>

<p>
"You mean leave the island?"
</p>

<p>
"Why shouldn't I?  I've only been a stick-in-the-mud here
and couldn't do much worse anywhere else, could I?  Besides"
(his voice was breaking) "there's my father.  You remember
what he said.  I couldn't face it out if the girl threw me over."
</p>

<p>
"She's not well, is she?"
</p>

<p>
"Not very."
</p>

<p>
"Nothing serious?"
</p>

<p>
"No&mdash;nothing, the Miss Browns think, that we might not
expect after such a change in her life and condition."
</p>

<p>
"Then that's it!  Cheer up, old man!  It will all come right
yet.  Women suffer from so many things that we men know
nothing about."
</p>

<p>
"If I could only think that...."
</p>

<p>
"You may&mdash;of course you may."
</p>

<p>
"Victor," said Gell, taking Stowell's hand, "will you do one
thing more for me?"
</p>

<p>
"Certainly&mdash;what is it?"
</p>

<p>
"Nobody can read a woman as you can&mdash;everybody says that.
If Bessie gives me the same answer to-day will you go down to
Derby Haven with me when you come back, and find out what's
amiss with her?"
</p>

<p>
"Assuredly I will .... that is to say .... if you
think...."
</p>

<p>
"Is it a promise?"
</p>

<p>
"Undoubtedly.  It shall be the first thing I do when I return
to the island."
</p>

<p>
"All ashore!  All ashore!"
</p>

<p>
A sailor was shouting on the deck outside the cabin door, and
the third bell was ringing.
</p>

<p>
Gell was the last to cross the gangway.
</p>

<p>
"Good-bye and God bless you, and good luck in London!
You deserve every bit of it!"
</p>

<p>
At the next moment the gangway was pulled in, the ropes were
thrown aboard, and the steamer was gliding away.
</p>

<p>
The young advocates on the pier-head were beginning to make
a demonstration.  One of them (the wag of course) was singing
a sentimental farewell in a doleful voice and the others were
joining in the chorus:
</p>

<p class="poem">
  "<i>Better lo'ed ye canna be,<br />
  Will ye no come back again?</i>"<br />
</p>

<p>
Some of the other passengers (English commercial travellers
apparently) were looking on, so to turn the edge of the joke
Stowell sang also, and when his deep baritone was heard above
the rest there was a burst of laughter.
</p>

<p>
"Good-bye!  Good-luck!  Bring it back, boy!"
</p>

<p>
Gell was standing at the sea-end of the pier, waving his cap
and struggling to smile.  At sight of his face Stowell felt ashamed
of his own happiness.  A vague shadow of something that had
come to him before came again, with a shudder such as one feels
when a bat strikes one in the dusk.
</p>

<p>
At the next moment it was gone.  The steamer was swinging
round the breakwater and opening the bay, and he was looking for
a long white house (Government House) which stood on the heights
above the town.  He had slept there last night, and this morning
Fenella, parting from him in the porch, while the Governor's
high-stepping horses were champing on the gravel outside, had promised
to signal to him when she saw the steamer clearing the harbour.
</p>

<p>
Ah, there she was, waving a white scarf from an upper window.
Stowell stood by the rail at the stern and waved back his
handkerchief.  Fenella!  He could see nothing but her dark eyes and
beaming smile, and Gell's sad face was forgotten.
</p>

<p>
It was a fine fresh morning, with the sun filtering through a
veil of haze and the world answering to the call of Spring.  As the
boat sailed on, the island seemed to recede and shrink and then
sink into the sea until only the tops of the mountains were
visible&mdash;looking like a dim grey ghost that was lying at full stretch in
the sky.
</p>

<p>
At length it was gone; the sea-gulls which had followed the
steamer out had made their last swirl round and turned towards the
land, but Stowell was still looking back from the rail at the stern.
</p>

<p>
The dear little island!  How good it had been to him!  How
eager he would be to return to it!
</p>

<p>
The sun broke clear, the waters widened and widened, the
glistening blue waves rolled on and on, the ship rose and fell to
the rhythm of the flowing tide, the throb of the engines beat time
to the deep surge of the sea, and the still deeper surge of youth
and love and health and hope within him.
</p>

<p>
Dear God, how happy he was!  What had he done to deserve
such happiness?
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p><a id="chap0321"></a></p>

<h3>
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
<br />
MOTHER'S LAW OR JUDGE'S LAW?
</h3>

<p>
Bessie had passed a miserable night.  Having been awake until
after five in the morning she was asleep at nine when somebody
knocked at her bedroom door.  It was old Miss Ethel with a
telegram.  Bessie opened it with trembling fingers.
</p>

<p class="quote">
"<i>Nonsense dear am coming up as arranged Alick.</i>"
</p>

<p>
With fingers that trembled still more noticeably Bessie returned
the telegram to its envelope and slid it under her pillow, saying
(with a twitching of the mouth which always came when she was
telling an untruth),
</p>

<p>
"It's from Mr. Gell.  He wants me to meet him in Douglas.
I am to go up immediately."
</p>

<p>
"That's nice," said Miss Ethel.  "The change will do you a
world of good, dear.  I'll run down and hurry your breakfast, so
that you can catch the ten-thirty."
</p>

<p>
Bessie dressed hastily, put a few things into a little handbag,
and then sat down to write her promised letter.  It was a terrible
ordeal.  What could she say that would not betray her secret?
At length she wrote:
</p>

<p class="letter">
"DEAR ALICK,&mdash;Do forgive me.  I must go away for a
little while.  It is all my health.  I have been ill all winter
and suffered more than anybody can know.  But God is
good, and I will get my health and strength back soon, and
then I will return and we can be married and everything will
be alright.  Do not think I do not love you because I am
leaving you like this.  I have never loved you so dear as now.
But I am depressed, and I cannot get away from my
thoughts.  And please, Alick dear, don't try to find me.  I
shall be quite alright, and I shall think of you every night
before I go to sleep, and every morning when I awake.
So now I must close with all my love and kisses.
</p>

<p class="letter">
&mdash;BESSIE, xxxxx"
</p>

<p>
Having written her letter, and blotted it with many tears, she
pinned it to the top of her pillow, without remembering that the
telegram lay underneath.  Then she hurried downstairs, swallowed
a mouthful of breakfast standing, said good-bye to her old
housemates with an effort at gaiety, and set off as for the
railway station.
</p>

<p>
She had no intention of going there.  The morning haze was
thick on the edge of the sea, and as soon as she was out of sight
of the house she slipped across the fields to a winding lane which
led to the open country.
</p>

<p>
During the night, crying a good deal and stifling her sobs
under the bed-clothes, she had thought out all her plans.  It was
still two months before her time, and to be separated from Alick as
long as that was too painful to think about.  It was also too
dangerous.  Long before the end of that time he would search for her
and find her, and then her secret would become known, and that
would be the end of everything.
</p>

<p>
She had been to blame, but what had she done to be so unhappy?
Why should Nature be so cruel to a girl?  Was there no
way of escape from it?
</p>

<p>
At length a light had dawned on her.  Remembering what she
had heard of women doing (wives as well as unmarried girls) to
get rid of children who were not wanted, she determined that her
own child should be still-born.  Why not?  It threatened to
separate her from Alick&mdash;to turn his love for her into hatred.  Why
should it come into the world to ruin her life, and his also?
</p>

<p>
Yes, she would tire herself out, expose herself to some great
strain, some fearful exhaustion, and thereby bring on a sudden
and serious illness.  Instead of taking the train she would walk
all the way home to her mother's house&mdash;twenty odd miles, fifteen
of them over a steep and rugged mountain road.  It would be
dangerous to a girl in her condition, but not half so dangerous
as marrying Alick now, and running the risk of an end like that
of the poor young wife of the Peel fisherman.
</p>

<p>
And then it would be so much fairer.  If her fault, her
misfortune, could be wiped out before she married Alick, nobody
could say she had deceived her husband.
</p>

<p>
Such was the wild gamble with life and death which Bessie had
decided upon at the prompting of love and shame and fear.  The
consequences were not long in coming.
</p>

<p>
The winding lane had to cross the railway line near to a
village station before it reached the open country, and coming
sharply upon the level-crossing at a quick turning she found the
gates closed and a train drawing up at the platform.
</p>

<p>
She knew at once that this must be the train from Douglas
which Alick Gell was to travel by, and in a moment she saw him.
He was sitting alone in a first-class carriage, looking pale and
troubled.  In the next compartment were four or five young
advocates from the south side of the island, who had been up to see
Stowell off by the steamer.  They were smoking and laughing,
and one of them, who appeared to have been drinking also, seeing
Bessie coming up to the gate, dropped his window and swung off
his hat to her.
</p>

<p>
Bessie dropped back to the partial cover of the fence.  Only
her fear of attracting attention restrained her from flying off
altogether.  Alick had not yet seen her.  It tore her terribly to see
how ill he looked.  He was only three or four yards away from
her.  His head was down.  At one moment he took off his cap
and ran his fingers through his fair hair as if his head were
aching.  She could scarcely resist an impulse to pass through the
turnstile and hurry up to him.  One look, one smile, one word,
and she would have thrown everything to the winds even yet.
</p>

<p>
But no, the guard waved his flag, the engine whistled, the train
jerked backward, then forward, and at the next instant it had
slid out of the station.  Alick had not seen her.  He was gone.  It
had been like a stab at her heart to see him go.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
II
</p>

<p>
Half an hour later she was on the rugged mountain road that
led to her mother's house in the north of the island.  Her first fear
was the fear of being overtaken and carried back.  At Silverburn,
where a deep river gurgles under the shadow of a dark bridge, she
heard the crack of whips, the clatter of horses' hoofs and the
whoop of loud voices.
</p>

<p>
It was nothing.  Only two farm shandries, the first containing
a couple of full-blooded farm girls, and the second a couple of
lusty farm lads, racing home after market, laughing wildly and
shouting to each in the free language of the countryside.  It was
like something out of her former life&mdash;one of the outbreaks of
animal instinct that had brought her to where she was.
</p>

<p>
But no matter!  She would be a proud and happy woman
yet&mdash;the <i>Sheean ny Feaynid</i> had said so.
</p>

<p>
After the fear of being pursued came the fear of being
lost&mdash;becoming an outcast and a wanderer.  She had toiled up to the
Black Fort on the breast of the hill.  The morning haze had
vanished by this time, the sun had come out, the larks were singing
in the cloudless sky, the smell of spring was rising from the young
grass in the fields, the roadsides were yellow with primroses and
daffodils, and the whole world was looking glad with the promise
of the beautiful new year that was already on the wing.  It
was heart-breaking.
</p>

<p>
Feeling hot and tired after her climb, she sat on a stone.  The
sea was open from that point, and on the farthest rim of it she
could see a red-funnelled steamer and two black shafts of smoke.
Stowell!  Never before had she thought bitterly of him.  But
he was there, going up to London in comfort, in luxury,
while she....
</p>

<p>
It was cruel.  But crueller than her bitter thoughts of Stowell
were her tender thoughts of Gell.  He would be at Derby Haven
now, reading (with that twitching of the lower lip which she knew
so well) the letter she had left behind for him, while she was here,
running away from the arms of the man who loved her.  But no
matter about that, either!  One day, two days, three days, a week
perhaps, and she would return to him.  She was to be a proud and
happy woman yet&mdash;the <i>Sheean ny Feaynid</i> had said so.
</p>

<p>
Hours passed.  The road stretched out and out, became
steeper and steeper.  Bessie felt more and more tired.  She was
often compelled to sit by the wayside, and sometimes, being worn
out by the want of sleep, she fell into a doze.  The sky darkened
and dropped; the sun went down behind the mountains to the west
with a straight black bar across its face that was like a heavy lid
over a sullen eye.  Would she be able to reach home that night?
She would!  She must!  Alick was waiting for her to come back.
She dare not keep him long.
</p>

<p>
Evening had closed in before she reached the top of the hill.
It was a long waste of bracken and black rock, with no farms
anywhere, and only a few thatched cottages that crouched in the
sheltered places like frightened cattle in a storm.  Feeling weak
and faint from long climbing and want of food, she was about to
sit down again and cry, having lost hope of reaching her mother's
house that night, when she came upon a little lamb, scarcely a
month old, which had strayed away from the flock and was too
tired to go farther.
</p>

<p>
The poor creature bleated piteously into her face, and she
lifted it up in her arms and carried it a long half mile (the lost
carrying the lost, the desolate comforting the desolate) until she
came to a high gate at which a mother sheep was plunging
furiously in her efforts to get out to them.  Bessie put the lamb
to its feet, and it clambered through the bars, plucked at the teat,
and then there was peace and silence.
</p>

<p>
This strengthened her and she went on for some time longer
with a cheerful heart.  Yes, she must reach home that night.
And if it was as late as midnight before she got there, so much
the better!  Nobody must see her come, and then her mother
would be able to conceal everything.
</p>

<p>
Night fell.  It began to rain and the wind to rise.  She had
never been afraid of darkness or bad weather, but now she took
a wild delight in them.  Remembering what other women had
done, she took off her shoes and walked on the wet roads in her
stockings.  It was risky but she cared nothing about that.  It
might bring on a fever, but she was strong&mdash;she would soon
get over it.
</p>

<p>
Farmers returning empty from market offered her a lift, but
she declined and toiled on.  The lighted windows of the
farmhouses, gleaming through the darkness, called her into warmth
and shelter, but she struggled along.  The soles of her stockings
were soon worn to shreds and the stones of the roads were
beginning to cut her feet, but she would not put on her shoes.  In her
frenzy she hardly felt the pain.  And besides, what she was
suffering for Alick was as nothing compared to what Alick had
suffered for her.  Only one night!  It would soon be over.
</p>

<p>
She had walked at her slow pace down a deep descent and
through a long valley when she came upon an inn and a big barn
that was a scene of great festivity.  She knew what it was.  It
was one of the "Bachelors' Balls" which, beginning with <i>Oiel
Thomase Dhoo</i> (the Eve of Black Thomas) and going on through
the spring of the year, the unmarried men in remote places gave
to the unmarried girls of the parish.
</p>

<p>
The rain was now falling in torrents and the wind had risen to
the strength of a gale, but it must have been close and hot inside
the barn, for as Bessie passed on the other side of the way, the
doors were thrown open.  The rude place was densely crowded.
Stable lamps hung from the rough-hewn rafters.  At one end the
musicians sat on a platform raised on barrels; at the other end
girls in white blouses were serving tea from a long plank covered
with a table-cloth and resting on trestles.  In the space between, a
dense group of young men and women were dancing with
furious energy.
</p>

<p>
This, too, was like something out of her own life.  Ah, if
somebody had only told her ....
</p>

<p>
But what matter!  She would be a proud and happy woman
yet&mdash;the <i>Sheean ny Feaynid</i> had said so.
</p>

<p>
It was now midnight by the wrist-watch that Alick had given
her, and she had still another hill to climb, steeper than the last if
shorter.  While she was going up the rain flogged her face as with
whipcord, and, when she reached the top, the wind, sweeping
across the low-lying lands from the sea, tore at her skirts as if it
were trying to strip her naked.  At one moment it brought her to
her knees, and she thought she would never be able to rise to her
feet again.  It was very dark.  She was feeling weak and helpless.
</p>

<p>
Once more she remembered Stowell.  He would be on his way
to London now.  She could see him (Alick had often painted such
pictures) sitting in a brightly-lit first-class railway carriage,
smoking cigarettes and sipping coffee.
</p>

<p>
At this thought her whole soul rose in revolt.  Why was he
there while she was here?  She had never loved him; he had never
loved her; they had both done wrong.  But why for the same fault
should there be such different punishment?
</p>

<p>
People who went to churches and chapels talked of nature and
God.  They said God was good and He was the God of nature.
It was a lie&mdash;a deception!  If God was good He was not the
God of nature.  If He was the God of nature He was not good.
Nature was cruel and pitiless.  Only to a man was it kind.  If you
were a woman it had no mercy on you.  It never forgot you; it
never forgave you.  Therefore a woman had a right to fight it,
and when it threatened to destroy her happiness, and the happiness
of those who loved her, she had a right to kill it.
</p>

<p>
That was what she was doing now.  Perhaps she had done it
already.  The heavy burden that had been lying so long under her
heart had given no sign of life for hours.  So much the better!
That passage in her life must be dead and buried.  Victor Stowell
must be wiped out for ever.  Then she could marry Alick Gell with
a clean heart and conscience.
</p>

<p>
Therefore, courage, courage!  She would be a proud and
happy woman yet&mdash;the <i>Sheean ny Feaynid</i> had said so.
</p>

<p>
Only the great thing was to get home before daybreak, so that
nobody might see her until all was over.
</p>

<p>
Somewhere in the dead and vacant dawn a pale, forlorn-looking
woman, whom nobody could have known for Bessie Collister,
was approaching the village of the glen.  She had been eighteen
hours on her journey, most of the time on her feet.  Her fur-lined
cloak was sodden and heavy.  Her black hair had been torn
from its knot and was hanging dank over her neck and shoulders.
Her feet, in her dry boots, were cold and bleeding.  A silk scarf
which had been tied over her closely-fitting fur cap was dripping,
and a little bag on her arms was wet through with all that was
contained in it.
</p>

<p>
She had expected to arrive before break of day, but nobody in
the village was yet stirring.  In the long street of whitewashed
houses all the window blinds were still down and looking like
closed eye-lids.
</p>

<p>
She tied up her hair, removed the scarf and put on a veil from
her handbag, drew it closely over her face, and then walked with
head down and a step as light as she could make it, through the
sleeping village.
</p>

<p>
She met nobody.  Not a door was opened; not a blind was
drawn aside; she had not been seen.  She drew a long breath of
relief.  But suddenly, with the first sight of the mill, came a
stab of memory,
</p>

<p>
Dan Baldromma!
</p>

<p>
Since the witch-doctor had told her that though Dan might
rage and tear he could do no harm to her or to Alick she had ceased
to think of him.  But why had she not thought of the harm he
might do to her mother?  All the way up since she was a child
she had seen the tyrannies he had inflicted upon her mother through
her.  What fresh tyranny would he inflict on her now?&mdash;now that
she was coming home like this to be a burden to....
</p>

<p>
For a moment Bessie told herself she must go back even yet.
But she was too weak and too ill to go one step farther.  All the
same she could not face her step-father in her present
condition.  If she could only get upstairs to her bedroom and
sleep&mdash;sleep, sleep!
</p>

<p>
She listened for the mill-wheel&mdash;it was not working.  She
looked at the mill-door&mdash;it had not yet been opened.  It was
impossible that Dan could be in bed&mdash;he was such an early riser.  He
must have gone up the brews to look at the heifers in the top fields.
</p>

<p>
With a slow step she went over to the dwelling-house.  The
door was shut, but she could hear sounds from the kitchen.  There
was the shuffling of slow feet, accompanied by the tap of a
walking-stick; then the blowing and coughing of bellows and the
crackling of burning gorse; and then the measured beating of a
foot on the hearthstone, keeping time to a husky and tremulous
voice that was singing&mdash;
</p>

<p class="poem">
  "<i>Safe in the arms of Jesus,<br />
  Safe in His tender care.</i>"<br />
</p>

<p>
With a palpitating heart Bessie lifted the latch, pushed the
door open and took one step into the kitchen.  Her mother, who
was still wearing her night-cap, was sitting on the three-legged
stool in the choillagh, stirring porridge in the oven-pot that hung
from the slowrie.  She had heard the click of the latch and was
looking round.
</p>

<p>
There was silence for a moment.  Bessie tried to speak and
could not.  The old woman rose on rigid limbs and her hand on the
handle of her stick was trembling.  It was just as if the spirit
of someone she had been thinking about had suddenly appeared
before her.
</p>

<p>
"Is it thyself, girl?" she said, in a breathless whisper.
</p>

<p>
"Mother!" cried Bessie, and she took another step forward.
</p>

<p>
Again there was a moment of silence.  With her heart at her
lips Bessie saw that her mother's eyes were wandering over her
figure.  Then the stick dropped from the old woman's hand to the
floor and she stretched out her arms, and her thin hands shook like
withered leaves.
</p>

<p>
"Bolla veen! bolla veen!" she cried, in a low voice that was a
sob.  "It's my own case over again."
</p>

<p>
And then the girl fell into her mother's arms and buried her
head in her breast and cried, as only a suffering child can cry,
helplessly, piteously.
</p>

<p>
A moment later, there was a heavy footstep outside, and the
ring of an iron tool thrown down on the "street."  The old woman
raised her face with a look of fear.
</p>

<p>
"It's thy father," she whispered.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
III
</p>

<p>
Dan Baldromma had risen earlier than usual that morning.
For more than a week there had not been water enough to his
mill-wheel for his liking, and suspecting the cause of the shortage he
had put a pick over his shoulder and walked up the glen.
</p>

<p>
There was a little croft on the top of the brews half a mile
nearer to the mountain.  It was called Baldromma-beg (the little
Baldromma) and its occupants (sub-tenants of Dan Baldromma)
were a quaint old couple&mdash;Will Skillicorne, a long, slow-eyed,
slow-legged person who was a class-leader among the "Primitives,"
and his wife, Bridget, a typical little Manxwoman of her
class, keen-eyed, quick-tongued, illiterate and superstitious.
</p>

<p>
Their croft was thirsty land, though water in abundance was
so near, and to every request that it should be laid on in pipes from
the glen, Dan had said, "Let your wife carry it&mdash;-what else is the
woman there for?"
</p>

<p>
Bridget had carried it for ten years.  Then her anger getting
the better of her, she put on a pair of her husband's big boots and
rolled two great boulders into a neck of the river, with the result
that a deep stream of sweet water came flowing down to her
house and fields.
</p>

<p>
This was just what Dan had suspected, and coming upon the
new-made dam, he stretched his legs across it, swung his pick and
sent the boulders tumbling down the glen, with a torrent of water
from Baldromma-beg at the back of them.
</p>

<p>
But Bridget, also, had risen earlier than usual that morning,
and, hearing the sound of Dan's pick, she went out to him at his
bad work and fell on him with hot reproaches.
</p>

<p>
"Was there nothing doing down at the mill, Dan Collister,"
she cried, "that thou must be coming up here to put thy evil eye
on other people's places?"
</p>

<p>
"Get thee indoors, woman," growled Dan, "and put thy
house in order."
</p>

<p>
"My house in order?  Mine?  And what about thine?  Thine
that is a disgrace to the parish and the talk of the island."
</p>

<p>
"Keep a civil tongue in thy head, Mrs. Skillicorne, or maybe
I'll be showing thee the road at Hollantide."
</p>

<p>
"Turn me out of the croft, will thou?  Do it and welcome!
I give thee lave.  It would be middling aisy to find a better farm,
and Satan himself couldn't find a worse landlord.  But set thou
one foot on this land until my year is over and if there's a bucket
of dirty water on the cowhouse floor I'll throw it over thee.  Put
my house in order indeed!  Where's thy daughter, eh?  Where's
thy daughter, I say?"
</p>

<p>
"I've got no daughter, woman, and well thou knows it,"
said Dan.
</p>

<p>
"'Deed I do.  No wonder the Lord wouldn't trust thee with a
daughter of thy own, the way thou's brought up this one.  The
slut!  The strumpet!  Away with thee and look for her&mdash;it will
become thee better."
</p>

<p>
But Dan having finished his work was now plunging down the
glen and old Will Skillicorne had come out of his house half
dressed, with his braces hanging behind him.
</p>

<p>
"Come in, woman&mdash;lave the man to God," said Will.
</p>

<p>
"God indeed!  The dirt!  The ugly black toad!  God wouldn't
bemane Himself talking to the like."
</p>

<p>
"Thou's done it this time, though, I'm thinking.  Thou heard
what he said about Hollantide?"
</p>

<p>
"Chut!  Get thee back to bed.  What's thou putting thy mouth
in for?  Who knows where the man himself will be by that time?"
</p>

<p>
With a face like a black cloud after this encounter, Dan threw
down his pick on the cobbles of the street and went into the kitchen
to work off his anger on his wife.
</p>

<p>
"That's what thou's done for me, ma'am!  There's not a
trollop in the parish that isn't throwing thy daughter's bad doings
in my face."
</p>

<p>
The kitchen was full of smoke, for the porridge in the oven-pot
had been allowed to burn, and it was not until he was standing
back to the fire, putting his pipe in the pocket of his open
waistcoat, that Dan saw Bessie where she had seated herself, after
breaking out of her mother's arms, by the table and in the
darkest corner.
</p>

<p>
He took in the girl's situation at a glance, but after the
manner of the man he pretended not to do so.
</p>

<p>
"God bless my soul," he cried.  "Back, is she?  Well, well!
But what did I say, mother?  'No need to send the Cross Vustha
(the fiery cross) after her, she'll come home.'  And my goodness
the grand woman's she's grown!  Fur caps and fur-lined cloaks
and I don't know the what!  Just come to put a sight on the
mother and the ould man, I suppose.  No pride at all at all!  I
wouldn't trust but there's a grand carriage waiting for her at the
corner of the road."
</p>

<p>
"Aisy, man, aisy," said Mrs. Collister, picking up her stick,
"don't thou see the girl has walked?"
</p>

<p>
"Walked, has she?" said Dan, raising his thick eyebrows in
pretended astonishment.  "You don't say!  All the way from
Castletown?  Well, well!  So that's how it is, is it?  The young
waistrel has thrown her over, has he?"
</p>

<p>
Bessie had to put her hand to her throat to keep back the cry
that was bubbling up.
</p>

<p>
"Aisy, man, aisy with the like," said the old woman.  But Dan
was for showing no mercy.
</p>

<p>
"Goodness me, the airs she gave herself going away!  I might
shut my door on her, but there would be others to open theirs.
And now they have opened them, and shut them too, I'm thinking."
</p>

<p>
Bessie, crushed and silent, was clutching the end of the table.
Dan stepped over to her, laid hold of her left hand, lifted it up,
as if looking for her wedding ring, and then flung it away.
</p>

<p>
"Nothing!" he said.  "She's got nothing for it neither.  I
might have followed her to Castletown, but I didn't.  'I'll lave
her to it,' I thought.  'Maybe the girl's cleverer than we thought,
and will come home mistress of Baldromma and a thousand good
acres besides.'  But no, not a ha'porth!  And now she has come
back to ate us up for the rest of our lives!  The toot!  The boght!
The booby!"
</p>

<p>
"Dan Collister," said the old woman, "don't thou see the girl
is ill?"
</p>

<p>
"Ill, is she?" said Dan.  "I wouldn't trust but she is, ma'am.
So it's worse than I thought, and maybe before long there'll be
another mouth to feed."
</p>

<p>
Bessie dropped her head on the table.
</p>

<p>
"But not in this house, if you plaze, miss.  It happened here
once before, and the island would be having a fine laugh at me if
it happened again."
</p>

<p>
Once more Dan stepped over to Bessie and touched her arm.
</p>

<p>
"You're like a dead letter, you've come to the wrong address,
mistress.  It wasn't Dan Baldromma's thatched cottage you were
wanting, but the big slate house down the road where the paycocks
are scraming.  I'll trouble you to go there."
</p>

<p>
"Sakes alive, man," cried the old woman, "thou'rt not for
turning the girl out of doors?"
</p>

<p>
"I am that, ma'am," said Dan, going over to the door.  "No
trollop shall be telling me again that my house is the disgrace
of the parish and the talk of the island."
</p>

<p>
Then throwing the door wide and rattling the catch of it,
he said,
</p>

<p>
"Out of my house, miss!  Out of it!  Out of it!"
</p>

<p>
Bessie, who had been sitting motionless, raised her head and
rose to go, although scarcely able to take a step forward, when she
felt a hand that was trembling like a leaf laid on her shoulder.
</p>

<p>
"Stay thou there, and leave this to me."
</p>

<p>
It was the old woman who had been crouching over the fire on
the three-legged stool and had now risen, thrown her stick away
as if she had no longer any need of it, and was facing her husband
with blazing eyes.
</p>

<p>
"Thou talks and talks of this house as thine and thine," she
said.  "What made it thine?"
</p>

<p>
"The law, if thou wants to know, woman," said Dan.
</p>

<p>
"Then the law is a robber and a thief."
</p>

<p>
Dan looked at his wife in astonishment, and then burst into a
fit of forced laughter.
</p>

<p>
"Well, that's good!  That's rich!  That's wonderful!  What
next, I wonder?"
</p>

<p>
"Do you want me to tell thee the truth, Dan Collister?  Before
the girl, too?  Then there's not a stick or a stone in the place that
in the eyes of heaven does not belong to me."
</p>

<p>
"What?"
</p>

<p>
"Not a stick or a stone, except the landlord's, that wasn't
bought with my father's money&mdash;John Corteen, a man of God, if
ever there was one."
</p>

<p>
"Pity his daughter didn't take after him, then."
</p>

<p>
"Pity enough, Dan Collister.  But when I brought shame into
his house he forgave me.  And when the finger of death was on the
man the only trouble he had in life was what was to become of his
girl when he was gone."
</p>

<p>
"Truth enough, ma'am, he had to find thee a husband,
hadn't he?"
</p>

<p>
"He hadn't far to look, though.  And if thou had nothing in
thy pocket and not much on thy back thou had plenty in thy mouth
to make up for it.  Thou were not afraid of scandal!  Thou didn't
mind marrying a girl who had been talked of with another man!"
</p>

<p>
"And I did, didn't I?"
</p>

<p>
"Thou did, God forgive thee!  But not till the man's trembling
hand had reached up to the hole in the thatch over his bed
for his stocking purse and counted the money out to thee.  Three
hundred good Manx pounds he had worked thirty years for and
saved up for his daughter.  And then thou swore on the Holy
Book to be good to his girl and her baby, and the man's dying eyes
on thee.  And now&mdash;now thou talks of turning my girl out of the
house&mdash;this house that would have been her house some day if thou
had not come between us.  But no!  Thou shan't do that."
</p>

<p>
"Shan't I?"
</p>

<p>
"'Deed thou shan't!  She may have done wrong, but if she has
it's no more than her mother did before her, and if <i>I</i> daren't turn
her out for it thou shalt not."
</p>

<p>
"We'll see, ma'am, we'll see," said Dan.  He was buttoning up
his waistcoat and putting on his coat.
</p>

<p>
"It's no use talking to a woman.  There's not much sense to
be got out of the like anyway.  But when a man marries, the
property of the wife becomes the property of the husband&mdash;that's
Dempster's law, isn't it?  And standing up for your legal rights,
and not being forced by your wife, or anybody else, to find
maintenance for another man's offspring when it comes&mdash;that's
Dempster's law too, I belave."
</p>

<p>
"Yes," said the old woman, "and standing up for your own
flesh and blood when she's sick and weak and the world is going
cold on her and she has nowhere else to lay her head in her
trouble&mdash;that's Mother's law, Dan Collister, and it's older than
the Dempster's, I'm thinking."
</p>

<p>
"Do as you plaze, ma'am," said Dan.  "If you want more
noising about the bad doings of your daughter it's all as one to me."
</p>

<p>
He took his billycock hat down from the "lath" under the
ceiling and continued,
</p>

<p>
"I'll hear what the Speaker has to say about this, though.  His
wife wasn't for doing much for thee when the honour of this house
was in question, but maybe she'll alter her tune now that it's the
honour of her own."
</p>

<p>
He drew his whip from its nail over the fireplace and stepped
to the door.
</p>

<p>
"And if this matter ends as I expect I'll be hearing what the
Coorts have to say about it, too.  Young Mr. Sto'll is to be made
Dempster they're telling me.  They're putting him in for it,
anyway, and he is bosom friend to the Spaker's son.  But friend or
no friend," he said, with his hand on the hasp, and ready to go,
"maybe his first job when he comes back to the island will be to
send his Coroner to this house to turn the man's mistress and her
by-child into the road."
</p>

<p>
"Tell him to send her coffin at the same time, then," cried
the old woman, almost screaming.  "Mine too, Dan Collister.
That's the only way he'll turn my daughter out of this house, I
promise thee."
</p>

<p>
But the old woman collapsed the moment her husband had
gone, and staggering to the rocking-chair she dropped into it and
cried.  Then Bessie, who had not yet spoken, rose and said,
crying herself,
</p>

<p>
"Don't cry, I'll go away myself, mother."
</p>

<p>
But the old woman was up again in a moment.
</p>

<p>
"No, thou'll not," she said.  "Thou'll go up to thy bedroom
in the dairy loft&mdash;the one thou had in the innocent old times
gone by.  Come, take my arm&mdash;my good arm, girl.  Lean on
me, woman-bogh."
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p><a id="chap0322"></a></p>

<h3>
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
<br />
THE SOUL OF HAGAR
</h3>

<p>
Two hours had passed.  Bessie was in her bedroom&mdash;the little
one-eyed chamber (entered from the first landing on the stairs) in
which she had dressed for Douglas.  But the sheet of silvered
glass on the whitewashed wall which had shone then with the light
of her beaming eyes was now reflecting her broken, tear-stained,
woebegone face.
</p>

<p>
She knew that her journey had been in vain, that her sufferings
had been wasted.  Her child was not to be stillborn.  Through the
closed door she heard Dan Baldromma going off in the stiff cart.
He was going to the Speaker, to threaten him with the shame of her
unborn child, and to call upon him to compel his son to marry her.
</p>

<p>
Wild, blind error!  But what would be the result?  Alick
would hear of her whereabouts and learn of her condition and that
would be the end of everything between them.  All her secret
scheme to wipe out her fault, to keep her name clean for Alick, to
preserve his beautiful faith in her, would be destroyed, and he
would be dead to her for ever.
</p>

<p>
But no, come what would that should not be!  And if the only
way to prevent it was to make away with her child when it came
she must do so.  Only nobody must know&mdash;not even her mother.
</p>

<p>
Time and again the old woman came hobbling upstairs, bringing
food and trying to comfort her.
</p>

<p>
"Will I send for Doctor Clucas, Bessie?"
</p>

<p>
"No, no.  I shall be better in the morning."
</p>

<p>
The day passed heavily.  She could not lie down.  Sometimes
she sat on the edge of the bed; sometimes stood and held on to the
end of it; and sometimes walked to and fro in the narrow space of
her bedroom floor.  Having no window in her room her only sight
of the world without was through the skylight in the thatch, which
showed nothing but the sky.  The only sound that reached her
was the squealing of a pig that was being killed at a
neighbouring farm.
</p>

<p>
At length darkness fell.  Hitherto she had been thinking of
her unborn child with a certain tenderness, even a certain pity.
But now, in the wild disorder of her senses, she began to hate it.
It seemed to be some evil spirit that was coming into the world to
destroy everybody.  Why shouldn't she kill it?  She would!  Only
she must be alone&mdash;quite alone.
</p>

<p>
Shivering, perspiring, weak, dizzy, she was sitting in the
darkness when her mother came to say good-night.
</p>

<p>
"Here are a few broth.  Take them.  They'll warm thee."
</p>

<p>
"No, no."
</p>

<p>
"Come, let me coax thee, bogh."
</p>

<p>
Bessie refused again, and the old woman's eyes began to fill.
</p>

<p>
"Will I stay up the night with thee, Bessie?"
</p>

<p>
"Oh, no, no!"
</p>

<p>
"I'll leave my door open then, and if thou art wanting
anything thou'll call."
</p>

<p>
"Yes, yes."
</p>

<p>
"Thy father isn't home yet, and if thou'rt no better when he
goes by thy door thou must tell him and he'll let me know."
</p>

<p>
Bessie raised her eyes in astonishment, and the old woman, with
a shamefaced look, began to apologize for her husband.  He was
not so bad after all, and when a woman had taken a man for better
or worse....
</p>

<p>
"Do you say that, mother?"
</p>

<p>
Something quivered in the old woman's wrinkled throat.
</p>

<p>
"Well, we women are all alike, thou knows."
</p>

<p>
"Good-night and go to sleep, mother."
</p>

<p>
Bessie hustled her mother out of the room, but hardly had she
gone than she wanted to call her back.
</p>

<p>
"Mother!  Mother!" she cried in the sudden access of her
pain, but though her door was ajar her mother, who was going
deaf, did not hear her.
</p>

<p>
At the next moment she was glad.  Her mother believed in
God and religion.  To burden her conscience with any knowledge
of what she meant to do would be too cruel.
</p>

<p>
But Bessie's terror increased at every moment.  The night outside
was quiet, yet the air seemed to be full of fearful cries.  At the
bidding of some instinctive impulse she blew out the candle, and
then, in the darkness and solitude, a great terror took hold of her.
</p>

<p>
"Alick!  Alick!" she cried, but only the deep night heard
her.  At last, in the paroxysm of her pain, she fell back on the
bed&mdash;she was unconscious.
</p>

<p>
When she came to herself again she had a sense of blessed
ease, like that of sailing into a quiet harbour out of a tempestuous
sea.  Before she opened her eyes she heard a faint cry.  She
thought at first it was only a memory of the bleating of the lost
lamb on the mountains.  But the cry came again and then she knew
what had happened&mdash;her child had been born!
</p>

<p>
Time passed&mdash;how long or what she did in it, she never
afterwards knew.  Her weakness seemed to have gone and she had a
feeling of surprising strength.  The bitterness of her heart had
gone too, and a flood of happiness was sweeping over her.
</p>

<p>
It was motherhood!  To Bessie too, in her misery and shame,
the merciful angel of mother-love had come.  Her child!  Hers!
Hers!  Make away with it?  Kill it?  No, not for worlds of worlds!
</p>

<p>
It was a boy too!  Thank God it was a boy!  A woman was so
weak; she had so much to suffer, so many things to think about.
But a man was strong and free.  He could fight his own way in
life.  And her boy would fight for her also, and make amends for
all she had gone through.
</p>

<p>
It was the middle of the night.  The glimmering and guttering
candle on the wash-table (she had been up and had lit it afresh)
was casting dark shadows in the room.  Only a little dairy loft
with the turfy thatch overhead, and the sheepskin rugs underfoot,
but oh, how it shone with glory!
</p>

<p>
Bessie was singing to her baby (words and tune springing to
her mind in a moment) when suddenly she heard sounds from outside.
They were the rattle of cart wheels and the clatter of horse's
hoofs on the cobbles of the "street."
</p>

<p>
Dan Baldromma had come home!
</p>

<p>
Her heart seemed to stop its beating.  She blew out her candle
and listened, scarcely drawing breath.  She heard her step-father
tipping up his stiff-cart and then shouting at his horse as he
dragged off its harness in the stable.  After that she heard him
coming into the house and throwing his heavy boots on to the
hearthstone.  Then she heard the thud, thud, thud of the old man's
stockinged feet on the kitchen floor&mdash;he was about to come upstairs.
</p>

<p>
At that moment the child, who had been asleep on her arm,
awoke and cried.  Only a feeble cry, half-smothered by the closeness
of the little mouth to her breast, but in Bessie's ears it sounded
like thunder.  If her step-father heard it, what would he do?
Involuntarily, and before she knew what she was doing, she put
her hand over the child's mouth.
</p>

<p>
Then thud, thud, thud!  Dan Baldromma was coming upstairs.
Bessie could hear his thick breathing.  He had reached the
landing.  He seemed to stop for a moment outside her door.  But he
passed on, went up the second short flight, pushed open the door
of her mother's room and clashed it noisily behind him.
</p>

<p>
Then Bessie drew breath and turned back to her child.  She
was shocked to find that in her terror she had been holding her
trembling hand tightly down on the child's mouth.  It had only
been for a moment (what had seemed like a moment), but when
she took her hand away and listened, in the throbbing darkness,
for the child's soft breathing, no sound seemed to come.
</p>

<p>
With shaking fingers she lit her candle again, and then held
the light to the baby's face.
</p>

<p>
The little, helpless, innocent face lay still.
</p>

<p>
"Can it be possible .... no, no, God forbid it!"
</p>

<p>
But at length the awful truth came surging down on her.  She
had killed her child.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
II
</p>

<p>
When Bessie awoke the next day the sun was shining on her
eye-lids from the skylight in the thatch.  She had some difficulty
in realising where she was.  Before opening her eyes she heard
the muffled lowing of the cows in the closed-up cow-house, and had
an impulse to do as she had done in earlier days&mdash;get up and milk
them.  At the next moment she heard her mother's shuffling step on
the kitchen floor, and then the tide of memory swept back on her.
</p>

<p>
But she was a different woman this morning.  She had no
remorse now, no qualm, no compunction.  What she had done, she
had done, and after all it was the best thing that could have
happened&mdash;best for her, best for Alick, best for everybody.
</p>

<p>
Her child being dead she no longer loved it.  All she had to do
was to bury it away somewhere, and then everything would go on
as she had intended.  Meantime (before going to sleep) she had
taken her precautions.  Nobody must know.  If there had been
reasons why she should not take her mother into her confidence last
night they were now increased tenfold.
</p>

<p>
After a while her mother came up with her breakfast.  A veil
seemed to dim the old woman's eyes&mdash;she looked as if she had
been crying.
</p>

<p>
"How are thou now, bogh?"
</p>

<p>
"Better!  Much better!  I told you I should be better in
the morning."
</p>

<p>
The old woman was silent for a moment and then said,
</p>

<p>
"Thou were not up and downstairs in the night, Bessie?"
</p>

<p>
"'Deed no!  Why should you think so?"
</p>

<p>
"Because I shut the wash-house door when I went to bed and
it was open when I came down in the morning."
</p>

<p>
Bessie's lips trembled, but she made no answer.
</p>

<p>
A little later she heard her step-father talking loudly in the
kitchen.  He had seen the Speaker, having waited all day for him.
There had been a stormy scene.  The big man had foamed at the
mouth, talked about blackmail, threatened to turn him out of the
farm at Hollantide, and finally shouted for Tom Kertnode, his
steward, to fling him into the road.
</p>

<p>
"I lave it with you, Sir," Dan had answered.  "If you prefer
the new Dempster, when he comes, to see justice done to the girl,
it's all as one to me."
</p>

<p>
Bessie could have laughed.  Wicked, selfish, scheming&mdash;how
she was going to defeat it!
</p>

<p>
All morning she lay quiet, thinking out her plans.  Half a
mile up the glen there was a large stone of irregular shape,
surrounded by a wild tangle of briar and gorse.  The Manx called it
the <i>Claghny-Dooiney-marroo</i>&mdash;the dead man's stone, the body of a
murdered man having been found on it.  By reason of this gruesome
association of the bloody hand upon it, few approached the
stone by day and the bravest man (unless he were in drink) would
hesitate to go near it by night.
</p>

<p>
Bessie decided to bury her child under the <i>Clagh-ny-Dooiney</i>.
It would lie hidden for ever there; nobody would find it.
</p>

<p>
The day was long in passing, for Bessie was waiting for the
night.  She heard the young lambs bleating in the fields and the
cocks crowing in the haggard.  A linnet perched on the ledge of
her skylight (her mother had opened it) and looked in on her
and sang.
</p>

<p>
At length the sky darkened and night fell.  The moon (it was
in its first quarter) sailed across her patch of sky and disappeared.
Once or twice the skylight was aglow with a palpitating red
light&mdash;someone was burning gorse on the mountains.  But the fires died
down and then there was nothing save the sky with its stars.
</p>

<p>
Her mother came again to say good-night.  She had the pitiful
look of a woman who was struggling to keep back her tears.
</p>

<p>
"Wilt thou not sit up, Bessie, while I make thy bed for thee?"
</p>

<p>
Bessie started and then stammered: "Oh, no!  I mean .... it
will do in the morning."
</p>

<p>
The old woman looked down at her with eyes which seemed to
say, "Can thou not trust thy mother, girl?"  But she only sighed
and went off to bed.
</p>

<p>
Somewhere in the early morning (Dan having gone to bed also)
Bessie got up to make ready.  She found herself very weak, and
it took her a long time to dress.  When she was about to put on her
shoes she remembered that they were new and told herself
they would creak as she went downstairs, so she decided to go
barefoot again.
</p>

<p>
Having finished her dressing she took from under the bed-clothes
what she had hidden there, and began to wrap it in a large
silk scarf.  It was the scarf she had worn in the storm&mdash;a present
from Alick; with "Bessie" stamped on one corner.
</p>

<p>
Seeing her name at the last moment, she tore a strip of the
scarf away, and threw it aside (intending to destroy it in the
morning), opened her door, listened for an instant and then crept
downstairs and out of the house.
</p>

<p>
The night was chill and the ground struck cold into her body.
It was very dark, for the moon and stars had gone out, and there
was no light anywhere except the dull red of the gorse fires on the
mountains, which had sunk so low as to look like a dying eye.  But
Bessie could have found her way blindfolded.
</p>

<p>
Carrying her burden she crossed the wooden bridge and
reached the path that went up the glen.  Just as she did so she
heard the sound of singing, of laughter and of carriage-wheels on
the high road.  A company of jolly girls and boys were driving
home after one of their Bachelor Balls in a neighbouring parish.
That cut deep, but Bessie thought of Alick and the wound passed
away.  She would return to him in a few days; they would be
married soon, and then she, too, would be glad and happy.
</p>

<p>
How dark it was under the trees, though!  She had left it late.
The dawn was near, for the first birds were beginning to call.
</p>

<p>
"It must be here," she thought, and she slipped down from
the path to the bed of the glen.
</p>

<p>
But the trees were thicker there, and, being already in early
leaf, they obscured the little light that was left in the sky.  Where
could the stone be?  The briars were tearing at her dress and the
tall nettles were stinging her hands.  She was feeling weak and
lost and had begun to cry.  How the dogs howled at her
stepfather's farm!
</p>

<p>
Suddenly a breeze rose and fanned the gorse fires on the mountains
to a crackling glow.  And then a red flame rent the darkness
and lighted up the valley from end to end, making it for a few
moments almost as clear as day.
</p>

<p>
Bessie was terrified.  Here was the <i>Clagh-ny-Dooiney</i> almost
at her feet, but this bright light was like an accusing eye from
heaven looking down on her and pointing her out.
</p>

<p>
For a moment she wanted to drop down among the briars and
hide herself.  But making a call on her resolution she crept up
to the big stone, stooped, pushed her burden under the overlapping
lip of it, and then rose, turned about and ran.
</p>

<p>
Trembling and weeping she stumbled her way home.  It was
lighter now.  The day was coming rapidly and the small spring
leaves were shivering in the cold wind that runs over the earth
before the dawn.  The lambs were bleating in the unseen fields,
and the newly-born ones were making their first pitiful cry.  It
sounded like the cry of her child as she had heard it last night,
and it tore her terribly.
</p>

<p>
The little face, the little hands, the little feet she had left
behind&mdash;why had she not been brave and strong and faced the
world with them?
</p>

<p>
Should she stop and go back!  She tried to do so but could not.
The more she wanted to return the faster she ran away.
</p>

<p>
Her strength was failing her, and she was scarcely able to put
one foot before another.  Often she stumbled and fell and got up
again.  Was she going the right way home?
</p>

<p>
"Alick!  Alick!" she cried, and the hot tears fell over her
cold cheeks.
</p>

<p>
At last she saw the dark roof of the mill-house against the
leaden grey of the sky.  She had reached the bridge over the millrace
when she felt a light on her face and saw a figure approaching
her.  Somebody was coming up the glen and the lantern he carried
was swinging by his side as he walked.
</p>

<p>
Then the instinct of self-preservation took possession of her.
Dizzy, dazed, breathing rapidly and trembling in every limb, she
crossed the bridge quickly, crept up to the door of the dwelling
house, stumbled upstairs to her room, tore off her outer garments,
dropped back on to her bed, and then fell (almost in a moment)
into the sleep of utter exhaustion.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
III
</p>

<p>
Bridget Skillicorne had had a cow sick that night.  It had been
suffering from a colic, probably due to grazing among the rank
grass which had been lying under the water that had been drained
away.  But Bridget was sure that "that dirt Baldromma" had
"wutched" it (bewitched it) just to spite her for what she
had said.
</p>

<p>
She had tried a hot bran mash in vain.  The cow still writhed
and roared, so nothing remained, if they were not to lose their
creature, but that Will should go to the Ballawhaine (a witch-doctor
who lived nine or ten miles away on the seaward side of the
Curragh) and get a charm to take off the witching.
</p>

<p>
Old Will, being a class-leader, was well aware that such
sorcery was the arts of Satan.  But if the cow died it would make
a big hole in their stocking-purse to buy another, so his conscience
compounded with his pocket, and he agreed to go.
</p>

<p>
"Aw well, a few good words will do no harm at all," he said,
and carrying his stable lantern he set out towards nine o'clock on
his long journey.
</p>

<p>
Then Bridget, taking another lantern, a half-knitted stocking
and a three-legged stool, went into the cow-house to sit up with her
cow and watch the progress of its malady.
</p>

<p>
Towards midnight the creature became easier, and, gathering
her legs under her, lay down to sleep.  But Bridget remained three
hours longer in the close atmosphere of the cow-house, waiting for
old Will but thinking of Dan, and making her needles go with a
furious click at the thought of his threat to evict her.
</p>

<p>
The upper half of the cow-house door stood open, and somewhere
in the dark hours towards dawn she was startled by a bright
light and the hissing and crackling of a sudden fire outside.  She
knew what it was (such fires on the mountains were not
uncommon), but nevertheless she stepped out to see.
</p>

<p>
She saw more than she had expected.  In the glen below her
brew, where every bush and tree stood out for a moment in the
flare of the burning gorse, she saw the figure of a woman.  The
woman was standing by the <i>Clagh-ny-Dooiney</i>.  She had something
white under her arm.  After a moment she knelt, put her
parcel under the lip of the stone and then hurried away.
</p>

<p>
Who was she?  In her present mood, with her mind running
on one subject, Bridget could have no uncertainty.  It was the
Collister girl!  It must be!  What had she been doing down there?
In her own walk through life Bridget had never stepped aside,
therefore she was severe on those who had.  There was only one
thing that could bring a girl out of bed in the middle of the night
to a place like that.  The slut!  The strumpet!
</p>

<p>
When Will Skillicorne reached home half-an-hour afterwards
he was carrying a wisp of straw.  With this he was to make the
sign of the cross on the back of the sick cow, and say some good
words about St. Patrick and St. Bridget, giving it at the same
time a hot drink of meal and water.
</p>

<p>
"But the craythur is better these three hours," said Bridget.
</p>

<p>
"Praise the Lord!" said Will.  "That must have been the
very minute the good man came down from his bed to me in his
flannel drawers!"
</p>

<p>
"But did thou meet anybody as thou was coming up the glen?"
</p>

<p>
"Maybe I did."
</p>

<p>
"Was it a woman?"
</p>

<p>
"It's like it was, now."
</p>

<p>
"Did she go into the mill-house?"
</p>

<p>
"I believe in my heart she did, though."
</p>

<p>
Bridget was triumphant.
</p>

<p>
It was the Collister girl!  There could not be a doubt about it.
And at break of day she would go down to the glen and see what
she had left under the <i>Clagh-ny-Dooiney</i>.
</p>

<p>
"Show me the road at Hollantide, will he?  The dirt!  The
dirty black toad!  We'll see!  We'll see!"
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
IV
</p>

<p>
Bessie's sleep of exhaustion deepened to delirium and for a
long day she lay in the grip of it.  When she floated out of her
unconsciousness, she had a sense of confusion.  A babel of
meaningless voices, like the many sounds of a wild night, were
clashing in her brain.  A man and a woman were in her bedroom,
talking like somnambulists.
</p>

<p>
"Her feet have been bleeding.  Where has she been, think
you?"
</p>

<p>
The man's voice must be that of Doctor Clucas, and then came
some vague answer in the woman's voice, with a thick snuffle and
a suppressed sob&mdash;her mother's.
</p>

<p>
Bessie heard no more.  A cloud passed over her brain that was
like the rolling mist that alternately reveals and conceals a
bell-buoy at sea.  When it cleared she heard a strange woman's voice
outside the house&mdash;her bedroom door had been left open that her
mother might hear her if she called.
</p>

<p>
"I didn't know thy daughter had come home, Liza Collister."
</p>

<p>
"And how dost thou know now, Bridget Skillicorne?"
</p>

<p>
"How?  There's someones coming will tell thee how, woman."
</p>

<p>
Bessie felt as if somebody had struck her in the face.  Had
anything become known?  Later she heard her step-father
speaking in the kitchen.
</p>

<p>
"Is she herself yet."
</p>

<p>
"Not yet."
</p>

<p>
"Better she never should be."
</p>

<p>
"Sakes alive, man, what art thou saying?"
</p>

<p>
"I'm saying that old trollop on the brews is after finding
something under the <i>Clagh-ny-Dooiney</i> and sending her man to
the police to fetch it."
</p>

<p>
"Fetch what?"
</p>

<p>
"Just a parcel in a silk scarf with a lil arm sticking
out&mdash;that's all, ma'am."
</p>

<p>
The doctor at the hospital had been holding a post-mortem, and
now Cain, the constable, was to make a house to house visitation
of the parish to find the mother of the child.
</p>

<p>
Bessie covered her mouth to suppress a scream.  But
something whispered, "Hush!  Keep still!  They know nothing!"
</p>

<p>
Early next day she was awakened by the sound of many men's
voices downstairs, and her mother's voice in angry protestation.
</p>

<p>
"I tell thee, I know nothing about it.  The girl came home to
me three days ago, and I put her to bed, and she has never since
been out of it."
</p>

<p>
"They all say that, ma'am," said one of the men.  It was
Cain, the constable.
</p>

<p>
A little later, while Bessie lay with closed eyes and her face to
the wall, she became aware of several persons in her bedroom, and
one of them leaning over her.  She knew it was Cain&mdash;she could
hear his asthmatical breathing.
</p>

<p>
"Is she really unconscious, doctor?"
</p>

<p>
"Undoubtedly she is.  You can leave her for a few days
anyway.  She'll not run away, you see."
</p>

<p>
After that, listening intently, Bessie heard the constable
ranging the room as if examining everything.
</p>

<p>
"What's this?" he asked.
</p>

<p>
Bessie drew a quick breath, but dared not look around.
</p>

<p>
"Only a remnant seemingly," said the doctor.
</p>

<p>
"We'll be taking it with us, though," said the constable, and
then the rolling mist of unconsciousness covered everything again.
</p>

<p>
When it passed Bessie knew that the police were suspecting
her.  They thought they had found her out, and they were going
to bring the whole machinery of the law to punish her.  What a
wicked thing the law was!  She had injured nobody&mdash;nobody that
anybody had ever seen in this world.  She had only tried to save
somebody she loved from shame and pain.  And yet the constables,
the courts and the coroners were all in a conspiracy to
crush one poor girl!  No matter!  She would deny everything.
</p>

<p>
Next day was Sunday.  Bessie heard the church bells ringing
across the Curragh, and, before they stopped, the singing of a
hymn.  The Primitives were holding a service at the corner of
the high road before going into their chapel.  After the hymn
somebody prayed.  It was Will Skillicorne.  Bessie (listening
through her open skylight) recognised the high pitch of his
preaching voice.  He would be standing on the chapel steps.
</p>

<p>
There was a great deal about "carnal transgression," about
"brands plucked from the burning," about "the judgments of the
Lord," and finally about the "conscious sinner," throwing herself
upon her Saviour and repenting of "the sin she had committed
against God."  At the close of his prayer Will gave out the first
two lines of another hymn&mdash;
</p>

<p class="poem">
  "<i>I was a wandering sheep,<br />
  I did not love the fold.</i>"<br />
</p>

<p>
Bessie knew whom all this was meant for.  The Primitives
were torturing her.  But they were torturing somebody else as well.
Through the singing and praying she heard her mother's sighs
downstairs, and the beating of her foot on the hearthstone, as she
sat by the fire and listened to the service for her guilty child.
</p>

<p>
What a cowardly thing religion was!  Sin?  What sin had she
committed?  She had never intended to do wrong, and only those
who had gone through it could know what she had suffered.
Anyway, such as she was God had made her.  She would admit
nothing.  Nothing whatever.
</p>

<p>
Two days passed.  Bessie's heart softened and became calm.
The police were leaving her alone&mdash;they must have given up that
nonsense about punishing her.  Everything was going to turn out
as she had expected.
</p>

<p>
On the third day, her mother, coming into her bedroom, found
her with widely-opened eyes and all her face a smile.  Yes, she
was herself once more.  In fact there had not been much amiss
with her.  Only, never having been ill before, she had been
frightened and had come home to be nursed by her mother.  But now she
was better and must soon go back .... back to where she
came from.
</p>

<p>
She told her mother about Alick and how fond he was of her&mdash;parting
from his father and sisters and even his mother for her
sake.  It was quite a mistake to suppose that Alick had refused to
marry her.  He would have married her long ago, and it was she
who had been holding back.  Why?  She wished to be strong
and well first.  It wasn't fair to a man to let him marry a sick
wife&mdash;was it?
</p>

<p>
The old woman, with a broken face, looking sadly down at the
girl, said, "Yes, bogh!  It's like it isn't, bogh," and turned her
eyes away.
</p>

<p>
On the fourth day Bessie got out of bed and moved about the
room just to show how strong she was.
</p>

<p>
"See what a step I have now.  I could walk miles and
miles, mother."
</p>

<p>
The moral of that was that she must go back to Derby Haven
without more delay.  Alick was waiting for her and he would be
growing anxious.  She must take the first train in the morning.
</p>

<p>
"It's rather early, but never mind about breakfast.  A cup of
tea and a piece of barley bonnag&mdash;that will do."
</p>

<p>
Late that night, when Mrs. Collister, going to bed with a heavy
heart, looked in to say good-night, Bessie asked to be called in
good time in the morning.
</p>

<p>
"Don't forget to waken me.  I used to be the first up, you
know, but now I'm a sleepy-head."
</p>

<p>
And then she kissed her mother (never having kissed her since
she was a child) and the old woman's eyes overflowed.
</p>

<p>
Left alone, in the dark, she began to think how good God had
been to her after all.  Only those who had sinned and suffered
knew how good He could be.  She remembered the text about the
friend who, when all earthly friends forsake you, sticketh closer
than a brother.  Also, with a certain shame, she recalled the hymn
the Primitives had sung on Sunday morning, and, covering her
head in the bedclothes, she sang two lines of it&mdash;
</p>

<p class="poem">
  "<i>But now I love my Father's voice,<br />
  I love my Father's home.</i>"<br />
</p>

<p>
How happy she was!  At that time to-morrow she would be in
bed at Derby Haven, having seen Alick and arranged everything.
</p>

<p>
Next morning, when she awoke, she was startled to find the sun
pouring into the room.  She knew by the line it made on the wall
that the first train must have gone.  The chickens, too, were
clucking at the kitchen door, and they never came round
before breakfast.
</p>

<p>
She had risen on her elbow intending to call, when she heard
the roll of a van-like vehicle drawing up in front of the house,
and immediately afterwards, a man's husky, asthmatical voice in
the kitchen, mingling with her mother's shrill treble.
</p>

<p>
"Go upstairs and tell her to make ready, ma'am."
</p>

<p>
"No, no; the girl's not fit for it, I tell thee."
</p>

<p>
"She's fit enough for the prison hospital, anyway."
</p>

<p>
"She has never been out of my door since she came into it."
</p>

<p>
"We'll lave that to the High Bailiff and the Dempster, if
you plaze."
</p>

<p>
Bessie, supporting herself on her trembling arm, could scarcely
restrain herself from screaming.  One moment she sat and gasped,
and then, grasping her head with both hands, she turned about and
fell forward and buried her face in her pillow.
</p>

<p>
At the next moment she was conscious of somebody coming into
her room, and at the next, from somewhere at the foot of the bed,
she heard her mother say, in a strange voice she had never known
before&mdash;throbbing, choking, scarcely audible&mdash;
</p>

<p>
"They have come for thee, Bessie."
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p><a id="chap0323"></a></p>

<h3>
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
<br />
STOWELL IN LONDON
</h3>

<p>
Victor Stowell had been more than a week in London.  Fortune
had favoured him from the first.  The Home Secretary (a
tall, spare, elderly man, with a clean-shaven face of rather severe
expression) rose when Stowell entered his room as if a spirit had
appeared before him.  "My youth again," the young man
thought, but it was a different matter this time.
</p>

<p>
"Has anybody ever told you that you resemble your father,
Mr. Stowell?"
</p>

<p>
It turned out that the old Deemster and the Home Secretary
(a barrister before he became a statesman) had been in chambers
together in the Middle Temple while reading for the bar, and that
the politician had never lost respect for the man who, in spite of
brilliant promise of success in England (he might have become
an English High Court Judge with six times his Manx salary),
had returned to the obscurity of his little island and the service
of his own people.
</p>

<p>
"You have high traditions to live up to, young man.
Sit down."
</p>

<p>
Then came the subject of the interview.  The authorities had
satisfied themselves that on the score of legal capacity the
Governor's recommendation was not unjustified.  The only serious
difficulty was Stowell's youth.  The principles on which the Crown
selected elderly and even old (sometimes very old) men for the
positions of Judges were simple and sound.  First, seniority of
service, and next, maturity of character, so as to avoid the dangers
that come from the temptations, the trials, even the turbulent
emotions of early life, which might easily conflict with the calm
of the judicial office.  Still, these principles could be too rigidly
followed&mdash;particularly in remote colonies and small dependencies
where the range of suitable selection was limited.
</p>

<p>
After this came a personal catechism, the old man looking at
the young one over the rims of his tortoise-shell spectacles.
Married?  Not yet.  Expect to be?  Yes, Sir.  Soon?  Not, not for a
long time.  How long?  Six weeks at least, Sir.
</p>

<p>
The ends of the severe mouth rose perceptibly, and in any
other face they might have broken into a smile.
</p>

<p>
Daughter of the Governor, isn't she?  Yes, but that isn't her
chief characteristic, Sir.  What is?  That she is the loveliest and
noblest woman in the world.
</p>

<p>
"Oh!"
</p>

<p>
Again the severe mouth relaxed, and the Home Secretary asked
Stowell where he was staying.  Stowell told him (the Inns of
Court Hotel, Holborn) and he made a note of it.
</p>

<p>
"Remain there until you hear from me again, Mr. Stowell, and
meantime say nothing about this interview to anybody."
</p>

<p>
"Not anybody whatever, Sir?"
</p>

<p>
The Home Secretary's stern old face became genial and
charming as he rose and held out his hand.
</p>

<p>
"Well, that supreme being, perhaps .... Good day!"
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p>
"So here I am, my dear Fenella," wrote Stowell, "back in the
bedroom of my hotel, telling you all about it.  How long I may
have to remain in London, goodness knows, therefore I propose to
tell you something about my ways of life while I wait.
</p>

<p>
"Such a change in me!  When I was in London last (with
Alick Gell, you remember) I spent my days and nights in the
hotels, restaurants, theatres and music-halls that are the lovely
and beloved world of woman.  It is the world of woman still, but
quite another realm of it.
</p>

<p>
"Two nights ago I strolled westward along Oxford Street, and
thought (with a lump in my throat) about De Quincey and his
Ann.  Then, cutting through Clare Market to the Temple and
finding the gate closed, I tipped the porter to let me walk through
the Brick Court, and stood a long half hour before a house in the
silent little square, thinking of the day when the women of the town
sat on the stairs while poor Noll (Oliver Goldsmith) lay dead in
his rooms above.  And then, coming out into Fleet-street (midnight
now) where the big printing presses were throbbing behind
dark buildings, I tried to think I saw the great old Johnson, God
bless him, picking up the prostitute from the pavement, carrying
her home on his back and laying her on his bed.
</p>

<p>
"Last night I strolled eastward to look at the outside of the
Settlement in which you used to be Lady Warden (in the unbelievable
days before you came back to Man), and returning by a dark
side street, I came upon a queue of women crouching in the cold
before the doors of a Salvation Shelter.  They were waiting for
four in the morning when they would have a fighting chance of
one of the beds (<i>i.e.</i>, boxes like open coffins lying cheek by jowl
on the floor of a big hall) after the washerwomen who were then
asleep in them would get up and go to work.
</p>

<p>
"But the climax came this morning (Sunday morning) when I
went to service at the Foundling Hospital.  Such a sweet scene&mdash;at
first sight at all events.  The little women, like little nuns,
in their linen caps and aprons, singing like little angels in their
sweet young voices.  But my God, what tragedy lurked behind
that picture also!
</p>

<p>
"I did not hear much of the sermon for thinking of the
mothers of these 'children of shame' and the conditions under
which they must have given birth to them&mdash;sometimes in a garret,
in secret, alone, driven to dementia by a sense of impending shame.
How often a poor miserable girl in the degradation of childbirth
(which should be the crown of a woman's glory) must have been
tempted to kill her child in fear of the fate that awaited both it
and her!  And to think of the giant arm of the mighty law coming
down on a creature like that to punish her!  Lord, what crimes are
committed in the name of Justice!
</p>

<p>
"There you are now!  That's what you've done for me.
'Deed you have though.  It's truth enough, girl.  You've opened
my ears to the cry of the voice of suffering woman, and that is the
saddest sound, perhaps, that breaks on the shores of life.  And
the moral of it all is that if I do become a Judge (God knows I'm
almost afraid to hope for it) you must be my helper, my inspirer,
the tower of my strength.
</p>

<p>
"Oh, my darling, how much I love you!  It seems to me that
I lost all my life until I came to love you.  How well I recall the
blessed day when I loved you first!  It was the first time I saw
you&mdash;the first time really.  Don't you remember?  In the glen,
that glorious autumn afternoon.  The vision has followed me ever
since and I wish I could blot out every day of my life when I
have not thought of you.
</p>

<p>
"There you are again!  You see what you've done, ma'am.
But I'm not always on the heights.  What do you think?  I've
bought a motor car, and every morning I go up to Hampstead
with a teacher to learn to drive.
</p>

<p>
"It is for our honeymoon.  You called me a Viking once, and
I'm not going to be a Viking for nothing.  As soon as you are
mine, mine wholly, I am going to pick you up and carry you off
to all the inaccessible places in the island&mdash;the bent-strewn plains
of Ayre, where a lighthouse-man lives alone with his wife and
nothing else save the sea for company; the shepherd's hut on
Snaefell, where there is nothing but the sky, and the sandy headlands
of the Calf with the mists of the Atlantic sweeping over them.
</p>

<p>
"Meantime, think of me in a box of a bedroom five storeys up,
with the roaring tide of London traffic running, like a Canadian
river, sixty feet below, and write&mdash;write, write!  Tell me what is
happening in the 'lil islan'' which is lying asleep to-night in the
Irish Sea.  God bless it, and all the kind and cheery souls in it!
God bless it for evermore!
</p>

<p class="noindent">
"STOWELL."
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
II
</p>

<p>
"MY DEAR VICTOR,&mdash;You cannot imagine what a joy your letter
was.  Do you know it was my first love-letter?  Of course I
behaved like a dairymaid&mdash;took it up to bed, put it on my pillow
and said, 'You are Victor, you know,' and laid my cheek on it.
</p>

<p>
"Whatever have you done to make me so foolish?  Was it only
half of you (the physical half) that went away, leaving the spirit
half with me?  I want the other half, though, the substantial half,
so tell your Home Secretary (I like him) to hurry up and send
you home.
</p>

<p>
"You do wrong not to see the beautiful women, dear.  The
woman who is afraid of her husband looking at other women is
building her house on the sand.  I should like to say to myself,
'He has seen the loveliest women in the world, yet he comes
back to me.'
</p>

<p>
"All the same I love you for looking at the darker side of
woman's life.  It is more apparent in the greater communities,
but it is here, too, and that is why I am looking eagerly forward to
your appointment as Deemster, which will make you a creator
of the law as well as an administrator of it.  You must have no
misgivings, though.  Why should you?  A man who has a stainless
scutcheon is just what women want for their champion.  And
if I may help you how happy I shall be!
</p>

<p>
"You ask what is happening in the island.  Well, apart from
politics (of which I know nothing except that they seem to be
always the same story) the only thing of consequence is the case of
a young woman charged with the murder of her illegitimate child.
</p>

<p>
"She is a country girl who, having run away from home some
months ago, returned recently very ill and was put to bed, and
remained there until arrested.  But in the meantime the body of
a new-born infant was found under a large stone half a mile
away, and it is said to have been hers.
</p>

<p>
"She denies all knowledge of the child, but the medical
testimony seems to be sadly against her, and there is some direct
evidence also, though it is not above the suspicion of being tainted
by malice.
</p>

<p>
"She has been up before the High Bailiff and committed to the
next sitting of the General Gaol Delivery, so you are likely to hear
more of the case.  Poor thing, whatever her sin, she has already
had a fearful punishment, for she is very ill, having apparently
exposed herself to dreadful sufferings in the hope of preventing
her baby from being born alive.
</p>

<p>
"She is now in the prison hospital, and this morning I drove
over to see her.  A good-looking girl, almost beautiful (with the
sort of beauty which attracts the less worthy side of a certain type
of man), but her cheeks are now terribly thin and pale, and her
big black eyes (her finest feature) have that wild look which one
sees in a captured animal that gazes and gazes.
</p>

<p>
"I liked the girl, but she did not seem to like me.  In fact she
shrank from me (the only girl who ever did so) and when I tried
to be nice to her, and asked her to trust me, and to tell me who
was responsible for her condition, so that I might find him and
fetch him to her, she broke into a flood of fierce denial.
</p>

<p>
"Either the girl is a great story-teller or she is a great heroine,
and I am half inclined to think she may be both.  My guess would
be that she is trying to shield the guilty man.  The clothes she
had worn were better than a farm girl could afford to buy, and that
suggests that her fellow-sinner belongs to a class above her.
</p>

<p>
"Isn't it shocking that the law provides no punishment for the
man who ruins a girl's life&mdash;ruining her soul at the same time, for
that is what it often comes to.  But, please God, you will be on the
bench, so she is sure to have justice.
</p>

<p>
"Our Society has decided to undertake her defence, but we are
at a loss whom to employ.  We cannot afford a high fee either&mdash;ten
or fifteen guineas at the outside.  Can you suggest anybody?
</p>

<p>
"I intend to be present at the trial, and to stand by the girl's
side, for she will have nobody else, poor creature.  But oh, how I
wish I might plead for her!  Although her fellow-sinner will not
stand for judgment, how I should like to tear the mask from his
face and cry in open court, 'Thou art the man!'
</p>

<p>
"Good-night, dear!  It's 10 p.m., and such delicious dreams
are waiting for me upstairs.  Bring your motor-car back, and
when the time comes (I shall not keep you long) you may carry
me off to wherever you please.
</p>

<p>
"Listen, I am going to say something.  There is not much in
the heart of a woman that you don't know already, but I am about
to let you into a secret.  The woman who does not want her
husband (if only he loves her) to control her, command her, and do
anything and everything he likes with her, isn't really a woman at
all&mdash;she's only a mistake for a man!
</p>

<p>
"Victor, after that burst of nonsense I cannot conclude without
telling you again how much I love you.  I love you for
yourself, just yourself alone, quite apart from anything you may do or
have done, whether good or bad, right or wrong, and I shall go
on loving you whatever may happen to you in the future, whether
you become Deemster or not, go up or go down.
</p>

<p>
"But when I think of the life that is so surely before you, and
that I shall walk through it by your side, perfectly united with
you, sharing the same hopes and aims and desires, enjoying the
same sunshine and weathering the same storms, I have a vision of
happiness that makes me cry for joy.
</p>

<p>
"Come back to me soon, dearest.  The spring is here in all her
youthful beauty; the daffodils are nodding; the gorse on the hedges
is a blaze of gold; the sky is blue; the sea is lying asleep under a
divine shimmer of sunshine, and your island&mdash;your island that is
going to be so proud of you&mdash;is waiting to clasp you to her heart.
</p>

<p>
"And so am I, my Victor!
</p>

<p class="noindent">
"FENELLA."
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
III
</p>

<p>
"MY OWN DEAR FENELLA,&mdash;I am so troubled about the young
woman who is to be charged with the murder of her child that
(time being short) I must write at once on the subject.  It looks
like a case of the temporary mania which so often prompts women
to take life (their own or their children's) in the hope of
avoiding shame.
</p>

<p>
"God, when I think of it, that in all ages of the world tens of
thousands of women have gone through that fiery furnace and that
never one man since the days of Adam has come within sight of it,
I want to go down on my knees to the meanest and lowest of them
as the martyrs of humanity.
</p>

<p>
"Infanticide is of course a serious crime in any country, and
especially serious in the Isle of Man now, when the Governor has
made up his mind to show no mercy to persons guilty of fatal
violence.  But the killing of a new-born child is usually treated as
felonious homicide.  Therefore, if you carry out your intention of
standing by the girl's side, you may safely tell her (in order to
save her from possible shock) that even a verdict of guilty will
not mean death.
</p>

<p>
"How I wish you could plead for the poor thing!  But instruct
counsel for the defence and you will really be pleading, and I,
for one, if I am present, will hear your quivering voice in every
word he says.
</p>

<p>
"As for the choice of an Advocate&mdash;why not Alick Gell?  He
has not had too many chances, poor chap, and it will hearten him
(he was rather down when I saw him last) to be entrusted with a
serious case like this.
</p>

<p>
"Tell him to look up Galabin and Murrell on Forensic Medicine&mdash;he'll
find both in the Law Library.  The first step is to make
sure that the poor creature (I assume she is not too well educated)
has not mistaken infanticide for concealment; and the next, to
insist on proof of 'a live birth,' which it is practically impossible
to establish (except on the girl's confession) in a case of
solitary delivery.
</p>

<p>
"Yes, you are almost certainly right in thinking she is trying
to shield the guilty man, and, criminal though she is, she may be
(as you say) an absolute heroine.  In that event I trust it may not
fall to my lot to try her.  God save me from sitting in judgment
on a woman who stands silent in her shame to shield the honour
of the man she loves!
</p>

<p>
"But as for hunting down the guilty man, that (don't you
think so?) is perhaps another matter.  If it has to be done at all
it is only a woman&mdash;a pure and stainless woman&mdash;who has a right
to do it.  No man who knows himself, and how near every mother's
son of us has been to the verge of the pit, will be the first to throw
a stone.  You remember&mdash;'But for the grace of God there goes
John Wesley.'  Oh, my darling, how can I ever be grateful enough
for what you have done for me....
</p>

<p class="t3">
* * * * * * *
</p>

<p>
"Helloa!  The page boy has just been up with a letter from
the Home Secretary.  'I have the pleasure to inform you that
the King has been pleased to approve of your appointment to the
position of the Deemster of the Isle of Man....'
</p>

<p>
"How glorious!  Here I have been all day saying to myself,
'Who, in God's name, are you that you should be Judge over
anybody?' and now I'm glad&mdash;damned glad, there is no other
word for it.
</p>

<p>
"I shall telegraph the news to you in a few minutes, but I feel
as if I want to take the first boat home and become my own
messenger.  That is impossible, for I have to call on the Lord
Chancellor to-morrow about my Commission.  And then I have to see
to the transport of my car, and the purchase of my Judge's wig
and gown.  But wait, only wait!  Three days more I shall have
you in my arms.
</p>

<p>
"My respectful greetings to the Governor.  Say I know how
much I owe to him for this unprecedented appointment.  Say,
too, I shall hold myself in readiness for the ceremony of the
swearing-in, whenever he desires it to take place; also for the
next Court of General Gaol Delivery if Deemster Taubman is still
down with his rheumatism.
</p>

<p>
"And now bless you again, dearest, for all your beautiful faith
in me.  God helping me, I'll do my best to deserve it.  But you
must be my guardian watcher, my sentinel, my star.
</p>

<p>
"What a dear old world it is, darling!  It seems as if there
ought to be no suffering of any kind in it now&mdash;now that the sky
is so bright for you and me.
</p>

<p class="noindent">
"VICTOR."
</p>

<p>
"P.S.  <i>Important</i>.  Don't forget to employ Gell in that case
of the girl who killed her baby.  Alick's her man.  <i>Mind you,
though&mdash;he must compel her to tell him everything.</i>"
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p><a id="chap0324"></a></p>

<h3>
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
<br />
ALICK GELL
</h3>

<p>
For ten days Alick Gell had been searching for Bessie Collister.
When he first read her letter on reaching Derby Haven (he
read it a hundred times afterwards) he remembered something his
father had said in taunting him&mdash;"You'll not be the first by a long
way!"  Then he recalled the case of the Peel fisherman and a
black thought came hurtling down on him.  At the next moment
he hated himself for it.
</p>

<p>
"What devil out of hell made me think of that?" he
asked himself.
</p>

<p>
But why had Bessie run away from him?  The only explanation
he could find was the one Stowell had given on the steamboat&mdash;women
had illnesses which men knew nothing about, and in the
throes of their mania they sometimes hid themselves, like sick
animals, from their friends&mdash;most of all from those they loved.
Were not the newspapers full of such cases?
</p>

<p>
"That's it!  That's it!  My poor girl!"
</p>

<p>
Having arrived at this explanation of Bessie's flight, he had no
compunction about going in search of her.  Her malady might be
only temporary, but, while it lasted, Heaven alone knew what
dangers she might expose herself to.
</p>

<p>
At first it occurred to him to call in the assistance of the police.
But no, that would lead to publicity, and publicity to
misunderstanding.  Bessie would get better; he must keep her name clear
of scandal.  His voice shook and his lip trembled as he told the
Misses Brown to say nothing to anybody.  His warning was
unnecessary.  The terrified old maids, who had at length begun to
scent the truth, had decided to keep their own counsel.
</p>

<p>
Within half an hour Alick was on the road.  He had no doubt
of overtaking Bessie&mdash;she was only half an hour gone.  But
which way would she go?  It was easier to say which way she
would not go.  She would not go to the north of the island where
she would be known to nearly everybody.  Above all, she would
not go home&mdash;the home of Dan Baldromma.
</p>

<p>
All that day he wandered through Castletown&mdash;every street and
alley.  At nightfall he was back at Derby Haven.  Had Bessie
returned?  No!  Had anything been heard of her?  Nothing!
</p>

<p>
Next day he set out on a wider journey&mdash;all the towns and
villages of the south, Port St. Mary, Port Erin, Fleswick,
Ballasalla, Colby, Ballabeg and Cregneash.  He walked from daylight
to dark, and asked no questions, but at every open door he paused
and listened.  When he saw a farm-house that stood back from
the high road he made excuse to go up to it&mdash;a drink of milk
or water.
</p>

<p>
Day followed day without result.  His heart was sinking.  More
than once he met somebody whom he knew and had to make excuse
for his rambling.  Wonderful what a walking tour did to blow the
cobwebs from a fellow's brain after he had been shut up too long
in an office!  His friends looked after him with a strange
expression.  He had been something of a dandy, but his hair was
uncombed and his linen was becoming soiled and even dirty.
</p>

<p>
At length he became a prey to illusions.  He always slept in
the last house he came to, and one night, in a fisherman's cottage
near Fleswick, he was awakened by the wind blowing over the
thatch.  He thought it sounded like the voice of Bessie, and that
she was wandering over the highway in the darkness, alone
and distraught.
</p>

<p>
Next day he began to inquire if anything had been seen of such
a person.  He was told of a young woman who, found walking
barefoot on the lonely road to Dreamlang, had been taken to the
asylum, and he hurried there to inquire.  No, it was not Bessie.
Some poor young wife who (only six months married and beginning
to be happy in the prospect of a child) had lost her husband
in an accident at the mines at Foxdale.
</p>

<p>
The dread of suicide took hold of him.  One day a fish-cadger
on the road told him that a young woman's body had been washed
ashore at Peel.  Again it was nothing&mdash;nothing to him.  The
wife of the captain of a Norwegian schooner which had been
wrecked off Contrary&mdash;with her eyes open and her baby locked
in her rigid arms.
</p>

<p>
Alick's heart was failing him.  Do what he would to keep
down evil thoughts they were getting the better of him.
Sometimes he rested on the seat that usually stands outside the
whitewashed porch of a Manx cottage, and although he thought he said
so little he found that the women (especially such of them as
were mothers of grown-up girls) seemed to divine the object of
his journey.
</p>

<p>
"Aw, yes, that's the way with them, the boghs, especially when
there's a man bothering them.  Was there any man, now...."
</p>

<p>
But Alick was up and gone before they could finish their
question.
</p>

<p>
Thus ten days passed.  Absorbed in his search, perplexed and
tortured, he had seen no newspaper and heard nothing of what
was happening in the island.  Suddenly it occurred to him that
Bessie could not have left him so long without news of her.  She
could not be so cruel; she must have written, and her letter must
be lying at his office.
</p>

<p>
People who knew him, and saw him return to Douglas, could
scarcely recognise him in the pale, unwashed, unshaven man who
climbed the steps from the station, looking like a drunkard who
had been sleeping out in the fields.
</p>

<p>
His chambers, when he turned the key (he had no clerk now),
were stuffy and cheerless.  The ashes of his last fire were on the
hearth, and his desk was covered with dust.  Behind the door (he
had no letter-box) a number of circulars and bills lay on the
ground, but, running his trembling fingers through them, he found
no letter from Bessie.
</p>

<p>
There was a large and bulky envelope, though, with the seal of
Government House, and marked "Immediate."  What could it
be?  On the top of a thick body of folio paper he found a letter.
It was from Fenella Stanley.
</p>

<p class="letter">
"DEAR MR. GELL,&mdash;At the suggestion of Mr. Stowell,
who is still in London, I am writing on behalf of the
Women's Protection League, to ask you if you can undertake
the defence of the young woman in the north of the island
who is to be charged with the murder of her new-born child."
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p>
Alick paused a moment to draw breath.
</p>

<p class="letter">
"You will see by the report of the High Bailiff's inquiry
and the copy of the Depositions which I enclose that the
girl denies everything, and that her mother supports her,
but the evidence is only too sadly against her&mdash;particularly
that of the doctors and of two neighbours who live higher
up the glen."
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p>
Alick felt his heart stop and his whole body grew cold.
</p>

<p class="letter">
"Her step-father...."
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p>
The letter almost dropped from his fingers.
</p>

<p class="letter">
"Her step-father has not been asked by the prosecution
to depose, and it is doubtful if the defence ought to call him."
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p>
He was becoming dizzy.  The lines of the letter were running
into each other.
</p>

<p class="quote">
"Innocent or guilty, the girl has suffered terribly.  She
has been several days in hospital at Ramsey, but she was
to be removed to Castle Rushen this morning.  Her case is
to come on next week at the Court of General Gaol Delivery,
so perhaps you will send me a telegram immediately saying
if you can take up the defence.
</p>

<p class="letter">
"As you see the poor creature is herself an illegitimate
child&mdash;the name by which she is commonly known being
Bessie Collister."
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p>
Alick shrieked.  He had seen the blow coming, but when it
came it fell on him like a thunderbolt.
</p>

<p>
It was all a lie&mdash;a damned lie!  Nobody would make him believe
it.  Bessie arrested for the murder of her child!  She had
never had a child.
</p>

<p>
He leapt to his feet and tramped the room on stiffened limbs
and with a heart throbbing with anger.  Then, half afraid, but
doing his best to compose himself, he took the report and the
Depositions out of the big envelope, and, sitting before the dead
hearth with his shaking feet on the fender, and holding the folio
pages in his dead-cold hands, he read the evidence.
</p>

<p>
As he did so he shrieked again, but this time with laughter.
What a tissue of manifest lies!  The Skillicornes and their quarrel
with Dan Baldromma&mdash;what a malicious conspiracy!  Lord, what
blind fools the police could be!  And the Attorney, had he come to
his second childhood?
</p>

<p>
Again and again Alick thumped the desk with his fist and filled
the air of the room with the dust that rose in the sunshine which
was now pouring through the windows.
</p>

<p>
There was a photograph of Bessie on the mantelpiece&mdash;a copy
of the same that she had sent to Stowell.  He snatched it up and
kissed it.  Never had Bessie been so dear to him as now&mdash;now
when she was in prison under a false accusation.  And the best
of it was that he was to get her off.  He must see her at
once, though.
</p>

<p>
"My poor girl!  In Castle Rushen!"
</p>

<p>
The first thing to do was to wash and change (he cut himself
badly in shaving), but in less than half-an-hour he was at the
Post-office telegraphing to Fenella.
</p>

<p>
"Gladly."
</p>

<p>
Brief as the message was, the clerk at the counter could hardly
decipher the agitated handwriting.
</p>

<p>
A few minutes later he was at the Police-office, asking the Chief
Constable for an order to allow him, as Bessie's advocate, to see
her alone in her cell.
</p>

<p>
At two o'clock he was back at the railway-station, taking the
train for Castletown.  As he stepped into his carriage the
newsboys were calling the contents of the evening paper:
</p>

<p>
<i>Victor Stowell appointed Deemster.</i>
</p>

<p>
Glorious!  Bessie would have a human being on the bench.
Thank God for that anyway!
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
II
</p>

<p>
"I don't know what you are talking about&mdash;I really don't.
You make me laugh.  Whatever will you say next!  I was ill and
I came home to have my mother nurse me, and that was all I knew
until Cain, the constable, came to bring me here."
</p>

<p>
It was Bessie before the High Bailiff.  Her face was thin and
pale, and she was clutching the rail of the dock in an effort to keep
herself erect, while her shrill voice echoed to the roof.
</p>

<p>
The magistrate was about to commit her to prison when
Dr. Clucas rose in the body of the Court-house.
</p>

<p>
"Your worship," he said (his voice was husky and his eyes had
a look of tears), "the defendant is suffering from the temporary
mania which is not unusual in such cases.  I suggest that she
should be sent to the hospital."
</p>

<p>
Bessie fainted.  The next thing she knew was that she was in
bed in a hospital ward, and that another doctor (a younger man
with thin hair and a large pugnacious mouth) was leaning over her,
and laying his hand on her breast.  She pushed it off, and then he
said, in an authoritative tone,
</p>

<p>
"My good woman, if you are innocent, as you say, the best
proof you can give is that of a medical examination."
</p>

<p>
At this Bessie broke into fierce wrath.
</p>

<p>
"If you touch me again," she cried, "I'll tear your eyes out!"
</p>

<p>
Then she fainted once more, and for two days lay in a strong
delirium.  When she came to herself a nurse with a kind face was
by her side, saying "Hush!" and doing something at her breast
with a glass instrument.
</p>

<p>
She knew she had been delirious (having a vague memory of
crying "Alick!  Alick!" as she returned to consciousness) and
was in fear of what she might have said.
</p>

<p>
"Is it morning?" she asked.
</p>

<p>
"Yes, dear."
</p>

<p>
"Then it's the next day?"
</p>

<p>
"The next but one."
</p>

<p>
"Have I been wandering?"
</p>

<p>
"A little."
</p>

<p>
"Did I call for anybody?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes."
</p>

<p>
She dare not ask whom, but lay wondering if Alick knew where
she was and what had happened to her.  After a while she said,
</p>

<p>
"Is it in the papers?"
</p>

<p>
The nurse nodded, and after a moment, with her eyes down,
Bessie said,
</p>

<p>
"Has anybody been here to ask for me?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes, your mother&mdash;she comes night and morning."
</p>

<p>
"Nobody else?"
</p>

<p>
"Nobody."
</p>

<p>
Bessie broke into sobs and turned her face to the wall.  Alick
knew!  He had given her up!  She had lost him!
</p>

<p>
When she recovered from an agony of tears her eyes were glittering
and her heart was bitter.  What did she care what became
of her now?  They might do what they liked with her.  Deny?
What was the good?  She would deny no longer.  She would tell
the truth about everything.
</p>

<p>
Then Fenella Stanley came.  Bessie thought she liked Miss
Stanley better than any woman, except her mother, she had ever
known.  But that only made it the harder to hold to her resolution,
for if she told the truth she would surely hurt Fenella.  "Oh, why
do you come to torture me?" she cried, when Fenella asked who
was her "friend."  And not another word would she say.
</p>

<p>
Two days later, before breakfast, Cain, the constable, came
with a sergeant of police to take her to Castle Rushen.  She did
not care!  Why should she?  But as she was leaving the hospital
the nurse with the kind face whispered,
</p>

<p>
"Good-bye, dear.  You're all right now.  I'm going away and
will say nothing."
</p>

<p>
It was a cruelly beautiful morning, with a golden shimmer from
the rising sun upon a tranquil sea.  The railway station was full
of townspeople going up to Douglas (it was market day there),
so Bessie was hurried into the last compartment.
</p>

<p>
When the train ran into the country a flood of memories swept
over her and she found it hard to keep back her tears.  The young
lambs were skipping on the hill-sides; the sheep were bleating;
girls in sun bonnets were coming from the whitewashed outhouses
to drive the cattle into the fields.
</p>

<p>
When they drew up at the station for the glen the shingly
platform was crowded with passengers waiting for the
train&mdash;rosy-faced women with broad open baskets of butter and eggs, and
elderly farmers smoking their strong thick twist and surrounded
by their panting dogs.  Bessie knew them all.  At the last moment
a young woman in a low cut blouse ran up&mdash;it was Susie Stephen.
</p>

<p>
Bessie crept into a corner of the carriage and closed her eyes.
But she could not shut out everything.  Over the rumble of the
wheels, when the train started again, she heard shrieks of laughter
from the compartment in front.  The elderly men were jesting
in their free way with the girls, and the girls, nothing loth, were
answering them back.
</p>

<p>
At the junction of St. John's, the train had to stop for carriages
from Peel to be linked on to it, and while the coupling was
going on one of the passengers strolled along the platform.  It
was Willie Teare, who had wanted to marry Bessie, and he saw her
behind the constables.  At the next moment a throng of girls
gathered outside her window, but the constables pulled down
the blinds.
</p>

<p>
"Take your seats!  Take your seats!"
</p>

<p>
The train went on.  There was no more laughter from the
passengers in the compartment in front.  Bessie
understood&mdash;they were whispering about her.
</p>

<p>
Her heart was becoming hard.  Sitting in the darkened carriage,
with spears of sunlight flashing from the flapping blinds,
she heard the constables talking about Mr. Stowell.  It was
reported that he had been made Deemster.  He would make a good
Deemster, too.
</p>

<p>
"A taste young, maybe, but clever&mdash;clever uncommon."
</p>

<p>
On reaching Douglas, where they had to change into the train
for Castletown, Bessie was being hustled across the platform,
between the constables, when she became aware of a crowd of
women and girls who were crushing up to stare at her.  There was
a whispering and muttering.
</p>

<p>
"There she is!"  "Serve her right, <i>I</i> say!"
</p>

<p>
Half-an-hour later she was in Castle Rushen.  The darkness
within was blinding after the sunshine without.  A woman with
short and difficult breathing was moving about her.  It was
Mrs. Mylrea, the female warder.  She took off Bessie's cloak and hat,
and, leaving her a brown blanket and a hard pillow, went away
without speaking a word.
</p>

<p>
But then came Vondy, the head jailer, with words enough for
both of them.  Bessie did not know she was crying until the old
man, in his blundering way, began to comfort her.
</p>

<p>
"Tut, tut, gel!  They're not for hanging you yet at all.
While there's life there's hope!"
</p>

<p>
Left alone at last, and her eyes accustomed to the darkness, she
saw where she was&mdash;in a stone vault that had a small grill in the
door (behind which a candle was burning) and a barred and
deeply-recessed window, near the ceiling, through which a dull ray
of borrowed light was coming, for the prison overlooked the
harbour on the west of the Castle.
</p>

<p>
By this time her tears were turned to gall.  A frightful revulsion
had come over her soul.  What had she done to deserve all this?
The injustice of it, the cruelty, the barbarity, the hypocrisy!
</p>

<p>
Men were all alike.  Go on, she knew what men were!  A man
only wanted one thing of a girl, and when he got that he forgot all
about her.  Alick Gell was the best of them, yet even he had
forsaken her now that she was in trouble.
</p>

<p>
She had never intended to do harm to anybody, and yet there
she was, and would remain, until they came to take her to the
Court-house on the other side of the Castle-yard.  Then hundreds
of eyes would be on her (women's eyes too) and when she raised
her own she would see Mr. Stowell on the bench.
</p>

<p>
What a mockery!  Mr. Stowell her judge!  What would he do?
His "duty" of course.  All right, let him do it!  Only she, too,
would do something.  After he had tried her and sentenced her
and finished with her, she would tell him something.  Why shouldn't
she?  And what did she care what happened to anybody else?
Fenella Stanley was nothing to her.
</p>

<p>
Suddenly she thought again about Alick Gell.  If she did what
she intended to do (tell everything) Alick also would be disgraced.
The shame of her misfortune would follow him to the last day of
his life.  Even his own father would cast it up to him.  Hadn't
she done enough harm to Alick already?  If he had deserted her,
she had deceived him.  And yet she had deceived him only because
she loved him.
</p>

<p>
"Alick!  Alick!  Alick!"
</p>

<p>
Her heart was crying.  She was wishing she were dead.
</p>

<p>
She had flung herself down on her plank bed, with her face to
the blank wall, when she heard the dead beating of footsteps in the
corridor outside.  At the next moment the door of her cell was
opened and Tommy Vondy, the jailer, was saying,
</p>

<p>
"Mr. Alexander Gell, the advocate, to see you alone."
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
III
</p>

<p>
"Bessie!"
</p>

<p>
The jailer had gone.  Alick was breathing quickly in the darkness
by the door, and Bessie was huddled up on the bed, with the
dull ray of reflected light upon her from the wall above.
</p>

<p>
"Bessie!"
</p>

<p>
His voice was low and full of tears.  At first she did not answer.
</p>

<p>
"It's Alick.  Won't you speak to me?"
</p>

<p>
"Go away!"
</p>

<p>
He could hear that she was crying.
</p>

<p>
"You won't send me away, Bessie.  I have been looking for
you all over the island.  It was only to-day I heard where you
were and what had happened.  I have come to help you&mdash;to
save you."
</p>

<p>
He saw the dark form rising on the bed.
</p>

<p>
"Do you know what they say I did?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes, I know everything."
</p>

<p>
"And you don't believe it?"
</p>

<p>
"Not one word of it."
</p>

<p>
"You think I am innocent?"
</p>

<p>
"I am sure you are."
</p>

<p>
"Alick!"
</p>

<p>
With a great sob that shook her whole body she rose to her feet
and flung herself upon him.  For a long time they stood clasped
in each other's arms, and crying like children.  Then they sat
down side by side on the plank bed.  His arm was about her, and
her head was on his shoulder.
</p>

<p>
He was trying to make his voice cheerful, though it cracked
sorely, while he reproved her for her tears.  She would soon be
free to leave that place.  There was really nothing against her.
Never had there been such a trumped-up case.  The police must
be crazy.
</p>

<p>
She clung to him with a frightened tenderness while he told her
of the letter from Fenella Stanley asking him to take up the
defence on behalf of the Society.
</p>

<p>
"Of course I should have taken it up in any case, you know.
And now you must authorise me to defend you."
</p>

<p>
She was startled.  In the half darkness he saw her pale face
(so pale and so thin) raised to his with a frightened look.
</p>

<p>
"You?"
</p>

<p>
"Why not, dear?  I'm an advocate.  You don't suppose I'm
going to leave your defence to anybody else, do you?"
</p>

<p>
"No, no!  You must not!"
</p>

<p>
"But why?  Can't you trust me, Bess?"
</p>

<p>
"It isn't that."
</p>

<p>
"What then?"
</p>

<p>
Bessie did not answer him, and he went on talking, though his
voice was breaking again.  He knew he was not a born lawyer and
a great speaker like Stowell, but the facts were so clear that he
had only to state them and they would speak for themselves.
</p>

<p>
A fierce struggle was going on in Bessie's soul.  He whom she
had wronged (never having wronged anybody else), he for whom
she had committed her crime, wanted her to authorise him to stand
up in Court and say she had not committed it.  She had deceived
him once&mdash;could she deceive him again?
</p>

<p>
"No, no, no!  I cannot!"
</p>

<p>
Alick was puzzled.  "What do you mean, Bessie?  Why
shouldn't I be your advocate?"
</p>

<p>
"I don't want any advocate."
</p>

<p>
"But you must have one.  It isn't enough to be not guilty&mdash;we
must prove you're not.  Why shouldn't I do so?"
</p>

<p>
At length she was forced to make some explanation.  The police
were determined to have her condemned; therefore he would lose
his case and that would go against him.
</p>

<p>
"Good gracious, girl, what nonsense!  Anybody may lose a
case.  The greatest lawyers have lost cases.  But it's impossible
that I should lose this one.  And even if I lose it&mdash;do you know
what I shall do?"
</p>

<p>
"What?"
</p>

<p>
"Wait outside the prison door until you come out and marry
you the same day to show that I believe in you still."
</p>

<p>
At that Bessie was in floods of tears again.  And again they
cried in each other's arms like children.
</p>

<p>
Then Alick, after drying his eyes in the darkness, put on a
brave air, and told her what she had to do.
</p>

<p>
"Listen to me now.  This is a low conspiracy, but if we are to
defeat it, you must stick to your story.  I shall have to put you
in the box, for you must leave the Court without a stain on your
character.  First of all you must say...."
</p>

<p>
And then sitting by Bessie's side in the dark cell, with only the
candle looking in on them from the outside ledge of the grill, he
rehearsed the facts as they were to be given in Court&mdash;how by the
cruelty of her step-father she had been shut out of the house late
at night and had had to go elsewhere; how she had returned, being
unwell, and wishing her mother to nurse her, and how she had been
put to bed and had never left it until the constables came to take
her away.
</p>

<p>
Bessie listened in silence, gazing before her like a captured
sheep, and answering only by a nodding of her head.
</p>

<p>
"If the Attorney asks you anything else&mdash;no matter what&mdash;you
must say you know nothing about it&mdash;-do you understand?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes."
</p>

<p>
"Say it after me then&mdash;'I know nothing about it.'"
</p>

<p>
Bessie repeated the words like a woman talking in her
sleep&mdash;-"'I know nothing about it.'"
</p>

<p>
"That's all right.  Leave the rest to me."
</p>

<p>
"You think I shall get off?"
</p>

<p>
"I'm sure of it.  If the General Gaol is held next week, we'll
be married the week after."
</p>

<p>
"But, Alick?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes."
</p>

<p>
"Your father and sisters, will they not always cast it up at
you that your wife has been tried for...."
</p>

<p>
"Let them!  If they do the Isle of Man will be dead to me for
ever.  We'll go abroad&mdash;to America perhaps&mdash;and leave
everything and everybody behind us."
</p>

<p>
Bessie was crying once more, and Alick, to conceal his own
tears, was going off with great bustle.
</p>

<p>
"Good-bye!  I'll be here again to-morrow.  And oh, what do
you think, Bess?  Great news!  Stowell has been made Deemster.
So if the good Lord in Heaven will only keep that damned old
Taubman in bed a little longer with his rheumatism, Stowell will be
on the bench and you'll have a fair trial at all events.  Good-bye!"
</p>

<p>
For the next half-hour Bessie sobbed with joy.  Tell the truth
and destroy Alick's faith in her?  Never!  Never in this world!
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p><a id="chap0325"></a></p>

<h3>
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
<br />
THE DEEMSTER'S OATH
</h3>

<p>
It was the morning of the day of the swearing-in of the new
Deemster at Castle Rushen.  The Bishop had asked permission to
solemnise the ceremony with a religious service&mdash;a custom
long unobserved.
</p>

<p>
The service was held in a groined chamber of moderate size
within walls thirty feet thick, once the banqueting-hall of the
Kings of Man, now the jail chapel, with an atmosphere that
seemed to be compounded equally of the intoxicated laughter of the
old revellers and the moans of the condemned prisoners.
</p>

<p>
For the event of the day the chill place had been suitably
decorated.  Flags hung on the tarred walls, red cushions from the
neighbouring church had been laid on the bare benches; a carpet
had been stretched down the aisle of the flagged floor; a white
embroidered altar-cloth covered the plain communion table, from
which the light of four candles in silver candlesticks flickered on
the faces of the small congregation&mdash;chiefly officials, with their
wives and daughters.
</p>

<p>
Shortly before eleven, the hour fixed for the service, Stowell
entered, wearing for the first time the wig and gown of a judge,
and he was led to one of three arm-chairs at the front.  A little
later there came through the thick walls the sound of soldiery
clashing arms outside the Castle, and at the next moment the
Governor arrived in General's uniform of red and gold, with
Fenella behind him in a large spring hat (her face glowing with
animation), and they took the two remaining chairs.  Then the
Bishop in his scarlet robes came in, preceded by his crozier, and
the service began.
</p>

<p>
It was short but solemn.  First a psalm of David ("He shall
judge thy people with righteousness and thy poor with judgment");
then an epistle to the Romans ("Owe no man anything");
and then an improvised prayer by the Bishop, asking the
Almighty to grant His strength and wisdom to His servant who
was shortly to take the solemn oath of his great office, that he
might deliver the poor and needy, deal faithfully with all men,
and show mercy to such as had erred and sinned.  Then
came the hymn "Thou Judge of quick and dead," and finally
the Benediction.
</p>

<p>
Stowell was strongly affected.  He knelt at the prayer, and
when the service was at an end and it was time to go, Fenella
had to touch his shoulder.
</p>

<p>
The sun was bright outside, and they blinked their eyes as
they crossed the courtyard to the Court-house.
</p>

<p>
The stately little chamber was full, save for the seats that had
been reserved for the officials.  There was a flash of faces, a
waft of perfume, a flutter of handkerchiefs and a hum of whispering
as the Governor stepped up to the scarlet dais, with Stowell
following him and taking for the first time the seat of the Judge.
</p>

<p>
People who had been talking of the youth of the new Deemster
were heard to say that in his judge's wig he seemed older than they
had expected and so like the portrait on the wall that one could
almost fancy that his father was looking through the windows
of his eyes.
</p>

<p>
The proceedings began with the Governor calling upon Stowell
for his Commission, and then reading it aloud&mdash;"Our trusty and
well-beloved Victor Stowell to be Deemster of this isle."
</p>

<p>
After that everybody stood while the new Judge took the oath
of fealty to the King.  Then the Deemster's clerk, Joshua Scarff,
in his coloured spectacles, handed up a quarto copy of the Bible
and a deep hush fell on the assembly, for the time had come for
the Deemster's oath.
</p>

<p>
The Governor and Stowell rose again, but all others remained
seated.  Each laid one hand on the open Book, and the Governor
read the oath, clause by clause in loud, strong tones that seemed
to smite the walls as with blows.  And, clause by clause, Stowell
repeated it after him in a lower voice that was sometimes
barely audible:
</p>

<p>
"<i>By this Book and the holy contents thereof....</i>"
</p>

<p>
"<i>By this Book and the holy contents thereof....</i>"
</p>

<p>
"<i>And by all the wonderful works which God hath miraculously
wrought in heaven and on the earth beneath in six days and seven
nights, I, Victor Christian Stowell....</i>"
</p>

<p>
"<i>I, Victor Christian Stowell, do swear that I will, without
respect or fear or friendship, love or gain, consanguinity or affinity,
envy or malice, execute the laws of this isle justly betwixt our
Sovereign Lord the King and his subjects within the isle, and
betwixt party and party, man and man, man and woman....</i>"
</p>

<p>
"<i>.... man and woman ....</i>"
</p>

<p>
"<i>.... as indifferently as the herring bone doth lie down the
middle of the fish.</i>"
</p>

<p>
There was a deep silence until the oath was ended and then a
general drawing of breath.
</p>

<p>
The Governor and the new Deemster sat and the Clerk
of the Rolls handed up the Liber Juramentorum, the Book of
Oaths, a large volume in faded leather with leaves of
discoloured parchment.
</p>

<p>
It was observed, and afterwards remarked upon, that when
Stowell took up the pen to sign he hesitated for a moment, and
then wrote his name rapidly and nervously, and that, in the silence,
a diamond ring which he wore on his right hand (it was a present
from Fenella) clashed with a discordant sound against the glass
tray as he threw the pen back.
</p>

<p>
The business being over, the Bishop gave out the hymn that is
sung at the close of nearly all Manx festivals, "O God, our
help," and all rose and sang.
</p>

<p>
Stowell rose with the rest, but he did not sing.  He was no
longer conscious of the eyes that were on him.  The emotion which
he had been struggling to repress had at length conquered his
self-control.  While the Court-house throbbed with the singing he was
thinking of the Judges who had stood in the same place and taken
that oath before him.  There had been a thousand years of them.
</p>

<p>
He turned to the eastern wall and his father's melancholy eyes
seemed to look at him.  "Yes, you too," they seemed to say,
"must now do the right, whatever it may cost you.  You are no
longer yourself only.  The souls of all your predecessors have this
day entered into your soul.  You must consider yourself no more.
You must be just&mdash;or perish."
</p>

<p>
The hymn came to an end and there was a shuffling of feet like
the pattering of water in the harbour at the top of the tide.  The
next thing Stowell knew was that he was unrobed and going down
the Deemster's private staircase to the Court-yard of the Castle.
</p>

<p>
A large company was there waiting to congratulate him.  Janet
(he had ordered that a front seat should be reserved for her) was
holding a little court of elderly ladies, to whom she was relating
wonderful stories of his childhood.  She broke away from them to
kiss him.  And then she kissed Fenella also and whispered,
</p>

<p>
"Don't forget to send him home in time, dear."
</p>

<p>
"I'll not forget," said Fenella.
</p>

<p>
And then she, on her part, with a face aflame, whispered something
to the Governor, who, shaking hands all round, was making
ready to go.
</p>

<p>
"What?  You want to return in the automobile?  Very well, off
you go!  The Attorney will take pity on your forsaken father."
</p>

<p>
Outside the gate there was a great crowd, behind a regiment
of red-coated soldiers, and when the Governor and the Attorney-General
drove off they broke into a cheer which drowned the clash
of steel and the first bars of the National Anthem.
</p>

<p>
But that was as nothing compared with the demonstration when
Stowell went off in his car, sitting at the wheel, with Fenella
beside him.
</p>

<p>
"Long live the new Deemster&mdash;hip, hip&mdash;hip!"
</p>

<p>
The great shout, the mighty roar of voices, brought a surging
to Stowell's throat and a tightening to his breast.  It followed his
car, going off in the sunshine, until it shot over the bridge that
crossed the harbour, and there Fenella turned back her glistening
wet eyes and bowed.
</p>

<p class="t3">
* * * * * * *
</p>

<p>
Others heard it.  The prisoners in their dark cells, rising from
their plank beds and hunching their shoulders in the chill air,
listened to the joyous sounds from without, which broke the usual
silence of their gloomy walls, and said to themselves,
</p>

<p>
"What are they doing now, I wonder?"
</p>

<p>
There were seven prisoners in the Castle that day.  One of
them was Bessie Collister.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
II
</p>

<p>
"Addio!  See you at supper!"
</p>

<p>
Fenella was waving to the Governor and the Attorney, and
laughing at their slow speed, as she and Stowell shot past them
before they had left the town.
</p>

<p>
The morning was beautiful, the sky blue, the sea glistening
under a fresh breeze.  They were running, bounding, leaping
along the roads, and talking loudly above the hum of the car.
Stowell had caught the contagion of Fenella's high spirits and
awakened from his long trance.
</p>

<p>
"Well, what did you think of it?"
</p>

<p>
"The ceremony?  Lovely!"
</p>

<p>
"But you were crying all the time!"
</p>

<p>
"It must have been through looking at you, then.  There was
everybody doing you honour, and you looked like a man going
to execution."
</p>

<p>
He laughed; she laughed; they laughed together, but they had
their serious moments for all that.  One of them came when she
spoke of the Oath, saying how quaint and amusing it was.
</p>

<p>
"A little frightening, though," said Stowell.
</p>

<p>
"Frightening?"
</p>

<p>
"Well, yes, I thought so.  Made one feel as if old Job had had
something to say for himself.  Who was I to judge others, having
done wrong myself?"
</p>

<p>
"Really!  You wicked fellow!  I wasn't aware you had so
many sins to answer for.  But <i>I</i> know!"
</p>

<p>
And then, in flash after flash, each sparkling like a diamond,
came pictures of his predecessors.  The solemn judge; the jesting
judge; the judge who suspected all men of lying; the judge who
believed everybody told the truth; the sour, dour, swearing and
hanging judge, who served Justice as if she had been a Juggernaut,
and the gay Judge who bought and sold her as he did
his mistresses.
</p>

<p>
"What a procession!  And the question was, which kind were
you going to belong to&mdash;eh?"
</p>

<p>
Again he laughed; they both laughed; and the car flew on.
Another serious moment came.  He mentioned the Book of Oaths,
saying that while turning over its leaves with their faded ink he
had been seized with a sudden fear of writing his name, whereupon
Fenella, with a mischievous look of gravity, cried again,
</p>

<p>
"<i>I</i> know.  You thought you were signing your death-warrant."
</p>

<p>
Yet another serious moment came when she asked him if he had
not been proud of the send-off his countrymen had given him at the
Castle gate.  He replied that he would have been so but for the
wretched thought that if anything happened to him their love
would as suddenly turn to hate, and they would howl as loudly
as they had cheered.
</p>

<p>
"But what nonsense!" cried Fenella.  "Love&mdash;what I call
love&mdash;is not like that.  It never dies and never changes."
</p>

<p>
"Never?"
</p>

<p>
"Never!  If I loved anybody and anything happened, I should
fight the world for him."
</p>

<p>
"Even if he were in the wrong?"
</p>

<p>
"Goodness yes!  Where would be the merit of fighting for
him if he were in the right?"
</p>

<p>
"Darling!" cried Stowell, and, the road being clear, and
nobody in sight, he had to slow down the car to kiss her.
</p>

<p>
After that he threw off the solemnity of the ceremony and
gave himself up to the intoxication of love.  With Fenella by his
side, looking up at him with her beaming eyes, and laughing with
her gay raillery, what else could he think about?  A few miles
out of Castletown he said,
</p>

<p>
"Let us take the old road back&mdash;it's longer."
</p>

<p>
"Yes, it's longer."
</p>

<p>
Every fresh mile was a fresh delight.  How the Spring was
coming on!  Look at the gorse, already in its glory!  And the
lambs just born and still trembling on their doddering limbs!  And
the tragic old hens with their fluffy yellow broods!  And then the
cottages, half buried in their big fuchsias!  And the farmers
whitewashing their farmhouses to wipe out the stains of winter!
</p>

<p>
"What a jolly old world it is, isn't it?" he cried.
</p>

<p>
"Isn't it?" she answered, and without looking to see if the
way was clear, he had to slow down the car and kiss her again.
</p>

<p>
A few miles south of Douglas they turned into a road that ran
like a shelf along the edge of the cliffs, with the sea surging on the
grey rocks below, and nothing but its round rim against the sky.
The breeze was stronger out there, but every gust was a joy.
Stowell took off his hat and threw it to the bottom of the car.
Fenella unpinned hers and held it on her knee.  His black hair
tumbled over his forehead, and her bronze-brown hair, loosened
from its knot, flew about her head like a flag.
</p>

<p>
More than ever now they had the sense of flying.  The sun
danced on the breakers; the foam floated in trembling flakes into
the blue sky; the sea-fowl screamed about them.  With the taste
of the brine on their lips, and the sting of it in their blood, they
shouted at every sight and sound.
</p>

<p>
"Look at that white horse down there!  See how he rears his
head and plunges forward.  Ah, he has had enough!  No, he's
coming on again with a roar!"
</p>

<p>
"But look at the sea-holly and the wild thyme!  And the rabbits
scuttling into their holes!  And the goats on the peaks of
the cliffs!"
</p>

<p>
"Lord!  What a jolly old world it is, though!"
</p>

<p>
"Didn't you say that before, Victor?"
</p>

<p>
"Did I?  Well, I'm going to say it every blessed day of my
life to come."
</p>

<p>
"No, no!  Take care!  We're on the edge of the cliff.  We'll
be over!"
</p>

<p>
"No matter&mdash;another kiss!"
</p>

<p>
The wind was from the south, and the sea, breaking along the
broken line of the coast, was making a sound like that of the
ringing of bells.  It was the phenomenon of nature which gave rise to
the tradition that a town lies buried under the sea at that point, so
that Manx fishermen, coming back from their fishing-ground at
sunrise, will sometimes say, "The wedding bells are ringing!"
</p>

<p>
Stowell heard them now, over the roar of the waves in their
mad welter, and he cried,
</p>

<p>
"Listen to the bells!"
</p>

<p>
"What bells?"
</p>

<p>
"Our bells!" he cried.
</p>

<p>
And then at the full power of their lungs, over the hum of the
engine and the boom of the breakers, they sang a verse of the song
of the submerged city:
</p>

<p class="poem">
  "<i>Here where the ocean is whitened with foam,<br />
  Here stood a city, an altar, a home.<br />
  &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Hark to the bells that ring under the sea,<br />
  &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Salve Regina!  Salve Regina!<br />
  &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Love is the Queen for you and for me,<br />
  &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Salve, Salve Regina!</i>"<br />
</p>

<p>
After that they laughed again, and in sheer gaiety of heart,
sang every nonsensical thing they could think about, until, being
breathless and hoarse and compelled to stop, Fenella said,
</p>

<p>
"I wonder what those people in the Court-house would think
if they could see their great man now!  But I suppose there has
never been a great man since the beginning of the world but some
woman has known him for what he really is&mdash;just a big boy!"
</p>

<p>
At three o'clock in the afternoon luncheon was over at Government
House; the Governor and the Attorney-General had gone off
to smoke; Miss Green, like a wise woman, had betaken herself to
her room, and Fenella and Stowell were alone.
</p>

<p>
"Now you must get away to Ballamoar.  I promised Janet to
send you back in time.  Some kind of welcome home, you know."
</p>

<p>
But Stowell stood over her (she was at the piano) and
whispered,
</p>

<p>
"When?"
</p>

<p>
She pretended not to understand him, and again, and in a more
emphatic voice, he demanded,
</p>

<p>
"When?"
</p>

<p>
She was compelled to comprehend at last, and said that if all
went well, and he behaved himself, and her father approved, a
month that day, perhaps .... no, two months....
</p>

<p>
"Done!"
</p>

<p>
A few minutes later they were in the porch for their last parting.
He was holding her in a long embrace.  He felt like Jacob
who had waited so long for Rachel.  He would never be entirely
happy until she was wholly his.
</p>

<p>
She laughed&mdash;a nervous and palpitating laugh.
</p>

<p>
"Rachel indeed?  Take care it isn't Leah in the morning, Sir."
</p>

<p>
But seeing the cloud that crossed his face at that word, she
kissed him of herself, saying they belonged to each other already
and nothing could ever separate them.
</p>

<p>
"Nothing?"
</p>

<p>
"Nothing!"
</p>

<p>
And then a long tremulous kiss and he was gone.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
III
</p>

<p>
Home!
</p>

<p>
He had reached the top of the mountain road, and the setting
sun was striking him full in the face.  To right and left, before
and behind, across the broad waters, stood the dim ghosts of
England, Scotland, Ireland and Wales.  But what did he care
for these greater scenes?  Down yonder was Ballamoar, and to
him, as to his father, it was enough to be Deemster of Man and
Judge of his own people.
</p>

<p>
News of his home-coming had been telegraphed from Douglas,
and when his car shot out of the glen the church bells were ringing
all over the Curagh.  People working in the fields climbed the
hedges to wave as he went by, and feeble old men came to the
doors of the cottages to lift up the hooked handles of their
sticks to him.
</p>

<p>
On reaching the entrance to Ballamoar he found a crowd waiting
at the gate, and a streamer from post to post, saying&mdash;
</p>

<p class="t3">
  &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;WELCOME TO<br />
  HIS FATHER'S SON.<br />
</p>

<p>
The hum of the automobile awakened the colony of rooks in the
tall trees, and, swirling above the lawn, they raised a deafening
clamour.  This brought from the porch Janet (back from Castletown)
with a flutter of black frocks and white aprons behind her.
</p>

<p>
A great company of the people of the parish were at tea in the
hall, chiefly women, but of all classes, from the nervous wife of
the Vicar to the widow of the cowman.
</p>

<p>
"Don't get up," cried Stowell.
</p>

<p>
He had entered with a shout, tossing his hat on to the settle
and saluting everybody by name, just as he used to do when he
was a boy and annexed them all for relations.
</p>

<p>
"Sit here, Auntie Kitty.  This is your seat, Alice.  Parson,
won't you take the bottom of the table?  And, Dad" (this to Robbie
Creer in his Sunday homespun), "take my place by Mrs. Creer
while I help Jane with the teacups."
</p>

<p>
"Did thou hear that, mistress?" said Robbie behind his hand
to Janet, who was turning the tap of the tea urn.  "They may make
him Dempster, but he doesn't forget his old friends for all."
</p>

<p>
In a moment everybody was talking and laughing.  It was just
as if a fresh breeze had come down from the mountains on a hot
day in harvest.
</p>

<p>
During tea Joshua Scarff arrived with a green portfolio under
his arm.
</p>

<p>
"I've brought some documents you'll wish to look at before
the Court sits, your Honour."
</p>

<p>
"Good!  Put them on the desk in the library and then come
back and have some tea."
</p>

<p>
The twilight deepened and the company prepared to go.
Stowell stood at the door, with Janet beside him, while the young
girls of the choir of the Methodist chapel ranged themselves in
front of the house and sang in their sweet young voices, which
floated through the gathering gloom, "God be with you till we
meet again."
</p>

<p>
"Good-night, all!"
</p>

<p>
"Good-night, your Honour!"
</p>

<p>
Night!  The great day had dropped asleep; the clock on the
landing was striking nine; dinner was over; Janet (she had "a
head") had gone to her room, and Stowell was stepping on to
the piazza.
</p>

<p>
The wind had fallen and the night was silent, almost breathless.
The revolving light on the Point of Ayre was answering to the
gleam on Galloway; and the moon, which was almost at the full,
was glistening on the waters that rolled between.
</p>

<p>
How beautiful, how limpid!  It was just such a night as that
on which Fenella and he had sat out there together.  He could still
see her as she was then&mdash;the slim young girl in a white dress and
satin slippers, with her intoxicating face in the frame of the silk
handkerchief which she had bound about her head.  And now she
was to become his wife!
</p>

<p>
A great new vista was opening out to him.  Life was about to
begin in earnest.  With that splendid woman by his side he was
going to rise (if God would be so good to him) out of the muddy
imperfections of his lower nature.  His breast swelled; his throat
tightened; his heart sang; he was entirely happy.
</p>

<p>
Suddenly he remembered Alick Gell.  He had not seen him at
Castletown that day, or at all since he returned from London.
Why was that?  Could it be possible that the matter they had
spoken about on the steamer ....
</p>

<p>
No, no!  Still he must fulfil his promise.  He would step into
the library and write a line saying he was ready to go down to
Derby Haven if necessary.
</p>

<p>
As he passed through the dining-room he framed the words of
his letter: "Where were you, you old scoundrel, that you were not
at the Swearing-in?  I suppose the matter you mentioned has
righted itself since I went away, but if not and you still
want me...."
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
IV
</p>

<p>
The house was very quiet.  He felt an unaccountable chill
coming over him.  On the threshold of the library he paused.  He
had the sense of a mysterious presence in the room.  The log fire
had burnt low; the lamp on the desk, under his mother's portrait,
had been turned down; deep shadows lay around.
</p>

<p>
Making an effort he entered, stepping softly, yet hardly knowing
why he did so.  On reaching the desk he turned up the light
and then his eye fell on the green portfolio which he had last seen
under Joshua Scarff's arm.  It bore a label on which was written:
</p>

<p class="quote">
"<i>Calendar of Cases to be tried at the Spring Session of
the Court of General Gaol Delivery.  Presiding
Deemster</i>&mdash;DEEMSTER VICTOR STOWELL."
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p>
Then came a moral thunderclap.  Opening the Calendar he
read these words on the first page of it:
</p>

<p class="t3">
  <i>REX </i>v.<i> CORTEEN<br />
  FOR MURDER<br />
  DEPOSITIONS.</i><br />
</p>

<p class="quote">
<i>That Elizabeth Corteen, commonly called Bessie Collister,
on or about the fifth day of April&mdash;in the parish of
Ballaugh, in the Isle of Man, feloniously, wilfully, and of
her malice aforethought, did kill and murder a certain male
child, contrary to the form of the Statute in such cases made
and provided, and against the peace of our Sovereign Lord
the King, his Crown and dignity.</i>
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p>
A mist rose before Stowell's eyes.  He could not read any
more, but stood for a moment looking down at the writing.  Life
seemed to run out of him in a pounding rush.  The walls of the
room, and particularly the picture of his mother, began to reel
about in a rapidly increasing vertigo.  He put his hand on a chair
but felt nothing.  At the next moment darkness came and he knew
no more.
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p class="t3">
END OF THIRD BOOK
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p><a id="chap0426"></a></p>

<h2>
<i>FOURTH BOOK</i>
<br />
THE RETRIBUTION
</h2>

<p><br /></p>

<h3>
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
<br />
THE WIND AND THE WHIRLWIND
</h3>

<p>
Next day the insular newspapers announced that the new
Deemster, on his return home from Castletown, after the ceremony
of his swearing-in, had had a sudden seizure.  A heavy fall had
been heard by the servants, and they had found their master lying
on the floor of the library, unconscious.
</p>

<p>
Early in the morning Robbie Creer had driven into town for
Dr. Clucas, who had ordered rest&mdash;absolute rest.
</p>

<p>
"We must have three full days in bed, Mr. Stowell, Sir.  And
if it is necessary to postpone the Court of General Gaol Delivery, I
think .... I really think we must ask his Excellency to do so."
</p>

<p>
Stowell drew a deep breath and fell asleep.  When he awoke it
was mid-day.  He was in bed in his father's bedroom and Fenella
was sitting by his side, holding his hand.  After he had opened
his eyes she leaned over him and kissed him, saying in a soft voice
that he would soon be better.
</p>

<p>
"It was that oath-taking, dear.  I could see you were taking
it too seriously."
</p>

<p>
His heart was still warm with the embraces of yesterday, yet he
tried in vain to kiss her back.  But he laughed a little and made
light of his seizure.  It was nothing, but a little dizziness; he would
be about again in a day or two.
</p>

<p>
"Would you like me to stay and nurse you?"
</p>

<p>
"No, no! .... I mean you needn't...."
</p>

<p>
His stammering broke down and his face gloomed, but with a
quick smile she said,
</p>

<p>
"Oh, very well, Sir, if you won't have me, Janet will take care
of you, and send me a telegram night and morning to say how
you are.  Won't you, Janet?"
</p>

<p>
From some unseen place behind the curtains of the four-poster,
Janet, snuffling and blowing her nose, answered that she would.
</p>

<p>
"And now I'll be wishing you good-morning, Sir," said
Fenella, making (after another kiss) a stately curtsey to him as he
lay in bed.
</p>

<p>
The sounds of the wheels of the Governor's carriage having
died off on the drive, Stowell found himself alone and face to face
with a tragic problem&mdash;what was he to do about the trial of
Bessie Collister?
</p>

<p>
This, then, was the case Fenella had written about while he
was in London.  Why had he not thought of it before?  He
could not pretend that he had never had misgivings.  Again and
again the evil shadow of a dread possibility had crossed his mind
like a vanishing dream at the moment of awakening.
</p>

<p>
He had put it aside, banished it, explained it away to himself.
In the fullness of his happiness he had even forgotten it altogether.
But Nature did not forget.  And now his sin had fallen on him
like an avalanche&mdash;fallen as only an avalanche falls, when the sky
is blue, the air is warm and the sun is shining.
</p>

<p>
He had no doubt about Bessie's guilt.  But what about his own?
And if he were guilty (in the second degree), being the first cause
of the girl's crime, how could he sit in judgment upon her?
</p>

<p>
To try his own victim, to question her, to go through the mockery
of weighing the evidence against her, to condemn her, to sentence
her&mdash;it would be impossible, utterly impossible, contrary to
all legal usage, a violation of the spirit if not the letter of his
oath in his first hour as a Judge.
</p>

<p>
And then the human side of it&mdash;the terror, the peril!  That
poor girl in the dock, in the depths of her shame and the throes of
her temptation, while he, her fellow sinner....
</p>

<p>
No, no, no!  It would not only be a crime against Justice; it
would be a sin against God.
</p>

<p>
Joshua Scarff came in the afternoon.  Standing by the bed, and
looking down through his dark spectacles, he said,
</p>

<p>
"This is a pity, your Honour!  A great pity!  Such interesting
cases!  Your Honour must have wished to study them before
sitting in Court."
</p>

<p>
"Joshua," said Stowell (he was breathing hard and speaking
with difficulty), "go to Deemster Taubman, tell him what has
happened, and say that if, as a great favour, he can take the Court
next week, I shall be eternally grateful."
</p>

<p>
The Deemster's clerk was almost speechless with dismay.  His
Honour's first Court!  Pity!  Great pity!
</p>

<p>
But Stowell felt an immense relief.  Thank God, there was
another Deemster to fall back upon.  He need not break the spirit
of his oath.  Bad as the event was at the best, at least there need
be no Conflict between his private interests and his public duty.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
II
</p>

<p>
Stowell, in spite of Dr. Clucas, got up next morning.  He was
sitting before the fire in the library when Janet came in to say
that Mrs. Collister of Baldromma was asking to see the Deemster.
She had come to plead for her daughter&mdash;that girl who was to be
tried for killing her baby.
</p>

<p>
"I told her she shouldn't have come here and that the old
Deemster would never have seen her.  But it's pitiful to see the
poor thing.  She is lame, too, and has walked all the way.  What
am I to say to her?"
</p>

<p>
Stowell struggled with himself for a moment, and then, with
an embarrassed utterance said,
</p>

<p>
"Let her come in."
</p>

<p>
"This is very wrong of you, Mrs. Collister" (he was trying to
keep a firm lip and to speak severely); "you know it is against
all rule."
</p>

<p>
The old woman, trembling and wiping her eyes, said she knew
it was, but she had known his father.  There had been none like
him&mdash;no, not the whole island over.  He had been every poor
person's friend.  If anybody had been injured she had only to
draw to him for refuge and he had protected her.  And if any
poor girl had gone wrong, and broken the law, perhaps, it was the
big man himself who was always there to show her mercy.
</p>

<p>
"That's why I thought maybe his son, if he had his father's
heart .... and people are saying he has too .... maybe his
son wouldn't send a poor mother away when she's in trouble and
has nobody else to go to."
</p>

<p>
"Sit down, Mrs. Collister."
</p>

<p>
The old woman sat in the chair which Janet turned for her,
and began on her story.
</p>

<p>
"It's about Bessie."
</p>

<p>
She had always been a good girl.  No mother ever had a better.
And if people were saying she had been in trouble before, might
the Lord forgive them when their own time came, for it was lies
they were putting on the girl.
</p>

<p>
"And if she's in trouble now, your Honour, it's like it's not all
her own fault neither."
</p>

<p>
First there was her father.  He had been shocking hard on the
girl, shutting her out of the house in the dark of night and so
throwing her into the way of temptation.
</p>

<p>
"Until they lay me under the sod I'll never get it out of my
ears, Sir&mdash;-the sound of her foot going off on the street."
</p>

<p>
And when the girl came home again, looking that weak that it
seemed as if the world wasn't willing to stand under her, the father
had taunted her with coming back to eat them up, and maybe
bringing another mouth to feed.
</p>

<p>
"So if she did the terrible shocking thing they're saying .... I
don't know if she did, your Honour .... I don't know if she
ever left the dairy loft from the minute I took her up to it until
Cain the constable (may the Lord forgive him!) came dragging
her down .... but if she did, it's like it was because the poor
child was alone in the dark midnight, and out of herself entirely,
and not knowing what she was doing, and perhaps freckened of
what the old man would be saying in the morning."
</p>

<p>
Stowell was silent.  The old woman cried softly to herself for
a moment and then said,
</p>

<p>
"Nobody knows what that is, your Honour, except them that
has gone through it."
</p>

<p>
Then she wiped her eyes, one after another, and said she could
not sleep "a wink on the night," lying in her white bed and
thinking of Bessie where she was now.  And having read "in class"
last evening how the Lord heard the cry of Hagar for her son in
the wilderness she had thought his Honour might hear her cry
for her daughter.
</p>

<p>
Stowell knew that his feelings as a man were getting the better
of his duty as a Judge, so he tried to be severe with the old woman,
telling her she had no right to come to him, and that he had done
wrong to listen to her.
</p>

<p>
"In fact I could not have received you at all but for one
thing&mdash;I am not going to try your daughter's case."
</p>

<p>
The old woman was appalled.
</p>

<p>
"Do you mean, Sir, that you'll not be trying Bessie?"
</p>

<p>
"No, Deemster Taubman will probably do so."
</p>

<p>
At that the old woman broke into a flood of tears.
</p>

<p>
"Aw dear!  Aw dear!  And me praying on my knees on the
kitchen floor that the Lord would bring you back in time from
London&mdash;someones being so hard on poor girls in trouble!"
</p>

<p>
Again Stowell was silent, and for some moments nothing was
heard but the woman's broken sobs.  At length, unable to bear
any longer the sight of the old mother's disappointment, he said
he would do what he could for her.  If he could not sit on her
daughter's case he would write to Deemster Taubman, explaining
her condition and describing her temptations.
</p>

<p>
"God bless you for that," cried the old woman.  And then
Janet said it was time to go, his Honour being unwell.
</p>

<p>
"May the Lord give him health and strength and long
life, ma'am!"
</p>

<p>
People were right when they were telling her he had his
father's heart.  He had too.  She was going out of the room with
hope kindled, when she said,
</p>

<p>
"You must excuse a poor woman if she did wrong in coming
to you, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"We'll say no more about that now," said Stowell.  "Go
home and rest, mother."
</p>

<p>
At that word the old woman broke down utterly.  But after a
moment her weak eyes shone and she said,
</p>

<p>
"Bessie is not your quality, Sir, but if she gets off she'll write
to thank you."
</p>

<p>
"No, no!  She must never do that," said Stowell.
</p>

<p>
"Come now, Mrs. Collister," said Janet.
</p>

<p>
But having reached the door, the old woman turned her wet
face, and seeing the portrait of Stowell's mother on the wall, and
mistaking it for that of Fenella, she said,
</p>

<p>
"They're telling me you're to be married soon, your Honour.
May the Lord give you peace and love in your own home, and
that's better than gold or lands, Sir."
</p>

<p>
Stowell tried to reply, but he could only wave his hand and turn
to the window as the old woman left the room.
</p>

<p>
Why not?  What sin against God would it be to unite this
suffering woman to her suffering daughter, if he could do so
without wronging Justice?
</p>

<p>
A moment afterwards Janet came back wiping her eyes.
</p>

<p>
"Oh, these mothers!  They're fit enough to break one's
heart, Victor."
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
III
</p>

<p>
Stowell was in the dining-room next day when he heard the
clatter of a horse's hoofs on the drive, and, a moment later, a voice
in the hall, saying,
</p>

<p>
"The Deemster will see <i>me</i>, Jane."
</p>

<p>
It was Alick Gell.  His tall figure was more bent than usual;
his hair was disordered; his eyes glittered; he was deeply agitated.
</p>

<p>
"Excuse me, old fellow.  You know why I've not been here
before.  It's Bessie.  I'm busy every hour, getting up her case.
Awful, isn't it?  I can't make myself believe it even yet.
Sometimes in the middle of the night I hear myself crying 'Good God,
it can't be true!'"
</p>

<p>
Stowell could scarcely find voice to reply.  He remembered
what he had advised Fenella to get Gell to do.  Had Bessie
told him?"
</p>

<p>
"I received Fenella's letter and of course I am taking up the
defence.  I've seen Bessie, too, and arranged everything.  She's
innocent and I'll fight for her to the last breath in my body.
But look here&mdash;read this," he said, dragging a crumbled
newspaper from his pocket, and handing it to Stowell with a
trembling hand.
</p>

<p>
It was a copy of the day's insular paper containing a paragraph
which said that the continued illness of the new Deemster
would probably prevent him from presiding at the forthcoming
sitting of the Court of General Gaol Delivery.
</p>

<p>
"That's the first edition.  When it was published at twelve
o'clock I couldn't wait until the afternoon train, so I hired a horse
from Fargher, the jobmaster, and I've galloped all the way.
Don't tell me it's true."
</p>

<p>
Stowell answered in a low tone that perhaps it might have to
be, whereupon Gell made a cry of dismay.
</p>

<p>
"Then God help my poor girl!  It will be Taubman, and
she'll not have a dog's chance with him."
</p>

<p>
Taubman was a brute&mdash;especially in cases of this kind.  What
did people say about him&mdash;that when he saw a woman in the dock
he was like a cat who had seen a rat?  It was true.  He was always
bullying the juries who showed humanity to girls in trouble.
</p>

<p>
"The infernal old blockhead!  He has rheumatism in the legs,
they say.  I wish to heaven he had it in his throat, and it would
choke him."
</p>

<p>
And then the barbarous old Statute!  Practically repealed in
every other country, but still capable of operation in the Isle of
Man.  Think of it!  Five years, ten years, fifteen years&mdash;even
death itself, perhaps!
</p>

<p>
"Stowell, we are old chums .... it's not right of me, I know
that .... but for the sake of our old friendship, sit on Bessie's
case yourself."
</p>

<p>
Stowell felt as if he were on the edge of a precipice.  Abysmal
depths lay before him at the next step.  With an awful secret in
his heart he felt that it was almost impossible to speak one word
more without betraying himself.  He was silent, for a moment
while Gell stood over him with wild eyes which he had never seen
before.  At length he said,
</p>

<p>
"Bessie is to plead Not Guilty?"
</p>

<p>
"Certainly."
</p>

<p>
"Will she stick to that?"
</p>

<p>
"Undoubtedly.  Why shouldn't she?  Besides, she has given
me her promise."
</p>

<p>
Again Stowell was silent for a moment; then he said,
</p>

<p>
"I cannot promise to conduct the Court, but if Taubman will
do so, and I'm fit to sit with him, I'll .... I'll see she has a
fair trial."
</p>

<p>
Gell made a shout of joy.
</p>

<p>
"That's good enough for me.  Just like you, old fellow."
</p>

<p>
He snatched up his cap&mdash;a different man in a moment.
</p>

<p>
"I must get back to town now.  I have the witnesses to
arrange for.  Not too many of them unfortunately.  There's the
mother, she's all right, but not likely to be good in the box.  I'm
not calling the step-father.  It seems he's giving the case away
in the glen.  The damned old blackguard!  I should like to break
his ugly neck.  I jolly well will, too, one of these days.  But Bessie
will clear herself.  Since she's going to be my wife she must leave
the Court without a stain.  Good-bye and God bless you, old
chap! .... No, no, don't come to the door."  (Stowell was for seeing
him out.)  "Take care of yourself.  Good men are scarce.  And
then you've got to be fit for the Court, you know.  By-bye!"
</p>

<p>
Stowell watched him from the window as he rode down the
drive on his tired horse, patting its neck and encouraging it with
cheery cries.
</p>

<p>
Now he understood why Bessie had held off while Gell had
wished to marry her.  It had been a case of the wife of the Peel
fisherman over again, with the difference that Bessie (to avoid the
danger of deceiving her husband) had made away with her child
before marriage instead of after it.  Wild, foolish, frantic scheme!
Yet what courage!  What strength!  What affection!
</p>

<p>
But if, under Taubman's searching questions, the conspiracy
of love should fail, and Bessie's defence should collapse, and Gell
should see that she had deceived him, and that <i>he</i> too....
</p>

<p>
No, no, that must not be!  After all, what outrage on Justice
would it be to keep a case like this out of the hands of a
cold-blooded inhuman legal machine who would commit more crime
than he punished?
</p>

<p>
Still standing by the window, Stowell heard the clatter of a
horse's hoofs on the high road.  Gell, in high spirits, was
galloping home.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
IV
</p>

<p>
Later in the day Stowell was alone in the library reading the
Depositions.  In his secret heart he knew that a wicked temptation
had come to him&mdash;the temptation to get Bessie off, and to stop
the flood of evil which would surely follow if Deemster Taubman
tried her and she were condemned.  But all the same he was
struggling to drown his qualms in contempt of the case
against her.
</p>

<p>
How little there was to it!  The direct evidence was almost
childish.  The medical testimony was the only thing of consequence,
but how sloppy, how inconclusive!  Was there anything
against Bessie which he, if he had been the advocate for the
defence, could not have riddled with as many holes as there were
in a cullender?  Then why shouldn't he sit on her case?
</p>

<p>
Guilty?  Perhaps she was; but, even so, was it not the theory
of the law that she had to be proved guilty&mdash;that a prisoner should
have a fair legal trial and be convicted or acquitted according to
the evidence before the Court?  Why shouldn't he?
</p>

<p>
Suddenly he became aware of a tumult at the front door.
Somebody was bawling in a loud voice,
</p>

<p>
"I'll see the Dempster if I have to shout the house down."
</p>

<p>
It was Dan Baldromma.  Stowell stepped into the hall and
said to the housemaid, who was barring the door against
the intruder,
</p>

<p>
"Let him come in, Jane."
</p>

<p>
Dan, with his short, gross figure, rolled into the house without
remembering to take his hat off.
</p>

<p>
"Well, what do you want?" said Stowell&mdash;he was quivering
with anger.
</p>

<p>
"I want to know what is to be done for me?" said Dan.
</p>

<p>
"For you?"
</p>

<p>
"For my daughter then&mdash;my step-daughter, I mane."
</p>

<p>
When he had seen Mr. Sto'll last&mdash;it was at his office in
Ramsey&mdash;he had warned him that the man who had got his
daughter into disgrace had got to marry her.  But had he?  No!
He had refused&mdash;he must have done.  And that was the reason
why she did what they say.  But, behold you, who was being
blamed for it?  Himself!  Yes, people were looking black at him
and saying he had thrown the girl into the way of temptation.
</p>

<p>
That was not the worst of it either.  He had expected dacent
tratement about the farm when he became father-in-law to the
man who would come into it by heirship.  But now the girl was
in Castle Rushen, and if they sent her over the water the Spaker
would be turning him out of house and home.
</p>

<p>
"He's after threatening it already&mdash;to show me the road at
Hollantide .... What's that you say, Sir?  Thinking of
myself, am I?  Maybe I am, then, and what for shouldn't I?  Near
is my shirt but nearer is my skin, they're saying."
</p>

<p>
Stowell, swept by gusts of passion, was doing his best to
control himself.
</p>

<p>
"Well, what have you come to me for?" he asked.
</p>

<p>
Dan thrust forward his thick neck with his bull-like gesture,
and said,
</p>

<p>
"To tell you to get her off."
</p>

<p>
"Even if she is guilty?"
</p>

<p>
"Chut!  Who's to know that if the Coorts acquit her?  They
are wayses and wayses.  Lawyers are mortal clever at twisting
the law when they're wanting to.  You're Dempster now; and the
bosom friend of the man that got my girl into this trouble has got
to get her out of it."
</p>

<p>
"So," said Stowell, breathing hard, "you have come to ask me
to degrade Justice" (Dan made a grunt of contempt), "not to
save the girl but to protect you&mdash;you and your rag of a character?"
</p>

<p>
Dan drew himself up with a short laugh, half bitter and
half triumphant.
</p>

<p>
"Rag, is it?  Take care what you're saying, Mr. Sto'll, Sir.
You may be a big man in the island now, but there's them that's
bigger and that's the people."
</p>

<p>
Stowell pointed with a quivering hand to the clock on the
landing, and said,
</p>

<p>
"Look at that clock.  If you're not out of this house in
one minute...."
</p>

<p>
Dan's laugh rose to a cry of derision.
</p>

<p>
"So that's it, is it?  That's what the first Justice of the Peace
in the Isle of Man is, eh?  Son of the ould Dempster too!  The
grand ould holy saint as they're...."
</p>

<p>
But before he could finish, Stowell, with a shout that drowned
Dan's laugh as if it had been the whimper of a baby girl, laid hold
of the man by the collar of his coat and the slack of his trousers
and flung him out of the open door and clashed it after him.
</p>

<p>
Dan, who had rolled and tossed and bumped on the path like a
fat hogshead kecked from the tail of a cart, picked himself up and
went staggering down the drive, shaking his fist at the house and
pouring his maledictions upon it in a voice that was like the
broken howl of a limping dog.
</p>

<p>
Janet came running from her room, and seeing Stowell with
his eyes aflame and panting for breath, said,
</p>

<p>
"Oh dear!  Oh dear!  Now you'll be worse."
</p>

<p>
"On the contrary, I'll be better&mdash;better in every way," he said.
</p>

<p>
His resolution was taken.  Never would he sit on Bessie's
case.  Nothing should tempt him to do so.
</p>

<p>
But Fate had not yet done with him.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
V
</p>

<p>
On the afternoon of the following day Stowell walked for a
long hour on the shore, trying to deaden the tumult in his brain in
the loud surge of the sea.  Returning to Ballamoar he found the
Governor's carriage outside the house.  Had the Governor come to
see him?  It was Fenella.  She was at tea with Janet in the library.
</p>

<p>
Although she rose to greet him with all the sunshine of her
smile he could see that her face was feverish.
</p>

<p>
"I've come to the north on three errands," she said.
</p>

<p>
"So?"
</p>

<p>
"First to see yourself, of course, and I find that, in spite of
doctor's orders, you have already resumed your gypsy habits."
</p>

<p>
"He <i>would</i> go out, dear," said Janet.
</p>

<p>
"Next, to deliver a message from the Governor."
</p>

<p>
"Yes?"
</p>

<p>
"He has postponed the Court for three days in the hope that
you may be able to sit then."
</p>

<p>
"Ah!"
</p>

<p>
"My last errand was to see the mother of that poor girl who is
to be charged with the murder of her child."
</p>

<p>
"The mother?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes, I've just left her.  She still says she knows nothing.
It's pitiful!  A simple, sincere, religious old soul, who has seen
trouble of her own apparently.  I don't think for a moment she
would tell an untruth, yet it is easy to see that in her heart she
believes her daughter to be guilty."
</p>

<p>
"Guilty?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes, but there's somebody guiltier than the girl&mdash;the man."
</p>

<p>
Stowell was silent; but he felt his face twitching.
</p>

<p>
"That's why I am so anxious that you should sit on this case
if you can, Victor, not leave it to Deemster Taubman.  Old Judges
often refuse to investigate collateral facts, and so the woman is
punished and the man goes free."
</p>

<p>
"They can't do otherwise, dear.  They can't try the man."
</p>

<p>
"Not if he has been a party to the crime?"
</p>

<p>
"A party...."
</p>

<p>
"Yes!  I'm satisfied that in this case he is, too."
</p>

<p>
The girl might be guilty, but she could not have done all she
was charged with.  It was physically impossible.  Somebody must
have helped her.  And that somebody (the old mother having to
be ruled out) must be the man who had it to his interest to save
his miserable character by concealing the fact that the girl had
given birth to a child at all.
</p>

<p>
Stowell had as much as he could do to cover his embarrassment.
He lowered his voice and said,
</p>

<p>
"That's a blind alley.  I've read the Depositions.  I'm sure it
is, dear."
</p>

<p>
"Perhaps it is, perhaps it isn't," said Fenella.  "I intend to
follow it up anyway."
</p>

<p>
"How?" said Stowell, but rather with his mouth than
his voice.
</p>

<p>
"I'm already on the track of something."
</p>

<p>
"On the track...."
</p>

<p>
"Yes.  It seems that somebody has been telling the mother
that on the night when the girl left home (shut out by her
abominable step-father, you know) she went to the house of a
Mrs. Quayle, living on the south shore in Ramsey."
</p>

<p>
Stowell's heart thumped and his lips quivered.
</p>

<p>
"Mrs. Quayle?"
</p>

<p>
"Why, that must be the housekeeper at your chambers, dear,"
said Janet, busy with her teacups.
</p>

<p>
"You know her? .... But then everybody knows everybody
in the Isle of Man," said Fenella.
</p>

<p>
With a sense of duplicity, Stowell found himself saying,
"Well?"
</p>

<p>
"Well, I'm going to see this Mrs. Quayle on my way home to
Government House.  She'll be able to tell me how long the girl
stayed with her, who took her away, and where she went to."
</p>

<p>
Stowell dropped his head, feeling that he wanted to escape
from the room, and Fenella (indignantly, passionately,
vehemently) went on to denounce the guilty man.
</p>

<p>
"Of course the girl is shielding him.  A woman always does
that.  I should do it myself if I were in the same position.  But
oh, how I should like to find him out!  Even if he has taken no
part in the actual crime, how I should like to punish him&mdash;to
expose him!  You must sit on this case&mdash;you really must, dear."
</p>

<p>
When the time came for Fenella to go Janet took her upstairs
to look at some new decorations that had been made in the room
that was to be her boudoir.  Stowell remained in the library, and
the sound of Fenella's step on the floor above beat on his stunned
brain with the drumming noise of a train in a tunnel.
</p>

<p>
He had a sense of cowardice which he had never felt before.
At one moment he wanted to tell Fenella everything, thinking that
would be the end of his tortures.  But at the next he reflected
that it would be the beginning of hers&mdash;inflicting an incurable
wound upon her affection.  And then if Bessie were going to be
acquitted, as seemed possible (the evidence being so unconvincing),
why should he enlarge the area of the shameful secret?
</p>

<p>
When Fenella returned (saying, as she came downstairs, how
beautiful her room was and how proud she would be of it) he
took her out to the carriage.
</p>

<p>
"Do you remember," she whispered (she had recovered her
gay spirits, the coachman was on the box), "do you remember the
first time you saw me off from here?"
</p>

<p>
He nodded and tried to smile.
</p>

<p>
"I was too bashful to shake hands and you were too shy to
look at me."
</p>

<p>
And being seated in the carriage and the door closed on her,
she said,
</p>

<p>
"By the way, wouldn't you like to drive over with me to
Mrs. Quayle if I brought you home again?"
</p>

<p>
"No, no .... I mean...."
</p>

<p>
She laughed merrily.  "Oh, very well!  You've refused me
again!  I'll remember it, Sir."
</p>

<p>
After the carriage had disappeared at the turn of the drive,
Stowell went up to his room, shut the door behind him and covered
his face in his hands.
</p>

<p>
Fenella hunting him down!  Blindly, unconsciously, innocently,
while urging him, entreating him, almost compelling him
to sit on the case.  The woman he loved and who loved him was
trying to destroy him.  Was this to be his punishment?
</p>

<p>
Mrs. Quayle?  No, she would say nothing.  If she thought it
would injure his mother's son no power on earth would prevail
upon her to speak.  But sooner or later, by one means or other,
Fenella would find out, and then....
</p>

<p>
"God be merciful to me, a sinner!" he moaned, smothering
the sound of the words behind his hands.
</p>

<p>
Could he sit in judgment on Bessie Collister's case with all the
forces of the defence (inspired by Fenella) directed towards
branding the Judge as the real criminal?  Impossible!  Yet what
could he do?
</p>

<p>
At length an idea occurred to him.  He would go up to Government
House, tell the whole truth to the Governor and ask to be
relieved of his duty.  It would be a terrible ordeal, but there was
no escape from it.
</p>

<p>
"Yes, I will go up to the Governor in the morning."
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p><a id="chap0427"></a></p>

<h3>
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
<br />
THE JUDGE AND THE MAN
</h3>

<p>
"Helloa!  Glad to see you about again.  Fenella has gone
off to the south of the island somewhere, but she'll be home
for luncheon.  Take a cigar?  No?  Not smoking yet?  I
must anyway."
</p>

<p>
"I've come to see you on a serious matter, Sir," said
Stowell&mdash;he felt his lips trembling.
</p>

<p>
"So?"
</p>

<p>
The Governor glanced up quickly, charged his pipe and then
settled himself to listen.
</p>

<p>
"You will remember the story I told you&mdash;about the man
who had promised to marry a girl and then fallen in love with
somebody else?"
</p>

<p>
"Perfectly."
</p>

<p>
Stowell paused a moment.  His lips became pale and his
hands contracted.
</p>

<p>
"Well?"
</p>

<p>
"That was my own story, Sir."
</p>

<p>
There was another moment of silence.  Stowell had expected
an exclamation of surprise, a clang of astonishment, but the
Governor's face was still to the fire and the only sound he made
was the swivelling of the pipe between his teeth.
</p>

<p>
"You advised me to break off the engagement and I did so."
</p>

<p>
"What was the result?"
</p>

<p>
"The girl was relieved."
</p>

<p>
"Relieved?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes, because she, too, had in the meantime fallen in love
with somebody else&mdash;my friend Gell."
</p>

<p>
"How fortunate!"
</p>

<p>
"It seemed so at first.  I thought Providence had stepped in
to help her out.  But Fate has kept a terrible reckoning, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"What has happened?"
</p>

<p>
"The girl has committed a crime.  She is in Castle Rushen
awaiting her trial for the murder of her new-born child."
</p>

<p>
"The woman Collister?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes.  And now I'm a Judge and in ordinary course it is my
duty to try her."
</p>

<p>
There was another period of silence, broken only by the rapid
puffing of the Governor's pipe.
</p>

<p>
"But that's not all, Sir.  Being in this frightful position
everything is tempting me to corrupt Justice.  First, my natural
desire to influence the trial in favour of the girl&mdash;perhaps to get
her off altogether.  Next, pity for her poor mother who has been
pleading for mercy.  Then, friendship for Gell who has been
begging me to try the case because the old Statute is severe and
my colleague cruel.  And last of all the step-father of the girl who
has been trying to intimidate me."
</p>

<p>
"Well?"
</p>

<p>
"I think you will see it is impossible for me to sit on a case in
which my private interest and my public duty conflict&mdash;utterly
impossible.  It would be against all usage, all justice."
</p>

<p>
The Governor removed his pipe.  His face had become cold
and hard.  "You speak of your colleague&mdash;have you done
anything with him?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes.  I've asked him to sit instead of me."
</p>

<p>
"What if he cannot?"
</p>

<p>
"Then I will ask you, Sir, to send for another Judge from
across the water."
</p>

<p>
Stowell had struggled through to the end, although perspiration
had been breaking out on his forehead.  When he had finished
the Governor sat for some time without speaking.
</p>

<p>
Obscure motives were operating within him.  In the depths of
his mind (scarcely known to himself) he was asking himself,
"How will all this, if I allow it to go farther, affect Fenella?
Will it stop her marriage, disturb her happiness, destroy her
life?"  But on the surface of his mind he was only aware of considerations
of public welfare.  He was irritated by what had occurred.  It
was an impediment in his path which he wished to kick out of
the way.
</p>

<p>
He rose, laid his pipe on the mantelpiece, and standing with
his back to the fire and his hands behind him, his chin firm and his
mouth set hard, he said, with sudden energy,
</p>

<p>
"Now listen to me.  I always knew that was your own story."
</p>

<p>
"Yes?"
</p>

<p>
"What I did not know was that any harm had been done.
Did you?"
</p>

<p>
"Indeed no."
</p>

<p>
"Did the girl?"
</p>

<p>
"It is incredible."
</p>

<p>
"Do you know that she has killed her child?"
</p>

<p>
"Not certainly.  She denies it, and the evidence is not too
convincing."
</p>

<p>
"Do you know that she ever had a child?"
</p>

<p>
"No .... I can't say .... She denies that also, and
the medical testimony is far from conclusive."
</p>

<p>
"Do you know&mdash;are you satisfied&mdash;that if she had a child,
and killed it, the child was yours?"
</p>

<p>
Stowell, with a gulp, stammered something about Bessie
having been a good girl before he met her.
</p>

<p>
"But do you know <i>anything</i>?"
</p>

<p>
"Well, no .... I can't say...."
</p>

<p>
"Then, good heavens, what are you thinking about?  Knowing
nothing, nothing really, you are acting, and asking me to act, on
a cloud of conjectures.  I'll not do it."
</p>

<p>
Stowell drew his breath with a gasp of relief.  It was just as
if he had been living for days in the stuffy atmosphere of a sealed
room and somebody had broken open a window.  His head was
down; the Governor touched his shoulder.
</p>

<p>
"My friend, you are doing that poor girl a cruel injustice."
</p>

<p>
Stowell was startled and looked up.
</p>

<p>
"In your own mind you are finding her guilty before she has
been tried."
</p>

<p>
"Ah!"
</p>

<p>
"You are doing yourself an injustice, too.  Even if the girl
committed this crime&mdash;I say <i>if</i>&mdash;<i>you</i> are not responsible for it."
</p>

<p>
Stowell began to stammer again.  "I .... I did wrong in
the first instance, Sir, and nothing but wrong...."
</p>

<p>
But the Governor said sharply, "Of course you did wrong in
the first instance.  But that has nothing to do with the wrong
which she (if she is guilty) has done since.  It can't be supposed
that you had any sympathy with her act, can it?"
</p>

<p>
"God forbid!"
</p>

<p>
"Did you desert her?  Did you leave her to the mercy of the
world?  Has she ever been in want?  Was she in any danger of
being unable to provide for her offspring when it came?"
</p>

<p>
"No .... I cannot say...."
</p>

<p>
"Then what folly to think you are responsible for what she did
in taking the life of her child&mdash;if she did take it.  No, other facts
and motives operated with the girl.  And whatever those facts and
motives were, you, so far as I can see, had nothing to do with
them&mdash;nothing whatever."
</p>

<p>
Stowell's pulse was beating high.  He tried to say something
about his moral responsibility, but again the Governor cut
him short.
</p>

<p>
"Your moral responsibility!" he said, with a ring of sarcasm.
"I'm sick of this sentimental talk about moral responsibility&mdash;man's
responsibility for the conduct of woman, and all the rest of
it.  The person who commits the crime is the criminal&mdash;that's the
only foundation of law and order."
</p>

<p>
"Then you think, Sir," said Stowell, "that since I...."
</p>

<p>
"I think," said the Governor, "that the whole thing is
unfortunate, damnably unfortunate, but since you are not responsible
for the girl's crime, if she committed a crime at all, and knew
nothing about it, and have no sympathy with it, you ought to go
on doing your duty.  Why shouldn't you? .... Interested?
Of course you are interested.  In a little community like this a
Judge is nearly always interested.  Isn't that what your
Deemster's oath is intended to provide for?"
</p>

<p>
Stowell muttered something about being afraid, and again the
Governor caught him up.
</p>

<p>
"Afraid?  What are you afraid of?  The public?  Doesn't it
occur to you that the only risk you run in that direction is not the
risk of sitting on this case but of not sitting on it?  There must
be people who have seen you coming here this morning, and if
you are not in Court on the appointed day, aren't they likely to
ask why?"
</p>

<p>
"There's Gell...."
</p>

<p>
"Certainly there's Gell .... When the marriage was
broken off you didn't tell him anything, did you?"
</p>

<p>
Stowell shook his head.  "How could I?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes, how could you?  And now he wishes you to sit, and, if
you don't, isn't he likely to suspect the reason?"
</p>

<p>
"There .... there's Baldromma."
</p>

<p>
"That wind-bag!  Likely to make a cry against the administration
of justice, is he?  Well, the surest way to squelch such
people is to walk over them."
</p>

<p>
"There's the girl herself."
</p>

<p>
"Of course, there's the girl herself.  But if she is guilty and
has held her tongue thus far, she'll probably continue to do so."
</p>

<p>
The Governor made a turn across the room and then drew
up sharply.
</p>

<p>
"There's myself, too.  I suppose I deserve some
consideration?"
</p>

<p>
"Indeed yes."
</p>

<p>
"Then go on with your duty&mdash;that's all I ask of you."
</p>

<p>
With a thrill of relief Stowell rose to go.  But oh, misery of
the heart, he had kept his most searching objection to the last.
</p>

<p>
"There is somebody else, your Excellency."
</p>

<p>
"Who else?" asked the Governor, laying down the pipe he
had taken up.
</p>

<p>
"I hate to mention her in this connection&mdash;Fenella."
</p>

<p>
"Fenella?  Why, what on earth has Fenella...."
</p>

<p>
And then Stowell told him.
</p>

<p>
Having interested herself in this case, Fenella was hunting
down the guilty man that he might be exposed and punished&mdash;punished
by public obloquy if he could not be punished by law.
</p>

<p>
"If she finds him before the trial how can I possibly sit?
Whatever happens it will be coloured by her knowledge of the
truth.  If the girl is acquitted she will think I have helped her
to escape punishment in order to salve my conscience or cover my
share in her crime.  And if she is condemned what happiness can
there be for either of us after that?"
</p>

<p>
He had spoken with emotion, but the Governor, who had
recovered from his surprise, replied impatiently,
</p>

<p>
"Aren't you crossing the bridge before you come to the river?"
</p>

<p>
Stowell made no answer, and at the next moment there was
the sound of carriage wheels coming up the drive.
</p>

<p>
"It's Fenella," said the Governor, looking out of the window.
"I'll ask you to say nothing to her about the subject of our
conversation.  And listen" (he was re-lighting his pipe and puffing
at it with lips that smacked angrily; Stowell's hand was on the
door), "don't let my girl make a damned fool of you."
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
II
</p>

<p>
"Victor, I have something to tell you," said Fenella.
</p>

<p>
"Yes?"
</p>

<p>
They were in the library.  She was looking feverish; he was
feeling ashamed, embarrassed and afraid.
</p>

<p>
"I have found out who was the friend of that poor girl."
</p>

<p>
He gazed at her without speaking.
</p>

<p>
"It will be a great shock to you&mdash;it was Alick Gell."
</p>

<p>
"No, no!"
</p>

<p>
"I'm sorry, dear.  I knew you would be unable to believe it.
But it's true&mdash;terribly true."
</p>

<p>
Mrs. Quayle, the evening before, had said very little.  Nobody
had called to see the girl while she stayed at her house, and nobody
had come to take her away.  She, herself, had seen her off by the
train, and all the girl had told her was that she was going to a
school at Derby-Haven.
</p>

<p>
"But that was enough for me," said Fenella.  "This morning
I went down to Derby-Haven and found there was only one school
there.  It is kept by two maiden ladies named Brown.  Simple
old things, very timid and old-fashioned.  They were thrown into
terrible commotion by my call, and having read the reports in the
newspapers they were at first afraid to say anything.  But after
I had promised that they should not be mixed up in the matter in
any way, I got them to speak.  Mr. Alick Gell had brought the
girl to their house.  He had paid for her, and they had always
looked upon him as her intended husband.  So it's a certainty, you
see&mdash;a shocking certainty."
</p>

<p>
Stowell was breathless.
</p>

<p>
"But my dear Fenella," he said, "this is a mistake.  You are
drawing a false inference...."
</p>

<p>
But Fenella only shook her head.
</p>

<p>
"Yes.  I knew your loyalty to your friend would compel you
to say so.  But what do you think?  I have since found that the
fact is common knowledge."
</p>

<p>
Returning in the train she had occupied a compartment with
two men&mdash;the strangest looking creatures she had ever seen in a
first-class carriage.  One of them turned out to be the girl's
stepfather and the other a member of the House of Keys.
</p>

<p>
"Cæsar Qualtrough?"
</p>

<p>
"Cæsar?  Yes, that was the name.  They talked about the
forthcoming trial and didn't seem to mind my hearing them&mdash;perhaps
wished me to.  The step-father (he spoke as if the whole
case had been got up to disgrace him) was complaining that he had
not been called by either side.  But no matter, he would force
himself upon the Court and expose the real criminal&mdash;the
Speaker's son.  It was all a trick.  But it should not succeed.  He
would put the saddle on the right horse, he would.  And then they
talked about you."
</p>

<p>
"What .... what about me?"
</p>

<p>
"That the report of your being too ill to sit was a lie.  You
were not ill at all and never had been&mdash;the step-father knew
better.  You were merely shirking your duty to save your friend in
some way.  But that trick shouldn't succeed either, or the people
should know what Judges in the Isle of Man were.  So you see
you must sit on this case, dear&mdash;if you are fit for it.  You can't
afford to have it said that you have sacrificed your duty as a Judge
to your personal interests.  At your first Court, too."
</p>

<p>
Stowell was in torture.  In spite of the Governor's warning, an
almost overpowering impulse came to him to confess, to make a
clean breast of everything, there and then, and once for all.
</p>

<p>
"Fenella," he began (his breath was coming and going in
gusts), "who knows if the guilty man is Gell?  It may be
somebody else."
</p>

<p>
"Who else can it be?"
</p>

<p>
He tried to say "It is I," but hesitated&mdash;he could not shatter
in a word the whole world he lived in.  At the next moment she
was praising his fidelity, which would not allow him to think ill
of his life-long friend.
</p>

<p>
"But he has no such delicacy," she said.  "Knowing what he
knows he is still going to defend the girl, and that's equal to
defending himself, isn't it?  How shocking!"
</p>

<p>
Stowell's shame at his moral cowardice reached the point of
abasement, and he dropped his head.  Then, carried away by her
own pleading, Fenella put her arms about his neck, tenderly and
caressingly, and told him she knew well what a hard thing she was
asking him to do&mdash;to sit in judgment on his friend also, for that
was what it would come to.  But she would love him for ever if
he would do it.  It would be like the crown of all her hopes, the
fulfilment of all she had worked for, if in some way (he would
know best how) a poor girl who had sinned and suffered should
have mercy shown to her, and not be left alone in her shame, but
have the partner of her sin (no matter who he was or how near he
came) standing side by side with her.
</p>

<p>
There was a moment of silence.  Stowell was like a man groping
in the dark of a black midnight.  At length a light seemed
to dawn on him.  If he sat on this case he could save an innocent
man at all events.
</p>

<p>
"You <i>will</i> sit, will you not?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes."
</p>

<p>
And then she kissed him.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
III
</p>

<p>
Back at Ballamoar, Stowell found the Deemster's clerk
waiting for him.
</p>

<p>
It had taken Joshua three days to see Deemster Taubman, and
when at length he was admitted to the big man's presence he had
found him in bed, with his shaggy head and unshaven face on the
pillow and his lower extremities through the legs of a
cane-bottomed chair which supported his bed-clothes.
</p>

<p>
"What?  What's that?" he had roared.  "Sit at the General
Gaol?  Go back to your master and tell him I'm lying here in the
tortures of the damned, not able to put a foot to the ground."
</p>

<p>
Stowell drew a long breath.  Fate had spoken its last word!  It
was now certain that he must sit on the case of Bessie Collister.
</p>

<p>
His spirits rose and he began to see things more clearly.  Had
he not exaggerated his own importance in this affair?  He had
been thinking of his part in the forthcoming trial as if the issue of
Bessie's fate depended upon him.  But not so.  It depended upon
the Jury.  Guilty or not Guilty,&mdash;he had nothing to do with that.
Therefore, in the deeper sense, Bessie would not be tried by him at
all.  Why had he been frightening himself?
</p>

<p>
Had a Judge, then, no power, no voice, no influence?  Thank
God, yes!  It was for the Judge to direct the jury on questions of
law, to see that they had a right understanding of it and that their
verdict corresponded with the evidence.  What an important
function&mdash;especially in a case like this!  What a mercy old Taubman
was unable to sit on it!
</p>

<p>
He thought again of Bessie's position.  Pitiful, most pitiful!
But the law was no Juggernaut, intended to crush the life out of
a poor unfortunate girl.  Mercifully administered it was rather her
Sanctuary to which she might fly for refuge.  And it should be
mercifully administered.
</p>

<p>
Why not?  Good heavens, why not?  What wrong would it be
to temper Justice with mercy&mdash;even to strain the law a little in the
prisoner's favour?  No one but himself would know.  And if it
were suspected that he was showing favour to the prisoner, people
would consider him deserving of praise rather than censure for
trying to snatch a young and helpless creature from the clutches
of a cruel old Statute.
</p>

<p>
Besides, was it not one of the higher traditions of the bench
that the Judge was first Counsel for the accused?  Judges had not
always acted on that principle.  Some of them, in times past, had
hunted their wretched prisoners gallowswards with gibes.  Taubman
was still like that.  He thought sympathy with such women
as Bessie Collister was sentimental weakness, that to deal
mercifully with them was to encourage them, and thereby do a wrong
to public morality.
</p>

<p>
"God bless me, yes!  <i>I</i> know Taubman," he told himself.
</p>

<p>
Then he thought of Gell.  Whatever Bessie might be, Gell was
innocent, and after the girl herself the greatest sufferer.  Should
he suffer further from an unfounded suspicion?  God forbid!  It
would be his duty as Judge to see that no blustering person in
Court bellowed accusations which, once out, might stick to an
innocent man for the rest of his natural life.
</p>

<p>
After that he thought of himself.  The only risk he ran was
from Bessie's despair.  If Gell were falsely accused she might
break silence and tell the truth to save him.  What a vista!  Bessie,
Gell, himself, Fenella!  But no, that should not be!  The law
was no thumb-screw; a law-court was no torture-chamber.  It
would be his duty as Judge to protect the girl against any form
of legal provocation.
</p>

<p>
Last of all, with a thrill of the heart, he thought of Fenella.
She had drawn him on, constrained and compelled him to promise
to sit on Bessie's case.  But she had only wished, out of the greatness
of her pity, to see that the poor girl should have a just trial.
She should too!  It would be his duty as Judge to see to that.
</p>

<p>
"Good Lord, yes!  And what a mercy the case is not coming
before Taubman."
</p>

<p>
Thus in the scorching fire of his temptation he tried to stand
erect in the belief that he had sunk himself in his high
office&mdash;that he was about to become the champion and first servant of
Justice.  But well he knew in his secret heart that in the fierce
struggle which had been going on within him between the Judge
and the Man, the Man had conquered.
</p>

<p>
During the next two days he worked day and night in the
library, looking up authorities and verifying references.  On the
third day he set out in his car for Castletown.  Janet saw him off
in the mist of early morning.  He was very pale; he had eaten
scarcely any breakfast.  She looked anxiously after him until he
disappeared behind the trees.  There was the odour of fresh earth
in the air and the rooks were calling.  It was like an echo from
the past.
</p>

<p>
When he arrived at Castle Rushen there was a crowd at the
gate, and all hats were off to him, as they had been to his father,
when he passed through the Judge's private entrance.
</p>

<p>
Inside the courtyard, where the steps go up to the public part
of the Court-house, there was another crowd and a certain
commotion.  The police were pushing back a tumultuous person who
in a raucous voice was demanding to be admitted although the
place was full.
</p>

<p>
It was Dan Baldromma.
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p><a id="chap0428"></a></p>

<h3>
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
<br />
THE TRIAL
</h3>

<p>
For a good hour before the arrival of the Deemster, Castle
Rushen had been full of activity.  In the Court-house itself, warm
with sunshine from the lantern light, Robbie Stephen, the chief
Coroner of the island, who looked like a shaggy old sheep-dog,
had been selecting candidates for the Jury-box.
</p>

<p>
Seventy-two of them had been summoned, six from each of
twelve parishes, and now he was reducing the number to thirty-two,
twelve for the Jury and twenty more to meet the contingency
of arbitrary challenging.
</p>

<p>
Everybody claimed exemption, but the Coroner listened to
none.  Standing back to the empty bench, swelling with
importance and with his seventy-two men huddled together like sheep
at one side of the chamber, he called them out at his discretion and
with a wave of the hand passed them over to the other side to wait
for the trial.
</p>

<p>
"Now, then, Willie Kinnish, thou'rt a good man; over with
thee."  "No, no, Mr. Stephen, you must excuse me to-day, Sir."
"Tut, tut!  You Maughold men haven't served on a jury these
seven years."  "But I have fifty head of sheep going to Ramsey
mart this morning, and what's to pay my half year's rent if I'm
not there to sell them?"  "Chut, man!  Lave that to herself.
She's thy better half, isn't she?"
</p>

<p>
Meantime, in the chill corridors underground the jailer and his
turnkey were rattling their keys, opening the doors of the cells
and shouting to the prisoners to make ready for the Court.
</p>

<p>
"Patrick Kelly!  Charles Quiggin!  Nancy Kegeen!  John
Corlett!  Cæsar Crow!  Robert Quine!  Elizabeth Corteen!"
</p>

<p>
Hearing her name called, Bessie, having no fear, got up from
her plank bed, and when Mrs. Mylrea, the woman warder, with her
short, loud, difficult breathing, brought back her cloak and fur hat,
she put them on leisurely.
</p>

<p>
"Quick, girl!" said the warder.  "You don't want to keep the
Dempster waiting, do you?"
</p>

<p>
Bessie laughed, but made no answer.  At the next moment she
was in the darkness of the corridor, walking at the end of a short
procession of other prisoners, and at the next she was drawn up,
with her prison companions, into the blinding sunlight of a little
paved quadrangle which was surrounded by high walls and had the
sound of the sea coming down into it from the free world outside.
</p>

<p>
By this time the Court-house upstairs was in a state of yet
greater activity.  The thirty-two possible jurymen, having
reconciled themselves to being "trapped," were standing under the
jury-box, talking of the weather which was bringing the crops on
rapidly and would increase the price of early potatoes.  Inspectors
of police were bustling about; Joshua Scarff was laying a
green portfolio with paper, pens and ink, on the bench in front of
the Deemster's scarlet armchair, and a number of advocates were
coming in laughing by a door which communicated with their
room off the ramparts.
</p>

<p>
The last of the advocates to enter was Alick Gell.  He took a
seat immediately in front of the empty dock, looking pale and
worn and scarcely able to hold the papers which he carried in his
nervous hands.  A little later the Attorney-General, who was to
prosecute for the Crown, came in with a grave face, followed by
old Hudgeon, his junior, with a sour one.  And shortly before
eleven (the hour appointed for the beginning of the trial) a lady
was brought by an Inspector from the door to the Judge's room
and seated beside Gell in front of the dock.  It was Fenella.
</p>

<p>
Then the outer doors to the court-yard were thrown open and
the public admitted.  They rushed and tore their way into the
Court-house, men and women together, talking and laughing
loudly.  The big clock in the Castle tower was heard to strike,
and the Inspector, standing near the dais, cried in a loud voice,
</p>

<p>
"Silence in Court!"
</p>

<p>
The babel of voice subsided and everybody rose who had been
seated.  Then the Court came in and took their seats on the bench
of judgment&mdash;the Governor in his soldier's uniform, and Stowell
and the Clerk of the Rolls in their Judges' wigs and gowns.
</p>

<p>
It was remarked that the new Deemster looked ill and almost
old.  A wave of sympathy went out to him from the first.  It was
whispered among the spectators that he had come straight from a
sick-bed, and that the Governor insisted on his presence, saying
he must have him "dead or alive."
</p>

<p>
"Coroner, fence the Court," said the Governor, and then old
Stephen, who had already taken his place in the Coroner's box,
raising the pitch of his voice, recited the ancient formula:
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p>
"<i>I do hereby fence this Court in the name of our Sovereign
Lord the King.  I charge that no person shall quarrel, bawl or
molest the audience, that all persons shall answer to their names
when called.  I charge this audience to witness that this Court is
fenced; I charge this audience to witness that this Court is fenced;
I charge this whole audience to witness that this Court is fenced.</i>"
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p>
Everybody knew that it was for the Deemster to speak next,
but for a sensible moment he did not do so.  Then he said, almost
beneath his breath,
</p>

<p>
"Let the prisoners be brought in."
</p>

<p>
In the continued silence there came the sound of bustle outside,
with the patter of feet on the pavement below, and then a shuffling
of steps on the stairs.  The prisoners were coming up, but the
police had difficulty in clearing a passage for them.  The voice of
the jailer, Tommy Vondy, was heard to cry, "Make way!"  There
was a period of waiting.  At one moment the people in court
caught the sound from the staircase of a scarcely believable
thing&mdash;the laugh of a woman?  Who could she be?
</p>

<p>
At length the prisoners were brought in, pushed through the
throng that stood thick at the back, and hurried into the dock,
which was like a long pew behind the circular seats of the
advocates and directly in front of the bench.
</p>

<p>
There were seven of them, a sorry company, two women and
five men, with nothing in common save the pallid, almost pasty
complexions which had come of the dank air they had been
living in.
</p>

<p>
There was another moment of silence.  It was time for the
Deemster to take the pleas, but again he did not speak
immediately.  He had the look of a man who was struggling
against physical weakness.  The blood rushed to his pale face
and as quickly disappeared.  "He's not fit for it to-day,"
people whispered.
</p>

<p>
But at the next moment, in a low voice, and with the appearance
of one who was making an effort to command his strength,
the Deemster was reading the indictments.
</p>

<p>
He took the prisoners in the order in which they stood before
him, beginning with the one on the extreme left.  He was a very
young man, almost a boy, with a face that might have been that
of his mother when she was a girl.  His name was Quiggin; he
had been a bank clerk and was charged with embezzlement.  He
pleaded Guilty and looked down as if he expected the earth to open
under his feet.
</p>

<p>
The next was a gross, fat, middle-aged woman with red cheeks
and many heavy gold rings on her stubby fingers.  Her name was
Kegeen, and she was charged with robbing drunken sailors in a
house she had kept in an alley off the south quay.  In a torrent
of words she denied everything and accused the police of
black-mailing her.
</p>

<p>
The last was Bessie Collister and the Deemster paused
perceptibly when he came to her.
</p>

<p>
She had carried herself straight when she entered the Court
and was now sitting with her head thrown back.  But, seeing that
of all the prisoners she was the one on whom the eyes of the
spectators were fastened, she had reached up her hands to a veil which
was wrapped about her fur hat and drawn it down over her face.
Observing this at the last moment, and thinking it the cause of the
Deemster's silence, the jailer said in an audible whisper,
</p>

<p>
"Put up your fall, Bessie."
</p>

<p>
She did so, disclosing her thin white face and large eyes.  And
then in a voice so low that it would have been scarcely audible but
for the strained silence in the court-house, the Deemster said,
</p>

<p>
"Elizabeth Corteen, stand up."
</p>

<p>
Bessie rose without embarrassment and fixed her eyes on the
Deemster.  And then he charged her.
</p>

<p>
"It is charged against you that on or about the fifth day of
April&mdash;in the parish of Ballaugh, in the Isle of Man, feloniously,
wilfully and of your malice aforethought, you did kill and murder
a certain male child, contrary to the form of the Statute in such
case made and provided, and against the peace of our Sovereign
Lord the King, his Crown and dignity.  How say you, are you
guilty or not guilty?"
</p>

<p>
Without hesitation or halting, looking straight into the eyes of
the Judge and speaking in a voice so clear that it resounded
through the silent Court-house, Bessie answered,
</p>

<p>
"Not Guilty."
</p>

<p>
Her tone and bearing had gone against her.  "The huzzy!"
whispered one of the female spectators.  "She might have more
shame for her position, anyway.  And did you see the way the
forward piece looked up at the Deemster?"
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
II
</p>

<p>
It was not until Stowell had stepped on to the bench that he
had realized what he had done for himself.
</p>

<p>
When he had asked for the prisoners to be brought in, and
Bessie had come at the end of the short line and taken her place in
the dock with the constable behind her, he had been seized with a
feeling of choking shame.
</p>

<p>
That woman, looking so much older, with pallid cheeks sucked
in by suffering, could she be the same?  All the barrage he had
built up for the protection of his position as Judge seemed to have
gone down at the first sight of the girl's face.  What a scoundrel
he had been!
</p>

<p>
From that moment a whirl of confused emotions had held
possession of him.  When the time came to charge the prisoner he
had felt as if he were reading out his own indictment.  And when
she had looked up fearlessly into his face and pleaded Not Guilty
it was the same as if she were accusing himself.
</p>

<p>
After that he had a sense of acting as a detached person.  In a
strange voice, which did not seem to be his own, he heard himself
asking the Attorney-General which case he wished to take first.
The Attorney answered, "The murder case," and after the Clerk
of the Rolls had read out the names of the jurymen, and they had
taken their places in the jury-box, he heard himself, in the same
strange voice, swearing them on the holy evangelists to "a true
verdict give, according to the evidence and the laws of this isle."
</p>

<p>
When he turned his eyes back, Bessie was alone in the dock,
save for the woman warder (with blue lips and a look of suffering)
who sat at the farther end of it.  She was still looking fearlessly
up at him, and in front of her sat two others whose eyes were also
fixed on his face&mdash;Alick Gell and Fenella.  At that sight a
terrible feeling took hold of him&mdash;that these three were the real
judges in this trial and he was the prisoner at the bar.
</p>

<p>
He did not recover from the shock of this feeling until the
Attorney-General began on the prosecution.
</p>

<p>
The Attorney, usually so kindly, was bitterly severe.  The
time had gone by when it could be said with truth that crime was
practically unknown in the Isle of Man.  Here, as elsewhere,
crimes of all kinds were only too common, and not least common
was the crime of infanticide.
</p>

<p>
The present case was one of peculiar atrocity.  The prisoner
was a young woman who might be said, not uncharitably, to have
inherited a lawless disposition.  After a reckless girlhood she had
disappeared from her home, for no apparent reason, rather less
than a year ago and remained away (nobody knew where or in
what company) until a few weeks ago.  She had then been ill and
was put to bed in a condition which gave only too much reason for
the belief that she was about to become a mother.  That was on the
fifth of April and two days later the body of a new-born infant
had been found in a remote place, wrapped up and hidden away.
</p>

<p>
It would be established by witnesses that the infant had been
born alive, that it had died by suffocation, and that the prisoner
(incredible as it might appear) had been seen to bury it.
</p>

<p>
"Such," said the Attorney-General, "are the facts of this
most unhappy case, and though the prisoner pleads Not Guilty,
the evidence which I shall now call will leave no doubt that the
child was her child and that it died by her hands.  Therefore I
ask (as well for the sake of humanity as for the good name of this
island) that the Jury shall give such a verdict against the prisoner
as will act as a deterrent on the heartless women, unworthy of the
name of mothers, who, to save themselves from the just consequences
of their evil conduct, are taking the innocent lives which
under God they gave."
</p>

<p>
There had been a tense atmosphere in the Court-house during
the Attorney-General's speech, and when it was over there were
half-suppressed murmurs, hostile to the prisoner.
</p>

<p>
Looking towards the dock Stowell saw that Bessie was quite
unmoved, but that Fenella, in front of her, was flushed and hot,
and Gell's lower lip was trembling.  Stowell was conscious of a
complicated struggle going on within him and then of a blind and
headlong resolution.  He was going to save that girl&mdash;he was
going to save her at all costs!
</p>

<p>
The first witness was the constable, a middle-aged man with a
sour expression.  After he had been sworn by the Deemster, the
Attorney-General examined him.
</p>

<p>
His name was Cain and he was constable for the parish in
which the crime had been committed.  On the morning of April the
seventh he received an information from Old Will Skillicorne of
Baldromma-beg that something had been seen under the
<i>Clagh-ny-Dooiney</i>.  He had gone there and found the body of a
new-born child, and had taken it to Dr. Clucas, who had made an
examination.  Later the same day he had taken statements from
Old Will and his wife, relating to the prisoner, and had sent them
up to the Chief Constable of the island at Douglas.  The Chief
Constable had ordered him to make a house-to-house visitation
through the parish to see if any other woman might have been
the mother of the child.  He had done so with the result that the
prisoner was the only person who had come under suspicion.
She was then ill in bed, but in due course he had arrested her,
and charged her before the High Bailiff, who had committed her
for trial at that court&mdash;sending her to the hospital in the meantime.
</p>

<p>
With obvious nervousness Gell rose to cross-examine the
witness.
</p>

<p>
"How far is it from the prisoner's home to the <i>Clagh-ny-Dooiney</i>?"
</p>

<p>
"Half a mile, maybe."
</p>

<p>
"What kind of road would you call it?"
</p>

<p>
"Rough and thorny, most of it."
</p>

<p>
Gell sat with a look of satisfaction, and the Deemster
leaned forward.
</p>

<p>
"Constable," he said, "when you made your house-to-house
visitation did you go beyond the boundary of your parish?"
</p>

<p>
"No, your Honour."
</p>

<p>
"Where is the boundary?"
</p>

<p>
"The glen is the boundary&mdash;the western side of it, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"How near to the western boundary are the nearest houses in
the next parish?"
</p>

<p>
"Four hundred yards, perhaps."
</p>

<p>
"How many of them are there?"
</p>

<p>
"Fifteen or twenty, your Honour."
</p>

<p>
"Yet, though you visited the prisoner's home, which was
half-a-mile from the <i>Clagh-ny-Dooiney</i>, you did not visit&mdash;you were
not told to visit&mdash;the fifteen or twenty houses which were only four
hundred yards away?"
</p>

<p>
"They were not in my parish, your Honour."
</p>

<p>
There was audible drawing of breath in court.  Fenella, who
had been reaching forward, dropped back, and Gell's pale face
was smiling.
</p>

<p>
The next to be called was Dr. Clucas.  His hands were twitching
and his rubicund face was moist with perspiration&mdash;he was
obviously an unwilling witness.
</p>

<p>
Yes, when the constable brought the body of the child he made
a post-mortem examination.  Applying the usual medical tests he
came to the conclusion that the child had been born alive and had
died of suffocation.  On the morning of the following day he
had been called in to see the prisoner.  She was suffering from
extreme exhaustion&mdash;a condition not inconsistent with the idea of
recent confinement.
</p>

<p>
Gell, gathering strength but still agitated, rose again.
</p>

<p>
"How long had the child lived?"
</p>

<p>
"An hour or two, probably."
</p>

<p>
"And how long had it been dead?"
</p>

<p>
"Twenty-four to thirty hours at the outside."
</p>

<p>
"Is it your experience that within twenty-four to thirty hours
after confinement a woman can walk half-a-mile along a rough
and thorny road and carry a burden?"
</p>

<p>
"It certainly is not, Sir."
</p>

<p>
Gell sat with a piteous smile of triumph on his pale face, and
the Deemster leaned forward again.
</p>

<p>
"Doctor," he said, "you speak of applying the usual medical
tests&mdash;are they entirely reliable?"
</p>

<p>
"They are not infallible, your Honour.  They have been
known to fail."
</p>

<p>
"Then this child may have breathed and yet not had a
separate existence?"
</p>

<p>
"It may&mdash;it is just possible, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"And the unhappy mother, whoever she may be, though obviously
guilty of concealing its birth, may not have been guilty
of the much greater crime of killing it?"
</p>

<p>
"That's so .... she may not, your Honour."
</p>

<p>
There was a still more audible drawing of breath in court when
the doctor stood down.  Fenella's eyes were shining and Gell's
were sparkling with excitement.
</p>

<p>
The next witness was Bridget Skillicorne.  She wore a big
poke bonnet and a Paisley shawl which smelt strongly of lavender.
She was very voluble (provoking ripples of laughter by her broad
Manx tongue) and the Attorney-General had more than he could
do to restrain her.
</p>

<p>
Aw, 'deed yes, she remembered the night of the sixth-seventh
April, for wasn't it the night she had a cow down with the gripes?
Colic they were calling it, but wutching it was, and she believed in
her heart she knew who had wutched the craythur.  So she sent
her ould man over to the Ballawhaine for a taste of something to
take off the evil eye.  And while she was sitting in the cowhouse
itself, waiting for the man to come home (it was terr'ble slow the
men were, both in their heads and their legs), she saw the light of
a fire that had blown up on the mountains.  "Will it reach the hay
in my haggard?" she thought, and out she went to look.  And,
behold ye, what did she see but the glen as light as day and a
woman on her knees putting something under the <i>Clagh-ny-Dooiney</i>.
Who was she?  The Collister girl of course.  Sure?
Sarten sure!  And as soon as it was day she went down to the
stone to see what the girl had left there.  What was it?  A
baby&mdash;what else?  Lying there in a scarf, poor bogh, like a little
white mollag.
</p>

<p>
"What's mollag?"  (Bridget's Manx had gone beyond the
Attorney, but the jurymen were smiling.)  "Ask them
ones&mdash;<i>they</i> know."
</p>

<p>
Gell, with a newspaper-cutting in his hand, rose to
cross-examine the old woman.
</p>

<p>
"You and your husband are sub-tenants of the prisoner's
step-father, isn't that so?"
</p>

<p>
"Certainly we are&mdash;you ought to know that much
yourself, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"I see you told the High Bailiff you were on bad terms with
your landlord."
</p>

<p>
"Bad terms, is it?  I wouldn't bemane myself with being on
any terms at all with the like."
</p>

<p>
"He threatened to turn you out of your croft at Hollantide,
didn't he?"
</p>

<p>
"He did, the dirt!"
</p>

<p>
"And you said you'd see him thrown out before you?"
</p>

<p>
"It's like I did, and it's like I will, too, for if your father,
the Spaker...."
</p>

<p>
The Attorney-General rose in alarm.  "Is it suggested by
these questions that the witness has an animus against the
prisoner's family and is conspiring to convict her?"
</p>

<p>
"That," said Gell, in a ringing voice, "is precisely what
is suggested."
</p>

<p>
"What?" cried Bridget, bobbing her poke bonnet across
at Gell.  "Is it a liar you're making me out?  Me, that has known
you since you were a loblolly-boy in a jacket?"
</p>

<p>
The Deemster intervened to pacify the old woman, and then
took her in hand himself.
</p>

<p>
"Bridget," he said, "how far is it from your house on the
brews down to the <i>Clagh-ny-Dooiney</i>?  Is it three or four hundred
yards, think you?"
</p>

<p>
"Maybe it is.  But it's yourself knows as well as I do,
your Honour."
</p>

<p>
"Is your sight still so good that you can see a woman to know
her at that distance?"
</p>

<p>
"Aw, well, not so bad anyway.  And then wasn't it as bright
as day, Sir?"
</p>

<p>
"Listen.  This court-house is not more than fifteen yards
across, and less than ten to any point from the box in which you
stand.  Do you think you could recognise anybody you know in
this audience?"
</p>

<p>
"Anybody I know?  Recognise?  Why not, your Honour?"
</p>

<p>
"You know Cain the constable?"
</p>

<p>
"'Deed I do, and his mother before him.  A dacent man
enough, but stupid for all...."
</p>

<p>
"Well, he is one of the three constables who are now standing
at this end of the jury-box&mdash;which of them is he?"
</p>

<p>
"Which?  Do you say which, your Honour?" said Bridget,
screwing up her wrinkled face.  "Why, the off-one, surely."
</p>

<p>
There was a burst of irrepressible laughter in court&mdash;Bridget
had chosen wrongly.
</p>

<p>
The next witness was old Will Skillicorne.  He was wearing
his chapel clothes, with black kid gloves, large and baggy, and was
carrying a silk hat that was as straight and long and almost as
brown as a length of stove-pipe.  When called upon to swear he
said he believed the old Book said "Swear not at all," and when
asked what he was he answered that he believed he was "a
man of God."
</p>

<p>
Aw, yes, he believed he remembered the night of the six-seventh
of April, and he was returning home from an errand into
Andreas when the prisoner passed him coming down the glen.
</p>

<p>
"At what time would that be?" asked Gell.
</p>

<p>
"Two or three in the morning, I belave."
</p>

<p>
"Then it would be still quite dark?"
</p>

<p>
"I was carrying my lantern, I belave."
</p>

<p>
"What was the prisoner doing when she passed you?"
</p>

<p>
"Covering her eyes with shame, I belave, as well she
might be."
</p>

<p>
"Then you did not see her face?"
</p>

<p>
"I belave I did, though."
</p>

<p>
"Believe!  Believe!  Did you or did you not&mdash;yes or no?"
</p>

<p>
"I belave I did, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"Mr. Skillicorne," said the Deemster, "you attach importance
to your belief, I see."
</p>

<p>
The old man drew himself up, and answered in his preaching
tone,
</p>

<p>
"It's the rock of my salvation, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"Your wife told us that your errand into Andreas was to see
the Ballawhaine about your sick cow.  Is that the well-known
witch-doctor?"
</p>

<p>
"I .... I .... I belave it is, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"And what did he give you?"
</p>

<p>
"A .... a wisp of straw and a few good words, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"Then you believe in that too&mdash;that a wisp of straw and a
few good words...."
</p>

<p>
But the Deemster could not finish&mdash;a ripple of laughter that
had been running through the Court having risen to a roar which
he did not attempt to repress.  "He has made up his mind about
this case," said someone.
</p>

<p>
The Attorney-General, who was looking hot and embarrassed,
called the last of his witnesses.  This was the house-doctor at the
hospital, the young man with the thin hair and pugnacious mouth.
</p>

<p>
Asked if he remembered the prisoner being brought into
hospital he said "Perfectly."  Had he formed any opinion of her
condition?  He had.  What was it?  That she had been confined
less than five days before.  What made him think so?  First her
unwillingness to be examined and then....
</p>

<p>
"She refused?"
</p>

<p>
"She did, your Honour, and threatened violence, but she
became unconscious soon afterwards and then...."
</p>

<p>
"Stop!" said the Deemster, and looking down at the Attorney
he asked if the High Bailiff, in committing the prisoner, had
ordered that she should be examined.
</p>

<p>
The Attorney-General shook his head helplessly, whereupon
the Deemster, with a severe face, turned back to the witness.
</p>

<p>
"You are a qualified medical practitioner?"
</p>

<p>
"I am," said the witness, straightening himself.
</p>

<p>
"Then of course you know that for a doctor to examine a
woman against her will and without a magistrate's order is to
commit an offence for which he may be severely punished?"
</p>

<p>
The pugnacious mouth opened like a dying oyster.
</p>

<p>
"Y-es, your Honour."
</p>

<p>
"Therefore you did not examine her?"
</p>

<p>
"N-o, your Honour."
</p>

<p>
"And you know nothing of her condition?"
</p>

<p>
"No&mdash;&mdash;"
</p>

<p>
"Stand down, Sir."
</p>

<p>
There was a commotion in the court-house.  The prisoner's face
was still calm, but Fenella's was aglow and Gell's was ablaze.
</p>

<p>
"Mr. Attorney," said the Deemster quietly, "have you any
further evidence?"
</p>

<p>
The Attorney, who had been whispering hotly to Hudgeon,
said,
</p>

<p>
"No, there was a nurse who might have given conclusive
evidence, but, thinking the doctor's would be sufficient, my
colleague has allowed her to leave the island.  No, that is my case,
your Honour."
</p>

<p>
Stowell, secretly glad at the turn things had taken, was about
to put an end to the trial, when Gell, intoxicated by his success,
leapt up and said,
</p>

<p>
"I might ask the Court to dismiss this case immediately on the
ground that there is nothing to put before the jury.  But the
wicked and cruel charge may follow the accused all her life,
therefore I propose, with the Court's permission, to waive my right of
reply and call such positive evidence of her innocence as will
enable her to leave this court without a stain on her character."
</p>

<p>
"The fool!" thought Stowell.  But just at that moment the
clock of the Castle struck one, and the Governor said,
</p>

<p>
"The Court will adjourn for luncheon and resume at two."
</p>

<p>
As Stowell stepped off the bench his eye caught a glimpse of
the inscription on a brass plate which had lately been affixed to
the wall under his father's portrait&mdash;
</p>

<p class="quote">
"<i>Justice is the most sacred thing on earth.</i>"
</p>

<p>
His head dropped; he felt like a traitor.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
III
</p>

<p>
When the trial was resumed the Attorney-General had not
returned to court, so Hudgeon represented the Crown.  He was
offensive from the first, but Gell, whose spirits had risen
perceptibly, was not to be put out.
</p>

<p>
The witness he called first was Mrs. Collister.  The old
mother had to be helped into the witness-box.  Her poor face was
wet with recent tears, and in administering the oath Stowell hardly
dared to look at her.  Remembering the admissions she had made
to him at Ballamoar he knew that she had come to give false
evidence in her daughter's cause.
</p>

<p>
She made a timid, reluctant and sometimes inaudible witness.
More than once Hudgeon complained that he could not hear, and
Gell, with great tenderness, asked her to speak louder.
</p>

<p>
"Speak up, Mrs. Collister.  There's nothing to fear.  The
Court will protect you," he said.  But Stowell, who saw what
was hidden behind the veil of the old woman's soul, knew it was
another and higher audience she was afraid of.
</p>

<p>
With many pauses she repeated, in answer to Gell's questions,
the story she had told before&mdash;that her daughter had returned
home ill on the fifth of April, that she had put her to bed in the
dairy-loft and that the girl had never left it until Cain the
constable came to arrest her.
</p>

<p>
"You saw her day and night while she was at your house?"
</p>

<p>
"Aw, yes, Sir, last thing at night and first thing in the
morning."
</p>

<p>
"And you know nothing that conflicts with what she says&mdash;that
she never had a child and therefore could not have killed it?"
</p>

<p>
"'Deed no, Sir, nothing whatever."
</p>

<p>
She had answered in a tremulous voice which the Deemster
found deeply affecting.  Once or twice she had lifted her weak
eyes to his with a pitiful look of supplication, and he had had to
turn his own eyes away.  "I should do it myself," he thought.
</p>

<p>
"And now, Mrs. Collister," said Gell, "if you were here this
morning you heard what the Attorney-General said&mdash;that your
daughter had been of a lawless disposition and had run away from
home without apparent reason.  Is there any truth in that?"
</p>

<p>
"Bessie was always a good girl, Sir.  It was lies the
gentleman was putting on her."
</p>

<p>
"Is the prisoner your husband's daughter?"
</p>

<p>
"No, Sir," the old woman faltered, "his step-daughter."
</p>

<p>
"Is it true that her step-father has always been hard on her?"
</p>

<p>
The old woman hesitated, then faltered again, "Middling
hard anyway."
</p>

<p>
"Don't be afraid.  Remember, your daughter's liberty, perhaps
her life, are in peril.  Tell the Jury what happened on the
day she left home."
</p>

<p>
Then nervously, fearfully, looking round the Court-house as
if in terror of being seen or heard, the old woman told the story of
the first Saturday in August.
</p>

<p>
"So your husband deliberately shut the girl out of the house
in the middle of the night, knowing well she had nowhere else
to go to?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes, if you plaze, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"It's a lie&mdash;a scandalous lie!" cried somebody at the back of
the court.
</p>

<p>
"Who's that?" asked the Governor, and he was told by the
Inspector of Police (who was already laying hold of the
interrupter) that it was the husband of the witness.
</p>

<p>
"A respectable man's character is being sworn away," cried
Dan.  "Put me in the box and I'll swear it's a lie."
</p>

<p>
In the tumult that followed the Deemster raised his hand.
</p>

<p>
"This Court has been fenced," he said severely, "and if
anybody attempts to brawl here...."
</p>

<p>
"Then let me be sworn.  I'm only a plain Manxman, blood
and bone, but I can tell the truth as well as some that make a
bigger mouth."
</p>

<p>
"Behave yourself!"
</p>

<p>
"Give me a chance to save my character and fix the disgrace of
these bad doings where it belongs."
</p>

<p>
"I give you fair warning...."
</p>

<p>
"Put the saddle on the right horse, Dempster.  He's near
enough to yourself, anyway."
</p>

<p>
"Silence!"
</p>

<p>
"Why doesn't he come out into the open, not hide behind the
skirts of a girl with a by-child?"
</p>

<p>
"Remove that man to the cells, and keep him there until the
trial is over."
</p>

<p>
"What?" cried Dan, in a loud voice.
</p>

<p>
"Remove him!" cried the Deemster, in a voice still louder,
and at the next moment, Dan, shaking his fist at the prisoner and
cursing her, was hustled out of Court.
</p>

<p>
When the tempestuous scene was over and silence had been
restored, the witness was trembling and covering her face in her
hands and Hudgeon was on his feet to cross-examine her.
</p>

<p>
"I think your father was the late John Corteen, the
Methodist?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes, sir."
</p>

<p>
"He was a good man, wasn't he?"
</p>

<p>
"As good a man as ever walked the world, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"He had a reputation for strict truthfulness&mdash;isn't that so?"
</p>

<p>
"'Deed it is, Sir.  The old Dempster would take his word
without asking him to swear to it."
</p>

<p>
"You were much attached to him, were you not?"
</p>

<p>
The old woman wiped her eyes, which were wet but shining.
</p>

<p>
"That's truth enough, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"And now he's dead and I daresay you sometimes pray for
the time when you'll see him again?"
</p>

<p>
"Morning and night, every day of my life since I closed the
man's dying eyes for him."
</p>

<p>
The advocate turned his gleaming eyes to the Jury and the side
of his powerful face to the witness.
</p>

<p>
"You are a Methodist yourself, aren't you?"
</p>

<p>
"Such as I am, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"And as a Methodist you are taught to believe that truth is
sacred and that a lie (no matter under what temptation told) is a
thing of the devil and no good can come of it?"
</p>

<p>
The old woman faltered something that was barely heard, and
then the big advocate turned quickly round on her, and said in
a stern voice, looking full into her timid eyes,
</p>

<p>
"Mrs. Collister, as you are a Christian woman and expect to
meet your father some day, will you swear that when your daughter
returned home on the fifth of April you did not see at a glance that
she was about to become a mother of a child?"
</p>

<p>
The old woman shuddered as if she had been smitten by an
invisible hand, breathed audibly, tried to speak, stopped, then
closed her eyes, swayed a little and laid hold of the bar in
front of her.
</p>

<p>
"Inspector, see to the witness quickly," cried the Deemster.
</p>

<p>
At the next moment the old woman was being helped out of the
witness-box and borne towards the door, where, realising what she
had done for her daughter, she broke into a fit of weeping, which
rent the silence of the Court until the door had closed behind her.
</p>

<p>
"In that cry," said the advocate, "the Jury has heard the
answer to my question.  It is proof enough that the prisoner had a
child, and that her mother knew it."
</p>

<p>
"If so, it is proof of something else," cried Gell (he had leapt
to his feet and was speaking in a thrilling voice), "that a strong
man can find it in his heart to use his great forensic skill to crush
a poor weak woman who is fighting for the life of her child.  All
his life through he has been doing the same thing&mdash;driving people
into prison and dragging them to the gallows.  He has made his
name and grown rich and fat on it.  God save me from a life
like that!  I am only a young lawyer and he is an old one, but
may I live in poverty and die in the streets rather than outrage
my humanity and degrade my profession by using the lures of the
procurator and the arts of the hangman."
</p>

<p>
There was a sensation in Court.  One of the younger advocates
was heard to say, "My God, who thought Alick Gell was
a fool?"  And another who remembered the "Fanny" case
in the Douglas police-courts, said, "He's got a bit of his own
back, anyway."
</p>

<p>
When the commotion subsided, Hudgeon, with a face of scarlet,
appealed to the Court:
</p>

<p>
"Your Honour, I ask your protection against this outrageous
slander."
</p>

<p>
"Since you appeal to me," said the Deemster (whose own face
was aflame), "I can only say that you deserved every word of it."
</p>

<p>
Hudgeon tried to speak, but could not, his voice being choked
in his throat.  And seeing that the Attorney-General had come
back to Court (he had just returned with Cain the constable, who
was carrying a parcel) he picked up his bag and fled.
</p>

<p>
Gell's time had come at last&mdash;the great moment he had been
waiting for so long.  Although he had been shaken for an instant
by Mrs. Collister's silence he was not afraid now.  He was going
to play his last and greatest card&mdash;put the prisoner in the box to
demolish for ever the monstrous accusation that had been intended
to ruin the life of an innocent woman.  The Deemster trembled
as he saw Gell look round the Court with a confident smile before
he called his witness.
</p>

<p>
Bessie, whose big eyes had flamed with fury during her
mother's cross-examination, passed with a firm step from the dock
to the witness-box.  In answer to Gell's questions she repeated
the evidence she had given before the High Bailiff, only more
emphatically and with a certain note of defiance.
</p>

<p>
When the Attorney-General rose to cross-examine her, it was
observed that he, too, had an air of confidence, as if something
had become known to him since morning.
</p>

<p>
"Do you adhere to your plea?" he asked.
</p>

<p>
"Indeed I do.  Why shouldn't I?" said Bessie.
</p>

<p>
"Think again before it is too late.  Do you still say that you
have never had a child, and therefore never killed and never
buried one?"
</p>

<p>
"Certainly I say so," said Bessie.  "I don't know what you
are talking of."
</p>

<p>
"Constable," said the Attorney, turning to Cain, "open
your parcel."
</p>

<p>
There was a whispering among the spectators in Court, while
the constable was cutting the string and opening the brown-paper
parcel.  The Deemster was shuddering, Gell's lower lip was
trembling, and Fenella (who was sitting, as before, in front of the
dock) was breathing deeply.  The prisoner alone was unmoved.
The sun (it was now going round to the West) was shining down
on her from the lantern light.  It lit up with pitiful vividness her
thin white face with its look of confidence and contempt.
</p>

<p>
"Do you know what this is?" asked the Attorney, holding
up a portion of a white silk scarf.
</p>

<p>
Bessie started as if she had seen a ghost.  Then, recovering
herself and turning her eyes away, she said, remembering what
Gell had told her,
</p>

<p>
"I know nothing about it."
</p>

<p>
"You have never seen it before?"
</p>

<p>
"I know nothing about it."
</p>

<p>
The Attorney-General put the scarf outstretched on the table
in front of him, and held up a narrower strip of the same material.
</p>

<p>
"Do you know anything about this, then?"
</p>

<p>
Bessie gasped and was silent for a moment.  Then she said
again, but with a stammer,
</p>

<p>
"I know nothing about it."
</p>

<p>
"Will you swear that it never belonged to you?"
</p>

<p>
A stabbing memory came back to Bessie.  She remembered
what she had heard about "a remnant" when the constables were
ranging her room, and seeing no way of escape by further denial
she said,
</p>

<p>
"Oh yes, I remember it now.  I found it on the road when I
was on my way home and bound it about my hat to keep it from
blowing off in the wind."
</p>

<p>
The silence which had fallen upon the Court was broken by an
audible drawing of breath.  Gell, who had risen and leaned
forward, dropped back.
</p>

<p>
"But if you found it on the road, how do you account for the
fact that it has your name stamped on the corner of it?
See&mdash;<i>Bessie</i>."
</p>

<p>
Bessie was speechless for another moment.  Then she said,
</p>

<p>
"Bessie is a common name, isn't it?"
</p>

<p>
"But how do you account for the further fact that these two
pieces fit each other exactly?" asked the Attorney&mdash;laying the
narrow strip by the broader portion.
</p>

<p>
Bessie became dizzy and confused.
</p>

<p>
"I can't account for it.  I know nothing about it," she said.
</p>

<p>
The Deemster, who was breathing with difficulty, asked
the Attorney what he suggested by the exhibits.  The
Attorney answered,
</p>

<p>
"The larger piece, your Honour, is the scarf which the body
of the child was found in, while the narrower one was discovered
in the prisoner's room, and the suggestion is that, taken together,
they form a chain of convincing evidence that she is guilty of the
crime with which she is charged."
</p>

<p>
Gell leapt to his feet.  He had recognised the scarf as a
present of his own on Bessie's last birthday, and his great faith in
the girl was breaking down, yet in a husky voice he said,
</p>

<p>
"Give her time, your Honour.  She may have some
explanation."
</p>

<p>
The Deemster signified assent, and then Gell, stepping closer
to the witness-box, said,
</p>

<p>
"Be calm and think again.  Don't answer hastily.  Everything
depends on your reply.  Are you sure the scarf was not
yours and that you lost the larger piece of it?  Think carefully, I
beg, I pray."
</p>

<p>
The advocate was losing himself, yet nobody protested.  At
length Bessie, with the wild eyes of a captured animal, broke into
violent cries.
</p>

<p>
"Oh, why are you all torturing me?  Wasn't it enough to
torture my mother?  I know nothing about it."
</p>

<p>
Gell dropped back to his seat.  There was a profound silence.
The great clock of the Castle was heard to strike four.  The
Deemster felt as if every stroke were beating on his brain.  At
length he said,
</p>

<p>
"A new fact has been introduced by the prosecution and it is
only right that the defence should have time to consider it.  It is
now four o'clock.  The Court will adjourn until morning.  It
is not for me to anticipate the evidence which the accused may give
when the Court resumes, but if in the interval she can remember
anything which will put a new light on the serious fact the
Attorney-General has just disclosed, nothing she has said in her
agitation to-day shall prejudice what she may say to-morrow."
</p>

<p>
He paused for a moment and then (with difficulty maintaining
an equal voice) he added,
</p>

<p>
"It sometimes happens that a young woman in the position of
the accused mistakes concealment for the much more serious
crime of murder."
</p>

<p>
He paused again and then said,
</p>

<p>
"Whatever the facts in this unhappy case may prove to be,
if I may speak to that mystery of a woman's heart which is truly
said to be sacred even in its shame, I will say, 'Tell the truth, the
whole truth; it will be best for you, best for everybody.'"
</p>

<p>
"The Court stands adjourned until eleven in the morning,"
said the Governor.  "Meantime, let the advocate for the defence
see the accused and give her the benefit of his legal advice and
assistance.  Jailer, look to the Jury that they are properly lodged
in the Castle, and see that they hold no communication with
persons outside."
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
IV
</p>

<p>
The Judges, the advocates and the spectators were gone, and
Gell was alone in the Court-house.  He was like a drowning man
in an empty sea, clinging to an upturned boat.
</p>

<p>
Time after time he gathered up his papers and put them in his
bag, then took them out again and spread them before him.  At
length, rising with a haggard face, he went downstairs with a
heavy step.
</p>

<p>
At the door to the private entrance he came upon Fenella, who
was waiting for her father.  Her eyes were red as if she had
been weeping, but they were blazing with anger also.
</p>

<p>
"Are you going down to her as the Governor suggested?"
</p>

<p>
"I cannot!  I dare not!" he replied.  And then, as if struck
by a sudden thought he said, "But won't you go?"
</p>

<p>
"You wish me to speak to her instead of you?"
</p>

<p>
"Won't you?  If she has anything to say she'll say it more
freely to a woman."
</p>

<p>
Fenella looked at him for a moment.
</p>

<p>
"Very well, I'll go if you are willing to take the consequences."
</p>

<p>
"The consequences?  To me?  That's nothing&mdash;nothing
whatever.  Go to her, for God's sake.  I'll wait here for you."
</p>

<p>
In the Deemster's room the Governor was putting on his military
overcoat.  He was not too well satisfied with himself, and as
the only means of self-justification he was nursing a dull anger
against Stowell.
</p>

<p>
"Well, we can only go on with it.  There's nothing else to do
now.  Unfortunate&mdash;damnably unfortunate!"
</p>

<p>
A few minutes later, Stowell, sitting at the table in wig and
gown, heard the clash of steel outside (a company of the regiment
quartered in the town were acting as a guard of honour) and saw
through the window the Governor's big blue landau passing over
the bridge that crossed the harbour.
</p>

<p>
Gell would be with Bessie in her cell by this time.  She was
guilty.  He must see that she was guilty.  What a shock!  What
a disillusionment!  All his high-built faith in the girl wrecked
and broken!
</p>

<p>
At last he unrobed and went down the empty staircase.  On
opening the door to the court-yard he was startled to see Gell
pacing to and fro with downcast head among the remains of some
tombs of old kings which lay about in the rank grass.
</p>

<p>
"Ah, is it you?" said Gell, looking up at the sound of Stowell's
footsteps.  "You were good to her, old fellow.  I can't help
thanking you."
</p>

<p>
Stowell mumbled some reply and then said he thought Gell
would have been with Bessie.
</p>

<p>
"I daren't go," said Gell.  "But Fenella has gone instead
of me."
</p>

<p>
"Fenella?"
</p>

<p>
Stowell felt as if something were creeping between his skin and
his flesh.  Fenella and Bessie&mdash;those two and the dread secret!
</p>

<p>
"My poor girl!" said Gell.  "If she has anything to say&mdash;to
confess&mdash;it won't hurt so much to say it to somebody else.  But of
course she hasn't&mdash;she can't have."
</p>

<p>
Stowell felt as if he had been suddenly deprived of the power
of speech.  Yes, Bessie would confess everything to Fenella.
Not merely the birth of her child but also the name of her
fellow-sinner&mdash;Fenella's desire to punish the guilty man would drag that
out of her.  Perhaps the confession was going on at that very
moment.  What a shock for Fenella too!  All her high-built faith
in him wrecked and broken!
</p>

<p>
"Well, let us hope...."
</p>

<p>
"Yes, that is all we can do."
</p>

<p>
And then the two men parted, Gell returning to his pacing
among the tombs of the dead kings and Stowell going out by the
Deemster's door.
</p>

<p>
A few of the spectators at the trial were waiting to see the
Deemster off, but he scarcely saw their salutations and did not
respond to them.
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p><a id="chap0429"></a></p>

<h3>
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE
<br />
THE TWO WOMEN&mdash;THE TWO MEN
</h3>

<p>
On being taken back to her cell Bessie had burst into a fit
of hysteria.
</p>

<p>
"The brutes!  They're only trying to catch me out that they
may kill me.  Why don't they do it then?  Why don't they finish
me?  This waiting is the worst."
</p>

<p>
Her face was blue with rage, her voice was coarse and husky,
her mouth was full of ugly and vulgar words&mdash;all the traces of
her common upbringing coming uppermost.
</p>

<p>
At length, out of breath and exhausted, she broke into sobs.
This quietened her and after a while she asked what had become
of her mother.
</p>

<p>
Fenella, who was alone with her (the woman warder having
gone home ill), answered that some good women had carried her
mother away and were going to take care of her.
</p>

<p>
"And where is...."
</p>

<p>
"Mr. Gell?  Upstairs.  He sent me down to speak to you."
</p>

<p>
"I won't speak to anyone.  They're all alike.  They're only
torturing me."
</p>

<p>
Fenella reproved the girl tenderly.  Could she not see
that the Deemster himself was trying to help her?  He had
adjourned the Court to give her another chance, and if she could
only explain away the evidence of the scarf....
</p>

<p>
"I won't explain anything.  Why can't you leave me be?"
</p>

<p>
"You heard what the Deemster said, Bessie?  Tell the truth;
the whole truth; it will be best for you; best for everybody."
</p>

<p>
After that Bessie became calmer, and then Fenella (little
knowing what she was doing for herself) pleaded with the girl
to confess.
</p>

<p>
"I think I understand," she said.  "Sometimes a girl loves
a man so much that she cannot deny him anything.  Thousands
and thousands of women have been like that.  Not the worst
women either.  But the dark hour comes when the man does not
marry her&mdash;perhaps cannot&mdash;and then she tries to cover up
everything.  And that's your case, isn't it?"
</p>

<p>
"Don't ask me.  I can't tell you," cried Bessie.
</p>

<p>
Fenella tried again, still more tenderly.
</p>

<p>
"And sometimes a girl who has done wrong tries to shield
somebody else&mdash;somebody who is as guilty as herself, perhaps
guiltier.  Thousands of women have done that too, ever since the
world began.  They shouldn't, though.  A bad man counts on a
woman's silence.  She should speak out, no matter who may be
shamed.  And that's what you are going to do, aren't you?"
</p>

<p>
But still Bessie cried, "I can't!  I can't!"
</p>

<p>
"Don't be afraid," said Fenella.  "The Deemster is not like
some other judges.  He has such pity for a girl in your position
that he will do what is right by her whoever the man may be."
</p>

<p>
"Oh, why do you torture me?" cried Bessie.
</p>

<p>
"I don't mean to do that," said Fenella.  "But a girl has to
think of her own position in the long run, and it's only right she
should know what it is.  If she is charged with a terrible crime,
and there is evidence against her which she cannot gainsay, the
law has the power to punish her&mdash;to inflict the most terrible
punishment, perhaps.  Have you thought of that, Bessie?"
</p>

<p>
Bessie shuddered and laid hold of Fenella by both hands.
</p>

<p>
"On the other hand if she can explain .... if she can say
that her child was born dead and that she merely concealed the
birth of it, or that she killed it by accident, perhaps, when she was
alone and didn't know what she was doing...."
</p>

<p>
Bessie was breathing rapidly, and Fenella (still unconscious
of the fearful game the unseen powers were playing with her)
followed up her advantage.
</p>

<p>
"You can trust the Deemster, Bessie.  He will be merciful
to a girl who has stood silent in her shame to save the honour of
the man she loves&mdash;I'm sure he will.  And the Jury too, when
they see that you did not intend to kill your child, they may
.... who knows? .... they may even acquit you altogether."
</p>

<p>
Bessie was silent now, and Fenella could see, in the half darkness
of the cell, that the girl's big pathetic eyes were gazing
up at her.
</p>

<p>
"And then the people who have been thinking hard of you,
because you have deceived them, will soften to you when they see
that what you did, however wrong it was and even criminal, was
done perhaps for somebody you loved better than yourself."
</p>

<p>
Suddenly Bessie dropped to her knees at Fenella's feet
and cried,
</p>

<p>
"Very well, I will confess.  Yes, it's true.  I had a child, and
I .... I killed it.  But I didn't mean to&mdash;God knows I didn't."
</p>

<p>
"Tell me everything," said Fenella.  And then, burying her
face in Fenella's lap and clinging to her, Bessie told her story,
mentioning no names, but concealing and excusing nothing.
</p>

<p>
Before she had come to an end, Fenella, who had been saying
"Yes" and "Yes," and asking short and eager questions (the two
women speaking in whispers as if afraid that the dark walls
would hear), felt herself seized by a great terror.
</p>

<p>
"Then it was not Mr. Gell who took you into his rooms when
your father shut you out?"
</p>

<p>
"No, no!  Would to God it had been!"
</p>

<p>
"Then who was it?"
</p>

<p>
"Don't ask me that.  I cannot answer you."
</p>

<p>
"Who was it?  Tell me, tell me."
</p>

<p>
"I can't!  I can't!"
</p>

<p>
"Was it in Ramsey&mdash;his chambers?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes."
</p>

<p>
"Is he? .... is he anything to me?"
</p>

<p>
Bessie dropped her head still deeper into Fenella's lap and
made no answer.
</p>

<p>
"Is he?" said Fenella, and in her gathering terror, getting no
reply, she lifted Bessie's head and looked searchingly into her
face, as if to probe her soul.
</p>

<p>
At the next moment the dreadful truth had fallen on her.  The
girl's fellow-sinner, the man she had been hunting down to punish
him, to shame him, to expose him to public obloquy, was Victor
Stowell himself!
</p>

<p>
At the first shock of the revelation the woman in Fenella
asserted itself&mdash;the simple, natural, deceived and outraged woman.
This girl had gone before her!  This common, uneducated creature
of the fields and the farmyard!  For one cruel moment she had a
vision of Bessie in Stowell's arms.  This was the face he had
loved!  These were the lips he had kissed!  And she had thought
he had loved her only&mdash;never having loved anybody else!
</p>

<p>
A feeling of disgust came over her.  The girl had not even
had the excuse of caring for Stowell.  She had been thinking
merely of a way of escape from the tyrannies of her step-father.
Or perhaps an admixture of sheer animal instinct had impelled
her.  How degrading it all was!
</p>

<p>
Bessie, who had begun to realise what she had done, tried to
take her hand, but Fenella drew back and cried,
</p>

<p>
"Don't touch me!"
</p>

<p>
All the thoughts of years about woman as the victim seemed
to be burnt up in an instant in the furnace of her outraged feelings.
An almost unconquerable impulse came to leave Bessie to her fate.
Let her pay the penalty of her crime!  Why shouldn't she?
</p>

<p>
But after a while a great pity for the girl came over her.  If
she had sinned she had also suffered.  If she was there, in prison,
it was only because she had been trying in her ignorant way to
wipe out her fault.
</p>

<p>
But she herself .... her hopes gone, her love wasted....
</p>

<p>
Fenella bursted into a flood of tears.  And then Bessie (the
two women had changed places now) began to comfort her.
</p>

<p>
"I'm sorry.  I didn't think what I was doing.  Don't cry."
</p>

<p>
At the next moment they were in each other's arms, crying like
children&mdash;two poor ship-broken women on the everlasting ocean
of man's changeless lust.
</p>

<p>
Bessie was the first to recover.  She was full of hope and
expectation, and visions of the future.  Now that she had confessed
everything the Deemster would tell the Jury to let her off,
and then Alick would forgive her also.
</p>

<p>
"He <i>will</i> forgive me, will he not?"
</p>

<p>
She was like a child again, and Fenella found a cruel relief
in humouring her.
</p>

<p>
"Yes, yes," she answered.
</p>

<p>
"When I leave this place I'm going to be so good," said
Bessie.  "I will make him such a happy life.  We'll be married
immediately&mdash;by Bishop's licence, you know&mdash;and then leave the
Isle of Man and go to America.  He often spoke of that, and it
will be best .... After all this trouble it will be best, don't
you think so?"
</p>

<p>
"No doubt, no doubt," said Fenella.
</p>

<p>
At length she remembered that Gell would be waiting for her.
She must go to him.  When she reached the corridor she paused,
wondering what she was to say and how she was to say it.  While
she stood there she heard sounds from the cell behind her.  Bessie
was singing.
</p>

<p>
Meantime Gell had been fighting his own battle.  The black
thought which had come hurtling down on him at Derby Haven,
when he first read the letter which Bessie had left behind her, was
torturing him again.  It was about Stowell, and to crush it he had
to call up the memory of the long line of good and generous things
that Stowell had done for him all the way up since he was a boy.
</p>

<p>
When at last he saw Fenella approaching he searched her face
for a ray of hope, but his heart sank at the sight of it.
</p>

<p>
"Well?"
</p>

<p>
"She has confessed."
</p>

<p>
"She had a child?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes."
</p>

<p>
"It was born dead?"
</p>

<p>
"No, she killed it."
</p>

<p>
"God in heaven!" said Gell, and it seemed to Fenella that at
that moment the man's heart had broken.
</p>

<p>
She knew she ought to say more, but she could not do so&mdash;nothing
being of consequence except the one terrible fact of the
man's betrayal.
</p>

<p>
"God in heaven!" said Gell again, and he turned to leave her.
</p>

<p>
"What are you going to do in the morning?"
</p>

<p>
"I don't know .... yet."
</p>

<p>
"Where are you going to now?"
</p>

<p>
"To .... Ballamoar."
</p>

<p>
Again she knew that she ought to say more, but again she
could not.
</p>

<p>
Gell was making for the gate, and Fenella, bankrupt in heart
herself, wanted to comfort him.
</p>

<p>
"Mr. Gell," she said, "I have been doing you a great
injustice.  I ask you to forgive me."
</p>

<p>
With his hand on the bolt he turned his broken face to her.
</p>

<p>
"That's nothing&mdash;nothing now," he said.
</p>

<p>
And again she heard "God in heaven!" as the gate closed
behind him.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
II
</p>

<p>
"Ah, here you are, dear!"
</p>

<p>
It was Janet who had heard the hum of Stowell's car on the
drive and had come hurrying out to meet him.
</p>

<p>
"You've had a tiring day&mdash;I can see that," she said, as she
poured out a cup of tea for him.  "Ah, these high positions!
'There's nothing to be got without being paid for,' as your father
used to say."
</p>

<p>
To escape from Janet's solicitude and to tire himself out so
that he might have a chance of sleeping that night, he walked
down to the shore.
</p>

<p>
A storm was rising.  The gulls were flying inland and their
white wings were mingling with the black ones of the rooks.  The
fierce sky to the south, the cold grey of the sea to the north, the
bleak church tower on the stark headland, looking like a blinded
lighthouse&mdash;they suited better with his mood.
</p>

<p>
Fenella!  She must know everything by this time.  How was
he to meet her eyes in the morning?
</p>

<p>
Gell!  He, too, must know everything now.  How every innocent
thing he had done to help his friend would look like cunning
bribery and cruel treachery!
</p>

<p>
It was a lie to say that a sin could be concealed.  An evil act
once done could never be undone; it could never be hidden away.
A man might carry his sin out to sea, and bury it in the deepest
part of the deep, but some day it would come scouring up before
a storm as the broken seaweed came, to lie open and naked on
the beach.
</p>

<p>
The sky darkened and he turned back.  On the way home he
met Robbie Creer, and they had to shout to each other above the
fury of the wind.  The farmer had been over to the Nappin (the
fields above the Point) and found hidden fissures in the soil three
feet deep.  They would lose land before morning.
</p>

<p>
At dinner Janet did her best to make things cheerful.  There
was the sweet home atmosphere&mdash;the wood fire with its odour of
resin and gorse, the snow-white table-cloth, the silver candlesticks,
all the old-fashioned daintiness.  But Stowell was preoccupied
and hardly listened to Janet's chattering.  So she went early to
her room, saying she was sure he wished to be alone&mdash;his father
always did, during the adjournment of a serious case.  His
father again!  How her devotion to his father drove the iron into
his soul!
</p>

<p>
It was late and the rain had begun to slash the window-panes
when he heard the front door bell ringing.  After a few moments
he heard it ringing again, more loudly and insistently.  Nobody
answered it.  The household must be asleep.
</p>

<p>
Then came a hurried knocking at the window of the dining-room
and a voice, which was like the wind itself become articulate,
crying out of the darkness,
</p>

<p>
"Let me in!"
</p>

<p>
It was Gell.  For the first time in his life Stowell felt a spasm
of physical fear.  But he remembered something which Gell had
said at the door of the railway carriage in Douglas on the day of
the trial of the Peel fisherman ("I should have killed the other
man"), and that strengthened him.  Anything was better than
the torture of a hidden sin&mdash;anything!
</p>

<p>
"Go back to the door&mdash;I'll open it," he called through the
closed window, and then he walked to the porch.
</p>

<p>
His heart was beating hard.  He thought he knew what was
coming.  But when Gell entered the house he was not the man
Stowell had expected&mdash;with flaming eyes and passionate voice&mdash;but
a poor, broken, irresolute creature.  His hair was disordered,
his step was weak and shuffling, and he was stretching out his
nervous hands on coming into the light as if still walking in
the darkness.
</p>

<p>
"I had to come and tell you.  She's guilty.  She has
confessed," he said.
</p>

<p>
And then he collapsed into a chair and broke into pitiful
moaning.  It was too cruel.  He could have taken the girl's word
against the world, yet she had deceived him.
</p>

<p>
"Did she say .... who...."
</p>

<p>
"No."
</p>

<p>
"No?"
</p>

<p>
"I didn't ask.  Some miserable farm-hand, I suppose&mdash;some
brute, some animal.  Damn him, whoever he is!  Damn him!
Damn him to the devil and hell!"
</p>

<p>
Stowell felt a boundless relief, yet a sense of sickening
duplicity.
</p>

<p>
"But what matter about the man?" said Gell.  "It's the girl
who has deceived me.  I daresay I'm not the first either.  Perhaps
her step-father didn't turn her out for nothing.  There may have
been something to say for the old scoundrel."
</p>

<p>
Choking with hypocrisy, Stowell found himself pleading for
the girl.  Perhaps .... who could say? .... perhaps she
had been more sinned against than sinning.
</p>

<p>
"Then why didn't she tell me?" said Gell.  His voice was
like a wail.
</p>

<p>
"Who can say...." (Stowell felt a throb in his throat and
was speaking with difficulty), "who can say she wasn't trying to
save you pain .... knowing how you believed in her and cared
for her?"
</p>

<p>
"But if she had only told me," said Gell.  "If she had only
been straight with me!"
</p>

<p>
Stowell felt himself on the edge of terrible revelations.  But
he controlled himself.  If Bessie had concealed part of the truth
what right had he to reveal it?  After a moment of silent terror he
asked Gell what he meant to do in the morning.
</p>

<p>
"Advise her to amend her plea and cast herself on the mercy
of the Court."
</p>

<p>
"Yes, that is the only proper course now," said Stowell, and
then Gell rose to go.
</p>

<p>
It was a wild night.  The wind was higher than ever by this
time and the rain on the windows was rattling like hail.  Stowell
asked Gell to sleep the night at Ballamoar, secretly hoping he
would refuse.  He did.  He had bespoken a bed at the Railway Inn
near to the station&mdash;he must go up by the first train in the morning.
</p>

<p>
Stowell saw him to the door, and held it open with his shoulder
against the wind, which swirled through the hall, making the flame
of the lamp on the landing to flame up in its funnel.  Outside there
was the slashing of leaves and the crackling of boughs among the
elms around the lawn.
</p>

<p>
"Well, good-night," said Gell, and turning up the collar of
his coat, he went off in the darkness and the rain.
</p>

<p>
Stowell turned back into the house with a sense of degradation
he had never felt before.  Oh, what a miserable coward a hidden
sin made of a man!  Sooner or later it would be revealed and
then .... what then?
</p>

<p>
Suddenly he was startled by a new thought.  Bessie's confession
would give the trial an entirely different turn.  If she pleaded
guilty in the morning there would be nothing for the Jury to do.
Either they would have to be dismissed or instructed to bring in a
formal verdict.  The verdict against the prisoner would depend
upon the Judges.  That is to say, Bessie's fate would depend upon
him&mdash;upon him alone!
</p>

<p>
The first shock of this thought was terrible, but after a while
he told himself that it came to the same thing in the end.  The
real responsibility was with the law.  A judge was only the law's
spokesman.  For a given crime a given punishment.  A judge did
not make the sentence on a prisoner&mdash;he had only to pronounce it.
</p>

<p>
Strengthening himself so, he went to bed.  For a long time he
lay awake, listening to the many sounds of the storm.  In the
middle of the night he was startled out of his troubled sleep by a
loud crash in the distance.
</p>

<p>
The morning broke fair, with a clear sky and the sea lying
under the sunshine like a sleeping child.  But as he drove off,
after a scanty breakfast, he found the carriage-drive strewn with
young leaves, the torn bough of an old elm stretching across his
path, and a number of dead rooks lying about the lawn.
</p>

<p>
Outside the big gates he met Robbie Creer, who was riding
barebacked on a farm horse.  The farmer had been over to the
Nappin and seen what he had expected.  The headland was down;
there was a Gob (a mouth) where the Point had been, and the sea
was flowing between two cliffs that had been torn asunder.
</p>

<p>
Driving hard, Stowell arrived early at Castletown and found a
crowd at the Castle gate, waiting for the trial as for a show.  He
was passing through the Deemster's private entrance when he
had a vision of a scene which the spectators could not be counting
upon.  What if the prisoner, while making her confession, accused
her Judge?
</p>

<p>
Joshua Scarff, in his coloured spectacles, was waiting at the
door to the Deemster's room.
</p>

<p>
"I'm afraid your Honour is not well this morning," said
Joshua.
</p>

<p>
"A little headache, that's all," said Stowell.
</p>

<p>
But he had stumbled on the threshold (a bad omen) and was
wondering what would happen before he came out again.
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p><a id="chap0430"></a></p>

<h3>
CHAPTER THIRTY
<br />
THE VERDICT
</h3>

<p>
When the Court resumed Gell rose, with a haggard face, to
make an announcement.
</p>

<p>
In accordance with the suggestion of his Excellency, the
accused had been seen during the adjournment (though not by
him), with the result that she had confessed to having given birth
to a child and being the cause of its death.
</p>

<p>
"In these circumstances," he said, speaking in a husky voice,
"I have taken the only course open to me&mdash;that of advising her
to revise her plea, and with the permission of the Court she will
now do so."
</p>

<p>
There was a moment of agitation in which the Court was
understood to assent, and then Bessie was called upon to plead
again.  But hardly had she risen at the call of the Deemster when
she broke down utterly and sob followed sob at every question
that was put to her.  At length she bowed her head and that
was accepted as her plea of guilty.
</p>

<p>
Then Gell rose again and said,
</p>

<p>
"Although the prisoner pleads guilty to causing the death of
her child, she says she did not so wilfully.  Therefore I propose
to put her back in the box to prove extenuating circumstances."
</p>

<p>
Once more the Court agreed, but when Bessie was removed
from the dock to the witness-box she broke down again and not
a word could be got out of her.
</p>

<p>
"It is only natural," said Gell, "that she should feel shame
at having to take back what she said yesterday."
</p>

<p>
The Deemster bowed, and speaking with an obvious effort he
appealed to the girl to answer the questions of her advocate.  But
still Bessie sobbed and made no answer.
</p>

<p>
"The Court has nothing left to it but to go on to judgment,"
said the Attorney-General.
</p>

<p>
At that moment, when the trial seemed to be brought to a standstill,
Fenella (sitting near to the witness-box) was seen to lean
over and whisper to Gell, who rose and asked to be allowed to
make a suggestion&mdash;that inasmuch as the accused was unable to
answer for herself, somebody else, who knew what she wished to
say, should be empowered to answer for her.
</p>

<p>
The Deemster, seeing what was coming, seemed to catch his
breath, but after a moment he agreed.  The course proposed,
although unusual, was not contrary to the interests of justice or
altogether without precedent&mdash;a deaf and dumb witness always
giving evidence by a speaking proxy.  Therefore if the
Attorney-General did not object....
</p>

<p>
"Not at all," said the Attorney.
</p>

<p>
"In that case," said Gell, "I will ask the lady who received
the prisoner's confession to speak on her behalf&mdash;Miss Stanley."
</p>

<p>
It was said afterwards, when the events of that day had a
fierce light cast back upon them, that when Fenella stepped up
to the witness-box, and stood side by side with the prisoner, ready
to take her oath, the Deemster seemed scarcely able to recite the
familiar words to her.
</p>

<p>
"Please tell the Court, as nearly as possible in her own
words, what the prisoner told you," said Gell.
</p>

<p>
There was a deep and concentrated silence.  Never before had
anybody witnessed so strange a scene.  Speaking calmly and
firmly, Fenella told Bessie's story as Bessie herself had told
it&mdash;her journey from the south of the island, the birth and death of
her child, and the burying of it under the <i>Clagh-ny-Dooiney</i>.
</p>

<p>
When she had finished, and Bessie, who was stifling her sobs,
had bowed her head in reply to a question from Gell that she
assented to what had been said on her behalf, the
Attorney-General rose to cross-examine.
</p>

<p>
"Does the prisoner deny," he said, "that when she returned
home she told her mother of her condition?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes, her mother knew nothing about it."
</p>

<p>
"Does she deny that by keeping her condition secret from the
person most proper to know of it, she deliberately intended to put
her child away by violence?"
</p>

<p>
"No, she does not deny that, but says that when her baby came
the instinct of motherhood came too, and from that moment onward
the idea of taking its life was far from her heart."
</p>

<p>
"Does the prisoner wish the Court to believe that&mdash;in spite of
her subsequent conduct in concealing the birth and death of her
child and in secretly burying it?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes, she does, and if a court of men cannot believe it, a
court of women would, because...."
</p>

<p>
But the Attorney-General, with a look of triumph, sat down
quickly, and Fenella, flushing up to her flaming eyes, stopped
suddenly.
</p>

<p>
There was another moment of deep silence in Court, and then
Gell, who had to struggle with his emotion, rose to re-examine.
</p>

<p>
"Does the prisoner say that when she killed her child she did
so unconsciously and under the influence of fear?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes, under the influence of fear&mdash;fear of her step-father who
had behaved like a brute to her."
</p>

<p>
"Does she think that, however lamentable her act, she was
moved to it by pardonable motives?"
</p>

<p>
"Not pardonable motives merely," said Fenella, flaming up
again, "but nobly unselfish ones."
</p>

<p>
"Nobly unselfish motives!" said the Attorney-General, rising
again.  "Will the witness please tell the Court what she means
by nobly unselfish motives in a case like this?"
</p>

<p>
"I mean," said Fenella, hesitating for a moment, looking up at
the Deemster and then (before she could be stopped) speaking
with passion and rapidly, "I mean that this girl was betrayed at
the time of her sorest need by one who should have protected her,
not taken advantage of her.  I mean that, falling in love
afterwards with another man&mdash;a good man who was willing to make
her his wife&mdash;she committed the crime solely and only in an effort
to cover up her fault and to save her honour in the eyes of the man
who loved her.  I mean, too, that the real guilt lies not so much
with this poor creature who sits here in her shame, as with the man
who used her, caring nothing for her, and then left her to bear the
consequences of their sin alone.  Shame on him!  Shame on him!
May no good man own him for a friend!  May no good woman
take him for a husband!  May he live to...."
</p>

<p>
The irregular outburst was interrupted by a cry from the
advocates' benches.  Gell had risen with wild eyes.  He seemed to be
trying to speak.  His mouth opened but he said nothing, and after
looking first at Fenella and then at the Deemster he sank back
to his seat.  And then Fenella, as if realising what she had
done, sat also.
</p>

<p>
There were some moments of uneasy silence, and then the
Attorney-General rose for the last time.
</p>

<p>
"It is impossible," he said, "not to be moved by what we have
just heard, however improper on legal grounds it may have been.
But the Court will not allow themselves to be carried away by
their feelings.  It is the natural consequence of great crimes that
they should bring great suffering.  The prisoner has confessed
to a great crime.  She has failed to establish proof of extenuating
circumstances.  Therefore, for the protection of human life, as
well as the good name of this island, I ask for the utmost penalty
of the law."
</p>

<p>
After that there was a long pause, broken only by some
whispering on the bench.  It was observed that the Deemster took no
part in it, except to bend his head when the Governor and the
Clerk of the Rolls leaned across and spoke to him.  At length, with
a manifest effort, and in a low voice (so low that the people in
Court had to lean forward to hear him) he began to address
the Jury.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
II
</p>

<p>
"When a prisoner pleads Guilty," he said, "it is usual for the
Court to proceed at once to the sentence.  But in the present
unhappy case it has been thought right that the Judge, in directing
the Jury to find a formal verdict, should indicate the grounds on
which the Court has based its judgment.
</p>

<p>
"The prisoner has pleaded guilty to taking the life of her
new-born child.  She has confessed that down to the hour of its
birth she had the deliberate intention of making away with it, and
the Court is unhappily compelled to find in her conduct only too
many evidences of that design.
</p>

<p>
"But she has also said that after her child's birth, under the
divine love and compassion of awakened motherhood, she repented
of her intention of killing it, and that it came to its death by
accident&mdash;the accident of semi-consciousness and the consequences
of her fear.  The Court would gladly accept this explanation if
it could be corroborated by the evidence.  Unfortunately it
cannot.  On the contrary the prisoner's subsequent behaviour points
to an entirely different conclusion.  Therefore the Court has
nothing before it but the prisoner's confession that she intended to
take the life of her child, and the fact that she did indeed take it."
</p>

<p>
The Deemster paused (Gell had risen and was seen crushing
his way out of Court); then he continued,
</p>

<p>
"How her child came by its death is between God and her
conscience.  It is not for me, or perhaps for any man, to read the
secret of a woman's heart in the dark hour of the birth of her
misbegotten child.  Into the cloud of that mystery only the eye
of Heaven can follow her.  But I should fail in my duty as a
Judge if I did not try to show that the Court is fully conscious
of the physical weaknesses and spiritual temptations which lie in
the way of a woman who is in the position of the accused."
</p>

<p>
Then followed, during some breathless moments, such speaking
as nobody present had ever heard before except from Stowell
himself, and only from him on the day when he snatched from the
gallows the rag of a woman who had killed her husband.
</p>

<p>
It was a contrast of the conditions attending the birth of a
child born in wedlock, and of a child born illegitimate.  They all
knew the first.  The beloved young wife watching with a thrilling
heart for the signs of that coming event which was to complete her
joy; the happy months in which she is shielded from all harm;
the tender solicitude of her husband; her own sweet and secret
preparations for the little stranger who is to come; the guesses as
to its sex; the discussions as to its name&mdash;until at length, in the
fulness of its appointed time, the child born in wedlock comes, like
an angel floating out of the sunrise, into a world that is waiting
for it to take it into its arms.
</p>

<p>
But the child born out of wedlock&mdash;what of that?  The poor
mother, betrayed perhaps, abandoned perhaps, bereft of the love
she counted upon, living for months in fear of every accusing eye,
in dread of the being under her heart who is coming to shame
her, to drive her from her home, to make her an outcast and a
byword among women&mdash;until at last she creeps away to hide
herself in some secret place, where, alone, in the darkness of night,
distraught, amid the groans as of a thunderstorm, she faces death
to bring her fatherless babe into a world that wants it not.
</p>

<p>
"What wonder if sometimes," said the Deemster, "in the pain
of her body and the disorder of her soul, a woman (all the more if
she has hitherto borne a good character) should be tempted to
escape from her threatening disgrace by killing the child who is
the innocent cause of it?"
</p>

<p>
But rightly or wrongly, the law could take no account of such
temptations.  In the great eye of Justice the issues of life and
death were in God's hands only.  Life was sacred, and not more
sacred was the life that came in the palace, with statesmen waiting
in the antechamber, the life of the heir to a throne, than the life
that came in the hovel and under the thatch, the life of the
bastard who was to run barefoot on the roads.
</p>

<p>
"It may be thought to be a hard law which takes no account
of temptations to which women are exposed when nature demands
that penalty from them which it never demands from men.  But
we who sit here have nothing to do with that.  Judges are sworn
to administer the law as they find it, whatever their own feelings
may be.  Therefore the Court has now no choice but to direct the
Jury to find a verdict of guilty against the prisoner."
</p>

<p>
There was a deep drawing of breath in Court, and everybody
thought the Deemster had finished, but after another short
pause, in a tremulous voice which vibrated through all hearts,
he continued,
</p>

<p>
"But the Jury has a right which the Judges cannot exercise&mdash;they
can go beyond the law.  And if, having heard the evidence in
this case, and having God and a good conscience before them, the
Jury, in finding their formal verdict, can come to a conclusion
favourable to the prisoner's story, they may recommend her to the
mercy of the Crown, and thereby lead, perhaps, to the lessening
of her punishment, and even to the wiping of it out altogether.  If
not, the law must take its course, at the discretion of the Governor
as the representative of the King."
</p>

<p>
When the Deemster's tremulous voice had ceased the jurymen
put their heads together for a moment.  Then one of them rose
to ask if they might retire to their own room to consider the point
left to them by His Honour.
</p>

<p>
"The Court agrees," said the Governor, and the jurymen
trooped out.
</p>

<p>
The Judges and the advocates went out also, and the prisoner
(who had been clinging to Fenella's hand) was removed.  Only
die spectators remained in their places.  They were afraid to lose
them for the concluding scene.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
III
</p>

<p>
In a small unventilated room overlooking the Keep the Jury
considered their share of the verdict.
</p>

<p>
"Gentlemen," said one (he was an auctioneer and a Town
Commissioner), "you heard what the Deemster said.  We can't
let her off but we can recommend her to mercy."
</p>

<p>
"Why should we?" said another, a tall landowner with a
bad reputation about women.  "She killed her child.  Let her
swing, I say."
</p>

<p>
"But she said she didn't intend to and that she was out of
herself and frightened by her step-father," said a third&mdash;a fat
butcher who was sitting astride on a chair and making it creak
under him.
</p>

<p>
"Chut!  That was only an after-thought," said a fourth&mdash;a
little bald-headed English grocer.
</p>

<p>
"Still and for all we know what Dan Baldromma is," said the
butcher, "an infidel who believes neither in God nor the devil."
</p>

<p>
"He's devil enough himself," said the grocer.  "His father
was the 'angman."
</p>

<p>
"That was his uncle," said the butcher.
</p>

<p>
"No, but his father.  They called him Dan the Black, and
after the 'anging of Patrick Kelly of Kentraugh...."
</p>

<p>
"Question!  Question!" cried the Town Commissioner.
"Let's keep to the point, gentlemen."
</p>

<p>
"Let's get finished and away," said the grocer.  "I've 'ad
an addition to my family, I may tell you.  A son at last after four
daughters.  My wife's getting up to-day and we're to 'ave a turkey
for dinner.  Let the woman off, I say."
</p>

<p>
"But we can't, man.  Didn't you hear what the Deemster
said?"
</p>

<p>
"Then let the 'uzzy 'ang."
</p>

<p>
"Are we to recommend the girl to mercy&mdash;that's the question,"
said the Town Commissioner.
</p>

<p>
"Why shouldn't we?" said the butcher.  "Hundreds and
tons of girls have done as bad before now, and nobody a penny the
wiser.  Why make flesh of one and fowl of another?"
</p>

<p>
"If we show mercy to women of this sort we'll only encourage
them in their bad conduct," said the landowner.
</p>

<p>
This led to a random discussion on the question of Women or
Men, which were the worst?  The landlord was loud in
denunciation of women, the butcher was more indulgent.
</p>

<p>
"Look here," said the butcher, "this isn't a game a woman
can go into a corner and play all by herself, you know.  For
every bad woman there's a bad man knocking about somewhere."
</p>

<p>
"A man isn't always filling his house with by-children
anyway," said the landowner.
</p>

<p>
"No," said the butcher, "but he is sometimes filling other
people's though."
</p>

<p>
"That's personal, and I won't stand it," cried the landowner,
and then there were loud shouts with much smiting of the table.
</p>

<p>
In the midst of the tumult a quiet voice was heard to say,
</p>

<p>
"Hadn't we better lay this matter before the Lord, brothers?"
</p>

<p>
It was a northside farmer and local preacher, who (not always
to his financial advantage) had made it the rule of his life,
whether in the reaping of his corn or the sowing of his turnips, to
wait for Divine guidance.  In another moment he was on his knees,
and one by one his fellow-jurymen, including the long landowner,
had slithered down after him.
</p>

<p>
When they rose they were apparently of one opinion&mdash;that
inasmuch as nobody except God knew why Bessie had killed her
child (being alone and under the cloud of night) the only thing
to do was to leave her to the Lord.
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p>
Meantime Gell, with restless and irregular footsteps, was striding
about in the court-yard.  Fenella's outburst had fallen on him
like a flash of lightning in the darkness.  Everything had
suddenly become clear&mdash;all the vague fears that had haunted him so
long, the suspicions he had thrust behind his back, the facts he had
been unable to understand.  What a blind fool he had been!
</p>

<p>
Stowell!  His life-long friend, on whose word he would have
staked his soul!  There must have been a conspiracy to deceive
him.  Both Stowell and Bessie had been in it&mdash;Stowell to get rid
of the girl he no longer wanted, and Bessie to cover up her
disgrace by marrying him.  What a plot!  The woman he had loved
and the man he had worshipped!  He saw himself hoodwinked
by both of them, lied to, perhaps laughed at.  His life, his faith,
his love had crashed down in a moment.  It was too cruel,
too damnable!
</p>

<p>
The air was chill, though the sun was shining, but Gell took off
his wig and carried it in his hand, for his head seemed to be afire.
</p>

<p>
After a time the hatred he had felt for Bessie became centred,
with a hundredfold intensity, upon Stowell.  Even if Bessie had
begun with an intention of betraying him, she must have repented
of it afterwards, and committed her crime, poor girl, because (as
Fenella had said) she had come to love him.  But Stowell had
carried on his deception to the last moment.  He was carrying it
on now, when he was sitting in judgment on his own victim.  He
meant to sentence her to death, too.  Yes, under all his fine phrases
it was easy to see that he meant to sentence her.  But if he did so
Gell would murder him.
</p>

<p>
"Yes, by God, I'll murder him," he thought.
</p>

<p>
In the darkness of her cell, with no light on her tortured face
except that of the candle behind the grill, Bessie, breaking into
another fit of hysteria, was reproaching Fenella with deceiving
her.
</p>

<p>
"You told me that if I confessed the Deemster would let me
off.  But he is going to condemn me.  Why couldn't you let me
be?  What for did you come here at all?  I didn't ask you, did I?"
</p>

<p>
"Be calm," said Fenella, "and I will explain everything."
</p>

<p>
After awhile Bessie regained her composure and then she
asked for forgiveness.
</p>

<p>
"I beg your pardon.  Sometimes I don't know what I am
saying.  It has been like that all through the time of my trouble.
It was very wrong to forget how you spoke up for me in Court.
You'll forgive me, won't you?"
</p>

<p>
And then Fenella, though sorely in need of comfort herself,
comforted the girl and reassured her.  The Court might be
compelled to sentence her, as it had sentenced other girls for similar
crimes, but the sentence would not be carried out.  It never was
in these days.
</p>

<p>
"Besides," she said, "the jury will recommend you to mercy,
and then the Judges will exercise their discretionary power to
reduce your punishment."
</p>

<p>
Bessie's eyes began to shine.
</p>

<p>
"You must really forgive me .... And Alick&mdash;do you
think Alick will forgive me too?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes, when he sees that what you did was done out of your
love for him."
</p>

<p>
"How good you are! .... And shall we be able to leave
the Isle of Man and go away somewhere?"
</p>

<p>
"Perhaps .... some day."
</p>

<p>
"Oh, how good you are!  I don't know what I've done for you
to be so good to me.  I didn't think anybody except a girl's
mother could be so good to her."
</p>

<p>
She was like a child again.  Her face, though still wet, was
beaming.  In the selfishness of her suffering it had not occurred
to her before that her comforter had been suffering also, but now,
in some vague way, she became aware of it.
</p>

<p>
"If they ask me who he was," she said, in a whisper (meaning
who had been her fellow-sinner), "I'll never tell them&mdash;never!"
</p>

<p>
Fenella's humiliation was abject.  "When we go back to
Court," she said, "you must be brave, whatever happens."
</p>

<p>
"Will you let me hold your hand?" said Bessie.
</p>

<p>
And Fenella, scarcely able to speak, answered,
</p>

<p>
"Yes."
</p>

<p>
In the Deemster's room there was a painful silence.  The
Clerk of the Rolls was under the deeply-recessed window, turning
over the crinkling folios of the Depositions in the case to be taken
next.  The Governor, stretched out in the leathern bound armchair
before the empty fireplace, was smoking hard and trying to justify
himself to his own conscience.  Stowell was sitting at the end of
the long table, with his head in his hands, gazing down at the red
blotting-pad in front of him.
</p>

<p>
No one spoke.  Occasionally there came from without the
mournful cry of the gulls flying over the harbour, and, at one
moment, the ululation of a crew of Irish sailors who were weighing
anchor on a schooner in the bay.
</p>

<p>
The profound silence around only made louder the thunder in
Stowell's soul.  He knew he was at the crisis of his life.  On what
he did now the future of his life depended.
</p>

<p>
The address to the Jury had been a fearful ordeal, but the sentence
would be terrible.  To sentence Bessie Collister, having been
the first cause of her crime&mdash;could he do it?  It might only be a
formal sentence (the Crown being certain to commute the punishment),
but the awful words prescribed by the Statute&mdash;would they
not choke in his very throat?
</p>

<p>
And then Fenella!  Her voice was ringing in his ears still:
</p>

<p>
"Shame on him!  Let no good man own him for a friend!
Let no good woman take him for a husband!"
</p>

<p>
"And what will be the end?" he asked himself.
</p>

<p>
He heard the door open behind him.  A low hum of voices
came down the staircase from the Court-house.  There was a
footstep on the carpeted floor.  Somebody by his side was
speaking.  It was Joshua Scarff.
</p>

<p>
"The Jury are ready to return to Court, your Honour."
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
IV
</p>

<p>
When Stowell resumed his seat on the bench, and the buzz of
conversation had subsided, he was conscious of the presence of
only three persons besides himself&mdash;Bessie in the dock with
Fenella by her side, and Alick Gell, with distorted face and wig a
little awry, in the bench in front of them.
</p>

<p>
The Jurymen filed back.  The Clerk of the Rolls read out their
names and then asked for their formal verdict.
</p>

<p>
"You find the prisoner Guilty, according to the instructions
of the Court?"
</p>

<p>
"Aw, yes, guilty enough, poor soul," said the foreman (it was
the northside farmer), "but lave her to the Lord, we say."
</p>

<p>
There was a titter at this quaint finding, but it was quickly
suppressed.  Then the Clerk of the Rolls said,
</p>

<p>
"I assume that means that you recommend her to mercy?"
</p>

<p>
"Aw, yes, mercy enough too," said the foreman, "for when
the sacrets of all hearts are revealed it's mercy we'll all
be wanting."
</p>

<p>
After that Stowell was conscious of a still deeper hush in
Court.  He saw Bessie, in the full glare of her shame, standing in
the dock, holding the rail with one hand and clinging to Fenella
with the other.
</p>

<p>
He heard himself asking her if she had anything to say why
judgment should not be pronounced upon her.  She made no
answer, but there was a strange expression of frightened hope
in her face.  He understood&mdash;she was expecting that he would
save her even at the last moment.
</p>

<p>
At that sight there came to him one of those frightful impulses
which tempt people on dizzy heights, from sheer fear of danger,
to fling themselves into the abyss below.
</p>

<p>
"Prisoner at the bar," he said, "it has been said on your behalf
that you were first led to do what you did by the act of one
who remains unpunished while you have to bear the full weight
of your fall.  If you think it will lessen the burden of your crime
to plead this as an extenuating circumstance speak&mdash;it is not too
late to do so."
</p>

<p>
Bessie made no reply, and Stowell, who felt Fenella's eyes
fixed on him, continued,
</p>

<p>
"Don't be afraid.  If you think it will lighten your guilt in
the eyes of the Court to mention that man's name, mention it."
</p>

<p>
Bessie swayed a little, as if dizzy, looked round at Fenella, and
then turned back to the bench and shook her head.
</p>

<p>
The hush in Court was broken by a rustle of astonishment.
Had the Deemster lost himself?  Stowell was conscious of a
movement by his side and of the Governor saying, in an angry whisper,
</p>

<p>
"Go on, for God's sake!"
</p>

<p>
At length, in a voice so low as to be only just heard even in
the breathless silence, he said,
</p>

<p>
"Elizabeth Corteen, you have pleaded guilty to the charge of
taking the life of your innocent child, the little helpless babe who
had no other natural protector than the mother who bore it on
her bosom.  By this act you have brought yourself under the
condemnation of the law, and it is for the law to punish you.  But
out of regard to your sufferings and the uncertainty as to your
motives, the Jury have recommended you to mercy, and it will be
my duty to see that their prayer is sent, through His Excellency
the Governor, to the high and proper authority, in the hope that
the measure of pardon which, in all but exceptional cases, is
granted to persons in your position, may be extended to you also."
</p>

<p>
The tears were rolling down Bessie's cheeks, but Stowell saw
that she was still looking up at him with the same expression.
</p>

<p>
"Meantime," he continued, "and however that may be, the
Court has no choice but to condemn you to the punishment
prescribed by law.  We who sit here must act according to our oath
and our duty.  Justice" (he was pointing with a trembling hand
to the motto under his father's picture) "is the most sacred thing
on earth, and even .... even if your fellow-sinner himself sat
on this bench, his first duty would be to Justice, for Justice is
above all."
</p>

<p>
Then lowering his head and speaking rapidly, in a muffled and
indistinguishable whisper, Stowell pronounced the sentence of
death.  None of it seemed to be clearly heard until he reached
the last words ("and may God have mercy on your soul"), and
then there came a loud scream from the dock.
</p>

<p>
Bessie, who had been leaning forward and listening intently
(the look of hope and expectation on her face darkening to dismay
and terror), had dropped back, and would have fallen but for
Fenella, who had leapt up and caught her.
</p>

<p>
"Remove the prisoner," said the Governor sharply, and at the
next moment the constables were carrying the girl out of Court
screaming and sobbing.
</p>

<p>
But before she had gone there was a movement in the benches
of the advocates.  Alick Gell had risen again, with wild eyes, and
he was shouting after her:
</p>

<p>
"Never mind, Bessie!  I would rather be you than your Judge."
</p>

<p>
There was consternation in Court.  Everybody was on his feet
to look after the prisoner, and at Gell, who was being hustled out
after her.  But hardly had the door closed behind them, when
there was another cry in Court:
</p>

<p>
"The Deemster!"
</p>

<p>
Stowell had risen also.  He had stood looking after the prisoner
until her last cry had died away in the corridor.  Then he
had turned about, as if intending to leave the bench, taken a step
forward, stumbled, and dropped to one knee.
</p>

<p>
The Governor rose and reached forward to help him.  But he
recovered himself immediately.  His face was very pale, but he
smiled, a pitiful smile, as if saying, "A little dizziness, nothing
more," and waved off assistance.
</p>

<p>
Bracing himself up, he stood aside for the Governor to go
before him, and then walked out of Court with a firm step.  The
ring of his tread was plainly heard as he passed through the
green baize door that led to the Deemster's room.
</p>

<p>
The spectators looked into each other's faces as if bewildered
by what they had seen and heard.  Although the business of the
day was not yet over most of them trooped out, feeling that they
had been witnessing a drama whereof only a part had been revealed
to them&mdash;as by dark shadows on a white blind.
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p class="t3">
END OF FOURTH BOOK
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p><a id="chap0531"></a></p>

<h3>
<i>FIFTH BOOK</i>
<br />
THE REPARATION
</h3>

<p><br /></p>

<h3>
CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE
<br />
"VICTOR!  VICTOR!  MY VICTOR!"
</h3>

<p>
"Good heavens, how was I to know that things would turn
out so badly?"
</p>

<p>
It was the Governor, alone with Stowell in the Deemster's
room, at the end of the second day of the Court of General
Gaol Delivery.
</p>

<p>
"As for you, what have you to reproach yourself with?  So far
as this case is concerned you have done nothing that is wrong or
irregular.  The girl was guilty.  You gave her a fair trial.  The
law required that she should be condemned.  You had to condemn
her.  Then why take things so tragically?"
</p>

<p>
"But Fenella?"
</p>

<p>
"She will get over it.  Of course she will.  What sensible
woman is going to throw away the happiness of a life-time because
of something that happened before she came on to the scene?"
</p>

<p>
"You heard what she said, Sir?"
</p>

<p>
"I did, and thought it nonsense.  I heard what you said also,
and thought it madness.  What a providential escape!  Thank
God it is all over!  The miserable case is at an end.  Let us think
no more about it."
</p>

<p>
An Inspector of Police cams into the room to say that Miss
Stanley had left the Castle at the close of the murder trial and
asked him to tell her father that she was going home by train.
The Governor, with knitted eyebrows and a frown, dismissed the
Inspector, and then said to Stowell, as he turned to go,
</p>

<p>
"All the same I am bound to say the whole thing has been
unfortunate&mdash;damnably unfortunate!"
</p>

<p>
Stowell continued to sit for some minutes in his robes after the
Governor had left him.  Joshua Scarff came with a glass
of brandy.
</p>

<p>
"Take this, your Honour.  It will strengthen your nerves for
your drive home.  I could see you were not well when you arrived
this morning."
</p>

<p>
Stowell had drunk the brandy and was setting down the tumbler
when the Inspector came back to say that after the murder trial
he had liberated Dan Baldromma, but had just been compelled
to arrest somebody else.
</p>

<p>
"Who else?"
</p>

<p>
"Mr. Gell.  The gentleman seems to have gone clean off it,
Sir.  It's the loss of his case, I suppose."
</p>

<p>
Ever since the Court had risen he had been demanding to be
allowed to see the Deemster and threatening what he would do to
him.  So to prevent the Advocate from doing a mischief the police
had put him in the cells.
</p>

<p>
"Set him at liberty at once," said Stowell.
</p>

<p>
"Before your Honour leaves the Castle?"
</p>

<p>
"Instantly."
</p>

<p>
The Inspector being gone (with the intention of disobeying the
Deemster's command in order to ensure his safety), Joshua
Scarff proceeded to read Gell's conduct by quite a different light.
It was easy to see now that Mr. Gell had been the girl's
fellow-sinner and therefore the cause of her crime.
</p>

<p>
"Pity!  Great pity!" said Joshua, as he helped Stowell to
unrobe.  "But such connections always begin to end badly."
</p>

<p>
There were still a few of the spectators at the gate, waiting to
see the Deemster away, and when he came out, with his white face,
another wave of sympathy went out to him.
</p>

<p>
"They've been putting the young colt into the shafts too
soon&mdash;that's what it is, I tell thee."
</p>

<p>
Driving over the harbour bridge in his automobile Stowell
began to feel better.  The fresh air from the sea, after the close
atmosphere of the Court-house, brought the blood back to his
brain, and he thought he saw things more clearly.
</p>

<p>
The Governor had been right.  He could not have acted otherwise
without being false to his oath as a Judge.  And if the
miserable fact remained that he should never have been the Judge
in this case at all, it was Fenella herself, above everybody else, who
had thrust him into the furnace of that position.  Surely she
would remember this, and it would plead in her heart for him?
</p>

<p>
Half-a-mile beyond the town he passed the Governor's big blue
landau, and realised that by some half-conscious impulse he was
taking the road to Government House instead of the direct way
home.  So much the better!  He must see Fenella at the first
possible moment, and find out what his fate was to be.
</p>

<p>
His spirits rose as he bounded along.  Granted he had done
wrong in the first instance, terribly and cruelly wrong, hadn't he
had many excuses?  If Bessie Collister had told her everything,
surely Fenella would see this, too, and seeing it, would understand?
</p>

<p>
But the great fact of all was that (except for the first catastrophe)
his love of Fenella had been the root cause of all that had
happened.  If he had not loved Fenella with that deep,
unconquerable, unquenchable love which had swept everything else
away (all qualms and perhaps all conscience), nothing worse could
have occurred.  He would have married that poor girl now lying
in prison.  Yes, whatever the consequences to himself, he would
have married her before Gell came back into her life, and further
complications ensued.  But after Fenella returned to the island no
other woman had been possible to him.  Surely she would see this
also?  And, if she did, nothing else would matter to either of
them&mdash;nothing in this world.
</p>

<p>
Presently, driving at high speed, he realised that the half-conscious
impulse which had carried him on to the road to Government
House was sweeping him on to the rocky shelf on the coast
along which he had driven with Fenella on the day he took his oath.
</p>

<p>
How fortunate!  What was that she had said, then, as they
sang together in the fulness of their joy over the hum of the engine
and the boom of the sea?&mdash;that love, what she called love, never
died and never changed, and if she loved anybody, and anything
happened to him, she would fight the world for him, even though
he were in the wrong!
</p>

<p>
Even though he were in the wrong!
</p>

<p>
She would do it now!  He was sure she would!  Yes, the first
shock of the wretched revelation being over, she would see how he
had suffered, and how he had striven to do the right, and
then&mdash;then everything would be well.
</p>

<p>
Thus, as he flew over the roads, he built himself up in the hope
of Fenella's forgiveness.  But as he approached Government
House his heart failed him again.  Something whispered that the
excuses he had been making for himself were no better than a
pretence&mdash;that Fenella would see him now for the first time as
the man he really was, not the man she had imagined him to be.
</p>

<p>
And then&mdash;what would happen then?
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
II
</p>

<p>
As soon as the trial was over and Bessie, weeping bitterly, was
taken back to the cells, Fenella had left Castle Rushen.  She was
ashamed.  Remembering her wild outburst under the Attorney-General's
examination, she was reproaching herself bitterly.
</p>

<p>
Whatever Victor Stowell had done, what right had she to denounce
him?  She of all others!  In open Court too!
</p>

<p>
And then Gell!  Although nobody else had understood her, he
had done so.  He might have been living in a fool's paradise, but
was it for her her to reveal the awful truth to him?  In public, too,
and at that harrowing moment?
</p>

<p>
To escape from the pain of self-reproach she kept on telling
herself, as she went back in the train, that Stowell had deceived
her.  Oh, if he had only confessed, at any rate to her, she thought
she could have forgiven him in spite of all.  But no, he had
hidden everything down to the last moment, and left her to find
him out.
</p>

<p>
On reaching home she excused herself to old Miss Green and
hurried up to her bedroom.  Her head ached and her heart was
sore&mdash;the young woman she had been working for had been found
guilty and condemned.  She told her maid she was tired, and if
anybody asked for her she was not to be disturbed.
</p>

<p>
Two hours passed.  Her heart was going through a wild riot
of mingled anger and love.  It was like madness.  She loved
Stowell; she hated him; she worshipped him; she despised him.
At one moment she recalled with a bitter laugh the mockery of his
questioning of Bessie Collister in the dock; at the next she
remembered with scorching tears the pathos of his sentencing her.
</p>

<p>
Obscure motives were operating in her soul to intensify her
pain.  Jealous?  She, jealous of that illiterate country girl who
had murdered her illegitimate child&mdash;what nonsense!  No, her
idol was broken.  She had set it so high and now it was in the dust.
</p>

<p>
She expected Stowell to come to her as soon as his Court was
over.  Again and again she raised her head from her wet pillow
to listen for the sound of his car on the drive.  Yet when a knock
came at her door and her maid announced the arrival of the
Deemster (never dreaming that the injunction against callers
had been intended to apply to him) her first impulse was to send
him away.
</p>

<p>
"Say I'm unwell and can't see him," she cried from her bed.
</p>

<p>
But at the next moment she was up and whispering at the door,
</p>

<p>
"Show Mr. Stowell into the library and tell him I shall be
down presently."
</p>

<p>
Her voice was hoarse; her face was aflame; her eyes were red
from persistent weeping.  No water could sponge away those
marks of her emotion.  Never mind!  He should see how he had
made her suffer.  She would go downstairs and charge him, face
to face, with his deceit and hypocrisy, and then&mdash;then fling
herself into his arms.
</p>

<p>
But when she opened the library door and saw him standing on
the hearthrug, with head down and a look of utter abasement, her
courage failed her.  She dare not look twice at his ravaged face,
so she sank on to the sofa and covered her eyes with her hands.
</p>

<p>
Several minutes passed in which neither of them spoke.  There
was no sound except that of his laboured breathing and of the
ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece.  "If he does not speak
soon," she thought, "I shall break into tears and fly out of
the room."
</p>

<p>
But she did not move, and at last came his voice, humble and
broken, and thrilling through and through her:
</p>

<p>
"Fenella!"
</p>

<p>
She did not answer; she could not; and again, after another
moment of silence, he said,
</p>

<p>
"Fenella, I have come to ask you to forgive me."
</p>

<p>
She wanted to burst out crying, and to prevent herself from
doing so she broke into a flood of wrath.
</p>

<p>
"Forgive you?" she said.  "Ask that poor creature in Castle
Rushen to forgive you&mdash;that poor girl whom you have just
condemned for a crime that is the consequence of your own sin."
</p>

<p>
He did not reply for a moment, and then came the same
humble, unsteady voice, saying,
</p>

<p>
"No doubt you are quite right, quite justified, but if you knew
everything&mdash;that I could not help myself&mdash;that it was the
law...."
</p>

<p>
"Oh, I know nothing about your laws," she cried, leaping up
and crossing the room, "but they are unjust and barbarous and
against reason and humanity if they allow a girl to be condemned
to death for a crime like that while the Judge who was the first
cause of it sits in judgment on his own victim."
</p>

<p>
"You are right there too," said Stowell, "but if you knew
how I tried to avoid sitting on the case, and only allowed myself
to do so at last in the hope of seeing justice done and thereby
making some sort of amends....
</p>

<p>
"Amends!" cried Fenella.  "What amends can there be for
a wrong like that?  Oh, I hate people who think they can make
amends for one fault by committing another."
</p>

<p>
There was silence again for a moment and then Stowell said,
</p>

<p>
"You are right there also.  There is a kind of wrongdoing
that cannot be atoned for.  I see that now.  But if you knew
how I have suffered for it and still suffer....
</p>

<p>
"Suffer?  Why shouldn't you suffer?  Isn't that poor girl
suffering?  Hasn't she suffered all along?  And whatever you do
for her now, won't she go on suffering to the last day and hour
of her life?"
</p>

<p>
He dropped his head still lower under the lash of Fenella's scorn.
</p>

<p>
"That is not all either," she said in a broken voice, sitting on
the sofa again and brushing her handkerchief over her eyes.
"Perhaps that girl is not the only one who is suffering.  I wanted to
think so well of you, to be so proud of you.  You were to be the
defender of women, fighting their battle for them when they were
wronged and helpless.  And when you became a Judge .... Oh,
I cannot bear to think of it.  You have disappointed and
deceived me.  You are not the man I took you to be."
</p>

<p>
Outside the sun was setting.  A dull ray from it was falling
on his haggard face and brushing her bronze-brown hair.
</p>

<p>
"I thought you loved me too.  It was so sweet to think you
loved me&mdash;me only&mdash;never having loved anybody else.  Every
woman has felt like that, hasn't she?  I have anyway.  Other
men might be faithless, but not you, not Victor Stowell.  And yet,
for the sake of your poor fancy for this country girl...."
</p>

<p>
"Fenella!"
</p>

<p>
"Oh, what a fool I've been," she cried, leaping up again and
dashing the tears from her eyes.  "Forgive you?  Never while
that girl lies in prison as the consequence of your sin."
</p>

<p>
Stowell could bear no more.  Stepping forward, he laid hold
of Fenella by the shoulders, and approaching his face to her face
he said,
</p>

<p>
"Listen to me, Fenella.  I have done wrong&mdash;I know that.  I
am not here to excuse or defend myself, and if your heart does not
plead for me I have nothing to say.  But I swear before God that
I have loved you with all my soul and strength, and if it hadn't
been for that...."
</p>

<p>
"Loved me!" cried Fenella, between a laugh and a sob.  And
then in the wild delirium of the sheer woman, she said,
</p>

<p>
"What proof of your love have you given to me compared to
the proof you have given to that girl?  Oh, when I think of it I
could almost find it in my heart to envy her.  I do envy her.  Yes,
degraded and shamed and condemned and in prison as she is, I
envy her, and could change places with her this very minute.  I
would have given you anything in the world rather than this
should be&mdash;anything, my honour, myself...."
</p>

<p>
"Fenella!"
</p>

<p>
"Let me go!  You are driving me mad.  Leave me.  I hate
you.  I despise you.  You have broken my heart.  I thought you
were brave and true, but what are you but a common...."
</p>

<p>
"Fenella!"
</p>

<p>
"Coward!  Hypocrite!  Let me go!"
</p>

<p>
But she had no need to wrench herself away from him.  His
hands fell from her shoulders like lead, and at the next moment
she was gone from the room.
</p>

<p>
He stood for a while where she had left him with the echo of
her stinging words ringing in his ears.  Bitter, unjust and cruel as
they had been, he was struggling to excuse her.  She did not
understand.  Bessie had not told her all.  Presently she would
come back and ask his pardon.
</p>

<p>
But she did not come, and after a while (it seemed like an
eternity), feeling crushed, degraded, trampled upon, dragged in
the dust and wounded in his tenderest affections, he left the room
and the house.
</p>

<p>
Outside, where his automobile was standing, he still lingered,
expecting to be called back.  It was impossible that Fenella would
let him part from her like this.  He knew where she was&mdash;in the
Governor's smoking-room which overlooked the drive.  At the last
moment she would knock at the window and cry, "Stay!"
</p>

<p>
Slowly he moved around his car, opening the bonnet, touching
the engine, starting it, pulling on his long driving gloves.  But
still she gave no sign, and at length he prepared to step into his
seat.  Was this to be the end&mdash;the end of everything?
</p>

<p>
Meantime, Fenella, alone in her father's room and recovering
from the storm of her anger, was beginning to be afraid.  She
wanted to go back to Stowell and say, "I was mad.  I didn't
know what I was saying.  I love you so much."
</p>

<p>
But her pride would not permit her to do that, and she waited
for Stowell to do something.  Why didn't he burst through the
door, throw his arms about her, and compel her to forgive him?
</p>

<p>
She listened intently for a long time, but there came no sound
from the adjoining room.  What was he doing?  Presently she
heard him coming out of the library, walking with a firm step
down the corridor to the porch, opening the front door and
closing it behind him.
</p>

<p>
Was he leaving her?  Like this?  Then he would never come
back.  She heard his footstep on the gravel and looking through
the window she saw him, with his white face, raising his soft hat
to wipe his perspiring forehead, and then climbing into the car.
Could it be possible that he was going away without another word?
</p>

<p>
In spite of her jealousy and rage, she felt an immense admiration
for the man who, loving her as she was sure he did, was yet
so strong that he could leave her after she had insulted and
humiliated him.  She wanted to throw up the window and cry,
"Wait!  I am coming out to you."
</p>

<p>
But no, her pride would not permit her to do that either, and
at the next instant the car was moving away.
</p>

<p>
She watched it until it had disappeared behind the trees.  Then
she turned to go back to her bedroom.  At the foot of the stairs
she met Miss Green who, shocked at the sight of her disordered
face, said,
</p>

<p>
"My goodness, Fenella!  What has happened?"
</p>

<p>
In the plaintive voice of a crying child, Fenella answered,
</p>

<p>
"He has gone.  I have driven him away."
</p>

<p>
Then she stumbled upstairs, locked the door of her room on the
inside, threw herself face down on the bed, burst into a flood of
tempestuous tears, and cried aloud to Stowell, now that he could
no longer hear her&mdash;
</p>

<p>
"Victor!  Victor!  My Victor!"
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p><a id="chap0532"></a></p>

<h3>
CHAPTER THIRTY-TWO
<br />
THE VOICE OF THE SEA
</h3>

<p>
"Forgive you?  Never while that girl lies in prison as the
consequence of your sin."
</p>

<p>
The words beat on Stowell's brain with the paralysing effect of
a muffled drum.  He was driving up the mountain road.  Char-à-bancs,
full of English visitors (who were laughing and singing in
chorus), were coming down.  The drivers shouted at him from
time to time.  This irritated him until he realised that his
motor-car was oscillating from side to side of the road.
</p>

<p>
When he reached the top, where the road turns towards the
glen, all the heart was gone out of him.  The great scene no longer
brought the old joyousness.  With love lost and hope quenched
the soul of the world was dead, and the heavens were dark
above him.
</p>

<p>
At the bottom of the glen, where it dips into the Curragh, he
came upon a group of bare-headed women, with their arms under
their aprons, surrounding a little person with watery eyes, in a
poke bonnet and a satin mantle.  Mrs. Collister had returned from
Castletown, and her neighbours were taking her home.
</p>

<p>
"Never mind, woman!  It will be all set right at the judgment.
And then the man will be found out and punished, too!"
</p>

<p>
At the corner of the cross roads Dan Baldromma threw himself
in front of the car, to draw it up, and in his raucous voice he fell
on Stowell with a torrent of abuse.
</p>

<p>
"You've been locking up a respectable man, Dempster, but you
can't lock up his tongue, and the island is going to know what
justice in the Isle of Man can be."
</p>

<p>
Stowell made no answer.  Any poor creature could insult
him now.
</p>

<p>
Janet was waiting for him at Ballamoar, with a fire in the
library, and the tea-tray ready.  But the sweet home atmosphere
only made him think of the happiness that had been so nearly
within his reach.
</p>

<p>
Seeing that something was amiss, Janet assumed her cheeriest
tone, brought out two patterns of damask, laid them over chairs,
and asked which Fenella would like best for her boudoir.
</p>

<p>
"I don't know.  I can't say.  But .... it doesn't matter
now."
</p>

<p>
Janet gathered up her patterns and went out of the room
without a word.
</p>

<p>
"Forgive you?  Never while that girl lies in prison."  The
stinging words followed him to his bedroom.  They broke up his
sleep.  They rang like the screech of an owl through the
darkness of the night.
</p>

<p>
Next day, not trusting himself to drive his car, he returned
to Castletown by train.  There were only two first-class compartments
and both were full.  He was about to step into a third-class
carriage when a voice cried,
</p>

<p>
"This way, Deemster.  Always room enough for you."
</p>

<p>
There was to be a sitting of the Keys that day and the
compartment was full of northside members.  The talk was about
yesterday's trial, and Stowell realised that his management of the
case had created a favourable impression.  Merciful to the
prisoner?  Yes, until her guilt was established, but then just, even
at the expense of friendship.
</p>

<p>
This led to talk about Gell as the girl's fellow-sinner.
</p>

<p>
"Shocking!  But it's not the first time he has been mixed up
with a woman."
</p>

<p>
Stowell felt an intolerable shame at Gell's undeserved obloquy
and his own unmerited glory, but he could say nothing.
</p>

<p>
"It will kill the old man," said one of the Keys.  The train
had drawn up at a side station and his voice was loud in the
vacant air.
</p>

<p>
"Hush!"
</p>

<p>
The Speaker was in the next compartment.
</p>

<p>
When the train started again a little man with the face of a
ferret began to make facetious references to "Fanny."  Stowell's
hands were itching to take the ribald creature by the throat and
fling him out of the window, but something whispered, "Who are
you to be the champion of virtue?"
</p>

<p>
At Court that day, and the day following, he found it hard
to concentrate.  At one moment an advocate said,
</p>

<p>
"Perhaps your Honour is not well this morning?"
</p>

<p>
"Oh no!  I heard you.  You were saying...."
</p>

<p>
The rapidity of his mind enabled him to make up for his
lapses in attention, and when his time came to sum up he was
always ready.
</p>

<p>
He was indulgent to the accused.  All the other prisoners were
acquitted&mdash;the fat woman for the reason that, bad as her character
might be, the characters of her drunken sailors were yet worse
(therefore no credit could be attached to their evidence), and the
boy who had embezzled on the ground that his superiors at the
bank had been guilty of almost criminal negligence, and the four
months he had been in prison already were sufficient to satisfy the
claims of justice.
</p>

<p>
The boy's mother, who was standing at the back, threw her
arms about him and kissed him when he stepped out of the dock,
and then, turning her streaming face up to the bench, she cried,
</p>

<p>
"God bless you, Deemster!  May you live long and every
day of your life be a happy one."
</p>

<p>
Back at home, Stowell plunged into the task of drawing up the
report for the English authorities which was to accompany the
recommendation to mercy.  In two days (having his father's
library to fall back upon) he knew more about the grounds upon
which the prerogative of the Crown could properly be exercised
than anybody in the island had ever before been required to learn,
and when he had finished his task he had no misgivings.
</p>

<p>
Bessie's sentence would be commuted to imprisonment.  And
then (life for the poor soul being at an end in the Puritanical old
island) he must find some secret means of sending her away.
</p>

<p>
"Never while that girl...."  But wait!  Only wait!
</p>

<p>
Being legislator as well as Judge, he attended the first
meeting of Tynwald Court after his appointment.  The Governor
administered the oath to him in a private room, and then, taking
his arm, led the way to the legislative chamber.
</p>

<p>
"Do you know it's six days since you were at Government
House, my boy?  What is Fenella to think of you?"
</p>

<p>
"Has she .... has she been asking for me, Sir?"
</p>

<p>
"Well, no, not to say asking, but still .... six days,
you know."
</p>

<p>
Stowell sat on a raised daïs between the Attorney-General and
Deemster Taubman, who was sufficiently recovered to hobble in on
two sticks.  The proceedings were of the kind that is usual in such
assemblies, the Manx people being the children of their mothers,
loving to talk much and about many things.
</p>

<p>
He found it difficult to fix his attention, and was watching for
an opportunity to slip away, when the vain repetitions which are
called debate suddenly ceased and the Governor called on an
Inspector by Police to carry round a Bill which had to be signed
by all.
</p>

<p>
In the interval of general conversation that followed, Deemster
Taubman, a gruff and grizzly person, leaned back in his seat, put
his thumbs in the armholes of his soiled white waistcoat and
talked to Stowell.
</p>

<p>
"You did quite right in that case of the girl Collister, Sir.
In fact you were only too indulgent.  I have no pity for the
huzzies who run away from the consequences of their misconduct.
Murder is murder, and there is no proper punishment for
it but death."
</p>

<p>
"But the Jury recommended the girl to mercy, and her
sentence will be commuted," said Stowell.
</p>

<p>
"Eh?  Eh?  Then you haven't heard what has happened?"
</p>

<p>
"What?"
</p>

<p>
"The Governor has reported against the recommendation."
</p>

<p>
"Reported against it?"
</p>

<p>
"Certainly.  And as the authorities in London are not likely
to read the report and are sure to act on the Governor's advice,
the girl will go to the gallows."
</p>

<p>
Stowell felt as if he had been struck over the eyes by an unseen
hand.  As soon as he had signed the Bill (in a trembling scrawl)
he whispered to the Attorney-General that he was unwell and
fled from the chamber.
</p>

<p>
"Humph!" said Taubman, looking after him.  "That young
man is going to break down, and no wonder.  His appointment as
Deemster was the maddest thing I ever knew."
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
II
</p>

<p>
"No, Mr. Stowell, no!  You must stay in bed for the next
two days at least.  I must really insist this time.  No work,
no excitement, no heart-strain.  Remember your father, and take
my advice, Sir."
</p>

<p>
It was Doctor Clucas, who, sent for by Janet, had arrived at
Ballamoar before Stowell got out of bed in the morning.
</p>

<p>
With closed eyes Stowell reviewed the situation.  It was
shocking, horrible, intolerable.  Not for fifty years had a woman
suffered the full penalty of such a crime.  He must find some
way to prevent it.
</p>

<p>
But after a while a terrible temptation came to him.  "Why
can't I leave things alone?" he asked himself.
</p>

<p>
He had done all he could be expected to do.  If the Crown,
acting on the advice of the Governor, refused to exercise its
prerogative of mercy, what right had he to interfere?
</p>

<p>
It might be best for himself, too, that the law should take its
course&mdash;best in the long run.  If Bessie's sentence were commuted
to imprisonment what assurance had he that on coming out of
prison she would allow him to send her away from the island?
On the contrary she might refuse to be banished, and if she found
that the blame of her misfortune had fallen on Gell she might tell
the truth to free him.
</p>

<p>
What then?  <i>He</i> would be a dishonoured man.  His position as
a Judge would be imperilled; his marriage with Fenella would be
impossible, and his whole life would crash down to a welter of
disgrace and ruin.  But if Bessie were gone there would be no
further danger.  And after all, it would not be he but the law
that had taken her life.
</p>

<p>
"Then why can't I leave things alone?" he thought.
</p>

<p>
He decided to do so, but his decision brought him no comfort.
Towards evening he got up and went out to walk in the farmyard.
There he met Robbie Creer, who was just home from the mill
with his head full of a pitiful story.
</p>

<p>
It was about Mrs. Collister.  Since her daughter's trial the
old woman had fallen into the habit of walking barefoot in the
glen, chiefly at midnight, and generally in the neighbourhood of
the <i>Clagh-ny-Dooiney</i>.  At first she had seen a light.  Then she
had heard a pitiful cry.  She was certain it was the cry of a child,
a spirit-child, unbaptised and therefore unnamed, and for that
reason doomed to wander the world, because unable to enter
Paradise.  At length she had taken heart of God and going out in her
nightdress she had called through the darkness of the trees, "If
thou art a boy I call thee John.  If thou art a girl I call thee
Joney."  After that she had heard the cry no more, and now she
knew it had been Bessie's child, and the bogh-millish was at rest.
</p>

<p>
This story of the old mother's developing insanity rested
heavily on Stowell's heart and went far to shake his resolution.
</p>

<p>
After a day or two he began to find his own house and grounds
haunted.  He could not go into the library without the kind eyes in
his mother's picture following him about the room with a pleading
look.  He could not sit in the dining-room after dinner without
remembering his week-ends as a student-at-law, when his father
and he would draw up at opposite cheeks of the hearth, and
the great Deemster would talk of the great crimes, the great
trials and the great Judges.
</p>

<p>
But his worst ordeal was with Janet.  Not a word of explanation
had passed between them, yet he was sure she knew everything.
One evening, going into her sitting-room, he found her with
her knitting on her lap, and a copy of the insular newspaper on
the floor, looking out on the lawn with a far-off expression.  That
brought memories of another evening when he had told her that no
girl on the island had ever fallen into trouble through him, or
ever should do.
</p>

<p>
"Ah!  Is that you, Victor?" she cried, recovering herself and
making her needles click, but he had gone, and her voice followed
him from the room.
</p>

<p>
Still wrestling with his temptation to stand aside and let the
law take its course, Ballamoar became intolerable to him.  On the
lame excuse of his fortnightly court in the northside town he
decided to go to Ramsey, and wrote to Mrs. Quayle to get his old
rooms ready.
</p>

<p>
But going from Ballamoar to his chambers was like leaping
out of the fire into the furnace.  When he opened a disordered
drawer up came the Castletown portrait of Bessie Collister like a
ghost out of the gloom.  When he went for a walk to tire himself
for the night his steps involuntarily turned towards the pier
where the lighthouse had been shattered by lightning.  When he
returned and was putting the key in the lock of his outer door he
had the tingling sense of a woman's warm presence behind him.
When he pulled down his bedroom blind the broken cord brought a
stabbing memory.  And when he awoke in the morning he felt that
he had only to open his eyes to see a girl's raven black hair on the
pillow beside him.
</p>

<p>
But Mrs. Quayle's presence was the keenest torment of all.
The good old Methodist moved about him at breakfast without
speaking, but one morning, fumbling with her bonnet strings
before going, she said,
</p>

<p>
"Deemster, have you remembered this case of Bessie Collister
in your prayers?"
</p>

<p>
He removed to Douglas&mdash;the Fort Anne Hotel, a breezy place,
which sits on the ledge of the headland and just over the harbour.
At first the babble and movement of the hotel distracted him, but
after a day or two he was drawn back into the maelstrom of his
own thoughts.
</p>

<p>
Having a private sitting-room he borrowed law books from the
Law Library and sat far into the night to read them.  He selected
the treatises on Infanticide&mdash;those bitter records of the age-long
strife between the laws of man and of God.  Particularly he read
the charges of the British Judges (Scottish too frequently), the
bewigged ruffians who, in the abomination of their Puritanical
tyranny, and the brutal lust of their judicial vengeance, had
hounded poor women to the gallows in the very nakedness of shame.
</p>

<p>
"Damn them!  Damn them!" he would cry, leaping up with
a desire to trample on the dead Judges' graves.  But then the same
persistent voice within would say, "Wait awhile!  Who are you
to stand up for justice and mercy?"
</p>

<p>
Crushed and ashamed he would creep up to bed through the
silent house, and thinking of the girl whose dark eyes had
intoxicated him in the glen (the girl he had afterwards held in his
arms) he would say,
</p>

<p>
"Is it possible that I can stand by and see her given over to
the hangman?"
</p>

<p>
That terrified him.  In the darkness he pictured to himself the
scene of Bessie's death and burial, and thought of his after-life as
a Judge, when he would have to go to Court to try other such
cases&mdash;and Bessie lying out there in the prison-yard.
</p>

<p>
After Ballamoar, with its pastoral tranquillity, the twittering
of birds and the sleepy singing of the streams, Fort Anne was
sometimes a tempestuous place, with the wash of the waves in the
harbour, the monotonous moan of the sea outside and the melancholy
wail of the gulls.  He thought he heard Bessie's cry in the
voice of the sea&mdash;her piercing cry when she was being carried out
of Court after he had sentenced her.
</p>

<p>
One night he thought Bessie was dead.  He was dead too.
They were standing side by side in an awful tribunal and she was
accusing him before God.
</p>

<p>
"He let me die!  He killed me!  He is my assassin!"
</p>

<p>
The sound of his own voice awakened him.  A dream!  It was
the grey of dawn; a storm had risen in the night; the white sea
was rolling over the breakwater and the sea-fowl were screaming
through the mist and roar.
</p>

<p>
No, by God!  If it was a question of Bessie witnessing against
him in this world or in the next, he had no longer any doubt which
it should be.  No more temptations!  No more hypocrisy and
self-doubt!  No more wandering about like a lost soul!
</p>

<p>
He would go up to the Governor.  He would call upon him to
withdraw his objection to the Jury's recommendation.  And if he
refused .... he should see what he should see.
</p>

<p>
At eight o'clock in the morning he was walking down the quay
in the calm sunshine, looking at the activities of the harbour, and
nodding cheerfully to the fishermen as he passed.  He was on his
way to Government House, and his conscience, with which he had
wrestled so long, was triumphant and erect.
</p>

<p>
Then came a shock.
</p>

<p>
He was crossing the stone bridge that leads up to the town when
he saw the Governor's blue landau coming down in the direction of
the railway station.  It was open.  Fenella was sitting in it.
</p>

<p>
Stowell was certain she saw him.  But she only coloured up to
the eyes and dropped her head.  At the next instant her carriage
had crossed in front of him and swept into the station-yard.
</p>

<p>
Something surged in his throat; something blinded his eyes.
But after a moment he threw up his head and walked
firmly forward.
</p>

<p>
"Wait!  Only wait!  We'll see!"
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p><a id="chap0533"></a></p>

<h3>
CHAPTER THIRTY-THREE
<br />
THE HEART OF A WOMAN
</h3>

<p>
Meanwhile Fenella had been going through her own temptation.
On the night after the trial, having bathed her swollen
eyes, she went down to dinner.  Her father looked searchingly
at her for a moment, and, as soon as they were alone, he said,
</p>

<p>
"Was it Stowell I saw driving towards the mountain road as
I came up?"
</p>

<p>
"Perhaps it was," said Fenella.
</p>

<p>
"Then why didn't he stay to dinner?"
</p>

<p>
"Because .... I told him to go."
</p>

<p>
"Why?"
</p>

<p>
Fenella gulped down the lump that was rising in her throat
and said,
</p>

<p>
"I have been deceived in him.  He is not the man I supposed
him to be."
</p>

<p>
"Don't be a fool, my dear.  I understand what you mean.  It
is his conduct as a man, not as a Judge you are thinking of.  But
if every woman in the world thought she had a right to make a
scrutiny into her husband's life before she married him there
would be a fine lot of marriages, wouldn't there?"
</p>

<p>
Crude and even coarse as Fenella thought her father's moral
philosophy, she found her self-righteousness shaken by it.
Perhaps she had been unfair to Stowell.  But why didn't he come
and plead his own cause?  She couldn't talk to her father, but if
Victor came and told his own story....
</p>

<p>
Victor did not come.  For two days her pride fought with her
love and she thought herself the unhappiest woman in the world.
Then to escape from the pains of self-reproach she conceived the
idea of a fierce revenge upon Stowell.  She would devote herself
to his victim!  Yes, she would make it her duty to lighten the lot
of the poor creature he had ruined and deserted.
</p>

<p>
After a struggle, and many shameful tears, she went back to
Castle Rushen, little knowing what a scorching flame she was to
pass through.
</p>

<p>
By this time Bessie was feeling no bitterness against Stowell.
The jailer had told her that the Deemster could not have acted
otherwise.  The law compelled him to condemn her.  But he had
told the Jury to recommend her to mercy, and now he would be
writing to the King to ask him to let her off.
</p>

<p>
"Aw, he's good, miss&mdash;he's real good for all."
</p>

<p>
"Do you say that, Bessie?  After he has betrayed you?"
said Fenella,
</p>

<p>
"Betrayed?  I wouldn't say that, miss."
</p>

<p>
"But he .... he took you to his rooms?"
</p>

<p>
"What else could he do, miss?  All the inns were shut and it
was raining, and I had nothing in my pocket."
</p>

<p>
"But .... having taken advantage of your homelessness
and poverty, he afterwards cast you off?"
</p>

<p>
A mysterious wave of injured vanity struggled with Bessie's
shame and she said,
</p>

<p>
"'Deed he didn't, then.  He wanted to marry me."
</p>

<p>
"Marry you .... did you say marry...."
</p>

<p>
"Yes, he did, and that was why he sent me to school."
</p>

<p>
"But afterwards .... afterwards he changed his mind and
turned you off .... I mean turned you over to somebody else?"
</p>

<p>
"'Deed no," said Bessie, with her chin raised.  "It was me
that gave him up after I found I was fonder of Alick."
</p>

<p>
Breathing hard, scarcely able to speak, with the hot blood
rushing to her cheeks, Fenella compelled herself to go on.
</p>

<p>
"Did he know then that you...."
</p>

<p>
"No, miss, and neither did I, nor Alick, nor anybody."
</p>

<p>
"And when .... when was it that you went...."
</p>

<p>
"To his rooms in Ramsey?  The first Saturday in August,
miss."
</p>

<p>
Fenella went home, happy, miserable, tingling with shame and
yet thrilling with love also.  Stowell's victim had brought her
heart back to him.
</p>

<p>
It was just because he had loved her more than he had loved
that girl in prison that the worst had happened.  It was just
because she herself had persuaded, constrained and almost
compelled him that he had sat on the case, not fully knowing what
was to be revealed by it.
</p>

<p>
This lasted her half-way home in the train, and then her
wounded pride rose again.  After all Victor had been faithless to
the love with which she had inspired him.  If a man loved a
woman it was his duty to keep himself pure for her.  Victor had
not done so, therefore she would never forgive him&mdash;never!
</p>

<p>
The Governor's carriage met her at the Douglas station, and
when (wiping the scorching tears from her eyes) she reached
Government House, she found another carriage standing by
the porch.
</p>

<p>
"Miss Janet Curphey is here to see you, miss," said the maid.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
II
</p>

<p>
From the day of the trial, when Victor had returned home with
a white face and said, "It doesn't matter now," Janet had known
what had occurred.
</p>

<p>
That Collister girl had corrupted Victor.  She had always
feared it would be so since "Auntie Kitty" had whispered over
her counter that that "forward thing" of Liza Corteen's was
boasting that Mr. Stowell had been "sooreying" with her in the
glen.  And now she had brought him under the very shadow of
shame itself, just when life looked so bright and joyful.
</p>

<p>
Then came the insular newspaper with an account of Fenella's
outburst at the trial.  That was the cruellest blow of all.  She
had loved Fenella, and had always thought there would be nothing
so sweet as to spread her wedding-bed for her, but now that she
had taken sides against Victor and publicly denounced him,
Janet's blood boiled.  She would go up to Government House and
give Fenella a piece of her mind.  Why shouldn't she?
</p>

<p>
It was a dull afternoon when she set off for Douglas, and as she
drove along the coast road she rehearsed to herself the sharp
things she was going to say.
</p>

<p>
But when Fenella came into the drawing-room, looking so pale
as to be scarcely recognisable as the radiant girl she used to be,
and kissed her and sat by her side, Janet could scarcely
say anything.
</p>

<p>
At length (Miss Green, who had been sitting at tea with her,
having gone) Janet braced herself, and said, not without a tremor,
</p>

<p>
"I've come about Victor."
</p>

<p>
"Then he has told you?" said Fenella.
</p>

<p>
"'Deed he hasn't, and you needn't either, because I know."
</p>

<p>
Fenella drew her hand away and dropped her head.
</p>

<p>
"I don't say he hasn't done wrong," said Janet, "but you
seem to think he's the only one who is to blame."
</p>

<p>
"Oh no!  I see now that the girl in Castle Rushen...."
</p>

<p>
"The girl?  I'm not thinking about the girl.  Of course she is
to blame.  But is there nobody else to blame also?"
</p>

<p>
"Who else?"
</p>

<p>
"Yourself."
</p>

<p>
"Janet!"
</p>

<p>
"Oh, I'm telling you the truth, dear.  That's what I've
come for."
</p>

<p>
"But it all happened before I returned to the Island."
</p>

<p>
"That's why.  If you hadn't stayed away so long it wouldn't
have happened at all."
</p>

<p>
Then up from the sweet and sorrowful places of Janet's memory
came the story of Stowell's love for Fenella&mdash;how he had
worked for her and waited for her through all his long years as
a student-at-law.
</p>

<p>
"It's me to know, my dear.  He used to come home every
week-end, and his poor father thought it was to see him, but I
knew better.  'Any fresh news?' he would say, and I knew what
news he wanted.  When your photo came he held it under the lamp
and said, 'Don't you think she's like my mother, Janet&mdash;just a
little like?'  And I told him yes, and that was to say you were
like the loveliest woman that ever walked the world&mdash;in this
island anyway."
</p>

<p>
Fenella was struggling to control herself.
</p>

<p>
"Poor boy, how he worked and worked for you!  Jacob never
worked harder or waited longer for Rachel.  And what was his
reward?  You signed on at your ridiculous Settlement for seven
years and sent word you would never marry.  I had it from
Catharine Green and it was a sorrowful woman I was to break
the news to him.  He looked at me with his mother's eyes, and
it was fit enough to break my heart to see how he cried with his
face on the pillow.  But it was with his father's eyes he rose and
said, 'It shall never happen again, mother.'  He called me
mother too, God bless him!"
</p>

<p>
Fenella was smothering her mouth in her handkerchief.
</p>

<p>
"If he went wrong after that, was it any wonder?  Young
men are young men, and the Lord won't be too hard on them for
being what He has made them.  Some people seem to think when
trouble comes between a young man and a young woman that the
young woman is the only one to be pitied.  Well, I'm a woman
and I don't.  And when a young man has been cut off from the
love that would have kept him right and the heavens have gone
dark on him...."
</p>

<p>
"But I loved him all the time, Janet."
</p>

<p>
"Then why didn't you come back, instead of leaving him to
the mercy of these good-looking young vixens who will run any
risks with a young man if they can only get him to marry them?"
</p>

<p>
Fenella's eyes were down again.
</p>

<p>
"But that's not all.  Not content with deserting him for so
many years, you must try to disgrace him also."
</p>

<p>
"Janet!"
</p>

<p>
"Oh, I saw what you said at the trial."
</p>

<p>
"But nobody knows whom I...."
</p>

<p>
"Don't they indeed!  The men may not&mdash;most of them are so
stupid.  They may even think you meant somebody else.  But you
can't deceive the women like that.  And then he knew that you
intended it for him.  Just when you were about to become his wife,
too, and you were the only woman in the world to him!"
</p>

<p>
"I was so shocked.  I thought he wasn't the man I had taken
him for."
</p>

<p>
"Perhaps he wasn't, perhaps he was, but thousands of women
have lost faith in their men and clung to them for all that, and
they're the salt of the earth, I say.  I'm only an old maid myself,
but to stand up for your husband, right or wrong, that's what <i>I</i>
call being a wife, if you ask me."
</p>

<p>
Fenella could bear up no longer.  She flung her arms about
Janet's neck and buried her face in her breast.
</p>

<p>
The darkness was gathering before they broke from their
embrace and then it was time for Janet to smooth out her silvery
hair and go.  Fenella saw her to the carriage and whispered as
she kissed her,
</p>

<p>
"Tell him to come back to me."
</p>

<p>
And then Janet went home with shining eyes.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
III
</p>

<p>
Day after day Fenella waited at home for Victor, denying
herself to everybody else.  Every afternoon she dressed herself in
some gown he had said he liked her in.  She dressed her hair, too,
in the way he liked best.  But still he did not come.
</p>

<p>
At length she determined to write to him.  Writing was a
terrible ordeal.  Her pride fought with her love and she could
never satisfy herself with her letters.  First it was&mdash;
</p>

<p class="letter">
"DEAR VICTOR,&mdash;Don't you really think you've stayed
away long enough?  Remember your 'Manx ones'&mdash;especially
your lovely and beloved Manx women&mdash;won't they
be talking?"
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p>
But no, that was too much like threatening him, so she
began again&mdash;
</p>

<p class="letter">
"DARLING,&mdash;Did you really think I meant all I said
that day?  Don't you know a woman better than that?  I
suppose you think I am very hard-hearted and can never
forgive, but...."
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p>
No, that was wrong, too.
</p>

<p class="letter">
"VICTOR,&mdash;Don't you think I have been punished
enough?  It has been very hard for me, yet I love you
still...."
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p>
But the trembling of her handwriting betrayed the emotion
she wished to conceal.  At last, after a long day of solitude and
abandonment, two little lines&mdash;
</p>

<p class="letter">
"Vic,&mdash;I am so lonely.  Come to me.  Your
broken-hearted&mdash;FENELLA."
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p>
But all her letters, with their cries and supplications, were
torn up and thrown into the fire.
</p>

<p>
Why did he stay away?  Did he expect her to bridge all the
gulf between them?  At length she thought he must be ill.  The
idea that he could be suffering (for her sake perhaps) swept down
all her pride, and she determined to go to him.
</p>

<p>
But just as she was setting out for Ballamoar somebody
brought word that Stowell was staying at Fort Anne.  That
quenched her humility.  So near, yet never coming to see her!
Oh, very well!  Very well!
</p>

<p>
For two days she felt crushed and abased.  Then she heard
that Stowell was constantly to be seen at the Law Library, and
that brought a memory and an explanation.  She remembered that
she had said (in that wild moment when she didn't know what
she was saying) that she would never forgive him while the girl
Bessie lay in prison.
</p>

<p>
That was it!  He was finding a solid legal ground on which
the prisoner could be liberated, and when he had convinced the
law officers of the Crown that this was a proper case for the
exercise of mercy, he would come up to her and say, "Bessie Collister
is free!&mdash;the barrier between us is broken down."
</p>

<p>
For a full day after that her heart was at ease.  Nay more,
she was almost happy, for hidden away in some secret place of
semi-consciousness was the thought that the measure of Stowell's
efforts for Bessie Collister was the meter of his love for herself.
</p>

<p>
At length her impatience got the better of her tranquillity and
she became eager to know what was going on.  There was only
one person who could tell her that&mdash;her father.
</p>

<p>
Coming down to breakfast on the sunny morning after the
storm, she saw, among the letters by the Governor's plate, a large
envelope superscribed, "<i>HOME SECRETARY</i>."  When her
father had opened it she said, as if casually,
</p>

<p>
"Any news yet about that poor thing in Castle Rushen?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes, there's something here."
</p>

<p>
"Of course she's pardoned?"
</p>

<p>
"On the contrary, her death-sentence has been confirmed."
</p>

<p>
"Confirmed?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes, she's to die, and it only remains for me to fix the date
of the execution."
</p>

<p>
The sun went out as before a thunderstorm, and, rising from
her unfinished breakfast, Fenella fled from the room.  A great
wave of pity seemed to sweep down every other feeling.  She
determined to go to Castle Rushen again and break the news
tenderly to the unhappy woman.
</p>

<p>
On her way to the railway station her mind swung back to
Stowell.  After all he could have done nothing to save the girl's
life.  It was inconceivable that the authorities in London could
have been indifferent to the opinion of the Judge who had tried
the case.
</p>

<p>
"No, he can have done nothing&mdash;nothing whatever."
</p>

<p>
Then came a shock to her also.
</p>

<p>
As her carriage dipped into the hill going down to the station
she saw Stowell coming up from the bridge with rapid strides.
Something told her that, having heard the news, he was going to
Government House to protest.  But what was the good of going
now?  Useless!  Worse than useless!
</p>

<p>
One glance she got of his face before she dropped her own.
It was whiter and thinner than before, as if from sleepless nights
and suffering.  She wanted to stop; she wanted to go on; she did
not know what she wanted.
</p>

<p>
At the next moment her coachman, who had seen nothing of
Stowell, being occupied with the difficulties of the hill, had swept
into the station-yard.
</p>

<p>
When she got out of the carriage her heart was burning with
the pangs of mingled love and rage.
</p>

<p>
"If that girl dies in prison there shall never be anything
between us&mdash;never," she thought.
</p>

<p>
But deep in her heart, almost unknown to herself, there was
a still more poignant cry,
</p>

<p>
"He does not care for me&mdash;he cannot."
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p><a id="chap0534"></a></p>

<h3>
CHAPTER THIRTY-FOUR
<br />
THE MAN AND THE LAW
</h3>

<p>
When Stowell reached Government House he found the Governor
in the garden, bareheaded and smoking a cigar of which
he was obviously trying to preserve the ash, while he watched
his gardener at his work of repairing the ravages of last night's
storm among the flower-beds.
</p>

<p>
"Ah, you've come at last!  But you have just missed Fenella.
She has gone to Castletown&mdash;that girl again, I suppose."
</p>

<p>
"I know.  I saw her.  That's the matter I've come to
speak about."
</p>

<p>
"So?  Oblige me then by walking here so that I may keep an
eye on the gardener."
</p>

<p>
Stowell winced, but stepped to and fro on the path by the
Governor's side while in a low tone he broached his business.
</p>

<p>
"Deemster Taubman told me at Tynwald that you had
reported against the Jury's recommendation."
</p>

<p>
"Well?"
</p>

<p>
"I thought perhaps you would permit me to explain the exact
legal position."
</p>

<p>
"Yes?"
</p>

<p>
"It is fifty years at least since the prisoner has been
executed on this island for that crime."
</p>

<p>
"Fifty, is it?"
</p>

<p>
The Governor blew his light blue smoke into the lighter blue
air and watched it rising.
</p>

<p>
"Deemster Taubman seems to think that a prisoner who has
wilfully taken life is necessarily a murderer.  That is wrong, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"Wrong?"
</p>

<p>
"Quite wrong.  It is established by the laws of this and
every civilised country that it is the reason of man which makes
him accountable for his action and the absence of reason acquits
him of the crime."
</p>

<p>
"And is there any ground for thinking that this girl was not
responsible?" said the Governor.
</p>

<p>
"Every ground, Sir.  No woman in her position ever was or
can be responsible."
</p>

<p>
"No? .... Gardener, don't you think those tulips...."
</p>

<p>
"That's why the law of England," continued Stowell, "has
ceased to look upon infanticide as a crime punishable by death.
In some foreign countries it is not looked upon as a crime at all.
The woman who kills her child within five days after its birth is
thought to be suffering from temporary mania and therefore not
guilty of murder.  Besides...."
</p>

<p>
"Besides&mdash;what?"
</p>

<p>
Stowell breathed heavily and then said,
</p>

<p>
"There are exceptional circumstances in this case which call
for merciful treatment."
</p>

<p>
"You mean...."
</p>

<p>
"I mean," said Stowell, speaking rapidly and in a vibrating
voice, "that the girl had no bad motives such as usually inspire
murder&mdash;no greed, no lust, no desire for revenge.  In fact, she
meant no harm to anybody.  On the contrary it is conceivable that
she meant good&mdash;good even to her child&mdash;to save it from a life of
suffering in a world in which it would have no father, no family,
and nobody to care for it but its shamed and outcast mother."
</p>

<p>
The Governor looked at Stowell for a moment and thought.
</p>

<p>
"He's ill, and he's trying to unload his conscience."
</p>

<p>
Then he said aloud,
</p>

<p>
"So you've come to ask me to...."
</p>

<p>
"I've come to ask you, Sir, to withdraw your objection to the
recommendation to mercy, so that the death sentence may be
commuted to imprisonment."
</p>

<p>
Again the Governor looked at Stowell's heated face and
thought, "Yes, he'll ill, and doesn't see that I am fighting his
own battle.
</p>

<p>
"Do it, Sir," said Stowell.  "Do it, for God's sake, before
it is too late, and there is such an outcry throughout the kingdom
as will shake the very foundations of justice in the island."
</p>

<p>
The Governor was still smoking leisurely and keeping his eye
on his flower-beds.
</p>

<p>
"Gardener, don't you think that bed of geraniums...."
he began, but Stowell could bear no more.
</p>

<p>
"Good God, Sir, isn't this matter of sufficient importance to
merit your attention?"
</p>

<p>
The Governor turned sharply upon him, threw away his
half-smoked cigar and said,
</p>

<p>
"Come this way."
</p>

<p>
Not another word was spoken until, returning to the house
with a certain pomp of stride, with Stowell behind him, the
Governor reached his room and closed the door behind him.  Then,
unlocking his desk, he took out a large envelope (the same that
Fenella had seen at breakfast) and handed the contents of it to
Stowell, saying,
</p>

<p>
"Look at that."
</p>

<p>
Stowell saw at a glance what it was and uttered a cry of
astonishment.
</p>

<p>
"Then it's done."
</p>

<p>
"Yes, it's done.  And now sit down and listen to me."
</p>

<p>
But Stowell continued to stand with the paper crinkling in
his trembling fingers.
</p>

<p>
"You say Taubman told you I reported against the Jury's
recommendation.  Quite true!  As President of the Court and
head of the Manx judiciary, I told the Home Secretary I saw no
justification for it&mdash;no justification whatever."
</p>

<p>
Stowell was silent.
</p>

<p>
"You say it is fifty years since such a crime has been punished
by death.  Perhaps it is, but the fact that the Statute remains is
proof enough that the law contemplates cases in which it may
properly be exercised.  This in my view was such a case and I
had every right to say so."
</p>

<p>
Still Stowell remained silent.
</p>

<p>
"You say the prisoner may have acted from a good motive.  I
see no good motive in a mother who takes the life of her child.
You speak of her shame, but shame is no excuse for crime.  Why
shouldn't such women suffer shame?  Shame is the just consequence
of their evil conduct, and to try to escape from it by making
away with their misbegotten children is crime."
</p>

<p>
Stowell was trembling but still silent.
</p>

<p>
"Pity for women of that sort is sentimental weakness.  Worse,
it is a danger to public safety.  The sooner such people are put
out of the world the better for the public good."
</p>

<p>
There was a palpable silence on both sides for some moments.
The Governor glanced at Stowell's twitching face and began to be
sorry for him.  "Good Lord!" he thought, "why can't the man
see that it's best for himself that the girl should die?  As long as
she lives the wretched scandal may break out again and his own
share in it may come to light.  And then Fenella!  How could I
allow her to marry him with that danger hanging over his head?"
</p>

<p>
Stowell's fingers were contracting over the paper that crinkled
in his hand.  At length he threw it on the desk and said,
</p>

<p>
"Your Excellency, if you carry out that sentence you will be
committing a crime&mdash;a monstrous judicial crime."
</p>

<p>
The Governor returned the paper to his desk, and then rose and
said, with a ring of sarcasm in his voice,
</p>

<p>
"So I am the criminal, am I?  Well, I am responsible for
public security in this island, and as long as I am here I am going
to see that it is preserved.  Offences of this kind have been too
frequent of late and they can only be put down by law.  The
prisoner in the present case has been justly tried and rightly
condemned, and it shall be my business to see that she pays the
penalty of her crime."
</p>

<p>
Stowell's pale face had become scarlet, his lower lip was
trembling.  Outside the sea was sparkling in the sunlight; a band
was playing far off on the promenade.
</p>

<p>
"Your Excellency," said Stowell, quivering all over, "it will
be a life-long grief to me to resist your authority, but I must tell
you at once that if you order that girl's execution it shall never
be carried out."
</p>

<p>
"What do you say?"
</p>

<p>
"I say it shall never be carried out."
</p>

<p>
"Why not?"
</p>

<p>
"Because <i>I</i> shall prevent it."
</p>

<p>
The Governor rose.  His face was red, his throat had swelled;
his lips were compressed.
</p>

<p>
"Do you mean that you will go over my head...."
</p>

<p>
"I do...."
</p>

<p>
The Governor brushed Stowell aside in making for the bell.
</p>

<p>
"There's no heed for that.  I'm going, Sir," said Stowell, and
at the next moment the Governor was alone in his room, speechless
with astonishment and wrath.
</p>

<p>
Going down the corridor Stowell passed the open door of the
library&mdash;the room in which he had parted from Fenella.  In
quarrelling with her father had he burnt the last bridge by which
Fenella and he could come together?
</p>

<p>
"But, God forgive me, I could do nothing else&mdash;nothing
whatever."
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
II
</p>

<p>
Fenella found that the tragic news had reached Castle Rushen
before her.
</p>

<p>
Bessie had received it at first with incredulity.  Her expectation
of pardon had reached the point of conviction, and every
morning as she rose from her plank bed, she had said to herself,
"It will came to-day."
</p>

<p>
When Tommy Vondy went into the condemned cell, blowing
his nose repeatedly and talking about death, how it came to
everybody sooner or later, Bessie looked at him with terror and
screamed, "Oh, God help me!  God help me!"
</p>

<p>
For a while she raved like a madwoman.  Everybody had lied
to her and deceived her, and the Deemster had done nothing to
save her, because he wanted her out of the way.
</p>

<p>
But after a while an idea occurred to her and she became calm.
Alick Gell!  If Alick would go up to London and see the King
and tell him that she had never intended to kill her baby he would
forgive her.  And then Alick would come galloping back, at
the last moment perhaps, waving a paper over his head and
crying, "Stop!"
</p>

<p>
She had seen such things in her illustrated Weekly Budget&mdash;the
story paper she used to read on Sunday mornings at home,
while the dinner was cooking in the oven-pot and her mother was
singing hymns in the Primitive chapel and her father was poring
over the "Mistakes of Moses."
</p>

<p>
But would he do it?  She had deceived him twice.  And then
his sisters had always been trying to drag him away from her.
</p>

<p>
All at once, like the echo of a bell through a thick mist over
the sea, came the memory of his cry as she was being carried out
of Court: "Never mind, Bessie, I would rather be you than
your Judge!"
</p>

<p>
Yes, he loved her still, and (out of the cunning which the air of
a prison breeds) a scheme flashed upon her.  She would write a
letter to Alick Gell, not telling him what she wanted him to do,
but plainly pointing to it.
</p>

<p>
Fenella was amazed to find Bessie apparently reconciled to
her end.  She had expected torrents of tears and even the coarse
language of the farmyard.
</p>

<p>
"The suspense was the worst.  I shall be glad when it's all
over," said Bessie.
</p>

<p>
The only thing that troubled her was to die while Alick was
thinking so hard of her, and if her hand did not shake so much
she would write to ask for his forgiveness.
</p>

<p>
"I'll write for you," said Fenella.
</p>

<p>
"And will you give the letter into his own hands, miss, so
that his sisters may not see it?"
</p>

<p>
"I'll try, dear."
</p>

<p>
Sitting by the door of the cell, under the light from the grill,
Fenella wrote with the prison paper on her lap, while Bessie, without
a vestige of colour in her forlorn face, dictated from the bed:
</p>

<p class="letter">
"DEAR ALICK,&mdash;You will have heard what they are
going to do to me.  It is dreadful, isn't it?  I thought
perhaps you would have written me a few lines, though I know
it is too much to expect after all the sorrow and shame I
have brought on you.
</p>

<p class="letter">
"Oh, if I could only have lived to make it up to you!
We could have gone away, as you always said, to America or
somewhere.  I should have been so good, and we should
have been so happy and nobody to cast all this up to us.
</p>

<p class="letter">
"What I did was very wrong, but I don't see what good
it will do to the King to take my life, and me a poor girl he
never saw in the world.  I still think if there were anybody
to speak for me he would forgive me even yet and everything
would be all right.  But that's more than anybody would do
for me now, I suppose&mdash;even you, though I have always
loved you so dear."
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p>
Bessie paused.
</p>

<p>
"Is that all?" asked Fenella, in a husky whisper.
</p>

<p>
"Not quite," said Bessie, and she began again.
</p>

<p class="letter">
"Mother was here last week and brought me your photo.
It got wet in my bag on the way from Derby Haven, and it
is cracked and smudged.  But I kiss it constant and it is
such company.
</p>

<p class="letter">
"Good-bye, Alick!  My last thoughts will be of you and
my last prayer that God will bless you.  If I could only
see you for a minute I think I should be satisfied.  But if
you can't come, write and say you forgive me.  It has been
all through my love for you that I am here, so think the
best of me."
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p>
Bessie signed the letter, filling up the remaining space with
crosses, and then wrote with her own hand&mdash;
</p>

<p class="letter">
"P.S.&mdash;It's a weak to-day, so if anything is to be done
there's no time to lose."
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p>
Fenella saw through the girl's pitiful subterfuge, but knew
well that Gell could do nothing.  There was only one man in the
island who could have saved Bessie, and that was the Judge who
had tried her.
</p>

<p>
Why hadn't he?
</p>

<p>
All the way home in the train Fenella asked herself this question.
The only answer she could find was that Stowell was afraid
of offending the Governor, owing so much to him.  But oh, if he
had only resisted her father in this case&mdash;standing up against him
and fearing no one&mdash;how she would have loved him!
</p>

<p>
She found Government House shuddering with awe, as if a
tornado had swept through it and gone.  At length Miss Green
explained what had happened.  Mr. Stowell had called to see the
Governor and been turned out of the house!
</p>

<p>
Hardly had she reached her room when her father followed
her into it.
</p>

<p>
"I suppose you know that Stowell has been here?" he said.
</p>

<p>
"Yes.  What did he come for?"
</p>

<p>
"To threaten me&mdash;that's what he came for.  To threaten me
that if I attempted to carry out the sentence of the law on that
girl in Castle Rushen he would prevent it."
</p>

<p>
Fenella tried to conceal the joy that was rising within her.
</p>

<p>
"What do you think he intends to do?" she asked.
</p>

<p>
"Appeal to the Home Secretary against me, I suppose.  I
shouldn't wonder if he leaves the island in the morning.  And if
he does, and brings back a pardon, it will be a vote of censure
upon me&mdash;nothing short of it."
</p>

<p>
The Governor strode across the room in his wrath, and then
suddenly drew up on seeing that Fenella was smiling.
</p>

<p>
"But I see who is the cause of the man's insane conduct,"
he said.
</p>

<p>
"Who?"
</p>

<p>
"You!  You've broken with him, haven't you?  Because he
had the misfortune to encounter that woman long ago you hold him
responsible for everything she has done since.  So to satisfy your
ridiculous qualms he falls back upon me.  The fool!  The damned
fool!  And you are no better!  I don't know what's taking possession
of women in these days.  I'm sick to death of their feminist
imbecilities and the braying of their male asses!"
</p>

<p>
"But father...."
</p>

<p>
"Don't talk to me," said the Governor, and with blazing eyes
he swept out of the room.
</p>

<p>
Then Victor <i>had</i> done something!  He <i>did</i> care for her!  And
now he was going to take some great risk to save the life of the
girl in prison.
</p>

<p>
A momentary qualm about her duty to her father was swept
down by the tide of her love for Stowell.  After all, he was the
man she had thought him to be!  God bless and speed him!
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p><a id="chap0535"></a></p>

<h3>
CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE
<br />
"AND GOD MADE MAN OF THE DUST OF THE GROUND"
</h3>

<p>
Stowell had travelled far by this time.
</p>

<p>
When he left Government House in the heat and flame of his
anger he was at war with God and man.  There was a kind of
self-defence in thinking that, however deep his own wrong-doing,
the whole world was full of infamy.
</p>

<p>
He found that news of the forthcoming execution had reached
Fort Anne before he returned to it.  To avoid the whispering
groups in the public rooms he packed his bag and took the
afternoon train to Ballamoar.
</p>

<p>
Alone in the railway carriage he had time to review the situation.
His visit to the Governor had been a wretched failure.  But
even if it had been a success what would have been the result to
Bessie Collister?  Substitution of the jail for the gallows.
Instead of death, three years, five years, perhaps ten years'
imprisonment.  Thank God he had not succeeded!
</p>

<p>
"But what am I to do now?" he asked himself.
</p>

<p>
Appeal to London?  Useless!  The Home officials would support
the resident authority, and, having made a hideous error, they
would be reluctant to correct it.
</p>

<p>
"Then what can I do?" he thought.
</p>

<p>
Suddenly he saw that every argument he had used with the
Governor against putting Bessie to death applied equally to keeping
her in prison.  This was not a question of degrees of guilt&mdash;of
murder or manslaughter.  Either Bessie was guilty of murder
and ought to be executed or she was not guilty (not being
responsible) and ought to be set at liberty.
</p>

<p>
"Then the law under which she has been condemned is a
crime," he thought.
</p>

<p>
This terrified him.  All his inherited instinct of reverence for
the justice and majesty of the law revolted.
</p>

<p>
"The law a crime!  Good heavens, what am I thinking about?"
</p>

<p>
And yet why not?  Why had there been so much misery in the
world?  Was it because of the crimes committed against the law?
No, but chiefly because of the crimes committed by the law.  Yes,
that was the real key to the long martyrdom of man throughout
the ages.
</p>

<p>
"If a law is a crime it ought to be broken," he told himself.
</p>

<p>
But how!  There was only one proper way in a free country&mdash;through
Parliament and by the slow uprising of the human
conscience.  But that was a long process, and meantime what would
happen in this case?  Bessie would be dead and buried!  That
must not be!  No, the law that had condemned Bessie Collister
must be broken at once&mdash;now!
</p>

<p>
"But who is to break it?"
</p>

<p>
He trembled at that question, but found only one answer.  It
shivered at the back of his mind like the white water over a reef
at the neck of a narrow sea, and it was not at first that he dared to
think of it.  But at length he saw that since he had been the
instrument of the law in dooming Bessie to death it was he who
must set her free.
</p>

<p>
When he reached this point on his dark way he was horrified.
</p>

<p>
"What?  A Judge break the law!"
</p>

<p>
He thought of his oath as Deemster and of the execration that
would fall on him if found out.  He remembered his father's
motto: "Justice is the most sacred thing on earth."  No, no, it
was impossible!  His honour as a Judge forbade it.
</p>

<p>
But, as the train ran on, the call of nature conquered and he
asked himself what, after all, was his honour as a Judge compared
with that poor girl's life?
</p>

<p>
"Nothing!  Nothing!"
</p>

<p>
Bessie Collister must not die!  She must not remain in prison!
She must escape!  He must help her to do so.  Secretly, though,
nobody knowing, not even the girl herself or Fenella.
</p>

<p>
At St. John's, a junction between the north of the island and
the south, the Bishop of the island stepped into Stowell's
compartment.  He had been holding a confirmation service at a
neighbouring church, and a company of young girls, in white muslin
frocks, were seeing him off from the platform.  While the
carriages were being coupled he stood at the open door and said
good-bye to them.
</p>

<p>
"And now go home, dear children, and have your suppers and
get to bed.  Home, sweet home, you know!"
</p>

<p>
But the children would not go until they had sung again in their
sweet young voices the hymn they had just been singing in
church&mdash;"Now the day is over."  By the time the engine whistled and
the train was moving out of the station, they had reached
the verse&mdash;
</p>

<p class="poem">
  "<i>Comfort every sufferer,<br />
  &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Watching late in pain,<br />
  Those who plan some evil<br />
  &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;From their sin restrain.</i>"<br />
</p>

<p>
Stowell dare not look at them.  He was thinking of the girl in
Castle Rushen and picturing to himself a similar scene of joy and
innocence which might have taken place only a few years before in
the station by the glen.
</p>

<p>
"Ah!" said the Bishop, settling himself in his seat.
</p>

<p>
He was a short, dapper, almost dainty little man, who talked
continually like the brook that often runs behind a Manx cottage
and fills it with cheerful chatter.
</p>

<p>
"I suppose you've heard the news, Deemster?"
</p>

<p>
He produced a small evening newspaper.
</p>

<p>
"That poor young person in Castle Rushen is to be executed
after all!  Terrible, isn't it?"
</p>

<p>
Stowell bent his head.
</p>

<p>
"I really thought that after your address to the Jury she would
have been pardoned.  But who am I to set up my opinion against
that of the King's advisers?  And then think of the effect of bad
example!  Those dear children, for instance, they are not too
young to remember.  And if that unhappy girl had got off who
knows what effect...."
</p>

<p>
Stowell, nursing the fires of his rebellion, hardly heard the
running stream of commonplace.
</p>

<p>
"And then Holy Wedlock!  I always say that every act of
carnal transgression is a sin against the marriage altar."
</p>

<p>
The train was running along the western coast; the sun was
setting; the Irish mountains were purple against the red glow
of the sky behind them.
</p>

<p>
"And then think of the poor soul herself!  It may be best for
her too!  God knows to what depths she might have descended!"
</p>

<p>
Stowell wanted to burst out on the Bishop, but a secret voice
within him whispered, "Hold your tongue!  Say nothing!"
</p>

<p>
"All the same, I'm sorry for the poor creature, and only
yesterday I was using my influence to get her into a Refuge Home
for Fallen Women across the water."
</p>

<p>
The train drew up at the station for Bishop's Court, and the
Bishop, after a cheerful adieu, hopped like a bird along the
platform to where his carriage stood waiting for him, with its two
high-stepping horses and its coachman in livery.
</p>

<p>
Stowell's heart was afire.
</p>

<p>
"Refuge Home!  Send some of your fashionable women to
your Refuge Homes!  Holy Wedlock!  There are more fallen
women inside your Holy Wedlock than outside of it!"
</p>

<p>
At the station for the glen Stowell got out himself, and there he
saw a different spectacle&mdash;an elderly woman in a satin mantle,
surrounded by a group of other elderly women in faded sun-bonnets.
</p>

<p>
It was Mrs. Collister again.  In one hand she held her blackthorn
stick, and in the other she carried a small bundle in a print
handkerchief&mdash;probably containing her underclothing.
</p>

<p>
Stowell understood.  The news about Bessie had reached her
home, and the heart-broken (almost brain-broken) old mother was
waiting for the south-going train to Castletown.
</p>

<p>
A hush fell on the women when Stowell stepped out of the railway
carriage, but as he made his way to his dog-cart at the gate,
he heard one of them say,
</p>

<p>
"It's a wicked shame!  But you'll be with the poor bogh at the
end and that will comfort her."
</p>

<p>
A kind of savage pride had taken possession of Stowell.
</p>

<p>
"Not yet!  Not yet!" he thought.
</p>

<p>
The law was wrong, therefore it was right to resist the law.
It was more than right&mdash;it was a kind of sacred duty.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
II
</p>

<p>
From that time forward the Judge went about like a criminal.
</p>

<p>
He stayed at home the following day to think out his plans.
All his schemes revolved about Castle Rushen.  The great, grey,
bastioned fortress&mdash;how was he to get the prisoner out of it?
</p>

<p>
His first idea was to use the jailer, who was a simple soul and
had obligations to his family.  But he abandoned this thought
rather from fear of the old man's garrulous tongue than from
qualms of conscience.
</p>

<p>
It was Tuesday, and Bessie's execution had been fixed for the
Monday following, but the day passed without bringing any
better thought to him.
</p>

<p>
Somewhere in the dark reaches of Wednesday morning an idea
flashed upon him.  It was usual for one of the Deemsters to make
an annual examination of the prisons of the island, the time being
subject to his own convenience.  Stowell determined to make his
examination of Castle Rushen now.
</p>

<p>
At eleven o'clock he was going round the Castle with the
jailer.  There were two sides to the prison, a debtor side and a
criminal side, and they went over both&mdash;the jailer complaining of
decaying doors and rusty padlocks, and the Deemster, with a sense
of shame, pretending to make notes of them, while his eyes and his
mind were on other matters.
</p>

<p>
"Not much chance of a prisoner escaping from a place like
this, Mr. Vondy."
</p>

<p>
"Not a ha'porth!  Those old Normans knew how to keep
people out&mdash;and in too, Sir.  But there's one cell you haven't
looked at yet, your Honour&mdash;the girl Collister's."
</p>

<p>
"We'll leave her alone, Mr. Vondy.  How is she now, poor
creature?"
</p>

<p>
"Wonderful!  That cheerful and smart you wouldn't believe, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"Then she doesn't know...."
</p>

<p>
"'Deed she does, Sir.  But she thinks Mr. Gell, the advocate,
is up in London getting her pardon, and she's listening and
listening for his foot coming back with it."
</p>

<p>
Stowell went to bed on Wednesday night also without any
scheme for Bessie Collister's escape.  But in the grey dawn of
Thursday morning, when the world was awakening from a heavy
sleep, another idea came to him.  The Antiquarian Society of the
island had made him a Vice-President when he became a Deemster,
and having opened up certain portions of the Castle that were
outside the precincts of the prison, they had asked him to inspect
their discoveries.
</p>

<p>
With another spasm of hope, Stowell returned to Castletown.
</p>

<p>
"Give me your lantern, and let me wander about by myself,
Mr. Vondy."
</p>

<p>
"'Deed I will, Sir.  Your Honour knows the Castle as well
as I do."
</p>

<p>
There was said to be a subterranean passage under the harbour
for escape in case of siege.  Stowell found it (a noisome, slimy,
rat-infested place, dripping with water) but the further end of it
had been walled up.
</p>

<p>
There was a foul dungeon in which a Bishop had been confined
when he came into collision with the civil authorities, and
tradition had it that he had preached through a window to his
people on the quay.  Stowell found that also, but the window was
narrow and barred.
</p>

<p>
There were ramparts round the four-square walls, but on one
side they looked down into the back yards of the little houses that
lay against the great fortress and on the other three sides they
were exposed to the market-place, the Parliament-square and
the harbour.
</p>

<p>
For the second time Stowell went home in the lowering nightfall
with a heavy heart.  As the time approached for the execution
his agitation increased, and on Thursday night also he tossed about,
thinking, thinking.  At length he remembered something.  He had
a key to the Deemster's private entrance to the Castle, and though
the door was always bolted on the inside, a plan of escape
occurred to him.
</p>

<p>
On Friday morning he was in the jailer's room.  It had been
the guard-room of the Castle and was hung about with souvenirs
of earlier times&mdash;maps, plans, a cutlass that had been captured in
a fight with Spanish pirates, a blunderbuss that had been used by
Manx Fencibles, a keyboard, a line of handcuffs, and a rope, in a
glass case, that had been used in the hanging of a Manx criminal.
</p>

<p>
"You haven't many prisoners in the Castle now, Mr. Vondy?"
</p>

<p>
"Aw, no!  Didn't your Honour discharge all but one at the
last General Gaol?"
</p>

<p>
"And not much company?"
</p>

<p>
"Only Willie Shimmin, the turnkey, and he's a drunken gommeral,
always wanting out, and never sure of coming back at all."
</p>

<p>
"What about your female warder?"
</p>

<p>
"Mrs. Mylrea?  A dying woman, Sir.  Not been here since
the trial, and if it wasn't for Miss Stanley...."
</p>

<p>
"Does she come often?"
</p>

<p>
"Nearly every day now, Sir."
</p>

<p>
At that moment there was the clang of a bell.
</p>

<p>
"There she is, I'll go bail," said the jailer, and snatching a
big key from the keyboard he turned to go.
</p>

<p>
In the collapse of his better nature Stowell was afraid to meet
Fenella, knowing well she would see through him.
</p>

<p>
"Don't trouble about me, or mention that I'm here," he said,
and picking up his lantern he made a show of going on with
his researches.
</p>

<p>
But as soon as the jailer had disappeared he turned rapidly to
the Deemster's door and had opened it and stepped out and closed
it behind him, before the jailer and Fenella (whose voices he could
hear) had emerged from the Portcullis into the court-yard.
</p>

<p>
It was done!  Light had fallen on him at last.  Now he knew
how Bessie Collister was to escape from Castle Rushen.
</p>

<p>
But it was not enough that Bessie should escape from her
prison; she must escape from the island also; and to do so by
means of the regular steam packet from Douglas to England was
impossible.  Was this to be another and still greater difficulty?
</p>

<p>
The tide was up in the harbour and the fishing-boats were
making ready to go out for the night.  As Stowell walked down
the quay he saw a blue-coated and brass-buttoned elderly man
coming up with unsteady steps&mdash;the harbour-master.  A sudden
thought came to him.  Why not by a fishing-boat?
</p>

<p>
He remembered his night with the herrings on the Governor's
yacht, when, lying off the Carlingford sands, he had seen the
lights of Dublin.  Why could not a fishing-boat steal away in the
darkness and put Bessie ashore in Ireland?
</p>

<p>
It was the very thing!  Only it must not be a Castletown boat,
lest she should be missed when the fleet came back to port in
the morning.  Why not a Ramsey boat, or, better still, a boat
from Peel?
</p>

<p>
After dinner that night he walked on the gravelled terrace in
front of the house.  The moon was shining in a pale sky and the
bald crown of old Snaefell was visible through the motionless
trees.  He drew up on the spot on which he had first parted from
Fenella, and a warm vision of the scene of so many years ago
returned to him.  Then came the memory of their last parting
and of the scorching words with which she had driven him away
from her.
</p>

<p>
"But wait!  Only wait!" he thought.
</p>

<p>
He was satisfied with himself.  He was sure he was doing
right.  He even believed God was using him as an instrument of
His divine justice, to correct the infamy of the world by a signal
action.  It was one of those lulls between the wings of a circling
storm which come to the soul of man as well as to nature.
</p>

<p>
He was almost happy.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
III
</p>

<p>
Next morning, under pretext of the Deemster's fortnightly
Court at Douglas and of important business to do before it,
Stowell breakfasted by the light of a lamp and the crackling of a
fire, and set out in his car for Peel.
</p>

<p>
Soon after six he was descending into the little white fishing-port
that lies in the lap of its blue circle of sea, with the red ruins
of its Cathedral at its feet and the green arms of its hills behind it.
</p>

<p>
The little town was still half asleep.  Middle-aged women
were gutting herrings from barrel to barrel, while blood dripped
from their broad thumbs; old men were baiting lines with shellfish;
cadgers' cart were standing empty at the foot of the pier,
with their horses' heads in bags of oats and chopped hay; a
hundred fishing-boats by the quay, with their sails hanging slack
from their masts, were swaying to the ebbing tide, and an Irish
tramp steamer, the Dan O'Connor, was lazily letting down the fires
under her black and red funnel.
</p>

<p>
But at the pier-head, close under the blind eyes of the Cathedral,
there was a scene of real activity.  It was the fish auction
for the night's catch.  The auctioneer, an Irishman, was standing
on a barrel, with a circle of fish-cadgers around him, and an
empty space, like a cock-pit, in front, to which the long-booted
fishermen, one by one, with ponderous agility, were carrying
specimen baskets of herrings and dropping them down on the
red flags with a thud.
</p>

<p>
"Now, gintlemen, here's your last chance of a herring this
week.  We're a religious people in the Isle of Man and sorra a
wan more will ye get till Tuesday."
</p>

<p>
Stowell, who had drawn up his car, and was standing at the
back of the crowd, was startled.  How had he come to forget that
Manx fishing boats did not go out on Saturday or Sunday?  Was
this going to defeat his plan?
</p>

<p>
The fish auction went on.
</p>

<p>
"Now, min, what do you say to forty mease from the <i>Mona</i>?
Thirty-five shillin'!  Thank you, Mr. Flynn!  Any incrase on
thirty-five?"
</p>

<p>
"Thirty-six and a quid for yourself if you'll lave me to put a
sight up on the wife," said a voice from the back of the crowd.
</p>

<p>
During the laughter which the rude jest provoked, Stowell
looked at the speaker.  He was the skipper of the Irish tramp
steamer&mdash;a grizzly old salt, spitting tobacco juice from behind
a discoloured hand, and having rascal written on every line of
his face.
</p>

<p>
Turning away, Stowell walked slowly to the further end of the
bay, and as slowly back again.  A new scheme had occurred to
him&mdash;something better than a fishing-boat, far better.  He was
now more sure than ever that the Almighty was using him for His
righteous ends since even his failures of memory were helping him.
</p>

<p>
By the time he returned the auction was over.  The pier was
empty and nobody was in sight except the Irish Captain who was
standing on the deck of his ship by the side of the cabin
companion.  After looking to right and left, Stowell saluted him.
</p>

<p>
"Where are you going to when you leave Peel, Captain?"
</p>

<p>
"To Castletown, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"And from there?"
</p>

<p>
"To wherever the dust" (the money) "looks brightest."
</p>

<p>
"May I come aboard, Captain?  I have something to say
to you."
</p>

<p>
"Shure!"
</p>

<p>
After another look to right and left, Stowell stepped on to
the steamer and followed the Captain to his cabin.
</p>

<p>
When he came on deck, half-an-hour later, his face was flushed.
</p>

<p>
"Then it's settled, Captain?"
</p>

<p>
"Take the world aisy&mdash;it's done, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"At what time will it be high water on Sunday night?"
</p>

<p>
"Elivin o'clock, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"You'll sail immediately your passengers come aboard?"
</p>

<p>
"The minit they put foot on deck, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"What about the harbour-master?"
</p>

<p>
"Him and me are same as brothers."
</p>

<p>
"And the turnkey?"
</p>

<p>
"Willie Shimmin?  He's got a petticoat at the 'Manx Arms.'"
</p>

<p>
"You have no doubt you can do it?"
</p>

<p>
"Divil a doubt in the world, Sir."
</p>

<p>
Stowell, back in his car, was driving to Douglas.  The Judge
had bribed a blackguard, but he was still sure that he was doing
God's service.
</p>

<p>
Only one thing remained to do now, and through the long hours
of an uneasy night he had thought of it.  It was not even enough
that Bessie Collister should escape from the island.  If she were
not to be tracked and brought back it was essential that somebody
should go with her.  Who should it be?  There was only one
answer to this question&mdash;Alick Gell.
</p>

<p>
Would Alick go?  He must!  Betrayed and deceived as he had
been, if he did not see that he must forgive the woman who had
faced death for him, and save her from an unjust punishment,
Stowell would feel like taking him by the throat and choking him.
</p>

<p>
But would Gell forgive him also?  That was a different matter.
Memory flowed back, and he saw again the fierce yet broken
creature who had come stumbling into Ballamoar on the night
after the adjournment, crying in the torment of his betrayal,
"Damn him, whoever he is!  Damn him to the devil and hell!"
</p>

<p>
"No matter!  I must face it out," thought Stowell.
</p>

<p>
He must unite those two injured ones.  And perhaps some day,
when they were gone from the island, and safe in some foreign
country, the Almighty would accept his act as a kind of reparation
and cover up all his wretched wrongdoing in the merciful veil
which is God's memory.  But meantime he must go about for a
few days longer, a few days after to-day, warily, secretly, unseen
and unsuspected by anybody.
</p>

<p>
Driving into Douglas, he came upon the Chief Constable,
Colonel Farrell (a cringer to all above him and a bully to all
beneath), who hailed him and said,
</p>

<p>
"Just the gentleman I wished to see, Sir.  It's about Mr. Gell.
Ever since you sentenced that woman of his he has been threatening
you, and we've had to keep a close watch on him.  But he
seems to be going out of his mind, and I've been warning the
Speaker that we may have to put him away.  The other night he
gave us the slip and we believe he went to Ballamoar."
</p>

<p>
"Well?"
</p>

<p>
"We wish you to allow a plain-clothes man to go about with
you for the next few days."
</p>

<p>
Stowell was startled.
</p>

<p>
"No, certainly not.  It is quite unnecessary," he said.
</p>

<p>
"Well, if you say so it's all right, Sir.  Still, with a madman
about, who may make a murderous attack on you...."
</p>

<p>
"Where is he now?"
</p>

<p>
"In his chambers."
</p>

<p>
"Good-morning, Colonel!" said Stowell, and before the Chief
Constable had replied he was gone.
</p>

<p>
A few minutes later the policeman who, for the protection of
the Deemster, was on point duty outside Gell's rooms was astonished
to see the Deemster himself go up the carpetless staircase.
</p>

<p>
At a door on the second landing, with Gell's name on it in white
letters, he stopped and knocked.  The door was not opened, but
he heard shuffling steps inside and knocked again.
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p><a id="chap0536"></a></p>

<h3>
CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX
<br />
OUT OF THE DEPTHS
</h3>

<p>
Alick Gell, also, had travelled far.
</p>

<p>
After his temporary detention at Castletown, he had returned
to Douglas in a frenzy.
</p>

<p>
For four days everything had fed his fury.  Having no housekeeper
he took his meals in a neighbouring hotel which was frequented
by his younger fellow-advocates.  Sitting alone in a corner
he spoke to none of them, but they seemed to be always speaking
at him.  In loud voices they praised Stowell&mdash;his eloquence,
his knowledge, above all his impartiality, his superiority to the
calls of friendship.
</p>

<p>
This was gall and wormwood to Gell.  He wanted to come
face to face with Stowell that he might charge him with his
treachery.  He knew the police were watching him, but one day he
eluded them and took the train to Ballamoar.
</p>

<p>
It was evening when he got there.  The cowman, who lived
in the lodge, told him the master was out in his car and might not
return until late.  To beguile the time of waiting Gell walked in
the lanes and woods about the house.  These evoked both kind
and cruel memories, the worst of them being the memory of the
day when he stammered his excuses for loving Bessie Collister,
and Stowell had said, "Good-bye and God bless you, old
fellow!"  What a scoundrel!
</p>

<p>
The darkness gathered.  There was the last bleating of the
sheep, the last calling of the curlew (like the cry of a bird without
a mate), and then night fell, dark night, without a star, and still
Stowell did not come.
</p>

<p>
Where was he?  Gell thought he knew.  He was at Government
House with Fenella Stanley.  They were reconciled, of
course; they were kissing and caressing, while Bessie .... but
no, he dare not think of that.
</p>

<p>
What stung him most was the thought of the money he had
taken from Stowell.  It had been neither more nor less than the
price of Bessie's honour.  He remembered the Peel fisherman who
had burnt his boat.  How he wished he had the money now that
he might ram it down Stowell's throat!
</p>

<p>
There had been rain and the frogs were croaking, but otherwise
the air was still.  All at once the silence of the Curraghs was
broken by a low hum.  Stowell's car was coming!  Looking down
the long straight road Gell saw its two white headlights opening
the darkness like a reversed wedge.  Then in a moment,
unpremeditated, unprepared for, his wild thirst for personal vengeance
returned to him.
</p>

<p>
"Now, now," he thought, and he closed the gates to give
himself time.
</p>

<p>
But when Stowell came up and got out of his car to open them,
and his lamps lit up his face, a mysterious wave of emotion
heaved up out of the depths of Gell's soul.  Something took him
by the throat and cried "Stop!  What are you doing?" and he
dropped back into the deeper darkness of some bushes behind one
of the gate-posts.  He must have made a noise, for Stowell cried,
</p>

<p>
"Who's there?"
</p>

<p>
But Gell made no answer, and at the next moment Stowell
was back in his seat and gliding up the drive.
</p>

<p>
After that, horrified by the homicidal impulse which had so
suddenly taken possession of him, Gell kept to his rooms for several
days, going out only at night, with the collar of his coat up to his
ears, to eat and drink in the tap-room of a low tavern on the quay.
</p>

<p>
He had been denying himself to everybody who called at his
chambers, but one morning there came an unsteady knock,
followed by a peremptory voice, saying,
</p>

<p>
"Alick, let me in!"
</p>

<p>
It was his father, and an inherited instinct of obedience
compelled him to open the door.  He was shocked to see the change
in the Speaker.  His burly figure had become slack, his clothes
(especially his trousers) baggy, his long beard thinner and more
white, the crown of his head bald.  Only his red eyes, with their
unquenchable fire, remained the same.
</p>

<p>
The old man sat down heavily with his stick between his knees,
and his trembling hands on its ebony handle.
</p>

<p>
"I didn't expect that I should have to come here, but Farrell
says that since that trial at Castletown you have not been
responsible, and if things go farther he'll have to put you away."
</p>

<p>
"Put me away?"
</p>

<p>
"Don't you understand?&mdash;the asylum."
</p>

<p>
"He doesn't know, father, and neither do you...."
</p>

<p>
"I don't want to know.  If you had listened to me long ago
this wouldn't have happened.  But I'm not here to reproach you.
I'm here to advise you to do something for your own good&mdash;mine,
too, everybody's."
</p>

<p>
"What is that, father?"
</p>

<p>
Gell had expected the usual storm and his father's emotion was
moving him deeply.
</p>

<p>
"Leave the island before anything worse happens.  Look"
(the Speaker drew a stout envelope from his breast pocket), "I've
just been to the bank for you.  A thousand pounds in Bank of
England notes, and if it's not enough there's more where that
came from.  Take it and go away at once&mdash;to America&mdash;anywhere."
</p>

<p>
Alick drew back and his lips tightened.  "This is a trick to
get me to desert Bessie," he thought.
</p>

<p>
"I can't do it," he said, and he pushed back the old man's
trembling hand.
</p>

<p>
The Speaker fixed his red eyes on his son, and said,
</p>

<p>
"Alick, I must tell you something.  I've heard on good
authority that they are going to hang that girl."
</p>

<p>
"They can't.  Some of them would like to, but they can't."
</p>

<p>
"They can and they will, I tell you."
</p>

<p>
"Then I'll .... I'll murder...."
</p>

<p>
"There you are!  That's what Farrell says.  A little more and
you'll be capable of anything.  Go away, my boy.  Think of me.
It has taken me forty years to get to where I am.  I was born
neither an aristocrat nor a pauper, but I've got my hand on all of
them.  That's just the kind of man both sorts would like to pull
down.  If my son disgraced me I should have to give up
everything.  Go, my son, go."
</p>

<p>
"I can't, father, I can't."
</p>

<p>
The old man passed his hand over his bald head and in a low
voice he said,
</p>

<p>
"Perhaps I've not been a good father exactly, but there's your
mother.  Bad as it would be for me it would be worse for her.
She has only one son&mdash;one child you might say&mdash;and since that
affair at Castletown she has never been out of doors&mdash;just
creeping over the fire with her feet in the fender.  If you don't want
to bring your mother to her grave...."
</p>

<p>
Gell felt as if his heart were breaking.
</p>

<p>
"But I can't, I can't!"
</p>

<p>
"You mean you won't?"
</p>

<p>
"Very well, I won't."
</p>

<p>
The old man's voice thickened&mdash;the storm was coming.
</p>

<p>
"And for the sake of this woman who killed her brat...."
</p>

<p>
"Call her what you like.  I'll stay here until she comes out
of prison, and then .... then I'll marry her."
</p>

<p>
"You fool!  You damned heartless fool!  God forgive me
for bringing such a fool into the world."
</p>

<p>
Struggling to his feet the old man made for the door.  But
having reached it, and while tugging at the handle, he stopped
and said,
</p>

<p>
"Look here, I'll give you one more chance."
</p>

<p>
He took the stout envelope out of his breast pocket again and
flung it on to Alick's desk.
</p>

<p>
"There's the money and this is Monday.  If you are not off
the island by this day week I'll not leave matters to Farrell&mdash;I'll
have you put into a madhouse myself to prevent you from plunging
us all into disgrace and ruin.  Idiot!  Fool!  Madman!"
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p>
He screamed like a sea-gull until his breath was gone, and
then, gesticulating wildly, went downstairs with heavy thudding
steps like a man walking on stilts.
</p>

<p>
A few minutes later Gell, going to the window with wet eyes,
saw his father on the opposite side of the street, looking up at
the house as if half minded to return.  His stick fell from his
nervous hand, and with difficulty he picked it up.  It dropped
again, and a passer-by handed it back.  Then he went off in the
direction of the railway station, dragging his feet after him.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
II
</p>

<p>
Frightened by what his father had said about the intention of
the Chief Constable to have him arrested as insane, Gell stayed
indoors altogether.
</p>

<p>
This meant days without food.  At first he drank a great deal
of water, being very thirsty.  Then his thirst abated and his head
began to feel light.  After a while he became dizzy, and even in
the darkness everything seemed to float about him.
</p>

<p>
On the morning after his father's visit he heard a woman's step
on the stairs, followed by her knock at his door.  He thought it
was his sister Isabella and that she had come, with her sharp
tongue, to remonstrate, so he made no answer.
</p>

<p>
On the day following he heard the same light step.  Isabella
again!  But no, she had always railed against Bessie, and he was
not going to give her another opportunity of doing so.
</p>

<p>
Meantime, without food or drink, he was travelling fast
towards the borderland of the desert realm of Insanity, with its
cruelly-beautiful mirages.
</p>

<p>
Lying on his sofa with eyes closed he was picturing to himself
the day of Bessie's release, when he would go to Castletown to
bring her away, and then the day after, when he would marry her,
and then the day after that when they would leave the island for
America&mdash;Bessie walking along the pier with head down, but
himself with head up, as if saying, "There you are&mdash;I told you so!"
</p>

<p>
The knock came again, and again he did not answer it.  "No,
no, Mistress Isabella!  You shan't speak ill to me of the woman
who cared so much for me that she went to prison for my sake."
</p>

<p>
He had still travelled farther by this time.  He was out in the
middle-west, on one of the high plains of that free continent.  He
was working at his profession.  He was not a great lawyer, but
he could speak out of his heart, and when he defended injured
women juries heard him and judges listened.
</p>

<p>
He saw them coming to him from far and near&mdash;that long trail
of the broken followers after the merciless army of civilisation.
They were nearly always poor and could pay him nothing.  But
what matter about that?  At home, at night, wet or cold, there
was a bowl of soup, a cheerful fire and .... Bessie!
</p>

<p>
On the Saturday morning he awoke from a dizzy sleep, with
the sun shining into his room and the sea outside the breakwater
singing softly.  He was in his shirt sleeves, for he had thrown
himself on the bed in his clothes; his boots were unbuttoned; his
fair hair was tangled; he had not shaved for many days.
</p>

<p>
Again he heard the light step on the stairs.  But something
in the rustle of the dress seemed to say that after all it was not his
sister.  He listened.  There were two knocks, louder and more
insistent than before; then the rattle of the brass lid of his
letter-box, and then something falling on the floor.
</p>

<p>
A letter!  After the light footsteps had gone downstairs he
crept over the carpet on tiptoe, picked up the letter and looked
at it.  There were two lines at the top, partly printed, and
partly written&mdash;
</p>

<p class="t3">
"<i>Castle Rushen Prison&mdash;Number 7.</i>"
</p>

<p>
Gell stared at the blue envelope, and then with trembling
fingers tore it open.  It was the letter which Bessie had dictated to
Fenella Stanley.  She was to die, and was calling on him to save
her.  Through her heart-breaking words he could hear her cries
and supplications.  The letter had been written five days ago, and
in two days more she was to be executed!
</p>

<p>
Whatever he had been before, Gell was no longer a sane man
now.  He was thinking of Stowell and cursing him.  Oh, that
God would only put it in his power to punish him!
</p>

<p>
Then he remembered that this was the Deemster's fortnightly
Court-day.  The Court began to sit at eleven, and it was
now half-past ten.
</p>

<p>
He would go across to the Court-house.  Why not?  He was
an advocate&mdash;nobody dare refuse him admission to a Court of
Law.  And as soon as Stowell stepped on to the bench he would
rise in his place and cry, "You scoundrel!  Come down from the
Judgment seat!  Because you were rich you thought you could buy
a man's soul and a woman's body.  But take that, and that!" and
then he would fling his father's money into Stowell's face.
</p>

<p>
At that moment, having parted from the Chief Constable,
Stowell was driving down the street.
</p>

<p>
Gell dragged his black bag from the corner into which he had
thrown it on returning from Castletown, and put on his gown
without remembering that he was in his shirt-sleeves, and then his
wig, without knowing that his hair was dishevelled.
</p>

<p>
He was staggering from weakness and the pictures on the walls
were going round him with an increasing vertigo, but he was
struggling to regain his strength.
</p>

<p>
He heard a step on the stair (a man's step this time) and then
a firm knock at his door.
</p>

<p>
"Farrell!" he thought.  The Chief Constable was coming
to arrest him.  But nobody should do that yet&mdash;not until he had
come face to face with Stowell.
</p>

<p>
The knock was repeated.
</p>

<p>
"Go away!" he cried.
</p>

<p>
Then he pulled open the door, and found Stowell himself standing
on the threshold.  He fell back breathless.  Stowell entered
the room and closed the door behind him.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
III
</p>

<p>
"Alick!"
</p>

<p>
"Go away!"
</p>

<p>
"I have something to say to you."
</p>

<p>
"Go away, I tell you."
</p>

<p>
"But I have something to tell you."
</p>

<p>
"There's only one thing you can tell me.  Is it true&mdash;is she
to die?"
</p>

<p>
"It .... it is so appointed."
</p>

<p>
"Then take that," cried Gell, and flinging himself upon
Stowell with the fury of madness he struck him in the face and
laid open his cheek-bone.
</p>

<p>
There was an awful silence.  Gell had staggered to a bookcase
behind him, expecting Stowell to strike back.  But Stowell
remained standing, and then said, with a break in his voice,
</p>

<p>
"I have well deserved it."
</p>

<p>
That was too much for Gell.  He began to stammer incoherently
and when he saw a streak of blood begin to flow down
Stowell's cheek he broke down altogether.  Out of the depths of
a thousand memories of their friendship, all the way up since they
were boys, a great tide of tenderness came surging over him, and
he dropped into a chair and cried,
</p>

<p>
"Then it's true&mdash;I'm mad."
</p>

<p>
But after another moment he was up and hurrying into the
next room for a sponge and a basin of water.
</p>

<p>
"It's nothing!  Nothing at all," said Stowell.  "See, it has
stopped already.  And now sit down and listen."
</p>

<p>
A few minutes later they were sitting side by side on the
sofa&mdash;Gell sniffling, Stowell talking quietly.
</p>

<p>
"Alick!"
</p>

<p>
"Yes?"
</p>

<p>
"Bessie is waiting for you.  She thinks you are trying to
obtain her pardon."
</p>

<p>
"I know.  She has written.  But what can <i>I</i> do?  Nothing!"
</p>

<p>
"If <i>I</i> can help her to escape from Castle Rushen will you take
her away from the island?"
</p>

<p>
Gell's eyes glistened.  "Only give me the chance," he said.
</p>

<p>
"She could never come back.  Therefore you could never come
back either."
</p>

<p>
"What do I care?"
</p>

<p>
"You would have to give up everything&mdash;your inheritance,
your family, your....!"
</p>

<p>
"I .... I can't help that."
</p>

<p>
"You are sure you would never regret the sacrifice?"
</p>

<p>
"Never!  Only show me the way...."
</p>

<p>
"I will," said Stowell.
</p>

<p>
And then he explained his scheme and the motives which had
inspired it.  He had been compelled to condemn the girl,
according to law, but he had come to see that the old Statute was a
crime, and that it was his duty to break it.
</p>

<p>
"Do you say that, Victor&mdash;you?"
</p>

<p>
"Listen."
</p>

<p>
An Irish tramp steamer would be lying in Castletown Harbour
on Sunday night.  She would berth in front of the Castle, not
more than fifteen yards from the gates.  At eleven o'clock Stowell
would open the Deemster's private door and bring Bessie out.
Gell must be there to take her aboard.  The tide being up, the
vessel would sail immediately.  She would sail north, past the
Point of Ayre, to give the appearance of going to Scotland; but in
the morning, when out of sight from the land, she would steer
south and land her passengers at Queenstown.  Atlantic liners
called there twice a week and Gell and Bessie must take passages
to New York.  On reaching New York they must travel west&mdash;far
west....
</p>

<p>
"But can it be done?  Can you get Bessie out of the Castle?"
</p>

<p>
"I've counted every chance," said Stowell.  "Whatever
happens, I must not fail."
</p>

<p>
"What a good fellow...." began Gell, but Stowell
dropped his head and hurried on with his story.
</p>

<p>
"I've given the Irish Captain a hundred pounds, and you are
to give him another hundred when he puts you ashore at
Queenstown.  I'll find you the money."
</p>

<p>
"No, no!  I've enough of my own&mdash;see," said Gell, and he
showed the bundle of banknotes given to him by his father.
</p>

<p>
"Your father gave you that?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes, to pay my way to America."
</p>

<p>
Stowell's face glowed with a kind of superstitious rapture.
More than ever now he was certain he was doing right, that the
Divine powers were directing him.  But all the same he kept up
the cunning of the criminal.
</p>

<p>
"I must see you again to-morrow night in some secret place.
Where shall it be?"
</p>

<p>
"Why not the Miss Browns' at Derby Haven?  They'll hold
their tongues.  They owe me something."
</p>

<p>
"Very well, eight o'clock, Sunday night," said Stowell, and
he rose to go.
</p>

<p>
"What a good fellow...." began Gell again, but Stowell
looked at him and he stopped.
</p>

<p>
The Deemster's Court had to wait for the Deemster.  When
he arrived with a patch of plaster on his cheek-bone, he told
Joshua Scarff that he had accidentally knocked his face against
a gas-bracket and had had to go to a chemist to get the
wound dressed.
</p>

<p>
It was an intricate case he tried that day, but the advocates
engaged in it said he had never before been so cool, so clear,
so collected.
</p>

<p>
"After all, the Governor knew what he was doing," they
told themselves.
</p>

<p>
That night, Saturday night, after a furtive visit to the tavern
on the quay, Gell slipped through the back streets to the railway
station and leapt into the last train for the north as the carriages
were leaving the platform.
</p>

<p>
He was going home to say good-bye to his mother&mdash;not with
his tongue, for he had no hope of speaking to her, but with his
eyes and his heart.  If he could only see her for a moment before
leaving the island!
</p>

<p>
It was late when he reached the lane to his father's house, and
the night was dark, for it was the time between the going and
the coming of two moons.
</p>

<p>
At length the blacker darkness of the house stood out against
the gloomy sky.  There was no light in any of the windows&mdash;the
family had gone to bed.  But Alick had been born there, and he
thought he could find his way blindfold.
</p>

<p>
For some time he walked stealthily about, trying to discover
the dining-room window, for he remembered what his father had
said about his mother sitting with her feet in the fender.  He
found it at last, but, peering behind the edge of the blind, he saw
nothing except the dull slack of the fire dropping to ashes in
the grate.
</p>

<p>
Groping about in the darkness on the gravel his footsteps had
made a noise and presently a dog inside began to bark.  It was his
own dog, Mona, and he remembered that when he was a boy he
had bought her as a pup for five shillings from a farmer and
brought her home in his arms, licking his hand.
</p>

<p>
The dog's clamour awakened the household, and presently,
through the long staircase window, he saw his sisters on the
landing, in their nightdresses and curl-papers, carrying candles
and looking frightened.
</p>

<p>
Then the sash of a window went up with a bang and his
father's voice came in a husky roar through the night,
</p>

<p>
"Who's that?"
</p>

<p>
With a chill down his back, Alick turned about and hurried
away, feeling that he was being driven from the home of his
boyhood as if he were a thief.
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p><a id="chap0537"></a></p>

<h3>
CHAPTER THIRTY-SEVEN
<br />
THE ESCAPE
</h3>

<p>
Next day was Sunday.  It was a blind day at Ballamoar,
with a chill air and white mists sweeping up from the sea.
</p>

<p>
In the morning Stowell went to church.  In the afternoon he
sat in the Library, reading in many volumes the stories of
prison-breakings and escapes.  He saw that in nearly every case of
failure chance had played a part at the last moment, and he
thought hard to foresee every possible contingency.
</p>

<p>
Towards evening he brought his car round from the garage and
told Janet not to wait up for him.  She had delivered Fenella's
message ("Tell him to come back to me") and thought she knew
where he was going to.  He was going to Government House.
The sweet old soul was very happy.
</p>

<p>
"I'll leave the piazza door on the catch, dear," she said, as
he was going off into the moving shadows of the trees.
</p>

<p>
By the time he reached Castletown the mist had deepened to a
fog.  The broad tower of the Castle looked monstrously large and
forbidding against the gloom of the sky, and the fog-horn of the
light-house on Langness was blowing with a measured and
melancholy sound across the unseen sea.
</p>

<p>
Coming upon a tholthan (a ruined cottage) by the roadside he
ran his car into it, and then walked into the town.
</p>

<p>
The little place was once the capital of the island, and still
retained many of its primitive characteristics.  There were no
lamps in the streets, which were therefore quite dark.  Only a
few of the houses gave out light, for the younger children were
already in bed, and their parents were trooping to church or chapel.
</p>

<p>
The church bells were ringing.  Save for that, and the footsteps
of his fellow pedestrians who walked in the darkness beside
him, Stowell heard nothing but the blowing of the far-off fog-horn.
Everything favoured his design.  "It was meant to be," he
told himself.
</p>

<p>
Nevertheless he was conscious of making his steps light and
of trying to escape observation.  He took the least frequented
thoroughfares, so that he might walk fast and not be recognised,
but in a narrow lane that ran along under the Castle he came
upon a pitiful spectacle and was compelled to stop.
</p>

<p>
An elderly woman, wearing little except her nightdress, with
her feet bare and her long grey hair hanging loose, was kneeling
on the paved way and praying.
</p>

<p>
"Oh Lord, as Thou didst send Thine angel to take Peter out
of prison, send him now to take my poor girl out of the Castle."
</p>

<p>
By a dull light from a curtained window, Stowell saw who the
poor demented creature was.  It was Mrs. Collister.  Little as he
desired it, he had to pick her up and take her home.
</p>

<p>
"Come, mother," he said, raising her to her feet.
</p>

<p>
She looked into his face with awe, and permitted herself to be
led away by the hand like a child.  A group of boys and girls who
had gathered round told him where she lived and that she was the
mother of the woman who was to be "hangt" in the morning.
</p>

<p>
Just then the people, a man and his wife, with whom she
lodged, came hurrying up, saying they had left her in bed while
they went into their yard on some errand and on returning to the
kitchen they had missed her.
</p>

<p>
In a few moments they were all at the open door of the house,
a tiny place two steps down from the street, with a lamp burning
on the table.
</p>

<p>
Finding the light on his face Stowell said Good-evening and
hurried away, but not before the man and his wife had seen him.
</p>

<p>
"That must be the young Dempster," said the man.
</p>

<p>
"It was his father," said Mrs. Collister.
</p>

<p>
"But his father is dead, woman," said the wife.
</p>

<p>
"It was his father, I tell thee," said Mrs. Collister, and they
let her have her way.
</p>

<p>
Still the church-bells rang, the fog-horn blew and Stowell
stepped lightly through the dark streets of the little town.  He
passed the new Methodist chapel with the dark figure of the
pew-opener against the coloured glass screen of the vestibule; the
barracks, with the sentinel pacing outside and a number of
red-coated soldiers in a bare room within, smoking and playing cards.
The market-square was ablaze with light from the windows of the
church (the same at which Bessie had kept Oie'l Verree) and the
shadowy forms of the congregation were passing in at the porch.
</p>

<p>
At length he reached the quay with its smell of rock-salt and
tar.  The <i>Dan O'Connell</i> was lying under the Castle gates, lazily
getting up steam, and the Captain was smoking by the gangway.
</p>

<p>
"Everything right, Captain?"
</p>

<p>
"Everything, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"Will the fog interfere?"
</p>

<p>
"Not a ha'porth, yer Honour."
</p>

<p>
"What about the Harbour-master?"
</p>

<p>
"In church with the wife, but I'm to have supper with him
after the sarvice and take a bottle of something."
</p>

<p>
"And the Turnkey?"
</p>

<p>
"Blind polatic at the 'Manx Arms,' Sir."
</p>

<p>
There came a dull hammering from the inside the Castle.
Stowell shivered.
</p>

<p>
"Will they be gone in time?"
</p>

<p>
"Going back by the last train they're telling me."
</p>

<p>
"You'll whistle when you're clear away?"
</p>

<p>
"Shure!"
</p>

<p>
As Stowell crossed the foot-bridge at the back of the Church,
he heard the congregation singing the opening hymn ("Nearer,
my God, to Thee") and thought he knew the subject of the
forthcoming sermon.  The melancholy blowing of the fog-horn
was coming through the blindness of the sea; the revolving light
was blinking in and out on Langness.
</p>

<p>
A quarter of an hour later he was at Derby Haven.  Most of
the houses of the little port were dark, but the window of one of
them gave out a faint light.  Stowell tapped at it and Gell opened
the door.
</p>

<p>
For two hours they sat together in the old maids' stuffy sitting-room,
talking in whispers.  Stowell gave Gell his last instructions.
</p>

<p>
"You remember that there are two gates to the Castle?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes."
</p>

<p>
"At eleven o'clock exactly, the moment the clock has ceased
striking, you'll ring at the big gate, and then step round to
the Deemster's."
</p>

<p>
"Yes!"
</p>

<p>
"Somebody will open the gate.  It will be the jailer.  If he
calls you'll make no answer."
</p>

<p>
"Yes?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes?"
</p>

<p>
"As soon as he has closed the big gate the little one will be
opened and Bessie will be brought out to you."
</p>

<p>
"Yes?"
</p>

<p>
"That's all.  You know the rest."
</p>

<p>
After that there was a cold silence, quite unlike the warmth of
yesterday.  Each was thinking of the cruel thing which had come
between them, and neither dared to talk about.  At length Gell,
taking something from his pocket, said,
</p>

<p>
"I owe you some money."
</p>

<p>
"No, you don't.  Remember the terms I lent it on."
</p>

<p>
"Then take this anyway," said Gell, handing Stowell a
sealed envelope.
</p>

<p>
After that there was another long silence, and then Gell said,
in a thick voice,
</p>

<p>
"When we're far enough away I'll write."
</p>

<p>
"No, no!"
</p>

<p>
"Do you mean that I'm never to write to you?"
</p>

<p>
"Never."
</p>

<p>
"But I will .... I must...."
</p>

<p>
"Don't be a damned fool, man.  Can't you see you never can?"
</p>

<p>
There was a pause.
</p>

<p>
"Victor," said Gell, "that's the first unkind word you have
ever said to me."
</p>

<p>
"Alick," said Stowell, "it shall be the last."
</p>

<p>
The wash of the tide (it was near to the flood) on the stones of
the shore, the monotonous blowing of the fog-horn and the deliberate
ticking of the clock on the mantelpiece were the only sounds
they heard except the irregular heave of their own breathing.
</p>

<p>
The two men were alternately watching the fingers of the clock
and gazing down at the pattern of the carpet.  At a few minutes to
ten Stowell got up and said,
</p>

<p>
"I must go now."
</p>

<p>
"I'll walk down the road with you," said Gell.
</p>

<p>
They walked side by side in the mist until they came to the
ruins of Hango Hill (where long before Alick had had his fight
with the townsmen) and were breast to breast with King
William's College.
</p>

<p>
"You had better go back now.  We must not be seen
together," said Stowell.
</p>

<p>
They stood for some moments without speaking.  The clock
in the school tower was striking ten.  The school itself was in
darkness.  Another generation of boys were lying asleep in it now.
</p>

<p>
"I suppose we've got to say good-bye," said Gell.
</p>

<p>
Stowell made no reply, but he took Gell's hand and there was a
long handclasp.  Then they separated, Stowell going on towards
the town, and Gell turning back to Derby Haven.  Each had
walked a few paces when Gell stopped and called,
</p>

<p>
"Vic!"
</p>

<p>
"What is it?"
</p>

<p>
There was a pause, and then, in a thick voice,
</p>

<p>
"Nothing!  S'long!"
</p>

<p>
And so they parted.
</p>

<p>
There was loud laughter and a voice with a brogue from a
house on the quay with the blind down but the top sash of the
window partly open.  The church was dark and the market-place
silent, save for the measured tread of the sentry.
</p>

<p>
But as Stowell crossed the square he heard a light step and
saw through the thick air the shadowy form of a woman coming
from the direction of the Castle and going towards the
hotel opposite.
</p>

<p>
He hung back until she had passed, and when the door of the
hotel opened to her knocking, and the light from within rushed
out on her, he saw who it was.
</p>

<p>
It was Fenella.  Stowell understood.  She had come from the
cell of the condemned woman, and was sleeping in Castletown that
night in order to be with her in the morning.
</p>

<p>
"But wait!  Only wait!"
</p>

<p>
In spite of his certainty that Providence was on his side he
stepped more lightly than ever as he went down to the quay.
</p>

<p>
The funnel of the Irish steamer was now throbbing hard, and
a few sailors on the forward deck were swearing.  Save for this
and the wash of the tide against the sides of the harbour, all
was still.
</p>

<p>
Stowell looked around and listened for a moment.  Then he
stepped up to the Deemster's door and pulled the bell, and heard
its clang inside the walls.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
II
</p>

<p>
"Ah, is it you, Dempster?  You've come for Miss Stanley?
She's just gone, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"I know.  I saw her.  Are you alone, Mr. Vondy?"
</p>

<p>
"Alone enough, Sir.  It's shocking!  The night before an
execution too!  That Willie Shimmin, the drunken gommeral,
went off at four and isn't back yet.  I wouldn't trust but I'll be
here by myself until the High Bailiff and the Inspector and long
Duggie Taggart come at six in the morning."
</p>

<p>
"How is your prisoner to-night, Mr. Vondy?"
</p>

<p>
"Wonderful quiet, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"Still expecting her pardon?"
</p>

<p>
"'Deed she is, poor bogh, and listening for Mr. Gell's feet to
fetch it.  Now she thinks he'll come in the morning.  'Something
tells me he'll come at daybreak,' she said, and that's the for she's
gone to sleep."
</p>

<p>
They had reached the guard-room, where a fire was burning,
and an old oak armchair (once the seat of the Kings of Man)
was drawn up in front of the hearth.
</p>

<p>
"Gone to sleep, has she?  I must see her though.  I have
something to tell her."
</p>

<p>
"Is it the pardon itself, Sir?  Has it come then?"
</p>

<p>
"Not yet, but a telegram may come from London at any
moment."
</p>

<p>
"You don't say?"
</p>

<p>
"Give me your key, and sit here and make your supper"
(a kettle was singing on the hob), "and if you hear the bell you
will go off to the gate immediately."
</p>

<p>
"I will that, Sir."
</p>

<p>
At the end of a long corridor Stowell stopped at a cell that
had a label on the door-post ("Elizabeth Corteen, Murder.
Death") and looked in through the grill.  In the dim light he saw
the prisoner lying on her plank bed under her brown prison
blanket.  With a tremor of the heart he opened the door quietly
and closed it behind him.
</p>

<p>
"Bessie!"
</p>

<p>
It had been hardly more than a whisper, but through the mists
of sleep Bessie heard it.  There was a cry, a bound, and then a
rapturous voice saying in the half darkness,
</p>

<p>
"Ah, you are here already!  I knew you would come."
</p>

<p>
But at the next moment, seeing who her visitor was, she stared
at him with wide-open eyes, and then fell on him with reproaches.
</p>

<p>
"So it's you, is it?  What have you come for?  Is it only to
tell me that I'm to die in the morning?"
</p>

<p>
Stowell stood with head down, feeling like a prisoner before
his Judge.  Then he said,
</p>

<p>
"You are not to die, Bessie."
</p>

<p>
She caught her breath and put up her hands to her breast.
</p>

<p>
"Do you mean that I am...."
</p>

<p>
"You are pardoned and have to leave this place immediately."
</p>

<p>
For a perceptible time Bessie stood silent, save for her
breathing, which was loud and rapid.
</p>

<p>
"Is it true?  Really true?"
</p>

<p>
"Quite true."
</p>

<p>
There is something childlike in sudden joy; Paradise itself
must be a place of children.  Bessie dropped back on her bed,
clasped her hands together like a child, and said,
</p>

<p>
"I see it all now, and it has been just as I thought at first.
You wrote a letter to the King and he has pardoned me.  The
law is hard but the King is so tender-hearted.  'Poor girl,'
he thought, 'she didn't mean to kill her baby&mdash;not after it
came, anyway.'"
</p>

<p>
Her eyes, which had been glistening, suddenly became grave,
and lifting them to the ceiling, with her hands clasped before her
face, she began to pray.
</p>

<p>
"Oh God, I've not been a good girl and I don't know how to
pray right, but...." and then came a flood of words too sacred
to be set down.
</p>

<p>
When she had finished her prayer she said,
</p>

<p>
"But you have been good too, and I have been insulting you!
That's the way with a girl when she has been in trouble.  You'll
forgive me, won't you?"
</p>

<p>
Her face lit up and she went on talking, more to herself than
to Stowell.
</p>

<p>
"Did you say I was to leave this place immediately?  That
means first thing to-morrow, doesn't it?  I'll go to mother.  She's
staying with some Methodist people in Quay Lane.  Poor mother,
she won't be able to believe it.  We'll go home by the first train."
</p>

<p>
Thinking of home she found a kind of proud revenge in
triumphing over her enemies.
</p>

<p>
"Dan Baldromma will have to hold his tongue now.  And
those Skillicornes will never be allowed to show their ugly old
faces again.  And Cain the constable will have to find another
beat, too, and those impudent girls who stared at me at Douglas
station&mdash;they'll never have the face to sit in the
singing-seat again."
</p>

<p>
But the smiling background of her thoughts was love.
</p>

<p>
"Alick will hear of it, won't he?  I wrote to him but he didn't
answer.  Perhaps his sisters prevented him&mdash;they've always been
casting me up to him.  Poor Alick!  He'll forgive me&mdash;I know
he will.  It was for Alick I did it.  And just think!  Next
Sunday, perhaps, when people are walking about, we'll go downs
Parliament Street together!  And me on Alick's arm, and nobody
to say a word against it, now that the King has forgiven me!"
</p>

<p>
Stowell hardly dared to look at the girl.  For a long time he
could not speak.  But at length he compelled himself to tell her
that she was not to go home.  It was a condition of her pardon
that she should leave the island.
</p>

<p>
"Leave the island?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes, there's a steamer in the harbour, and you are to sail
by it to-night."
</p>

<p>
"To-night?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes, to Ireland, land from there, by another steamer, to
New York."
</p>

<p>
"To New York?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes, but Alick is to go with you.  I've just left him.  We
have arranged everything."
</p>

<p>
She looked searchingly into his agitated face and the radiance
died off her own.
</p>

<p>
"But are you telling me the truth?" she said.  "Am I really
pardoned?  You are not helping me to escape, are you?"
</p>

<p>
He pretended to laugh&mdash;It was hollow laughter.
</p>

<p>
"What an idea!  A Deemster helping a prisoner to escape!
Who would believe such a thing?"
</p>

<p>
"No!  People wouldn't believe such a thing, would they?"
she said, and her eyes again began to shine.
</p>

<p>
"At eleven o'clock the big bell will ring," said Stowell.  "That
will be Alick coming for you.  You must give me your hand and
I'll take you down to him."
</p>

<p>
"Oh, how happy we shall be!" she said.  "We shall go far
away, I suppose&mdash;where nobody will know what has
happened here?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes, but you must make no noise on going out, and not call
to anybody."
</p>

<p>
"But Mr. Vondy&mdash;he has been so good&mdash;I may stop and
thank him?"
</p>

<p>
"He won't be there.  I'll give him your message."
</p>

<p>
"But mother&mdash;if I'm going so far away I must say good-bye
to her."
</p>

<p>
"No, I'm sorry, the steamer will sail immediately."
</p>

<p>
She looked again into his agitated face and then, raising her
voice, she said,
</p>

<p>
"Mr. Stowell, you are deceiving me.  I have not been
pardoned.  You <i>are</i> helping me to escape."
</p>

<p>
"Hush!"
</p>

<p>
But (again in a loud voice) she cried,
</p>

<p>
"Don't lie to me any longer.  Tell me the truth."
</p>

<p>
He hesitated for a moment, and then he told her.  Yes, he
was helping her to escape.  He had tried to procure her pardon
and failed, so he had determined to set her free.
</p>

<p>
While she listened to his tremulous voice she became a prey
to a strange confusion.  For days she had felt as if she hated this
man, and now a mysterious feeling of warmth from the past came
over her.
</p>

<p>
"But what about you?" she asked.
</p>

<p>
"I can take care of myself," he answered.
</p>

<p>
"But if anything becomes known after Alick and I have
gone...."
</p>

<p>
"Nothing <i>will</i> become known."
</p>

<p>
"But if anything does, and you get into trouble...."
</p>

<p>
"Bessie," said Stowell (he was breathing hard), "I did you a
great wrong a year ago...."
</p>

<p>
"No, that was as much my fault as yours.  I have been praying
and praying for pardon, but rather than run away now and
leave you to .... No, I won't go!"
</p>

<p>
There was a moment of uneasy silence and then Stowell said,
</p>

<p>
"Alick is waiting outside for you, Bessie.  He is ready to give
up everything in the world for your sake.  Are you going to
break his heart at the last moment?"
</p>

<p>
"But I can't!  I can't!  I .... I won't!  And you shan't
either.  Mr. Vondy!  Mr. Von&mdash;...."
</p>

<p>
"Be quiet!  Be quiet!"
</p>

<p>
She had tried to reach the door, but he had thrown his arms
about her and was covering her mouth to smother her cries.
Ceasing to shout she began to moan, and then he tried to coax her.
</p>

<p>
"Come, girl!  Trust me!  I know what I'm doing.  Pull
yourself together.  Stand up!  It's nearly eleven o'clock.  You'll
have to walk to the gate presently.  Come now, be brave."
</p>

<p>
But her eyes had closed, and by the dim light from the grill
he saw that she was insensible.
</p>

<p>
"Bessie!  Bessie!" he whispered, but she was lying helpless
in his arms.
</p>

<p>
For a moment he was bewildered.  Of all the chances that
might prevent success this was the only one he had not counted
with.  But at the next instant his mind, which was working with
lightning-like rapidity, saw a new opportunity.
</p>

<p>
"Better so," he thought, and laying the unconscious woman on
her bed he hurried back to the jailer.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
III
</p>

<p>
"Mr. Vondy!  Mr. Vondy!  Your prisoner is ill."
</p>

<p>
The jailer, who had fallen asleep after his supper, staggered
to his feet.
</p>

<p>
"God bless my soul!  And the doctor living at the other end
of the town too."
</p>

<p>
"Never mind the doctor!  Brandy!  Quick!"
</p>

<p>
"There isn't a drop in the Castle, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"Yes, there's a flask in my room.  Take these" (giving him
a bunch of keys) "and go for it."
</p>

<p>
"Where will I find it, Sir?"
</p>

<p>
"I don't know.  I can't remember.  Look everywhere&mdash;in every
drawer, every cupboard."
</p>

<p>
"I will, your Honour."
</p>

<p>
"Don't come back without it."
</p>

<p>
"I won't, Sir."  And still in the mists of sleep the jailer picked
up his lantern from the table and staggered off.
</p>

<p>
Stowell listened to the sounds of the old man's retreating
footsteps until they had died away.
</p>

<p>
"This will give more time," he thought&mdash;he had sent the
jailer on a fruitless errand.
</p>

<p>
It was then five minutes to eleven.  Returning to the cell he
lifted Bessie in his arms and carried her out of the prison.  At
first he was no more conscious of her weight than he had been of
the weight of the sheep on the mountains.
</p>

<p>
But outside it was very dark, and at every uncertain step his
burden became heavier.  In the open space between the main
building and the outer walls the fog lay thick as in a well, and it
was as much as he could do to see one foot before him.
</p>

<p>
Over the wooden drawbridge his feet fell with a thudding
sound, but he groped for the grass at the bottom of the stone steps,
so that he should not be heard on the gravel path.
</p>

<p>
There was no sound in the court-yard except that of the fierce
belching from the funnel of the steamer, the wash of the tide in
the harbour, the boom of the sea in the bay and the monotonous
blowing of the fog-horn.
</p>

<p>
He was making for the Deemster's private entrance and had
no light to guide him except the borrowed gleam from the door to
the Deemster's rooms, which the jailer in his haste had left open.
As he passed this door he heard the sound of the rapid opening
and closing of drawers.  The weight of the woman in his arms
was becoming unbearable.
</p>

<p>
At one moment he saw the shadowy outlines of a white thing
which the carpenters had erected against the walls.  He shuddered
and went on.
</p>

<p>
The damp air was chill and Bessie began to revive under it.
At first she breathed heavily, and then she made those low,
inarticulate moans of returning consciousness which are the most
unearthly sounds that come from human lips.
</p>

<p>
"Mr. Von&mdash;.... Mr. Von&mdash;...."
</p>

<p>
Both arms being engaged, Stowell had to crush the girl's
mouth against his breast to stop her cries.  They ceased and she
swooned again.
</p>

<p>
His burden was becoming monstrous.  With a savage strength
of will and muscle he struggled along.  At length he reached the
Deemster's door.  It was fastened as he knew, not only by the
lock of which the key was in his waistcoat pocket, but also by three
long bolts.  With the unconscious girl in his arms it was as much
as he could do to open it.  At last he did so.  A pale face was
outside.  It was Gell's.
</p>

<p>
"Take her&mdash;she has fainted."  Not another word was spoken.
</p>

<p>
Gell, breathing rapidly, took Bessie into his arms, and carried
her across the quay.  Stowell watched him until he reached the
gangway, and then the sea mist hid him.  He heard Gell walking
on the deck and then going, with heavy footsteps, down the
cabin companion.
</p>

<p>
He closed the Deemster's door, locked and bolted it, and then
turned back to the prison.  Again he kept to the grass and was
conscious of an effort to make his footsteps light.
</p>

<p>
On reaching the drawbridge he looked back and listened.  The
opening and closing of drawers was still audible.  The funnel of
the steamer was still belching invisible smoke, and red sparks from
the fires below were shooting through it.  The tide was still washing
in the harbour, the sea was still booming in the bay, and the
fog-horn was still blowing on Langness.  Save for these sights and
sounds, everything was dark and silent within the great blind walls.
</p>

<p>
Then the clock in the tower struck eleven.  Every stroke fell
on the clammy air like a blow from a padded hammer.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
IV
</p>

<p>
Five minutes passed.
</p>

<p>
Stowell had returned to the cell, stretched out the brown prison
blankets so as to give the appearance, in the dim light, of a body
on the bed, and was now sitting in the armchair before the fire in
the guard-room.  His work was not yet done, and he was listening
to the sounds outside.  Until the steamer sailed he must
remain in the Castle to keep watch on the jailer.  He was more
sure than ever that he was doing God's work, but he was still
behaving like a criminal.
</p>

<p>
Footsteps approached.  The jailer entered, mopping his
forehead.
</p>

<p>
"I can't find it, your Honour, and I've searched everywhere."
</p>

<p>
"Never mind, Mr. Vondy.  Your prisoner recovered from her
attack and is now sleeping peacefully."
</p>

<p>
"Sleeping, is she?  I'll take a look at her."
</p>

<p>
"Don't!  I mean don't go into the cell and disturb her."
</p>

<p>
"I won't, Sir," said the jailer, from half-way down the
corridor.
</p>

<p>
Stowell listened intently.  Presently the jailer returned.
</p>

<p>
"Aw, yes, she's fast enough!  Wonderful the way they sleep
on the last night.  Something you told her, perhaps.  Has the
telegram come, your Honour?"
</p>

<p>
"No, and it won't come now.  Eleven o'clock, they said.  If
it didn't come then I was not to expect it."
</p>

<p>
"Poor bogh!  It will be a shocking thing when Duggie
Taggart comes in the morning.  I wouldn't trust but it will be a
dead woman itself we'll be taking out of the cell, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"I wouldn't trust," said Stowell.
</p>

<p>
Insensibly he had dropped into the Anglo-Manx.  He was
trying to find some excuse for remaining.
</p>

<p>
"It'll be a middlin' cold drive home, old friend&mdash;couldn't you
make me a cup of coffee?"
</p>

<p>
"With pleasure, Sir," said the jailer.  And while the old man
stirred the peats and hung the kettle on the slowrie, Stowell,
listening at the same time to the voices without (the husky brogue
of the Irish Captain and the guttural croaking of the half-tipsy
harbour-master) got him to tell the story of his appointment.
</p>

<p>
"It was thirty years ago, when I was coachman at Ballamoar
in the 'Stranger's' days&mdash;a wonderful kind woman your mother
was, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"Hurry up, boys.  Bear a hand with that crank"&mdash;the
swing-bridge was being opened; the steamer was to go out in spite
of the fog.
</p>

<p>
"I used to be taking her for drives in the morning, and it was
always 'Thank you, Mr. Vondy!  A beautiful drive, Mr. Vondy!'
Aw, gentry, Sir, gentry born!"
</p>

<p>
"Damn your eyes, let go that forrard rope"&mdash;the Captain
was on the bridge.
</p>

<p>
"We had a young Irish mare in them days, Sir, and coming
home one morning in harvest, not more than a month before your
Honour was born, Illiam Christian (he was always a toot was
Illiam) started his new reaper in the road field just as we were
passing the Nappin, and the mare bolted."
</p>

<p>
"Why the divil don't you take in the slack of that starn rope?
Do you want me to come down and dump you overboard?"&mdash;the
funnels had ceased to roar and the paddles were plashing.
</p>

<p>
"I was a middling strong young fellow then, Mr. Stowell, Sir,
and if the mare pulled I pulled too, until one of the reins broke
at me and I was flung off the box."
</p>

<p>
"Aisy does it!  Take in that breast rope, bys"&mdash;the steamer
was passing through the gate.
</p>

<p>
"I wasn't for letting go for all.  Not me!  Just holding on
like mad, though it was tossing and tumbling on the road I was
like a mollag in a dirty sea."
</p>

<p>
"Half-steam below there"&mdash;the steamer was opening the bay.
</p>

<p>
"I bet her at last, Sir, and up she came at the Ballamoar gates
blowing like a smithy bellows and sweating tremenjous, but quiet
as a lamb."
</p>

<p>
"Heave oh and away!"
</p>

<p>
"I was ragged and torn like a scarecrow, and herself was as
white as a sea-gull, but never a scratch, thank God!"
</p>

<p>
"Bravo!"
</p>

<p>
"The Dempster had heard the yelling on the road and down
the drive he came in his dressing-gown and slippers, trembling like
a ghost.  And when he saw it was all right with herself, 'Mr. Vondy,'
says he, with the water in his eyes, 'I'll never forget it,
Mr. Vondy,' he says."
</p>

<p>
"And he didn't?"
</p>

<p>
"'Deed no!  Aw, a grand man, the ould Dempster, Sir.
Middlin' stiff in the upper lip, but a man of his word for all.
And when Capt'n Crow pegged out and this place was vacant he
put me in for it."
</p>

<p>
Straining his powers of listening Stowell was still waiting for
the whistle that was to tell him the steamer was clear away.
</p>

<p>
"Crow?  That was Nelson's Crow, wasn't it?"
</p>

<p>
"Nelson's Crow it was, Sir.  One-eyed Crow we were calling
him.  He was boatswain on the <i>Victory</i>, and when the big man
went down he was in the cockpit holding him in his arms.  'Will
I die, Mr. Crow?' said Nelson.  'We had better wait for the
opinion of the ship's doctor, Sir,' said Crow."
</p>

<p>
There was a long shrill whistle from a distance.  Stowell leapt
to his feet and laughed&mdash;the steamer had gone.
</p>

<p>
"Ah, a rael Manxman, wasn't he?  Wouldn't commit himself,
you see."
</p>

<p>
Then he slapped the jailer on the shoulder and said,
</p>

<p>
"So you've been here thirty years, old friend?"
</p>

<p>
"About that, Sir," said the jailer.
</p>

<p>
"But do you know you wouldn't be here thirty hours longer if
I were to tell the Governor what you've done to-night?"
</p>

<p>
"Why, what's that, your Honour?"
</p>

<p>
"Left a condemned prisoner without guard, or even without
remembering to lock her up and carry away the keys"&mdash;and he
threw the keys of the cell on the table.
</p>

<p>
"God bless me, yes!  I never thought of that.  But it was
yourself that sent me out, and your Honour will not tell."
</p>

<p>
"Not I, old friend.  But listen!  Nobody in the island knows
that I've been trying to get your prisoner's pardon, and now that
it hasn't come, it's better that nobody should know.  So you'll
say nothing to anybody about my being here to-night?"
</p>

<p>
"Not a word, Sir.  But you've done your best for the poor
bogh, and it's Himself will reward you."
</p>

<p>
It was not until Stowell was outside the Castle that he reflected
that whatever else happened in the morning the jailer must
certainly fall into disgrace.
</p>

<p>
"I must find a way to make it up to him," he thought.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
V
</p>

<p>
The quay was deserted and the berth of the tramp steamer in
the harbour was an empty space, but in the fever of his impatience
Stowell walked to the end of the pier to make sure that the
ship had gone.
</p>

<p>
The fog had lifted a little by this time, the fog-horn was no
longer blowing, and against the dark sea he could just make out
the darker hull of the steamer leaving the bay.  Farther away he
saw the revolving light from Langness, which was shooting red
vapour into the sky like breath from fiery nostrils.  The night
air was still cold, but his forehead was perspiring.
</p>

<p>
Bessie would be recovering consciousness by this time.  "Where
am I?" she would be saying.  And then she would hear the throb
of the engines and the wash of the water, and see Alick by her side.
</p>

<p>
For a moment he lost sight of the ship's stern light (a mist was
sweeping over the surface of the sea) and his anxiety became
agony, but it reappeared at the other side of the light-house and
his spirits rose again.  Yes, she was steering north.
</p>

<p>
"Sail on!  Sail on!  Sail on!"
</p>

<p>
He returned to the town.  In the thinning fog everything
looked immensely large and frightening.  He walked slowly in
order not to attract attention.  Passing through the narrow streets
he found nearly all the houses dark.  Only two or three of the
upper windows showed light, and from one of them, partly open,
he heard the cry of a sick child.
</p>

<p>
But in a winding lane, close under the Castle, he came upon a
cottage that was lit up in the lower storey, and loud with many
voices.  He recognised it as the house at which he had left
Mrs. Collister, and understood what was happening.  The old woman's
Primitive friends were holding a prayer-meeting by her bedside in
the kitchen to comfort her.  A man was praying and many
women were shouting responses.
</p>

<p>
"Save the sinner, O Lord!" (<i>Hallelujah!</i>) "She may be
inside prison walls to-night, but show her the Golden Gates are
always open." (<i>Hallelujah!</i>) "Remember Thy servant, her
mother!" (<i>Aw yes, remember her!</i>) "Her soul is passing
through deep waters." (<i>'Deed it is, Lord!</i>) "Stretch out Thy
hand as Thou didst to Peter of old and suffer her not to sink."
</p>

<p>
Outside the town Stowell had an impulse to run.  He found
his motor-car where he had left it and pushed it into the road.
While lighting his lamp he thought he heard sounds from the
direction of the Castle.  Had the escape become known?  He
listened for anything that might denote alarm.  There was nothing.
</p>

<p>
The Castle clock struck twelve.  The fog had nearly gone
now, and looking back he saw the gloomy and forbidding fortress
towering over the sleeping town.  A few stars had appeared
above it.
</p>

<p>
All was quiet.  The condemned woman had escaped from
Castle Rushen.  There was nothing to show that he himself had
been there.
</p>

<p>
With a last look back he started his engine and released his
levers, and his car shot away.
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p><a id="chap0538"></a></p>

<h3>
CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
<br />
THE GRAVE OF A SIN
</h3>

<p>
Nearly three hours later Stowell was at the Point of Ayre,
where the head of the island looks into the sea.  Leaving his car
at the end of the last paved road he walked over the bent-strewn
plain to where the tall, white, brown-belted light-house stands up
against sea and sky.  The light-houseman, who had just put out
the light, seeing the Deemster approach, went down to meet him.
</p>

<p>
"May I go up to your lantern, Light-houseman?  I've always
wanted to see the sun rise from there."
</p>

<p>
"With pleasure, your Honour," said the Light-houseman, and
he led the way up the circular stone stairway, through the eye of
the light-house, with its glistening columns of bevelled glass, to
the iron-railed gallery that ran like a scalf round its neck.
</p>

<p>
For a long half-hour Stowell walked to and fro there.  He felt
as if he were on the prow of some mighty ship, with the sea racing
in white foam along the rocks on either side.  Far below were the
booming waves; the sea-fowl were calling in the midway air; the
sky to the east was reddening; the day was striding over the waters
and driving the trailing garments of the night before it, and the
sea was singing the great song of the dawn.
</p>

<p>
At last, straining his sight to the south, he saw what he had
come to see&mdash;a steamer with a red and black funnel.  Kept back
during the dark hours by the fog on the coast, she was now
coming on at full-speed.
</p>

<p>
There was a pang in thinking that this was the last he was
to see of the two who were aboard of her, but there was a
boundless joy in it also.  They were united; they were happy; they
were safe; he had wiped out his offence against them.
</p>

<p>
He watched the vessel as she passed.  She lurched a little as
she went through the cross-current of the Point.  But now she
was out in the Channel; now she was heading towards the Mull of
Galloway; now she was fading into the northern mist and seemed
to be dropping off into another planet.
</p>

<p>
At half-past three Stowell was back in his car.  He could go
home now with a cleaner heart, a surer conscience.  It was a
beautiful morning.  The sun had risen.  It was slanting over his
shoulder as he drove along the grass-grown road on the north-west
coast, with the sea singing and dancing by his side over a
stretch of yellow sand.  The lambs were bleating in the fields
and the larks were loud in the sky.
</p>

<p>
What relief!  What joy!  His car was bounding on&mdash;past the
Lhen, the Nappin, the old Jurby church with its four-square tower
on the edge of the cliff&mdash;going faster than he knew, faster and still
faster, like a winged creature, parting the way as it went, making
the road itself to fly open, and the hedges, the trees, and the
sleeping farm-houses to slant off on either side, and coming round at
last, as with the heart of a bride, to the big gates of Ballamoar.
</p>

<p>
Home once more!
</p>

<p>
As he slackened speed and slid up the drive the rooks were
calling in the tall elms and the song-birds in the bushes were
singing.  As silently as possible he ran his car into the garage and
crept into the house.
</p>

<p>
The blinds were down and the rooms were dull with a yellow
light, like sunshine behind closed eyelids.  The grandfather's clock
on the landing was striking four.  Only four hours since he had
left Castletown!
</p>

<p>
The servants were not yet stirring, and he stepped upstairs on
tiptoe, hoping to reach his room unheard, but as he passed Janet's
door she called to him.
</p>

<p>
"Is that you, Victor?"
</p>

<p>
He answered, "Yes."
</p>

<p>
"How late you are, dear!"
</p>

<p>
"Don't waken me in the morning."
</p>

<p>
In his bedroom he was partly conscious that familiar things
looked strange&mdash;or was it that another man had come back to them?
He undressed rapidly and got into bed, drawing a deep breath.
It was all over.  Bessie Collister was gone.  It was nearly impossible
that she could ever be traced and brought back.  A monstrous
judicial crime had been prevented.  <i>He</i> had been permitted to
prevent it.  And now for the long, long rest of a dreamless sleep.
</p>

<p>
But in the vague, intermediate half-world of consciousness
before sleep comes, he was aware of another, a warmer and more
secret motive.  Fenella!  "Tell him to come back to me!"  Ah,
no, not until he had wiped out his fault.  But now he could go to
her!  He had broken down the barrier between them.  He had
buried his sin in the sea.
</p>

<p>
Thank God!  Thank God!
</p>

<p>
And then sleep, deep sleep, and the breathless day coming on.
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p class="t3">
END OF FIFTH BOOK
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p><a id="chap0639"></a></p>

<h3>
<i>SIXTH BOOK</i>
<br />
THE REDEMPTION
</h3>

<p><br /></p>

<h3>
CHAPTER THIRTY-NINE
<br />
THE BIRTH OF A LIE
</h3>

<p>
Awakening in the "George" in the early hours of morning,
Fenella heard a noise outside her window that was like the running
of a shallow river over a bed of small stones.  She knew what it
was.  It was the sound of the feet of the people who were coming
in crowds to stand outside the Castle walls and watch the slow-moving
fingers of the clock, until the hoisting of the black flag
over the tower should tell them that the invisible presence of
Death had come and gone.
</p>

<p>
When, as the clock was striking six, she crossed the market-place
on her way to the Castle, she found this crowd in great
commotion, hurrying to and fro and calling to each other in
agitated voices.
</p>

<p>
"Is it true?"
</p>

<p>
"So they're saying."
</p>

<p>
"God bless my soul!"
</p>

<p>
The Castle gate was open and people had penetrated as far as
the Portcullis.  An Inspector of Police, coming out hurriedly,
commanded them to go back.
</p>

<p>
"Away with you!  Is it play-acting you've come to look at?
Smoking your pipes, too!"
</p>

<p>
But without waiting to see his orders obeyed he hastened away
himself, shouting to somebody that he was going to knock up the
telegraph office.
</p>

<p>
The court-yard, when Fenella reached it, though less crowded
was as full of agitation.  A blear-eyed man, who looked as if he
had just awakened from a fit of intoxication, was walking aimlessly
to and fro.  It was Shimmin, the turnkey, but when Fenella
asked him what had happened, he stared vacantly and made no
answer.  A very tall man, wearing a cloth cap over his head and
ears and carrying a carpet-bag, was standing by the scaffold.  This
must be "long Duggie Taggart" and when Fenella, shuddering
at sight of the man, asked him the same question, he shrugged his
shoulders and turned away.  At the foot of the draw-bridge the
High Bailiff and the jailer were in fierce altercation.
</p>

<p>
"I know nothing about it, I tell thee, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"Then you are a blockhead and a fool!"
</p>

<p>
At length two elderly men, the Chaplain and the Doctor, came
down the Deemster's stairs, and then the truth, which Fenella had
partly surmised, became fully known to her.  The condemned
woman had escaped during the night.  There would be no
execution that day.
</p>

<p>
Through a tumult of mixed feelings, Fenella was conscious of
a sense of immense relief.  Her first thought was of Bessie's
mother, and she turned back to take the news to her.
</p>

<p>
The little house in Quay Lane had its door still closed, but
through the kitchen window, whereof the upper sash was partly
down, came the singing of a hymn in tired and husky voices,
</p>

<p class="poem">
  "<i>Jesus, lover of my soul,<br />
  Let me to Thy bosom fly.</i>"<br />
</p>

<p>
It was not immediately that Fenella could get an answer to her
knocking, but at length the man of the house, in his ganzie and
long sea boots, opened the door, still singing.
</p>

<p>
The little low-ceiled kitchen was full of people, and the close
air of the place seemed to say that they had kept up their
prayer-meeting the night through.
</p>

<p>
On a chair bedstead against the opposite wall, Mrs. Collister in
her cotton nightcap, from which long thin locks of her grey hair
were escaping, was rocking her body to the tune, while fumbling
with bony fingers a Methodist hymn-book which lay open before
her on the patchwork counterpane.
</p>

<p>
Fenella, with a warm heart for the old mother in her trouble,
pushed through to the foot of the bed, but Mrs. Collister was
terrified at the sight of her, thinking she was bringing bad tidings,
</p>

<p>
"Have they deceived me?" she cried.  "Seven o'clock they
said.  Is it all over?"
</p>

<p>
"Be calm," said Fenella, and then she delivered her message.
Bessie had gone from Castle Rushen.  She was not to die that day.
</p>

<p>
A moment of vacant silence fell upon the room, such as seems to
fall on the world when the tide is at the bottom of the ebb.  With
difficulty the old woman grasped what Fenella had said.  Her
watery eyes looked round at her people as if asking them to help
her to understand.  At length one of these cried,
</p>

<p>
"Glory to God!  It's the answer to our prayers."
</p>

<p>
And then the truth seemed to descend on the poor broken brain
like a healing breath from heaven.  Stretching out her match-like
arms, she seized Fenella's hands and said,
</p>

<p>
"I know who thou art.  Thou art the Governor's daughter.  Is
it the truth thou'rt telling me?"
</p>

<p>
"Indeed it is."
</p>

<p>
"My Bessie is out of prison?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes, and nobody knows what has become of her."
</p>

<p>
A wild cry of joy burst from the old woman's throat.
</p>

<p>
"Liza!  Liza Killey, wilt thou believe me now?  Didn't I
tell thee it was the old Dempster himself that the Lord had sent
to take my child out of prison?"
</p>

<p>
A wave of new life seemed to come to her, and throwing back
the clothes she struggled out of bed (her blue-veined legs and feet
showing bare under her cotton nightdress) and went down on her
knees to pray.  But her prayer was drowned by the husky
voices of her companions, who had by this time raised a hymn
of thanksgiving.
</p>

<p>
Fenella turned to go, and the man and woman of the house
followed her to the door.
</p>

<p>
"What was that she said about the Deemster?"
</p>

<p>
They told her what had happened the night before&mdash;how the
old woman had escaped into the streets and the Deemster had
brought her back to the house.
</p>

<p>
"Are you sure it was the Deemster?"
</p>

<p>
"We thought so then, but she thrept us out it was his father
who is dead and buried, and now we don't know in the world if it
was or wasn't."
</p>

<p>
The singers were singing in triumphant tones&mdash;
</p>

<p class="poem">
  "<i>God moves in a mysterious way,<br />
  &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;His wonders to perform.</i>"<br />
</p>

<p>
Fenella, who had begun to tremble, turned back to the hotel.
The market-place was full of people, who were pouring into it
from every thoroughfare.  On reaching her room she locked the
door, pulled down the window-blind, sat on the bed, covered her
eyes, and tried to think out what had happened.
</p>

<p>
The noise outside was like the surge of the sea, and like the
surge of the sea was the tumult in her heart and brain.
</p>

<p>
Could it be possible that Victor Stowell had helped Bessie
Collister to escape?  She remembered what he had said to her
father&mdash;that if any attempt were made to carry out the sentence
he would prevent it.  She remembered what she had said to him&mdash;that
never could there be anything between them while that girl lay
in prison.  He had been in Castletown the night before, and he
was the only man in the island who could have access to the Castle
without an order from the Governor or the Chief Constable.
</p>

<p>
But a Judge to break prison!  What would be the end of it?
Why had he done this incredible thing, risking everything?  Was
it solely because he could not allow that unhappy girl, who had
suffered so much for him already, to go to the gallows?  Or was
it, perhaps, because she herself had said....
</p>

<p>
Suddenly a great quickening of her love for Stowell came over
her.  If she had stumbled upon his secret she would protect it.
</p>

<p>
"But what can I do?" she asked herself.
</p>

<p>
At one moment it occurred to her to run back to Quay Lane and
warn the good people there to say nothing more about the
Deemster.  But no, that might awaken suspicion.  They thought
Bessie's escape was due to supernatural agencies, that it had come
as an answer to their prayers&mdash;let them continue to think so.
</p>

<p>
At seven o'clock she was in the train for Douglas and the
telegraph poles were flying by.  She must know what the Governor
was doing.  But whatever her father might do her own course
was clear.
</p>

<p>
She must stand by Victor now, whatever happened.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
II
</p>

<p>
In the cool sunshine of the early May morning Government
House lay asleep.  The gardener was mowing a distant part of the
lawn when he saw a carriage drive rapidly up to the porch.  Two
gentlemen got out of it, and in less time than it took him to empty
his grass-pan into his wheelbarrow they rang three times at
the door.
</p>

<p>
Inside the house nobody was yet stirring except old John, the
watchman, who was drawing the curtains and opening the windows.
He heard the bell and thought the postman had brought a registered
letter.  In his cloth shoes he was shuffling to the vestibule
when the bell rang again and yet again.
</p>

<p>
"<i>Traa de looiar</i>" ("Time enough"), he growled, but his
voice fell to a more deferential tone when he opened the door, and
saw who was there.
</p>

<p>
"Our apologies to His Excellency, and say the Attorney-General
and the Chief Constable wish to see him immediately on
urgent business."
</p>

<p>
The two men stepped into the smoking-room, which was still
dark with the blinds down and rank with last night's tobacco smoke.
</p>

<p>
A few minutes later, the Governor entered in his
dressing-gown over his pyjamas and with his bare feet in his heelless
slippers.  And then the Attorney told him&mdash;the young woman who
was to have been executed that morning had escaped.
</p>

<p>
"Good God, no!"
</p>

<p>
"Only too true, Sir.  Colonel Farrell has had an urgent
telegram from his Inspector at Castletown."
</p>

<p>
"When did it happen?"
</p>

<p>
"During the night.  The jailer says he locked her up at eleven
and when he opened the cell at five the prisoner was gone."
</p>

<p>
"Where is the jailer?"
</p>

<p>
"At the Castle still," said the Chief Constable, "but I've told
the police to send him up immediately."
</p>

<p>
The Governor rose from the seat into which he had dropped
and walked to and fro.
</p>

<p>
"Such a blow to the authority of the law&mdash;the escape of a
prisoner on the eve of her execution!" said the Attorney.
</p>

<p>
"Such a handle to the disorderly elements, too!" said the
Chief Constable.
</p>

<p>
"Good Lord, don't I know?  Let me think!  Let me think!"
</p>

<p>
The Governor drew up one of the window blinds and his eyes
fell on a steamer lying by the pier with smoke rising lazily from
her black and red funnels.
</p>

<p>
"If the woman escaped only a few hours ago," he said, "she
cannot have left the island yet.  Have you given orders that the
passengers by the morning steamer shall be watched?"
</p>

<p>
"Not yet, sir."
</p>

<p>
"Do so at once.  If that fails, telegraph to your police in
every town and parish.  Good gracious, in this pocket-handkerchief
of an island it ought to be possible to re-capture an escaped
prisoner in a day, even if she lies like a toad under a stone."
</p>

<p>
"We'll leave no stone unturned, sir."
</p>

<p>
"A woman!  A mere girl!  Unless the jailer or his people
deliberately opened the doors for her she must have had
assistance."
</p>

<p>
"That's what <i>I</i> say, your Excellency."
</p>

<p>
"Have you any idea who helped her?"
</p>

<p>
"No .... that is to say...."
</p>

<p>
"Where's young Gell, the Advocate?"
</p>

<p>
"In his rooms in Athol-street .... I presume."
</p>

<p>
"Find out for certain.  Come back at four this afternoon and
bring that blockhead of a jailer with you.  And listen" (the men
were leaving the room), "try to keep this ridiculous thing quiet.
If it gets into the papers across the water all England will be
laughing at us."
</p>

<p>
The Governor was again at the window, watching the Attorney-General's
carriage going rapidly down the drive, when he saw a
hackney car, containing Fenella, coming up to the house.
</p>

<p>
That sight started a new order of ideas.  He remembered
Stowell's threat&mdash;"If you order that girl's execution, it shall
never be carried out, because I shall prevent it."  For three days
he had understood this to mean that the Deemster would appeal
over his head to the Imperial authorities.  But Stowell had not
done so&mdash;he wasn't such a fool, he had remembered the
bedevilments of his own position.  So the Governor had dismissed the
thought, and his anger at the son of his old friend had subsided.
But now the threat came back on him with a new interpretation.
Could it be possible?  Such an unheard-of thing?
</p>

<p>
As soon as Fenella entered the house he called her into his
room and shut the door behind her.
</p>

<p>
"You have just come from Castletown?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes, father."
</p>

<p>
"Then you know what has happened?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes."
</p>

<p>
"Can you throw any light on it?"
</p>

<p>
"Light on it?"
</p>

<p>
"I mean .... have you seen anything of Stowell since we
spoke of him last?"
</p>

<p>
"Nothing."
</p>

<p>
"Nor heard from him?"
</p>

<p>
"No."
</p>

<p>
"Do you think it likely that .... But it is impossible.
No responsible person in his sense could do such a thing.  It
must be the other one."
</p>

<p>
"What other, father?"
</p>

<p>
"Young Gell, of course.  He is the only man in the island
who could wish that girl to escape&mdash;the only one who would be
fool enough to help her to do so."
</p>

<p>
Fenella went to her room with a heart at ease.  She was sorry
for Gell, very sorry, but in the consuming selfishness of her love
for Stowell she found a secret joy in the thought that suspicion
was being diverted from the real culprit.
</p>

<p>
Victor was safe thus far.  But what would he do himself?
What was he now doing?
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
III
</p>

<p>
It was near to noon when Stowell awoke at Ballamoar.  His
bedroom (formerly his father's) faced to the south and flashes of
sunshine from the chinks of the window curtains were crossing the
bed on which he lay with his head on his arm.
</p>

<p>
It was a startling moment.
</p>

<p>
His long sleep had washed his brain as in a spiritual bath, and
with the awakening of his body his conscience had awakened also.
The events of the previous night rolled back on him like a flood,
and now, for the first time, he saw what he had done.
</p>

<p>
To prevent the law from committing a crime he had committed
a crime against the law!  He, the Judge, sworn to uphold Justice,
had deliberately betrayed it!  Had anything so monstrous ever
been heard of before?
</p>

<p>
After a while, through the deafening buzzing of his brain, he
became aware of the droning sound of voices in the room below,
and then of their sharp clack as the speakers (they were Janet
and Joshua Scarff) stepped out of the house to the gravel path in
front of it.
</p>

<p>
"No, don't waken his Honour, Miss Curphey.  He hasn't been
well lately, and sleep does no harm to anyone.  Besides he'll hear
the bad news soon enough."
</p>

<p>
"'Deed he will, Mr. Scarff."
</p>

<p>
"It will be a terrible shock to him&mdash;especially if my suspicions
about a certain person prove to be justified.  But that's the way,
you see&mdash;one act of wrong-doing leads to another.  Pity!
Great pity!"
</p>

<p>
It was out!  Stowell felt as if the bed under him were rocking
from the first tremor of an earthquake.
</p>

<p>
Half-an-hour later he was at breakfast downstairs.  For a
long time, Janet was trying to break the news to him.  At last it
came.  The young woman who was to have been executed that
morning had escaped.  Joshua Scarff had had it from the
Inspector at Ramsey&mdash;it was being telegraphed all over the island.
</p>

<p>
For the sake of appearances Stowell made an exclamation of
surprise, despising himself for doing so and feeling as if the toast
in his mouth were choking him.
</p>

<p>
"It's impossible not to be glad," said Janet, "that the poor
guilty creature has escaped the gallows, but Joshua thinks things
are not likely to end there."
</p>

<p>
"And what does he say?...."
</p>

<p>
"He says she must have had an accomplice, and when the man
is found out it will be the worse for both of them."
</p>

<p>
"And who .... who does Joshua think...."
</p>

<p>
"Alick Gell.  It seems he put appearances against himself at
the trial, poor boy!"
</p>

<p>
Instead of going to town that day, as he had intended to do,
Stowell rambled through the trackless Curraghs.  He was trying
to be alone with the melancholy swish of the sally bushes and the
mournful cry of the curlews.  But his anxiety to know what was
being done brought him back to the house.  Hearing nothing
there, he walked to the village for a copy of the insular
newspaper.  He found some excuse for speaking to everybody he met
on the road&mdash;on other subjects, though, always on other subjects.
</p>

<p>
At the door of the little general store, with its mixed odour of
many condiments coming out to him, he stopped and called,
</p>

<p>
"How's the rheumatism this morning, Auntie Kitty?"
</p>

<p>
"Aw, better, your Honour, a taste better to-day.  But it's
moral sorry I am to hear the bad newses you've had yourself, Sir.
It's feeling it terrible you'll be, your Honour&mdash;you and the young
man being the same as brothers.  It will kill his mother&mdash;and her
such a proud stomach.  The woman couldn't see the sun for the
boy, and she's been fighting the father all his life for him."
</p>

<p>
On his way back he met Cain, the constable, looking large
and important.
</p>

<p>
"I'm sarching for them two runaways," he said, with his short
asthmatical breathing, "and the Chief Constable is telling me I'll
have to be finding them if they're lying like a toad under a stone."
</p>

<p>
Gell again!  The report of the escape had passed over the
island with the swift flight of a bird of prey&mdash;everywhere he could
hear the flapping of its wings.  And to the question of who could
have assisted the young woman to escape from a place like Castle
Rushen there was only one answer&mdash;Gell.
</p>

<p>
Towards nightfall Joshua Scarff called at Ballamoar on his
way home from town.  Things had turned out as he had
expected&mdash;suspicion had fastened on Mr. Gell, and the Governor had
ordered the police to scour the island for him.
</p>

<p>
"But everybody is sorry for your Honour.  His friend!  His
bosom friend!  Pity!  Great pity!"
</p>

<p>
Gell!  Always Gell!  Again Stowell felt as if the earth were
rocking beneath him.  Where had his head been that he had not
thought of this before&mdash;that in helping Alick Gell to go away
with Bessie Collister he had put him into the position of the
guilty man&mdash;guilty not only of the prison-breaking, but also of the
earlier and uglier offence of being the girl's fellow-sinner?
</p>

<p>
He had thought he had buried his sin in the sea&mdash;had he only
cast the burden of it upon Gell?
</p>

<p>
He recalled Alick's gratitude on going away, the undeserved
praises which had cut to the heart, and then thought of Gell (far
away in a foreign country) coming to hear of the evil name he
had left behind.
</p>

<p>
What was Alick to think of him then?  That what he had done
had not been at the call of friendship, but of mere self-protection&mdash;to
divert suspicion from himself, to remove the only witnesses
against him, and thus to build his future life on the unprotected
name of an innocent man?
</p>

<p>
"Must I let that lie run on without saying a word against it?"
</p>

<p>
And then Fenella!  He had seen himself going to her and saying,
"Now that the girl is no longer in prison the barrier between
us is broken down."  He had seen himself marrying her, and then
rising higher and higher in the esteem of his people, with that
brave woman by his side.
</p>

<p>
But now&mdash;what now?
</p>

<p>
Fenella would find him out!  It was impossible that she could
live long with a man who carried such a corroding secret without
discovering it sooner or later.  And when she had done so what
would she think of him?  A traitor to his friend and to the law!
A Judge who had broken his oath!  A wrong-doer, not a righter
of the wronged, sitting in judgment upon others, yet himself a
criminal!  A man of honour to the outer world, a hypocrite in his
own house; a pillar of the island in the eyes of his people, a liar
in the eyes of his wife!
</p>

<p>
"No, God forbid it!  I cannot let that lie run on.  I cannot
allow myself to be pilloried in life-long hypocrisy."
</p>

<p>
All the same he would wait to see what the Governor might
do next.  It was no good acting hastily.
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p><a id="chap0640"></a></p>

<h3>
CHAPTER FORTY
<br />
THE CALL OF A WOMAN'S SOUL
</h3>

<p>
At four o'clock that day the Attorney-General and the Chief
Constable had returned to Government House and were sitting, on
either side of the Governor, with the jailer standing before them.
Fenella stood by the window, apparently gazing into the garden
but listening intently.
</p>

<p>
"Come now," said the Governor, "tell us what you know of
this matter."
</p>

<p>
The jailer knew nothing.  Changing repeatedly the leg on
which he was standing and mopping his forehead with a coloured
handkerchief, he protested absolute ignorance.
</p>

<p>
"After Miss Stanley left the Castle a piece after ten o'clock
I locked the poor bogh in her cell...."
</p>

<p>
"Do you mean the prisoner?"
</p>

<p>
"Who else, your Excellency?"
</p>

<p>
"Then say the prisoner."
</p>

<p>
"Well, I locked the prisoner in her cell a piece after ten
o'clock last night and when I went back at five this morning to
take her a bite of breakfast...."
</p>

<p>
"Breakfast?  Where was your female warder?"
</p>

<p>
"Mistress Mylrea?  Sick of the heart since General Gaol.
They're telling me she died last night, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"Where was your turnkey then?"
</p>

<p>
"Willie Shimmin?  He went out on lave for a couple of hours
on Sunday afternoon and didn't return on the night, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"Do you mean to tell me you were alone in the Castle on the
night before an execution?"
</p>

<p>
"Aw, yes, alone enough, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"Colonel Farrell!" said the Governor, turning sharply upon
the Chief Constable.
</p>

<p>
That gentleman, although embarrassed, had many excuses.
He had not been made aware of the situation, and if this
blockhead had only communicated with the police-station....
</p>

<p>
"Well, well, enough of that now.  Let us have the facts,"
said the Governor, and turning back to the jailer he said,
</p>

<p>
"Did anybody come to the Castle last night after Miss
Stanley left it?"
</p>

<p>
"No, Sir, no!"
</p>

<p>
"And your keys?  Did they ever leave your possession?"
</p>

<p>
"Never, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"After you locked the prisoner in her cell, what did you do?"
</p>

<p>
"I went back to the guard-room and sat by the fire, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"And fell asleep, I suppose?"
</p>

<p>
"I'll give in I slept a wink or two, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"Where were your keys while you were asleep?"
</p>

<p>
"On the table beside me, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"And when you awoke where were they?"
</p>

<p>
"In the same place, your Excellency."
</p>

<p>
"Were the gates of the Castle locked last night?"
</p>

<p>
"Aw, 'deed they were, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"And were they locked this morning?"
</p>

<p>
"They were that, Sir."
</p>

<p>
The Attorney-General, who had been leaning forward,
dropped back.
</p>

<p>
"Extraordinary!" he said.  "The whole thing has the
appearance of the supernatural."
</p>

<p>
"Nonsense!" said the Governor.  "Vondy, do you know
Mr. Gell, the Advocate?"
</p>

<p>
"I'm sorry to say, Sir...."
</p>

<p>
"Never mind about sorry&mdash;do you?"
</p>

<p>
"I do, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"When did you see him last?"
</p>

<p>
"At General Gaol, when he was out of himself, poor man, and
we had to lock him up for threatening the Dempster."
</p>

<p>
"Did he never come to the Castle afterwards to see the
prisoner?"
</p>

<p>
"Never, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"Will you swear that he was not there last night?"
</p>

<p>
"I will&mdash;before God Almighty, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"Then, if the cell was locked all night and the Castle gates
were locked, how do you account for the escape of your prisoner?"
</p>

<p>
The jailer smoothed the hair over his forehead and then said,
</p>

<p>
"Bolts and bars are nothing to the Lord, Sir."
</p>

<p>
The Governor gasped.
</p>

<p>
"Do you mean to say that while you were asleep before the
fire in the guard-room an angel from heaven carried your prisoner
through the Castle walls?"
</p>

<p>
"Aw, well .... I wouldn't say no to that, Sir.  We're
reading of the like in the Good Book anyway."
</p>

<p>
"Fenella," cried the Governor, "take this fool away and turn
him out of the house."
</p>

<p>
When Fenella, who had been quivering all over, had left the
room, followed by the jailer, the Governor turned to the
Chief Constable.
</p>

<p>
"The woman was not on the morning steamer?"
</p>

<p>
"No, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"And What about Gell?"
</p>

<p>
"We broke open the door of his room in Athol Street and
found he had gone."
</p>

<p>
"Ah!  Have you come upon any trace of him elsewhere?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes; he slept at the Railway Inn at Ballaugh on Saturday
night and took a ticket for St. John's by the first train on
Sunday morning."
</p>

<p>
"Anything else?"
</p>

<p>
"The blacksmith at Ballasalla believes he saw him on Sunday
evening going in the fog in the direction of Derby Haven."
</p>

<p>
"Aha!  Did any fishing boat leave Castletown last night?"
</p>

<p>
"The Manx boats do not go out on Sunday, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"Any trading steamers then?"
</p>

<p>
"I don't know, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"Inquire at once.  If your constables do not find the fugitives
in the island we must send a 'Wanted' across the water."
</p>

<p>
"I'll draw one up, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"Got the necessary photographs?"
</p>

<p>
"One of the girl, which was found in the young man's rooms,
Sir.  Also one of the young man which we found in the girl's cell,
but it is not of much use, being scratched and blurred as if it had
been lying in water."
</p>

<p>
"No matter!  The Deemster is sure to have another.  I'll
write and ask him to meet us here at eleven on Wednesday morning.
He'll be able to help you to your personal description and
issue the warrant at the same time."
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
II
</p>

<p>
Meantime, Fenella had taken the jailer into the drawing-room
and closed the door behind them.
</p>

<p>
"Mr. Vondy," she said in a low voice, "you can trust me.
Nothing you may say in this room will ever be repeated.  Did not
somebody come to Castle Rushen last night after I left it?"
</p>

<p>
The old man tried in vain to look into the big moist eyes that
were on him, but at length he dropped his own and said,
</p>

<p>
"It is no use, miss.  There will be no rest on me in the night
unless I tell the truth to somebody.  There can be no harm telling
it to you neither&mdash;going to be the man's wife soon they're saying.
It's truth enough, miss&mdash;somebody did come."
</p>

<p>
"Was it the Deemster?"
</p>

<p>
"It was that," said the jailer, and then he told her everything
that had happened.
</p>

<p>
Fenella's head became giddy and her cheeks blushed crimson.
In a flash she saw what had happened.  Victor had deceived the
jailer.  Did the old man know it?  Lowering her eyes she said,
</p>

<p>
"You didn't say this when the Governor questioned you&mdash;had
you a reason for not doing so?"
</p>

<p>
"I had.  The Deemster made me promise to say nothing."
</p>

<p>
And then came the other and still more degrading story&mdash;the
story of the intimidation Stowell had put upon the jailer to keep
his visit secret.
</p>

<p>
Fenella felt as if she would sink through the floor in shame, but
all the same she found herself saying,
</p>

<p>
"You've known the Deemster all his life, haven't you?"
</p>

<p>
"I have.  I was reared on the land," said the jailer, and then,
raising himself to his full height, "I'm a Ballamoar myself, miss."
</p>

<p>
"Then you will keep the promise you gave him?"
</p>

<p>
"Trust me for that, miss."
</p>

<p>
"But if anything should happen to yourself as the consequence
of last night's escape...."
</p>

<p>
"The father put me in the Castle and the son won't see them
fling me out of it."
</p>

<p>
"But if he should be overruled by the Governor and unable
to help you...."
</p>

<p>
"I'll take my chance with him.  What's it they're saying?&mdash;<i>the
Ballamoar will out</i>, miss."
</p>

<p>
Tears sprang to Fenella's eyes, but her heart beat high.
</p>

<p>
"Mr. Vondy," she said, "he has not been well lately, and
perhaps he doesn't always know what he is saying.  If you should
ever come to think that what he told you was not the truth
.... the whole truth, I mean...."
</p>

<p>
"Maybe so.  I've been thinking as much myself since five this
morning.  But that's all as one to me, miss.  Tell him <i>Tommy
Vondy will keep his word</i>."
</p>

<p>
The jailer was gone, and Fenella was sitting with her hands
over her eyes when she heard voices in the corridor and footsteps
going towards the porch.
</p>

<p>
"You're right there, your Excellency" (it was the Attorney-General
who was speaking).  "The authority of law in this
island has received a blow, and already the disorderly elements
are stirring up strife."
</p>

<p>
"Who, for instance?"
</p>

<p>
"Qualtrough of the Keys and the man Baldromma."
</p>

<p>
"Farrell" (it was the Governor in a stern voice), "quash that
instantly.  If there's any rioting send for the soldiers from
Castletown to assist your police."
</p>

<p>
"I will, your Excellency."
</p>

<p>
"And listen!  Get rid of that blockhead of a jailer.  Appoint
somebody in his place and give him authority to employ his own
warders.  He'll have his prison full enough presently."
</p>

<p>
The closing of the outer door rang through the corridor, and at
the next moment the Governor was in the drawing-room.
</p>

<p>
"Fenella," he said, "do you happen to know if Stowell has a
photograph of young Gell, the Advocate?"
</p>

<p>
Before she had time to reflect, Fenella answered that he had.
It was taken in America, and stood on the mantelpiece in the
library at Ballamoar.
</p>

<p>
"But why?"
</p>

<p>
"Because I want him to bring it with him when he comes on
Wednesday to issue the warrant."
</p>

<p>
"What warrant?"
</p>

<p>
"The warrant for the arrest of Gell, for breaking prison and
aiding in the escape of the girl Collister."
</p>

<p>
"But, father, they are friends&mdash;life-long friends."
</p>

<p>
"What of that?  Stowell is Deemster, and you heard the oath
he took, didn't you?  'Without fear or friendship, love or gain.'  His
duty as a Judge is to administer Justice, and as long as I am
here I'll see he does it."
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
III
</p>

<p>
During the remainder of that day and the whole of the following
one Fenella was a prey to the cruellest perplexity.  Would
Victor Stowell issue that warrant for the arrest of the innocent
man, being himself the guilty one?
</p>

<p>
How could he refuse?  It would be his duty to issue the
warrant&mdash;what excuse could he make for not doing so?  And then
what a temptation to let things go on as usual!  Although he had
broken prison, and therefore his oath as a Judge, how easily he
might persuade himself that it had only been to snatch that poor
girl from a wicked Statute!
</p>

<p>
Yet if Victor issued that warrant for the arrest of Gell he
would be a lost man for ever after.  No matter how high he might
rise he would go down, down, down until his very soul would perish.
</p>

<p>
"It cannot be!  It must not be!  It shall not!"
</p>

<p>
She wanted to run to Ballamoar and say, "Don't do it.  If
you have done wrong confess and take the consequences."
</p>

<p>
Oh, what did she care about their quarrel now?  It was no
longer Bessie Collister's life, but Victor Stowell's soul that was
in peril.
</p>

<p>
But no, she could not ask him to act under compulsion.  He
must act of his own free will.  In the valley of the shadow of sin
the guilty soul must walk alone.
</p>

<p>
"But is there nothing I can do for him?" she asked herself.
</p>

<p>
Yes, there was one thing&mdash;one thing only.  She could pray.
For long hours on the night before Stowell was to come to
Government House Fenella knelt in her bed and prayed for him.
</p>

<p>
"O God help him!  God help him!  Help him to resist this
great temptation."
</p>

<p>
At length peace came to her.  Somewhere in the dead waste
of the night she seemed to receive an answer to her prayers.
</p>

<p>
"He'll do the right, whatever it may cost him," she thought,
and as the day was dawning she fell asleep.
</p>

<p>
But when she awoke in the morning she felt as if her heart
would break.  If Stowell confessed and took the consequences (as
she had prayed he might do) he would be lost to her for ever.  He
would have to give up his Judgeship, be banished from the island,
and become an outcast and a wanderer.
</p>

<p>
"Is that to be the end of everything between us?  After all
this waiting?"
</p>

<p>
Her eyes were full of tears when she looked at herself in the
glass, but they were shining like stars for all that.  An immense
pity for Stowell had taken possession of her.  An immense faith
in him also.  He must be the most unhappy man alive, but he was
her man now; and nothing on earth should part them.
</p>

<p>
Going down to breakfast she met Miss Green on the stairs.
The old lady was full of some breathless story of rioting in
Douglas the evening before.  How remote it all sounded!  She
hardly heard what was being said to her.
</p>

<p>
Coming upon the maid in the corridor she said,
</p>

<p>
"The Deemster is to call to-day, Catherine.  Tell him I wish
to see him before he sees the Governor."
</p>

<p>
In the breakfast-room her father was looking over a printer's
proof on a sheet of foolscap paper.  It was headed with the
Manx coat-of-arms and the words "ISLE OF MAN CONSTABULARY,"
and had an empty space near the top for a
block to be made from a photograph.
</p>

<p>
"But that is of no consequence now," thought Fenella, "no
consequence whatever."
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p><a id="chap0641"></a></p>

<h3>
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
<br />
IN THE VALLEY OF THE SHADOW
</h3>

<p>
"Good heavens, what does it matter?  A lie is only dangerous
when it does some harm!"
</p>

<p>
Stowell awoke on the second day after the escape putting his
situation to himself so.  Where was the harm if Gell was
suspected?  He had gone with the woman he loved.  He was happy.
What would Alick care about the evil name he had left behind him?
</p>

<p>
"Then where's the harm?" he asked himself.
</p>

<p>
He would let things go on as usual&mdash;of course he would.  Only
he must make sure that the fugitives had got clear away.
</p>

<p>
Remembering that he had seen placards of the Atlantic sailings
in the railway-station, he walked over to the station from the
glen.  It was all right&mdash;a big Atlantic liner was timed to leave
Queenstown at twelve that day.  It was now half-past twelve.
Gell and Bessie would be out on the open sea by this time&mdash;steaming
past Kinsale where the Manx boats fished for mackerel.
</p>

<p>
"Where's the harm?"
</p>

<p>
But just as he was leaving the station with a sense of security
and even triumph, a train from Douglas drew up at the platform.
The guard shouted something to the station-master; and, looking
back, Stowell saw a crowd gathering about a first-class carriage.
</p>

<p>
Somebody was being assisted to alight.  It was the Speaker.
He was utterly helpless.  Between two members of the House of
Keys the stricken man was half led, half carried to a dog-cart that
was waiting for him at the gate.
</p>

<p>
His mouth was agape, his legs were dragging behind him, and
his large hands were shaken by senile trembling.  He did not
speak, but as he went by he looked up, and Stowell felt that from
his red eyes a mute malediction was being thrown at him.
</p>

<p>
When the dog-cart had gone, with the Speaker stretched out
in it, stiff as a dead horse, and one of the Keys to see him home,
the other joined Stowell and walked down the road by his side.
</p>

<p>
"Then your Honour hasn't heard what has happened?"
</p>

<p>
"No.  What?"
</p>

<p>
There had been a sitting of the Keys that morning.  The
debate had been on some new scheme of land tenure&mdash;a thinly
disguised form of confiscation.  The Speaker had opposed it
passionately, saying a man had a right to keep what he had earned and
hand it on to his children.  Then Qualtrough (a firebrand who
possessed nothing) had taunted him with the unfortunate affair
of yesterday.  Why did <i>he</i> want to hand on his land, his son
having run away with the woman he had corrupted?
</p>

<p>
A terrible scene had followed.  The Speaker had had one of
his brain-storms.  His neck had swelled until it was nearly as
broad as his face.  "Sit down, Sir," he had shouted, but Qualtrough
had refused to do so.  At length, overcome by the clamour
of his enemies and the silence of his friends, the Speaker had risen
to resign.  Since he could not maintain the authority of the chair
he had no choice but to get out of it.
</p>

<p>
It had been a pitiful spectacle.  None of them who were
fathers had been able to look at it with dry eyes.  The old man
was trembling like a leaf and his legs seemed to be giving way
under him.
</p>

<p>
"They say the sins of the fathers are visited-upon the children,
but maybe it's as true the other way about.  I'm going blind and
deaf.  The sands of my life are running out...."
</p>

<p>
He swayed forward and they thought he would have fallen on
his face, but the Secretary of the House caught him in his arms,
and then two of them were nominated to bring him home.
</p>

<p>
"Sorry to say it to your Honour, being his friend," said the
member of the Keys, as they parted at the turn of the road, "but
that young fellow has something to answer for."
</p>

<p>
That lie had done harm then!  Was this the mystery of
sin&mdash;that it must go on and on, from consequence to consequence, deep
as the sea and unsearchable as the night?
</p>

<p>
On returning to Ballamoar, Stowell found Janet in great agitation.
Mrs. Gell had sent across to ask if Robbie could run into
Ramsey to fetch Doctor Clucas.  The doctor had come and gone.
The Speaker had had a stroke.  It was his second.  The third
would almost certainly prove fatal.
</p>

<p>
All that day Stowell was shaken by a chill terror.  If the
Speaker died would Alick Gell come back to claim his inheritance?
If so he would hear it said on all sides that he had killed his
father by the disgrace he had brought on him.
</p>

<p>
What then?  Would he tell the whole truth under that terrible
temptation, and thus bring down Stowell himself to ruin
and extinction?
</p>

<p>
"But what nonsense I'm talking," thought Stowell.
</p>

<p>
Gell could never come back, because Bessie could never do so.
Then who was to know that it was a lie that Gell had killed
his father?
</p>

<p>
Suddenly came the thought, "<i>I</i> am to know."
</p>

<p>
This fell on him like a thunderbolt.  How was he to marry
Fenella with a thought like that in his heart?  It would be with
him night and day.  He might even blurt it out in his sleep.
"Assassin!  It was I who killed the old man by letting that
lie go on."
</p>

<p>
Feeling feverish and unable to remain indoors, he went out to
walk on the gravel path in front of the house.  The fresh air
revived him and he took possession of himself again.
</p>

<p>
"If the Speaker dies it will be the act of God," he thought.
</p>

<p>
He would be in no way responsible.  Neither would Gell.  If
rumour charged the son with killing the father it would be a
lie&mdash;a damned lie, manufactured by Fate, the great liar.
</p>

<p>
It was not as if Gell were in any danger&mdash;the danger of arrest
for instance.  <i>That</i> would be different.  But Gell was in no
danger&mdash;none whatever.
</p>

<p>
"Therefore bury the thing!  Bury it and go on as usual," he
told himself.
</p>

<p>
The evening was closing in.  It was beautiful and limpid.
With a high step Stowell was walking to and fro on the path.
Visions were rising before him of Gell and Bessie Collister on the
big liner, ploughing their way through the darkening ocean to that
free continent "where the clouds sailed higher"&mdash;Archibald
Alexander and his sister Elizabeth going out to the new world
to begin a new life.
</p>

<p>
He had visions of Fenella too&mdash;how he would go up to
Government House to-morrow morning.  "Tell him to come back to me,"
she said to Janet, and now he would go.  How happy he was going
to be!
</p>

<p>
"Surely I've a right to some happiness after all I've gone
through."
</p>

<p>
He gave himself up to the intoxication of living by anticipation
through those most blissful moments to a man and woman who
love each other&mdash;the first moments of reconciliation after a quarrel.
</p>

<p>
Night had fallen.  It was very dark.  The late birds were
silent, and only the soft young leaves of May were rustling in the
darkness overhead with that gentleness that is like the whispering
of angels.  All at once a red light jogged up from the gate, making
shadows among the trees that bordered the drive.
</p>

<p>
"Good evenin', Dempster!  A letter for you, Sir."
</p>

<p>
It was Killip the postman.
</p>

<p>
"Thank you, Mr. Killip," said Stowell, taking the letter.  He
could not see it in the darkness, but at the touch of the large
envelope a heavy foreboding came over him.
</p>

<p>
"I suppose you've heard about that affair, your Honour?"
</p>

<p>
"What affair?"
</p>

<p>
"Tommy Vondy.  He's got himself kicked out of the Castle
for letting that girl escape.  The gorm!  He's my first cousin, and
he's in his seventy-seven, but he was always a toot, was Tommy!"
</p>

<p>
"Good-night, Mr. Killip."
</p>

<p>
"Good-night, your Honour!"
</p>

<p>
When Stowell returned to the porch he looked at his letter by
the light of the lamp on the landing.  It was from the Governor.
He went into the Library and tore it open.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
II
</p>

<p class="letter">
"DEAR STOWELL,&mdash;Of course you have heard what has
happened.  The escaped prisoner must be recaptured and
dealt with according to law.  And not she only, but her
accomplice also.  You know who that is&mdash;young Gell.  The
evidence against him is overwhelming.  We have traced him
almost to the door of the Castle on Sunday evening, and find,
too, that a trading steamer left Castletown late the same
night.  There can hardly be a doubt that the fugitives sailed
in her.  We must find where she has gone to and bring her
passengers back.
</p>

<p class="letter">
"Come here to-morrow morning to issue the necessary
warrant and assist Farrell to the 'distinguishing marks'
which may be needful for Gell's identification.  I know
there is a certain risk in re-opening this wretched inquiry.  I
had hoped to bury it once for all when I decided on what
you thought the extreme step of sending the guilty woman
to the gallows.  But law and order must be upheld, and the
sooner we can silence the people, who are saying we are
winking at the corruption of justice to spare the son of the
Speaker and the friend of the Deemster, the better
for everybody.
</p>

<p class="letter">
"Be here at eleven.  We (the Attorney and the Chief
Constable are coming) will be waiting for you.  Good Lord,
haven't you been long enough away from this house
anyway?  If there are strained relations between you and
Fenella let them be faced squarely and straightened out at
once&mdash;Yours, etc.,
</p>

<p class="letter">
"JOHN S. STANLEY,
"<i>Brig.-Gen., K.C.B.</i>
</p>

<p class="letter">
"P.S.&mdash;Fenella says you have a photograph of Gell
which was taken in America some years ago.  It is probably
the only one on the island, and therefore invaluable to
Farrel at this moment.  Bring it with you&mdash;don't forget."
</p>

<p>
Stowell was struck with stupor.  Alick Gell <i>was</i> in danger,
then, and the whole situation was different.
</p>

<p>
Raising his eyes after reading the Governor's letter he saw
Gell's photograph on the mantelpiece in front of him.  At that
sight a flame of passion took possession of him, and snatching up
the picture he flung it in the fire.
</p>

<p>
"No, by God!" he said aloud.  And if Farrell ever asked
him for "distinguishing marks" towards Gell's identification he
would take him by the throat and choke him.
</p>

<p>
But what about the warrant?  Any Justice of the peace might
issue it, but if the Governor asked him to do so the request would
be equal to a command.  Suppose he did, what would be the
result?  Bessie would be brought back and executed.  Worse than
that, even worse in its different way, Gell would be arrested and
tried&mdash;perhaps by him, and under his warrant!
</p>

<p>
"No, no, no!  It would be a crime&mdash;a base, cowardly,
infamous, abominable crime!"
</p>

<p>
The veins of his forehead swelled as he thought of the trial.
It would be more terrible than the other one.  To sit in judgment
on an innocent man, being himself the guilty one&mdash;not Jeffries,
or Braxfield, or Brandon or Harebottle or any of the bewigged
barbarians whose names befouled the annals of jurisprudence had
done anything so awful.
</p>

<p>
"Never," he thought.  "Never in this world."
</p>

<p>
Yet what alternative had he?  After dinner (he had tried
to eat to keep up appearances before Janet) he drew to the fire
and tried to think things out.  He had sat long hours in pain, and
the fire had died down, when a kind of melancholy peace came to
him and he thought he saw what he had to do.
</p>

<p>
He had to get up early in the morning, reach Government
House before the others had arrived, see the Governor alone and
say to him in secret,
</p>

<p>
"I cannot issue this warrant for the arrest of Alick Gell for
breaking prison to procure that girl's release because <i>I</i> did it."
</p>

<p>
What would happen then?  The Governor (he was a just man
if a hard one) would say,
</p>

<p>
"In that case, you cannot be a Judge in this island any longer."
</p>

<p>
But that would be all.  Out of consideration for his daughter,
and perhaps for the man who was to become his daughter's
husband, the Governor would go no farther.  Some show he might
make of publishing the police notice, but he would never send to
a foreign country.
</p>

<p>
There would be no scandal.  The public would know nothing.
They had heard that the new Deemster had been unwell, and would
be told that his health had broken down altogether, and he had had
to resign his office.  It would be a month's talk, and then&mdash;Time
would cover up the whole miserable story in the merciful vein
in which it hides so many of our misdoings.
</p>

<p>
And Fenella?  He would tell Fenella also.  It would be a
shock to her, but she would be on his side now.  She would see
that he had only tried to prevent a judicial murder, to secure the
happiness of two unhappy creatures who, but for him, would
have been plunged in misery.  They would marry and go away
from the island, to Switzerland perhaps, and live there for the
rest of their lives.
</p>

<p>
"Yes, that's it, that's it," he told himself.
</p>

<p>
It was a cruel comforting&mdash;like the surgeon's knife, which,
while taking away a man's disease, takes some of his
life-blood also.
</p>

<p>
He thought of his father, how proud the old Deemster had
been of his judicial position and how anxious that his son should
succeed to it&mdash;it was pitiful.  He thought of Fenella, what great
things they had planned to do when he became a Judge, and now
all their hopes had fallen to dust and ashes&mdash;it was agonising.
</p>

<p>
Was it necessary?  Inevitable?  To be cast aside on life's
highway in suffering and shame everlasting; to be like a wretched
ship that lies at the bottom of the sea, swaying to the
ground-swell below, and moaning like a lost soul to the moans of the
other wrecks in the womb of the ocean?
</p>

<p>
It was not as if he had injured anybody.  He had done harm
to nobody, and nothing.  Yet he must do what he had thought of.
There was no help for it.
</p>

<p>
It was late.  The household was asleep.  The log fire he had
been crouching over had fallen to ashes on the hearth.  He was
shivering and he got up to go to bed.  Before leaving the library
he sat at the desk under his mother's picture and wrote&mdash;
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p>
"<i>Please call me at six.  I must take the first train to Douglas.</i>"
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p>
He was laying this on the table on the landing, lighting his
candle and putting out the lamp, when he heard wheels on the
carriage drive, and then a loud ringing at the front door bell.
</p>

<p>
Who could have come at this time of night?  Candle in hand
he went down and opened the door.
</p>

<p>
It was Joshua Scarff.
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p><a id="chap0642"></a></p>

<h3>
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
<br />
"HE DROVE OUT THE MAN"
</h3>

<p>
"Sorry to trouble you at this hour, your Honour, but I had to
come and tell you what has happened."
</p>

<p>
"What is it, Joshua?"
</p>

<p>
"There has been a fearful outbreak of lawlessness in Douglas
this evening&mdash;breaking of shop-windows, looting of the houses of
well-to-do people, assaults and outrages of all kinds."
</p>

<p>
"What is the reason of it?"
</p>

<p>
"Mob reason, and you know what that is, your Honour.  They
say justice in the island is corrupt.  If you are rich you get
whatever you want.  If you are poor you get nothing.  A guilty
man and a guilty woman have been allowed to escape.  Why?
Because the man belongs to a family of 'the big ones' and is a
friend of the Deemster."
</p>

<p>
"Who say that?"
</p>

<p>
"Old Qualtrough and Dan Baldromma."
</p>

<p>
"Baldromma?  If his step-daughter has escaped what has he
to complain of?"
</p>

<p>
"Nothing, but that's not the worst, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"What is?"
</p>

<p>
"The Governor has telegraphed for soldiers from across the
water.  They are to come over by the first boat in the morning.
It's a frightful blunder, Sir."
</p>

<p>
Beads of perspiration were rolling down from Joshua's
bald crown.
</p>

<p>
"There'll be bloodshed, and Manxmen won't stand for that.
They've been their own masters for a thousand years.  The
Governor can't treat them as if they were Indian coolies."
</p>

<p>
"What do you think ought to be done?"
</p>

<p>
"That's what I've come to say, Sir.  I had gone to bed but
I couldn't take rest, so I got Willie Dawson to drive me over.  The
people may be wrong about justice, but the only way to pacify
them is to prove it."
</p>

<p>
"How?"
</p>

<p>
"The guilty man in this case must give himself up."
</p>

<p>
"Give himself up?"
</p>

<p>
Joshua took off his coloured spectacles and wiped the damp
off them.
</p>

<p>
"I thought your Honour might know where he was.  He
can't be far away, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"Well?"
</p>

<p>
"He ought to be told to deliver himself up to the Courts to
save the island from ruin.  And if he won't he ought to
be denounced."
</p>

<p>
"Denounced?"
</p>

<p>
"It will be a terrible ordeal&mdash;I know that, Sir.  Your friend!
Your life-long friend!  Pity!  Great pity!"
</p>

<p>
For a perceptible time Stowell did not speak.  Then, in a voice
which Joshua had never heard before, he said,
</p>

<p>
"Go home and go to bed, Joshua.  I'll see what can be done."
</p>

<p>
Joshua had gone, the door had closed behind him and his
wheels were dying away down the drive, but Stowell continued
to stand in the hall, candle in hand and stiff as a statue.  At
length he returned to the dining-room, put the candle on the table
and sat before the empty hearth.
</p>

<p>
It was all over!  The plan he had made for himself was
impossible.  There could be no resigning in secret and stealing
away from the island.
</p>

<p>
He had done harm to something.  He had done harm to Justice.
If Justice fell down what stood up?  The man who took
the law into his own hands was a criminal, and as a criminal he
ought to be punished.
</p>

<p>
Punished?  The shock was terrible.  Was he then to give
himself up?  To confess publicly?
</p>

<p>
He saw himself pleading guilty to having broken prison.  He
heard the whole wretched tale of his relation to the unhappy
prisoner, and of his trying and condemning her, coming out in
open Court.  He heard the howls of execration from the people
who had hitherto loved and cheered him.
</p>

<p>
"Is there no other way?" he asked himself.
</p>

<p>
He saw himself in prison, in prison clothes, in the prison cell,
on the prison bed.  Above all he saw another Deemster going
upstairs to sit on the bench while he lay in the vaults below.
</p>

<p>
He thought of his father and his family&mdash;four hundred years
of the Ballamoars and not a stain on the name of one of them
until now.  He thought of Fenella&mdash;the cruel shame he would
bring on her.  Granted he was guilty, and deserved punishment,
had he any right to punish Fenella also?
</p>

<p>
The clock on the landing struck one.  An owl shrieked in the
plantation.  He got up and strode about the room.  The impulses
of the natural man began to fight for safety.
</p>

<p>
"Good God, what am I thinking about?" he asked himself.
</p>

<p>
What had he done to deserve all this?  He had broken a
wicked law which had no right to exist, but did that require that he
should denounce himself, go to prison, degrade his father's name,
break Fenella's heart and put himself up on a gibbet for every
passer-by to jeer at and spit upon?
</p>

<p>
"What madness!  What rank madness!"
</p>

<p>
He thought of the thousands of "great" men in all ages of
the world who had broken bad laws, and yet lived in honour and
died in glory.  Why should he suffer for doing the same thing?
Why he and not the others?  He laughed in scorn of his own
weakness, but at the next moment a mocking voice within him seemed
to say,
</p>

<p>
"Go on!  Go on!  Issue that warrant!  Let the unhappy girl
who trusted you be brought back and executed.  Let the friend
who loved you be arrested and tried and sent to jail for the crime
you have committed.  Go through all that duplicity again.  Let
the whole community be submerged in anarchy as the consequence
of your sin.  But remember, when you come out of it all, you will
be a devil, and your soul will be damned."
</p>

<p>
That terrified him and he sat down by the empty hearth once
more.  After a while he found his hands wet under his face.  He
heard a soft, caressing voice pleading with him,
</p>

<p>
"Victor, my darling heart!  Resist this great temptation and
peace will come to you.  Do the right, and no matter how low you
may fall in the eyes of men, you will look upon the face of God."
</p>

<p>
It was Fenella's voice&mdash;he was sure of that.  Across the
mountain and through the darkness of the night her pure soul was
speaking to him.
</p>

<p>
The candle had burnt to the socket by this time, but a new light
came to him.  For more than a year he had been a slave, dragging
a chain of sin behind him.  At every step in his wrong-doing his
chain had lengthened.  He must break it and be free.
</p>

<p>
"Yes, I will go up to Government House in the morning," he
thought, "confess everything and take my punishment."
</p>

<p>
It was only right, only just.  And when the cruel thought
came that the next time he entered the court-house it would be to
stand in the dock, with the dread certainty of his doom, he told
himself that that would be right too&mdash;the Judge also must
be judged.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
II
</p>

<p>
Groping his way upstairs in the darkness he entered his
bedroom and locked the door behind him.  He found a fire burning,
the sofa drawn up in front of it, a lamp burning on the bureau
that stood at one side, and at the other the high-backed arm-chair
in which his father used to undress for bed.  He was surprised to
see that the fire had been newly made up, but hearing footsteps
in the adjoining bedroom he understood.
</p>

<p>
"Poor Janet!" he thought.
</p>

<p>
His thoughts were thundering through his brain like waves in
a deep cavern.  He was convinced that he would never survive the
ordeal that was before him.  When men lived through long
imprisonments it was because they had hope that the beautiful days
would come again.  He had no such hope, so, sitting at his bureau,
he began to sort and arrange his papers like one who was going
away on a long journey.
</p>

<p>
After that he wrote a letter to the Attorney-General:
</p>

<p class="letter">
"DEAR MASTER,&mdash;When this letter comes to your hand
you will know the occasion for it.  I am aware that it cannot
have the authority of a will, but (in the absence of a more
regular document) I trust the Clerk of the Rolls may find a
way to act upon it as an expression of my last wishes.
</p>

<p class="letter">
"I desire that Janet Curphey should be suitably provided
for as long as she lives.  She has been a mother to me
all my life, the only mother I have ever known.
</p>

<p class="letter">
"I desire that Mrs. Collister of Baldromma may have
such a provision made for her as will liberate her from the
tyrannies of her husband.
</p>

<p class="letter">
"I desire that Thomas Vondy, formerly the jailer at
Castle Rushen, should be taken care of in any way you may
consider best.
</p>

<p class="letter">
"Finally, if I do not live to return home, I desire that
everything else of which I die possessed should be offered to
Fenella Stanley as a mark of my deep love and devotion.
</p>

<p class="letter">
"I think that is all."
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p>
Having signed, sealed and inscribed his letter he put it in his
breast pocket.  Then taking a drawer out of the bureau he carried
it to the sofa, intending to destroy the contents of it.
</p>

<p>
The first thing that came to his hand was the letter which Alick
Gell had given him at Derby Haven.  It was marked "To be
opened after we have gone," and turned out to be a memorandum
to his father's executors, telling them he was leaving the island
with no intention of returning to it, and asking (as his only
request) that in the event of an inheritance becoming due to him,
seven hundred pounds, which had been advanced to him at various
times, should be repaid to Deemster Victor Stowell&mdash;"the best
friend man ever had."
</p>

<p>
Feeling a certain twinge, Stowell hesitated for a moment, with
the memorandum shaking in his hand, and then threw it into
the fire.
</p>

<p>
There were other papers of the same kind (I O U's and the
like) which shared the same fate, and then up from the bottom
of the drawer, came a leather-bound book.  It was "Isobel's
Diary."  He had decided to destroy that also.  As the sanctuary
of his father's soul he could not allow it to be looked into by
other eyes.
</p>

<p>
But, never having looked at it himself since the night of his
father's death, he could not resist the temptation to glance through
it once more before committing it to the flames.  It fell open at
the page which said,
</p>

<p class="letter">
"So it's all well at last, Isobel.  Your son can do
without me now.  He needs his father no longer.  With that
brave woman by his side he will go up and up.  They will
marry and carry on the traditions of the Ballamoars.  It is
the dearest wish of my heart that they should do so."
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p>
His throat throbbed.  Ah, those hopes, all wrecked and dead!
Going down on one knee before the fire, and holding the book on
the other, he tore out page by page and burnt it, feeling as if he
were burning his right hand also.  He was afraid of tears and
had rarely given way to them, but he was weeping like a
heart-broken woman before the last page had been consumed.
</p>

<p>
Then, taking Fenella's letters from his pocket-book, he prepared
to burn them too.  They brought a faint perfume, a feeling
of warmth, a sense of her physical presence.  Most of them were
notes of no consequence&mdash;appointments to ride, drive, fish, skate,
all touched by her gay raillery ("eight o'clock in the morning&mdash;is
that too early for you, Victor, dear?")&mdash;he had preserved every
scrap in her hand-writing.  But one was the letter she wrote to
him when he was in London, and with palpitating tenderness he
held it under the lamp to read it again:
</p>

<p class="letter">
"Victor, when I think of the life that is so surely before
you, and that I shall walk through it by your side, perfectly
united with you, sharing the same hopes and aims and
desires, enjoying the same sunshine and weathering the same
storms, I have a vision of happiness that makes me cry
with joy."
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p>
His heart swelled like a troubled sea, and to conquer his emotion
he thrust the letter hurriedly into the flames.  But before it
was more than scorched he snatched it back and was preparing to
return it to his pocket when he bethought himself how soon it
must pass into other hands with everything he carried about him.
And then, turning his head away, and feeling as if he were
burning his heart also, he put it into the fire.
</p>

<p>
After that he dropped back on to the sofa with feelings about
Fenella that found no relief in tears.  One by one the joyous hours
of their love returned to his memory.  They seemed to ring in
his ears with the melancholy sound of far-off bells.  It was a
cruel pleasure.
</p>

<p>
All at once came a moment of fierce rebellion.  When he had
told himself downstairs that in making the great renunciation of
his public office he must renounce Fenella also he had not realised
what it meant.  It meant that never again, for as long as he lived
(Fenella being impossible to him), would Woman take any part
in his existence.
</p>

<p>
A cold fear took possession of him at that thought.  He was
a man&mdash;was he for the rest of his life, if he survived his
imprisonment, to be cut off from his kind, separated, alone?
</p>

<p>
Better be dead than live such a life!
</p>

<p>
Then another and still more startling thought came to him&mdash;why
not?  A letter to the Governor, exonerating Gell, and then it
would all be over.  No warrant!  No trial!  Why not?
</p>

<p>
Outside the night was dark.  Not a breath of wind was stirring.
In the silence of earth and sky he could hear the "swish,
swish" of the sea on the shingle at the top of the shore.  It
must be high water.
</p>

<p>
"Why not?  Why not?"
</p>

<p>
His head was dizzy.  He was thinking of a boat that lay
among the lush grass on the sandy bank above the beach.  Alick
and he had often gone fishing in her.  She was heavy, but he was
strong&mdash;he could push her into the water.
</p>

<p>
He saw himself pulling out to sea, far out, beyond the Point,
to where the Gulf Stream in its long race round half the world
swept by the island to the coast of Iceland.  And then, as the
dawn broke in the eastern heavens, he saw himself scuttling the
boat and going down with her.
</p>

<p>
No one would know.  The boat would lie at the bottom of the
sea until she fell to pieces, and he&mdash;he would go north on the way
of the great waters until he came to the feet of the frozen Jokulls,
where nobody would be able to say who he was or where he
came from.
</p>

<p>
No scandal!  No outcry!  No vulgar sensation!  Just a pang
to Fenella, and then the darkness of death over all.
</p>

<p>
Thinking the lamp was burning low he was reaching out his
hand to turn up the wick when a sense came of somebody being in
the room with him.  He looked round.  All was silent.
</p>

<p>
"Is anybody there?" he asked aloud.
</p>

<p>
There was no answer.  The dread of miscarrying for ever if
he died by his own act began to struggle on the battle field of his
soul with the fear of being cut off from the living who live in
God's peace.  He shivered and was trying to rise when again he
had the sense of somebody else in the bedroom.
</p>

<p>
"Who is it?"
</p>

<p>
At the next moment, raising his eyes, he thought he saw his
father in the arm-chair where he had seen him so often.  The
august face was the same as when he saw it last in that room,
except that the melancholy eyes were now open.
</p>

<p>
"I'm ill," he thought, and he closed his eyes and put his hand
over them.
</p>

<p>
But when he opened his eyes again his father was still there,
looking at him with tenderness and compassion.  His brain reeled
and he fell face down on the cushions of the sofa.
</p>

<p>
Then he heard his father speaking to him, gently, affectionately,
but firmly, just as he used to do when he was alive.
</p>

<p>
"My son!  My dear son!  I know what you are thinking of
doing, and I warn you not to do it.  No man can run away from
the consequences of his sins.  If he flies from them in this life
he must meet them in the life hereafter, and then it will be a
hundred-fold more terrible to be swept from the face of the
living God."
</p>

<p>
"Father!"
</p>

<p>
Stowell tried to cry aloud but could not.  His father's voice
ceased and at the next moment a vision flashed before him.  A
line of miserable-looking men were standing before an awful
tribunal.  He knew who they were&mdash;the unjust judges of the
world who had corrupted justice.  All the grandeur in which they
had clothed themselves on earth was gone, and they were there in
the nakedness of their shame crying,
</p>

<p>
"Mercy!  Mercy!  Mercy!"
</p>

<p>
Stowell felt as if he were falling off the world into a void of
unfathomable night.  Then blindness fell upon the eyes of his
mind and he knew no more.
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p><a id="chap0643"></a></p>

<h3>
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
<br />
THE DAWN OF MORNING
</h3>

<p>
"Victor!  Victor!"
</p>

<p>
It was Janet's voice outside the door.
</p>

<p>
"Eh?"
</p>

<p>
"Six o'clock.  Didn't you want to catch the first train in
town, dear?"
</p>

<p>
"Oh yes!  All right.  I'll be down presently."
</p>

<p>
Stowell found it difficult to recover consciousness.  He was
lying on the sofa, and he looked around.  There was the
armchair&mdash;it was empty.  But the lamp on the bureau was still
burning.  He must have slept, for he was feeling refreshed and
even strong.
</p>

<p>
Leaping to his feet he blew out the lamp and pulled back the
window curtains.  It was a beautiful morning, tranquil as the
sky and noiseless as the dew.  Over the tops of the tall trees the
bald crown of old Snaefell was bathed in sunshine.
</p>

<p>
He was like another man.  Life had no terrors for him now.
It was just as if a curse had fallen from him in the night.  No
more visions!  No more spectres!  He knew what he had to do
and he would do it.  He had a sense of immense emancipation.
He felt like a slave who had broken the chain which he had
dragged after him for years.  He was a free man once more.
</p>

<p>
Throwing off coat and waistcoat he washed&mdash;lashing the cold
water over face and head and neck as if he were diving into one of
the dubs in the glen&mdash;and then went downstairs with a strong step.
</p>

<p>
Breakfast was not quite ready, so he stepped out over the
piazza, to the farm-yard.  The cheerful place was full of its
morning activities.  Cows were mooing their way to the grass of the
fields before barking dogs, and milkmaids were carrying their
frothing pails across to the dairy.
</p>

<p>
He saluted everybody he came upon.  "Good-morning, Betty!"
</p>

<p>
"Good-morning, Mary!"  The girls smiled and looked proud,
but they said afterwards that the young master's voice sounded
as if he were saying good-bye to them.
</p>

<p>
Unconsciously he was going about like one who was taking a
last look round before setting out on a long journey.  He went
into the stable, and Molly, his young chestnut mare, turned her
head and neighed at him.  He went into the empty cow-house, and
four young calves in boxes licked, with their long moist tongues,
the hand he held down to them.
</p>

<p>
On the way back to the house he met Robbie Creer, who was
full of another story of Mrs. Collister of Baldromma.  She had
taken the ground with the ebb tide, poor woman.  They had put
her into the asylum.  The doctors said her case was incurable.
She was always saying the old Dempster had come from the dead
to take her Bessie out of prison.
</p>

<p>
"But what a blessed end," said Stowell.  "She'll think her
daughter is in heaven, so she'll always be happy."
</p>

<p>
"It's like she will, Sir," said Robbie, looking puzzled, and
going indoors for his morning bowl of porridge he said to his wife,
</p>

<p>
"A mortal quare thing to say, though, and the woman in
the madhouse."
</p>

<p>
Stowell ate with an appetite (Janet plying him with coffee and
eggs and toasted muffins), and then young Robbie brought round
the dog-cart.  Janet helped him on with his light loose overcoat and
went to the door with him.
</p>

<p>
He paused there, pulling on his driving-gloves and thinking
what cruel pain the dear soul would suffer when she heard that
night what he had done during the day.  At last he threw his arms
about her and kissed her, saying with a gulp,
</p>

<p>
"Good-bye, mother!  God bless you!"
</p>

<p>
And then he sprang up into the cart, snatched at the reins,
pulled them taut, and (after the young mare had leapt on her
forelegs) darted away.
</p>

<p>
As he approached the turn of the drive where the house was
hidden by the trees he turned and looked back at it&mdash;what a home
to lose!
</p>

<p>
Janet, who was still at the porch, smoothing her silvery hair,
thought he had looked back at her, and she waved her hand to him.
Nobody had said a word to her, yet she knew he had been suffering
as a result of some terrible wrong-doing.  She thought she knew
what it was, too, and she had wept bitter tears over it.  But he
had not a fault in her eyes now.
</p>

<p>
Her boy!  Hers all the way up since he was a child and used
to run about the lawn in pinafores.  Heaven bless him!  He was
the best thing God had ever made.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
II
</p>

<p>
The train to town was full to overflowing.  The northside
people, having heard of yesterday's doings, were going up to see
for themselves "what them toots in Douglas" were doing.
</p>

<p>
In spite of the guard's deferential protests Stowell stepped
into an open third-class carriage.  It had been humming like a
beehive until then, but except for a general salutation it became
silent when he entered.
</p>

<p>
A draper's assistant who sat opposite handed him an English
newspaper, two days old, with an article on the escape from Castle
Rushen.  The incident was a disgrace to the insular administration,
and if the Governor could not offer a satisfactory explanation
the sooner the island's Home Rule came to an end the better
for Justice.
</p>

<p>
One or two of the passengers tried to draw Stowell into
conversation about the article, but he said little or nothing.  Then
some black-coated persons (well-to-do farmers and the like) gave
the talk another turn.
</p>

<p>
"Still and for all," said one, "that doesn't justify such doings
as there are in Douglas!"  "Chut!" said another.  "It isn't
justice the agitators are wanting, it's robbery."  "Truth enough,"
said a third, "it's the land they're after, and if the Governor
isn't doing something soon, there'll be not an acre left at the one
of us."  "Give them a pig of their own sow," said a fat farmer.
"Men like Qualtrough and Baldromma ought to be taken to
say and dropped overboard."
</p>

<p>
Again the passengers tried to draw Stowell into conversation,
and when they found they could not get him to speak to them
they spoke at him.
</p>

<p>
"Where's the big men of the island that they're not telling
the people they're bringing it to wreck and ruin?"
</p>

<p>
"When a man is claver&mdash;claver uncommon&mdash;and mighty with
the tongue, he ought to be showing the ignorant gommerals the
way they're going."
</p>

<p>
"Yes," said a little man (he was a local preacher), "when
a man has the gift it's his duty to the Lord to use it."
</p>

<p>
"He must be a right man though," said the fat farmer,
"straight as a mast himself, same as some we've had at
Ballamoar in the good ould days gone by."
</p>

<p>
There was silence for a moment after this, and then an old man
by the opposite window was heard to whisper,
</p>

<p>
"Lave him alone, men; he knows what hour the clock is
striking."
</p>

<p>
When the train reached Douglas, Stowell went off with a
heavy face.  It was remarked that he had not shaken hands&mdash;his
father used to shake hands with everybody.
</p>

<p>
"He's his father's son for all," said the old man by the window.
</p>

<p>
Stowell took the cable-car at the bottom of the Prospect Hill
which is at the foot of the town.  Douglas was still in a state of
agitation and the driver had as much as he could do to forge
his way, without accidents, through the tumultuous throngs in
the thoroughfare.
</p>

<p>
A cordon of red-coated soldiers from Castletown surrounded
Government office, and a noisy crowd (including women with
children) were jeering at them from the middle of the street, and
shouting up at the windows, under the impression that the
Governor was within.
</p>

<p>
The shops bore signs of yesterday's rioting&mdash;-many having
their shutters up, while the windows of others were barricaded with
new boarding.
</p>

<p>
Stowell got out of the car at the terminus and made the rest of
his journey afoot.  At the top of the hill, where the road turns
towards the Governor's house, he came upon a mass meeting.
From a horseless lorry, decorated with banners, a burly old ruffian
with shaggy grey hair (Qualtrough, M.H.K.) was speaking in a
voice of thunder, while, on the cross-seat by his side, Dan
Baldromma was sitting with the air of a martyr.
</p>

<p>
"There's a man on this platform who has gone to prison for
his principles.  That's what Justice in the Isle of Man is.  And
that's what they would like to be doing with the lot of ye, the big
ones of the island.  But, gentlemen and ladies, their rotten ould
ship is floating on the pumps and she'll soon be sinking."
</p>

<p>
When Stowell reached the Governor's gate he paused, being out
of breath and not so strong as he had imagined.  From that point
he could see a broad stretch of the coast, as well as the shadowy
outlines of the English hills on the other side of the channel.  A
steamer was sailing into the bay.  Perhaps she was bringing the
English cavalry the Governor had sent for.
</p>

<p>
Life is sweet when death is at the door.  At that last moment,
although he had thought his mind was made up, Stowell found that
his heart was failing him.  Must he go on?  Deliberately destroy
himself?  No outside power compelling him?  The world was
wide&mdash;why not leave all this wreck and ruin behind him and in
some other country begin life anew?
</p>

<p>
The moment of weakness passed and he went on.  Half way
up the drive, where the trees broke clear and the long white façade
of Government House became visible, he dropped his head.  He
was thinking of the last time he had been there and remembering
again the stinging words with which Fenella had driven him away.
But there was strength in the thought that he was about to break
the chain which he had dragged after him so long, and save his
people at the same time.
</p>

<p>
When the maid opened the door, he asked for the Governor.
</p>

<p>
"Yes, your Honour," said the maid, "but Miss Fenella wishes
to see you first, Sir."
</p>

<p>
His heart was beating hard when he stepped into the house.
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p><a id="chap0644"></a></p>

<h3>
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
<br />
"GOD GAVE HIM DOMINION"
</h3>

<p>
Three times during breakfast that morning Fenella had seen
somebody coming up the drive.  The first to come was the Major
from Castletown, riding at a fast trot.  On being shown into the
breakfast-room, with spurs clanking, he told the Governor
that a mob had gathered about Government Office and were
very threatening.
</p>

<p>
"Tell the Mayor to read the Riot Act, and then do what is
necessary for the protection of life and property," said the
Governor.
</p>

<p>
The second to come was the Chief Constable, driving rapidly in
a hackney carriage.  On entering the room with his heavy step, he
said the steamer from England was in sight and the soldiers would
be landed at the pier within half an hour.
</p>

<p>
"If the thoroughfares are still thronged with riotous mobs
at that time," said the Governor, "tell the cavalry to ride
through them."
</p>

<p>
The last to come up the drive was a solitary man afoot, walking
slowly and pausing at intervals as if his strength had failed him.
</p>

<p>
Fenella knew who it was, and rising hastily from the table she
went into the drawing-room.
</p>

<p>
When Stowell was brought in to her she was shocked at the
change in his appearance.  He looked ten years older.  His dark
hair had become white about the temples and his eyes were full of
a strange light.
</p>

<p>
"How he must have suffered," she thought, and an almost
overpowering desire took possession of her to put her arms about
him and comfort him.
</p>

<p>
He looked at her and the same thought and the same impulse
came to him.  But they were afraid of each other, and with the
surging ocean of their love between them they stood apart, but
trembling.  At length, trying not to look into each other's faces,
they began to speak.
</p>

<p>
"Fenella!"
</p>

<p>
"Victor!"
</p>

<p>
"You know why I have been sent for?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes, and that is why I want to speak to you before you see
my father.  There are things you ought to know."
</p>

<p>
"Yes?"
</p>

<p>
"Mr. Vondy, the jailer from Castle Rushen, was here two
days ago, to be examined by the Governor, the Attorney-General
and the Chief Constable."
</p>

<p>
"Did he say anything?"
</p>

<p>
"Not to them."
</p>

<p>
"To you, perhaps?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes.  I brought him in here.  He told me what occurred
after I left the Castle."
</p>

<p>
"Then you know?"
</p>

<p>
She dropped her head and answered "Yes."
</p>

<p>
"I had to do it, Fenella&mdash;I thought I had to."
</p>

<p>
A moment passed.
</p>

<p>
"He asked me to tell you that he would keep his word to you,
whatever happened."
</p>

<p>
"Did he say that?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes."
</p>

<p>
A spasm in Stowell's throat seemed to be stifling him.
</p>

<p>
"I did wrong, Fenella, terribly wrong, but there is one thing
I will ask of you."
</p>

<p>
"What is it, Victor?"
</p>

<p>
"Not to judge me until you know what I've come to do to-day."
</p>

<p>
Fenella, deeply affected, thought she caught a glimpse of
his meaning.
</p>

<p>
"Do you intend to resign, Victor?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes, but that is not all."
</p>

<p>
"What is, Victor?" She was thinking of his exile, his
possible banishment.
</p>

<p>
"Perhaps I am speaking to you for the last time, Fenella.
That's why I am glad you have given me this opportunity of
seeing you."
</p>

<p>
She trembled, thinking he meant suicide, and said in a
choking voice,
</p>

<p>
"You don't mean that you intend to take your .... No, no,
that is impossible.  Think of your father."
</p>

<p>
Stowell did not speak for a moment.  Then he said,
</p>

<p>
"I saw him last night, Fenella."
</p>

<p>
"Who?"
</p>

<p>
"My father.  I was thinking of that as a way out of all this
miserable wrong-doing, when he came to warn me."
</p>

<p>
"How he must have suffered," thought Fenella.
</p>

<p>
"But perhaps you think it was only a delusion?"
</p>

<p>
"Indeed no!  If the spirits of our dear ones may not come
back to speak to us in our times of temptation...."
</p>

<p>
"But my father was not the only one who spoke to me last
night, Fenella."
</p>

<p>
"Who else did, Victor?"
</p>

<p>
"You.  I heard you as plainly as I hear you now."
</p>

<p>
Fenella's bosom was heaving.  "When was that?" she asked.
</p>

<p>
"In the middle of the night.  But perhaps you were in bed
and asleep at that time."
</p>

<p>
"No .... no, I did not sleep until after daybreak.  In the
middle of the night I was" .... (she was breathing audibly)
"I was praying."
</p>

<p>
He looked up at her with his heavy eyes.
</p>

<p>
"Were you praying for me, Fenella?"
</p>

<p>
She cast down her eyes and answered "Yes."
</p>

<p>
Another moment passed, and then in a husky voice he said,
</p>

<p>
"Fenella, what did you pray for for me?"
</p>

<p>
"That you might have strength to do what was right,
whatever it might cost you."
</p>

<p>
He reached forward and grasped her hands.
</p>

<p>
"Did you know what that meant, Fenella&mdash;whatever it might
cost me?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes," she said, raising her eyes, "and at length an answer
came to me."
</p>

<p>
"What answer?"
</p>

<p>
"That if you did, and made atonement, however low you
might fall in the eyes of men you would look upon the face
of God."
</p>

<p>
Stowell gasped, dropped her hands and for a while was
speechless.  Then he said,
</p>

<p>
"And do you think I will?"
</p>

<p>
"I am sure you will, Victor.  I had a sign from God."
</p>

<p>
"Do you, after all, believe in God, Fenella?"
</p>

<p>
"Indeed yes.  And you&mdash;don't you??"
</p>

<p>
"My father did.  He used to kneel by his bed like a little
child every night and every morning."
</p>

<p>
She saw that he did not speak for himself, and a great wave
of love and compassion for the sin-laden man stormed her heart.
</p>

<p>
"Victor," she said, tears springing to her eyes, "you must try
to forgive me.  I've not been what I ought to have been to you&mdash;I
see that now.  Whatever you have done I should have clung to
you, not driven you away from me, and let you go on from sin to
sin, doubting God's mercy and forgiveness.  Let me do so now.
We belong to each other, Victor.  There can never be anybody
else for either of us as long as we live.  Let us go together."
</p>

<p>
She had seized his hands.  The hands of both were trembling.
</p>

<p>
"Would to God you could, Fenella.  But it is too late for that
now.  I have gone too far for you to follow me.  Where I go
now I must go alone."
</p>

<p>
"Don't say that."
</p>

<p>
"Wait until I have seen your father."
</p>

<p>
At that moment the maid came into the room to tell the
Deemster that the Governor, having heard that he was in the
house, wished to see him immediately.
</p>

<p>
Stowell was turning to go, when Fenella put a trembling hand
on his shoulder and said in a whisper,
</p>

<p>
"Victor, whatever happens with my father, promise me that
you will never do that."
</p>

<p>
"But if the Governor...."
</p>

<p>
"Never mind about the Governor now, promise me."
</p>

<p>
There was a moment of silence and then he said, "I promise,"
and with head down passed out of the room.
</p>

<p>
Being alone, Fenella tried in vain to compose herself.  The
fear that Stowell might kill himself (as a result of the public
exposure and humiliation which the Governor would impose upon
him) threw her into violent agitation.
</p>

<p>
Unable to support the strain of her anxiety she could not resist
the temptation to listen at the door of her father's room.  She
heard the two voices within&mdash;Stowell's in tones of pitiful supplication,
her father's in accents of fierce expostulation.  At length
she heard her own name mentioned and then she could contain
herself no longer.
</p>

<p>
Opening the door noiselessly she entered the room.  The two
men were face to face, looking at each other with flaming eyes.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
II
</p>

<p>
"Come in, Stowell.  I'm glad you're early.  I wanted a word
with you before the others arrived.  Sit down."
</p>

<p>
The Governor too was violently agitated.  He was striding
about the room.  His grey hair, usually brushed down with military
precision, was loose and disordered, as if he had been running his
hands through it, and his pipe, still alight and as if forgotten,
was smoking on the arm of his chair.
</p>

<p>
"You came by train?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes."
</p>

<p>
"Then you saw the soldiers.  I had to do it.  I couldn't
allow this raggabash to take possession of the island.  There may
be casualties, but the shortest way is the most merciful&mdash;that's
my experience.  Sit down.  Why don't you sit down?"
</p>

<p>
But the Governor went on walking and Stowell continued
to stand.
</p>

<p>
"They say this rioting is the sequel to the escape from Castle
Rushen.  Only an excuse, of course, but that makes no difference.
If we are to justify our administration of Justice in the eyes of
the authorities across the water we must re-capture those runaways.
The man&mdash;the guilty man in particular&mdash;must be locked up in
prison.  The Attorney and the Colonel will be here presently.
You'll be able to help them to the personal description they
want&mdash;nobody better&mdash;and then issue the warrant."
</p>

<p>
Stowell, who had been clutching the back of a chair behind
which he was standing with a fixed stare, said in a quivering voice,
</p>

<p>
"I'm sorry, your Excellency.  I cannot do that."
</p>

<p>
"Eh?  Cannot do what?"
</p>

<p>
"I cannot issue the warrant for the arrest of Alick Gell for
breaking prison because...."
</p>

<p>
"Well?"
</p>

<p>
Stowell swallowed something in his throat and continued
.... "because <i>I</i> did it."
</p>

<p>
The Governor drew up sharply and said,
</p>

<p>
"What's the matter with you?  Are you ill?"
</p>

<p>
Stowell, who had recovered himself, answered,
</p>

<p>
"No, I am not ill, your Excellency."
</p>

<p>
"Then you must be mad&mdash;stark mad.  It's impossible.  You
can never have done such a thing."
</p>

<p>
"I am not mad either, Sir.  What I tell you is the truth&mdash;it
is God's truth, Sir."
</p>

<p>
And then, excusing nothing, extenuating nothing, Stowell told
the Governor what he had done, and how he had done it.
</p>

<p>
"I used my official position to effect the escape of the prisoner,
and I arranged for her flight, with her companion, to a
foreign country."
</p>

<p>
The Governor listened without drawing breath.
</p>

<p>
"But why .... why did you .... was it because I
refused to remit...."
</p>

<p>
"No, I did it because I came to see that the law which permitted
you to order the execution of that girl was a crime, and that
a higher law called upon me to undo it."
</p>

<p>
"A crime?  Good Lord, what if it was?  What had you to do
with that?"
</p>

<p>
"I had tried and condemned her.  And besides, I had my
personal reasons for wishing the prisoner to escape punishment."
</p>

<p>
"But damn it all, man, when you were doing all this for the
girl, didn't you see what you were doing for yourself?"
</p>

<p>
"Not then.  But now I see that in preventing the law from
committing a crime I committed a crime against the law, and am
no longer fit to be a Judge.  That's why I'm here now, Sir&mdash;not
to issue that warrant, but to resign my judgeship."
</p>

<p>
"Resign your judgeship?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes, but that's not all&mdash;to ask you to order my arrest and
commit me to prison."
</p>

<p>
The Governor, who had been half stupefied, took possession of
himself at last.
</p>

<p>
"Commit you to prison?  Good heavens, what are you saying?
A Deemster in prison!  Whoever heard of such a thing!"
</p>

<p>
"I am guilty of a crime against Justice...." began
Stowell, but the Governor bore him down.
</p>

<p>
"Tush!  I don't care for the moment whether you are or are
not.  Neither do I care whether the law which condemned the
prisoner to death, was or was not a crime.  What I have to deal
with is the present situation.  You say you want me to order
your arrest&mdash;is that it?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes, you said yourself the guilty man ought to be in prison."
</p>

<p>
"But heavens alive, man, can't you see the disgrace?  Gell is
a private person, while you are a Judge, the Judge who tried and
condemned the prisoner.  What is to happen to Justice in the
island if a Judge is condemned and imprisoned?"
</p>

<p>
Stowell tried to speak, but again the Governor bore him down.
</p>

<p>
"Oh, I know what you'll say&mdash;you'll talk about your conscience.
But what is your conscience to me against the honour of
the public service and the welfare of the whole community?"
</p>

<p>
"The honour of the public service cannot rest on a lie, Sir," said
Stowell.  "It would be a living lie if I continued to be a Judge,
and the only way to save the island is to tell it the truth, no
matter what...."
</p>

<p>
"Don't talk damned nonsense."
</p>

<p>
Stowell drew himself up.
</p>

<p>
"Do you wish me, then, to issue that warrant against Alick Gell
now that you know that I am myself the guilty man?"
</p>

<p>
The Governor flinched for a moment, then smote the top of his
desk and said,
</p>

<p>
"I know nothing of the kind, Sir, and don't want to know.
I believe you're mad&mdash;made mad by the ordeal you have lately
gone through.  Nothing will make me believe the contrary."
</p>

<p>
There was silence after that for several minutes.  Then the
Governor, who had thrown himself in his chair, said in a softer tone,
</p>

<p>
"Stowell, listen to me.  I partly understand you.  But even if
you did this unbelievable thing, and are satisfied you did it from
a good motive, why can't you hold your tongue about it?"
</p>

<p>
"I have thought of that, Sir," said Stowell, with a tremor in
his voice.  "I have fought it all out with myself.  Believe me I
would have given all I have in the world not to have had to come
here on this errand.  But the life of a Judge would be impossible
to me with a lie like that for its foundation.  My work cannot
be a mockery, Sir.  I cannot allow another to suffer for what
I have done."
</p>

<p>
The Governor leapt up from his seat.
</p>

<p>
"You talk about others suffering for what you have done&mdash;have
you forgotten how many others must suffer if I allow you
to do what you want to do now?  Think of your island&mdash;your
native island&mdash;do you want to cover it with dishonour?  Think
of your profession&mdash;do you want to load it with disgrace?  Think
of your father, who loved you as no father ever loved a son.  We
put up his portrait in the court-house the other day&mdash;do you want
to pull it down?  And then think of me&mdash;I suppose I ran some
risk when I recommended you for your position...."
</p>

<p>
Stowell was trying to speak, but again the Governor put up
his hand..
</p>

<p>
"Oh, you needn't thank me.  Perhaps I wasn't acting altogether
unselfishly.  I may have been wanting somebody to stand
by me now that I'm growing old, somebody like your father&mdash;able
to fight these rascals who are trying to ruin everything.  And
when you came along, you whom I had known since you were a boy,
the son of my old friend, who was to be my son some day...."
</p>

<p>
The Governor, startled by the emotion that was coming over
him, broke away and crossed the room, saying,
</p>

<p>
"But damn it all, why need I talk of myself?  There's
Fenella&mdash;have you forgotten Fenella?"
</p>

<p>
It was at this moment that Fenella entered the room.  Neither
of the men saw her.  She stood noiselessly at the door.
</p>

<p>
"If I do what you want, order your arrest, what's the first
question the Court will ask you&mdash;why did you help the prisoner
to escape?  Then the whole wretched story of your relations with
the girl Collister will come out.  And what will be the result?
Fenella's name will become a byword.  It will be the common talk
of every slut in the island that she came second after your
woman .... your offal."
</p>

<p>
Stowell flamed up with anger for a moment, and then choked
with tears.  After a short silence he said,
</p>

<p>
"I can never be sufficiently grateful to you, Sir, for what
you've done for me.  As for Fenella, I can hardly trust myself to
speak.  The thought of her suffering is the bitterest part of my
own.  I would live out the rest of my life on my knees if I could
undo the wrong I have done her.  But I cannot bring her down
with me.  I cannot take up again my life as a Judge after it has
been so hideously disfigured and ask her to share it.  Let me
go to prison...."
</p>

<p>
Sobbing in his throat Stowell could go no further.  Fenella,
sobbing in her heart, crept noiselessly out of the room.
</p>

<p>
The Governor, in spite of himself, was visibly affected.
</p>

<p>
"Look here, my boy," he said.  "I'll tell you what I'll do.
It's going far, perhaps too far for the safety of the public service,
but to prevent worse things happening I'll take the risk.  I'll stop
that warrant and hush up this miserable scandal on one
condition&mdash;that you say nothing, take leave of absence on grounds of
ill-health, go abroad and never come back again."
</p>

<p>
Stowell shook his head.
</p>

<p>
"Why not?  Good gracious, why not?  The guilty ones have
gone.  Your secret is safe.  Except ourselves, nobody knows it.
Why shouldn't you?"
</p>

<p>
"I dare not," said Stowell.
</p>

<p>
"Dare not?"
</p>

<p>
"I have committed a crime.  If I do not pay for it in this
life I must do so hereafter.  Therefore I ask for my
punishment now."
</p>

<p>
The Governor got the better of his emotion.
</p>

<p>
"So you wish to resign your office and ask me to order your
arrest?  Well, I won't do it.  I am the only authority to whom
you can resign and I decline to accept your resignation&mdash;I refuse
to transmit it to the Home Authorities.  What you wish to do
would undermine the stability of law and the authority of
Government.  It would humiliate me and destroy my daughter's
happiness.  Therefore I not only refuse to receive your resignation.
I forbid it."
</p>

<p>
Stowell hesitated for a moment and then said,
</p>

<p>
"In that case, your Excellency, you will force me to denounce
myself."
</p>

<p>
"Denounce....?  You mean in open Court?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes, it will be my duty, and I shall be compelled to do it."
</p>

<p>
The Governor's wrath became rage.  With a ring of sarcasm
in his voice he said,
</p>

<p>
"Very well!  Very well!  I cannot prevent you.  Denounce
yourself in open Court if you are so unwise, so insane.  But
understand&mdash;if you are compelled to do your duty, <i>I</i> shall be compelled
to do mine also.  After you have made your public confession and
the Courts have dealt with you, I shall issue the warrant just the
same.  You say the fugitives have gone to a foreign country, but
no foreign country will refuse to give up a condemned murderess.
The woman shall be brought back and executed according to the
sentence you pronounced upon her.  More than that, your friend,
your confederate, shall be brought back also, and dealt with
according to his crime.  Therefore your public confession will be
of no avail.  It will be an empty farce, ruining three lives that
might otherwise have been saved."
</p>

<p>
Stowell trembled, his lips became white.
</p>

<p>
"I beg you not to do that, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"I will!  I take God to witness that I will.  Now choose for
yourself which it is to be&mdash;your course or mine?"
</p>

<p>
Stowell breathed hard for a moment and then smiled&mdash;but
such a smile!
</p>

<p>
"Your Excellency," he said, "for your own sake I beg of you
not to do it."
</p>

<p>
"My sake?" said the Governor, drawing up sharply&mdash;he had
been striding about the room again.
</p>

<p>
"Yes, yours," said Stowell.  "One of those two was my victim,
the other was merely the subject of my will.  I alone am
guilty, and if I cannot meet my punishment without bringing such
consequences on the innocent I must meet something else."
</p>

<p>
"What else?"
</p>

<p>
"Death.  Then, in the eyes of heaven, the crime against the
law will be <i>your</i> crime and I shall not live to witness it."
</p>

<p>
There was a breathless silence.  The Governor was dumb-founded.
Stowell stepped towards the door and said in a low voice,
</p>

<p>
"God forgive you, Sir.  You will never see me again."
</p>

<p>
At that moment the maid entered the room to announce the
Attorney-General and the Chief Constable, who came in
immediately behind her.
</p>

<p>
"Ah, Victor, how are you?" said the Attorney.  "Your
Excellency, we have brought the Warrant."
</p>

<p>
"And here," said the Chief Constable, with an obsequious
bow to Stowell, "is the Deemster ready to issue it."
</p>

<p>
Nobody spoke, and the Chief Constable, taking a paper out of
a long envelope, proceeded to read it:
</p>

<p>
"<i>This is to command you to whom this Warrant is addressed
forthwith to apprehend Alexander Gell....</i>"
</p>

<p>
"That will do.  Give it to me," said the Governor.
</p>

<p>
When the Warrant had been given to him he tore it up and
threw it into the fire.  The two men were aghast.
</p>

<p>
"Your Excellency, what .... what...."
</p>

<p>
"This damnable thing must go no further.  Let me hear no
more about it."
</p>

<p>
After saying this the Governor's strength seemed to leave him.
He dropped into a chair before the fire and gazed at the
blazing paper.
</p>

<p>
Stowell's trembling hand was on the handle of the door.
</p>

<p>
"I thank you for what you've done, Sir," he said, "and wish
to God the matter could end there.  But it cannot .... it
cannot."
</p>

<p>
He went out.  The two men looked into each other's faces.  A
flash of understanding passed between them, and, without a word
more, they stepped out of the room.
</p>

<p>
Meantime, Stowell, going down the corridor, felt a hand that
had been stretched out from the drawing-room, taking hold of his
arm and drawing him in.  It was Fenella's.  Her face was utterly
broken up.  Flinging her arms about him she kissed him
passionately.
</p>

<p>
"Victor," she said, "do as your heart bids you.  Don't think
of me any longer.  I am with you in life or death.  If you have
to go to prison I will go with you, and if...."
</p>

<p>
Unable to say more she broke away from him and hurried into
an inner room.
</p>

<p>
The front door rang as Stowell pulled it after him, and when
he walked down the drive with a high step his head was up and
his ravished face aglow.
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p class="t3">
END OF SIXTH BOOK
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p><a id="chap0745"></a></p>

<h2>
SEVENTH BOOK
<br />
THE RESURRECTION
</h2>

<p><br /></p>

<h3>
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
<br />
THE WAY OF THE CROSS
</h3>

<p>
There had been wild doings in Douglas since the Chief Constable's
visit to Government House.  Stones had been thrown and
windows broken.  At length the Mayor, not without personal risk,
had read the Riot Act from the steps of the Town Hall.
</p>

<p>
The result had been the reverse of what the Governor expected.
The police, a small force, had charged the mob with their
batons, but they had soon been overpowered.  Then the soldiers
from Castletown, a little company of eighty, had attempted to
intimidate the crowd with their rifles, but twice as many stalwart
fishermen, coming up behind, had disarmed them.  After that the
people had surged through the streets in delirious triumph.
</p>

<p>
At ten o'clock the throng was densest outside Government
Office, which stands midway on the steep declivity of the Prospect
Hill.  The police and the soldiers had as much as they could do
to guard the doors of the building.  The space in front of it was
packed with people of both sexes and all ages.  They were
squirming about like worms on an upturned sod.  There were loud
shouts and derisive cries.
</p>

<p>
"Down with the Governor!"
</p>

<p>
"Tell him the steamer leaves for England at nine in
the morning."
</p>

<p>
Suddenly, with the rapidity of a desert wind, word went
through the crowd that mounted soldiers from England had just
been landed at the pier, and were riding up the principal
thoroughfares, driving everything before them.
</p>

<p>
A cold fear came, culminating in terror.  Presently the
cavalry were seen to turn the bottom of the hill.  They were
swinging the flats of their swords to scatter the crowd.  The people
screamed and ran in frantic haste to the parapets on either side
of the street.  In a moment the broad space in front of
Government Office was clear.
</p>

<p>
Clear, save for one tiny object.  It was a child, a little girl
of four, who had been clinging to her mother's skirts and in the
scramble had lost her hold of them.
</p>

<p>
The cavalry were now coming up the hill at a gallop and
the little one's danger was seen by all.
</p>

<p>
"Save the child," people shouted, and more than one ran out
a few paces and then ran back, for the horses seemed to be almost
upon them.  The mother was screaming and trying to break into
the open, but women were holding her back.
</p>

<p>
At that moment a man, whom nobody recognised at first,
pushed his way through the crowd with powerful arms, and
darted out in the direction of the child.
</p>

<p>
"Come back; you'll be killed," cried someone, but the others
held their breath.
</p>

<p>
At the next instant the man was lost to sight in the midst of
the cavalry.  In the confused movement that followed one of the
horses was seen to rear and swing aside, as if it had been struck
in the mouth by a strong hand.
</p>

<p>
When the crowd were conscious of what happened next the
cavalry had galloped past, with its clang of hoofs and rattle of
steel, and the broad space was once more empty.
</p>

<p>
Empty save for the man.  His head was bare, his hand was
bleeding, and the skirt of the loose overcoat he wore was torn as if
a sword had accidentally slashed it.  But in his arms was the
child&mdash;unhurt and untouched.
</p>

<p>
Then the people saw who he was.  He was the Deemster, and
they crowded about him.  He gave the little one back to its
mother, who had a still younger child at her breast, and was too
breathless from fright to thank him.
</p>

<p>
He tried to conceal himself in the crowd, but they followed
him&mdash;down the hill to Athol Street, where the Court-house is&mdash;a
long train, chiefly of women and children, with wet eyes and open
mouths, crying to him and to each other,
</p>

<p>
"The Deemster!  God bless him!"
</p>

<p>
They thought he was going to the Court-house to sit on the
bench as Judge, but when he came to the big portico he passed it,
and, turning down a side street, he stopped at a little black door
and knocked.
</p>

<p>
The door was opened by a police sergeant who was not wearing
his helmet.  The Deemster stepped into the vault-like place
within and the door was closed behind him.
</p>

<p>
It was the Douglas prison.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
II
</p>

<p>
The High Bailiff of Douglas held a Court that day.  The
court-house was almost empty.  Not more than six or seven
persons sat in the places assigned to the public.  Three young
reporters yawned over their note-books in their box beside the wall.
In the well allotted to Counsel there were only two advocates in
wig and gown.
</p>

<p>
A few bare-headed policemen stood near the bench and the
Clerk of the Court sat under it.  There was nobody else in the
court-house except the High Bailiff himself, an elderly man with
a red face and a benevolent expression.
</p>

<p>
He was trying a number of petty cases, chiefly of larceny and
drunkenness.  The light was low and the voices echoed in the
vacant chamber.  But from time to time a deadened rumble came
from the streets outside&mdash;the clang of horses' hoofs, the derisive
cries of a crowd, the loud shout of a commanding officer, and
then a scamper of feet that was like heavy rain pelting down
on the pavement.
</p>

<p>
Behind the Jury-box, which was empty, there was a door that
led to the prison below.  The last case was being heard when this
door was opened and the Chief Constable came up into Court,
followed by Stowell and a policeman.  The Chief Constable took
a seat in the advocates' well; Stowell and the policeman sat on the
public benches.
</p>

<p>
When the High Bailiff, who was a great respecter of authority,
saw the Deemster enter, he sent a policeman to ask him
to come up to a seat by his side on the bench, but Stowell shook
his head.
</p>

<p>
The case being tried was that of a farmer who was charged
with driving his country cart on the high road without a stern
light.  The defence was that the lamp was alight when he left
town, and had been put out by a high wind that was blowing.
On this issue there was a long questioning and cross-questioning by
the advocates, but at length the case came to a close.
</p>

<p>
"Half-a-crown and costs," said the High Bailiff; and then
reaching over to his clerk he asked if that was the last case for
the day.
</p>

<p>
"Yes, your Worship," said the Clerk, and the High Bailiff
was pushing back his chair, when the Chief Constable rose with
an air of importance.
</p>

<p>
"Your Worship, I have a serious charge to make."
</p>

<p>
He beckoned to the policeman at the back, who opened the
door of the dock and Stowell stepped into it.
</p>

<p>
"I charge his Honour Deemster Victor Stowell, on his own
confession, with breaking prison on Sunday night last between the
hours of ten and twelve, to effect the escape from custody of a
prisoner lying there under sentence of death."
</p>

<p>
The High Bailiff seemed to be stupefied and the charge had
to be repeated to him.
</p>

<p>
"Eh?  What?  God bless my soul!  On his own confession,
you say?  Is the Deemster well?  What conceivable motive...."
</p>

<p>
"I will give formal evidence, your Worship, and ask for a
committal to General Gaol, when the question of motive will be
fully gone into."
</p>

<p>
"Well, well!  Good gracious me!  If it must be it must.  It
is my painful duty to put the Deemster back for trial.  But I
suggest that a doctor be asked to see him immediately.  And
meantime" (the High Bailiff turned to the reporters, who were
now busy enough over their note-books), "may I request the
representatives of the press to publish nothing about this painful
matter at present?"
</p>

<p>
It was all over in a few minutes.  The door behind the Jury-box
was opened again and Stowell and the policeman returned
to the cells.
</p>

<p>
In less than half-an-hour the news was all over the town.
Special editions of the newspapers (single sheets) had been run
off in furious haste, and the newsboys were shouting through
the streets,
</p>

<p class="t3">
  <i>Arrest of Deemster Victor Stowell.</i><br />
</p>

<p>
The news fell on the public like a thunderbolt.  It eclipsed
their interest in the soldiers.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
III
</p>

<p>
Like lightning out of a thunder-cloud the news fell on
Government House also.  On hearing it the Governor, who had been
thinking less about the riot than about Stowell's last words if
him, broke into uncontrollable rage.
</p>

<p>
"The fool!  The infernal fool!  After I had given him such
a chance, too!"
</p>

<p>
With a determined step he went into the library, where Fenella
was writing letters, and broke the news to her with a kind of
fierce joy.  At first her eyes filled with tears and then a proud
smile shone through them.
</p>

<p>
"You were right after all, Fenella.  I see now that you must
throw the man up," said the Governor.
</p>

<p>
"On the contrary," said Fenella.  "Now I must stand by him."
</p>

<p>
"What on earth do you mean?"
</p>

<p>
"I mean that Victor has justified himself."
</p>

<p>
"Justified himself?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes.  The only thing I was afraid of was that he might take
his life to escape from his dishonour.  But now that he has made
his choice I have made mine also."
</p>

<p>
"Your choice?"
</p>

<p>
"I cannot cut him out of my heart because he has been brave
enough to face the consequences of his crime."
</p>

<p>
"But good heavens, girl, don't you see that he will be brought
up for trial, and then all the wretched story of the Collister girl
will come out?"
</p>

<p>
"I'm prepared for that, father."
</p>

<p>
"Fenella," said the Governor, white with the passion that was
mastering him, "if you were my son instead of my daughter do
you know what I should do with you?"
</p>

<p>
"You mean you would turn me out of the house?  There will
be no need for that&mdash;I will go of myself, father."
</p>

<p>
"Fenella!  Fenella!" cried the Governor, recovering himself,
but Fenella had gone from the room.
</p>

<p>
The Governor returned to his smoking-room.  For a long half-hour
he ranged about, kicking things out of his way, ringing bells
and snapping at the servants.  What was Fenella doing?  Could
it be possible that she was taking him at his word?  Unable to
contain himself any longer he sent for Miss Green.  He got
nothing out of the old lady except lamentations.
</p>

<p>
"Oh, dear, oh dear, what is the world coming to?"
</p>

<p>
At length, with an air of authority, he went up to Fenella's
bedroom, and found her on her knees before an open trunk into
which she was packing her clothes.
</p>

<p>
"Fenella," he said, "this is nonsense.  It cannot be."
</p>

<p>
"I'm afraid it must be, father."
</p>

<p>
"Look here, girl, when a man's angry he doesn't always mean
what he says.  I never meant you were to go."
</p>

<p>
"It's better that I should, father."
</p>

<p>
The Governor struggled hard with his pride and said,
</p>

<p>
"Listen.  Don't make me ridiculous in the eyes of the whole
island, Fenella.  I may not have acted wisely in relation to
Stowell and the advice I gave him&mdash;I see that now.  But if so
perhaps it was because I was thinking less of the public service
than of you.  If you were a father you would understand that.
But you cannot wish to leave me.  You are my only child.  I am
your father, remember.  What, after all, is this man to you?"
</p>

<p>
Fenella leaned back on her heels and her eyelids quivered
for a moment.  Then she said,
</p>

<p>
"We are told that a man must leave father and mother and
cling to his wife, and surely it's the same with a woman and her
husband.  Victor is my husband, or soon will be."
</p>

<p>
"Good Lord, what are you saying, girl?"
</p>

<p>
"I promised myself to him, and I intend to keep my promise."
</p>

<p>
"But he's a prisoner, and if the governing authority
objects...."
</p>

<p>
"In that case I'll wait until he is a prisoner no longer, and
then .... then I'll marry him."
</p>

<p>
"That you never shall.  Not in this island anyway.  No
clergyman here will marry you to that man against my wish."
</p>

<p>
"Then I'll go to him just the same."
</p>

<p>
"What?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes, I'm prepared even for that sacrifice."
</p>

<p>
"You're mad.  You're both mad&mdash;stark mad."
</p>

<p>
Again the Governor returned to his smoking-room.  After a
while he heard a hackney carriage coming up the drive to the
porch, and then old John, the watchman, lugging a trunk along
the corridor.  A moment later, looking through the window, he saw
Fenella, in the blue and white costume of her Settlement (the
same in which, with so much pride, he had brought her up to the
house from the pier in his big landau), stepping into the coach.
</p>

<p>
Then his anger and emotion together burst all bounds.  He
tore open his door with the intention of countermanding Fenella's
orders and driving the hackney carriage off his grounds.  But
before he could bring himself to do so he heard the door of the
carriage close and saw its wheels moving away.
</p>

<p>
Miss Green came back to the house with her handkerchief to
her eyes, saying,
</p>

<p>
"She was crying as if her heart would break, poor darling!"
</p>

<p>
The Governor went slowly back to his room once more.  The
masterful man, who had never known before what it was to have
tears in his eyes, was utterly broken.  He had lost his daughter;
he was to be a childless man henceforward; he was to spend the
rest of his life alone.  But after a while he thought of Stowell as
the man who had taken Fenella from him, and his anger rose again.
</p>

<p>
"He wants punishment, does he?  Very well, he shall have it,
and damned quick too."
</p>

<p>
Two hours later Fenella was at Castle Rushen, in the living-room
of the new jailer and his wife.
</p>

<p>
"I hear you want a female warder, and I've come to offer
myself," she said.
</p>

<p>
The new jailer, who was embarrassed, stammered something
about menial labour, but Fenella was not to be gainsaid.
</p>

<p>
"I'm a trained nurse, and have experience in managing
people&mdash;will you take me?"
</p>

<p>
"Well .... if the Governor doesn't .... for the present,
perhaps."
</p>

<p>
"For good," said Fenella.
</p>

<p>
Within a few minutes she was settled in her new quarters&mdash;a
large, dark, cell-like chamber, of irregular shape, with a
deeply-recessed window, a piece of cocoa-nut matting,
a deal table, a chair,
a wash-stand and a truckle bed.
</p>

<p>
Two hundred years before it had been the 'tiring room of the
greatest of her ancestors, Charlotte de la Tremouille (Countess
of Derby), when, in the absence of her husband, she held the
fortress for weeks against the siege of Cromwell's forces.
</p>

<p>
The blood of the Stanleys was in it still.
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p><a id="chap0746"></a></p>

<h3>
CHAPTER FORTY-SIX
<br />
VICTORY THROUGH DEFEAT
</h3>

<p>
A little later Stowell was brought up for trial at a special
sitting of the Court of General Gaol Delivery held in Douglas.
</p>

<p>
"This wretched case has injured the credit of the island in
England," said the Governor to the Attorney-General.  The sooner
it was over and done with the better.
</p>

<p>
For a long half-hour before the proceedings began the courthouse
was dark with men.  Indignation against Stowell had succeeded
to astonishment.  Piecing things together (from Fenella's
outburst in Court to Gell's threat of personal violence against the
Deemster) people had arrived at something like the truth.  The
lips which a few days before had saluted Stowell with cries of
worshipful lover were ready to break into shouts of execration.
</p>

<p>
The scoundrel!  The traitor!  Poor young Gell!  And then
that girl Collister was not so bad as they had thought her.
</p>

<p>
Stowell's enemies had been crowing with satisfaction.  "Well,
what did I tell you?" said Hudgeon, the advocate.  And
Qualtrough, M.H.K., repeated what he had said in the smoking-room
of the Keys&mdash;you had only to give the rascal rope and he would
hang himself.
</p>

<p>
His friends were yet more deadly.  Nearly all had deserted
him.  The good things they had said had been forgotten.  Every
bad thing they could remember was revived, as far back as his
reckless days at Mount Murray as a young man and his expulsion
from King William's as a boy.  He was a man of straw.  It was
surprising what people had seen in him, and astonishing that the
Governor had recommended him for the position of Deemster.
</p>

<p>
The press had been silent, from fear of the penalties of
contempt, but the pulpit (Sunday having intervened) had been loud
with platitudes, inspired by the text, "Be sure your sin will find
you out."
</p>

<p>
When the time came for the Judges to enter the court-house
the atmosphere was rank with evil passions and the acid odour of
perspiring people.
</p>

<p>
Taubman was the Deemster.  Although tortured by rheumatism
he had dragged himself out of bed, having scented an opportunity
of gaining favour with the Governor.
</p>

<p>
The Governor presided, as it was his duty to do, but it was
remarked that except for one moment on taking his seat, when he
looked round at the open-mouthed spectators with an expression
which seemed to say, "What a race!" he never raised his eyes.
</p>

<p>
It was a short trial, and rarely had there been a more irregular
one.  Taubman was notorious for his legal deficiencies.  In earlier
days Stowell, in one of his "Limericks," had christened him "Old
Necessity," because "necessity knew no law."  He had long been
jealous of Stowell's popularity and particularly of his rapid rise
to a position which he had had to wait forty years for.  Now he
had the "upstart" in his hand at last.
</p>

<p>
When the case was called Stowell was brought up by two
policemen and placed in the dock.  His cheeks were very pale and
his eyes heavy as with unshed tears.  It was almost as if his
youth had stepped with one stride into age.  But suffering gives a
certain sublimity, and it was said afterwards that never before had
he looked so strong and noble.
</p>

<p>
The spectators saw nothing of that now.  His calm seemed
to them to be callousness.  He did not appear to see the scorching
glances they cast at him.  The last time they had seen him in
Court he was on the bench, now he was in the dock, and they would
have been better pleased if, in the dread certainty of his fate, he
had betrayed the fellness of terror.  But except for one moment,
when he turned slowly round to look at them, and their murmurs
ceased suddenly at full sight of his face, he seemed to them to
have forgotten the shame of the place he stood in.
</p>

<p>
Taubman, in a rasping voice, read out the charge to the
prisoner and called on him to plead.
</p>

<p>
"How say you, are you Guilty or Not Guilty?"
</p>

<p>
"Guilty," said Stowell in a clear voice, and then, after a
moment of merciless silence, there was a deep drawing of breath.
</p>

<p>
"Had you any accomplices?"
</p>

<p>
"None."
</p>

<p>
"Humph!  And what was your motive in committing this
crime?"
</p>

<p>
Again there was a moment of merciless silence, and then
Stowell, speaking very slowly, said,
</p>

<p>
"I had seduced the prisoner and was therefore the first cause
of her crime."
</p>

<p>
Ah!  There was another long indrawing of breath among the
spectators.  It was a wonder the man didn't fall dead with shame!
</p>

<p>
"And what, if you please, was your reason for making
this confession?"
</p>

<p>
"I could not allow an innocent person to suffer for my crime."
</p>

<p>
"Was that your only reason?"
</p>

<p>
The silence became breathless.  After a pause Stowell said, in
a low voice,
</p>

<p>
"That is a question I will answer to a higher tribunal."
</p>

<p>
"Indeed!" said Taubman, with a sneer, and then the silence
was broken by a cowardly titter which passed through the
court-house.
</p>

<p>
The Attorney-General rose to summarise the facts.  His face
was white and decomposed; his thin hair was disordered, and the
linen slip under his chin was awry.
</p>

<p>
Only once before since leaving Government House had he been
out of doors&mdash;to visit Stowell at the Police-station and receive the
letter which had been found on him.  He, too, had dragged himself
from bed to come to Court, being afraid to leave the prosecution
of the son of his old friend, the boy brought up in his own
office, to the Deputy whom the Governor was sure to appoint in
his place&mdash;Hudgeon, who sat by his side.
</p>

<p>
His speech did not please either the Court or the spectators.  It
gave the impression of being a plea for the prisoner.  And
indeed there were moments when the Attorney seemed to forget that
he was there to prosecute.
</p>

<p>
Speaking in a tremulous voice, and never once looking towards
the dock, he said it would seem incredible that anyone in the
position of the accused could be guilty of the crime with which he
was charged.  But the lucidity of his confession, and its
correspondence to the facts as they knew them, made it inconceivable
that he had told a lie.  There could be no doubt he was guilty, and
being so he came under the condemnation of the law.
</p>

<p>
"Ha!"
</p>

<p>
"But," said the old man, flashing his moist eyes on the glistening
eyes behind him, "the Crown stands for Justice, not revenge."
</p>

<p>
The Court would remember that the prisoner had made a
voluntary confession, that nothing would have been known of his
crime if he had not of himself disclosed it, and before the sublime
spectacle of a man who was making the only reparation in his
power to the Justice he had sullied, it would be touched by the
fire of a great renunciation.
</p>

<p>
A murmur of dissent passed through the court-house.
</p>

<p>
Again, the Court would remember that the prisoner had confessed
to the secret sin which had tempted him to his crime.  If he
had been a scoundrel he could have concealed it, but he had put
conscience before liberty, before reputation, perhaps before life.
</p>

<p>
"Oh!"
</p>

<p>
Once more the Court would remember that the prisoner had
surrendered to Justice because another was in danger of arrest,
and it would not be human if it were not moved by the sight of a
man giving himself up to the law so that an innocent man might
not suffer in his stead.
</p>

<p>
Finally, the Court would remember the youth of the prisoner,
his undoubted talents, his brilliant promise, his high position, and
the revered memory of his father, and if, moved by these
considerations, it decided to impose a nominal penalty, the Crown
would be satisfied.
</p>

<p>
"Ah!"
</p>

<p>
"But whatever the punishment the Court thinks fit to impose
on the prisoner," said the Attorney, "it can be as nothing to that
which he has inflicted upon himself.  Never in this island has there
been so great a downfall, and rarely can suffering for sin have
been more terrible since the Veil of the Temple was rent in twain
and darkness covered the land."
</p>

<p>
It was impossible for the spectators not to be hushed to awe by
the daring words and quivering tones with which the old Attorney
closed his speech, but Taubman, in the ferocity of his malice,
was unmoved.
</p>

<p>
"Humph!" he said.  "All that means, I suppose, that a man
may be innocent and guilty at the same time."
</p>

<p>
And then another cowardly titter ran through the court-house.
</p>

<p>
The time had come for judgment.  Taubman leaned over the
bench, clasped his bony fingers in front of him, and said,
</p>

<p>
"Victor Stowell, stand up."
</p>

<p>
Stowell rose, and stood with his hands interlaced, and his
heavy eyes fixed steadfastly on his Judge.
</p>

<p>
"Have you anything to say why judgment should not be
pronounced upon you?"
</p>

<p>
"Nothing."
</p>

<p>
It needs no skill to wound the defenceless, and for the next
few minutes Taubman seemed to glory in the exercise of his power.
</p>

<p>
"Prisoner at the bar," he said, "you have confessed to the
crime of breaking prison to effect the escape from custody of a
young woman you had first debauched and then abandoned."
</p>

<p>
"Ha!"
</p>

<p>
"It has been said on your behalf (strangely enough by the
public servant whose duty it was to arraign you) that your
confession was voluntary.  Nothing of the kind.  It was made when
the hand of the law was upon you, when the warrant for the
arrest of an innocent man was about to be issued, and you were
face to face with the certainty of exposure and punishment."
</p>

<p>
"Ha!"
</p>

<p>
"It has been also been said that the confession of your private
sin shows the operation of your conscience.  But your conscience
would have been better employed when you sat in judgment on
your own victim&mdash;a deliberate offence that is probably without
precedent in the history of criminal jurisprudence.
</p>

<p>
"Finally it has been argued that your high position and
family connections ought to mitigate your punishment.  On the
contrary, they ought to increase it, as showing your disregard of
your responsibilities, and especially your ingratitude to the head
of the judiciary, his Excellency" (here Taubman bowed to the
Governor), "whose favours you have so ill requited."
</p>

<p>
"Ah!"
</p>

<p>
"Your crime is clear.  It is without a particle of justification.
You have disgraced your name, your profession, and your island.
Therefore the Court can only mark its sense of the enormity of
your offence by inflicting the maximum penalty prescribed by the
law&mdash;two years' imprisonment in Castle Rushen."
</p>

<p>
Hardly had the last words been spoken when the spectators
broke into frenzied shouts of approval.  Neither the police nor
the Judge made any attempt to repress them.  The Governor rose
hastily and hurried off the bench, and Taubman, gathering up his
papers, his spectacles and his two walking-sticks, hobbled
after him.
</p>

<p>
The shouting went on.  It surged about Stowell as he stepped
out of the dock and passed with slow stride through the door that
led down to the prison.  The deadened sound of it followed him
while he descended the stairs, and when he reached the cell it
mingled with yet wilder shouting from the streets, where a
tumultuous crowd had been waiting for the verdict.  The delight
of the mob seemed delirious.  Some women from the meaner streets
by the quay were dancing on the pavement.
</p>

<p>
Meantime, in his robing-room with the Governor, Taubman was
congratulating himself on his travesty of Justice.  Taking his
wig off his stubbly grey hair he said,
</p>

<p>
"I think I gave my gentleman his deserts for his bad
treatment of your Excellency.  Eh?  What?"
</p>

<p>
And then the Governor spoke for the first time that day.
</p>

<p>
"Maybe so," he said, "but all the same you are not fit to
wipe his boots, Sir."
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
II
</p>

<p>
Early next morning Stowell was removed to Castle Rushen.
</p>

<p>
There was a rumour (probably inspired by the police) that he
would travel by the seven o'clock train, therefore at half-past six
the railway station and its approaches were full of a noisy crowd.
But at ten minutes to seven the prison van, drawn by two horses,
drew up at the back door under the court-house and Stowell was
hustled into it.
</p>

<p>
"Come, get in, quick," said the Chief Constable (all his former
deference gone), and then the van rolled away, Stowell being
shut up in the windowless compartment within, while the Chief
Constable and his Inspector of Police occupied the outer one
with the grill.
</p>

<p>
Crossing a swing-bridge which spanned the top of the harbour,
they climbed the lane to the Head until they reached the
cliff road, and had the town behind them under a veil of morning
mist, and the open sea in front.  There had been wind overnight,
and a fiery sun was blazing out of a fierce sky like the red light
from the open door of a furnace.
</p>

<p>
Stowell, in his dark compartment, had not yet asked himself
which way he was going.  The feeling of exaltation, of doing a
divinely appointed duty, which had buoyed him up during the
trial, was now gone.  The nullity of his past life, the hopelessness
of the future had left him with the sense of being already a dead
man.  Two years inside the blind walls of the Castle Rushen,
while the sun shone and the flowers grew and the birds sang
outside, and the world went on without him&mdash;how could he live
through it?
</p>

<p>
At length, having a sense of physical as well as spiritual
suffocation, he tapped timidly at his door, and asked, when it was
opened, if it might remain so for a few moments that he might
have a breath of air.
</p>

<p>
"Certainly not," said the Chief Constable, and he clashed the
door back.
</p>

<p>
"Better so," thought Stowell.
</p>

<p>
He had caught a glimpse of the scene outside, and knew where
they were&mdash;on the rocky shelf along which he had driven with
Fenella after the oath-taking at Castletown.
</p>

<p>
The memory of that day came back to him like a stab.  He
could feel Fenella's warm presence by his side; he could see her
gleaming eyes; he could hear her rich contralto voice as they sang
together above the boom of the sea below and the cry of the
sea-fowl overhead:
</p>

<p class="poem">
  "<i>Love is the Queen for you and for me,<br />
  &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;Salve, Salve Regina!</i>"<br />
</p>

<p>
What memories!  What regrets!  Only now did he know how
necessary Fenella had been to him&mdash;only now when he had lost
her.  He felt like a dead man&mdash;dead, yet doomed to remember his
former existence.
</p>

<p>
An hour and a half passed.  Stowell sat huddled up in the
close atmosphere of the van, with the thunderous rumble of the roof
above him and the crack of the driver's whip outside.  He knew
every mile of the way.  When the van swung round at a turn of
the road, or the horses slowed down at the foot of a hill, the
memory of some moment in his drive with Fenella came back to
him, and he told himself how far they had still to go.
</p>

<p>
At length they were entering Castletown.  He knew that by
the hollow sound under the horses' hoofs as they crossed the bridge
over the harbour&mdash;the bridge from which Fenella had looked back
and waved her hand to the crowd about the Castle gate who had
raised the deafening shout&mdash;"Long live the new Deemster, hip,
hip, hip!"
</p>

<p>
Groaning audibly, digging with his fingernails deep trenches in
his palms, praying for strength of spirit, he waited for the ordeal
which he felt was before him.
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p>
Another crowd had gathered about the Castle gate that
morning.
</p>

<p>
Telegrams had been received from Douglas saying that Stowell
was travelling by road, so half the people of Castletown had come
down to the quay as to a funeral to see the last of the
condemned man before he was buried in his living tomb.
</p>

<p>
They were of two classes.  The larger and noisier class
consisted of raw youths and young men to whom the trial of
the Deemster had been mainly a subject for lewd jests about
Bessie Collister.
</p>

<p>
One of them, with the small eyes of a sow and the thick lips
of a cod, wore a butcher's apron and a steel attached to a belt about
his waist.  This was John Qualtrough (son of Cæsar), the lusty
ruffian whose skull had been cracked in his boyhood by the blow
from the stick which had been intended for Alick Gell.
</p>

<p>
The Castle walls were low by the gate, and off the shoulders of
a comrade Qualtrough clambered to a seat on the battlements.
From that elevation he beguiled the time of waiting by conducting
a chorus of his companions on the ground, using his steel for baton.
He selected the crudest of the old Manx ditties, and amid
shrieks of laughter, he emphasised the doubtful lines by
frequent repetition.
</p>

<p class="poem">
  "<i>I'm not engaged to any young man I solemnly do swear,<br />
  For I mane to be a vargin and still the laurels wear.<br />
  For I mane to be a vargin and still the laurels wear.</i>"<br />
</p>

<p>
The other class, consisting chiefly of women, demure and
severe, occupied themselves with serious talk about Fenella.  That
splendid young woman!  It was shocking the way Sto'll had
treated her&mdash;worse than the other in a manner of speaking.
</p>

<p>
"They're telling me she wasn't at the trial in Douglas
yesterday."
</p>

<p>
"What wonder if she wasn't, poor thing!  I wouldn't trust
but she'll never show her face in public again."
</p>

<p>
"It's no use talking, the man has brought shame on the lot of
us and is a disgrace to the name of a Manxman."
</p>

<p>
Suddenly, over the loud clamour there came a wild shout from
the battlements.
</p>

<p>
"Here he is!"
</p>

<p>
The prison van was seen to cross the bridge, and as it came up
to the gate, it was received with a howl of execration.
</p>

<p>
Stowell heard it.  In his dark compartment the surging of the
crowd around the outside of the van was like the breaking of a tidal
wave on a sleeping town in the middle of the night.  The van
stopped with a sickening jolt, and he heard the Inspector of
Police crying,
</p>

<p>
"Stand back!  Make way!"
</p>

<p>
Then there was a flash of daylight and the voice of the Chief
Constable saying peremptorily,
</p>

<p>
"Come, get out!  Be quick about it."
</p>

<p>
At the next moment he was on the ground with a roar of hoarse
voices and a rush of contorted faces around him.  There were
screams of lewd laughter and yells of merciless derision.  Arms
were raised as if to strike him.  He felt himself being pushed
and pulled by the police through the open gate and up the passage
way to the Portcullis.
</p>

<p>
The crowd, not yet appeased, tried to force their way past the
jailer and his turnkeys as if to lynch him.  But they were checked
by an unexpected sight.  A young woman, in the costume of a
nurse, with heaving breast, quivering nostrils, and flaming eyes,
rushed through the gate with outstretched arms to stop them.
</p>

<p>
They recognised her instantly, but it was not that alone that
cowed them.  There is something in a brave act which pierces the
noisiest crowd to the core of its cruel soul.  Certainly this crowd
fell back and its uproar died down.
</p>

<p>
Then in a voice which vibrated with contempt and scorn,
Fenella tried to speak to them.
</p>

<p>
"You .... you .... you...." she began, but further
words would not come, and returning to the Castle she clashed
its iron-studded gate in the people's faces.
</p>

<p>
The crowd broke up rapidly and slank away, subdued
and ashamed.
</p>

<p>
"Morning, men!"
</p>

<p>
"Morning!"
</p>

<p>
Within two minutes nearly all were gone.  The open space in
front of the Castle gate was empty, save for two old women with
little black shawls over their heads, who were wiping their eyes
on their cotton aprons.
</p>

<p>
"Did thou see that, Bella?"
</p>

<p>
"'Deed I did, though."
</p>

<p>
"I belave in my heart it was the girl herself&mdash;the one they
say he has done so bad to."
</p>

<p>
"Aw well, if a woman isn't willing to stand up for her man,
whatever he has done, what <i>is</i> she anyway?"
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p><a id="chap0747"></a></p>

<h3>
CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN
<br />
THE RESURRECTION
</h3>

<p>
Three days later, Fenella set out for Bishop's Court in a
two-horse landau.
</p>

<p>
The island had begun to recover from its fit of moral
intoxication.  Sympathy was swinging round to Stowell.  The pathos
of his stupendous downfall had taken hold of the people.
Taubman had been wrong.  Nobody would have known anything of
Stowell's guilt if he had not revealed it himself.  There must
be something great in a man who could take up his cross like that.
And as for that wonderful woman who might be living in Government
House but was living in Castle Rushen instead....
</p>

<p>
As Fenella, in her nurse's costume, drove through the town
some of the women curtsied to her, and most of the men raised
their hats.  She returned the salutations of none.
</p>

<p>
"So that's how they expect to wipe out what they did to Victor!
Not if I know it though!"
</p>

<p>
Two hours afterwards she was at the Bishop's palace&mdash;a
somewhat palatial place, partly old, partly new, sleeping in the
shelter of big trees and surrounded by a blaze of rhododendrons.
</p>

<p>
The Bishop, in his dapper black clothes, received her in a room
in the old part of the house.  It had been the study of the most
famous of his predecessors, the fanatic and saint who had ordered
that Kate Kinrade, for the saving of her soul, should be dragged
at the tail of a boat.  Souvenirs of the dead Bishop were on the
walls and tables&mdash;his portrait, his Bible, his short crozier, his
tasselled staff, and his horn-rimmed spectacles.
</p>

<p>
The living Bishop was suave and voluble.  He congratulated
Fenella on looking so well after so much trouble.
</p>

<p>
"Such a calamity!  I might almost say such a tragedy!  How
the island will miss him!"
</p>

<p>
He agreed with the Attorney-General.  Stowell's act had been
one of renunciation.  When a man had sinned against God, and
violated the world's law, he set a great example by submitting
to authority.
</p>

<p>
"God forbid that I should excuse his crime, but already his
renunciation is having a good effect throughout the island.  The
rioting is over.  The soldiers are being sent back, and as for the
agitators nobody listens to them any longer.  Only this morning
the man Baldromma...."
</p>

<p>
Fenella, who had been beating her foot impatiently on the
carpet, at length broke into her own business.
</p>

<p>
"Bishop, you have heard that I have gone to the Castle as
female warder?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes, indeed.  It's so nice of you to stay by the poor man's
side while he is in prison, to see that his bodily comforts are being
cared for."
</p>

<p>
"But more than that will have to be done for him if his soul
is to be kept alive," said Fenella.
</p>

<p>
"Really?  If you think there is anything <i>I</i> can do...."
</p>

<p>
"There is, Sir .... You know that I was to have married
Mr. Stowell?"
</p>

<p>
"Indeed I do.  Wasn't the marriage to have taken place
before very long in our chapel at Bishop's Court?"
</p>

<p>
"Well, I want it to take place now.  Only it must be in the
Chapel at Castle Rushen instead."
</p>

<p>
"You mean .... the prison Chapel?"
</p>

<p>
"Yes."
</p>

<p>
For a moment the Bishop was speechless.  Then recovering
from his astonishment, he rose and stepped to the hearthrug,
and standing with his back to the fire, he said, as if addressing
an assembly,
</p>

<p>
"Beautiful and noble, dear lady!  To be ready to become the
wife of the fallen man just when the whole world is hissing at him
in chorus, to inspire him day by day with the hope of a great
resurrection, of taking up manful work anew, of regaining all he
has lost and more&mdash;yes, it is beautiful and noble."
</p>

<p>
"Then you will be willing to marry us, Sir?" said Fenella.
</p>

<p>
The Bishop hesitated, and then asked Fenella what view the
Governor took of her intention.
</p>

<p>
"He disapproves of it altogether, and says no clergyman in the
island can marry us without incurring his displeasure."
</p>

<p>
"Ah!"
</p>

<p>
"But I have always understood that the Bishop is a baron in
his own right and therefore independent of the Governor."
</p>

<p>
"True!  That's true!  Still...."
</p>

<p>
The river of rhetoric had suddenly stopped.
</p>

<p>
"Well?"
</p>

<p>
"Mr. Stowell is a prisoner.  Why marry when you can't live
together?  Why not wait until he is at liberty?"
</p>

<p>
"Because he may be dead of despair before the time for that
comes," said Fenella, "and the resurrection you speak of may
never take place.  His heart is breaking.  He wants something to
live for now.  He wants me."
</p>

<p>
Her eyes had filled and the Bishop had to turn his own away.
At length he said, stammering painfully, that he was sorry, very
sorry, but having to live at peace with the Governor....
</p>

<p>
Fenella leapt to her feet.
</p>

<p>
"Bishop," she said, "the chaplain at Castletown is a poor
man with five young children and his living is in the gift of the
Governor.  But if I can find any other clergyman who is willing
to perform the ceremony, will you permit him to do so?"
</p>

<p>
"Ye&mdash;s .... that is to say, if you tell him what you have
told me, and he is prepared to take the risk."
</p>

<p>
Within two minutes more Fenella was back in her landau, driving
towards Ballamoar across the Curragh roads, with their warm
and rooty odour of the bog.
</p>

<p>
Janet came running out of the house to meet her, and in a flash
they were crying in each other's arms.  But, to Fenella's surprise,
there was a look of joy in Janet's face, and on stepping into the
house she found an explanation.  An army of maidservants were
in every room, with an arsenal of brushes and mops and pails.
</p>

<p>
"Why, Janet, what are you doing?"
</p>

<p>
"Getting ready for my boy coming back, that's what I'm
doing."
</p>

<p>
"But, dear heart, don't you know...."
</p>

<p>
"Certainly I know.  But do you think they can keep a Ballamoar
in yonder place long?  'Deed they can't.  He'll be coming
out soon, and then those dirts of Manx ones who have been making
such a mouth will be the first to run to meet him."
</p>

<p>
It would have been cruel to gainsay her, therefore Fenella
described the object of her journey, told of her father's threat and
the Bishop's excuses.
</p>

<p>
"So now I'm looking for a clergyman who will be brave
enough to marry us," she said.
</p>

<p>
They were in the dining-room, and through the glass door to
the piazza they could see, on the edge of the cliffs, a field's space
from the church, a lonely house without a tree or a bush about it,
looking as if it had been slashed by the rain and winds of a
hundred winters.  It was the Jurby parsonage&mdash;the home of Parson
Cowley.  Janet pointed to it and said,
</p>

<p>
"Have you been <i>there</i>?"
</p>

<p>
At that question Fenella remembered a story her father had
told her about something splendid that Victor had done, before she
returned to the island, to save the drunken parson of Jurby
in the eyes of the parishioners.  In another minute she was back
in her carriage.
</p>

<p>
"Good-bye, child, and God bless you!" said Janet by the
carriage door.  "And don't forget to tell my boy that Mother
will be lighting the fire in the Deemster's room every night of life
for him."
</p>

<p>
The parsonage looked yet more desolate at a nearer view than
at a distance.  Sea-fowl were screaming in the sky above it and
the earth was quaking from the measured beat of the waves against
the cliffs below.  A patch of garden in front was rank with long
grass, and the salt breath of the sea had encrusted the glass of the
windows with a grey scale that was like the mould on a dead face.
</p>

<p>
The door was opened by a timid, elderly woman, the parson's
wife, who was her own servant and looked as if all the pride of life
had been crushed out of her.
</p>

<p>
"Please come in, miss," she said.  And when the door had
been closed from the inside and she was taking Fenella into the
study, she called at the foot of the stairs,
</p>

<p>
"John, a young lady to see you."
</p>

<p>
The dingy little room looked like an epitome of the life of the
man who lived in it.  Everything was faded and worn out&mdash;books
in torn bindings on bulging shelves against the walls; a threadbare
carpet trodden thin by the fender; a handful of earthen fire;
an arm-chair upholstered in horsehair and sunk in the seat as if the
springs had broken; a table laden with loose papers and sprinkled
with shreds of tobacco, which seemed to have fallen from a shaking
hand; and behind a mirror, from which half the silvering was worn
away, two objects on the mantelpiece&mdash;a drinking glass, which had
obviously contained a frothy liquor and a photograph in a mourning
frame of a young man in sailor's costume with the fell stamp
of consumption in his eyes and cheeks.
</p>

<p>
After a moment there was an unsteady step on the stairs and
the parson came into the room, wearing a faded skull cap and a
dressing-gown much patched and stained.
</p>

<p>
Fenella told him her story, as she had told it to the Bishop,
and then said,
</p>

<p>
"So I've come to ask if you dare run the risk of marrying us?"
</p>

<p>
The old parson, who had been listening intently, seemed eager
to reply, but something checked him, and looking across at his
wife, who continued to stand timidly by the door, he said,
</p>

<p>
"What do you say, Sarah?"
</p>

<p>
The old lady did not reply immediately, and pointing to the
photograph on the mantelpiece the parson said,
</p>

<p>
"If it had been John James's case, eh?"
</p>

<p>
"Do as you think best, John."
</p>

<p>
"Then I'll do it!  Certainly I'll do it!  What do I care what
the Governor may do to me?  Once a priest always a priest&mdash;he
can't take <i>that</i> from me anyway."
</p>

<p>
It was just the chance he had been waiting for.  Victor
Stowell had done something for him, and before he died he wanted
to do something for Victor Stowell.
</p>

<p>
"I will too!  I'll give him a good wife and that's the best
thing a man gets in this world anyway.  I've been publishing
your banns too.  Do you know I'd been publishing your banns
these three Sunday mornings, Victor Stowell being one of my
parishioners?"
</p>

<p>
Fenella, who was feeling a tightness in the throat, contrived
to say,
</p>

<p>
"Then perhaps you'll drive back with me to Castletown and
celebrate the service to-morrow?"
</p>

<p>
"Why shouldn't I?" said the parson, and off he went upstairs
(with a firm step this time) to put on his clerical clothes and
pack his surplice in a hand-bag.
</p>

<p>
While his quick footsteps were shaking the ceiling above them
the two women stood together in the study, the young one and
the old one, face to face.
</p>

<p>
"It is very good of you, Mrs. Cowley, to take this risk with
your husband," said Fenella.
</p>

<p>
"But isn't that what we women have all got to do?" said
Mrs. Cowley.
</p>

<p>
And then Fenella, unable to say more, put her arms about the
timid old thing, who had submerged her own life in the wrecked
life of her husband, and kissed her.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
II
</p>

<p>
Stowell had been four days in prison and his depression had
deepened to despair.  The sense of being buried alive was
crushing.  Even when he was taken into the court-yard for exercise,
and the white birds sailed through the blue sky, he had the
sensation of being in a roofless tomb.
</p>

<p>
Yet he did not spare himself.  He had a right to certain indulgences,
but asked for none.  They put him into an upstairs room,
which had once been the armoury of the Castle, but he said,
"Put me in the cell that was occupied by Bessie Collister."
</p>

<p>
He might have continued to wear his own clothes, but said,
</p>

<p>
"Give me the same clothes as any other prisoner"&mdash;a rough
tweed, uncombed and undyed, just as it had come from the back
of the sheep.
</p>

<p>
The silence was terrible.  The first night was calm, and the
only sound that reached him through the thick walls was the
monotonous wash of the waves on the shore, which lay empty and
alone under the dark sky.
</p>

<p>
Next morning he heard the clamour of the gulls, and knew that
the boats had come in from their night's fishing and the birds were
fighting for the refuse thrown overboard.  A little later he heard
the deadened sound of hammering at a distance&mdash;they were caulking
the deck of a new vessel in the shipyard across the bay.  The
world was going on as usual, yet there he was in a silence like
that of the grave.
</p>

<p>
"Don't people sometimes go mad in a place like this?" he
asked the jailer.
</p>

<p>
On the second night the sea was loud, but over the wailing of
the waves he heard a raucous voice outside.  It was the voice of
Dan Baldromma, who, ranging round the Castle walls like an evil
spirit, was calling up his taunting message at every lancet window,
not knowing which was the window of Stowell's cell.
</p>

<p>
"The Spaker is dead the day.  That's the way they go, the
big ones that rob the people.  But there's no pocket in the shroud,
Dempster&mdash;no pocket in the shroud."
</p>

<p>
On the morning of the third day Stowell received a letter from
London, telling him that His Majesty the King had withdrawn
his commission, having no longer any use for his services.  This
smote him like a blow on the brain.  It was an abject degradation,
like that of an officer being stripped of his decorations before the
eyes of the soldiers who had served under him.
</p>

<p>
But the worst of his pains were his thoughts about Fenella.
Like a man suddenly struck blind he was always living over again
the scenes of his past life.  Sitting on his bed, with his head in his
hands and his eyes tightly closed, all the beautiful moments of
their love passed in procession before him, from the moment in the
glen when he had picked her up in his quivering arms and carried
her across the stream, to that parting in the porch at Government
House, after she had promised to marry him, and he had seized
her about the waist and fastened his lips to her mouth.
</p>

<p>
Do what he would, he could not resist the intoxication of these
cruel memories.  But crueller still were his dreams of the future&mdash;the
dead dreams of their married love, when she would be wholly
his, the beautiful body as well as the beautiful soul.  Nothing in
the world was to have been so lovely as her bare arms about his
neck; nothing so thrilling as the throbbing of her breasts when he
told her how much he loved her.  But when he opened his eyes
and saw the blank walls of his cell about him, he felt as if some
devil from hell had been tormenting him.
</p>

<p>
Was this to be his greatest punishment&mdash;that what he had lost
in Fenella was to be for ever haunting him?  Was he never to be
left in peace, now that all hope of her was gone from him for ever?
</p>

<p>
"Better die," he thought.  "A thousand times better."
</p>

<p>
Several times every day the jailer had been in to talk with him.
The prison was nearly full of prisoners now, many of the rioters
having been arrested ("Not the ring-leaders, they are always too
cunning"), so that his turnkeys and lady warder had as much
as they could do to keep things going.
</p>

<p>
This, through the thick haze of his preoccupied mind, brought
back to Stowell's memory a glimpse he had got of a woman in
nurse's costume who had flashed past him when he was being
hustled through that furnace of wrathful faces at the Castle gate,
and he asked who she had been.
</p>

<p>
"Oh, that .... <i>that's</i> our lady warder," said the jailer.
</p>

<p>
"Is Mrs. Mylrea better then?"
</p>

<p>
"No, she's dead.  We have another one now, Sir."
</p>

<p>
"Who is she?"
</p>

<p>
The jailer hesitated and then said, "Don't you know, your Honour?"
</p>

<p>
Stowell looked up quickly and a stifling recollection of
Fenella's last words ("If you have to go to prison, I will follow
you") came surging back on him.
</p>

<p>
"Is it .... is it .... <i>she</i>?" he faltered.
</p>

<p>
"Yes."
</p>

<p>
That night, when Stowell's supper was brought to him, he
sent it away untouched.  But the morning broke fair on his
sleepless eyes, for he had made up his mind what to do.
</p>

<p>
A pale ray of reflected sunshine from the eastern wall of the
court-house was on the upper part of his cell, and he could hear
the voices of children who were playing on the shore.
</p>

<p>
He asked for a candle, pen and ink and paper, and sat down
to write a letter.
</p>

<p class="letter">
"My DEAR FENELLA,&mdash;They have told me what you have
done and I cannot bear to think of it.  When it became
necessary to do what I did, I knew I should have to give up
all hope of you, and since doing so I have suffered as few
men can ever have suffered before.  But if you remain in
this place I shall never know another hour's sleep by night
or rest by day.  I shall feel that in surrendering to Justice
I was not really doing a courageous act, as perhaps I
thought, but a cowardly one, because I was throwing half
the burden of my sins on to you, who are innocent of any
of them.  That thought would break my heart."
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p>
He paused.  The sea outside was singing on the shore; the
children were laughing at their play.
</p>

<p class="letter">
"Fenella, at this last moment I must tell you something.
Ever since I came to care for you, it has been the dearest
wish of my heart that, God helping me, I should make your
life a happy one&mdash;that, whatever happened to me, in a
world so full of cloud and shadow, you should live in the
sunshine.  And now that you follow me here, to this prison,
this tomb .... it is too much.  I cannot bear it.
</p>

<p class="letter">
"Go home, dear.  Good-bye and God bless you!  Don't
let me regret the impulse that brought me here.  If it was
right and true I must bear my punishment alone.  Leave me
the comfort of thinking that at least your outer life goes on
as if I had never shattered it.  We have had many happy
hours together, but they are over.  Life is for ever closed
against me.  You can do nothing for me now.  It was sweet
and good of you to come to this place, and I feel as if I
could give my heart's blood for one more look into your
dear face, but...."
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p>
He had written thus far when the key rattled in the lock of his
cell.  The door opened and there was a flash of the jailer's lantern.
Instinctively, without looking up, Stowell covered his letter in his
blotting-paper and busied himself with both for a moment.  When
he raised his eyes the lantern was on the table, but the jailer was
gone and somebody else was standing before him.
</p>

<p>
It was Fenella.  She was in wedding dress, with the veil thrown
back, looking more lovely than in the most delirious of his dreams.
At first he thought it was a phantom, born of the preoccupation of
his tortured brain, and in a hushed whisper, trembling all over and
rising from his chair, he said,
</p>

<p>
"Fenella!"
</p>

<p>
She, too, was trembling, but she put on a brave air and even a
little of her gay raillery.
</p>

<p>
"Yes, it is Fenella.  She has come, as she said she would,
you know."
</p>

<p>
"But <i>why</i> have you come?"
</p>

<p>
"Why?  Don't you know what day this is, Victor?  This was
to have been our wedding-day.  It shall be, too."
</p>

<p>
"Do you mean it?"
</p>

<p>
"Look at me.  Do you think I have dressed up like this
for nothing?"
</p>

<p>
"But don't you see it is impossible?"
</p>

<p>
"Impossible?  Don't you want me any longer then?  You
promised to marry me, Sir&mdash;are you going to break your promise?"
</p>

<p>
She was laughing, but trying at the same time not to cry.
Stowell's voice grew thick and husky.
</p>

<p>
"Go home to your father's house, Fenella.  That is the only
place for you."
</p>

<p>
"But my father has turned me out, so if you send me away
also I shan't have a roof to cover me."
</p>

<p>
"Is that true?"
</p>

<p>
She tried to laugh again with her old gaiety.
</p>

<p>
"Well .... nearly."
</p>

<p>
"You cannot live in a place like this, Fenella."
</p>

<p>
"Why not?  I have the apartments of a Queen, and what was
good enough for her will be good enough for me, surely."
</p>

<p>
"But you forget&mdash;I am a prisoner, and if the Governor
objects...."
</p>

<p>
"He doesn't.  He has been told and has raised no objection."
</p>

<p>
"But there isn't a clergyman in the island who would marry
a woman like you to a man like me."
</p>

<p>
"Oh yes, there's one, and I have brought him with me."
</p>

<p>
"Who...."
</p>

<p>
"Somebody you did a beautiful thing for long ago, and who
new wants to do something for you&mdash;for me, I mean.  Come in,
Parson Cowley."
</p>

<p>
Then Stowell saw that the door was open and that Parson
Cowley was standing in the darkness beyond it.  The old parson
came into the cell at Fenella's call, sober as a Judge, but with his
face more broken up by emotion than it had ever been by drink, for
he had heard everything.
</p>

<p>
"Parson Cowley," said Stowell, in a hoarse voice, "show her
it is impossible."
</p>

<p>
The old man swallowed something in his throat and answered,
</p>

<p>
"Nothing seems impossible to love, my son."
</p>

<p>
"But tell her that no good woman can live all her life with
a dishonoured man like me."
</p>

<p>
Again the old parson cleared his throat.
</p>

<p>
"I know one who has been doing so for forty years, Sir."
</p>

<p>
Stowell fell back on his chair and dropped his head over his
arms on the table.  Parson Cowley, unable to bear more, slipped
out of the cell and pulled the door behind him.
</p>

<p>
Fenella and Stowell were then alone.  She knew that her last
chance had come.  She had to conquer him now or lose him for
ever.  It was the primitive man against the primitive woman, only
their age-long positions were reversed, and with all the battery of
her womanhood she meant to win him.  Stepping closer she said,
in a caressing voice,
</p>

<p>
"Victor, you won't send me away from you, will you?"
</p>

<p>
"I shall always love you, Fenella," said Stowell, whose head
was still down.  "I shall love you as an angel."
</p>

<p>
"But forgive me, dear, I am only a woman, and I want to be
loved as a woman first."
</p>

<p>
He raised his head and looked at her.  Her eyes were glistening,
her lips were trembling, never before had she seemed to him
so beautiful.  Feeling himself weakening he rose and turned away.
</p>

<p>
"I should never forgive myself, Fenella, if I allowed you to
make this sacrifice."
</p>

<p>
"What sacrifice?  Everything I want in the world is within
these walls."
</p>

<p>
"Don't tempt me, Fenella.  Go away, I beg of you."
</p>

<p>
"Victor, I am for you.  You are for me.  Do you want to
rob me of the only man in the world for me?"
</p>

<p>
His heart was beating fast.
</p>

<p>
"Go away, I tell you.  I cannot trust myself any longer."
</p>

<p>
But the more he commanded her to go, the more her eyes
glistened with a look of triumph.
</p>

<p>
"If I am to go out of this place, you'll have to carry me out,"
she said, "just as you carried me across the river in the glen."
</p>

<p>
He gasped, and then flung out at her in a torrent of words.
</p>

<p>
"Why do you come like this?  Is it only to torture me with
the thought of what might have been?  Haven't I done enough
wrong to you already?  If I do this wrong also I shall hate
myself.  And the end of that will be that I shall come to hate you
also.  I do hate you.  Go away!  For God's sake go!"
</p>

<p>
Fenella, with gleaming eyes, took one step closer.
</p>

<p>
"Victor," she said, "you love me.  You know you do.  You
have never loved any other woman in the world&mdash;never for one
single moment."
</p>

<p>
He looked back at her again.  Her arms were stretched out to
him; her bosom was heaving; her lips were quivering and apart.
He could struggle no longer.
</p>

<p>
"Fenella!"
</p>

<p>
"Victor!"
</p>

<p>
She had conquered.  They were clasped in each other's arms.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
III
</p>

<p>
Half-an-hour afterwards they were married in the prison
chapel.  The little place was naked enough now.  No flowers, no
flags, no carpets, no cushions.  Only the two rows of forms, without
backs, and the placards on the whitewashed walls at either
side&mdash;"FOR MEN" and "FOR WOMEN."
</p>

<p>
The deal table which served for altar was covered by a kitchen
table-cloth, on which nothing stood but a plain brass cross and
a couple of lighted candles in kitchen candlesticks.
</p>

<p>
Parson Cowley, in his surplice, stood in front of it, with his
well-thumbed prayer-book in his trembling hands.  The two who
were being married were kneeling at his feet&mdash;the sin-soiled man
and the daughter of a line of old Manx Kings, bearing a name
that had been written high in English history for five hundred
years.  The jailer and his wife were standing somewhere in the
shadows.  There was no sound except that of the parson's quavering
voice within and the low rumble of the sea outside.
</p>

<p class="quote">
"<i>I require and charge you, as ye will answer at the
dreadful day of Judgment, when the secrets of all hearts
shall be disclosed, that if either of you know of any
impediment why ye may not be lawfully joined together in
Matrimony, ye do now confess it.</i>"
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p>
Stowell made a stifled sound as of protest.  Fenella put down
her hand and took his hand and held it.
</p>

<p class="quote">
"<i>Victor Christian, wilt thou have this Woman to thy
wedded wife?</i>"
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p>
There was a sensible pause, and Parson Cowley leaned down
to Stowell and whispered,
</p>

<p>
"Say 'I will,' my son."
</p>

<p>
Then came a slow, half-smothered murmur,
</p>

<p>
"I .... will."
</p>

<p class="quote">
"<i>Fenella Charlotte de la Tremouille, wilt thou have this
Man to thy wedded husband?</i>"
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p>
In a clear, unfaltering voice Fenella answered,
</p>

<p>
"I will."
</p>

<p class="t3">
* * * * * * *
</p>

<p>
It was all over.  The parson and the jailer and his wife were
gone.  Stowell and Fenella were alone together in the prison
chapel, locked in a passionate embrace.  The kitchen candles were
burning out, but the little dark place shone with glory.  The air
was stirred as with the presence of angels and lit as by a
celestial torch.
</p>

<p>
In their immense happiness every trouble of life seemed to be
gone.  Two years?  It would be like two months, two weeks, two
days&mdash;it would be like a walk in the sunshine.
</p>

<p>
"We must hold together now, dear."
</p>

<p>
"Yes, until death parts us."
</p>

<p>
Their hearts swelled with gratitude.  Love had taken the sting
out of suffering&mdash;Love, the saviour, the redeemer.  A great hymn
of thanksgiving was going up from body and from soul.
</p>

<p>
They talked of the future.
</p>

<p>
"Will you leave the island when your time comes, dear?"
</p>

<p>
"Indeed no, never."
</p>

<p>
Where his sin had been there also should be his expiation.
</p>

<p>
"How great!  How glorious!"
</p>

<p>
She cried a little, being so happy, and he had to comfort her.
Oh, mystery of the heart of woman!  They had changed places
again, and now it was she who was the weak one&mdash;or pretended to
be so&mdash;just to make him feel how strong he was, being the man,
and that she would have to look up to him all her life to guide
and protect her.
</p>

<p>
"Will you love me always, Victor?"
</p>

<p>
"Always?  As sure as God...."
</p>

<p>
"Hush!  I know you will, dearest.  But being only a woman
I shall want you to tell me so every night and every morning."
</p>

<p>
He warned her of the struggles they would have to go through
yet, even when the time came to leave that place and return to the
world&mdash;of the many who would look askance at them for his sin's
sake.  But she said no, and painted for him a picture of his
coming out of prison.
</p>

<p>
What a scene it would be!  His people, his beloved countrymen
and countrywomen, who were good at heart, would be at the
Castle gates to meet him.  There would be thousands and tens
of thousands of them to go back with him over the hill to Ballamoar.
Carriages, cars, spring-carts, stiff-carts, fishermen in their
ganzies and lifeboatmen in their stocking caps&mdash;such a procession
across the mountains as nobody had ever seen in that island before,
his little nation taking him home.
</p>

<p>
"Oh, I see it all, Victor.  When the time comes for you to go
through the Castle gates it will be like passing out of death into
life, out of the cloud of night into the glory of the sunrise."
</p>

<p>
He smiled, a melancholy smile, and shook his head.
</p>

<p>
"I have much to go through yet.  You, too, Fenella."
</p>

<p>
But well she knew that the victory had been won, that the
resurrection of his soul bad already begun, that he would rise
again on that same soil on which he had so sadly fallen, that
shining like a star before his brightening eyes was the vision of a
far greater and nobler life than the one that lay in ruins behind
him, and that she, she herself, would be always by his side&mdash;to
"ring the morning bell for him."
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
<a id="conclusion"></a>
CONCLUSION
</p>

<p>
The herring shoal, which in the early summer comes down from
Norway to the western coast of Man, drifts eastward as the year
advances, past the Calf Island, the Sound and the Spanish Head,
with their deafening clamour of ten thousand sea-fowl, to where
the big waves of the Atlantic roll to their organ music, and the
porpoises tumble through the blue waters of the Channel on their
way back to the frozen seas.
</p>

<p>
In the late autumn of the year of Victor Stowell's trial and
imprisonment the fishermen from Ramsey and Douglas, going
south to their fishing ground in the evening of the day, would
find as they sailed past Castletown, and opened the Poolvaish,
that the sun had set behind Castle Rushen and its square tower
stood up black against the crimsoning sky.
</p>

<p>
Then they would go down on their knees on the decks of their
boats, just as in old days they used to do after they had shot their
nets at night, to acknowledge their Maker, and pray, in their
Manx, to St. Bridget and St. Patrick to send them safely home in
the morning with a full cargo of "the living and the dead."
</p>

<p>
But it was not the harvest of the sea they were thinking of
then.  It was of the two who lay interned within the walls of
the grim fortress&mdash;the man who had voluntarily made the great
Sacrifice for his sin, and the woman, who in the greatness of her
love was living out his punishment beside him.
</p>

<p>
In my early manhood I used to hear old Methodist fishermen
say that when they rose from their knees, after their rough hands
had been held close over their eyes, and looked back at the Castle,
they would sometimes see a golden cross plainly outlined in the
sky above it.
</p>

<p>
Perhaps it was only another of their Manx superstitions, but
it seemed to bring a certain inspiration to their simple hearts for
all that, by reminding them of a story which resembled (very
remotely and feebly) the great one which they told each other
every Sunday in their little wayside chapels&mdash;the story of Him
Who "gave the world away and died."
</p>

<p class="quote">
"He descended into hell; the third day He rose again
from the dead; He ascended into heaven and sitteth on the
right hand of God the Father Almighty...."
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3">
THE END
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3">
* * * * * * * * * * * *
</p>

<p><br /><br /><br /></p>

<p><a id="chap08"></a></p>

<p class="t3b">
THE DEEMSTER
</p>

<p>
This is a story of sin and suffering and redemption.  A young man
of great possibilities, Dan Mylrea, having his good angel and his bad
angel on either hand, commits, in a wild fit of momentary passion, a
terrible crime, is condemned (by his own father, who is the ultimate judge)
to life-long banishment and solitude, is purified and ennobled by his
solitary life and finally returns to the society of his fellow-men as the
saviour of his people.  The scene is the Isle of Man, the period the
eighteenth century.  This story was the first to give Hall Caine his place
among British Novelists, being commonly compared with the work of
Victor Hugo.  It was published in 1887, has since sold in vast numbers
and been translated into nearly all European languages.
</p>

<p>
<i>The Scotsman</i> says: "This is one of the great novels."
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
THE CHRISTIAN
</p>

<p>
<i>653,098 copies of English editions sold to date.</i>
</p>

<p>
This is the story of a young Anglican clergyman, John Store, who tries
to live in the twentieth century in strict imitation of the life of Christ
(believing that in the literal interpretation of His teaching lies the
only salvation of the world) and is broken to pieces, both from within
and from without, by his love of a woman and by the hard facts of
modern existence.  The scene is London, and the period the present age.
The heroine, Glory Quayle, belongs to the number of the beloved women
in fiction.  On its first publication in 1897, the "CHRISTIAN" provoked
world-wide discussion, in which Tolstoy took part.  It has been
translated into nearly all European languages.  Nearly 700,000 copies have
been sold in English editions only.  The story which has been repeatedly
dramatised is played in nearly all countries.
</p>

<p>
The <i>Newcastle Chronicle</i> says: "This novel is a noble inspiration
carried to noble issues, an honour to Hall Caine and to English
fiction."
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
THE MANXMAN
</p>

<p>
<i>399,426 copies of English editions sold to date.</i>
</p>

<p>
This is the novel most generally associated with Hall Caine's name.
Two men, who love each other like David and Jonathan, are separated
by the love each bears for the same woman, Kate Cregeen.  The one is
married to her, and by the other, in circumstances of tragic temptation,
she has been betrayed.  Out of this complication comes situations of
searching pathos, culminating in a public confession and a great
renunciation.  The scene throughout is the Isle of Man, and the deeply
injured husband and friend, Pete Quilliam, has become one of the best
known figures in modern fiction and on the stage.  Mr. Gladstone, who
was a warm admirer of it, said, that though he disapproved of divorce,
he recognised the integrity of the author's aim.  Nearly 400,000 of the
English edition has been sold already.  It is a love story of great
intensity.
</p>

<p>
<i>T. P. O'Connor</i> says: "This is a very fine and great story&mdash;one of
the finest and greatest of our time."
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
THE BONDMAN
</p>

<p>
<i>468,327 copies of English editions sold to date.</i>
</p>

<p>
This story is intended to show the futility of the spirit of revenge&mdash;that
vengeance belongs to God only.  Two sons (born in different countries)
of the same father by different mothers set out to search for each other
to avenge the wrongs they have suffered through their parents.  When
they meet it is as fellow-prisoners chained together in a penal
settlement, where their identity is unknown (their names being hidden by
numbers) and they become the most passionately devoted friends.
Finally one of the half brothers gives his life for the life of the man he
came to kill, and restores him to the woman they have both loved.
The scene is chiefly Iceland, and the period the recent past.  "THE
BONDMAN" is one of Hall Caine's most moving love stories.  In some
foreign countries, particularly Scandinavia, it is thought to be his best.
</p>

<p>
<i>The Scotsman</i> says: "Hall Caine has, in this work, placed himself
beyond the front rank of the novelists of the day."
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
THE SCAPEGOAT
</p>

<p>
This is the story of a young and lovely girl, Naomi, who, born deaf,
dumb, and blind, recovers her senses one by one, in circumstances of
startling excitement in the life of her father, thus having the beauty
of the world revealed to her in sight, sound and speech, after her
intelligence has matured.  Around this central theme a dramatic narrative
gathers of life in Morocco, under the present half-civilised regime.
<i>The Times</i> says "the 'SCAPEGOAT' is the best of Hall Caine's novels,"
and that opinion is shared by many good judges.  It has had a warm
reception in foreign countries, particularly in Germany, where it has
been said that the central character bears an affinity to Goethe's
immortal Mignon.
</p>

<p>
<i>The Times</i>: "This is the author's masterpiece."
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
THE ETERNAL CITY
</p>

<p>
<i>704,371 copies of English editions sold to date.</i>
</p>

<p>
This is by much the most popular of Hall Caine's novels thus far, more
than a million copies of it having been sold in English editions only.
It is intended to show that the morality which is required of individual
men should govern nations also.  The chief scene is Rome, and the Pope
(a reverent portrait resembling Pius IX) is one of the leading
characters.  The story, which was first published in 1901, anticipated the
Socialistic and Communistic movement which is now rife, not only in
Italy, but throughout Europe.  A socialist leader of high character and
capacity, David Rossi, makes an effort to carry into effect the teachings
of Mazzini, which he understands to be according to the precepts of the
Lord's Prayer.  At the crisis of his endeavor he is betrayed into the
hands of the authorities by the woman he loves, who is moved solely by
the desire to save his life.  The perils of the communistic and
anti-military movement as well as its spiritual ideals form the background
of the story, but its main theme is love&mdash;the upraising of a woman's
character under the influence of a pure affection.  The love story is the
strongest element in this greatly popular book.
</p>

<p>
<i>The Methodist Times</i> says: "It is an enthralling, delicious, and
most pathetic love story."
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
THE PRODIGAL SON
</p>

<p>
<i>368,925 copies of English editions sold to date.</i>
</p>

<p>
This is an Iceland story, like "THE BONDMAN," but totally different in
spirit and treatment.  It is a modern rendering of the Biblical parable
of the same name, with a strong appeal for the elder brother, and it is
intended to say that an evil act once done can never be undone.  Some
of the incidents take place on the Riviera, the "far country," in which
the prodigal wastes his substance.  When he returns home he finds, not
the "fatted calf" awaiting him, but the wreckage caused by his conduct.
"THE PRODIGAL SON" was published simultaneously in eight foreign
countries, and was even more warmly praised abroad than at home.
Nearly half a million copies of it have been sold in the English
editions.  It was dramatised for Drury Lane Theatre and produced with
great success.
</p>

<p>
<i>The Westminster Gazette</i> says: "In truth, a work that must
certainly rank with the best in recent fiction."
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
THE WHITE PROPHET
</p>

<p>
This is a story of Egypt and the Soudan with its principal scenes in
Cairo and Khartoum.  It was published in 1909, and anticipated by
many years some racial, political and religious problems which are
now agitating those countries.  The central character resembles the
Madhi in his earlier years.  At first he is a religious reformer only, but
later he developes political aims which bring him into sharp collision
with the British rule.  A tragic happening enlists on his side the son
of the English Consul-General who remotely resembles the late Lord
Cromer in his policy, but not his person.  Out of this fact and the
further complication of his affection for an English woman, Helena, the
author developes his love story.  The glamour and mystery of the East
are the background of the novel, which is a strong contrast to the stark
simplicity of the scenes of Hall Caine's Manx and Icelandic stories.
</p>

<p>
<i>The Liverpool Post</i> says: "Hall Caine's power of rivetting and
engrossing attention will be found in this novel at its zenith."
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
THE WOMAN THOU GAVEST ME
</p>

<p>
<i>Over 475,000 copies of English editions sold to date</i>
</p>

<p>
This novel, as its title indicates, is intended to illustrate the
place which, through all the ages hitherto, woman has held
in relation to man, the place assigned to her by law, custom,
and even religion.  Mary O'Neill, a devout Catholic, is
brought up in a convent in Rome, and then married, before
sex has awakened in her, to a dissolute man of rank.  On
realising her position she rebels, and refuses herself to her
husband, but to prevent scandal, continues to live under his
roof.  Later on, love is born in her, but it is for another
and much worthier man.  What is she to do?  In her eyes it
is sin to love anybody except her husband.  And her religion
forbids her to seek her happiness through divorce.  Thus she
passes through a great struggle.  At length her love conquers
and she flies from the house in which she is a wife in name
only.  A child is born and she goes through the still greater
struggle of a mother with an "unwanted" child.  At length
salvation comes to her, without the violation of any law of
state or church.  The scene is chiefly London.  On first
publication the "WOMAN" was much criticised for the frankness
of its treatment of a delicate subject, but the criticism has
long died down.
</p>

<p>
<i>The Daily Chronicle</i> says: "It strikes a great blow for
righteousness, and in that light it is Hall Caine's
greatest achievement."
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
THE MASTER OF MAN
</p>

<p>
As "THE WOMAN THOU GAVEST ME" was the woman's
story, so "THE MASTER OF MAN" is the man's story.  Both
deal with the same eternal subject.  They are the opposite
facets of the same coin.  The new novel is, like "THE
DEEMSTER," a story of sin, suffering and redemption.  But
the story is entirely different.  Victor Stowell, a young man
of fine nature, coming of a family with high traditions,
commits a sin against a woman in circumstances of extreme
temptation such as come to millions of young men in every
generation.  He conceals his sin, and his concealment leads
to other and still other sins, until his whole life is wrapped
up in falsehood, and even the little community in which he
lives is in danger of being submerged in the consequences.
In his sufferings he descends as into Hell, but at length he
sees that there is only one salvation for himself, his victim
and his people&mdash;confession and reparation.  After he has
confessed his secret sin and paid the penalty in renunciation,
he is saved from spiritual death by the love of a noble-hearted
woman who has inspired him to the act of atonement&mdash;so
the climax of the story is the resurrection of his soul.
The scene is literally the Isle of Man, and the period the
present, but the one may be said to be all the world, and the
other all time, for the subject is universal.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t2">
J. B. LIPPINCOTT COMPANY'S PUBLICATIONS
</p>

<p class="t3b">
  A SELECTION OF NEW AND OLD<br />
  BOOKS ON A VARIETY OF SUBJECTS<br />
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
THE SONG OF SONGS.
</p>

<p>
Being a collection of love lyrics of Ancient Palestine.
</p>

<p>
By Morris Jastrow, Jr., Ph.D., LL.D.
</p>

<p>
Professor Jastrow's new work is a companion volume to his GENTLE
CYNIC (The Book of Ecclesiastes) and to his BOOK OF JOB.  These
three books of the Bible have been chosen by him for popular presentation,
because of their outstanding character as literary masterpieces, and
because of their human appeal.  This new translation is based on a
revised text.  The author also gives the origin, growth and interpretation
of the Songs.  These twenty-three songs are as fresh in their
appeal to the human heart to-day as they were over two thousand years
ago,&mdash;the author has given descriptive and enticing titles to them, such
as "Love's Ecstasy," "The Saucy Damsel," "Love's Longing," etc., etc.
Frontispiece by Alexander Bida.  Handsome octavo.  $2.50
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
SEEING THE SUNNY SOUTH
</p>

<p>
By John T. Faris
</p>

<p>
We are enabled in this book to appreciate the true wonders of the
South, so rich in scenic beauty, historic tradition and natural resources.
Dr. Faris gives a fascinating and vivid picture of the marvellous
country below the Mason and Dixon line.  He has the gift of being able to
make the reader feel something of the real atmosphere and human background
of the country through which he passed.  Bits of history, delightful
anecdotes of people and places enliven his narrative.  Frontispiece
in color, and one hundred and fifteen doubletone illustrations.
Handsome octavo.  $6.00
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
THE WHISTLER JOURNAL
</p>

<p>
By Elizabeth Rand Joseph Pennell
</p>

<p>
This companion work to the famous "Life" is full of the most
intimate relations of Whistler and his friends, including Rosetti,
William Morris, and many other notable personages.  It presents an
unusual view from the inside of art and literary circles of London and
Paris at that time.  There is much that is amusing and some that is
scandalous.  The eighty unusual illustrations are a feature that will
be prized by collectors; four of them are in color.  Crown octavo,
uniform with the "Life."  $8.50
</p>

<p>
Limited de Luxe Edition.  $15.00
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
A TALE OF A WALLED TOWN AND OTHER VERSES
</p>

<p>
By B 8266&mdash;Penitentiary
</p>

<p>
A volume of verse which is a real human document.  William
Stanley Braithwaite in his introduction to "A Tale of a Walled Town,"
says: "I do not say that 'A Tale of a Walled Town' is as great a poem
as either 'The Song of David or 'The Ballad of Reading Gaol,' but I
do say that nothing ranks between them and the poem of B 8266,
and that behind the latter is a long descent to any
similar accomplishment."  $2.00
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
LIPPINCOTT'S PRACTICAL BOOKS:
</p>

<p>
Serve Art and Beauty in the Home.
</p>

<p>
These are most complete and elaborately illustrated.  All one
wishes to know on each of the subjects is found under one cover.
Almost every phase of art in the home is covered&mdash;interior decoration,
furniture, arts and crafts, rugs, architecture, garden designings.
Each volume profusely illustrated in color, halftone and line, and with
charts and maps where necessary.  Bound in decorated cloth.  Octavo.
In a box.  Write for illustrated circulars of the seven titles.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
<i>FICTION OF CHARM AND DISTINCTION</i>
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
THE THING FROM THE LAKE
</p>

<p>
By Eleanor M. Ingram
</p>

<p>
"A tale from the border land of dread."  Roger Locke, successful
composer, purchases a country-place.  On the first night of his residence
a mysterious some one wakes him from a sound sleep and warns him
that his life is in danger.  Thus begins a tale of mystery and horror in
which the suspense is sustained until the climax, when in a sudden flash
the whole truth is revealed.  The reader can take his choice of either
an occult or scientific explanation of the mystery.  Frontispiece.  $1.90
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
WOUND STRIPES
</p>

<p>
By Bertha Lippincott Coles
</p>

<p>
Romances After the War.  One of the most interesting features
of the readjustment of human relations after the war has been the
sometimes humorous or pathetic romances of the returning men.
Mrs. Coles has collected in this volume five of her inimitable and
heart-appealing stories about war heroes.  They thrill with love and
patriotism.  $1.50
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
PRINCESS SALOME
</p>

<p>
By Dr. Burris Jenkins
</p>

<p>
"Princess Salome, A Tale of the Days of Camel Bells," will be admired
by some for the thrilling tale it tells; discussed by others for the
manner of the telling; and cherished by thousands for the inspiration
and faith it will give.  It is startling, dramatic, and makes real to us
the wonder and emotion which must have been experienced by the early
followers of Christ.  Frontispiece in color.  $2.00
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
THE TRYST
</p>

<p>
By Grace Livingston Hill
</p>

<p>
Mrs. Hill's novels are the wished-for books in many homes.  Nothing
unsavory ever creeps between the pages to mar her narratives.  "The
Tryst" is the gripping story of John Preeves,&mdash;how in his seeking
after God he finds Patty Merill, and helps to clear the mystery that
surrounds her life as well as the mystery of a death.  By far the strongest
story by this popular writer.  Frontispiece in color.  $2.00
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
THE MYSTERY OF THE SYCAMORE
</p>

<p>
By Carolyn Wells
</p>

<p>
Carolyn Wells has unsurpassed genius in creating plots and incidents
that are unusual, bizarre, and baffling to the lover of mystery.
Each new "Fleming Stone" story is original and different.  A cry of
fire, a murder, and a voluntary confession of three people to the crime
is the crux of the latest and most gripping story of her pen.
Frontispiece in color.  $2.00
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
NO DEFENCE
</p>

<p>
By Gilbert Parker
</p>

<p>
"No Defence" will be classed with the really great romances.  It
is Parker at his best.  "It has dash, fire, and romance; dramatic situations
and incidents, vivid pictures of West Indian forest and plantation
life, and an appealing love tale."&mdash;<i>The Outlook</i>.  4 Illustrations.  $2.00
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
HAPPY HOUSE
</p>

<p>
By Jane Abbott
</p>

<p>
This is the exceptional novel which everyone enjoys.  It is the spirit
of youth and love and joy caught between the covers of a book and done
in the wholesome American way.  Frontispiece in color.  $1.75
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
<i>RECENT OUTSTANDING BOOKS</i>
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
SEEING THE FAR WEST
</p>

<p>
By John T. Faris
</p>

<p>
A remarkable panorama of the scenic glories of the States from the
Rockies to the Pacific.  113 Illustrations and two Maps.  $6.00
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
THE BOOK OF JOB
</p>

<p>
By Morris Jastrow, Jr., Ph.D., LL.D.
</p>

<p>
Dr. Jastrow with rare insight and charm brings forth into the light
of understanding this most glorious of poems.  Frontispiece.  Octavo.  $4.00
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
THE ORIENT IN BIBLE TIMES
</p>

<p>
By Elihu Grant
</p>

<p>
A fascinating and historic panorama of the Oriental world, its
peoples, civilization, and history during Bible times.  30 Illustrations
and Map.  $2.50
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
PICTURE ANALYSIS OF GOLF STROKES
</p>

<p>
By James M. Barnes
</p>

<p>
"Jimmie" Barnes shows and explains Every Detail of Every Shot
in the text and with 300 remarkable action photographs.  "It has
already squared itself and much more in sight" wrote one enthusiast.
It plays every club in the bag.  Large octavo.  $6.50
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
LIPPINCOTT'S HOME MANUALS
</p>

<p>
No woman can afford to be without these splendid handbooks for
use in the home.  They show how to save time, money and energy in
household work of all kind.  Five volumes have been published on
Housewifery, The Business of the Household, Home and Community
Hygiene, Clothing for Women, Successful Canning and Preserving.
Others are in preparation.  Each profusely illustrated.  Write for
descriptive circulars.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
TRAINING FOR LIBRARIANSHIP
</p>

<p>
By J. H. Friedel, M.A.
</p>

<p>
Gives interesting facts and data regarding all phases of public and
special library work, useful to anyone who contemplates entering or
advancing in the profession.  8 Illustrations.  $1.75
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
THE BOOK OF COURAGE
</p>

<p>
By John T. Faris
</p>

<p>
This is not psychological medicine for neurasthenics, but strong
mental food suitable for the digestion of any one.  $1.50
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
LIMERICKS
</p>

<p>
By Florence Herrick Gardiner
</p>

<p>
This remarkable collection of the world's most famous limericks,
published originally under the title of "The Smile on the Face of the
Tiger," has been revised and enlarged, and contains 16 amusing
illustrations.  $1.00
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
THE PEOPLE OF PALESTINE
</p>

<p>
By Elihu Grant
</p>

<p>
This companion volume to "The Orient in Bible Times" gives a
vivid and truthful picture of present-day manners, customs and life in
Palestine.  45 Illustrations.  $2.50
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
THE CHARM OF FINE MANNERS
</p>

<p>
By Mrs. Helen Ekin Starrett
</p>

<p>
This character-forming book for girls is being accepted widely as
the keybook of the great movement for better morals and manners in
the young which is now sweeping the country.  $1.00
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
MRS. WILSON'S COOK BOOK
</p>

<p>
By Mrs. Mary A. Wilson
</p>

<p>
This book costs less than the price of a good meal and will save
the price of many.  There are 496 pages of new recipes and menus to
suit every purse.  $2.50
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
<i>LIPPINCOTT'S MERIT BOOKS FOR BOYS &amp; GIRLS</i>
</p>

<p><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
WOODCRAFT SERIES
</p>

<p>
By Dan Beard
</p>

<p>
American Boys' Book of Wild Animals.  Profusely illustrated.  $3.00.
</p>

<p>
American Boys' Handy Book of Camplore and Woodcraft.  377
Illustrations.  $3.00.
</p>

<p>
American Boys' Book of Bugs, Butterflies and Beetles.  280
Illustrations.  $2.50.
</p>

<p>
American Boys' Book of Signs, Signals and Symbols.  363
Illustrations.  $2.50.
</p>

<p>
Dan Beard knows what real boys enjoy.  His books are instructive
and entertaining and are prized by every "regular fellow."
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
AMERICAN TRAIL BLAZERS' SERIES
</p>

<p>
Twelve thrilling stories with authentic historical backgrounds
based on American heroes and incidents.  Each illustrated in color and
halftone, $1.75.  Write for descriptive circulars.
</p>

<p class="t3b">
STORIES FOR GIRLS
</p>

<p>
By Jane Abbott
</p>

<p>
Aprilly, 4 Illustrations, $1.75.
</p>

<p>
Highacres, 4 Illustrations, $1.75.
</p>

<p>
Keineth, 4 Illustrations, $1.50.
</p>

<p>
Larkspur, 4 Illustrations, $1.50.
</p>

<p>
Mrs. Abbott, the popular writer of healthy and enlivening fiction for
girls, has been compared to Louisa May Alcott.  Her high ideals for
womanhood have won her a growing popularity.  Real girls faced by
real problems are the characters in her stories, which are filled with
the joyous spirit of youth and spring.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
STORIES ALL CHILDREN LOVE SERIES
</p>

<p>
Nineteen famous stories for children, the latest volume being
"Mazli," by Johanna Spyri, author of "Heidi."  Ask to see these books.
They should be in every child's room.  Each volume is printed in large
type on white opaque paper, with from eight to twelve beautiful
illustrations in color, attractive lining papers, handsome binding, and
incomparable at the price per volume, $1.50.
</p>

<p><br /><br /></p>

<p class="t3b">
THE CHILDREN'S CLASSICS
</p>

<p>
Sixteen favorite fairy and story books for very little children, the
latest one being "All Time Stories," a collection of short stories from
many famous books.  The various titles in this series have been very
carefully edited and simplified for little folks.  It contains such books as
"Gulliver's Travels," "A Child's Garden of Verses," "Moni, the Goat
Boy," etc.  Illustrations in color.  Each $0.75.  Write for
descriptive circular.
</p>

<div>*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 61865 ***</div>
</body>

</html>
generated by cgit v1.2.3 (git 2.25.1) at 2026-06-18 05:02:44 +0000