Part 14 (2/2)

”A better chance,” the Ballawhaine continued, ”of the few places open in the island than if he were brought up at the Manx bar only, which would cost me less than half as much.”

”Oh! but the money will come back to you, both for Ross and Philip,”

said Auntie Nan.

The Ballawhaine coughed impatiently. ”You don't read me,” he said irritably. ”These places are few, and Manx advocates are as thick as flies in a glue-pot. For every office there must be fifty applicants, but training counts for something, and influence for something, and family for something.”

Auntie Nan began to be penetrated as by a chill.

”These,” said the Ballawhaine, ”I bring to bear for Ross, that he may distance all compet.i.tors. Do you read me now?”

”Read you, Peter?” said Auntie Nan.

The Ballawhaine fixed his hollow eye upon her, and said, ”What do you ask me to do? You come here and ask me to provide, prepare, and equip a rival to my own son.”

Auntie Nan had grasped his meaning at last.

”But gracious me, Peter,” she said, ”Philip is your own nephew, your own brother's son.”

The Ballawhaine rubbed the side of his nose with his lean forefinger, and said, ”Near is my s.h.i.+rt, but nearer is my skin.”

Auntie Nan fixed her timid eyes upon him, and they grew brave in their gathering indignation. ”His father is dead, and he is poor and friendless,” she said.

”We've had differences on that subject before, mistress,” he answered.

”And yet you begrudge him the little that would start him in life.”

”My own has earlier claim, ma'am.”

”Saving your presence, sir, let me tell you that every penny of the money you are spending on Ross would have been Philip's this day if things had gone different.”

The Ballawhaine bit his lip. ”Must I, for my sins, be compelled to put an end to this interview?”

He rose to go to the door. Philip rose also.

”Do you mean it?” said Auntie Nan. ”Would you dare to turn me out of the house?”

”Come, Auntie, what's the use?” said Philip.

The Ballawhaine was drumming on the edge of the open door. ”You are right, young man,” he said, ”a woman's hysteria is of _no_ use.”

”That will do, sir,” said Philip in a firm voice.

The Ballawhaine put his hand familiarly on Philip's shoulder. ”Try Bishop Wilson's theological college, my friend; its cheap and----”

”Take your hand from him, Peter Christian,” cried Auntie Nan. Her eyes flashed, her cheeks were aflame, her little gloved hands were clenched.

”You made war between his father and your father, and when I would have made peace you prevented me. Your father is dead, and your brother is dead, and both died in hate that might have died in love, only for the lies you told and the deceit you practised. But they have gone where the mask falls from all faces, and they have met before this, eye to eye, and hand to hand. Yes, and they are looking down on you now, Peter Christian, and they know you at last for what you are and always have been--a deceiver and a thief.”

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