Part 48 (1/2)

She fell into a doze, and was awakened by a horse's step on the road, and the voices of two men talking as they came nearer.

”Man alive, the joy I'm taking to see you! The tallygraph? Coorse not.

Knew I'd find you at the funeral, though.” It was Pete.

”But I meant to come over after it.” It was Philip, and Kate's heart stood still.

The voices were smothered for a moment (as the buzzing is when the bees enter the hive), and then began with as sharper ring from the rooms below.

”How's she now, Mrs. Cregeen?” said the voice of Philip.

”Better, sir--much better,” answered Grannie.

”No return of the unconsciousness?”

”Aw, no,” said Grannie.

”Was she”--Kate thought the voice faltered--”was she delirious?”

”Not rambling at all,” replied Grannie.

”Thank G.o.d,” said Philip, and Kate felt a long breath of relief go through the air.

”I didn't hear of it until this morning,” said Philip. ”The postman told me at breakfast-time, and I called on Dr. Mylechreest coming out. If I had known----I didn't sleep much last night, anyway; but if I had ever imagined----”

”You're right good to the girl, sir,” said Grannie, and then Kate, listening intently, caught a quavering sound of protestation.

”'Deed you are, though, and always have been,” said Grannie, ”and I'm saying it before Pete here, that ought to know and doesn't.”

”Don't I, though?” came in the other voice--the resounding voice--the voice full of laughter and tears together. ”But I do that, Grannie, same as if I'd been here and seen it. Lave it to me to know Phil Christian.

I've summered and wintered the man, haven't I? He's timber that doesn't start, mother, blow high, blow low.”

Kate heard another broken sound as of painful protest, and then with a sickening sense she covered up her head that she might hear no more.

XII.

She was weak and over-wrought, and she fell asleep as she lay covered.

While she slept a babel of meaningless voices kept clas.h.i.+ng in her ears, and her own voice haunted her perpetually. When she awoke it was broad morning again, and the house was full of the smell of boiling stock-fish. By that she knew it was another day, and the hour of early breakfast. She heard the click of cups and saucers on the kitchen table, the step of her father coming in from the mill, and then the heartsome voice of Pete talking of the changes in the island since he went away. New houses, promenades, iron piers, breakwaters, lakes, towers--wonderful I extraordinary! tre-menjous!

”But the boys--w here's the Manx boys at all?” said Pete. ”Gone like a flight of birds to Austrillya and Cleveland and the Cape, and I don't know where. Not a Manx house now that hasn't one of the boys foreign.

And the houses themselves--where's the ould houses and the crofts?

Felled, all felled or boarded up. And the boats--where's the boats?

Lying rotting at the top of the harbour.”

Grannie's step came into the kitchen, and Pete's loud voice drooped to a whisper. ”How's herself this morning, mother?”

”Sleeping quiet and nice when I came downstairs,” said Grannie.