Part 103 (1/2)

”Is she worse?”

”It's life or death now. We must try something that I saw when I was away.”

”Good Lord, and I've been sleeping! Save her, Philip! You're great; your clever----”

”Be quiet, for G.o.d's sake, my good fellow! Quick, a kettle of boiling water--a blanket--some hot towels.”

”Oh, you're a friend, you'll save her. The doctors don't know nothing.”

Ten minutes afterwards the child made a feeble cry, coughed loosely, threw up phlegm, and came out of the drowsy land which it had inhabited for a week. In ten minutes more it was wrapped in the hot towels and sitting on Pete's knee before a brisk are, opening its little eyes and pursing its little mouth, and making some inarticulate communication.

Then Grannie awoke with a start, and reproached herself for sleeping.

”But dear heart alive,” she cried, with both hands up, ”the bogh villish is mended wonderful.”

Nancy came back in her stockings, blinking and yawning. She clapped and crowed at sight of the child's altered face. The clock in the kitchen was striking twelve by this time, the bells had begun to ring again, the carol singers were coming out of the church, there was a sound on the light snow of the street like the running of a shallow river, and the waits were being sung for the dawn of another Christmas.

The doctor looked in on his way home, and congratulated himself on the improved condition. The crisis was pa.s.sed, the child was safe.

”Ah! better, better,” he said cheerily. ”I thought we might manage it this time.”

”It was the Dempster that done it,” cried Pete. He was cooing and blowing at little Katherine over the fringe of her towels. ”He couldn't have done more for the lil one if she'd been his own flesh and blood.”

Philip dared not speak. He hurried away in a storm of emotion. ”Not yet,” he thought, ”not yet.” The time of his discovery was not yet. It was like Death, though--it waited for him somewhere. Somewhere and at some time--some day in the year, some place on the earth. Perhaps his eyes knew the date in the calendar, perhaps his feet knew the spot on the land, yet he knew neither. Somewhere and at some time--G.o.d knew where--G.o.d knew when--He kept his own secrets.

That night Philip slept at the ”Mitre,” and next morning he went up to Ballure.

IV.

The Governor could not forget Tynwald. Exaggerating the humiliation of that day, he thought his influence in the island was gone. He sold his horses and carriages, and otherwise behaved like a man who expected to be recalled.

Towards Philip he showed no malice. It was not merely as the author of his shame that Philip had disappointed him.

He had half cherished a hope that Philip would become his son-in-law.

But when the rod in his hand had failed him, when it proved too big for a staff and too rough for a crutch, he did not attempt to break it.

Either from the instinct of a gentleman, or the pride of a strong man, he continued to shower his favours upon Philip. Going to London with his wife and daughter at the beginning of the new year, he appointed Philip to act as his deputy.

Philip did not abuse his powers. As grandson of the one great Manxman of his century, and himself a man of talents, he was readily accepted by the island. His only drawback was his settled melancholy. This added to his interest if it took from his popularity. The ladies began to whisper that he had fallen in love, and that his heart was ”buried in the grave.” He did not forget old comrades. It was remembered, in his favour, that one of his friends was a fisherman, a cousin across the bar of b.a.s.t.a.r.dy, who had been a fool and gone through his fortune.

On St. Bridget's Day Philip held Deemster's Court in Ramsey. The snow had gone and the earth had the smell of violets. It was almost as if the violets themselves lay close beneath the soil, and their odour had been too long kept under. The sun, which had not been seen for weeks, had burst out that day; the air was warm, and the sky was blue. Inside the Court-house the upper arcs of the windows had been let down; the sun shone on the Deemster as he sat on the dais, and the spring breeze played with his silvery wig. Some^ times, in the pauses of rasping voices, the birds were heard to sing from the trees on the lawn outside.

The trial was a tedious and protracted one. It was the trial of Black Tom. During the epidemic that had visited the island he had developed the character of a witch doctor. His first appearance in Court had been before the High Bailiff, who had committed him to prison. He had been bailed out by Pete, and had forfeited his bail in an attempt at flight.

The witnesses were now many, and some came from a long distance. It was desirable to conclude the same day. At five in the evening the Deemster rose and said, ”The Court will adjourn for an hour, gentlemen.”

Philip took his own refreshments in the Deemster's room--Jem-y-Lord was with him--then put off his wig and gown, and slipped through the prisoners' yard at the back and round the corner to Elm Cottage.

It was now quite dark. The house was lit by the firelight only, which flashed like Will-o'-the-wisp on the hall window. Philip was surprised by unusual sounds. There was laughter within, then singing, and then laughter again. He bad reached the porch and his approach had not been heard. The door stood open and he looked in and listened.