Part 113 (2/2)

Black Tom stood with feet flatly planted apart, rested himself on the shank of his besom, and said, ”Don't be playing cammag (s.h.i.+ndy) with me, Mr. Holy Ghoster. It isn't honesty that's making the diff'rance between us at all--it's luck. You've won and I've lost, you've succeeded and I've failed, you're wearing your chapel hat and I'm in this bit of a saucepan lid, but you're only a reg'lar ould Pharisee, anyway.”

Caesar waved his hand. ”I can't take the anger with thee, Thomas,” he said, backing himself out. ”I thought the devil had been chained since our last camp-meeting, but I was wrong seemingly. He goeth about still like a raging lion, seeking whom he may devour.”

”Don't be trying to knock me down with your tex'es,” said Thomas, shouldering his besom. ”Any c.o.c.k can crow on his own midden.”

”You can't help it, Thomas,” said Caesar, edging away. ”It isn't my ould friend that's blaspheming at all. It's the devil that has entered into his heart and is rending him. But cast the devil out, man, or h.e.l.l will be thy portion.”

”I was there last night in my dreams, Caesar,” said Black Tom, following him up. ”'Oh, Lord Devil, let me in,' says I. 'Where d'ye come from?'

says he. 'The Isle of Man,' says I. 'I'm not taking any more from there till my Bishop comes,' says he. 'Who's that?' says I. 'Bishop Caesar, the publican--who else?' says he.”

”I marvel at thee, Thomas,” said Caesar, half through the small door of the portcullis, ”but the sons of Belial have to fight hard for his throne. I'll pray for thee, though, that it be not remembered against thee when(D.V.) there will be weeping and wailing and gnas.h.i.+ng of teeth.”

That night Caesar visited the Deemster at Elm Cottage. His eyes glittered, and there was a look of frenzy in his face. He was still in his mood of spiritual pride, and when he spoke it was always with the thees and the thous and in the high pitch of the preacher.

”The Ballawhaine is dead, your Honour,” he cried, ”They wouldn't have me tell thee before because of thy body's weakness, but now they suffer it.

Groanings and moanings and 'stericks of torment! Ter'ble sir, ter'ble!

Took a notion he would have water poured out for him at the last. It couldn't wash him clane, though. And shouting with his dying voice, 'I've sinned, O G.o.d, I've sinned!' Oh, I delivered my soul, sir; he can clear me of that, anyway. 'Lay hould of a free salvation,' says I. 'I've not lived a right life,' says he. 'Truth enough,' says I; 'you've lived a life of carnal freedom, but now is the appointed time. Say, ”Lord, I belaive; help thou my unbelaife.”' 'Too late, Mr. Cregeen, too late,'

says he, and the word was scarce out of his mouth when he was key-cold in a minute, and gone into the night of all flesh that's lost. Well, it was his own son that killed him, sir; robbed him of every silver sixpence and ruined him. The last mortgage he raised was to keep the young man out of prison for forgery. Bad, sir, bad! To indulge a child to its own d.a.m.nation is bad. A human infirmity, though; and I'm feeling for the poor sinner myself being tempted--that is to say inclining--but thank the Lord for his strengthening arm----”

”Is he buried?” asked Philip.

”Buried enough, and a poor funeral too, sir,” said Caesar, walking the room with a proud step, the legs straightened, the toes conspicuously turned out. ”Driving rain and sleet, sir, the wind in the trees, the gra.s.s wet to your calf, and the parson in his white smock under the umbrella. n.o.body there to spake of, neither; only myself and the tenants mostly.”

”Where was Ross?”

”Gone, sir, without waiting to see his foolish ould father pushed under the sod. Well, there was not much to wait for neither. The young man has been a besom of fire and burnt up everything. Not so much left as would buy a rope to hang him. And Ballawhaine is mine, sir; mine in a way of spak-ing--my son-in-law's, anyway--and he has given me the right to have and to hould it. Aw, a Sabbath time, sir; a Sabbath time. I made up my mind to have it the night the man struck me in my own house in Sulby. He betrayed my daughter at last, sir, and took her from her home, and then her husband lent six thousand pounds on mortgage. 'Do what you like with it,' said he, and I said to myself, 'The man shall starve; he shall be a beggar; he shall have neither bread to eat, nor water to drink, nor a roof to cover him.' And the moment the breath was out of the ould man's body I foreclosed.”

Philip was trembling from head to foot. ”Do you mean,” he faltered, ”that that was your reason?”

”It is the Lord's hand on a rascal,” said Caesar, ”and proud am I to be the instrument of his vengeance. 'G.o.d moves in a mysterious way,' sir.

Oh, the Lord is opening His word more and more. And I have more to tell thee, too. Balla-whaine would belong to thyself, sir, if every one had his rights. It was thy grandfather's inheritance, and it should have been thy father's, and it ought to be thine. Take it, sir, take it on thy own terms; it is worth a matter of twelve thousand, but thou shalt have it for nine, and pay for it when the Lord gives thee substance.

Thou hast been good to me and to mine, and especially to the poor lost lamb who lies in the Castle to-night in her shame and disgrace. Little did I think I should ever repay thee, though. But it is the Lord's doings. It is marvellous in our eyes. 'Deep in unfathomable mines'----”

Caesar was pacing the room and speaking in tones of rapture. Philip, who was sitting at the table, rose from it with a look of fear.

”Frightful! frightful!” he muttered. ”A mistake! a mistake!”

”The Lord G.o.d makes no mistakes, sir,” cried Caesar.

”But what if it was not Ross----” began Philip. Caesar paid no heed.

”What if it was not Ross----” Caesar glanced over his shoulder.

”What if it was some one else----” said Philip. Caesar stopped in front of him.

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