The Manxman

"What's he doing now?" thought Jem-y-Lord, craning his neck at the door.

"Shall I call for somebody?"

Pete had picked up from the floor the lock of hair that had been lying under his foot, and he was putting it back into Philip's breast.

"Nothing but me between them," he thought, "nothing but me."

"Sit down, sir," cried the unconscious man. It was only the last outbreak of Philip's delirium, but Pete trembled and shrank back.

Then Philip groaned and his blue lips quivered. He opened his eyes. They wandered about the room for a moment, and afterwards fixed themselves on Pete in a long and haggard gaze. Pete's own eyes were too full of tears to be full of sight, but he could see that the change had come. He panted with expectation, and looked down at Philip with doglike delight.

There was a moment's silence, and then, in a voice as faint as a breath, Philip murmured. "What's----where's----is it Pete?"

At that Pete uttered a shout of joy. "He's himself! He's himself! Thank G.o.d!"

"Eh?" said Philip helplessly.

"Don't you be bothering yourself now," cried Pete. "Lie quiet, boy; you're in your own room, and as nice as nice."

"But," said Philip, "will you not kindly----"

"Not another word, Phil. It's nothing. You're all serene, and about as right as ninepence."

"Your Honour has been delirious," said Jem-y-Lord.

"Chut!" said Pete behind his hand, and then, with another joyful shout, "Is it a beefsteak you'll be having, Phil, or a dish of tay and a herring?"

Philip looked perplexed. "But could you not help me----" he faltered.

"You fainted in the Court-house, sir," said Jem-y-Lord.

"Ah!" It had all come back.

"Hould your whisht, you gawbie," whispered Pete, and he made a furtive kick at Jemmy's s.h.i.+ns.

Pete was laughing and crying in one breath. In the joyful reflux from evil pa.s.sions the great fellow was like a boy. He poked the fire into a blaze, snuffed the candle with his fingers, sang out "My gough!" when he burnt them, and then hopped about the floor and cut as many capers as a swallow after a shower of rain.

Philip looked at him and relapsed into silence. It seemed as if he had been on a journey and

Jem-y-Lord was beating out his pillows. "Does he know?" said Philip.-- "Yes," whispered Jemmy.

"Everything!"

"Everything. You have been delirious."

"Delirious!" said Philip, with alarm.

Then he struggled to rise. "Help me up. Let me go away. Why did you bring me here?"

"I couldn't help it, sir. I tried to prevent----"

"I cannot face him," said Philip. "I am afraid. Help me, help me."

"You are too weak, sir. Lie still. No one shall harm you. The doctor is coming."

Philip sank back with a look of fear. "Water," he cried feebly.

"Here it is," said Jem-y-Lord, lifting from the dressing-table the jug out of which he had moistened the sponge.

"Tut!" cried Pete, and he tipped the jug so that half the water spilled.

"Brandy for a man when he's in bed, you goosey gander. Hould, hard, boy; I've a taste of the rael stuff in the cupboard. Half a minute, mate.

A drop will be doing no harm at all," and away he went down the stairs like a flood, almost sweeping over Nancy, who had come creeping up in her stockings at the sound of voices.

The child had awakened in its cradle, and, with one dumpy leg over its little quilt, it was holding quiet converse with its toes.

"Hollo, young c.o.c.kalorum, is it there you are!" shouted Pete.

At the next moment, with a noggin bottle of brandy in his fist, he was leaping upstairs, three steps at a time.

Meanwhile Jem-y-Lord had edged up to the Deemster and whispered, with looks of fear and mystery, "Don't take it, sir."

"What?" said Philip vacantly.--"The brandy," said Jem.

"Eh?"

"It will be----" began Jem, but Pete's step was thundering up the stairs, and with a big opening of the mouth, rather than an audible utterance of the tongue, he added, "poisoned."

Philip could not comprehend, and Pete came shouting--

"Where's your water, now, ould Snuff-the-Wind?"

While Pete was pouring the brandy into a gla.s.s and adding the water, Jemmy caught up a sc.r.a.p of newspaper that was lying about, rummaged for a pencil, wrote some words on the margin, tore the piece off, and smuggled it into the Deemster's hand.

"Afraid of Pete!" thought Philip. "It is monstrous! monstrous!"

At that moment there was the sound of a horse's hoofs on the road.

"The doctor," cried Jem-y-Lord. "The doctor at last. Wait, sir, wait,"

and he ran downstairs.

"Here you are," cried Pete, coming to the bedside, gla.s.s in hand. "Drink it up, boy. It'll stiffen you. My faith, but it's a oner. Aw, G.o.d is good, though. He's all that. He's good tremenjous."

Pete was laughing; he was crying; he was tasting a new sweetness--the sweetness of being a good man again.

Philip was holding Jem-y-Lord's paper before his eyes, and trying to read it.

"What's this that Jemmy has given me?" he said. "Read it, Pete. My eyes are dazed."

Pete took the paper in his left hand, still holding the gla.s.s in his right. To get the light on to the writing he went down on his knees by the bed-head and leaned over towards the fire. Then, like a school-boy repeating his task, he read in a singsong voice the words that Jem-y-Lord had written:--"Don't drink the brandy. Pete is trying to kill you."