The Manxman

Between torture and love he had almost broken down at that, but he gripped his breast and turned half aside, for his eyes were streaming.

She came up to him and touched with the tips of her fingers the hand that hung by his side, and said in a voice like a child's, "Fancy! this is the end of everything, and when we part now we are to meet no more.

Not the same way at all--not as we have met. You will be like anybody else to me, and I will be like anybody else to you. Miss Cregeen, that will be my name and you will be Mr. Christian. When you see me you'll say to yourself, 'Yes, poor thing; long ago, when she was a girl, I made her love me. n.o.body ever loved me like that.' And fancy! when you pa.s.s me in the street, you will not even look my way. You won't, will you?

No--no, it will be better not. Goodbye!"

Her simple tenderness almost stifled him. He had to hold his under lip with his teeth to keep back the cry that was bursting from his tongue.

At last he could bear it no longer, and he broke out, "Would to G.o.d we had never loved each other! Would to G.o.d we had never met!"

But she answered with the same childish sweetness, "Don't say that, Philip. We have had some happy hours together. I would rather be parted from you like this, though it is so hard, so cruel, than never to have met you at all. Isn't it something for me to think of, that the truest, cleverest, n.o.blest man in all the world has loved me?... Good-bye!...

Good-bye!"

His heart bled, his heart cried, but he uttered no sound. They were side by side. She let his hand slip from the tips of her fingers, and drew silently away. At three paces apart she paused, but he gave no sign. She climbed the low brow of the hill slowly, very slowly, trying to command her throat, which was fluttering, and looking back through her tears as she went. Philip heard the s.h.i.+ngle slip under her feet while she toiled up the cliff, and when she reached the top the soft thud on the turf seemed to beat on his heart. She stood there a moment against the sky, waiting for a sound from the sh.o.r.e, a cry, a word, the lifting of a hand, a sob, a sigh, her own name, "Kate," and she was ready to fly back even then, wounded and humiliated as she was, a poor torn bird that had been struggling in the lime. But no; he was silent and motionless, and she disappeared behind the hill. He saw her go, and all the light of heaven went with her.

VIII.

It was so far back home, so much farther than it had been to come. The course is short and easy going out to sea when the tide is with you, and the water is smooth, and the sun is s.h.i.+ning, but long and hard coming back to harbour, when the waves have risen, and the sky is low, and the wind is on your bow.

So far, so very far. She thought everybody looked at her, and knew her for what she was--a broken, forsaken, fallen woman. And she was so tired too; she wondered if her limbs would carry her.

When Philip was left alone, the sky seemed to be lying on his shoulders.

The English mountains were grey and ghostly now, and the storm, which had spent itself on the other coast, seemed to hang over the island.

There were breakers where the long dead sea had been, and the petrel outside was scudding close to the white curves, and uttering its dismal note.

So heavy and confused had the storm and wreck of the last hour left him, that he did not at first observe by the

That night Philip dreamt a dream. He was sitting on a dais with a wooden canopy above him, the English coat of arms behind, and a great book in front; his hands shook as he turned the leaves; he felt his leg hang heavily; people bowed low to him, and dropped their voices in his presence; he was the Deemster, and he was old. A young woman stood in the dock, dripping water from her hair, and she had covered her face with her hands. In the witness-box a young man was standing, and his head was down. The man had delivered the woman to dishonour; she had attempted her life in her shame and her despair. And looking on the man, the Deemster thought he spoke in a stern voice, saying, "Witness, I am compelled to punish her, but oh to heaven that I could punish you in her place! What have you to say for yourself?" "I have nothing to say for myself," the young man answered, and he lifted his head and the old Deemster saw his face. Then Philip awoke with a smothered scream, for the young man's face had been his own.

IX.

When Caesar got to the quay, he looked about with watchful eyes, as if fearing he might find somebody there before him. The coast was clear, and he gave a grunt of relief. After fixing the horse-cloth, and settling the mare in a nose-bag, he began to walk up and down the fore part of the harbour, still keeping an eager look-out. As time went on he grew comfortable, exchanged salutations with the harbour-master, and even whistled a little to while away the time.

"Quiet day, Mr. Quayle."

"Quiet enough yet, Mr. Cregeen; but what's it saying? 'The greater the calm the nearer the south wind.'"

By the time that Caesar, from the end of the pier, saw the smoke of the steamer coming round Kirk Maughold Head, he was in a spiritual, almost a mournful, mood. He was feeling how melancholy was the task of going to meet the few possessions, the clothes and such like, which were all that remained of a dear friend departed. It was the duty of somebody, though, and Caesar drew a long breath of resignation.

The steamer came up to the quay, and there was much bustle and confusion. Caesar waited, with one hand on the mare's neck, until the worst of it was over. Then he went aboard, and said in a solemn voice to the sailor at the foot of the gangway, "Anything here the property of Mr. Peter Quilliam?"

"That's his luggage," said the sailor, pointing to a leather trunk of moderate size among similar trunks at the mouth of the hatchway.

"H'm!" said Caesar, eyeing it sideways, and thinking how small it was.

Then, reflecting that perhaps valuable papers were all it was thought worth while to send home, he added cheerfully, "I'll take it with me."

Somewhat to Caesar's surprise, the sailor raised no difficulties, but just as he was regarding the trunk with that faith which is the substance of things hoped for, a big, ugly hand laid hold of it, and began to rock it about like a pebble.

It was Black Tom, smoking with perspiration.

"Aisy, man, aisy," said Caesar, with lofty dignity. "I've the gig on the quay."

"And I've a stiff cart on the market," said Black Tom.

"I'm wanting no a.s.sistance," said Caesar; "you needn't trouble yourself."

"Don't mention it, Caesar," said Black Tom, and he turned the trunk on end and bent his back to lift it.

But Caesar put a heavy hand on top and said, "Gough bless me, man, but I am sorry for thee. Mammon hath entered into thy heart, Tom."

"He have just popped out of thine, then," said Black Tom, swirling the trunk on one of its corners.

But Caesar held on, and said, "I don't know in the world why you should let the devil of covetousness get the better of you."

"I don't mane to--let go the chiss," said Black Tom, and in another minute he had it on his shoulder.

"Now, I believe in my heart," said Caesar, "I would be forgiven a little violence," and he took the trunk by both hands to bring it down again.

"Let go the chiss, or I'll strek thee into the harbour," bawled Black Tom under his load.

"The Philistines be upon thee, Samson," cried Caesar, and with that there was a struggle.

In the midst of the uproar, while the men were shouting into each other's faces, and the trunk was rocking between them shoulder high, a sunburnt man, with a thick beard and a formidable voice, a stalwart fellow in a pilot jacket and wide-brimmed hat, came hurrying up the cabin-stairs, and a dog came running behind him. A moment later he had parted the two men, and the trunk was lying at his feet.

Black Tom fell back a step, lifted his straw hat, scratched his bald crown, and muttered in a voice of awe. "Holy sailor!"

Caesar's face was livid, and his eyes went up toward his forehead. "Lord have mercy upon me," he mumbled; "have mercy on my soul, O Lord."

"Don't be afraid," said the stranger. "I'm a living man and not a ghost."

"The man himself," said Black Tom.

"Peter Quilliam alive and hearty," said Caesar.

"I am," said Pete. "And now, what's the bobbery between the pair of you?

Shuperintending the beaching of my trunk, eh?"

But having recovered from his terror at the idea that Pete was a spirit, Caesar began to take him to task for being a living man. "How's this?"

said he. "Answer me, young man, I've praiched your funeral."

"You'll have to do it again, Mr. Cregeen, for I'm not gone yet," said Pete.

"No, but worth ten dead men still," said Black Tom. "And my goodness, boy, the smart and stout you're looking, anyway. Been thatching a bit on the chin, eh? Foreign parts has made a man of you, Peter. The straight you're like the family, too! You'll be coming up to the trough with me--the ould home, you know. I'll be whipping the chiss ash.o.r.e in a jiffy, only Caesar's that eager to help, it's wonderful. No, you'll not then?"

Pete was shaking his head as he went up the gangway, and seeing this, Caesar said severely--