The Manxman

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

"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.

"Will I be seeing her myself to-day, think you?" asked Pete.

"I don't know in the world, but I'll ask," answered Grannie.

"You're an angel, Grannie," said Pete, "a reg'lar ould archangel."

Kate shuddered with a new fear. It was clear that in the eyes of her people the old relations with Pete were to stand. Everybody expected her to marry Pete; everybody seemed anxious to push the marriage on.

Grannie came up with her breakfast, pulled aside the blind, and opened the window.

"Nancy will tidy the room a taste," she said coaxingly, "and then I shouldn't wonder if you'll be sending for Pete."

Kate raised a cry of alarm.

"Aw, no harm when a girl's poorly," said Grannie, "and her promist man for all."

Kate tried to protest and explain, but courage failed her. She only said, "Not yet, mother. I'm not fit to see him yet."

"Say no more about it. Not to-day at all--to-morrow maybe," said Grannie, and Kate clutched at the word, and answered eagerly--

"Yes, tomorrow, mother; to-morrow maybe."

Before noon Philip had come again. Kate heard his horse's step on the road, trotting hard from the direction of Peel. He drew up at the porch, but did not alight, and Grannie went out to him.

"I'll not come in to-day, Mrs. Cregeen," he said. "Does she continue to improve?"

"As nice as nice, sir," said Grannie.

Kate crept out of bed, stole to the window, hid behind the curtains, and listened intently.

"What a mercy all goes well," he said; Kate could hear the heaving of his breath. "Is Pete about?"

"No, but gone to Ramsey, sir," said Grannie. "It's like you'll meet him if you are going on to Ballure."

"I must be getting back to business," said Philip, and the horse swirled across the road.

"Did you ride from Douglas on purpose, then?" said Grannie, and Philip answered with an audible effort--

"I was anxious. What an escape she has had! I could scarcely sleep last night for thinking of it."

Kate put her hand to her throat to keep back the cry that was bubbling up, and her mother's voice came thick and deep.

"The Lord's blessing. Master Philip----" she began, but the horse's feet stamped out everything as it leapt to a gallop in going off.

Kate listened where she knelt until the last beat of the hoofs had died away in the distance, and then she crept back to bed and covered up her head in the clothes as before, but with a storm of other feelings. "He loves me," she told herself with a thrill of the heart. "He loves me--he loves me still! And he will never, never, never see me married to anybody else."

She felt an immense relief now, and suddenly found strength to think of facing Pete. It even occurred to her to send for him at once, as a first step towards removing the impression that the old relations were to remain. She would be quiet, she would be cold, she would show by her manner that Pete was impossible, she would break the news gently.

Pete came like the light at Nancy's summons. Kate heard him on the stairs whispering with Nancy and breathing heavily. Nancy was hectoring it over him and pulling him about to make him presentable.