"What's the news, Mr. Kelly?" said Caesar.

"The ould Dempster's dying," said Kelly.

"You don't say?" said everybody.

"Well, as good as dying at ten minutes wanting eight o'clock this morning," said the postman.

"The drink's been too heavy for the man," said John, the clerk.

"Wine is a serpent, and strong drink a mocker," said Caesar.

"Who'll be the new Dempster, Mr. Niplightly," said Jonaique.

"Hm!" snuffled the constable, easing his helmet, "dat's a serious matter, Mr. Jelly. We'll dake our time--well dake our time."

"Chut! There's only one man for it," said Caesar.

"Perhaps yes, perhaps no," said the constable.

"Do you mane the young Ballawhaine, Mr. Cregeen?" said the postman.

"Do I mane fiddlesticks!" said Caesar.

"Well, the man's father is at the Govenar reg'lar, they're telling me,"

said Kelly, "and Ross is this, and Ross is that--"

"Every dog praises his own tail," said Caesar.

"I'm not denying it, the man isn't fit--he has sold himself to the devil, that's a fact----"

"No, he hasn't," said Caesar, "the devil gets the like for nothing."

"But he's a Christian for all, and the Christians have been Dempsters time out of time----"

"Is he the only Christian that's in, then, eh?" said Caesar. "Go on, Kate; twist away."

"Is it Mr. Philip? Aw, I'm saying nothing against Mr. Philip," said the postman.

"You wouldn't get lave in this house, anyway," said Caesar.

"Aw, a right gentleman and no pride at all," said the postman. "As free and free with a poor man, and no making aisy either. I've nothing agen him myself. No, but a bit young for a Dempster, isn't he? Just a taste young, as the man said, eh?"

"Older than the young Ballawhaine, anyway," said John, the clerk.

"Aw, make him Dempster, then. I'm raising no objection," said Mr. Kelly.

"Go on, girl. Does that twister want oiling? Feed it, woman, feed it,"

said Caesar.

"His father should have been Dempster before him," said John, the clerk.

"Would have been too, only he went crooked when he married on yonder woman. She's through though, and what more natural----"

The rope stopped again, and Kate's voice, hard and thick, came from the farther end of it. "His mother being dead, eh?"

"It was the mother that done for the father, anyway," said the clerk.

"Consequently," said Kate, "he is to praise G.o.d that his mother is gone!"

"That girl wants a doctor," muttered Jonaique.

"The man couldn't drag the woman up after him," began the clerk. "It's always the way----"

"Just that," said Kate, with bitter irony.

"Of coorse, I'm not for saying it was the woman's fault entirely----"

"Don't apologise for her," said Kate. "She's gone and forgotten, and that being so, her son has now a chance of being Deemster."

"So he has," shouted Caesar, "and not second Dempster only, but first Dempster itself in time, and go on with the twister."

Kate laughed loudly, and cried, "Why don't you keep it up when your hand's in? First Deemster Christian, and then Sir Philip Christian, and then Lord Christian, and then----But you're talking nonsense, and you're a pack of tattlers. There's no thought of making Philip Christian a Deemster, and no hope of it and no chance of it, and I trust there never will be."

So saying, she flung the twister on the floor and rushed out of the mill, sobbing hysterically.

"Dr. Clucas is wonderful for females and young girls," said Jonaique.

"It's that Ross again," muttered Caesar.

"And he'll have her yet," said Kelly, the postman.

"I'd see her dead first," said Caesar. "It would be the jaws of h.e.l.l and the mouth of Satan."

That she who loved Philip to distraction should be the first to abuse and defame him was agony near to madness, for Kate knew where she stood.

It was not merely that Philip's success was separating them, not merely that the conventions of life, its usages, its manners, and its customs were putting worlds between them. The pathos of the girl's position was no accidental thing. It was a deeper, older matter; it was the same to-day as it had been yesterday and would be to-morrow; it began in the garden of Eden and would go on till the last woman died---it was the natural inferiority of woman in relation to man.

She had the same pa.s.sions as Philip, and was moved by the same love.

But she was not free. Philip alone was free. She had to wait on Philip's will, on Philip's word. She saw Philip slipping away from her, but she could not s.n.a.t.c.h at him before he was gone; she could not speak first; she could not say, "I love you; stay with me!" She was a woman, only a woman! How wretched to be a woman! How cruel!

But ah! the dear delicious thought! It came stealing up into her heart when the red riot was nearly killing her. What a glorious thing it was to be a woman after all! What a powerful thing! What a lovely and beloved thing! To rule the king, being the slave, was sweeter than to be the king himself. That was woman's place. It was where heaven itself had put her from the beginning until now. What weapons had it given her! Beauty! Charm! Love! The joy of it! To be the weak and overcome the strong! To be nothing in the battle of life, and yet conqueror of all the world!

Kate vowed that, come what would, Philip should never leave her.

XX.

On the day when the last of the harvest is saved in the Isle of Man, the farmer gives a supper to his farm-people, and to the neighbours who have helped him to cut and house it. This supper, attended by simple and beautiful ceremonies, is called the Melliah. The parson may be asked to it, and if there is a friend of position and free manners, he also is invited. Caesar's Melliah fell within a week of the rope-making in the mill, and partly to punish Kate, partly to honour himself, he asked Philip to be present.