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Older, perhaps, perhaps sadder, and a boy no more, but hopeful still, and ready to face whatever fate befall, with her I love beside me." Next day Jem-y-Lord took this letter to Castle Rushen and brought back an answer. It was one line only "My darling! At last! At last! Oh, Philip! Philip! But what about our child?"

God had intended that for this, the peace of his soul, he should follow the phases of this drama of a naked heart. He was sobbing, but his sobs were like growls. "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.

Jem-y-Lord, who was beating out the pillow, dropped it, in his fumbling, half over the Deemster's face, and looked at Pete in terror. Would this cruel delirium never break? Where was the doctor? Would he not come at all? Pete had risen to his feet, and was gazing down with a look of stupor. He had been thinking that Philip had robbed him of the child. Was it he who had robbed Philip?

When he knew anything more, a voice at his elbow was saying out of a palpitating gloom, "The gentleman can't come, seemingly; he has sent a telegram." It was Jem-y-Lord holding a telegram in his hand. Philip tore open the envelope and read "Coming home by Ramsey boat to-morrow well and hearty tell Kirry Peat."

He'll be here in a moment." "My wig and gown, Jemmy," said Philip. "Deemster's wig, your Excellency?" "Yes." "Last time you'll wear it, sir." "The last, indeed, my lad." There was a clash of steel outside, followed by the beat of drum. "He's here," said Jem-y-Lord. Philip listened.

His limbs pained although they were swelling to enormous size. He felt as if a heavy, invisible hand had been laid on the top of his head. The clerk caught his eye, and then he rose with an apologetic air, took hold of the rail, and made an effort to cross the dais. At the next moment his servant, Jem-y-Lord, had leapt up to his side, but he made an impatient gesture as if declining help.

"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 shins.

It seemed as if he had been on a journey and something had happened in his absence. The secret which he had struggled so long to confess had somehow been revealed. 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.

He could hesitate no longer; his cup was brimming over; he would drink it to the dregs. Jem-y-Lord came with his mouth full of news. The town was decorated with bunting. There was to be a general holiday. A grand stand had been erected on the green in front of the Court-house. The people were not going to be deterred by the Deemster's refusals.

Some one said the Deemster's heart was beating. They brought from another room a little ivory hand-glass and held it over the mouth. When they raised it the face of the mirror was faintly blurred. That little cloud on the glass seemed more bright than the shining tread of an angel on the sea. Jem-y-Lord took a sponge and began to moisten the cold forehead.