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Updated: June 20, 2025
Listen! it's striking ten by the church. I'll give you fifteen minutes, and step into your breakfast-room and look over the Times." The Clerk rolled out, and then Philip heard his loud voice through the door in conversation with Jem-y-Lord. "And how's Mrs. Cottier to-day?" "Middling, sir, thank you, sir. "You don't let us see too much of her, Jemmy."
An open landau came up at length, with Jem-y-Lord on the box-seat, and Pete walking by the horse's head, smoothing its neck and tickling its ears. "Why, you were talking of the young man, Christian, and behold ye, here's the great fellow himself. Well, young chap," slapping Pete on the back, "see your Deemster take the oath, eh?" "He's my cousin," said Philip. "Cousin!
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?"
At the turn of the Court-house the crowd was densest. A policeman raised his hand in front of the horses and Jem-y-Lord drew up. Then the High Bailiff stepped to the gate and read an address. It mentioned Iron Christian, calling him "The Great Deemster"; the town took pride to itself that the first Manx Governor of Man was born in Ramsey.
Would he ever ascend it? The messenger was bowing and smirking before him. "Thousand congratulations, your Excellency!" "Thank you, my lad. Go downstairs. They'll give you something to eat." A moment later Jem-y-Lord came into the room on some pretence and hopped about like a bird. "Yes, your Excellency No, your Excellency Quite so, your Excellency."
Hip, hip, hurrah!" At the entrance to the town an evergreen arch had been erected. It bore an inscription in Manx: "Dooiney Vannin, lhiat myr hoilloo" "Man of Man, success as thou deservest." The carriage had slacked down to a walk. "Drive quicker," cried Philip. "The streets are crowded, your Excellency," said Jem-y-Lord.
It was the same that he had seen in the lobby to the Council Chamber, his own figure, but wrapped in a cloak like the one he was then wearing, and with the hood drawn over the head. The body had been half turned aside, the face had been hidden, and the whole form had expressed contempt, repugnance, and loathing. "Not well to-night, your Honour?" said the far-off voice of Jem-y-Lord.
"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.
At that moment there was a shuffling of slippered feet on an upper landing, and Jem-y-Lord called down, "Is it you, your Honour?" With an effort he answered, "Yes." "Is anything the matter?" called the man-servant. "There's somebody coming downstairs, isn't there?" said Philip. "Somebody coming downstairs?" repeated the man-servant, and the light shifted as if he were lifting the lamp.
"Thank God! it is too late," he said. He had spoken the words aloud, and the officers in attendance glanced up at him. Jem-y-Lord was behind, trembling and biting his lip. It was indeed too late for that temptation. And then the vanity of it, the cruelty and insufficiency of it! He had been a servant of the world long enough. From this day forth he meant to be its master.
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