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Updated: May 5, 2025
Do you think a man, like a woman, would cling the closer?" "He couldn't help himself, Philip." Philip tried to say it was only a girl's morality, but her confidence shamed him. She slipped her moist fingers into his hand again. They were close by the deserted tholthan, and she was creeping nearer and nearer to his side. A bat swirled above their heads and she made a faint cry.
There it was that roofless cottage that tholthan under the deep trees like a dungeon. "Have you never heard of her, Philip? No? The one they called the Deemster's lady?" "What Deemster?" said Philip. "This one, Deemster Mylrea, who is said to be dying." "He is dying; he is killing himself; I saw him to-day, said Philip.
It seemed to be haunted by the odour of the gorse, the odour of the glen, of the tholthan, of Philip, and of all delights. A faint ghost of shame came to frighten her. Had she sinned against her sex? Was it disgraceful that she had wooed and not waited to be won? With all his love of her, would Philip be ashamed of her also? Her face grew hot.
A thin thread of blue water, laughing, babbling, brawling, whooping, leaping, gliding, and stealing down from the mountains; great boulders worn smooth and ploughed hollow by the wash of ages; wet moss and lichen on the channel walls; deep, cool dubbs; tiny reefs; little cascades of boiling foam; lines of trees like sentinels on either side, making the light dim through the overshadowing leafage; gaunt trunks torn up by winds and thrown across the stream with their heads to the feet of their fellows; the golden fuschia here, the green trammon there; now and again a poor old tholthan, a roofless house, with grass growing on its kitchen floor; and over all the sun peering down with a hundred eyes into the dark and slumberous gloom, and the breeze singing somewhere up in the tree-tops to the voice of the river below.
"Up in the witch's tholthan." On the second morning afterwards the air was quiet and full of the odour of seaweed; the sky was round as the inside of a shell, and pale pink like the shadow of flame; the water was smooth and silent; the hills had lost the memory of the storm, and land and sea lay like a sleeping child. In this broad and steady morning Kate came back to consciousness.
Kate had been telling herself that Philip was tired of her, that he did not love her any longer, that having taken all he could take he desired to be done with her, that he was trying to forget her, and that she was a drag upon him, when suddenly she remembered the tholthan, and bethought herself for the first time of a possible contingency. Why had she not thought of it before?
"Kiss me again, Philip! Don't despise me that I love you better than myself!" She was weeping, she was laughing, her heart was throbbing up to her throat. At the next moment she had broken from his embrace and was gone. "Kate! Kate!" Her voice came from the tholthan. "Philip!"
Sitting on the bottom step same as an ould bulldog, and keeping watch that nobody bothers you. The good-naturedst bulldog breathing, though, and he hasn't had a wink on the night. Saved your life, darling. He did; yes, he did, praise God." At mention of the tholthan, Kate had remembered everything. She dropped back on the pillow, and cried, in a voice of pain, "Why couldn't he leave me to die?"
Did I kiss you and kiss you while you were lying there useless, and lift you up and hitch your poor limp arms around my neck, and carry you out of the dirty ould tholthan that was going to be the death of you the first job I was doing on the island, too, coming back to it.... Lord save us, Kitty, what have I done?"
"Pete!" cried Kate in terror. "Aw, no, woman, but a living man come back again. No fear of him, bogh! Not dead at all, but worth twenty dead men yet, and he brought you safe out of the storm." "The storm?" "Yes, the storm, woman. There warn such a storm on the island I don't know the years. He found you in the tholthan up the glen. Lost your way in the wind, it's like, and no wonder.
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