Kate laughed merrily. "Why, what do _you_ think?"
"Dear old Pete--how happy _he_ should be," said Philip.
Kate began to hate the very name of Pete. She grew angry with Philip also. Why couldn"t he guess? Concealment was eating her heart out.
The next time she saw Philip, he pa.s.sed her in the market-place on the market-day, as she stood by the tipped-up gig, selling her b.u.t.ter. There was a chatter of girls all round as he bowed and went on. This vexed her, and she sold out at a penny a pound less, got the horse from the "Saddle," and drove home early.
On the way to Sulby she overtook Philip and drew up. He was walking to Kirk Michael to visit the old Deemster, who was ill. Would he not take a lift? He hesitated, half declined, and then got into the gig. As she settled herself comfortably after this change, he trod on the edge of her dress. At that he drew quickly away as if he had trodden on her foot.
She laughed, but she was vexed; and when he got down at "The Manx Fairy," saying he might call on his way back in the evening, she had no doubt Grannie would be glad to see him.
The girls of the market-place were standing by the mill-pond, work done, and arms crossed under their ap.r.o.ns, twittering like the pairing birds about them in the trees, when Philip returned home by Sulby. He saw Kate coming down the glen road, driving two heifers with a cus.h.a.g for switch and flashing its gold at them in the horizontal gleams of sunset. She had recovered her good-humour, and was swinging along, singing merry s.n.a.t.c.hes as she came--all life, all girlish blood and beauty.
She pretended not to see him until they were abreast, and the heifers were going into the yard. Then she said, "I"ve written and told him."
"What?" said Philip.
"That you say you are a confirmed old bachelor."
"That _I_ say so?"
"Yes; and that _I_ say you are so distant with a girl that I don"t believe you have a heart at all."
"You don"t?"
"No; and that he couldn"t have left anybody better to look after me all these years, because you haven"t eyes or ears or a thought for any living creature except himself."
"You"ve never written that to Pete?" said Philip.
"Haven"t I, though?" said Kate, and she tripped off on tiptoe.
He tripped after her. She ran into the yard. He ran also. She opened the gate of the orchard, slipped through, and made for the door of the dairy, and there he caught her by the waist.
"Never, you rogue! Say no, say no!" he panted.
"No," she whispered, turning up her lips for a kiss.
X.
Grannie saw nothing of Philip that night. He went home tingling with pleasure, and yet overwhelmed with shame. Sometimes he told himself that he was no better than a Judas, and sometimes that Pete might never come back. The second thought rose oftenest. It crossed his mind like a ghostly gleam. He half wished to believe it. When he counted up the odds against Pete"s return, his pulse beat quick. Then he hated himself. He was in torment. But under his distracted heart there was a little chick of frightened joy, like a young cuckoo hatched in a wagtail"s nest.
After many days, in which no further news had come from Pete, Kate received this brief letter from Philip:
"I am coming to see you this evening. Have something of grave importance to tell you."
It was afternoon, and Kate ran upstairs, hurried on her best frock, and came down to help Nancy to gather apples in the orchard. Black Tom was there, new thatching the back of the house, and Caesar was making sugganes (straw rope) for him with a twister. There was a soft feel of autumn in the air, pigeons were cooing in the ledges of the mill-house gable, and everything was luminous and tranquil. Kate had climbed to the fork of a tree, and was throwing apples into Nancy"s ap.r.o.n, when the orchard gate clicked, and she uttered a little cry of joy unawares as Philip entered. To cover this, she pretended to be falling, and he ran to help her.
"Oh, it"s nothing," she said. "I thought the bough was breaking. So it"s you!" Then, in a clear voice, "Is your ap.r.o.n full, Nancy? Yes? Bring another basket, then; the white one with the handles. Did you come Laxey way by the coach? Bode over, eh? Nancy, do you really think we"ll have sugar enough for all these Keswicks?"
"Good evenin", Mr. Christian, sir," said Caesar. And Black Tom, from the ladder on the roof, nodded his wide straw brim.
"Thatching afresh, Mr. Cregeen?"
"Covering it up, sir; covering it up. May the Lord cover our sins up likewise, or how shall we cover ourselves from His avenging wrath?"
"How vexing!" said Kate, from the tree. "Half of them get bruised, and will be good for nothing but preserving. They drop at the first touch--so ripe, you see."
"May we all be ripe for the great gathering, and good for preserving, too," said Caesar. "Look at that big one, now--knotted like a blacksmith"s muscles, but it"ll go rotten as fast as the least lil one of the lot. It"s taiching us a lesson, sir, that we all do fall--big mountains as aisy as lil c.o.c.ks. This world is changeable."
Philip was not listening, but looking up at Kate, with a face of half-frightened tenderness.
"Do you know," she said, "I was afraid you must be ill again--your ap.r.o.n, Nancy--that was foolish, wasn"t it?"
"No; _I_ have been well enough," said Philip.
Kate looked at him. "Is it somebody else?" she said. "I got your letter."
"Can I help?" said Philip. "What is it? I"m sure there"s something,"
said Kate.
"Set your foot here," he said.
"Let me down, I feel giddy."
"Slowly, then. Hold by this one. Give me your hand."
Their fingers touched, and communicated fire.
"Why don"t you tell me?" she said, with a pa.s.sionate tightening of his hand. "It"s bad news, isn"t it? Are you going away?"
"Somebody who went away will never come back," he answered.
"Is it--Pete?"
"Poor Pete is gone," said Philip.
Her throat fluttered. "Gone?"
"He is dead," said Philip.
She tottered, but drew herself up quickly. "Stop!" she said. "Let me make sure. Is there no mistake? Is it true?"
"Too true."
"I can bear the truth now--but afterwards--to-night--tomorrow--in the morning it might kill me if----"
"Pete is dead, Kate; he died at Kimberley."