The Deemster. Hall Sir Caine

shouted, hysterically, and then dropped like a log into a chair.

      One by one, with many wise shakes of many sapient heads, the tipsy revelers broke up and went off, leaving the master of Ballamona alone in that chamber, dense with dead smoke, and noisome with the fumes of liquor.

      CHAPTER IV

      THE DEEMSTER OF MAN

      Twenty times that night Thorkell devised expedients to break the web of fate. At first his thoughts were of revengeful defiance. By fair means or foul the woman Kerruish should suffer. She should be turned out of house and home. She should tramp the roads as a mendicant. He would put his foot on her neck. Then they would see what her uncanny threats had come to.

      He tried this unction for his affrighted spirit, and put it aside as useless. No, no; he would conciliate the woman. He would settle an annuity of five pounds a year upon her; he would give her the snug gate cottage of old Ballamona to live in; his wife should send her warm blankets in winter, and sometimes a pound of tea, such as old folks love. Then must her imprecation fall impotent, and his own fate be undisturbed.

      Thorkell's bedroom in his new house on Slieu Dhoo looked over the Curraghs to the sea. As the day dawned he opened the window, and thrust out his head to drink of the cool morning air. The sun was rising over the land behind, a strong breeze was sweeping over the marshes from the shore, and the white curves of the breakers to the west reflected here and there the glow of the eastern sky. With the salt breath of the sea in his nostrils, it seemed to Thorkell a pitiful thing that a man should be a slave to a mere idea; a thing for shame and humiliation that the sneezing of an old woman should disturb the peace of a strong man. Superstition was the bugbear of the Manxman, but it would die of shame at its sheer absurdity, only that it was pampered by the law. Toleration for superstition! Every man who betrayed faith in omens or portents, or charms or spells, or the power of the evil eye, should be instantly clapped in the Castle. It was but right that a rabid dog should be muzzled.

      Thorkell shut the window, closed the shutters, threw off his clothes, and went back to bed. In the silence and the darkness, his thoughts took yet another turn. What madness it was, what pertness and unbelief, to reject that faith in which the best and wisest of all ages had lived and died! Had not omens and portents, and charms and spells, and the evil eye been believed in in all ages? What midget of modern days should now arise with a superior smile and say, "Behold, this is folly: Saul of Israel and Saul of Tarsus, and Samuel and Solomon, rose up and lay down in folly."

      Thorkell leaped out of bed, sweating from every pore. The old woman Kerruish should be pensioned; she should live in the cozy cottage at the gates of Ballamona; she should have blankets and tea and many a snug comfort; her daughter should be brought back and married – yes, married – to some honest fellow.

      The lark was loud in the sky, the rooks were stirring in the lofty ash, the swallows pecking at the lattice, when sleep came at length to Thorkell's bloodshot eyes, and he stretched himself in a short and fitful slumber. He awoke with a start. The lusty rap of Hommy-beg was at the door of his room. There was no itinerant postman, and it was one of Hommy-beg's daily duties to go to the post-office. He had been there this morning, and was now returned with a letter for his master.

      Thorkell took the letter with nervous fingers. He had recognized the seal – it was the seal of the insular Government. The letter came from Castle Rushen. He broke the seal and read:

      "Castle Rushen, June 3d.

      "Sir – I am instructed by his Excellency to beg you to come to Castletown without delay, and to report your arrival at the Castle to Madam Churchill, who will see you on behalf of the Duchess.

      "I have the honor to be, etc."

      The letter was signed by the Secretary to the Governor.

      What did it mean? Thorkell could make nothing of it but that in some way it boded ill. In a bewildered state of semi-consciousness he ordered that a horse should be got ready and brought round to the front. Half an hour later he had risen from an untouched breakfast and was seated in the saddle.

      He rode past Tynwald Hill and through Foxdale to the south. Twenty times he drew up and half-reined his horse in another direction. But he went on again. He could turn about at any time. He never turned about. At two o'clock that day he stood before the low gate of the Castle and pulled at the great clanging bell.

      He seemed to be expected, and was immediately led to a chamber on the north of the courtyard. The room was small and low; it was dimly lighted by two lancet windows set deep into walls that seemed to be three yards thick. The floor was covered with a rush matting; a harp stood near the fireplace. A lady rose as Thorkell entered. She was elderly, but her dress was youthful. Her waist was short; her embroidered skirt was very long; she wore spangled shoes, and her hair was done into a knot on the top of her head.

      Thorkell stood before her with the mien of a culprit. She smiled and motioned him to a seat, and sat herself.

      "You have heard of the death of one of our two Deemsters?" she asked.

      Thorkell's face whitened, and he bowed his head.

      "A successor must soon be appointed, and the Deemster is always a Manxman; he must know the language of the common people."

      Thorkell's face wore a bewildered expression. The lady's manner was very suave.

      "The appointment is the gift of the Lord of the island, and the Duchess is asked to suggest a name."

      Thorkell's face lightened. He had regained all his composure.

      "The Duchess has heard a good account of you, Mr. Mylrea. She is told that by your great industry and – wisdom – you have raised yourself in life – become rich, in fact."

      The lady's voice dropped to a tone of most insinuating suavity. Thorkell stammered some commonplace.

      "Hush, Mr. Mylrea, you shall not depreciate yourself. The Duchess has heard that you are a man of enterprise – one who does not begrudge the penny that makes the pound."

      Thorkell saw it all. He was to be made Deemster, but he was to buy his appointment. The Duchess had lost money of late, and the swashbuckler court she kept had lately seen some abridgment of its gaieties.

      "To be brief, Mr. Mylrea, the Duchess has half an intention of suggesting your name for the post, but before doing so she wished me to see in what way your feelings lie with regard to it."

      Thorkell's little eyes twinkled, and his lips took an upward curve. He placed one hand over his breast and bent his head.

      "My feelings, madam, lie in one way only – the way of gratitude," he said, meekly.

      The lady's face broadened, and there was a pause.

      "It is a great distinction, Mr. Mylrea," said the lady, and she drew her breath inward.

      "The greater my gratitude," said Thorkell.

      "And how far would you go to show this gratitude to the Duchess?"

      "Any length, madam," said Thorkell, and he rose and bowed.

      "The Duchess is at present at Bath – "

      "I would go so far, and – further, madam, further," said Thorkell, and as he spoke he thrust his right hand deep into his pocket, and there – by what accident may not be said – it touched some coins that chinked.

      There was another pause, and then the lady rose and held out her hand, and said, in a significant tone:

      "I think, sir, I may already venture to hail you as Deemster of Man."

      Thorkell cantered home in great elevation of soul. The milestones fell behind him one after one, and he did not feel the burden of the way. His head was in his breast; his body was bent over his saddle-bow; again and again a trill of light laughter came from his lips. Where were his dreams now, his omens, his spells, and the power of the evil eye? He was judge of his island. He was master of his fate.

      Passing through St. John's, he covered the bleak top of the hill, and turned down toward the shady copse of Kirk Michael. Where the trees were thickest in the valley he drew rein by a low, long house that stood back to the road. It was the residence of the Bishop