Part 2, Chapter 11 of The Manxman. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings were in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Tony Ashworth. The Manxman by Sir Hall Cain. Part 2, Chapter 11. At the sound of Kate's crying, Caesar had thrown away the twister and come close to listen. And Black Tom had dropped from the thatch. Nancy ran back with the basket, and Granny came hurrying from the house. Caesar lifted both hands solemnly. Now you that are women, control yourselves, said he, and listen while I spake. Peter Quilliam's dead in Kimberley. Lord alive cried Nancy. And the two women went indoors, threw their aprons over their heads, and rocked themselves in their seats. Oh, boy-veen, boy-veen! Kate came tottering in ghostly white, and the women fell to comforting her, thereby making more tumult with their soothing moans than Kate with her crying. Should put a good face on it, woman, said Black Tom. A whipper of a girl like you will be getting another soon, and singing hail-smiling mourn with the best.   Never another for Kate, anyway, wept, Granny. Oh, boy-veen, oh, boy-veen! Maybe he had another himself, who knows, said Black Tom, out of sight, out of mind, and these sailor lads have a rag on lots of bushes. Kate was helped to her room upstairs. Philip sat down in the kitchen. The news spread like a curric fire, and the bar room was full in five minutes. In the midst of all stood Caesar, solemn and expansive. He turned his herring yonder night when he left goodbye to the four of us, he said. My father did the same the night he was lost running rum for Whitehaven, and I've never seen a man do it and live. It's forgotten, you father, wept, Granny. It was Mr. Philip that turned it. Oh, boy-veen, boy-veen! How could that be, mother, said Caesar? Mr. Philip isn't dead. But Granny heard no more. She was busy with the consolations of half a dozen women who were gathered around her. I dreamt at the night he sailed. I heard a cry, most terrible I did. Father says, I, what's that? It was the same as if I'd seen the poor boy coming to his end untimely, and I didn't get a wink on the night. Well, he has gone to the rest that remaineth, said Caesar. The grass perisheth, the worm devoureth, and we'll all be in heaven with him soon. God forbid, father, don't talk of such dreadful things, said Granny, napping her apron. Do you say his mother, Mum? Is she in life? No, but under the sod. I don't know the years. Information of the lungs, poor thing. I've known him since I was a slip of a boy, said one. It was whip-top time. No, it was peg-top time. I saw him the morning he sailed, said another. I was standing so. Mr. Christian saw him last, main Granny, and the people in the bar room peered through at Philip with awe. I felt like a father for the lad myself, said Caesar.  He deserved it, too. Maybe his birth was a bit mischancey. But what's the old saying?  And Pete was that civil with the tongue, a civil or young man never was. Black Tom and spat. Why you were shouting out of mercy at the lad and knocking him about like putty? He wouldn't get laid to live with you, and that's why he went away. You're bad to forget, Thomas. I've always noticed it, said Caesar. You'll be putting the bell about and preaching his funeral, eh, Caesar, said somebody? Indeed, yes, man. Sabbath first, said Caesar. That's impossible, Father, said Granny. How's the girl to have her black ready? Sunday week then, or Sunday fortnight, or the Sunday after the mellier. Harvest home, said Caesar. The crops are waiting for saving. But a dead man is past it. Oh, I'll be faithful. I'll give it them straight. It's a time for speaking like a dying man to dying men. I'll take a text that will be a lesson and a warning. Oh, every one that thirsteth. Black Tom and spat again. I wouldn't, Caesar. They'll think you're going to trait them, he muttered. Philip was asked for particulars, and he brought out a letter. John Ake Jelly, John the Clark, and Johnny the Constable had come in by this time. Read it, John Ake, said Caesar. A clean pipe first, said Black Tom. Aren't you smoking on it, Caesar? And isn't there a cropper of rum anywhere? No, not so much as a plate of crackers and a drop of tea going. Is it to be a total as funeral, then? This is no time for feasting to the refreshment of our carnal bodies, said Caesar severely. It's a time for praise and prayer. I'll put up a word or do, said the Constable Meekly. Ask the Nip Blightly, said Caesar.  It's vanity. I'll engage in prayer myself. And Caesar offered praise for all departed in faith and fear. Caesar is not a man of a liberal spirit, but he is powerful in prayer, though, whispered the Constable. He isn't the prodigal son, if that's what you mean, said Black Tom. Never seen him shouting after anybody with a pint, anyway. Now for the letter, John Ake, said Caesar. It was from one of the gills boys who had sailed with Pete, and hitherto served as his letter-writer. Respected sir, read, John Ake, with pain and sorrow, I'll write these few lines to tell you of poor Peter Quilliam. Oh, boy, veen, boy, veen, broken granny. Knowing you were his friend in the old island, and the one he talked of mostly, except the girl, boy, veen, hush, woman. He made good money out here at the diamond mines.  What's the use of getting grandchilders? Caesar waved his hand. Go on, John Ake, it's bad when the deceitfulness of riches is getting the better of a man. Where was I? Oh, good money. Yet he was never for taking joy in it. More money, more cares, muttered Caesar. But talking and talking and scheming forever for coming home. Ah, home is a full cup, moaned granny. It was a show the way that lad was fond of it. Give me a plate of mate, bolstered with cabbage, and what do I care for their buns and sards, granny, says he. Oh, boy, veen, boy, boch. What does the nightingale care for a golden cage when he can get a twig, said Caesar? Is the boy's chest home yet? asked John the Clarke. There's something about it here, said John Ake. If people would only let a man get on. It's mine, said Black Tom. We'll think of that by and by, said Caesar, waving his hand at John Ake.  Desperate gang, too, so nobody was running to be sent after them. But poor Peter, being always a bit bull-necked, was up to the office in a jiffy. And might he go, and often chase in the evening with the twenty caffers of his own company to help him? Not much of a lot, neither, and suspected of dealing diamonds with the black-legged stimes. But Peter always swore their love for him was getting thicker and stronger every day like sour cream. The captain's love has been their theme, and shall be till they die, said Peter.  Peter Quilliam and I had mortal joy of each other. Good-by-father, says he, and he was shaking me by the hand terrible. But go on, John Ake. That was four months ago, and a fortnight since eight of his caffers came back. Oh, dear! Well, well! Lord a massy! Hush! They overtook the black legs far up-country, and Peter tackled them. But they had Winchester repeaters, and Peter's boys didn't know the muzzle of a gun from the neck of a gin bottle. So the big man of the gang cocked his piece at Peter, and shouted at him like a high bailiff. You'd better go back the way you came. Not a majorly, said Peter, and stretched him.  And to your heels, boys, shouted Peter.   Rejoice not against me, oh, my enemy, when I fall I shall arise, say, last, said Caesar. Amid the tumult of moans which followed the reading, Philip, sitting with head on his hands by the ingle, grew hot and cold with the thought that after all there was no actual certainty that Pete was dead. Nobody had seen him die, nobody had buried him. The story of the returned caffers might be a lie to cover their desertion of Pete, their betrayal of him, or their secret league with the thieving boars. At one awful moment Philip asked himself how he had ever believed the letter, perhaps he had wanted to believe it. Nancy Jo touched him on the shoulder. Kate is waiting for a word with you alone, sir, she said. And Philip crossed the kitchen into the little pile of beyond, chill with china and bowls of sea eggs and stuffed seabirds. He's feeling it bad, said Nancy. Never been the same since Pete went to the cape, said Caesar. I don't know for sure what good lads are going to it for, Mo and Granny, and calling it good hope of all names, died of a bullet in his head too, oh dear, oh dear. Discussion of the brain it's like, and look at them blackheads too, as naked as my hand I'll go bail.  Caesar may talk of one flesh and brethren, and all to that, but for my part I'm not used of black brothers, and as for black angels in heaven it's ridiculous. When you're all done talking I'll finish the letter, said Jeanneke. I can't help it, Mr. Jolly, the women can't help it, said Caesar. Respected sir, I must now close, but we are strapping up the chest of the deceased, just as he left it, and sending it to catch the steamer, the hat Johannesburg, leaving Cape Town Wednesday fortnight. Hmm, Johannesburg, I'll meet her at the Quay, it's my duty to meet her, said Caesar. And I'll board her in the bay, shouted black Tom. Thomas Quilliam, said Caesar, it's borne in on my spirit that the devil of greed is let loose on you. Caesar Cragine, don't make a nose or wax of me, bold Tom, and don't think because you're preaching a bit that religion is going to die with you.  You'll be forgiving sins next and taking money for absolution, and these ones will be making a pope of you and paying you pence. Pope Caesar the publican in his chapel hat and white choker. But that chis is mine, and if there's law in the land I'll have it. With that black Tom swept out of the house, and Caesar wiped his eyes. No use smoothing a thistle, Mr. Cragine, said John A. soothingly. I have a conscience void of offence, said Caesar. I can only follow the spirit's leading. But when Belial, he was interrupted by a most mournful cry of, Look here, or look then, look. Nancy was coming out of the back kitchen with something between the tips of her fingers. It was a pair of old shoes covered with dirt and cobwebs. These were his wearing boots, she said, and she put them on the counter. Dear heart, yes, the very one, said Granny. Poor boy, they'd move a heart of stone to see them. Something to remember him by anyway. Many a mile his feet walked in them, but they're resting now in Abraham's bosom. Then Caesar's voice rose loud over the doleful tones around the counter. Vital spark of heavenly flame. Raise it, Mr. Nip Likely. Pity we haven't Peter and his fiddle here. He played with life. I can't sing today having a cold, but I'll whistle it, said the cumstible. Pitch it in altos then, said Caesar. I'm a bit of a bass myself, but not near so bass as Peter. Meanwhile, a little drama of serious interest was going on upstairs. There sat Kate before the looking-glass with flushed cheeks and quivering mouth. The low drone of many voices came to her through the floor. Then a dull silence and one voice, and Nancy Joe coming and going between the kitchen and bedroom. What are they doing now, Nancy, said Kate? First one's praying, and then another's praying, said Nancy. Lord Amasi thinks I, it'll be my turn next, and what'll I say? Where's Mr. Christian? Gone into the parlour. I whispered him you wanted him alone. You never said that, Nancy, said Kate, at Nancy's reflection in the glass? Well, it popped out, said Nancy. Kate went down with a look of soft and sorrow, and Philip, without lifting his eyes, began bemoaning Pete. They would never know his like, so simple, so true, so brave. Never, never. He was fighting against his shame at first seeing the girl after that kiss, which seemed to him now like treason at the mouth of a grave. But with the magic of a woman's art, Kate consoled him. He had one great comfort. He had been a loyal friend, such fidelity, such constancy, such affection for getting the difference of place, of education, everything. Philip looked up at last, and there was the lovely face with its beaming eyes. He turned to go, and she said softly, How we shall miss you. Why so, said Philip? We can't expect to see you so often now, now that you've not the same reason for coming. I'll be here on Sunday, said Philip. Then you don't intend to desert us yet, not just yet, Philip. Never, said Philip. Well, good night, not that way, not by the porch. Good night. As Philip went down the road in the darkness, he heard the words of the hymn that was being sung inside. Thy glory, why didst thou enshrine in such a clot of earth as mine, and wrap thee in my clay? End of Part 2, Chapter 11, Recording by Tony Ashworth Part 2, Chapter 12 of The Manxman This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings were in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Tony Ashworth The Manxman by Sir Hall Cain, Part 2, Chapter 12 At that moment Day was breaking over the plains of the Transfowl. The bear-belt was opening out as the darkness receded, depth on depth, like the surface of an unbroken sea. Not a bush, not a path, only a few log-houses at long distances and wooden beacons like gibbets to define the boar farms. No sound in the transparent air, no cloud in the unveiling sky, just the night creeping off in silence as if in fear of awakening the sleeping morning. Across the soulless immensity, a covered wagon toiled along with four horses rattling their link-chains and a lad sideways on the shaft dangling his legs, twiddling the rope-brains and whistling. Inside the wagon, under a little window with its bit of muslin curtain, a man lay in the agony of a bullet wound in his side and an old boar and a woman stood beside him. He was lying hard on the place of his pain and rambling in delirium. See, boys, don't you see them? See what my lad said the boar simply and he looked through the wagon window. There's the headgear of the mines. Look, the iron roofs are glittering and yonder's the mine tailings. We'll be back in a jiffy, a taste of the whip-boys and away. Untouched by visions, the old boar could see nothing. What does he see, wife, thank you?   Listen, don't you hear it? That's the noise of the batteries. Whip up and away, away, and he tore at the fringe of the blanket covering him with his unconscious fingers. Poor boy, he's eager to get to the coast, but will he live to cover another morgan, thank you? God knows, Jan, God only knows. And the veldt was very wide and the sea and his ships were far away, and over the weary stretch of grass and rock and sand there was nothing on the horizon between desolate land and dominating sky, but a waste looking like a chaos of purple and green, where no bird ever sang and no man ever lived, and God himself was not. End of Part 2, Chapter 12, Recording by Tony Ashworth. Part 2, Chapter 13 of The Manxman. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings were in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Tony Ashworth. The Manxman by Sir Hall Cain. Part 2, Chapter 13. She loves me, she loves me, she loves me. The words sang in Philip's ears like a sweet tune half the way back to Belour. Then he began to pluck at the brambles by the wayside, to wound his hand by snatching at the gorse and to despise himself for being glad when he should have been in grief. Still he was sure of it. There was no making any less of it. She loved him, he was free to love her. There need be no hypocrisy and no self-denial. So he wiped the blood from his fingers and crept into the blue room of Aunty Nan. The old lady in a dainty cap with flying streamers was sitting by the fireside spinning. She had heard the news of Peter's Philip pass through to Solby and was now wondering if it was not her duty to acquaint Uncle Peter. The sweet and natty old gentlewoman brought up in the odour of gentility was thinking on the lines of poor Bridget, black Tom, when dying under the bare scres that a man's son was his son in spite of law or devil. She decided against telling the Ballowane by remembering an incident in the life of his father. It was about Philip's father too, so Philip stretched his legs from the sofa towards the hearth and listened to the old Aunty's voice over the whir of her wheel with another voice, a younger voice, an unheard voice, breaking.   No, really? No, and when Uncle Peter came in at dinner time a week after and said, it's all over, he said, No, sir, no, and threw down his spoon in the plate and the hot broth splashed on my hand, I remember. But Peter said, it's past praying for sir, and then Grandfather cried, No, I tell you no. But I tell you yes, sir, said Peter. Morgold Church yesterday morning before service. Then Grandfather lost himself and called Peter liar and cried that your father couldn't do it. And besides, he's my own son after all and would not, said Grandfather. But I could see that he believed what Uncle Peter had told him. And when Peter began to cry, he said, Forgive me, my boy, I'm your father for all and I've a right to your forgiveness. All the same, he wouldn't be satisfied until he had seen the register and I had to go with him to the church. Poor old Grandfather. The vicar in those days was a little dotty man named Kisek and it was the joy of his life to be always crushing and stifling somebody because somebody was always depriving him of his rights or something. I remember him, the cockatoo. His favourite text was, Jesus said, then follow me. Only the people declared he always wanted to go first. Shocking, Philip. It was evening when we drove up to Morgold and the little parson was by the cross ordering somebody with a cane. I am told you married my son yesterday. Is it true, said Grandfather? Quite true, said the vicar. By bans or special licence, Grandfather asked. Licence, of course, the vicar answered. Curt enough, anyway.  Can't you believe me, said the vicar? The register, said Grandfather. Then the vicar turned the key in the church door and strutted up the aisle, humming something. I tried to keep Grandfather back even then. What's the use, I said, for I knew he was only fighting against belief. But hat in hand he followed to the Communion Rail and there the vicar laid the open book before him. Oh, Philip, shall I ever forget it? How it all comes back. The little dim church, the smell of damp and a velvet under the Holland covers of the pulpit and the empty place echoing. And Grandfather fixed his glasses and leaned over the register. But he could see nothing. Only blur, blur, blur. You look at it, child, he said over his shoulder, but I don't face it. So he rubbed his glasses and leaned over the book again. Oh, dear, he was like one who looks down the list of the slain for the name he prays he may not find. But the name was there too surely. Thomas Wilson Christian. Tumona Crelan. Signed William Crelan and something kissic. Philip's breath came hot and fast. The little vicar was swinging his cane to and fro on the other side of the rail and smiling.  You robbed me of my firstborn son and ruined him. Nonsense, sir, said the vicar. William was of age and his wife had the sanction of her father. Was I to go round by Balawain for permission to do my duty as a clergyman? Duty, cried Grandfather, when a young man marries he marries for heaven or for hell. Your duty as a clergyman, he cried till his voice rang in the roof.  Nonsense, said the vicar. Remember where you stand or deemster, though you are, you shall repent it. Arrest me for brawling, will you, cried Grandfather? And he snatched the cane out of the vicar's hand and struck him across the breast. Arrest me now, he said, and then tottered and stumbled out of the church by my arm and the doors of the empty pews. Philip went to bed that night with burning brow and throbbing throat. He had made a startling discovery. He was standing where his father had stood before him. He was doing what his father had done. He was in danger of his father's fate. Where was his head that he had never thought of this before? It was hard. It was terrible. Now that he was free to love the girl, he realized what it meant to love her. Nevertheless, he was young and he rebelled he fought. He would not deliberate. The girl conquered in his heart that night and he lay down to sleep. But next morning he told himself with a shudder that it was lucky he had gone no farther. One step more and all the evil of his father's life might have been repeated in his own. There had been nothing said, nothing done. He would go to Solby no more. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings were in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Tony Ashworth. The Manxman by Sir Hall Cain, Part 2, Chapter 14. That mood lasted until midday and then a scout of the line of love began to creep into his heart in disguise. He reminded himself that he had promised to go on Sunday and that it would be unseemly to break off the acquaintance too suddenly, lest the simple folks should think he had borne with them throughout four years merely for the sake of Pete. But after Sunday he would take a new turn. He found Kate dressed as he had never been before. Instead of the loose red bodice and the sunbonnet, the apron and the kilted petticoat, she wore a close-fitting dark green frock with a lace collar. The change was simple but it made all the difference. She was not more beautiful but she was more like a lady. It was Sunday evening and the ferry was closed. Caesar and Granny were at the preaching house. Nancy Jo was cooking crowdy for supper and Kate and Philip talked. The girl was quieter than Philip had ever known her, more modest, more apt to blush, and with the old audacity of word and look quite gone. They talked of success in life and she said, How I should like to fight my way in the world as you are doing. But a woman can do nothing to raise herself. Isn't it hard? Whatever the place where she was born in, she must remain there all her days. She can see her brother's rise and her friends perhaps, but she must remain below. Isn't it a pity? It isn't that she wants to be rich or great. No, not that. Only she doesn't want to be left behind by the people she likes.  I'm sure it's so in the Isle of Man anyway. Isn't it cruel? But aren't you forgetting something said Philip? Yes. If a woman can't rise of herself because the doors of life are locked to her, it is always possible for a man to raise her.  Why not, said Philip? Kate's eyes beam like sunshine. That is lovely, she said in a low voice. Do you know I never thought of that before? If it were my case, I should like that best of all. Side by side with him, and he doing all? Oh, that is beautiful. And she gazed up with a timid joy at the inventive being who had thought of this as at something supernatural. Caesar and Granny came back, both in fearful outbursts of Sunday clothes. Nevertheless, Caesar's eyes, after the first salutation with Philip, fixed themselves on Kate's unfamiliar costume. Such worldly attire he muttered, following the girl round the kitchen and blowing up his black gloves. This caring for the miserable body that will one day be lowered into the grave, what does the book say? Put my tall hat on the clean laugh, Nancy. Let it not be the outward adorning of putting on of apparel, but let it be the hidden man of the heart.  If it comes to that, what is Jeremiah saying? Can a maid forget her ornaments? It's like she can if she hasn't any to remember, said Caesar, but maybe the prophet Jeremiah or the mothers that's in now. Shoot, man. Girls are like birds, and the breed comes out and the feathers, said Granny. Where is she getting it then? Not from me at all, said Caesar. Did no man laugh, Granny, considering the smart she is and the reasonable good-looking? Hold your tongue, woman. It'll become you better, said Caesar. Philip rose to go. You're time enough yet, sir, cried Caesar. I was for telling you of a job. Some of the fishermen of Ramsay had been over on Saturday. Their season was a failure, and they were loud in their protests against the trawlers who were destroying the spawn. Caesar had suggested a conference at his house on the following Saturday of Ramsay men and Peel men and recommended Philip as an advocate to advise them as to the best means to put a stop to the enemies of the herring. Philip promised to be there and then went home to Aunty Nan. He told himself on the way that Kate was completely above her surroundings and capable of becoming as absolute a lady as ever lived on the island without a sign of her origin in look or speech, except perhaps the rising inflection in her voice, which made the talk of the true manx woman the sweetest thing in the world to listen to. Aunty Nan was sitting by the lamp, reading her chapter before going to bed. Aunty said, Philip, don't you think the tragedy in the life of father was accidental? Do I mean to the particular characters of grandfather and poor mother? Now, if the one had been less proud, less exclusive, or the other more capable of rising with her husband, the tragedy was deeper than that, dear. Let me tell you a story, said Aunty Nan, laying down her book. Three days after your father left Ballawayne, old Maggie the housemaid came to my side at supper and whispered that someone was wanting me in the garden. It was Thomas. Oh, dear. It was terrible to see him there that ought to have been the air of everything, standing like a stranger in the dark beyond the kitchen door. Poor father, said Philip. Whist girl, come out of the light, he whispered. There's a purse with twenty pounds odd in my desk upstairs. Get it, Nan. Here's the key. I knew what he wanted the money for, but I couldn't help it. I got him the purse and put ten pounds more of my own in it. Must you do it, I said? I must, he answered. Your father says everybody will despise you for this marriage, I said. Better they should than I should despise myself, said he. But he calls it moral suicide, I said. That's not so bad as moral murder, he replied. He knows the island.  All the worse for the place, said he, if it stains a man's honour for acting honourably. Father was an upright man, interrupted Philip. There's no question about it. My father was a gentleman. She must be a sweet, good girl and worthy of you, or you wouldn't marry her, said I to father. But are you sure that you will be happy and make her happy? We shall have each other, and it is our own affair, said father. Precisely, said Philip. But if there was a difference between you now, I said, will it be less when you are the great man we hope to see you someday? A man is not always thinking of success, he answered. My father was a great man already, aren't he, burst out, Philip? He was shaken, and I was ashamed. But I could not help it, I went on. Has the marriage gone too far, I asked? It has never been mentioned between us, said he. Your father is old and can't live long, I pleaded.  Why that if the girl has no right to you yet, I said. And he was silent. Then I crept up and looked in at the window. See, I whispered, he's in the library. We'll take him by surprise. Come. It was not to be. There was a smell of tobacco on the air and the thud of a step on the grass. Who's that, I said? Who should it be, cried father, but the same spy again. I'll shake the life out of him yet as a terrier would a rat. No use, girl. He shouted hoarsely facing towards the darkness. They're driving me to destruction.  But it was useless. He was married three days afterwards. Philip resolved to see Kate no more. He must go to Solby on Saturday to meet the fisherman, but that would be a business visit. He need not prolong it into a friendly one. All the week through he felt as if his heart would break, but he resolved to conquer his feelings. He pitted himself somewhat, and that helped him to rise above his error. End of Part 2, Chapter 14, Recording by Tony Ashworth Part 2, Chapter 15 of The Manxman This is a LibriVox recording, all LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Tony Ashworth The Manxman by Sir Hall Cain Part 2, Chapter 15 On Saturday night he was early at Solby. The bar room was thong with fishermen in Guernsey's sea boots and south-westers. They were all on their feet together, twisting about like great congas on the quay, drinking a little and smoking a great deal, thumping the table and all talking at once. How have you done, Billy? Enough to keep away the devil and the coroner, and that's about all. Where's Tom Doug? Gone to Australia. Is Jimmy over today? He's away to Cleveland. God bless me. Every Manx boy seems to be going foreign. That's where we'll all be after long and last if we don't stop these Southside trawlers. Philip went in and was received with goodwill and rough courtesy, but no man abated a jot of his freedom of action or liberty of speech, and the thumping and shouting were as loud as before. Appeal to the receiver general.  Will we go to the bishop then? A whitewash Methodist with a soul the size of a dried pea. The governor as the proper person said Philip above the hubbub, and he is to visit Peel Castle next Saturday afternoon about the restorations. Let every Manx fisherman who thinks the trawl boats are enemies of the fish be there that day. Then lay your complaint before the man whose duty it is to inquire into all such grievances. And if you want a spokesman, I'm ready to speak for you. Bravo! That's the ticket. Then the meeting was at an end. The men went on with stories of the weeks fishing, stories of smugglers, stories of the swaddlers, the Wesleyans, stories of the totalers, teetotalers, and Philip made for the door. When he got there he began to reflect that being in the house, he ought to leave good night with season granny. Hardly decent not to do so. No use hurting people's feelings. Might as well be civil. Cost nothing anyway. Thus an overpowering compulsion in the disguise of courtesy drew him again into Kate's company. But tomorrow he would take a new turn. Proud to see you, Mr. Philip, said Caesar. The waters playing in the kettle. Make Mr. Philip a cup of tea, Nancy, said Granny. Caesar was sitting back to the partition, pretending to read out of a big Bible on his knees, but listening with both ears and open mouth to the profane stories being told in the bar room. Kate was not in the kitchen, but an open book faced downwards lay on the chair by the turf closet. What's this, said Philip? A French exercise book? Whoever can it belong to here? Oh, Curie, of course, said Granny, and sticking that close to it of an evering that you haven't a chance to put a word on her. Vanity, sir, vanity. All vanity, said Caesar, and again he listened hard. Philip's eyes began to blink. Teaching herself French, is she? Has she been doing it long, Granny? Long enough, sir, three years or better, since poor Pete went away, maybe, and at the books forever, grammars and textbooks, and I don't know what. Caesar, with his ear at the glass, made an impatient gesture for silence, but Granny continued, I don't know what for people should be learning themselves foreign languages at all. For my part, there isn't one of them baits the Manx itself for plainness, and aren't we reading when the Lord wanted to bring confusion on Noah and his disobedient sons and grandsons at going up the Tower of Babel, he made them spake different tongues? Good thing too, snapped Caesar. If every poor man was bound to carry his wife up with him, Philip's eyes were streaming, and unobserved he put the lesson book to his lips. He had guessed its secret. The girl was making herself worthy of him. God bless her. Kate came downstairs in the dark dress and white collar of Sunday night. She saw Philip putting down the book, lowered her head and blushed, took up the volume, and smuggled it out of sight. Then Caesar's curiosity conquered his propriety and he ventured into the bar room. Granny came and went between the counter and the fisherman. Nancy clicked about from dairy to door, and Kate and Philip were left alone. You were wrong the other night, she said. I've been thinking it over, and you were quite, quite wrong.  So you are wrong. Yes, said Philip. Yes, said Kate. But do you know what it ought to be? A woman ought to marry beneath herself and the man above himself, and as much as the woman descends, the man rises, and so, don't you see? She faltered and stopped, and Philip said, Aren't you talking nonsense, Kate? Indeed so. Kate pretended to be angry at the rebuff and pouted her lips, but her eyes were beaming. There is nothing above nor below where there is real liking, said Philip. If you like anyone, and she is necessary to your life, that is the sign of your natural equality. It is God's sign, and all the rest is only man's bookkeeping. You mean, said Kate, trying to keep a grave mouth? You mean that if a woman belongs to someone she can like, and someone belongs to her that is being equal, then everything else is nothing, eh? Why not, said Philip? It was music to her, but she waked her head solemnly and said, I'm sure you're wrong, Philip. I am, though. Yes indeed I am. But it's no use arguing, not against you, only. The glorious choir of lovebirds in her bosom was singing so loud that she could say no more, and the irresistible one had his way. After a while she stuffed something into the fire. What's that, said Philip? Oh, nothing, she answered brightly. It was the French exercise book. End of Part 2, Chapter 15. Recording by Tony Ashworth. Part 2, Chapter 16 of the Manxman. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings were in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Tony Ashworth. The Manxman by Sir Hall Cain. Part 2, Chapter 16. Philip went home rebelling against his father's fate. It was accidental. It was inevitable only in the Isle of Man. But perdition to the place where a man could not marry the woman he loved if she chanced to be born in the manger instead of the stable loft. Perdition to the land where a man could not live unless he was a skunk or a cur. Thank God the world was wide. That night he said to Aunty Nan, Aunty, why didn't father go away when he found the tide setting so strongly against him? He always meant to, but he never could, said Aunty Nan. A woman isn't like a man ready to pitch her tent here today and there tomorrow. We're more like cats, dear, and cling to the places we're used to if there are only ruins of tumbling stones. Your mother wasn't happy in the Isle of Man, but she wouldn't leave it. Your father wouldn't go without her and then there was the child. He was here for wheel or woe for life or death. When he married his wife, he made the chain that bound him to the island as to a rock. It wouldn't be like that with Kate, thought Philip. But didn't Aunty know anything? Had somebody told her? Was she warning him? On Sunday night, on the way home from church, she talked of his father again. He came to see at last that it wasn't altogether his own affair, either, she said. It was the night he died. Your mother had been unwell and father had sent for me. It was a dark night and late, very late, and they brought me down the hill from Loweig Cottage with the lantern. Father was sinking, but he would get out of bed. We were alone together then, he and I, except for you, sitting in your cot by the window. He made straight forward and struggled down on his knees at its side by help of the curtains. Listen, he said, trying to whisper. Though he could not, for his poor throat was making noises.  Poor little boy, his dreaming said, I, let me turn him on his side. It's not that, said father. He went to sleep in trouble. I remember it, Aunty, said Philip. Perhaps he had been trying to tell me something. My boy, my son, forgive me. I have sinned against you, he said, and he tried to reach over the cot rail and put his lips to your forehead.   Then I held him back to bed and the table with the medicine glasses jingled by the trembling of his other hand. It's dark. All dark, nanny, he said. Sure some angel will bring me light. And I was so simple, I thought he meant the lamp, for it was dying down and I lift a candle. Philip went about his work that week as if the spirit of his father were hovering over him, warning him when awake in words of love and pleading, crying to him in his sleep in tones of anger and command. Stand back, you are at the edge of this. Nevertheless, his soul rose in rebellion against this league as of the past and the dead. It was founded in vanity in the desire for glory and success. Only let a man renounce the world and all that the world can give and he can be true to himself, to his heart's impulse, to his honor and to his love. He would deliberate no longer. He despised himself for deliberating. If it was the world against Kate, let the world go to perdition. End of Part 2 Chapter 16 Recording by Tony Ashworth Part 2 Chapter 17 of The Manxman. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings were in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Tony Ashworth The Manxman by Sir Hall Cain Part 2 Chapter 17 On Saturday afternoon he was at Peel. It was a beautiful day. The sun was shining and the bay was blue and flat and quiet. The tide was down. The harbour was empty of water, but full of smacks with hanging sails and hammocks of nets and lines of mollags, ladders, up to the mast heads. A flight of seagulls were fishing in the mud and swirling through the brown wings of the boats and crying. A flag floated over the ruins of the castle. The church bells were ringing and the harbour masters were abroad in best blue and gold buttons. On the tilting ground of the castle the fishermen had gathered, 1600 strong. There were trawlers among them, Manx Irish and English, prowling through the crowd and scooping up the odds and ends of gossip as their boats on the bottom scraped up the little fish. Occasionally they were observed there were high words and free fights. Taking a creep round from Port LaMora, are you Dan? Thought I'd put a sight on Peel today. Bad for your complexion though, might turn it red, I'm thinking. Strike me with blood, will you?  I'd put a union jack on your face as big as a griddle. The governor came an elderly man with a formidable air an aquiline nose and cheeks pitted with smallpox. Philip introduced the fishermen and told their grievance. Trawling destroyed immature fish and so contributed to the failure of the fisheries. They asked for power to stop it in the bays of the island and within three miles of the coast. Then draught me a bill with that object, Mr. Christian said the governor and the meeting ended with cheers for his excellency, shouts for Philip and mutterings of contempt from the trawlers. Didn't think there was a man on the island could spake like it.  I'd take little tax home if I was you, Dan. Drink much more and it'll be two feet deep inside of you. Philip was hurrying away under the crumbling portcullis when a deputation of the fisherman approached him. What are we owing you, Mr. Christian? asked their spokesman. Nothing answered Philip. We thank you, sir, and you'll be hearing from us again. Meanwhile, a word if you please, sir. What is it, men, said Philip? When a young man can spake like yonder, it's a gift, sir, and he's holding it in trust for something. The old island's wanting a big man terrible bad, and it hasn't seen the like since the days of your own grandfather. Good everone, and thank you. Good everone. With that, the rough fellows dismissed him at the very steps and he hastened to the marketplace where he had left his horse. On putting up, he had seen Caesar's gig tipped up in the stable yard. It was now gone, and without asking questions, he mounted and made towards Ramsey. He took the old road by the cliffs and as he canted and galloped he hummed and whistled and sang and slashed the trees to keep him from thinking. At the crest of the hill he sighted the gig in front and at Port Lady he came up with it. Kate was driving and Caesar was nodding and dozing. You've been having a great day, Mr. Christian, said Caesar. Wish I could say the same for myself, but the heart of man is deceitful, sir, and desperately wicked. I'm not one to clap people in the castle and keep them from sea for debts of drink, and they're taking a main advantage. Not a penny did I get today, sir, and many a yellow sovereign owing to me. If I was like some, now there's that Tom Rebe, Glen May. He saw Dan the spy coming from the total meeting last night. Take the pledge, Dan, says he. Yes, I have said, Dan. I'm pleased to hear it, says he. Come in and I'll give you a good glass of rum for it. And Dan took the rum for taking the pledge and there he was as drunk as McIllia in the castle this morning. Philip listened as he rode and a half melancholy, half mocking expression played on his face. He was thinking of his grandfather, old Iron Christian, brought into relation with his mother's father, Captain Billy Ballour, the dainty gentility of Aunty Nan and the anxious vulgarity of the father of Kate. Caesar grumbled himself to sleep at last, and then Philip was alone with the girl and riding on her side of the geek. She was quiet at first, but a joyous smile lit up her face. I was in the castle too, she said, with a look of pride. The sun went down over the waters behind them and cast their brown shadows on the road in front. The twilight deepened, the night came down, the moon rose in their faces and the stars appeared. They could hear the tramp of the horses' hooves, the roll of the gig wheels, the wash and boom of the sea on their left, and the cry of the seafowl somewhere beneath. The loveliness and warmth of the autumn night stole over Kate and she began to keep up a flow of Mary chatter. I can tell all the sounds of the fields in the darkness. By the moonlight? No, but with my eyes shut, if you like. Now try me. She closed her eyes and went on. Do you hear that? That patter like soft rain? That's oats nearly ripe for harvest. Do you hear that then? That pitter-patter like sheep going by on the street? That's wheat just ready. And there, that wiss, wiss, wiss. That's barley. She opened her eyes. Don't you think I'm very clever? Philip felt an impulse to lean over the wheel and put his arm about the girl's neck. Take care, she cried merrily. Your horse is shying. He gazed at her face, lit up in the white moonlight. How bright and happy you seem, Kate, he said with a shiver, and then he laid one hand on the gig rail. Her eyelids quivered. Her mouth twitched and she answered gaily. Why not, aren't you? You ought to be, you know. How glorious to succeed. It means so much. New things to see, new houses to visit, new pleasures, new friends. A joyous tone broke down in the nervous laugh at that last word, and he replied in a faltering voice. That may be true of the big world over yonder, Kate, but it isn't so in a little island like ours. To succeed here is like going up the tower of Castle Ruchen, with someone locking the doors on the stone steps behind you. At every story the room becomes less, until at the top you have only space to stand alone. Then if you should ever come down again, there's but one way for you over the battlements with a crash. She looked up at him with startled eyes, and his own were large and full of trouble. They were going through Kirk Michael by the house of the deemster, who was ill, and both drew up rain and went slowly. Some acacias in the garden slashed their broadswords in the night air, and a windmill behind stood out against the moon like a gigantic bat. The black shadow of the horses stepped beside them. Are you feeling lonely tonight, Phillip? I'm feeling... Yes? I'm feeling as if the dead and the living, the living and the dead. Oh, Kate, Kate. I don't know what I'm feeling. She put her hand caressingly on the top of his hand. Never mind, dear, she said softly, I'll stand by you. You shan't be alone. End of Part 2, Chapter 17, Recording by Tony Ashworth Part 2, Chapter 18 of The Manxman. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings were in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Recording by Tony Ashworth. The Manxman by Sir Hall Cain, Part 2, Chapter 18. It was midday, then, on the tropic seas, and the horizon was closing in with clouds as of blood and vapours of stifling heat. The steamship was rolling in a heavy swell, under winds that were as hot as gusts from an open furnace. Under its decks, a man lay in an atmosphere of fever and the sickening odour of bandages above the throb of the engines and the rattle of the rudder chain, he heard a step going by his open door, and he called in a feeble voice that was cheerful and almost merry, but yet the voice of a homesick boy. How many days from home, engineer? Not more than twenty now. Put on steam, mate. Put it on. Wish I could be skipping below and stoking up for you like mad. As the ship rolled, the green reflection of the water and the red light of the sky shot alternately through the porthole and lit up the berth like firelight flashing in a dead house. Ask the boys if they'll carry me on deck, sir, just for a breath of fresh air. The sailors came and carried him. You can do anything for a chap like that. The big sun was straight overhead, weighing down on their shoulders, and there was no shelter anywhere but underfoot. Slip out the sails, lads, and let's fly along. Wish I could tumble up the ringing myself and look out from the yard same as a gull, but I'm only an old parrot chained down to my stick. They left him, and he gazed out on the circle of water and the vapour shaking over it like a veil. The palpitating air was making the circle smaller every minute, but the world seemed cruelly large for all that. He was on the visible things. He was listening deeper than the wash of the waves. He was dreaming, dreaming. Apparitions were floating in the heat clouds over him. Home! Its voices whispered at his ear. Its face peered into his eyes. But the hot winds came up and danced round him. The air, the sea, the sky, the whole world, the utter universe seemed afire. His eyes rolled upwards to his brow. He almost choked and fainted. Carry him below, poor fellow. He's got a good heart to think he'll ever see home again. He'll never see it. Halfway down the companion ladder he opened his eyes with a look of despair.  End of Part 2, Chapter 18 Recording by Tony Ashworth Part 2, Chapter 19 of The Manxman This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings were in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Tony Ashworth The Manxman by Sir Hall Cain Part 2, Chapter 19 Kate began to feel that Philip was slipping away from her. He loved her, she was sure of that. But something was dragging them apart. Her great enemy was Philip's success. This was rapid and constant. She wanted to rejoice in it. She struggled to feel glad and happy and even proud. But that was impossible. It was ungenerous. It was mean. But she could not help it. She resented every fresh mark of Philip's advancement. The world that was carrying Philip up was carrying him away. She would be left far below. It would be presumptuous to lift her eyes to him. Visions came to her of Philip in other scenes than her scenes. Among ladies in drawing rooms, beautiful, educated, clever, able to talk of many things beyond her knowledge. Then she looked at herself and felt vexed with her hands made coarse by the work of the farm. At her father and felt ashamed of the moleskin clothes he wore in the mill. At her home and flushed deeper the thought of the bar room. It was small and pitiful. She knew that and she shuddered a meaner hearted girl than she had ever thought. If she could do something of herself to counteract the difference made by Philip's success if she could raise herself a little she would be content to keep behind to let him go first to see him forge ahead of her and of everybody being only in sight and within reach. But she could do nothing except writhe and rebel against the network of female custom or tear herself in the thorny thicket of female morals. Harvest had begun. Half the crop of Glenmore had been saved. A third was in stook and then a wet day had come and stopped all work in the fields. On this wet day in the preaching room of the mill amid forms and desks with the cranch of the stones from below the wash of the wheel from outside and the rush of the uncrushed corn from above Caesar sat rolling sugargains for the stackyard with Kate working the twister and going backward before him and half his neighbours sheltering from the rain and looking on. Thought I'd have a sight up and tell you, said Kelly, the postman. What's the news, Mr Kelly, said Caesar? The old Dempster's dying, said Kelly. You don't say, said everybody. Well, as good as dying at ten minutes wanting eight o'clock this morning, said the postman. The drink's been too heavy for the man, said John the Clarke. Wine is a serpent and strong drink a mocker, said Caesar. Who'll be the new Dempster, Mr Nip Lightly, said Janak? Hmm, snuffled the constable, easing his helmet. That's a serious matter, Mr Jelly. We'll take our time. We'll take our time. Sure, there's only one man for it, said Caesar. Perhaps yes, perhaps no, said the constable. Do you mean the young ballerine, Mr Craigine, said the postman? The main fiddlesticks, said Caesar. Well, the man's father is at the governor regular, they're telling me, said Kelly, and Ross is this and Ross is that. Every dog praises his own tail, said Caesar. I'm not denying it, the man isn't fit. He had sold himself to the devil, that's a fact. No, he hasn't said Caesar, the devil gets the like for nothing. But he's a Christian for all and the Christians have been there. Is he the only Christian that's in then, eh, said Caesar? Go on, Kate, twist away. Is it Mr Phillip? Or I'm saying nothing against Mr Phillips, said the postman. You wouldn't get a leave in this house anyway, said Caesar. Or, right gentlemen, and no pride at all, said the postman. There's free and free with a poor man, and no making easy either. I've nothing again him myself. No, but a bit young for a twist to taste young as the man said, eh? Older than the young bellowane anyway, said John the Clark. Or make him Dempster then. I'm raising no objections, said Mr Kelly.  Does that twister want oiling? Feed it, woman, feed it, said Caesar. His father should have been Dempster before him, said John the Clark. Would have been too, only he went crooked when he was not more natural. The rope stopped again, and Kate's voice, hard and thick, came from the father end of it.  It was a mother that done for the father anyway, said the Clark.  That girl wants a doctor, muttered Jenaeke. The man couldn't drag the woman up after him began the Clark. It's always the way. Just that, said Kate . Of course, I'm not for saying it was the woman's fault entirely. Don't apologize for us, said Kate. She's gone and forgotten, and that being so, her son has now a chance of being Dempster. So he has shouted Caesar, and not second Dempster only, but first Dempster itself in time, and go on with the twister. Kate laughed loudly and cried, why don't you keep it up when your hand's in?  There's no thought of making Philip Christian a Dempster, and no hope of it, and no chance of it, and I trust there never will be. So saying, she flung the twister on the floor, and rushed out of the mill, sobbing hysterically. Dr. Cluchus is wonderful for females and young girls, said Jenaeke. It's that Ross again, muttered Caesar. And he'll have her yet, said Kelly Grossman. I'd see her dead first, said Caesar.  That she who loved Philip to distraction should be the first to abuse and defame him was agony near to madness, for Kate knew where she stood. It was not merely that Philip's success was separating them, not merely that the conventions of life, its usages, its manners, and its customs were putting worlds between them. The pathos of the girl's mental thing. It was a deeper older matter. It was the same today as it had been yesterday and would be tomorrow. It began in the Garden of Eden, and would go on till the last woman died. It was a natural inferiority of woman in relation to man. She had the same passions as Philip, and was moved by the same love. But she was not free. Philip alone was free. She had to wait on Philip's will, on Philip's word. She saw Philip slipping away from her. But she could not snatch at him before he was gone. She could not speak first. She could not say, I love you, stay with me. She was a woman, only a woman. How wretched to be a woman. How cruel. But ah, the dear, delicious thought. It came stealing up into her heart when the red riot was nearly killing her.   What a lovely and beloved thing. To rule the king, being the slave was sweeter than to be the king himself. That was woman's place. It was where heaven itself had put her from the beginning until now. What weapons had it given her? Beauty, charm, love, the joy of it. To be the weak and overcome the strong. To be nothing in the battle of life and yet conqueror of all the world. Kate vowed that come what would, Philip should never leave her. End of Part 2, Chapter 19 Recording by Tony Ashworth Part 2, Chapter 20 of The Manxman This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Tony Ashworth The Manxman by Sir Hall Cain Part 2, Chapter 20 On the day when the last of the harvest is saved in the Isle of Man the farmer gives a supper to his farm people and to the neighbors who have helped him to cut and house it. This supper, attended by simple and beautiful ceremonies, is called the Melia. The parson may be asked to it and if there is a friend of position and free manners, he also is invited. Caesar's Melia fell within a week of the rope making in the middle and partly to punish Kate, partly to honour himself he asked Philip to be present. He'll come, thought Kate with secret joy. I'm sure he'll come. And in this certainty when the day of Melia came she went up to her room to dress for it. She was to win Philip that day or lose him forever. It was to be her trial day she knew that. She was to fight as for her life again or lose everything. It was to be a battle-royal between all the conventions of life, all the network of female custom, all the inferiority of a woman's position as God himself had suffered it to be and one poor girl. She began to cry but struggling with her sadness she dashed the tears from her glistening eyes. What was there to cry about? Philip wanted to love her and he should, he must. It was a glorious day and not yet more than that. Nancy had washed up the dinner things, the fire irons were polished the boots and spear whips were put up on the lath. The old hats like lines of heads on a city gate were hung round the kitchen walls. The hearth rug was down the turf was piled up on the fire the kettle was singing from the slurry and the whole house was taking its afternoon nap. Kate's bedroom looked over the orchard and across the stackyard up the glen. She could see the barley stack growing in the haggard. The laden card coming down the glen road with the driver three decks up over the mare. Now half smothered and looking suddenly little like a snail under the gigantic load and beyond the long meadow and the bishop's bridge the busy fields dotted with the yellow stooks and their black shadows like a castle studded doors. When she had thrown off her blue black dress to wash her arms and shoulders and neck were bare she caught sight of herself in the glass and laughed with delight. The years had brought her a fuller flow of life. She was beautiful and she knew it. And Philip knew it too, but he should know it today as he had never known it before. She folded her arms in their roundness over her bosom in its fullness and walked up and down the little room over the sheepskin rugs under the turfy scrays glowing in the joy of blooming health and conscious loveliness then she began to dress. She took from a drawer two pairs of stockings one black and the other red and weighed their merits with moral gravity which the red had it and then came the turn of the boots. There was a grand new pair with countless buttons two toe caps like two flowers and an upward curve like the arm of a glove. She tried them on bent back and forward but relinquished them with a sigh in favour of plain shoes cut under the ankles and tied with tape. Her hair was a graver matter. Its tangled curls had never satisfied her. She tried all means to bring them into subjection but the roll on top was ridiculous and the roll behind was formal.  From a recess covered by a shawl running on a string she took down her bodice it was a pink blouse loose over the breast like hills of red sand on the shore and loose too over the arms but tight at the wrist.  The skirt was a print with a faint pink flower the sash was a band of cotton of the color of the bodice and then came the solemn problems of the throat. It was round and full and soft and like a tower she would have loved to leave it bare but dared not. Out of a draw under the looking glass she took a string of pearls they were a present from Kimberley and they hung over her fingers a moment and then slipped back. That silk handkerchief with a watermark was chosen instead.  Last of all she took out of a box a broad white straw hat like an oyster shell with a silver grey ribbon and a sweeping ostrich feather. She looked at it a moment blew on it plucked at its ribbon lifted it over her head held it at poise there put it onto her hair stood back from the glass to see it and finally tore it off and sent it skimming onto the bed. The substitute was her everyday sun bonnet which had been lying on the floor by the press. It was also of pale pink with spots on its print like little shells on a big scallop. When she had tossed it over her black curls leaving the strings to fall on her bosom she could not help but laugh aloud. After all it was just exactly the same as on other days of life except Sunday only smarter perhaps and fresher maybe. The sun bonnet was right though and she began to play with it it was so full of play it lent itself to so many moods it could speak it could say anything she poked it to a point as girls do when the sun is hot by closing its mouth over the tip of her nose leaving only a slumberous dark cave visible as it gleamed and her eyelashes shone.  She took it off and tossed it on her arm the strings still knotted swinging it like a basket then wafting it like a fan and walking as she did so to and fro in the room a print frock crinkling and she herself laughing with the thrill of passion vibrating and of imagined things to come then she went downstairs with a firm and buoyant step a fresh lithe figure aglow with young blood and bounding health at the gate of the haggard she met Nancy Jo coming out of the wash house Lord save us alive exclaimed Nancy if I ever wanted to be a man until this day Kate kissed and hugged her then fled away to the Malia field End of Part 2, Chapter 20 Recording by Tony Ashworth Part 2, Chapter 21 of The Manxman This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Tony Ashworth The Manxman by Sir Hall Cain Part 2, Chapter 21 Philip and Douglas had received the following communication from Government House His Excellency will be obliged to Mr Philip Christian if he will not leave the island for the present without acquainting him of his destination The message was a simple one It said little and involved and foreshadowed nothing but it threw Philip into a condition of great excitement To relieve his restlessness by giving way to it he went out to walk It was the end of the tourist season and the Ben MacCree was leaving the harbour News boys burrowing among the crowds on the pier to sell a Manx evening paper were crying illness of the deemster serious reports Philip's hair seemed to rise from his head The two things came together in his mind With an effort to smudge out the connection he turned back to his lodgings looking at everything that his eyes fell on in the rattling streets speaking to everybody he knew but seeing nothing and hearing nobody The beast of life had laid its claws on him Back in his rooms he took out of his pocket a packet which Aunty Nan had put in his hand when he was leaving Ramsay It was a bundle of his father's old letters to his sister cousin written from London in the days when he was studying law and life was like the opening dawn The ink is yellow now, said Aunty Nan It was black then and the hand that wrote them is cold but the blood runs red in them yet Read them Philip, she said with a meaning look and then he was sure she knew of Solby Philip read his father's letters until it was far into the night and he had gone through every line of them They were as bright as sunshine as free as air, easy playful forcible, full of picture but above all egotistical proud with the pride of intellectuality and vain with the certainty of success It was this egotism that fascinated Philip He sniffed it up as a cult sniffs the sharp wind There was no need to make allowances for it The castles which his father had been building in the air were only as hovels to the golden palaces which his son's eager spirit was that night picturing Philip devoured the letters It was almost as if he had written them himself in some other state of being The message from Government House lay on a table at his right and sometimes he put his open hand over it as he sat close under the lamp on a table at his left and red on Heard ol' broom in the house last night and today I lunch with him at Tably's They called him an orator and the king of conversationalists He speaks like a pump and talks like a bottle running water No conviction, no sincerity no appeal Civil enough to me though and when he heard that father was a deemster he told me the title meant doomster and then asked me if I knew the meaning of House of Keys and said it had its origins in the ancient Irish custom of locking the muniment chests with 24 keys whereof each councillor kept one When he had left us Tably asked if he wasn't a wonderful man and if he didn't know something of everything and I said Yes, except the things of which I knew a little and of them he knew nothing My pen runs, runs But nanny, my little nanny If this is what London calls a great man I'll kick the ball like a toy before me yet So you are wondering where I am living In Mansion or Attic Behold me then in Brickcourt Temple, second floor Goldsmith wrote the vicar on the third but I've not got up to that yet His rooms were open and his room was open I haven't got up to that yet His rooms were those immediately above me I seemed to see him coming down past my door in that wonderful plum-coloured coat and sitting here at night I think of him the sudden fear, the solitary death then these stairs throng with his pensioners the mighty Burke pushing through Reynolds with his ear trumpeted and big blinking Sam and last of all the unknown grave God knows where by the chapel wall poor little Oliver they say it was a woman that was in at the end no more of the like now no more debts, no more vain talk like poor pole the lights out, all still and dark How's my little nanny does she still keep a menagerie for sick dogs and lost cats and how's the passing gull with the broken wing and does he still strut like passing kiss-hack in his surplus I was at Westminster Hall yesterday it was the great trial of Mitchell MP who forged his father's will Stevens defended bad, bad, bad smirking all the while with small facetiae but Denman summing up oh, oh, such insight, such acuteness it was wonderful I had a seat in the gallery the grand old hall was a thrilling scene the dense throng, the upturned faces the council, the judges the officers of court and then the windows, the statues the echo of history that made every stone and rafter live oh, nan, nan, listen to me if I live I'll sit on the bench there someday I will so help me God when Philip had finished his father's letters he was on the heights and poor Kate was left far below out of reach and out of sight hitherto his ambitions had been little more than the pale shadow of his father's hopes but now they were his own realities End of Part 2, Chapter 21 Recording by Tony Ashworth Part 2, Chapter 22 of The Manxman This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Tony Ashworth The Manxman by Sir Hall Cain Part 2, Chapter 22 Next morning the letter came from Caesar inviting him to the Malia and then he thought of Kate more tenderly she would suffer she would cry it would make his heart bleed to see her but musty for a few tears put by the aims of a lifetime if only Pete had been alive if only Pete were yet to come home he grew hot and ashamed when he remembered the times so lately passed when the prayer his secret heart would have been different it was so easy now to hate himself for such evil impulses Philip decided to go to the Malia it would give him the chance he wanted of breaking off the friendship finally more than friendship there had never been except secretly and that could not count he knew he was deceiving himself he felt an uneasy sense of loss of honour and a sharp pang of tender love as often as Kate's face rose up before him on the day of the Malia he set off early riding by way of St. John's that he might inquire at Kirk Michael about the deemster he found the great man's house a desolate place the gate was padlocked and he had to clamber over it the Acacias slashed above him going down the path and the fallen leaves encumbered his feet at the door which was shut he rang and before it was open to him there was a bloody head out of a little window at the side it's scandalous the doings that's here, sir she whispered the deemster's gone into hysterics with the drink and the little farmer fellow Billy Cowley is over and giving him as much as he wants and driving everybody away can I speak to him, said Philip? William, it isn't fit he'll blagger due mortal and the deemster himself is past it just sitting with the brandy and drinking and eating nothing but that dirt brought up on the carriage shouting for beef steaks morning and night and having his dinner lay down a beautiful new white sheet as clean as a bed from the ambush of a screen before an open door Philip looked into the room where the deemster was killing himself the window shutters were up to keep out the daylight candles were burning in the necks of bottles on the mantelpiece a fire smoldered in a grate littered with paper and ashes the horse-featured man was eating ravenously at the table a chopbone in his fingers and veins like cords moving on his low forehead and the deemster himself judge of his island since the death of Iron Christian was propped up in a chair with a smoking glass on a stool beside him and a monkey perched on his shoulder turn them out neck and crock, deemster the women are all for robbing a man, said the fellow and a husky, eaten out voice replied to him with a grunt and a laugh hmm, that's only what you're doing yourself then you rascal and if I let the right one in long ago you wouldn't be here now nor I neither would I, Jacko the tail of the monkey flapped on the deemster's breast and Philip crept away with a shiver the sun was shining brightly outside the house and the air was fresh and sweet remounting his horse and the naing and stamping at the gate Philip rode hard to bring back a sense of warmth at the ferry he alighted and put up and saw Granny who was laying tables in the mill I'm busy as trapped wife, she said and if you were the governor itself you wouldn't get laid to speak to me now put a sight on himself on the field, Yonder the second meadow past the Bishop's Bridge and come back with the boys to supper Philip found them only a field two score workers, men, women and children a cart and a pair of horses were scattered over it where the corn had been cut the day before the stubble had been woven overnight into a white carpet of cobwebs which neither sun nor step of man had yet to spell there were the smell of the straw the coring of the rooks in the glen the hissing to the breeze of the barley still standing the swish of the scythe and the gling of the sickle the rising of the shearers the swaying of the binders dragging the sheaves the gluck of the wheels of the cart the merry head of a child peeping out of a stook like a young bird out of the broken egg and a girl in scarlet whom Philip recognised standing at the farthest hedge and waving the corn band with which she was tying to someone below Philip vaulted into the field and was instantly seized by every woman working in it except Kate tied up with the straw ropes and only liberated on paying the toll of an intruder but I've come to work he protested and Caesar who was plotting the last rigs of the harvest paired him with Kate and gave him a sickle he's a David he'll smite down his thousands said Caesar and cocking his eye up the field the baller beg for leader he cried he's a plate rib man but let all Maggie take the butt along with him Jimmy the Red for the after rig and Robbie to follow Molly with the cart now ding dong boys bend your backs and down with it Kate had not looked up when Philip came into the field but she had seen him come and she gave a little start when he took his place in his shirt sleeves beside her he used some conventional phrases which he scarcely answered and then nothing was heard but the sounds of the sickle she works steadily for some time and he looked up at her at intervals with her round bare arms and subtle waist and firm set foot and tight red stockings two butterflies tumbling in the air played around her son bonnet and a lady clock settled on her wrist time was called for rest as Nancy Joe came through the gate bringing a basket with bottles and a can the bellies a malefactor that forgets former kindness said Caesar ate and drink then the men formed a group about the ale the older women drank tea the children making bands were given buttermilk and the younger women with babes went cooing and clucking to the hedge where the little ones lay nuzzled up and unattended some asleep in shawls some awake on their backs and grabbing at the wondrous forests of margarites towering up beside them and all crying with one voice at sight of the breast which the mothers were as glad to give as they to take the rooks clawed in the glen there was a hot hum of bees and a company of starlings passed overhead glittering in the sunlight like the scales of a herring they're teaching us a lesson said Caesar they're going together over the sea but there's someones on earth would sooner go to heaven itself solitary and take joy if they found themselves all alone and the cock of the walk there Kate and Philip stood and talked where they had been shearing quietly simply without apparent interest and meanwhile the workers discussed them first the men he works his single like a man though a stout boy anyway give him practice and he'd share many a man in bed then the women she's looking as bright as a pewter pot and she's all so pretty as the governor's daughter too got a good heart though only last week she had word of Pete and look at the scarlet pericate finally both men and women lay for a lone mother it's that Ross that's wasting the woman well if I was a man I'd know my tack wouldn't trust it comes with Caesar anyway the Lord prospers him she'll have her pickings nothing baits religion in this world it's like going to the shop with an old man's shilling you get your penneth of taffy and 12 pence out lends a hand with the joch then boy none left? oh Caesar's wonderful religious but there's never much lavings avail with him Caesar was striding through the stooks past Philip and Kate will it thrash well Mr. Craigine said Philip? eight bowls to the acre maybe but no straw to spake of sir said Caesar now boys let the weft rest on the last end finish your work the workers fell to again and the sickle of the leader sang round his head as he hacked and blew and sent off his breath in spits until the green grass springing up behind him left only a triangular corner of yellow corn four rig and the after rig took a tussle together and presently nothing was standing of all the harvest of Glenmore but one small shaft of ears a yard wide or less then the leaders stopped and all the shearers of the field came up and cast down their sickles into the soil in a close circle making a sheaf of crescent moons now for the maleus said Caesar who's to be queen there was a cry for Kate and she sailed forward buoyantly fresh still warm with her work and looking like the afterglow from the sunset in the lengthening shadows from the west strike them from their legs Kiri cried Nancy Jo and Kate drew up one of the sickles swept her left arm over the standing corn and at a single stroke of her right brought the last years to the ground then there was a great shout hurrah for the malea it rang through the Glen and echoed in the mountains Granny heard it in the valley and said to herself Caesar's maleus took well we've gathered the ripe corn praise his name said Caesar but what shall be done but the great gathering for unripe Christians Kate lifted her last sheaf and tied it about with a piece of blue ribbon and Philip plucked the kushag the ragwort from the hedge and gave it her to put in the band this being done the queen of the malea stepped back feeling Philip's eyes following her while the oldest woman Shearer came forward I've a crown piece here that's been lying in my pocket long enough she said Caesar with an expansive air and he gave the woman her custom doll she was a timid shrinking creature having a face walled with wrinkles and wearing a short blue petticoat showing heavy doll boots like a man's and thick black stockings then the young fellas went racing over the field vaulting the stooks stretching a straw rope for the girls to jump over heightening and tightening it to trip them up and slackening and twirling it to make them skip the girls were falling with a laugh and leaping up again and flying off like the dust tearing their frocks and dropping their sunbonnets as if the barley grains they had been reaping had got into their blood in the midst of this maddening frolic while Caesar and the others were kneeling behind the barley stack Kate snatched Philip's hat from his head and shot like a gleam into the depths of the glen Philip dragged up his coat by one of its arms and fled after her in the end of Part 2, Chapter 22 Recording by Tony Ashworth Part 2, Chapter 23 of The Manxman This is a LibriVox recording All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain For more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org Recording by Tony Ashworth The Manxman by Sir Hall Cain Part 2, Chapter 23 The Solby Glen is winding, soft, rich, sweet and exquisitely beautiful a thin thread of blue water laughing, babbling, brawling, whooping, leaping, gliding and stealing down from the mountains Great boulders worn smooth and plowed hollow by the wash of ages wet moss and lichen on the channel walls deep cool dubs, 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 fuchsia here the green tram and there now and again a poor old Tolton a ruthless house with grass growing on its kitchen floor and over all the sun peered 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 Kate had run out on the stem of one of the fallen trees and there Philip found her over the middle of the stream laughing, dancing, waving his hat in one hand and making sweeping bows to her reflection in the water below come back he cried you terrible girl you'll fall sit down there, don't torment me, sit down after a curtsy to him she turned her attention to her skirts wound them about her ankles, sat on the trunk and dangled her shapely feet half an inch over the surface of the stream then Philip had time to observe that the other end of the tree did not reach the opposite bank but dipped short into the water so he barricaded his end by sitting on it and said triumphantly my hat if you please Kate looked and gave a little cry of alarm and then a chuckle and then she said you thought you'd caught me didn't you I can't though and she dropped onto a boulder from which she might have skipped ashore I can't can't I said Philip and he twisted a small boulder on his side so that Kate was surrounded by water and cut off from the bank I had now madam he said with majestic despotism she would not deliver it so he pretended to leave her where she was goodbye then, good evening he cried over the laughter of the stream and turned away a step bareheaded a moment later his confidence was dashed when he turned his head back Kate had whipped off her shoes and stockings and was ramming the one inside the other what are you doing cried Philip catch this and this she said flinging the shoes across to him and clapping his straw hat on the crown of her son bonnet she tucked up her skirts with both hands and waited ashore what a clever boy you are you thought you'd caught me again didn't you she said I've caught your shoes anyway said Philip and until you give me my hat I'll stick to them she was on the shingle but in her bare feet and could not make a step my shoes please she pleaded my hat first he answered take it no you must give it me never I'll sit here all night first said Kate I'm willing said Philip they were sitting thus the one bareheaded the other with bare feet and on the same stone the sheets in the Glen were scarce when there came the sound of a hymn from the field they had left and then it was agreed by way of mutual penalty that Kate should put on Philip's hat on condition that Philip should be required to put on Kate's shoes at the next moment Philip suddenly sobered was reproaching himself fiercely what was he doing he had come to tell Kate that he should come no more and this was how he had begun yesterday he was in Douglas reading his father's letters and here he was today forgetting himself his aims in life his duties his obligations everything Philip he thought you are as weak as water give up your plans you are not fit for them abandon your hopes they are too high for you how solemn we are all at once said Kate the hymn a most doleful strain dragged out to death on every note was still coming from them earlier field and she added slyly shyly with a mixture of boldness and nervousness do you think this world is so very bad then well or no he faltered and looking up he met her eye and they both laughed it's all nonsense isn't it she said and they began to walk down the Glen but where are we going oh we'll come out this way just as well the scutch grass the long rat tail the golden kushag was swishing against his riding britches and her print dress I must tell her now he thought in the narrow places she went first and he followed with a lagging step trying to begin better prepare her he thought but he could think of no common place leading up to what he wished to say presently through a tangle of wild fuchsia there was a smell of burning turf in the air and the sound of milking into a pail and then a voice came up surprisingly as from the ground saying is he on the thatch miss cragine man it was old joanie the shearer milking her goat and Kate had stepped onto the roof of her house without knowing it for the little place was low and open from the water's edge and leaned against the bank Philip made some conventional inquiries and she answered that she had been 30 years there and had one son living with her and he was an imbecile there was once a flock at me and I was as young as you are then miss and all as happy but they're laving me one by one except this one and he isn't wise poor boy Philip tried to steal his heart it is cruel he thought it will hurt her but what must be must be she began to sing and went caroling down the glen keeping two paces in front of him he followed like an assassin meditating the moment to strike he's going to say something she thought and then she sang louder Kate he called huskily but she only clapped her hands and cried in a voice of delight the echo here's the echo let's shout to it her kindling features banished his purpose for the time and he delivered himself to her play then she called up the gill echo echo and listen but there was no response and she said it won't answer to its own name what shall I call oh anything said Philip Philip Philip she called and then said pettishly no Philip won't hear me either she laughed he's always so stupid though and perhaps he's asleep more this way said Philip try now you try Philip took up the call Kate he shouted no answer Kate Kate ah how quick Kate is a good girl how she answers you said Kate they walked a few steps and Kate called again Philip there was no answer Philip is stubborn he won't have anything to do with me said Kate then Philip called the second time Kate and back came the echo as before well that's too bad Kate he is yes she's actually following you Philip's courage used out of him not yet he thought Très de l'eau, time enough after supper when everybody is going outside the mill in the half light of candles within and darkness without it will sound so ordinary then goodbye haven't you heard the news Aunty Nan is reconciled at last to leaving Belour and joining me in Douglas that's it so simple so commonplace the light was now coming between the trees on the closing west in long swords of sunset red they could hear the jolting of the laden cart on its way down the Glen the birds were fairly rioting overhead and all sorts of joyous sounds filled the air underfoot there were long ferns and gorse which caught at her crinkling dress sometimes and then he liberated her and they laughed the trailing bow of deadly nightshade was hanging from the broken head of an old ash stump whose wasted feet were overgrown by two scarlet-tipped toadstools and she plucked a long tendril of it and wound it about her head tipping her sun-bonnet back and letting the red berries droop over her dark hair to her face then she began to sing Oh were I a monarch of the globe with thee to reign with thee to reign radiant gleam shot out of her black pupils and flashes of love like lightning passed from her eye to his then he tried to moralize ah he said out of the gravity of his wisdom if one could only go on forever like this living from minute to minute but that's the difference between a man and a woman a woman lives in the world of her own heart if she has interest they sent her there but a man has his interests outside his affections he is compelled to deny himself to let the sweetest things go by Kate began to laugh and Philip ended by laughing too look she cried only look on the top of the bank above them a goat was skirmishing he was a ridiculous fellow sometimes cropping with saucy jerks then kicking up his heels as if an invisible limp had pinched him then wagging his rump and laughing in his nostrils as I was saying said Philip a man has to put by the pleasures of life now here's myself for example I am bound do you know by a sort of duty a sort of vow made to the dead I might say I'm sure he's going to say something thought Kate the voice of his heart was speaking louder and quicker than his halting tongue she saw that a blow was coming and looked about for the means to ward it off the fairies dubbed she cried suddenly and darted from his side to the water's edge it was a little round pool black as ink lying quiet and apparently motionless under a noisy place where the water swirled and churned over black moss and the stream ran into the dark Philip had no choice but to follow her cut me a willow your pen knife quick sir quick not that old branch a sapling there that's it now you shall hear me tell my own fortune an ordeal is it said Philip hush be quiet still or little ponodary won't listen hush now hush with solemn airs but a certain sparkle in her eyes she went down on her knees by the pool stretched her round arm over the water passed the willow bow slowly across its surface and recited her incantation willow bow willow bow which of the four sink circle or swim or come floating ashore which is the fortune you keep for my life old maid or young mistress or widow or wife with the last word she flung the willow bow onto the pool and sat back on her heels to watch it as it moved slowly with the motion of the water bravo cried Philip be quiet it's swimming no it's coming ashore it's wife Kate no it's widow no it's don't be serious oh dear it's going yes it's going round not that either no it has yes it has oh sunk said Philip laughing and clapping his hands you're doomed to be an old maid Kate ponodary says so cruel brownie I'm fix that I bothered with him said Kate dropping her lip and nodding to her reflection in the water where the willow bow had disappeared she said poor little Katey he might have given you something else anything but that dear eh what laughs Philip crying because ponodary never Kate leapt up with averted face what nonsense you were talking she said there are tears in your eyes though said Philip no wonder either you're so ridiculous and if I meant for an old maid you're meant for an old bachelor and quite right too oh it is is it yes indeed you've got no more heart than a mushroom for you're all head and legs and you're going to be just as bald someday I am am I mistress if I were you Philip I should hire myself out for a scarecrow and then having nothing under your clothes wouldn't so much matter it wouldn't wouldn't it said Philip she was shying off at a half circle he was beating round her but you're nearly as old as Methuselah already and what you'll be when you're a man look out she made him an arch curtsy and leapt round a tree and cried from the other side I know a squeaking old croaker with the usual old song deed yes friends this world is a veil of sin and misery the men's the misery and the women's the sin you rogue you cried Philip he made after her and she fled still speaking what do you think a girl wants with a oh oh oh a tirade ended suddenly she had plunged into a bed of the prickly gorse and was feeling in twenty places at once what it was to wear low shoes and thin stockings with a Samson a cried Philip striding on in his riding britches and lifting the captured creature in his arms why to carry you you torment to carry her through the gorse like this ah she said turning her face over his shoulder and tickling his neck with her breath her hair caught in a tree and fell in a dark shower over his breast he set her on her feet they took hands and went caroling down the Glen together the brightest jewel in my crown what be my queen what be my queen the daylight lingered as if loath to leave them there was the fluttering of wings overhead and sometimes the last piping of birds the wind wandered away and left their voices sovereign of all the air then there came a distant shout the cheer of the farm people on reaching home with them earlier it awakened Philip as from a fit of intoxication this is madness he thought what am I doing he's going to speak now she told herself a gaiety shaded off into melancholy her melancholy burst into wild gaiety again the night had come down the moon had risen the stars had appeared she crept closer to Philip's side and began to tell him the story of a witch they were near to the house the witch had lived in there it was that ruthless cottage had told him under the deep trees like a dungeon have you never heard of her Philip no the one they call the deemsters lady what deemsters said Philip this one deemster millray who is said to be dying he is dying he is killing himself I saw him today said Philip well she was the blacksmith's daughter and he left her and she went mad and cursed him and said she was his wife though they hadn't been to church and he should never marry anybody else then her father turned her out and she came up here all alone and there was a baby and they were saying she killed it and everybody was afraid of her and all the time her boy was making himself a great great man until he got to be deemster but he never married never though times and times people were putting this lady on him and then that but when they told the witch she only laughed and said let him he'll get lame enough at last she was old and going on two sticks and like to die any day and then he crept out of his big house he was thrown to anyone and stole up here to the woman's cottage and when she saw the old man she said so you've come at last boy but you've been keeping me long Boch you've been keeping me long and then she died wasn't that strange her dark eyes looked up at him and her mouth quivered was it witchcraft then said Philip oh no it was only because he was her husband that was the hole she had of him he was tempted away by a big house and a big name but he had to come back to her and it's the same with a woman once a girl is the wife of somebody she must cling to him and if she is ever false she must return something compels her that's if she's really his wife really truly how beautiful isn't it isn't it beautiful do you think that Kate 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 Tolton and she was creeping nearer and nearer to his side a bat swirled above their heads and she made a faint cry then a cat shot from under a gooseberry bush and she gave a little scream she was breathing irregularly he could smell the perfume of a fallen hare he was in agony of pain and delight his heart was leaping in his bosom his eyes were burning she's right he thought love is best it is everything it is the crown of life shall I give it up for the dead sea fruit of worldly success think of the deemster wifeless, childless, living solitary, dying alone unrecreted, unmoored what is the wickedness you are plotting? your father is dead you can do him neither good nor harm this girl is alive she loves you, love her let the canting hypocrites pray as they will she had disengaged her hand and was creeping away from him in the half darkness treading softly and going off like a gleam Kate he called he heard her laughter he heard the drowsy hum of the gill he could smell the warm odor of the gorse bushes but this is madness he thought this is the fever of an hour yield now and I am ruined for life the girl has come between me and my aims my vows, my work, everything she has tempted me and I am as weak as water Kate she did not answer come here this moment Kate I have something to say to you bite she said coming back and holding an apple to his lips she had plucked it in the overgrown garden listen I am leaving Ramsay for good don't intend to practice in the northern courts any longer settling in Douglas best work lies there you see worst of it is we shan't meet again soon not very soon you know not for years perhaps he began by stammering and went on stuttering blurting out his words and trembling at the sound of his own voice Philip you must not go she cried I am sorry Kate very sorry shall always remember so tenderly not to say fondly the happy boy and girl days together Philip Philip you must not go you cannot go you shall not go he could see her bosom heaving under her loose red bodies she took hold of his arm and dragged at it won't you spare me will you shame me to death must I tell you if you won't speak I will you cannot leave me Philip because because what do I care because I love you don't say that Kate I love you Philip I love you I love you would to God I had never been born but I will show you how sweet it is to be alive take me take me I am yours her upturned face seemed to flash he staggered like one sees with giddiness it was a thing of terror to behold her still he struggled though apart we shall remember each other Kate I don't want to remember I want to have you with me our hearts will always be together come to me then Philip come to me the purest part of our hearts our souls but I want you will you drive a girl to shame herself again I want you Philip I want your eyes that I may see them every day and your hair that I may feel it with my hands and your lips can I help it yes and your lips that I may kiss and kiss them Kate Kate turn your eyes away don't look at me like that she was fighting for her life it was to be now or never if you won't come to me I'll go to you she cried and then she sprang upon him and all grew confused the berries of the nightshade whipped his forehead and the moon and the stars went out my love my darling my girl you won't go now she sobbed God forgive me I cannot kiss me I feel your heart beating you are mine mine mine say you won't go now God forgive us both kiss me again Philip don't despise me then 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 a voice came from the Tolton Philip when a good woman falls from honour is it merely that she is a victim of momentary intoxication of stress of passion of the fever of instinct no it is mainly that she is a slave of the sweetest tenderest most spiritual and pathetic of all human fallacies the fallacy that by giving herself to the man she loves attaches him to herself forever this is the real betrayer of nearly all good women that are betrayed it lies at the root of tens of thousands of the cases that make up the merciless story of man's sin and woman's weakness alas it is only the woman who clings the closer the impulse of the man is to draw apart he must conquer it or she is lost such is the old cruel difference and inequality of man and woman as nature made them the old trick the old tragedy end of part 2 chapter 23 recording by Tony Ashworth part 2 chapter 24 of the Manxman this is a LibriVox recording or LibriVox recordings were in the public domain for more information or to volunteer please visit LibriVox.org recording by Tony Ashworth the Manxman by Sir Hall Cain part 2 chapter 24 Old Manon in the Magician according to his won't had surrounded his island with mist that day and in the helpless void of things unrevealed a steamship bound for Liverpool came with engines slacked some points north of her course blowing her foghorn over the breathless sea with that unearthly yell which must surely be the sound whereby the devil summons out of chaos presently something dropping through the dense air settled for a moment on the damp rope of the companion ladder and one of the passengers recognised it my goch it's a bird a sparrow he cried at the same moment there was a rustle of wind the mist lifted and a great round shoulder rose through the white gores as if it had been the ghost of a mountain that's the Isle of Man the passenger shouted there was a cry of incredulity it's the calf I'm telling you boys leave it to me to know and instantly the engines were reversed the passenger a stalwart fellow with a look as of pallor under a tawny tan walked the deck in a fever of excitement sometimes shouting in a cracked voice sometimes laughing huskily and at last breaking down in a horse gurgle like a sob can't you put me a short captain sorry I can't sir we've lost time already there was a dog with him a little misshapen ugly creature and he lifted it up in his arms and hugged it and called it by blusterous swear names with noises of inarticulate affection then he went down to his birth in the second cabin and opened a little box of letters and took them out one by one and leaned up to the port to read them he had read them before he knew them by heart but he traced the lines with his broad forefinger and spelled the words one by one and as he did so he laughed aloud and then cried to himself and then laughed once more she is well and happy and looking lovely and if she does not write don't think she is forgetting you god bless her and god bless him too god bless them both he went up on deck again there was a breeze now and he filled his lungs in blue and blue the island was dying down over the sea in a pale light of silver grey an engineman and a stoker were leaning over the bulwark to cool themselves happy enough now sir eh? happy as a sandboy mate only mortal hungry or the heart has its hunger same as anything else and mine has been on short commons even better see that island there lying like a salmon gull atop of the water looks as if she might dip under it doesn't she that's my home my native land as the man says and only three weeks ago I wasn't looking to see the thundering old thing again but god is good you see and I am middling fit for all I'm a manxman myself mate and I've got a little manx woman that's waiting for me yonder it's only an old shirt I'm bringing her to patch as the saying is but she'll be that joyful you've never seen it's bad to take a woman by surprise though these nervous creatures sterics you see I'll send her a telegraph from the stage my sakes the joy she'll be taken of that boy too she'll be getting six months for himself and a drink of buttermilk it's always the way of these poor little things can't stand no good news at all coming home and the like not much worth these women crying regular can't help it well you see they're tender hearteder than us and when anybody's been five years by god we're making way though the island's going under for sure or is it my eyes that isn't so clear since my bit of a bullet wound oh god is good tremendous the breaking voice stopped suddenly and the engine men turned about but the passenger was stumbling down the cabin stairs if ever a man came back from the dead it's that one said both men together end of part two chapter 24 recording by Tony Ashworth