The Manxman Part 75

There was a rustling within as of autumn leaves, and then a twittering voice cried, "Is it Capt'n Quilliam, Martha?"

"Yes, ma'am."

Some whispered conference took place at the dining-room door, and Auntie Nan came hopping through the hall. But Pete was already moving away in the darkness.

"Shall I call the Deemster, Peter?"

"Aw, no, ma'am, no, not worth bothering him. Good everin', Miss Christian, ma'am, good everin' to you."

Auntie Nan and Martha were standing in the light at the open door when the iron gate of the garden swung to with a click, and Pete swung across the road.

He was making for the lane which goes down to the sh.o.r.e at the foot of Ballure Glen. "No denying it," he thought. "It must be true for all. The trouble in her head has driven her to it. Poor girl, poor darling!"

He had been fighting against an awful idea, and the quagmire of despair had risen to his throat at last. The moon was behind the cliffs, and he groped his way through the shadows at the foot of the rocks like one who looks for something which he dreads to find. He found nothing, and his catchy breathing lengthened to sighs.

"Thank G.o.d, not here, anyway!" he muttered.

Then he walked down the sh.o.r.e towards the harbour. The tide was still high, the wash of the waves touched his feet; on the one hand the dark sea, unbroken by a light, on the other the dull town blinking out and dropping asleep.

He reached the end of the stone pier at the mouth of the harbour, and with his back to the seaward side of the lighthouse he stared down into the grey water that surged and moaned under the rounded wall. A black cloud like a skate was floating across the moon, and a startled gannet scuttled from under the pier steps into the moon's misty waterway. There was nothing else to be seen.

He turned back towards the town, following the line of the quay, and glancing down into the harbour when he came to the steps. Still he saw nothing of the thing he looked for. "But it was high water then, and now it's the ebby tide," he told himself.

He had met with n.o.body on the sh.o.r.e or on the pier, but as he pa.s.sed the sheds in front of the berth for the steamers he was joined by the harbour-master, who was swinging home for the night, with his coat across his arm. Then he tried to ask the question that was slipping off his tongue, but dared not, and only stammered awkwardly----

"Any news to-night, Mr. Quay le?"

"Is it yourself, Capt'n? If you've none, I've none. It's independent young rovers like you for newses, not poor ould chaps tied to the harbour-post same as a s.h.i.+p's cable. I was hearing you, though. You'd a power of music in the everin' yonder. Fine doings up at Ballure, seemingly."

"Nothing fresh with yourself then, Daniel? No?"

"Except that I am middling sick of these late sailings, and the sooner they're building us a breakwater the better. If the young Deemster will get that for us, he'll do."

They were nearing a lamp at the corner of the marketplace.

"It's like you know the young Ballawhaine crossed with the boat to-night? Something wrong, with the ould man, they're telling me. But boy, veen, what's come of your hat at all?"

"My hat?" said Pete, groping about his head. "Oh, my hat? Blown off on the pier, of coorse."

"'Deed, man! Not much wind either. You'll be for home and the young wife, eh, Capt'n?"

"Must be," said Pete, with an empty laugh. And the harbour-master, who was a bachelor, laughed more heartily, and added----

"You married men are like Adam, you've lost the rib of your liberty, but you've got a warm little woman to your side instead."

"Ha! ha! ha! Goodnight!"

Pete's laugh echoed through the empty market-place.

The harbour-master had seen nothing. Pete drew a long breath, followed the line of the harbour as far as to the bridge at the end of it, and then turned back through the town. He had forgotten again that he was bareheaded, and he walked down Parliament Street with a tremendous step and the air of a man to whom nothing unusual had occurred. People were standing in groups at the corner of every side street, talking eagerly, with the low hissing sound that women make when they are discussing secrets. So absorbed were they that Pete pa.s.sed some of them un.o.bserved.

He caught s.n.a.t.c.hes of their conversation.

"The rascal," said one.

"Clane ruined the ould man, anyway," said another.

"Ross Christian again," thought Pete. But a greater secret swamped everything. Still he heard the people as he pa.s.sed.

"Sarve her right, though, whatever she gets--she knew what he was."

"Laving the child, too, the unfeeling creature."

Then the sharp voices of the women fell on the dull consciousness of Pete like forks of lightning.

"Whisht, woman! the husband himself," said somebody.

There was a noise of feet like the plash of retiring waves, and Pete noticed that one of the groups had broken into a half circle, facing him as he strode along the street. He nodded cheerfully over both sides, threw back his bare head, and plodded on. But his teeth were set hard, and his breathing was quick and audible.

"I see what they mane," he muttered.

Outside his own house he found a crowd. A saddle-horse, with a cloud of steam rising from her, was standing with the reins over its head, linked to the gate-post. It was Caesar's mare, Molly. Every eye was on the house, and no one saw Pete as he came up behind.

"Black Tom's saying there's not a doubt of it," said a woman.

"Gone with the young Ballawhaine, eh?" said a man.

"Shame on her, the hussy," said another woman.

Pete ploughed his way through with both arms, smiling and nodding furiously. "If you, plaze, ma'am I If _you_ plaze."

As he pushed on he heard voices behind him. "Poor man, he doesn't know yet."--"I'm taking pity to look at him."

The house-door was open. On the threshold stood a young man with long hair and a long note-book. He was putting questions. "Last seen at seven o'clock--left alone with child--husband out with procession--any other information?"

Nancy Joe, with the child on her lap, was answering querulously from the stool before the fire, and Caesar, face down, was leaning on the mantelpiece.

Pete took in the situation at a glance. Then he laid his big hand on the young man's shoulder and swung him aside as if he had been turning a swivel.

"What going doing?" he asked.

The young man faltered something. Sorry to intrude--Capt'n Quilliam's trouble.

"What trouble?" said Pete.

"Need I say--the lamented--I mean distressing--in fact, the mysterious disappearance----"

"What disappearance?" said Pete, with an air of amazement.