She heard the clatter of pattens in the room below; it was Nancy churning in the dairy. She heard shouts from beyond the orchard--it was her father stacking in the haggard; she heard her mother talking in the bar, and the mill-wheel swishing in the pond. It seemed almost wonderful that the machinery of ordinary life could be working away the same as ever. Could she be the same herself? She reached over for a hand-glass to look at her face. As she took it off the table, it slipped from the tips of her fingers, and, falling face downwards, it broke. She had a momentary pang at that accident as at a bad omen, but just then Nancy came up with a letter. It was the letter which Philip had written at Ballure. When she was alone again she read it. Then she put it in her bosom. It seemed to be haunted by the odour of the gorse, the odour of the glen, of the tholthan, of Philip, and of all delights. A faint ghost of shame came to frighten her. Had she sinned against her sex? Was it disgraceful that she had wooed and not waited to be won? With all his love of her, would Philip be ashamed of her also? Her face grew hot. She knew that she was blushing, and she covered up her head as if her lover were there to see. Such fears did not last long. Her joy was too bold to be afraid of tangible things. So overwhelming was her happiness that her only fear was lest she might awake at some moment and find that she was asleep now, and everything had been a dream. That was Friday, and towards noon word came from Kirk Michael that the Deemster had died on the afternoon of the day before. “Then they ought to put Philip Christian in his place,” she said promptly; “I'm sure no one deserves it better.” They had been talking in low tones in the kitchen with their backs to her, but faced about with looks of astonishment. “Sakes alive, Kirry,” cried Nancy, “is it yourself it was? What were you saying a week ago?” “Well, do you expect a girl to be saying the one thing always?” laughed Kate. “Aw, no,” said Cæsar. “A woman's opinions isn't usually as stiff as the tail of a fighting Tom cat. They're more coming and going, of a rule.” Next day, Saturday, she received Philip's second letter, the letter written at Douglas after the supper and the arrival of Pete's telegram. It was written crosswise, in a hasty hand, on a half-sheet of note-paper, and was like a postscript, without signature or superscription:--. “Most urgent. Must see you immediately. Meet me at Port Mooar at two o'clock to-morrow. We can talk there without interruption. Be brave, my dear. There are serious matters to discuss and arrange.”