“Just so,” said Pete, and then Ross laughed a little, and the clicking of Kate's scissors stopped again. “As to you, sir,” said Pete, rising, “if it's no disrespect, you're like the cormorant that chokes itself swallowing its fish head-ways up. The gills are sticking in your gizzard, sir, only,” touching Ross's shoulder with something between a pat and push, “you shouldn't be coming to your father's son to help you to ram it down.” As Ross went out Cæsar came in. “That wastrel's been wanting something,” said Cæsar. “The tide's down on him,” said Pete. “Always was, and always will be. He was born at low water, and he'll die on the rocks. Borrowing money, eh?” said Cæsar, with a searching glance. “Trying to,” said Pete indifferently. “Then lend it, sir,” said Cæsar promptly. “He's not to trust, but lend it on his heirship. Or lend it the ould man at mortgage on Ballawhaine. He's the besom of fire--it'll come to you, sir, at the father's death, and who has more right?” The shank of Pete's pipe came down from his mouth as he sat for some moments beating out the ash on the jockey bar. “Something in that, though,” he said mechanically. “But there's another has first claim for all. He'd be having the place now if every one had his own. I must be thinking of it--I must be thinking of it.” III. Philip had left the island on the morning after the marriage. He had gone abroad, and when they heard from him first he was at Cairo. The voyage out had done him good--the long, steady nights going down the Mediterranean--walking the deck alone--the soft air--the far-off lights--thought he was feeling better--calmer anyway. He hoped they were settled in their new home, and well--and happy. Kate had to read the letter aloud. It was like a throb of Philip's heart made faint, feeble, and hardly to be felt by the great distance. Then she had to reply to it on behalf of Pete. “Tell him to be quick and come out of the land of Egypt and the house of bondage,” said Pete. “Say there's no manner of sense of a handsome young man living in a country where there isn't a pretty face to be seen on the sunny side of a blanket. Write that Kirry joins with her love and best respects and she's busy whitewashing, and he'd better have no truck with Pharaoh's daughters.” The next time they heard from Philip he was at Rome. He had suffered from sleeplessness, but was not otherwise unwell. Living in that city was like an existence after death--all the real life was behind you. But it was not unpleasant to walk under the big moon amid the wrecks of the past. He congratulated Mrs. Quilliam on her active occupation--work was the same as suffering--it was strength and power. Kate had to read this letter also. It was like a sob coming over the sea.