Pete lit up. “My sailor! It'll be a proud man I'll be this day, Kitty. Didn't I always say it? 'He'll be the first Manxman living,' says I times and times, and he's not going to de-ceave me neither.” Kate was in fear lest Pete should look up into her face. Catching sight of a rent in the cloth of his coat, she whipped out her needle and began to stitch it up, bending closely over it. “What an eye a woman's got now,” said Pete. “That was the steel of the drum ragging me sideways when I was a bit excited. Bless me, Kitty, there won't be a rag left at me when I get through this everin'. They're ter'ble on clothes is drums.” He was puffing the smoke through her hair as she knelt below him. “Well, he deserves it all. My sakes, the years I've known him! Him and me have been same as brothers. Yes, have we, ever since I was a slip of a boy in jackets, and we went nesting on Maughold Head together. And getting married hasn't been making no difference. When a man marries he shortens sail usually, and pitches out some ballast, but not me at all. You're taking a chill, Kitty. No? Shuddering any way. Chut! This dress is like paper; you should be having warmer things under it. Don't be going out to-day, darling, but to-night, about twenty-five minutes better than seven, just open the door and listen. We'll be agate of it then like mad, and when you're hearing the drum booming you'll be saying to yourself, 'Pete's there, and going it for all he knows.'” “Oh, Pete, Pete!” cried Kate, and she dropped back at his feet “Why, what's this at all?” said Pete. “You've been very, very good to me, Pete, and if I never see you again you'll think the best of me, will you not?” She had an impulse to tell all--she could hardly resist it. He smoothed the black ripples of her hair back from her forehead, and said, tenderly, “She's not so well to-day, that's it. Her eyes are bubbling like the laver.” Then aloud, with a laugh, “Never see me again, eh? I'm not willing to share you with heaven yet, though. But I'll have to be doing as the doctor was saying--sending you to England aver. I will now, I will,” he said, lifting his big finger threateningly. She slid backwards to the ground, but at the next moment was landed on Pete's breast. “My poor lil Kirry! Not willing to stay with me, eh? Tut, tut! She'll be as smart as ever, soon.” She drew away from him with shame and self-reproach, mingled with that old feeling of personal repulsion which she could not conquer. Then the gate of the garden clicked, and Ross Christian came up the path. “He's sticking to me as tight as a limpet,” said Pete. “Mr. Quilliam,” said Ross, “I come from my father this time.” “'Deed, man,” said Pete. “He is a little pressed for money.” “And Mr. Peter Christian sends to me?” “He thought you might like to lend on mortgage.” “On Ballawhaine?” Ross stammered and stuttered, “Well, yes, certainly, as you say, on Balla----”