Some further business, and the Council broke up for general gossip. Then, on the pavement outside, while the carriages were coming in line, there were renewed congratulations, invitations, and warnings. The Governor invited Philip to dinner. He excused himself, saying he had promised to dine with his aunt at Ballure. The ladies warned him to spare himself, and recommended a holiday; and then the Clerk of the Rolls, proud as a peacock, strutting here and there and everywhere, and assuming the airs of a guardian, cried, “Can't yet, though, for he holds his first court in Ramsey tomorrow morning.... Put on the cloak, Christian. It will be cold driving. Good men are scarce.” An open landau came up at length, with Jem-y-Lord on the box-seat, and Pete walking by the horse's head, smoothing its neck and tickling its ears. “Why, you were talking of the young man, Christian, and behold ye, here's the great fellow himself. Well, young chap,” slapping Pete on the back, “see your Deemster take the oath, eh?” “He's my cousin,” said Philip. “Cousin! Is he, then--can he perhaps be--Ah! yes, of course, certainly------” The good man stammered and stopped, remembering the marriage of Philip's father. He opened the carriage door and stood aside for Philip, but Philip said-- “Step in, Pete;” and, with a shamefaced look, Pete rolled into the carriage. Philip took the seat beside him, amid a buzz of voices from the people standing about the door. “Well, as you like; good day, then, boy, good day,” said the Clerk of the Rolls, clashing the door back. The carriage began to move. “Good day, your Honour,” cried several out of the crowd. Philip raised his hat. The hats of the men went up to him. Some of the girls were wiping their eyes. XIV. While Pete and Philip were driving over the road from Douglas, Kate was sitting with the child on her lap before the fire in Elm Cottage. Her eyes were restless, her manner agitated. She looked out at the window from time to time. The setting sun behind the house still held the day with horizontal shafts of light in the spring green of the transparent leaves. “Wouldn't you like to see the procession to-night, Nancy?” she said. “Aw, mortal,” said Nancy. “But I won't get lave, though. 'Take care of my two girls,' says he----” “You may go, Nancy; I'll see to baby,” said Kate. “But the man himself, woman; he'll be coming home as hungry as a hunter.” “I'll see to his supper, too,” said Kate. “Carry the key with you that you may let yourself in, and be back at half-past seven.” Then Nancy began to fly about the kitchen like sputter-ings out of the frying-pan--filling the kettle, lighting the lamp, and getting together the baby's night-clothes. Kate watched her and glanced at the clock. “Was the town quiet when you were out for the bacon, Nancy?” she said. “Quiet enough,” said Nancy. “Everybody flying off Le-zayre way already--except what were making for the quay.” “Is the steamer sailing to-night, then?''