Jem-y-Lord came in with hot water, and Philip, without looking round, said in a low tone as the door closed, “How now, my lad?” “Fretting again, your Honour,” said the man, in a half whisper. He busied himself in the room a moment, and then added, “Somehow she gets to know things. Yesterday evening now--I was taking down some of the bottles, and I met her on the stairs. Next time I saw her she was crying.” Philip said in a confused way, fumbling the razor. “Tell her I intend to see her after Tynwald.” “I have, your Honour. 'It's not that, Mr. Cottier,' she answered me.” “My wig and gown to-day, Jemmy,” said Philip, and he went out in his robes as Deemster. The day was bright, and the streets were thronged with vehicles. Brakes, wagonettes, omnibuses, private carriages, and cadger's carts all loaded to their utmost, were climbing out of Douglas by way of the road to Peel. The town seemed to shout; the old island rock itself seemed to laugh. “Bless me, Christian,” said the Clerk of the Rolls, looking at his watch, “do you know it's half-past ten? Service begins at eleven. Drive on, coachman. You've eight miles to do in half an hour.” “Can't go any faster with this traffic on the road, sir,” said the coachman over his shoulder. “I got so absorbed in the newspaper,” said the Clerk, “that---- Well, if we're late, we're late, that's all.” Philip folded his arms across his breast and hung his head. He was fighting a great battle. “No idea that the fisherman affair was going to be so serious,” said the Clerk. “It seems the Governor has ordered out every soldier and pensioner. If I know my countrymen, they'll not stand much of that.” Philip drew a long breath: there was a cloud of dust; the women in the brakes were laughing. “I hear a whisper that the ringleader is a friend of yours, Christian--'an irregular relative of a high official,' as the reporter says.” “He is my cousin, sir,” said Philip. “What? The big, curly-pated fellow you took home in the carriage?... I say, coachman, no need to drive _quite_ so fast.” Philip's head was still down. The Clerk of the Rolls sat watching him with an anxious face. “Christian, I am not so sure the Governor wasn't right after all. Is this what's been troubling you for a month? You're the deuce for a secret. If there's anything good to tell, you're up like the sun; but if there's bad news going, an owl is a poll-parrot compared with you for talking.” Philip made some feeble effort to laugh, and to say his head was still aching. They were on the breast of the steep hill going up to Greeba. The road ahead was like a funnel of dust; the road behind was like the tail of a comet.