"The Parson was the first man that ever threw water in my face" (meaning his baptism), "but there's a jug of good Manx ale for his own." The rough jest was received with laughter, and then the Deemster, being called for, spoke a few words with his calm dignity, leaning both hands on his stick: "'Custom must be indulged with custom, or custom will weep.' So says our old Manx proverb. The sun is going west on me, and I cannot hope to see many more Melliahs. But I trust my dear son, when he comes after me, will encourage you to keep up all that is good in our old traditions." Then there was another shout, followed by some wild horseplay, with the farm-boys vaulting the stocks and the girls stretching straw ropes to trip them up, while the Deemster and his company turned back to the house. Fenella, coming along in her sun bonnet (a little awry) and with her sheaf over her arm, was the first to see Victor, and she cried, "At last! The Stranger has come at last!" Janet was in raptures, and the Deemster said, while his slow eyes smiled, "You are sleeping at home to-night, Victor?" "Yes, father." "Good!" After saluting everybody Victor found himself walking by Fenella's side, and she was saying in a low voice, with a side-long glance, "And how do you like me in a sun bonnet, sir? You rather fancy sun bonnets, I believe." But at that moment a wasp had settled on her arm and he was too busy removing it to reply. At dinner that night Stowell found himself drawn into the home atmosphere as never before since his days as a student-at-law. The dining-table was bright with silver and many candles, and the wood fire, crackling on the hearth, filled the low-ceiled room with the resinous odour of the pine. Everybody except himself and the doctor (who had arrived as they were sitting down) had dressed. The beauty of Fenella, who came in with the Deemster, seemed to be softened and heightened by her pale pink evening gown--like the beauty of a flower-bud when it opens and becomes a rose. With Janet's complete approval Fenella had taken control of everything, and as Victor entered she said, "That's your place, Mr. Stranger," putting him at the end of the table, with Janet and the doctor on either side. She herself sat by the Deemster, whose powerful face wore an expression of suffering, although, as often as she spoke to him, he turned to her and smiled. "She's lovelier than ever, really," whispered Janet, and then (with that clairvoyance in the heart of a woman which enables her to read mysteries without knowing it), "What a pity she ever went away!"