Uncle Peter came in hurriedly, with short, nervous steps. His hair as well as his eyebrows was now white, his eye was hollow, his cheeks were thin, his mouth was restless, and he had lost some of his upper teeth, he coughed frequently, he was shabbily dressed, and had the look of a dying man.

"Ah! it's you, Anne! and Philip, too. Good morning, Philip. Give the piano a rest, Ross--that's a good lad. Well, Miss Christian, well!"

"Philip came of age yesterday, Peter," said Auntie Nan in a timid voice.

"Indeed!" said the Ballawhaine, "then Ross is twenty next month. A little more than a year and a month between them."

He scrutinised the old lady's face for a moment without speaking, and then said, "Well?"

"He would like to go to London to study for the bar," faltered Auntie Nan.

"Why not the church at home?"

"The church would have been my own choice, Peter, but his father----"

The Ballawhaine crossed his leg over his knee. "His father was always a man of a high stomach, ma'am," he said. Then facing towards Philip, "Your idea would be to return to the island."

"Yes," said Philip.

"Practice as an advocate, and push your way to insular preferment?"

"My father seemed to wish it, sir," said Philip.

The Ballawhaine turned back to Auntie Nan. "Well, Miss Christian?"

Auntie Nan fumbled the handle of her umbrella and began--"We were thinking, Peter--you see we know so little--now if his father had been living----"

The Ballawhaine coughed, scratched with his nail on his cheek, and said, "You wish me to put him with a barrister in chambers, is that it?"

With a nervous smile and a little laugh of relief Auntie Nan signified a.s.sent.

"You are aware that a step like that costs money. How much have you got to spend on it?"

"I'm afraid, Peter----"

"You thought I might find the expenses, eh?"

"It's so good of you to see it in the right way, Peter."

The Ballawhaine made a wry face. "Listen," he said dryly. "Ross has just gone to study for the English bar."

"Yes," said Auntie Nan eagerly, "and it was partly that----"

"Indeed!" said the Ballawhaine, raising his eyebrows. "I calculate that his course in London will cost me, one thing with another, more than a thousand pounds."

Auntie Nan lifted her gloved hands in amazement.

"That sum I am prepared to spend in order that my son, as an English barrister, may have a better chance----"

"Do you know, we were thinking of that ourselves, Peter?" said Auntie Nan.

"A better chance," the Ballawhaine continued, "of the few places open in the island than if he were brought up at the Manx bar only, which would cost me less than half as much."

"Oh! but the money will come back to you, both for Ross and Philip,"

said Auntie Nan.

The Ballawhaine coughed impatiently. "You don't read me," he said irritably. "These places are few, and Manx advocates are as thick as flies in a glue-pot. For every office there must be fifty applicants, but training counts for something, and influence for something, and family for something."

Auntie Nan began to be penetrated as by a chill.

"These," said the Ballawhaine, "I bring to bear for Ross, that he may distance all compet.i.tors. Do you read me now?"

"Read you, Peter?" said Auntie Nan.

The Ballawhaine fixed his hollow eye upon her, and said, "What do you ask me to do? You come here and ask me to provide, prepare, and equip a rival to my own son."

Auntie Nan had grasped his meaning at last.

"But gracious me, Peter," she said, "Philip is your own nephew, your own brother's son."

The Ballawhaine rubbed the side of his nose with his lean forefinger, and said, "Near is my shirt, but nearer is my skin."

Auntie Nan fixed her timid eyes upon him, and they grew brave in their gathering indignation. "His father is dead, and he is poor and friendless," she said.

"We've had differences on that subject before, mistress," he answered.

"And yet you begrudge him the little that would start him in life."

"My own has earlier claim, ma'am."

"Saving your presence, sir, let me tell you that every penny of the money you are spending on Ross would have been Philip's this day if things had gone different."

The Ballawhaine bit his lip. "Must I, for my sins, be compelled to put an end to this interview?"

He rose to go to the door. Philip rose also.

"Do you mean it?" said Auntie Nan. "Would you dare to turn me out of the house?"

"Come, Auntie, what's the use?" said Philip.

The Ballawhaine was drumming on the edge of the open door. "You are right, young man," he said, "a woman's hysteria is of _no_ use."

"That will do, sir," said Philip in a firm voice.

The Ballawhaine put his hand familiarly on Philip's shoulder. "Try Bishop Wilson's theological college, my friend; its cheap and----"

"Take your hand from him, Peter Christian," cried Auntie Nan. Her eyes flashed, her cheeks were aflame, her little gloved hands were clenched.

"You made war between his father and your father, and when I would have made peace you prevented me. Your father is dead, and your brother is dead, and both died in hate that might have died in love, only for the lies you told and the deceit you practised. But they have gone where the mask falls from all faces, and they have met before this, eye to eye, and hand to hand. Yes, and they are looking down on you now, Peter Christian, and they know you at last for what you are and always have been--a deceiver and a thief."