There was a heavy, monotonous sound, like the beating of a distant drum or the throb of an engine under the earth.
“Auntie!”—“Yes, dearest.”
“What day is it?”
“Sunday. Oh, you've had a long, long sleep, Philip. You slept all day yesterday.”
“Is that the church-bell ringing?”
“Yes, dear, and a fine morning, too—so soft and springlike. I'll open the window.”
“Then my hearing must be injured.”
“Ah! they muffled the bell—that's it. 'The church is so near,' they said, 'it might trouble him.'”
A carriage was coming down the road. It rattled on the paved way; then the rattling ceased, and there was a dull rumble as of a cart sliding on to a wooden bridge. “That horse has fallen,” said Philip, trying to rise.
“It's only the straw on the street,” said Auntie Nan. “The people brought it from all parts. 'We must deaden the traffic by the house,' they said. Oh, you couldn't think how good they've been. Yesterday was market-day, but there was no business done. Couldn't have been; they were coming and going the whole day long. 'And how's the Deemster now?' 'And how's he now?' It was fit to make you cry. I believe in my heart, Philip, nobody in Ramsey went to bed the first night at all. Everybody waiting and waiting to see if there wasn't something to fetch, and the kettle kept boiling in every kitchen round about. But hush, dearest, hush! Not so much talking all at once. Hush, now!”