They all saluted him, and some of them, after their Manx fashion, drew up at the carriage-door, lifted their caps with their tarry hands, and said—
“Taking joy to see you out again, Dempster. When a man's getting over an attack like that, it's middling clear the Lord's got work for him.”
Philip answered with smiles and bows and cheerful words, but the kindness oppressed him. He was thinking of Kate. She was the victim of his success. For all that he received she had paid the penalty. He thought of her dreams, her golden dreams, her dreams of going up side by side and hand in hand with the man she loved. “Oh, my love, my love!” he murmured. “Only a little longer.”
The doctor was waiting for him when he reached home.
“I have something to say to you, Deemster,” he said, with averted face. “It's about your aunt.”
“Is she ill?” said Philip.—“Very ill.”
“But I've inquired daily.”
“By her express desire the truth has been kept back from you.”
“The carriage is still at the door——” began Philip.
“I've never seen any one sink so rapidly. She's all nerve. No doubt the nursing exhausted her.”