Stowell went to bed early that night, slept soundly and was up with
the coming of light in the morning.
The farm lads were not yet astir, but going round to the stable he
saddled a horse for himself (a young chestnut mare that had been born
on one of his own birthdays) and set off for a ride to relieve the
intoxication of his spirits.
The air was keen, but both he and his horse sniffed it with delight.
As they passed out of Ballamoar the sun rose and played among the red
and yellow leaves of the plantation, for the summer was going out in
a blaze of glory. They crossed the Curragh, dipped into the glen,
and climbed the corkscrew path to the mountain.
Stowell thought he had never felt so well. And the little mare,
catching the contagion of his high spirits, snorted and swung her
head at every stride and dug her feet into the ringing ground.
"Helloa, Molly, here we are at the top!"
Looking hack he saw the flat plain below, dotted over with farms,
each with its little farmhouse surrounded by its clump of sheltering
trees. God, how good to think that every one of them was a home of
love! Love! That was the great uniter, the great comforter, the
great liberator, the great redeemer!
And to think that all this had been going on since the beginning of
the world! That generation after generation some boy had come up
this lovely glen to court his girl! Lord, what a glorious place the
world was, after all!
His eyes were beaming like the sunshine, and to make his joy complete
he galloped over the mountain-tops until he came to a point at which
he could look down on Douglas and catch a glimpse of Fenella's home
in the midst of its trees.
"_Peace in her chamber, wheresoe'er it be,
A holy place...._"
Then back to Ballamoar at a brisk canter, with the air musical with
the calls of cattle, the bleating of sheep and the songs of birds.
And then breakfast for a hungry man--cowrie and eggs and fresh butter
and honey and junket, which the Manx called pinjean.
At three o'clock in the afternoon he was on his way to Government
House, and by that time the intoxication of his high spirits had
suffered a check.
What had Fenella thought of his flight from the yacht? Had she
believed his excuse for it? What interpretation had she put upon his
intention of calling at Government Offices the following day? And
the Governor--had he seen through the thin disguise of that story?
But the cruellest question of all, and the hardest to answer, was
whether after all, even now that he was free, he had any right to ask
Fenella to become his wife? He, a sin-soiled man, and she a
stainless woman!
He felt as if he ought to purge his soul by telling Fenella
everything. Yet how could he do that without inflicting an incurable
wound on her faith in him? And then what had the Governor said?
"Never under any circumstances."
As he walked up the carriage drive to Government House he saw the
Governor's tall figure, and the Attorney-General's short one, through
the windows of the smoking-room. The Governor came to the door to
meet him.
"The very man we were talking about. Come in! Sit down. We have
something to propose to you."
The Governor was going up to London on urgent business at the Home
Office and the Attorney had to go with him. In these circumstances
it had been necessary to arrange that the Court of General Gaol
Delivery (interrupted by the Deemster's death, but now summoned to
resume) should sit without the Governor, and the Attorney had been
suggesting that Stowell should represent him in an important case.
"What is it, Sir?" asked Stowell.
"Murder again, my boy; but of a different kind this time."
A Peel fisherman had killed his wife with shocking brutality, yet
everybody seemed to sympathise with him, and there was a danger that
a Manx jury might let him off.
"Splendid opportunity to uphold law and order! You'll take the case?"
"With pleasure!"
"Good! The Attorney will send you the papers. And now, I suppose,
you would like to see Fenella?"
"May I?"
"Why not? You'll find her in the drawing-room."
On his way to the drawing-room Stowell met Miss Green coming out of
it. She smiled at him, and said, in a half-whisper,
"I think you are expected."
When he opened the door he saw Fenella sitting with her back to him
at a little desk on one side of the bay window, with a glint of its
light on her bronze-brown hair.
"Who is it?" she said as he entered. But at the next moment she
seemed to know, and, rising, she turned round to him and smiled.
He thought she had never looked so beautiful. He wanted to crush her
in his arms, and at the same time to fall at her feet and kiss the
hem of her dress.
There was a moment of passionate silence. He stepped towards her but
stopped when two or three paces away. A riot of conflicting emotions
were going on within him. He felt strong, he felt weak, he felt
brave, he felt cowardly, he felt proud, he felt ashamed.
Still nothing was said by either of them. Her eyes were glistening,
she was breathing quickly and her bosom was heaving. He saw her
moving towards him. Her hand was trailing along the desk. He felt
as if she were drawing him to her, and by a nervous, but irresistible
impulse he held out his arms.
"Fenella," he said, hardly audibly.
At the next moment, as in a flash of light, she sprang upon his
breast, and at the next her arms were about his neck, his own were
around her waist, her mouth was to his mouth, and the world had
melted away.
Ten minutes later, with faces aflame, they went, hand in hand, into
the smoking-room. The Governor wheeled about on his revolving chair
to look at them.
"Well," he said, "it's easy to see what you two have come about. But
not for six months! I won't agree to a day less, remember."