[From Shadowland in Ellan Vannin, 1880]

CHAPTER III.

Mistress Looney's 'Pegasus,' and how she mounted him — More of Mr. Parker's experiences — Mrs. Cowen's death.

THE next morning we were up betimes. Whilst seated at breakfast, the eccentric landlady* put her head in at the door.

' I hard ye,' she said, looking at me, ' sayin' Jas' night that ye'd have to go t' Ramsey to tell the pesson yer lodgin' with that yer safe-t, an' for to get some clothes. I'm goin' to town meself, an' I'll give her yer message, an' fetch back yer bit duds, if ye put a word or two on a bit of paper sayin' what yer wantin' like. It's a fine day for fishin' afther th' rain, not too bright, so you an' Masther George can go yer ways together an' see what'll ye catch. I'll put ye somethin' to eat in yer basket-an' ye'll be back for supper, for six.'

I thanked the old woman, as I handed her the 'written word or two,' and then inquired if she was driving, as otherwise the parcel would be too heavy for her.

' Ye'll get it right enough-never fear,' she said rather shortly, and left the room.

' Masther George,' as she called him, bade me turn my attention to the window. I looked out and saw a large raw-boned cart-horse (by its build and the long fetlocks I should judge it so). What did duty for a saddle was a bag or sack thrown across the animal's back, from which straw might be seen sticking out here and there, proclaiming the nature of the padding. Presently Mrs. Looney's voice sounded out, loud and shrill, giving parting orders. I then saw her come out, dressed exactly as on the previous day, except that this morning her head was surmounted by a man's hat of rough beaver, instead of the sun bonnet. She, with the assistance of an uncouth-looking stable-boy, briskly mounted her steed, seating herself astride, in manly fashion,** and giving her Pegasus a slight touch with a switch she carried, was soon riding at a fair pace towards Ramsey.

'Mrs. Looney rarely travels a distance any other way,' said old Mr. Parker, who was amused at my surprise.

That evening, after a successful day's fishing and an excellent dinner, we got out pipes and cigars and settled ourselves comfortably as on the previous night. I was fondly hoping I should escape the rest of the old gentleman's unpleasant histories ; but no! I saw him getting ready, and with a few preliminary 'hems' and clearing of the voice he began. I had decided I need not listen, as he talked without pause or expecting any comment on what he was relating; but, spite of myself, I was carried along with the story, and, probably from being less tired than last night, found myself following with interest the rest of the strange tale

' I left off — if my memory serves me right — at where I found myself again standing at the spot where I had paused to look at the Bay of Corna.

I felt bewildered — ill — the horror of all that had been shown me still oppressed me. I was roused by a sudden intense anxiety about my friend. We bad parted immediately after breakfast — I to take the cross-road to Maughold village, and he intended starting soon after me for Ramsey, where he would get a sailing-boat and make for the Head, and there, he said, he would put ashore.

" Don't go in for any of your foolhardy climbing," I advised.

' " I won't promise that," he responded, as he waved me an adieu.

'Remembering all this, after my dreadful vision, a sickening fear seized me, lest some evil had befallen him. I made all possible haste homewards, and who could describe the joy, the thankfulness, I felt when, on nearing the inn, I saw Cecil standing at the door, and evidently looking out for me.

' "I had just begun to think you were not coming; but, dear me ! what is the matter ?" he exclaimed, as I drew near enough for him to see my face. " Is the poor granny worse ? or-or — "

'"She is not worse now," I managed to say; but the reaction had proved too much for me, and for the first time in my life I fainted dead away. When I came to, I found I was in this little parlour. Morton had managed to drag me in on to the rug. I was very wet from having had the contents of a large jug of water poured over me, and just escaped a second bath by so opportunely opening my eyes.

"' Now, then, drink this brandy and water, and off to bed," said Cecil commandingly. " Not a word !" as I prepared to speak. "Here, up with you! Now take my arm."

' I felt too ill to resist; but before bidding him good-night, I begged he would not go out in the morning without first seeing me.

"'Not likely I should do so, my dear Parker, after your wonderful exploit of fainting just now.", 'As he was quitting my room, he turned round to say

' " I shall put a veto upon such a close attendance upon poor Mrs. Cowen."

'The next morning I rose quite well and refreshed, after a good sleep, and was inclined then to take much the same view as my son now does of the warning of the previous night ; and when I at breakfast related the whole thing to Morton, he laughed heartily, and said

"You probably dreamt it all in a few minutes. Did you know the time when your adventures began, and when they ended? We might go and look for the ghostly woman's body, supposing she was the happy possessor of such a thing? I must not have anything to do with a boatman with dark, scowling countenance, especially if he limps," etc.

'Not only had I to endure unlimited "chaff" from Morton, but when later on we both went into Ramsey, he related my " nightmare," as he called it, to several of our acquaintances that we met there: one and all laughed me out of any serious thoughts of my previous night's " supposed adventures."

Ah, me ! but one short week had passed when I viewed it all very differently.

'The day I am now going to tell you of Cecil had started with me, after our early breakfast, for Maughold, he for the express purpose of looking for some sea-birds, or their eggs-I forget which; I am, and always have been, an ignoramus about everything connected with natural history-I, of course, was bound for Mrs. Cowen's.

'The morning was misty, and a fog seemed sweeping from the sea.

'"You will not, of course, go after birds in such hazy weather as this," I asked, as we were parting at my grandmother's door.

' " Oh, certainly not!" he replied. " If it does not improve, I shall get Mac to row me into Ramsey, and I can then look up the Moores, and the rest-pay a few calls, in fact : for I won't have much time, as I have to start from here in so few days."

"'And who is Mac?"

' " Mac! Don't you know him ?-though I believe he told me he is a new-comer. He and his wife live in that little thatched cottage you have to pass every time you come to or from here, just before you turn on to the beach at Corna. He is an Irishman, but married, I understand, to a Manx woman. She looks wretched enough, poor creature! I feel convinced he's a brute to her — not that she would admit it. She's an apt illustration of-you know the proverb : something about a woman, a dog, and a walnut-tree, 'The more you beat'em, the better they'll be.' I'm sure he follows this advice, for she often has queer marks about the eyes and face, but seems devoted to the man. He's got her well in hand." "'And why do you employ such a monster?"

' "Simply, my dear fellow, that, besides the wife, he has a boat-the only one to be had on hire in this neighbourhood-and I find it most convenient whenever I 'take the notion,' as they say here, of being rowed into Ramsey, to get him and the aforesaid boat to take me. Ta-ta !"

'We parted; and I was never to see him in life again !

' The mist, instead of passing off, seemed to become denser. I remained at the cottage with my poor suffering relative till the afternoon, when I thought it would be time to rejoin my friend, who had said he would be back about six. As I was wending my way to the inn, there came on a sudden darkening of the horizon, which seemed to portend a storm. A dense fog set in, spreading far into shore, and completely

hiding the landscape. I knew my way so well, or I should have been rather puzzled how to proceed, so thick did this mist become. I could hear the shrill cry of the sea-gulls, and there was a low, sobbing sound in the faint breeze that was stirring, like coming rain.

' I quickened my steps, fearing a drenching ; but after this strange blackness over the heavens a change set in : the mist receded gradually from the land, and at last faded away. By the time I had got to the highroad, and near my destination, a bright red illumined the sky; the clouds, lately so black or leaden gray, were tinged with rosy light.

'Your uncle, I found, bad not returned, but I felt no uneasiness on this account, as I concluded some of his friends in Ramsey had kept him; so I sat down to the evening meal alone. At last, when ten o'clock struck, I began to feel anxious. I passed another hour, feeling more and more uncomfortable ; and my "vision " or "nightmare " came unpleasantly into my thoughts, as it flashed quickly upon me how like had the almost phenomenal changes in the atmosphere of this day been to what I witnessed in my — dream, shall I call it? I could no longer remain inactive. I decided to go into the town, late as it was. I should most probably meet my friend on his return journey. The night was dark, so I borrowed a lantern from the good people at the inn, telling their at the same time where I was going, and that I did not expect to be long, as I should most likely meet Mr. Morton on the way.

'On and on I went; but no Cecil. " I shall find him at the Moores', no doubt, playing whist, or singing duets with Miss Mary,; and for a moment the colour mounted to my face, as I thought what fun that merry girl, assisted by Morton, would make of me for my needless anxiety-" needless, please God," I whispered, and thought I could well sustain the ridicule, if only my friend was safe. " It is that beastly dream that frightens me, and that only; there is no real cause for apprehension," I tried to persuade myself.

' I went first to the Moores', but found the house in darkness. They were evidently all in bed, so I went on to several of our bachelor friends, whom I found still up. None of them had seen Morton.

'Wilson, a very good-natured young fellow, who seemed to think I had sufficient grounds for anxiety, suggested that your uncle might, perhaps, be sleeping at the Moores', as neither he or any whom I had met had seen him. I hoped this might be the case, though it was a very forlorn hope, as he had hitherto been particular always to. be back in good timr at night. After some hesitation I returned to the Moores'-accompanied by Wilson-knocked loudly two or three times to no purpose, but the fourth peal had an effect : an upper window was opened.

'"Who's there? What's the matter?" cried the voice of the "head of the family."

'After due explanation on my part, and apologies also, I was assured by Mr. Moore that Morton had not been at his place that day; or, indeed, in Ramsey at all, he thought. This was very bad news for me; and though I had pressing invitations from him and other friends to remain the night, I firmly declined. I was all impatience now to get back to the inn, so I retraced my steps, Wilson good - naturedly coming part of the way with me.

'Arrived at home, I saw a light cart at the door, and my landlord, holding a lantern, peering down the road in the direction in which I was corning.

' "Here he is !" he cried, as he spied me. "' Is Mr. Morton back?" I called out.

' "No, sir, he is'n ; but Misthress Cowen is took much worse. It's not thought she'll put through the night ; an' theere's a lad here, with a cart at him, to dhrive ye to Maughold."

'What a night of trouble and anxiety this was proving! And as I sat beside the boy in the shaky vehicle, behind a fat mare, that nothing would either persuade or compel to get beyond an awkward "jogtrot," I had ample time in which to be miserable ; and certainly the opportunity was not lost. Beside the sorrow I was feeling for my dear grandmother, the gloomy night and all combined to fill me with the most anxious and depressing forebodings about my friend.

' " Ah, my lad ! my dear boy! so you're there. I was watching for you," the poor old lady cried as I entered. She had just come out of one of those distressing attacks of almost suffocation that was the hardest to endure, and the most painful symptom to witness of her complaint. How patiently these paroxysms were borne by her, sustained by a strength and submission marvellous to behold' When I expressed pity, she would say, gently laying her hand on mine

' " My boy, there's a 'needs be,' or it would not be sent me; and should I not rejoice in that I am partaker of His sufferings?"

' "How are you, granny ?" I asked. Alas, I hardly need have done so ! Already the cold dews of death were gathering on her brow.

"'My dear lad," and her voice was wonderfully strong, the end so close at hand-" yes, dear boy, I am nearing the 'haven of rest-the haven of rest!' I can almost see the land that is illumined by the rays shed from the Sun of Righteousness-no earth clouds between. Ay, ay! it will soon be for me 'no longer through a glass darkly,' but 'face to face.' I shall ' see my precious Saviour face to f ace !' Already 'joy unspeakable' fills my soul!" She paused a moment, her countenance radiant with a light that was not of earth.

Presently she tried to turn towards me. The nurse gently moved the pillow.

"'Take my hand, vien," she said, "and never forget that, sooner or later, as the Lord wills, you will have to lie, as you see me now, at the point of death. See, dear lad, that you never forget this. You are young still, and the life I am leaving behind-the earth life-is still before you, in which you can choose 'the evil or the good.' You will have your share of sorrow and your share of joy, times of anxiety and times of peace; but never lose faith. Look up to the loving Saviour, always, always, in thankfulness for mercies and blessings bestowed, resignation and perfect trust, when disappointment or trouble visit you, as they will, dear boy,-ay, indeed! and temptations; but be strong to resist in the power of His might, for we are told we shall be helped to overcome--that 'there's a way to escape.' I am praying for you, that you may ever follow the guidings of the Holy Spirit."

'Again she paused. I stooped and kissed the dear hand I held, my eyes dim with unshed tears.

'"You're sorry for your granny, dear, and you'll come in whiles, when you can, and put a flower, maybe, on her grave where she'll be laid, in Maughold Churchyard. There's where your grandfather, too, was buried, as you know. You'll not remember him well. Ah, my dear husband! my man! my John!-you were called after him, John Cowen. Ay, indeed, we put through rough seas together, and sailed o'er smooth, he and I, but we were happy with each other! ay, very ! Times I would fret when things went wrong, and think the rough waves were driving us on to hard, pitiless rocks, to wreck ; and now I can look back and see how all these things that seemed to our blind judgment 'contrary winds ' were meant to bring us at last to the shores of the eternal kingdom."

'Her voice was gradually getting weaker ; she ceased addressing me, and I could see her lips moving in silent prayer. Again she spoke, but only by bending close could I catch what she said

' "You're here, Johnnie ?" '"Yes, dear granny."

"I can hardly see now ; the eyes of — the earth body — are closing — lad — that the eyes of the spiritual may — be — for ever opened — when I shall behold — ' the King in His beauty.' The parson's not here, Johnnie ?"

'"No, grandmother."

' "He was here, though."

" Would you wish for him? He has only gone a short time. Shall 1 send for him ?"

' " No-no."

'She then lay so still that the nurse, who was at the other side of the bed, and I both thought for a moment that she had passed away. Suddenly her eyes opened, and, gazing beyond me, her face lighted up with a strange rapture, she freed herself from my clasp, and stretching out both her hands, she cried

' "John, John, you here ? my darling! my husband ! Take my hands ; hold them, dear. I had a dreadful dream, John-that we were parted-and ay ! but I was longing-longing terrible-but we are together now God be praised! Ay, indeed, I was wearying for you; and now we are hand in hand, never to part — never — to — part."

'The momentary strength gave way; the shade of death passed over the countenance, so radiant but one second before! The kind, loving friend of my childhood, of all my life, was gone from me!

' And as I gazed at the dear face that had always had a ready smile for me now lying so still in that mysterious sleep, the white lids shading the blue eyes that would never again in this world be bent on me with looks of love, of sympathy-how far away she seemed!-the full realization of all I had lost rushed upon me with overwhelming force, and the pent-up tears flowed freely. Yes, yes, I was little more than a boy then, and I am now a very old man, but I remember it all; yes, well — better than the things of yesterday !

* This odd person is a real character, accurately portrayed from description given to the author by people who had known her.

2 * It is a fact that the landlady of the Hibernia, about whom the author writes, used to perform journeys in this way.