isy for all, though, aisy, aisy!" He had remembered how
modest his wife had been in the old days--how simple and how natural.
"She was as pure as the mountain turf," he had thought, "and quiet
extraordinary." Yet there was the ugly fact that she had appointed to
meet a strange man in the gardens of Castle Mona, that night, alone.
"Some charm is put on her--some charm or the like," he had thought
again.

That had been the utmost and best he could make of it, and he had
suffered the torments of the damned. During the earlier part of the day
he had rambled through the town, drinking freely, and his face had been
a piteous sight to see. Toward nightfall he had drifted past Castle
Mona toward Onchan Head, and stretched himself on the beach before Derby
Castle. There he had reviewed the case afresh, and asked himself what he
ought to do.

"It's not for me to go sneaking after her," he had thought. "She's true,
I'll swear to it. The man's lying... Very well, then, Davy, boy, don't
you take rest till you're proving it."

The autumn day had begun to close in, and the first stars to come out.
"Other women are like yonder," he had thought; "just common stars in the
sky, where there's millions and millions of them. But Nelly is like the
moon--the moon, bless her--"

At that thought Davy had leaped to his feet, in disgust of his own
simplicity. "I'm a fool," he had muttered, "a reg'lar ould bleating
billygoat; talking pieces of poethry to myself, like a stupid, gawky
Tommy Big Eyes."

He had looked at his watch. It was a quarter to eight o'clock.
Unconsciously he had begun to walk toward Castle Mona. "I'm not for
misdoubting my wife, not me; but then a man may be over certain. I'll
find out for myself; and if it's true, if she's there, if she meets
him.... Well, well, be aisy for all, Davy; be aisy, boy, be aisy! If the
worst comes to the worst, and you've got to cut your stick, you'll be
doing it without a heart-ache anyway. She'll not be worth it, and you'll
be selling yourself to the Divil with a clane conscience. So it's all
serene either way, Davy, my man, and here goes for it."

Meanwhile Mrs. Quiggin had been going through similar torments. "I don't
blame _him_," she had thought. "It's that mischief-making huzzy. Why did
I ask her? I wonder what in the world I ever saw in her. If I were not
going away myself she should pack out of the house in the morning. The
sly thing! How clever she thinks herself, too! But she'll b