Part 42 (2/2)

”Seth,” reproachfully, ”I never liked him better. If you had--”

She was interrupted by her brother-in-law, who came swaggering toward them. With the sight of land and safety, Bennie D.'s courage returned; also, his old a.s.surance.

”Humph!” he observed. ”Well, sister, we are safe, I really believe.

In spite of,” with a glare at the lightkeeper, ”this person's insane recklessness and brutality. Now I will take you ash.o.r.e and out of his presence.”

Seth rose to his feet.

”Didn't I tell you,” he demanded, ”not to move till I said the word?

Emeline, stay right here.”

Bennie D. stared at the speaker; then at his sister-in-law.

”Sister,” he cried, in growing alarm, ”sister, come! come! we're going ash.o.r.e, I tell you. What are you waiting for?”

Seth put his arm about the lady.

”She is goin' ash.o.r.e,” he said. ”But she's goin' with me, and she's goin' to stay with me. Ain't you, Emeline?”

The lady looked up into his face and then down again. ”If you want me, Seth,” she said.

Bennie D. sprang forward. ”Emeline,” he shrieked, ”what do you mean? Are you going to leave me? Have you forgotten--”

”She ain't forgot nothin',” broke in Seth. ”But YOU'RE forgettin' what I told you. Will you go aft there and set down, or shall I make you?”

”But--but, Emeline--sister--have you forgotten your promise to your dying husband? To my brother? You promised to give me a home as long as you owned one.”

Then Seth played his trump.

”She don't own any home,” he declared triumphantly. ”She sold her house, and she ain't got any home--except the one I'm goin' to give her. And if you ever dare to show your head inside of THAT, I'll--I'll heave you over both lights. If you think I'm foolin', just try and see. Now then, Emeline.”

And, with his wife in his arms, Seth Atkins--Seth Atkins Bascom--CAPTAIN Seth Atkins Bascom--swung over the rail and waded to land.

CHAPTER XVI

THE EBB TIDE

”John Brown,” his long night's vigil over, extinguished the lights in the two towers, descended the iron stairs, and walked across the yard into the kitchen. His first move, after entering the house, was to ring the telephone bell and endeavor to call Eastboro. He was anxious concerning Atkins. Seth had not returned, and the subst.i.tute a.s.sistant was certain that some accident must have befallen him. The storm had been severe, but it would take more than weather to keep the lightkeeper from his post; if he was all right he would have managed to return somehow.

Brown rang the bell time and time again, but got no response. The storm had wrecked the wires, that was certain, and that means of communication was cut off. He kindled the fire in the range and tried to forget his anxiety by preparing breakfast. When it was prepared he waited a while and then sat down to a lonely meal. But he had no appet.i.te, and, after dallying with the food on his plate, gave it up and went outside to look about him.

The first thing he looked at was the road from the village. No sign of life in that direction as far as he could see. Then he looked at the bungalow. Early as it was, a thread of blue smoke was ascending from the chimney. Did that mean that the housekeeper had returned? Or had Ruth Graham been alone all through the miserable night? Under ordinary circ.u.mstances he would have gone over and asked if all was well. He would have done that, even if Seth were at home--he was past the point where the lightkeeper or their compact could have prevented him--but he could not muster courage to go now. She must have found the note he had tucked under the door, and he was afraid to hear her answer. If it should be no, then--well, then he did not care what became of him.

He watched the bungalow for a time, hoping that she might come out--that he might at least see her--but the door did not open. Auguring all sorts of dismal things from this, he moped gloomily back to the kitchen. He was tired and had not slept for thirty hours, but he felt no desire for bed. He could not go to bed anyway until Atkins returned--and he did not want to.

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