"'In Avicia, of course. I don't say it's her fault, but beauty's a snare. You see, sir, she was brought up wrong. 'Twas not her fault but her misfortune that her mother died when she was a little one--too little to remember anything of her who suckled her. Then said we to her father, the keeper of the lighthouse, "You and a babe are not a match. Being a man, you are an ignoramus in the ways of a child, who hasn't yet learnt to prattle. Let her come among us, and we will rear her for you, and make a bright woman of her." For even then, young as she was, we women knew that she was going to grow up beautiful. Men think all babes alike, but we know better. Avicia's father would not have it so. "My child shall not leave my side," said he. "She will be better off without a parcel of women about her." We settled it among ourselves that he was too mean and stingy to do as we wanted, thinking it would cost him something. He's a rare close-fisted man is Baldwin, and fairly dotes on gold--though, as he declares he will live and die on the lighthouse, it's hard to say what good all the gold in the world could do him. We offered to take the babe for nothing, but even that he wouldn't listen to, being suspicious that we had designs on him. So Avicia was left with him, and he brought her up in his lonely home, in which no child but his own has ever set foot. Give the devil his due--which isn't saying much, for if you don't give it him he'll be quick enough in taking it, and a bit over if he's got the chance--Baldwin didn't let Avicia grow in ignorance; he taught her useless things, such as reading and writing, and perhaps the child didn't miss much, in her own reckoning, by not mixing with us. Anyhow, there she was, a maid as beautiful as can be found, sea-born and sea-bred, fit for a lighthouse and for nothing else. That didn't stand in the way of the young men in the village falling in love with her, but she would have nothing to say to one of them, and as they received no encouragement from her father to woo her, they let her alone. Our men are not of the sort to go puking and sighing over a woman. It's a fair match when they come together, and the men don't always get the best of it. We take care of that. But when you and your gentlemen friends came among us--and you're likely men the three of you--we saw how the cat jumped. There was a fat fish to hook, and Baldwin set about it. Let him alone for setting a line--but it can't be denied that he'd a rare bait at the end of it. "Which one is it?" asked we of one another when we were talking about it. None of us could decide. We had only two to guess one from, for we saw that _you_ weren't being fished for, and still we couldn't decide whether it was Master Silvain or Master Kristel. They were both mad in love with her pretty face, and, being brothers, we thought it a pity, for love is like a poison. However, it was for them to settle it, and settled it is, one way or another.'