First loves -- Fiction; Foundlings -- Fiction; Lighthouse keepers -- Fiction; New England -- Fiction
“All the rest scairt, and she run slap into the lighthouse!” he was
repeating, when she cut him short.
“Come on,” she laughed, and, rising, ended their brief revel. They
trooped after her to the kitchen, where she caught up a bundle from
the floor. Hab wrested it from her arms, with the bow and flourish of
a country dancer, and still laughing as in a game, she turned to Ella,
and held out both hands.
“Good-by,” she said.
“I won’t say it!” rebelled the other violently, but next instant had
clasped her in a bear-like hug. “Oh, my old precious, good-by! Yes,
you’re right, you’re right!”
The pair, still embracing, moved clumsily out through the doorway. Then
Ella released her, crying between laughter and distress,--
“But you’ll be back!” She wrung the girl’s hand. “You’ll come back like
old Douglas, time they give him the gold cane and the speech--”
But the joke failed her, and the good creature fled into the house.
Habakkuk, with his burden, was already climbing the slope. Anna
beckoned to Miles, who followed her in bleak amazement, as if all his
friends had turned to strangers, and all their doings to some alien
by-play. Side by side, the two began the sharp ascent.
“What’s all this, Anna?” he said reproachfully. “What does it mean?”
She only laughed, stretched out a hand for help, and, falling back
at arm’s length, made him pull her by main strength, tugging and
slipping, up the tawny hillside. Not until he had paused for breath,
high in the wind above house and field, would she answer.
“It means I understand.” She looked away toward the sea, a strange,
distant light upon her face. “It means I’m happy. It means--well, Tony
showed the way.”
Miles eyed her gloomily.
“It means you’re going,” he said with bitterness. “That’s all I see.
Oh, Anna! Do you think I could change over night?”
She faced him with steady eyes but a wavering smile.
“You seem to think I can!” she retorted. Then with that sudden
elfin gravity, “When you were in the tower,” she said, “and we all
thought--Miles, I began to see, then. You must risk a person. It’s like
the wars. You must risk him, to find out all you--all he--”
She paused with a little, helpless motion, studied the ground between
them, then raised the light of her eyes.
“We three settled it before you came. An old woman that Habakkuk
knows--he’ll take me there in his wagon. No!” she laughed, “I won’t
tell you where! But she’s been sick, and all alone. Afterwards I may
come back to Ella--when you’re gone.” She tossed her radiant young head
in the breeze, and the sunshine caught it like a flying standard. “So
it’s all right, and nobody’s there to stop you any more, and you’ll
become the great man, and the lamps won’t go out, and--”
“Suppose,” he broke in, “suppose I didn’t become?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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