"Take my check out o' my pocket, left-hand one,"--Billy's voice sounded far off and thin,--"an' put yours in. My hands is bit. The lids of my eyes got froze down on my cheeks an' I couldn't see, so I thawed 'em out by holdin' my hands up, an'--an' my hands caught it!" Janet dared not move. Ai exchanged checks, and then he bent over Billy. "Ye all right?" he asked doubtfully. "Sure." Billy tried to laugh, but his voice shook. "A frostbite don't count none. I'm thawed out enough now fur my own comfort. I dar n't take my eye off the bar. I tell _you_, Ai, if there's trouble t'-night, it's goin' t' be real trouble." "'T is that!" said Ai, and the two men stood up. "Good night, Ai." "Good night, Billy, an' let's hope fur a safe walk back." They were gone! Then Janet came from her hiding. Her sickness had passed; she was warmer and more comfortable, but she meant to keep close to Billy on that return patrol! If all went well, he would forgive her by and by. She was on the point of pushing the door open, when suddenly the full blast of the gale struck her in the face. Some one was coming back. It was Billy and he stood before her. Her face was away from the light, and her sou'wester, drawn close, misled Billy; but Janet saw his eyes wide and staring. "Ai," he panted, and his voice was thick, "I--I can't do it! The--the works are runnin' down agin. It's better t' tell ye than t' drop out there on the sand, an' no one ever know. Hurry back, man, an' watch both ways as long as ye can." Billy swayed forward and Janet caught him. She laid him upon the floor and bent above him. "My Cap'n!" she moaned, "oh! Cap'n Billy!" But Billy heeded her not. "He's dead!" The horror-filled words startled even the speaker. "Dead! my Billy!" But no, he breathed! "I must do his work, and get help!" the girl started up wildly. "He isn't dead! He shall not die!" She took his check from his pocket, and his Coston light. Then she gently moved him nearer the stove, put coal on the blaze, and loosened the heavy coat. "Now!" she muttered, and rushed out into the night and storm. The strength of ten seemed to possess her; and the calmness of desperation lent her power. The noise of the wind deadened the sound of the surf. Sometimes she found herself knee deep in icy water,--for the tide was terribly high. Then she crawled up to the dunes and felt with mittened hands for the stiff grass. Presently she came to a rock, a rare thing on that coast, and she clung to it desperately. It was as true a landmark to the girl of the Station as a mountain peak would have been to an inland traveller. "Only a mile more!" she panted, and then a memory of one of Davy's old hymns came to her: "The shadow of a mighty rock within a weary land."