"A thousand might have the same!" thought the troubled man; but he had never noticed it but twice in all his long life! After breakfast that day he went for a walk in the scrub oaks. He dared not go to the lighthouse, but he saw no reason why he should not walk upon the path leading to it. The damp sodden leaves sent up a pungent odor as his feet crushed them. A smell of wood smoke was mingled with the salt air from off sea; it was a perfect late autumn day, with a warning of winter in its touch. Devant walked slowly with bowed head; he was pondering as to what he should do in the future. His life had never seemed more useless than it now appeared with the glaring doubt in his mind. Suddenly he was aware of some one approaching, and he raised his eyes hopefully. It was Janet, and the breeze, lifting her hair from her face, left the little ear exposed. It was that upon which the man's gaze rested! "Good morning," said the girl, "I was coming to Bluff Head." Janet was the one more at ease. Her struggle had been along clearer lines. "Going up to read?" asked Devant uneasily; "the library is yours, my child." The last words had a possible significance that was well-nigh heartbreaking to the man. "No: I--I want to say something--to you! I did not seem to be able to come before." A rare dignity touched the girl. Her womanhood appeared to have taken on a queenly attribute; but the language of this new womanhood was still to learn. She had spent the night at the Light, and the latter part of it she had shared Davy's watch. Together they had "freshened up" from the little balcony, and the calmness of the stars and David's philosophy had set their seal upon her. She was brave and tolerant. She had chosen her path, and with the courage of the dunes she was ready to tread it wherever it might lead. "Shall we walk on?" asked Devant. It was easier than to stand still. So they slowly turned and went toward Bluff Head. "I know,"--the even voice fell to a whisper,--"I have just found out that--that Cap'n Billy is not my real father!" Devant staggered under the blow. The terse directness, a part of the girl's nature and training, was embarrassing to the man of the world. "You are sure of that?" he asked, when he could control his voice. "Yes." "Do--do you know who your real father is?" Janet looked fearlessly up into the haggard, eager face. "Yes: I know." "Who told you?" "Cap'n Billy told me that he is not my father; he does not know who my father is. My mother was very faithful to you, and to him! He told me how she came to him--afterward! She did not want Cap'n Billy to save her his way,--she thought it was not fair to him, but Cap'n Billy had but one kind of love! He married her, and he took care of her! You don't know how cruel these people can be to--to girls like my mother, but Cap'n Billy knew, and he saved her!" The dark eyes were blazing.