"Yes." Now the shining eyes were misty. "Over on the dunes, after Billy told me and I had chosen my course, I did think of the other way, just as I used to imagine things when I was a lonely little girl, impossible things, you know! I thought of books, and knowledge, and of the great beautiful world, and all the soft, pretty things that I know I should love. I did not think or imagine in my fancy that you would want to give them to me; but now that I know that, it doesn't make any difference. Every time I think of my Cap'n Billy, nothing else matters!" Two large tears rolled down the uplifted face. Devant felt himself baffled, and anger arose within him. "Suppose," he said hoarsely, "suppose I could offer you--Thornly's love?" The stab was cruel, and the wound smarted. Under the soft, brown skin the color died away, and the eyes widened and deepened. "That is no gift of yours!" she whispered proudly; "and I know now what happens to girls like my mother and me when we--forget!" Devant recoiled. Then a shame humbled and stung him. "Do not judge him by me!" he said. "I do not." The words were hardly above a whisper. "But you know, and he knows, there is a bar between us, and we must sail wide, if we would not be wrecked. He would not hurt me, nor let me hurt myself. That is why he went away!" "But," and Devant was himself again, broken, beaten, but himself, "if Captain Billy should ever leave you--should die, you understand? Will you not promise to send for me? When you are older, you will judge less harshly. Will you promise to let me come next to Captain Billy?" He stretched out his hands, pleadingly. Janet hesitated for a moment, then she placed her slim, brown hands in his. "I do not know. How can I tell? I thank you, but I cannot see any further than Cap'n Billy! Good bye." "Good bye, my child!" Their hands dropped, and they went their ways. Janet was not permitted to reach the Light without further trouble. The day was doomed to be freighted with heavy cares. In the depths of the scrub oaks she came upon Mark Tapkins, sitting upon a log and looking as nearly tragic as he, poor, slow fellow, could look. When he heard Janet, he raised his heavy eyes to her face. "I've been waitin' fur you," he said. "I saw you talkin' t' Mr. Devant as I came cross lots. I've got t' tell you!" "Tell me what, Mark?" The girl thought another outburst of love was coming and it seemed such a shabby, poor little thing, in the gloom of recent happenings. And yet this roused her pity. It was so much to Mark, and it was his most sacred offering. She should not despise it. "'Bout Maud Grace!" Janet started. So it was not herself after all! "What is the matter with her now?" she asked. "She's gone!" "Gone where?" "The nation only knows!" "Well, Mark, I never have understood your interest in Maud Grace. You couldn't act more devoted, if you were her lover, except in that case you would not have gone on that foolish hunt for her boarder."