It seemed to him that he must have been at work a full hour, and yet when he looked at the clock the hands were but ten minutes farther on their journey around the dial than when he began. Again he went into the watch-room; but now it was impossible to see even the dory, and he felt more forsaken than before. Uncle Zenas was too good a housekeeper to leave very much work undone at that time in the day, and, search as he might, Sidney could find nothing with which to keep his hands busy. With such a weight of sorrow in his heart he could not read, and he went to and fro between the lantern and the kitchen, hardly conscious of what he did. Again and again he searched the surface of the heaving waters with the glasses, but without seeing the smallest object which his fancy could shape into a raft or a boat. When the clock in the kitchen struck the hour of four, it was as if his heart ceased beating, for he understood that even if the dory should come in sight immediately, it would be impossible for the keepers to reach the ledge before sunset, and he felt positive they would never return. He would be the sole occupant of that lonely tower until the inspector found an opportunity of visiting Carys' Ledge. The wind was increasing in force, as he could understand by the howling and shrieking around the lantern, while his eyes told him that the sea was running higher than at any time since the storm which had wrecked the _Nautilus_. Suppose the keepers should return at the earliest possible moment--suppose the dory was even then headed toward the light? The men might not be able to make a landing on the ledge, and he could do absolutely nothing to aid them! Five o'clock! He went into the lantern ready to light the lamp at the exact moment of sunset. He was surrounded by the angry waters, which were creeping slowly but surely toward the tower, and there was nothing in sight to give him courage! CHAPTER XIII. A DISABLED CREW. The tears nearly blinded the lad as he lighted the lamp, started the clock, and watched to make certain it was running smoothly. Then he raised the wick until the flame was of the same size as Captain Eph had said was required to get the greatest amount of light without danger of smoke, and, closing the door of the lantern softly lest the echoes should be aroused, crept down to the kitchen. Here he lighted a small lamp; raked out the ashes from the fire, put on fresh coal, and then stood in the middle of the room asking himself if it was possible he could stay there alone all night. "That's a foolish question," he said, speaking aloud as if to hear the sound of his own voice. "I've _got_ to stay, because I couldn't go away if I was willing to leave the light alone. It isn't likely any of them will be back before morning, and I'd be ashamed to confess that I'd made a baby of myself at a time when it is possible to be of some service to those who have been so kind to me."