“Didn't,” grumbled Seth. “Any kind of a noise sounds up in here.” “I should think as much. It's enough to wake the dead.” “Ain't nobody BUT the dead to wake in this place.” “Yes, there is; there's that young man of yours, that Brown one. He ain't dead, is he?” “Humph! he's asleep, and that's next door to dead--with him.” “Well, I'm glad of it. My nerves are pretty steady as a general thing, but I declare I'm all of a twitter to-night--and no wonder. It's darker than a pocket in here. Can't we have a light?” Atkins stumbled across the stone floor and took the lantern from the hook by the stairs. He struck a match, and it went out; he tried another, with the same result. Mrs. Bascom fidgeted. “Mercy on us!” she cried; “what DOES ail the thing?” Seth's trembling fingers could scarcely hold the third match. He raked it across the whitewashed wall and broke the head short off. “Thunder to mighty!” he snarled, under his breath. “But what DOES--” “What does? What do you s'pose? You ain't the only one that's got nerves, are you?” The next trial was successful, and the lantern was lighted. With it in his hand, he turned and faced his caller. They looked at each other. Mrs. Bascom drew a long breath. “It is you,” she said. “I couldn't scarcely believe it. It is really you.” Seth's answer was almost a groan. “It's you,” he said. “You--down here.” This ended the conversation for another minute. Then the lady seemed to awake to the realities of the situation. “Yes,” she said, “it's me--and it's you. We're here, both of us. Though why on earth YOU should be, I don't know.” “Me? Me? Why, I belong here. But you--what in time sent you here? Unless,” with returning suspicion, “you came because I--” He paused, warned by the expression on his caller's face. “What was that?” she demanded. “Nothin'.” “Nothin', I guess. If you was flatterin' yourself with the idea that I came here to chase after you, you never was more mistaken in your life, or ever will be. You set down. You and I have got to talk. Set right down.” The lightkeeper hesitated. Then he obeyed orders by seating himself on an oil barrel lying on its side near the wall. The lantern he placed on the floor at his feet. Mrs. Bascom perched on one of the lower steps of the iron stairs. “Now,” she said, “we've got to talk. Seth Bascom--” Seth started violently. “What is it?” asked the lady. “Why did you jump like that? Nobody comin', is there?” “No. No . . . But I couldn't help jumpin' when you called me that name.” “That name? It's your name, isn't it? Oh,” she smiled slightly; “I remember now. You've taken the name of Atkins since we saw each other last.” “I didn't take it; it belonged to me. You know my middle name. I just dropped the Bascom, that's all.” “I see. Just as you dropped--some other responsibilities. Why didn't you drop the whole christenin' and start fresh? Why did you hang on to 'Seth'?”