“All right, then, you forgot. I ain't jealous, Seth. I wa'n't even jealous then. Even then I give you a chance, and you didn't take it--you 'forgot' instead. I'm goin' back to the bungalow, but afore I go let's understand this: you're to stay here at the lights, and I stay where I am as housekeeper. We don't see each other any oftener than we have to, and then only when nobody else is around. We won't let my Miss Graham nor your Brown nor anybody know we've ever met afore--or are meetin' now. Is that it?” Seth hesitated. “Yes,” he said, slowly, “I guess that's it. But,” he added, anxiously, “I--I wish you'd be 'specially careful not to let that young feller who's workin' for me know. Him and me had a--a sort of agreement and--and I--I--” “He sha'n't know. Good-by.” She fumbled with the latch of the heavy door. He stepped forward and opened it for her. The night was very dark; a heavy fog, almost a rain, had drifted in while they were together. She didn't seem to notice or mind the fog or blackness, but went out and disappeared beyond the faint radiance which the lantern cast through the open door. She blundered on and turned the corner of the house; then she heard steps behind her. “Who is it?” she whispered, in some alarm. “Me,” whispered the lightkeeper, gruffly. “I'll go with you a ways.” “No, of course you won't. I'm goin' alone.” “It's too dark for you to go alone. You'll lose the way.” “I'm goin' alone, I tell you! Go back. I don't want you.” “I know you don't; but I'm goin'. You'll fetch up in the cove or somewheres if you try to navigate this path on your own hook.” “I sha'n't. I'm used to findin' my own way, and I'm goin' alone--as I've had to do for a good while. Go back.” She stopped short. Seth stopped, also. “Go back,” she insisted, adding scornfully: “I don't care for your help at all. I'm partic'lar about my company.” “I ain't,” sullenly. “Anyhow, I'm goin' to pilot you around the end of that cove. You sha'n't say I let you get into trouble when I might have kept you out of it.” “Say? Who would I say it to? Think I'm so proud of this night's cruise that I'll brag of it? WILL you go back?” “No.” They descended the hill, Mrs. Bascom in advance. She could not see the path, but plunged angrily on through the dripping grass and bushes. “Emeline--Emeline,” whispered Seth. She paid no attention to him. They reached the foot of the slope and suddenly the lady realized that her shoes, already wet, were now ankle deep in water. And there seemed to be water amid the long grass all about her. “Why? What in the world?” she exclaimed involuntarily. “What is it?” “The salt marsh at the end of the cove,” answered the lightkeeper. “I told you you'd fetch up in it if you tried to go alone. Been tryin' to tell you you was off the track, but you wouldn't listen to me.” And she would not listen to him now. Turning, she splashed past him. “Hold on,” he whispered, seizing her arm. “That ain't the way.”