“No, I don't, neither,” was the decided answer. “I slept between times up in the tower, off and on. You go and turn in. I've got to drive over to Eastboro by and by, and I want you to be wide awake while I'm away. We ain't done with this spell of weather yet. We'll have rain and an easterly blow by night, see if we don't. You go right straight to bed.” “I shall do nothing of the sort.” “Yes, you will. I'm your boss and I order you to do it. No back talk, now. Go!” So Brown went, unwilling but very tired. He was sound asleep in ten minutes. Seth busied himself about the house, occasionally stepping to the window to look out at the weather. An observer would have noticed that before leaving the window on each of these occasions, his gaze invariably turned toward the bungalow. His thoughts were more constant than his gaze; they never left his little cottage across the cove. In fact, they had scarcely left it for the past month. He washed the breakfast dishes, set the room in order, and was turning once more toward the window, when he heard a footstep approaching the open door. He knew the step; it was one with which he had been familiar during other and happier days, and now, once more--after all the years and his savage determination to forget and to hate--it had the power to awaken strange emotions in his breast. Yet his first move was to run into the living room and close his helper's chamber door. When he came back to the kitchen, shutting the living-room door carefully behind him, Mrs. Bascom was standing on the sill. She started when she saw him. “Land sakes!” she exclaimed. “You? I cal'lated, of course, you was abed and asleep.” The lightkeeper waved his hands. “S-sh-h!” he whispered. “What shall I s-sh-h about? Your young man's gone somewhere, I s'pose, else you wouldn't be here.” “No, he ain't. He's turned in, tired out.” “Oh, then I guess I'd better go back home. 'Twas him I expected to see, else, of course, I shouldn't have come.” “Oh, I know that,” with a sigh. “Where's your boss, Miss Graham?” “She's gone for a walk along shore. I came over to--to bring back them eggs I borrowed.” “Did you? Where are they?” The housekeeper seemed embarrassed, and her plump cheeks reddened. “I--I declare I forgot to bring 'em after all,” she stammered. “I want to know. That's funny. You don't often--that is, you didn't use to forget things hardly ever, Emeline.” “Hum! you remember a lot, don't you.” “I remember more'n you think I do, Emeline.” “That's enough of that, Seth. Remember what I told you last time we saw each other.” “Oh, all right, all right. I ain't rakin' up bygones. I s'pose I deserve all I'm gettin'.” “I s'pose you do. Well, long's I forgot the eggs I guess I might as well be trottin' back. . . . You--you've been all right--you and Mr. Brown, I mean--for the last few days, while the storm was goin' on?” “Um-h'm,” gloomily. “How about you two over to the bungalow? You've kept dry and snug, I judge.” “Yes.”