ly she must
have heard something, for she moved away for some little distance and
stood still. Then, above the edge of the dune, showed Seth's head and
arm. He beckoned to her. She walked briskly across the intervening
space, turned the ragged, grass-grown corner of the knoll and
disappeared, also. Brown, scarcely believing his eyes, waited and
watched, but he saw no more. Neither Seth nor the housekeeper came out
from behind that dune.

But the substitute assistant had seen enough--quite enough. Seth Atkins,
Seth, the woman-hater, the man who had threatened him with all sorts of
penalties if he ever so much as looked at a female, was meeting one of
the sex himself, meeting her on the sly. What it meant Brown could not
imagine. Probably it explained the clay smears on the boots and Seth's
discomfiture of the morning; but that was immaterial. The fact, the one
essential fact, was this: the compact was broken. Seth had broken it.
Brown was relieved of all responsibility. If he wished to swim in that
cove, no matter who might be there, he was perfectly free to do it. And
he would do it, by George! He had been betrayed, scandalously, meanly
betrayed, and it would serve the betrayer right if he paid him in his
own coin. He darted down the attic stairs, ran down the path to the
boathouse, hurriedly changed his clothes for his bathing suit, ran along
the shore of the creek and plunged in.

Miss Graham waved a hand to him as he shook the water from his eyes.

Over behind the sand dune a more or less interesting interview was
taking place. Seth, having made sure that his whistles were heard and
his signals seen, sank down in the shadow and awaited developments. They
were not long in coming. A firm footstep crunched the sand, and Mrs.
Bascom appeared.

"Well," she inquired coldly, "what's the matter now?"

Mr. Atkins waved an agitated hand.

"Set down," he begged. "Scooch down out of sight, Emeline, for the land
sakes. Don't stand up there where everybody can see you."

The lady refused to "scooch."

"If I ain't ashamed of bein' seen," she observed, "I don't know why you
should be. What are you doin' over here anyhow; skippin' 'round in the
sand like a hoptoad?"

The lightkeeper repeated his plea.

"Do set down, Emeline, please," he urged. "I thought you and me'd agreed
that nobody'd ought to see us together."

Mrs. Bascom gathered her skirts about her and with great deliberation
seated herself upon a hummock.

"W