s
he ceased to care. Seth did not ask a question and was so trustful and
unsuspecting that Brown decided his secret was undiscovered. In fact,
the lightkeeper was so innocent that the young man felt almost wicked,
as if he were deceiving a child. He very nearly forgot the meeting
behind the sand dune, having other and much more important things to
think of.

July passed, and the first three weeks of August followed suit. The
weather, which had been glorious, suddenly gave that part of the coast
a surprise party in the form of a three days' storm. It was an offshore
gale, but fierce, and the lighthouse buildings rocked in its grasp.
Bathing was out of the question, and one of Seth's dories broke its
anchor rope and went to pieces in the breakers. Atkins and Brown slept
but little during the storm, both being on duty the greater part of the
time.

The fourth day broke clear, but the wind had changed to the east and
the barometer threatened more bad weather to come. When Seth came in to
breakfast he found his helper sound asleep in a kitchen chair, his head
on the table. The young man was pretty well worn out. Atkins insisted
upon his going to bed for the forenoon.

"Of course I sha'n't," protested Brown. "It's my watch, and you need
sleep yourself."

"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 da