ckon I'm better fitted for
_home_ trade."

"Like as not, Janet, like as not. Most women are, if they only get
convinced 'fore it's too late. Well, I'll be powerful thankful t' have
ye around. 'T ain't any way fur a man t' live, without the woman's
touch. Sometimes I've fancied that's what makes women restless. Men
don't credit them with 'nough importance."

"You've eaten a fine supper, Mr. Hungry Man!"--Davy had eaten it
all,--"and now I'm going downstairs to make things homey. I wish the sun
rose earlier; good night, Davy!" She bent and kissed his seamed and
rugged cheek.

"Good night, Janet, an' God bless ye!"

At every window on the way down the girl stopped to look out at the
stars that were thick in the early autumn gloaming. She was aware of a
lack of joy in life--one has to know sorrow and trouble to recognize and
classify it clearly. Knowledge was coming slowly to Janet. Hope had
buoyed her up, the hope that Thornly would let her prove that she was
stronger and braver than that silly creature he had once thought her,
but, as time dragged on and no call came from the hut upon the Hills,
hope died. Then she had seen Thornly drive past her one day with that
white girl from Bluff Head. The pale, exquisite face had suddenly grown
scarlet at the sight of Janet by the wayside, and Thornly had stared
right ahead, taking no heed! Since that day the lack of joy had grown
apace.

She had gone to the hut upon the Hills and hung the tiny whistle upon
the door latch. She would never call him again! She had not looked for
the key; she had not thought of entering. No longer had she a right
there.

Billy had deferred his explanations to the girl after his visit to the
hut; the sudden death of Susan Jane had postponed the day.

At the foot of the lighthouse stairs Janet paused and held her breath.
Some one was moving about the rooms! Some one with a candle, for the
flickering shadows rose and fell upon the inner chamber wall. The room
in which Susan Jane had died! No fear of a robber stirred Janet, the
time had not come when Quinton must fear that. It could not be Mark
Tapkins. He might be foolish enough to use his "off night" haunting the
Light--his actions were curious of late--but had it been Mark, he would
have been sitting patiently on the outer steps. Janet waited a minute
and then went noiselessly into the sitting room, and tiptoed to the
bedroom door. Then she started back, nearly dropping the tray of empty
dish