such
as Thorndyke had said. That might easily have happened, and then the
mother could have drifted back to the dunes with her pitiful secret
hidden forever. Her marriage with Cap'n Billy, in that case, might have
resulted quite naturally. So dense was the darkness that Devant dared
not move. He was afraid he might bring down upon this innocent girl a
shame that in nowise concerned her.

"How came you to have a picture of my mother?" Janet's eyes were
gray-black. An answer she would have, and her heart demanded truth. She
saw Devant's panic and it filled her with sensations born upon the
instant.

"I knew her when she was a girl. A girl like that!" He nodded toward the
photographs as they lay side by side upon the table where Janet had
placed them.

"Where?" The relentless voice was hard and cold.

"Here, and later in the city!"

"Did"--Janet paused and bent forward, her tense face burning and
eager--"did you love her?" Why this question was wrung from her, the
girl could not have told. It was in her heart and would have its way.

"No." Devant's voice was husky, but he would save the future from the
clutch of the past, if it were in his power to do so.

"But she loved you!" For the life of him, the man could not face his
accuser. His eyes dropped.

"I know! I know! You need not tell me. That is the reason she let you
keep her picture!" She swayed. For the first time in her vigorous,
young life Janet felt faint. Devant sprang toward her.

"Don't, please!" she cried, recovering herself almost at once and
turning toward the door; "I'm going to my Cap'n Billy!"

"Janet!" He tried to stay her. He had much to say, if only he knew how
to say it. She might be going to--what? An awful danger seemed to yawn
at her innocent feet, but his early sin forbade his interference.

"I'm going to my Cap'n Billy!" There was no backward glance. Devant
heard the outer door close; then he sank in his chair and bowed his head
upon the two photographs.

"Where your mother went before you!" he groaned. "Poor little flotsam
and jetsam!"

CHAPTER XI

"There goes Janet like a shot from a gun!"

"Whar?" Davy and Mark were hauling oil up to the lamp. They stood upon
the little balcony, and had a good view of the girl as she ran like a
wild thing over the stretch of ground between the lighthouse and the
wharf.

"Ho! Janet!" shouted Davy, leaning over the railing. "What's got ye?
Ain't ye goin' t' wait fur dinner--an' me?"