ness of this sunshine nourishes our peace of mind, yet more does the
might of the storms. The beauty might be God's messenger. The might is
God Himself."

"You speak as if you did not fear God," said the lady, with the light
inexperience of one to whom such subjects were not familiar.

"As a sinner, I fear Him, madam. But as His child--Why, madam, what
else have we in all the universe? And having Him, what more do we
want?"

"He has made us full of wants," said the lady. "I, for one, am all
bereaved, and very, very wretched.--But do not let us talk of that now.
One who is alone in this place, and knows and needs nothing beyond,
cannot enter into my sorrows at once. It will take long to make you
conceive such misery as mine. But it will be a comfort to me to open my
heart to you. And I must live within view of the harbour. I must see
every boat that comes. They say you do."

"I do. They are few; but I see them all."

"And you save a good many by the spark in your window."

"It has pleased God to save some, it is thought, who would have perished
as some perished before them. He set me that task, in a solemn way,
many years ago; and any mercy that has grown out of it is His.--Do you
see any vessel on the sea, madam? I always look abroad the last thing
before the sun goes down. My eyes can hardly be much older than yours:
but they are much worn."

"How have you so used your eyes? Is it that hair-knitting?"

"That is not good. But it is more the sharp winds, and the night
watching, and the shine of the sea in the day."

"I must live with you. I will watch for you, night and day. You think
I cannot. You think I shall tire. Why, you are not weary of it."

"Oh, no! I shall never be weary of it."

"Much less should I. You want only to keep up your lamp. I want to get
away. All the interests of my life lie beyond this sea; and do you
think I shall tire of watching for the opportunity?--I will watch
through this very night. You shall go to bed, and sleep securely, and I
will keep your lamp. And to-morrow we will arrange something. Why
should I not have a room,--a cottage built at the end of yours? I
will."

"If you could find anyone to build it," suggested the widow.

"Somebody built Macdonald's, I suppose. And yours."

"Macdonald's is very old;--built, it is thought, at the same time with
the chapel, which has been in ruins these hundred years. My husband
built ours,--with me to help