g compared to Seth's. The lawyer's
reference to the Lights had driven even matrimonial troubles from the
Atkins mind. The lights! the Twin-Lights! It was long past the time for
them to be lit, and there was no one to light them but Brown, a green
hand. Were they lit at all? If not, heaven knew what might happen or had
happened already.

He had thought of this before, of course, had vaguely realized that
he was betraying his trust, but then he had not cared. The Lights, his
position as keeper, everything, were side issues compared with the one
thing to be done, the getting to Denboro. He had reached Denboro
and found his journey all a mistake; his wife and Bennie D. had not,
apparently, visited that village; perhaps had not even started for it.
Therefore, in a measure relieved, he thought of other things. He was
many miles from his post of duty, and now his sole idea was to get back
to it.

At ten o'clock Mrs. Hepsibah Deacon, a widow living in a little house
in the woods on the top of the hill on the Denboro side of Eastboro Back
Harbor, with no neighbors for a mile in either direction, was awakened
by shouts under her bedroom window. Opening that window she thrust forth
her head.

"Who is it?" she demanded quaveringly. "What's the matter? Is anything
afire?"

From the blackness of the rain and fog emerged a vague shape.

"It's me, Mrs. Deacon; Seth Atkins, down to the Lights, you know. I've
left my horse and carriage in your barn. Josh--he's the horse--is
gone lame and played himself out. He can't walk another step. I've
unharnessed him and left him in the stall. He'll be all right. I've
given him some water and hay. Just let him stay there, if it ain't too
much trouble, and I'll send for him to-morrer and pay for his keep. It's
all right, ain't it? Much obliged. Good night."

Before the frightened widow could ask a question or utter a word he was
gone, ploughing down the hill in the direction of the Back Harbor. When
he reached the foot of that hill where the road should have been, he
found that it had disappeared. The tide had risen and covered it.

It was pitch-dark, the rain was less heavy, and clouds of fog were
drifting in before the wind. Seth waded on for a short distance,
but soon realized that wading would be an impossibility. Then, as in
despair, he was about ready to give up the attempt, a dark object came
into view beside him. It was a dory belonging to one of the lobstermen,
which, at the end of