umatism. As before, he made some feeble show of hesitation, by
way of reconciling his mind to the proffered rest, and then readily
succumbed.

"Be it so, Georgy, my boy," he said. "That is, if you are not already
too tired. But I don't feel as bad now as last night, and may yet
crawl up and relieve you."

"Take it easy, Barry," I said. "It is not much trouble for me. I could
stand it this fashion for a week."

With that I left him alone in his snuggery, and climbed the stairs
to the top. As upon the previous evening, I lighted the lamps, set
the machine in motion, and then curled myself down in a corner of
the floor to rest till midnight. I did not at once fall asleep,
however. The gale, which had been preparing for the last thirty hours,
now began to come in force, disturbing me with the sound of the
wind--whistling shrilly through every crack and crevice--while the
lighthouse itself constantly trembled with the blast. Even at that
height, I could hear the sullen dash of the breakers against the
shore; and once I could see, by the tremulous movement of lights far
out to the eastward, that a large steamer was passing, and was
laboring toilsomely with a more than usually heavy sea. She was in no
danger, however, and gradually passed away from my line of vision.
Then, at last, I fell asleep, though not into the soft, quiet slumber
which I usually enjoyed. Even in my dreams the tempest followed me,
filling my mind with distorted imaginings. The old stories, which I
had so often heard and of late had forgotten, about pirates, and
wrecks, and wreckers, and cruelties perpetrated upon the beach, now
seemed to take actual life and reality. I could see the dismasted
vessels struggling among the breakers, and the rows of hard, fierce,
expectant faces lining the shore, and awaiting the turning up of the
dead bodies. I was a dead body myself, even, and was being washed up
on the beach, already drowned beyond hope of resuscitation, and yet
strangely conscious of all that went on around me. A hand was placed
roughly upon me, as I lay motionless upon the sand. Then, gaining new
life, I cried aloud, and, waking, found old Barry leaning over me, and
shaking me into consciousness.

"Look over yonder, Georgy, my boy, at the Beacon Point," he said. "See
how strangely the lights are acting. What do you make of it all?"

I looked, and saw that the reflectors were pointing, motionless,
toward me--resting there for a full minute; then th