nd
happiness; but that a creature of his unfortunate disposition could
find, in these long rows of folded leaves, the society of the best and
the loftiest minds, not of our age, but of all ages, and, what was
more, could find them ready for intercourse and at their best humour,
just in those hours when he himself was fit and disposed for such
intercourse--and this without dread of inflicting his own misery and
dulness upon them.

But I could not agree with his appreciation. I felt my nose curl with
disdain at the breath of dust and must and age these old tomes gave
forth, and I said again it was, to my mind, but a poor and tame sort
of fellowship.

He was perched on his ladder and had some odd volume in his hand, from
which he was about to give an example in point; on hearing, however,
this uncongenial sentiment he pushed back the book and came down
quickly enough to talk to me. And this was the last of our excursions
among the bookshelves.

Of this I was glad, for I confess it was there I liked Sir Adrian the
least.

When the end of the short day drew near it was time to go and attend
to the beacon. We ascended the ladder-like wooden stairs leading to
the platform. Then I had the _reverse_ of that view that for so many
days had engrossed my interest.

_Pulwick from Scarthey!..._ What a long time it seemed then since I
had left those rooms the windows of which now sent us back the rays of
the setting sun! and I had no desire to return, though return I must
on the morrow.

Rene, of course, had left everything in his usual trim order, so all
we had to do was to see to the lamp. It pleased my fantasy to light
the beacon of Scarthey myself, and I struck the steel and kindled the
brimstone and set fire to the huge, ill-smelling wicks until they gave
a flame as big as my hand; and "there is the light of Scarthey at
close quarters," I thought. And the Light-keeper was bending over me
with his kindly look, humouring me like a child.

As we sat there silently for a while in the twilight, there came from
the little room adjoining the turret an odd sound of flapping and
uncanny, melancholy cries. Sir Adrian rose, and we remembered the
seagull by which he had played the part of good Samaritan.

It had happened on the second day, as the storm was at its height.
There had come a great crash at the window, and we saw something white
that struggled on the sill outside; Sir Adrian opened the casement
(when we had a little to