' like she use t'. I ain't seen
that smile on her face in over thirty year. That's the way she use t'
look when she heard me comin' in the gloamin', an' thought it was him!
No, Janet, she wears--William Henry's smile!"

Janet darted past him, but he stayed her. "I want ye should sit by her
till sun up. There's a brisk storm settin' in agin, an' 't ain't fit fur
ye t' go fur any one; an' I've got t' mind the Light. Stay 'long of her,
Janet. I'm glad she ain't got t' suffer any more, or nothin'!" A sob
choked the deep voice and seemed to follow the fleeing girl as she ran
down the winding stairs.

Davy had placed the living-room lamp upon the table by Susan Jane's bed.
By its glow, Janet looked upon the woman under the gaudy patchwork
quilt. Apparently she had not moved since Janet had placed her there.
Without a struggle or pain she had gone forth.

"Oh! Susy," the old forgotten name slipped from the girl's quivering
lips. "Oh! Susy, I just believe you saw his live, shining face on an
incoming wave! And when the wave went out, it took you both to glory!
But, oh! my poor, dear, lonely Davy!" Then the bright head bowed upon
the coverlid. "Susy, oh, Susy! I am so glad I held you while you were
frightened. If I hadn't I should never have forgiven myself. It was all
I could do for Davy, and William Henry, and you!"

CHAPTER VIII

Susan Jane's funeral cast all other events into the shade. It was the
all-important topic of conversation and interest. David alone really
grieved for her; the others had suffered too keenly from Susan's tongue
and complaints to feel any honest sorrow in her passing. Her giving them
the opportunity for so comfortable and gratifying a funeral was,
perhaps, the one thing she could have done to cause them to respect her
memory. Janet saw poor departed Susan in a belated halo of romance, and
Janet was in the mood to be deeply touched. She no longer saw Susan old,
helpless, and ugly, full of small meannesses and sour criticism: she saw
her only as the young girl, little older than herself, for whom long ago
William Henry had always a smile, and a gentle nickname. It was
beautiful, to the trouble-touched girl of the dunes, to think that the
old lover came back for his sweetheart and paused, before claiming his
treasure, to thank poor Davy for his years of patient love and service.

"And he understands, I know," Janet murmured, placing some autumn
flowers near Susan Jane, "he is glad that dear