CHAPTER XVI

THE EBB TIDE

“John Brown,” his long night’s vigil over, extinguished the lights in the two towers, descended the iron stairs, and walked across the yard into the kitchen.  His first move, after entering the house, was to ring the telephone bell and endeavor to call Eastboro.  He was anxious concerning Atkins.  Seth had not returned, and the substitute assistant was certain that some accident must have befallen him.  The storm had been severe, but it would take more than weather to keep the lightkeeper from his post; if he was all right he would have managed to return somehow.

Brown rang the bell time and time again, but got no response.  The storm had wrecked the wires, that was certain, and that means of communication was cut off.  He kindled the fire in the range and tried to forget his anxiety by preparing breakfast.  When it was prepared he waited a while and then sat down to a lonely meal.  But he had no appetite, and, after dallying with the food on his plate, gave it up and went outside to look about him.

The first thing he looked at was the road from the village.  No sign of life in that direction as far as he could see.  Then he looked at the bungalow.  Early as it was, a thread of blue smoke was ascending from the chimney.  Did that mean that the housekeeper had returned?  Or had Ruth Graham been alone all through the miserable night?  Under ordinary circumstances he would have gone over and asked if all was well.  He would have done that, even if Seth were at home—­he was past the point where the lightkeeper or their compact could have prevented him—­but he could not muster courage to go now.  She must have found the note he had tucked under the door, and he was afraid to hear her answer.  If it should be no, then—­well, then he did not care what became of him.

He watched the bungalow for a time, hoping that she might come out—­that he might at least see her—­but the door did not open.  Auguring all sorts of dismal things from this, he moped gloomily back to the kitchen.  He was tired and had not slept for thirty hours, but he felt no desire for bed.  He could not go to bed anyway until Atkins returned—­and he did not want to.

He sat down in a chair and idly picked up one of a pile of newspapers lying in the corner.  They were the New York and Boston papers which the grocery boy had brought over from Eastboro, with the mail, the previous day.  Seth had not even looked at them, and Brown, who seldom or never read newspapers, found that he could not do so now.  He tossed them on the table and once more went out of doors.  After another glance at the bungalow, he walked to the edge of the bluff and looked over.