“Yes; or the other critter, for his purposes.  How did you ever come to be keeper of a light, Seth?”

“Why—­why—­I don’t know.  I used to be in the service, ’fore I went to sea much.  You remember I told you I did.  And I sort of drifted down here.  I didn’t care much what became of me, and I wanted a lonesome hole to hide in, and this filled the bill.  I’ve been here ever since I left—­left—­where I used to be.  But, Emeline, how did you come here?  You answered an advertisement, you told me; but why?”

“‘Cause I wanted to do somethin’ to earn my livin’.  I was alone, and I rented my house and boarded.  But boardin’ ain’t much comfort, ’specially when you board where everybody knows you, and knows your story.  So I—­”

“Wait a minute.  You was alone, you say?  Where was—­was he?”

“He?”

“Yes.  You know who I mean.”

He would not speak the hated name.  His wife spoke it for him.

“Bennie?” she asked.  “Oh, he ain’t been with me for ’most two year now.  He—­he went away.  He’s in New York now.  And I was alone and I saw Miss Graham’s advertisement for a housekeeper and answered it.  I needed the money and—­”

“Hold on!  You needed the money?  Why, you had money.”

“Abner left me a little, but it didn’t last forever.  And—­”

“You had more’n a little.  I wrote to bank folks there and turned over my account to you.  And I sent ’em a power of attorney turnin’ over some stocks—­you know what they was—­to you, too.  I done that soon’s I got to Boston.  Didn’t they tell you?”

“Yes, they told me.”

“Well, then, that ought to have helped along.”

“You don’t s’pose I took it, do you?”

“Why—­why not?”

“Why not!  Do you s’pose I’d use the money that belonged to the husband that run off and left me?  I ain’t that kind of a woman.  The money and stocks are at the bank yet, I s’pose; anyhow they’re there for all of me.”

The lightkeeper’s mouth opened and stayed open for seconds before he could use it as a talking machine.  He could scarcely believe what he had heard.

“But—­but I wanted you to have it,” he gasped.  “I left it for you.”

“Well, I didn’t take it; ’tain’t likely!” with fiery indignation.  “Did you think I could be bought off like a—­a mean—­oh, I don’t know what?”

“But—­but I left it at the bank—­for you.  What—­what’ll I do with it?”

“I don’t know, I’m sure.  You might give it to Sarah Ann Christy; I wouldn’t wonder if she was less particular than I be.”

Seth’s guns were spiked, for the moment.  He felt the blood rush to face, and his fists, as he brandished them in the air, trembled.

“I—­I—­you—­you—­” he stammered.  “I—­I—­you think I—­”

He knew that his companion would regard his agitation as an evidence of conscious guilt, and this knowledge did not help to calm him.  He strode up and down the floor.