“Who is it?” she whispered, in some alarm.

“Me,” whispered the lightkeeper, gruffly.  “I’ll go with you a ways.”

“No, of course you won’t.  I’m goin’ alone.”

“It’s too dark for you to go alone.  You’ll lose the way.”

“I’m goin’ alone, I tell you!  Go back.  I don’t want you.”

“I know you don’t; but I’m goin’.  You’ll fetch up in the cove or somewheres if you try to navigate this path on your own hook.”

“I sha’n’t.  I’m used to findin’ my own way, and I’m goin’ alone—­as I’ve had to do for a good while.  Go back.”

She stopped short.  Seth stopped, also.

“Go back,” she insisted, adding scornfully:  “I don’t care for your help at all.  I’m partic’lar about my company.”

“I ain’t,” sullenly.  “Anyhow, I’m goin’ to pilot you around the end of that cove.  You sha’n’t say I let you get into trouble when I might have kept you out of it.”

“Say?  Who would I say it to?  Think I’m so proud of this night’s cruise that I’ll brag of it?  Will you go back?”

“No.”

They descended the hill, Mrs. Bascom in advance.  She could not see the path, but plunged angrily on through the dripping grass and bushes.

“Emeline—­Emeline,” whispered Seth.  She paid no attention to him.  They reached the foot of the slope and suddenly the lady realized that her shoes, already wet, were now ankle deep in water.  And there seemed to be water amid the long grass all about her.

“Why?  What in the world?” she exclaimed involuntarily.  “What is it?”

“The salt marsh at the end of the cove,” answered the lightkeeper.  “I told you you’d fetch up in it if you tried to go alone.  Been tryin’ to tell you you was off the track, but you wouldn’t listen to me.”

And she would not listen to him now.  Turning, she splashed past him.

“Hold on,” he whispered, seizing her arm.  “That ain’t the way.”

She shook herself from his grasp.

“Will you let me be, and mind your own business?” she hissed.

“No, I won’t.  I’ve set out to get you home, and I’ll do it if I have to carry you.”

“Carry me?  You?  You dare!”

His answer was to pick her up in his arms.  She was no light weight, and she fought and wriggled fiercely, but Seth was big and strong and he held her tight.  She did not scream; she was too anxious not to wake either the substitute assistant or Miss Graham, but she made her bearer all the trouble she could.  They splashed on for some distance; then Seth set her on her feet, and beneath them was dry ground.

“There!” he grumbled, breathlessly.  “Now I cal’late you can’t miss the rest of it.  There’s the bungalow right in front of you.”

“You—­you—­” she gasped, chokingly.

“Ugh!” grunted her husband, and stalked off into the dark.

CHAPTER XI