“A healthy note,” or words to that effect, was exactly what it was; Martha and Lulie were in thorough accord with Zach as to that.  Galusha did not say very much.  He rubbed his chin a good deal and when, after Bloomer had departed, Lulie came close to breaking down and crying, he still was silent, although nervous and evidently much disturbed.  Lulie bravely conquered her emotion.

“Please don’t mind me,” she begged.  “It’s awfully silly of me, I know.  But, you see, Nelson and I had really begun to think that perhaps father had broken away from—­from all that.  For a time he was—­oh, different.  Nelson told you that he bowed to him once and I told you how—­ But what is the use?  Here he goes again.  And now goodness knows what dreadful ideas that Hoag woman will put into his head.  Nelson and I had hoped that perhaps—­perhaps we might be married in six months or a year.  Now—­ Oh, it is so discouraging!”

Martha soothed her, told her not to be discouraged, that no doubt this spirit outbreak would be only a mild one, that she was sure Captain Jeth would “come around all right” in time, and grasped at any other straws of comfort she found afloat.  Galusha stood awkwardly by, his face expressing concern, but his tongue silent.  When Lulie declared she must go home, he insisted upon walking to the light with her.

“But you don’t need to, Mr. Bangs,” she declared.  “It is a pleasant night and such a little way.  And you know I am used to running about alone.  Why, what on earth do you think would be likely to hurt me, down here in this lonesomeness?”

Nevertheless, he insisted.  But, although she chatted during their short walk, it was not until they reached the light keeper’s gate that he spoke.  Then he laid a hand on her arm.

“Ah—­ah—­Miss Lulie—­” he began, but she stopped him.

“I thought we had settled long ago,” she said, “that I wasn’t to be ‘Miss’ Lulie.  Now you are beginning again.”

“Yes—­yes.  I beg your pardon, of course.  Well, Miss—­ Oh, dear me, how ridiculous I am!  Well, Lulie, I should like to tell you a story.  May I?”

It seemed a queer place and an odd time to tell stories, but she said of course he might.

“It wasn’t a very long story,” he went on, “but it is a true one.  I happened to think of it just now while we were talking, you and I and—­ah—­Miss Martha.  It is about me.  On one of my expeditions in Egypt, Miss Lu—­ Oh, good gracious!—­ On one of my Egyptian expeditions, Lulie, I was in search of a certain tomb, or group of tombs.  It was on this expedition, by the way, that we found the very remarkable statue of Amenemhait; Amenemhait III, you know.”

Lulie smiled.  “I don’t know,” she said, “but it doesn’t matter.”

“Eh?  Oh, no, not at all, not in the least.  He was a Pharaoh of the first Theban period.  But that doesn’t matter either; and he hasn’t anything to do with this story.  We had learned of the existence of this group of tombs, or that they had existed at one time, and of their approximate location, from an inscription dug up by myself at—­”