CHAPTER XXIII. THE STORM.
The wonderful weather continued and, if there was loneliness in the heartof the girl because her friend and comrade seemed to be so far, so veryfar away, it was unnoticed by the old man who loved her, for whenever hewas near, her clear voice rang out its sweetest and her welcoming smilealways awaited him.
June came, and Captain Ezra, returning from town about noon on a day thatwas a-gleaming with blue in sky and sea (as only a day in June can be),produced a letter.
How the girl hoped that it was from her friend across the water, but,instead, it was from Doctor Winslow. In it he stated that he was comingto Tunkett for a week's rest, as he had had a most strenuous winter, and,since he was not as young as he had been, he felt the need now and thenof a period of relaxation. He was eager to see his comrade of boyhooddays. He recalled the happy, carefree times when, barefooted, they hadtramped over the salt meadows, swam together, breasting even the outerbreakers, or had fished, talking quietly for hours of their plans for thefuture, which had proved so unlike.
"Ez, old pal," the doctor had written, "I want especially to talk overwith you something which has been much in my thoughts of late, and thatis the future of the girl whom you love so dearly and whom, for thatmatter, we both love.
"You are not as unreasonable now as you formerly were, and so I againshall broach the subject of Muriel's education. As I have said before, Iwish to pay her tuition as my share, for am I not her Uncle Lem?
"You and I are advanced in years, Ezra, and we're not always going to behere to protect Muriel. Think how unfitted she now is to face the worldwith no knowledge whatever of its ways; but more of this later when Icome."
Although there was disappointment in the heart of the girl because theletter had not been from Gene, she was indeed glad to hear that she wasso soon to see her dear Uncle Lem, as it had been many months since histown house had been boarded up and he had departed for the big city.
"Lem's to put into port next Tuesday," the old man said. "I reckon he'sright about the iddication idee. I cal'late yo'd ought to be gittin' somelarnin' into that purty head o' yo'rn. Not but that yo're suitin' me to a'T' jest as yo' are, but Lem knows best, I reckon."
There was a sad note in the voice of the old man and a suspicion ofmoisture in the grey eyes that looked so lovingly at his "gal." Quicklyhe turned away to hide them. He had been selfish long enough and life was"tarnel unsartin" at best.
Then he recalled the long-delayed letter that he planned writing toMuriel's own father. He had an address that his daughter had once sent tohim, and in the accompanying note she had written: "Dad, a letter senthere will always reach my husband or me. Please write that you haveforgiven me, for I do so love you."
That note from Muriel's girl-mother (with the address to which they wereto write if they wished to reach her father) was in the iron box hiddenin the tower near the great lamp, the very box of which Captain Ezra hadtold Captain Barney.
"If I should be tuk sudden-like," the old man had said, "I want yo' to goto the tower, get that box, Barney, an' have some-un write to the fathero' my gal."
Captain Ezra was thinking of these things as he sat smoking.
"I snum, I'll get that thar letter written next Sunday as sure sartin asI'm keeper of the light," he resolved as he rose to go to bed.
The next day the first intense heat wave of summer swept over Tunkett.The air was depressing. Muriel listlessly went about the tasks of theday. It seemed an effort even to sing, which she always tried to do tomake the little home more cheerful. Never, never, should her dear oldgrand-dad know how lonely and disappointed she was because Gene had noteven written to her. It was nearing July and as yet she had not heard ofhis safe arrival in Liverpool.
Boats did go down, now and then, the girl knew; and when she thought ofthis she asked anxiously: "Grand-dad, thar hasn't been a wreck on theseas anywhar that you've heard of, has thar?"
Captain Ezra shook his head. "No, Rilly, fust mate; and I sure sartinhope thar's none comin'."
The next evening, when the old man came in to supper, he reported thatthe stifling air seemed, if anything, more hot and breathless, and alsothat clouds were gathering rapidly. "I reckon we're glad o' that," washis comment. Then as he stood, looking out at the deepening twilight, hecontinued: "Thar's heat lit'nin' over to the west. Like's not we'll soonhave a thunder storm. I sort o' hope we will have one. 'Twill cool offthis stiflin' air an----"
The girl turned toward him, her face white.
"Oh, Grand-dad," she implored, and her voice quivered, "I'm hopin' itwon't come here with its crashin' an' threatenin'. I allays seem to hearit say, 'Some day I'll get----'"
The old man put his hand over the girl's mouth as he said tenderly:"Rilly gal, don't be talkin' that way. What did yo'n I say 'tother day'bout thar bein' a skipper at the helm as we could trust. Didn't yo'n Iagree that his commands was allays for the best, whatever they seemedlike to us? I reckon we'd better be rememberin' it."
Then, as he looked thoughtfully out at the storm-threatening sky, hesaid: "Fust mate, hold fast to that idee like it was your lifepreserver."
Muriel clung to her grandfather, sobbing "I will, Grand-dad."
The old man smoothed his "gal's" hair, wondering vaguely at her fear andevident grief. Doctor Lem had said that Rilly had a very unusually activeimagination and that they must be patient with her when they could notunderstand.
To change the girl's thoughts the old man remarked: "I s'pose likely asnot Lem landed in Tunkett today."
"I hope so," the girl replied, as she returned to the setting of thetable for supper. Captain Ezra puffed on his corncob pipe a moment, thensaid: "I reckon he'll be over long 'bout tomorrer. I snum I'll be glad tosee ol' Lem. We two's been sort o' mates ever since we was young-uns.Lem, even as a boy, was straight as the mast o' a schooner in all hisdoin's." For a few moments the old man smoked in silent thought. Thenaloud: "I reckon Lem's love would be the best port fer my gal to anchorin if--if----" Instantly the girl's arms were around his neck."Grand-dad," she implored, "don' say it. You're goin' to live's long as Ido, an' longer, like's not." Then, as an ominous rumbling of thunderpealed in the distance, Muriel held him closer. "Grand-dad," she said,"it's coming."
The old man looked out of the window at the gathering blackness. Then,loosening her arms, he leaped to his feet. "Rilly gal," he cried, as shestill clung, "let me go! The lamp's not turnin'. Somethin's happened toit."
Away he hurried. The girl stood in the little kitchen where he had lefther, with hands hard clasped. She heard his rapid steps ascending thespiral stairs. She waited, almost breathless, wondering why the circle ofswinging light did not pass the window. There must have been a hitch inthe machinery. That, however, was nothing to worry about. It had happenedbefore.
Then came a vivid flash of fire that zigzagged across the sky. A torrentof rain swept over the island.
Flash followed flash with scarcely a second between, and crash on crashof deafening thunder. Then another sound was heard in the midst of thereverberating roar, a sound of splintering glass, of stone hurled uponstone.
Muriel's prophecy had been fulfilled; the storm had wrecked the lamp thatfor so many years had defied it.
With a terrorized cry the girl leaped to the door of the tower, and,heedless of danger to herself, she climbed the spiral stairway, shoutingwildly that her call might be heard above the fury of the storm:"Grand-dad, I'm comin'!" But the rain and wind beat her back; then theterrible reality surged over her. The lamp--the tower, both were gone!They had been hurled to the ground by the storm. Muriel knew no more, forshe had swooned.
Hours later she was found by Doctor Lem and several longshoremen who hadcrossed the tossing waters of the bay to discover why the light was notthrowing its warning beams out into the darkness.
Carefully, tenderly they lifted her. She had been bruised by rocks thathad fallen while she lay there, though of this she had not beenconscious. Do
ctor Lem and two of the men had taken her back to town andhad waited until she had revived; then, leaving her in the care of thephysician's housekeeper, Brazilla Mullet, the men, in the cold, greydawn, had returned to the island to find the keeper of the light, who hadbeen faithful even unto death.
Muriel had been too dazed to really comprehend what had happened andDoctor Lem thought best to have the burial service at once and not waituntil the grand-daughter could attend.
"Poor little gal," Brazilla Mullet wiped her eyes on one corner of herapron, "she's lost her best friend, I reckon, but she's got a powerfullygood one left in Doctor Lem, though she's little carin' jest now."
The girl, who had been lying so listlessly in the spare room bed, openeddazed eyes and gazed a brief moment at the kind woman, who endeavored tosmile though her lips trembled.
"Everythin's like to be fer the best," Miss Brazilla Mullet said. "DoctorLem's goin' to carry out yer grand-dad's wishes, Rilly. He's goin' to beyer guardeen now an' take yo' back wi' him to the city an' when yer wellagin yer goin' to school up thar to be iddicated wi' the best of 'em."
Then the good woman saw that the lips of the girl were moving, though shewas not addressing her, and, leaning closer, she heard the words:"Grand-dad, I'm rememberin'. I'm a-holdin' fast to the promise I made yo'like 'twas my life preserver. But, oh, Grand-dad, it's so hard to, sohard to, all alone."
Then for the first time tears came and Muriel sobbed as though she wouldnever stop, but the housekeeper was glad, for tears would bring therelief she needed.
And Brazilla Mullet was right. Muriel gradually became stronger, and whenthe doctor's spring vacation was ended, without once looking over the baytoward Windy Island, the girl went back with him to the city.