“It does not stop there, I’m afraid.” There was a pause, as though her words had thrown him into a brown study.
“Look!” she cried. “There is someone in the lantern—with a light in his hand. He is lighting up!”
Taffy ran back a pace or two toward the cottage and shouted, waving his hand. In a moment Humility appeared at the gate and waved in answer, while the strong light flashed seaward. They listened; but if she called, the waves at their feet drowned her voice.
They turned and gazed at the light, counting, timing the flashes; two short flashes with but five seconds between, then darkness for twenty seconds, and after it a long steady stare.
Abruptly he asked, “Would you care to cross over and see the lantern?”
“What, in the cradle?”
“I can work it easily. It’s not dangerous in the least; a bit daunting, perhaps.”
“But I’m not easily frightened, you know. Yes, I should like it greatly.”
They descended the cliff to the cable. The iron cradle stood ready as Taffy had left it when he came ashore. She stepped in lightly, scarcely touching for a second the hand he put out to guide her.
“Better sit low,” he advised; and she obeyed, disposing her skirts on the floor caked with dry mud from the workmen’s boots. He followed her, and launched the cradle over the deep twilight.