M. le duc stood beside his daughter. He had inquired after her health and well-being and received her monosyllabic reply with an impatient sigh. M. Martin-Roget was pacing up and down the deck with restless and vigorous strides: he had just gone by and made a loud and cheery comment on the weather and the beauty of the night.
Could Yvonne Dewhurst have seen her father's face now, or had she cared to study it, she would have perceived that he was gazing out to sea in the direction to which the schooner was heading with an intent look of puzzlement, and that there was a deep furrow between his brows. Half an hour went by and he still stood there, silent and absorbed: then suddenly a curious exclamation escaped his lips: he stooped and seized his daughter by the wrist.
"Yvonne!" he said excitedly, "tell me! am I dreaming, or am I crazed?"
"What is it?" she asked coldly.
"Out there! Look! Just tell me what you see?"
He appeared so excited and his pressure on her wrist was so insistent that she dragged herself to her feet and looked out to sea in the direction to which he was pointing.
"Tell me what you see," he reiterated with ever-growing excitement, and she felt that the hand which held her wrist trembled violently.
"The light from a lighthouse, I think," she said.
"And besides that?"
"Another light—a much smaller one—considerably higher up. It must be perched up on some cliffs."