"Wal," was the answer, "as I've druv over this road twice a day for nigh onto thirty year, I'm tolerable familiar with it. My name's Terry, an' I'm keeper o' the light at the Cape, an' carry the mail to sorter piece out on. Who might ye be?"
"My name's Page, and I'm from Boston, and a lawyer by profession," replied Albert.
Uncle Terry eyed him rather sharply.
"I wouldn't 'a' took ye fer one o' them dern pickpockets," he said, "ye look too honest. I ain't much stuck on lawyers," he added, with a chuckle. "I've had 'sperence with 'em. One of 'em sold me a hole in the ground onct, an' it cost me the hull o' twenty years' savin's! You'll 'scuse me fer bein' blunt—it's my natur."
"Oh, I don't mind," responded Albert laughingly; "not all of my profession are thieves, though some are. You mustn't judge us all by one rascal."
They drove on, and as they jogged up and down the sharp hills he caught sight here and there of the ocean, and alongside the road, which consisted of two ruts, a path, and two grass-grown ridges, he saw wild roses in endless profusion. On either hand was an interminable thicket. In the little valleys grew masses of rank ferns, and on the ridges, interspersed between the wild roses, clusters of red bunch-berries. The sun was almost down when they reached the top of a long hill and he saw at its foot a small harbor connected with the ocean by a narrow inlet, and around it a dozen or more brown houses. Beyond was a tangle of rocks and, rising above them, the top of a white lighthouse. Uncle Terry, who had kept up a running fire of questions all the time, halted the horse and said:
"Ye can now take yer first look at Saint's Rest, otherwise known as the Cape. We ketch some lobsters an' fish here an' hev prayer-meetin's once a week." Then he chirruped to the horse and they rattled down the hill to a small store where he left a mail pouch, and then followed a winding road between the scattered houses and out to the point, where stood a neat white dwelling close beside a lighthouse.
"I'll take ye into the house," said Uncle Terry as the two alighted, "an' tell the wimmin folks to put on an extra plate, an' then I'll put up the hoss."
"I'm afraid I'm putting your family to some inconvenience," responded Albert, "and as it is not dark yet, I will walk out on the point. I may see the yacht and save you all trouble."
The sun, a ball of fire, was almost at the horizon, the sea all around lay an unruffled expanse of dark blue, undulating with the ground swells that caught the red glow of the sinking sun as they came in and broke upon the rocks. Albert walked on to the highest of the shore rocks and looked about. There was no sign of the "Gypsy," and only one boat was visible, and that a dory rowed by a man standing upright. Over the still waters Albert could detect the measured stroke of his oars. That and the low rumble of the ground swells, breaking almost at his feet, were the only sounds. It was like a dream of solitude, far removed from the world and all its distractions. For a few moments he stood contemplating the ocean alight with the setting sun's red glow, the gray rocks at his feet and the tall white lighthouse towering above him, and then started around the point. He had not taken ten steps when he saw the figure of a girl leaning against a rock and watching the setting sun. One elbow was resting on the rock, her face reposing in her open hand and fingers half hid in the thick masses of hair that shone in the sunlight like burnished gold. A broad sun-hat lay on the rock, and the delicate profile of her face was sharply outlined against the western sky.