"Are you sure, Davy? It could not be—anybody calling, could it?"
"Gosh! no, no. What do ye suppose any one would be callin' fur?"
"Why, if he were in danger."
"'T ain't anybody on the bay, Janet. City folks is gone, an' the Quintonites ain't chancin' a pleasure trip in this gale. Get downstairs, Janet; it's just possible some one's knockin' an' callin' below."
Janet waited for no second bidding. Down the iron stairs she ran, and never paused until she reached the lower door. This she opened cautiously, and braced herself against it to keep out further entrance of the terrific wind.
"Any one there?" she shouted. The noise of the storm alone replied.
"Any one outside?" Again she called. A soft something fell at her feet with a dull thud. It was a gull, broken winged, its life beaten out against the glass of the Light! Once again she shouted, "Any one there?"
On the wind came that strange, weird call that had frightened her in the tower. It rose and fell piteously, and passed on with the blast.
"I never heard that before to-night!" Janet murmured, as she forced the door shut; "it is new and awful!"
She went into the living room and lighted the fire. She would not try to sleep again. She made some coffee and carried it up to Davy; she dared not stay alone. For the first time in her life she was afraid and thoroughly unnerved.