"He's gone up into the Light, Susan Jane."
The woman turned anxiously toward the window. "It's an awful storm risin', Janet. Wind off sea, but changin' every minute. Draw the shade. I'm fearin' the ocean will rise high enough fur us t' see the breakers over the dunes! I ain't seen the ocean fur thirty odd years, an' I ain't goin' t' now!" Her voice rose hysterically, like a frightened child's. "I jest won't see the ocean!" Janet pulled the green shade down, and hid from her own aching eyes the vanishing sight of Billy's struggling boat, but her loving heart went with it as, spurning the wind and darkness, it made for the dunes and duty!
"All day!" the girl thought; "all day, and not to let me know! Oh, Cap'n Daddy, what mischief have you been up to?" The quivering smile rose over the hurt, but anxiety lay deep in the troubled heart.
A crash of thunder rent the air! A blinding flash of lightning turned the black bay to a molten sea. Janet could see it through the glass of the outer door in the entry.
"Janet!"
"Yes, Susan Jane."
"Come away from the draught! I think you might know, how if you got struck by lightnin' I couldn't do a blessed thing but look at you." Janet came into the darkened room.
"Light the lamp!" Susan commanded. "I ain't goin' t' save oil, when I'm in this state. Oh! Janet,"—a splintering crash shook the house,—"did you ever hear the like?"
"It's pretty bad, Susan Jane!" But the girl was thinking of the little boat struggling on the bay, the strong hand upon the tiller, and the faithful heart, fearless in the midst of danger.
"Janet, since you ain't got no nerves, can you read t' me an' sort o' drown the storm? I'm powerful shaken. I can't run if the house is struck; I can't do nothin' but jest suffer." The woman was crying miserably.