“You take the wire, James,” I heard the lady say. “I can't make it all out. Mabel is at some horrid lighthouse and there is no kerosene, or something. The poor child! Alone there, with that man! Tell him she must be brought home at once. It is dreadful for her! Think what she must have suffered! And with HIM! What will people say? Tell him to bring her home! The idea! I don't believe a word—”
“Hello—hello, Paine!” Colton was at the 'phone once more. “Can you get Mabel—Miss Colton, over to Wellmouth, do you think?”
“Yes. I will get a boat as soon as I can. Miss Colton is in her room, asleep I hope. She is very tired and I think she should rest until daylight. I will get her to Wellmouth in time for the morning train.”
“Never mind the train. I'll come after her in the auto. I will start now. I will meet you at the landing—at the wharf, if there is one.”
“Very well. Will you be good enough to send word to my mother that I am safe and sound? She will be worried.”
“Yes, yes, I'll send word. Tell Mabel to be careful and not take cold. . . . Yes, Henrietta, I am attending to everything. Good-by, Paine.”
That was all, not a word of thanks. I did not expect thanks and I made allowances for the state of mind at the mansion; but that telephone conversation, particularly Mrs. Colton's share in it, cast a gloom over my spirits. I did not care to hear more of Mr. Atwood's yarns and jokes. I went to my own room, but I did not sleep.
At half-past five I was astir again. The lightkeeper, it appeared, had an auxiliary engine in a catboat which he owned and could let me have a sufficient supply of gasolene to fill the Comfort's tank. When this was done—and it took a long time, for Joshua insisted upon helping and he was provokingly slow—I returned to the sitting room and asked Mrs. Atwood to call Miss Colton.
“Land sakes!” was the cheery answer, “I didn't have to call her. She's been up for fifteen minutes. Said she was goin' to take a cruise around the lighthouse. I cal'late you'll find her out there somewheres. Go and fetch her here. You two must have a bite—a cup of hot coffee and a biled egg, anyhow—afore you leave. Yes, you must. I shan't listen to a no from either of you.”
I went out and crossed the sandy yard to the whitewashed lighthouse. There was no sign of Miss Colton in the yard, but the door of the lighthouse was open and I entered. No one there. The stairs, winding upward, invited me to climb and I did so. The little room with the big lantern, the latter now covered with a white cloth, was untenanted also. I looked out of the window. There she was, on the iron gallery surrounding the top of the tower, leaning on the rail and gazing out over the water. She had not heard me. For a moment I stood there, watching her.