“It is you,” she said. “I couldn't scarcely believe it. It is really you.”
Seth's answer was almost a groan. “It's you,” he said. “You—down here.”
This ended the conversation for another minute. Then the lady seemed to awake to the realities of the situation.
“Yes,” she said, “it's me—and it's you. We're here, both of us. Though why on earth YOU should be, I don't know.”
“Me? Me? Why, I belong here. But you—what in time sent you here? Unless,” with returning suspicion, “you came because I—”
He paused, warned by the expression on his caller's face.
“What was that?” she demanded.
“Nothin'.”
“Nothin', I guess. If you was flatterin' yourself with the idea that I came here to chase after you, you never was more mistaken in your life, or ever will be. You set down. You and I have got to talk. Set right down.”
The lightkeeper hesitated. Then he obeyed orders by seating himself on an oil barrel lying on its side near the wall. The lantern he placed on the floor at his feet. Mrs. Bascom perched on one of the lower steps of the iron stairs.