He closed the journal and handed to Pyne a memorandum taken down letter by letter by a sailor as Brand read the signal:
"Mother sends her love to Enid."
"Did mother ever convey her love to Enid before?" asked Pyne.
"No."
"Then I call that neat. I take off my hat to Stanhope. He and mamma have had a heart-to-heart talk."
Brand leaned his head on his hands, with clenched fists covering his ears. There was a period of utter silence until the lighthouse-keeper rose to light the lamp.
Pyne watched him narrowly.
"I may be trespassing on delicate ground," he said at last. "If I am, you are not the sort of man to stand on ceremony. In the States, you know, when the authorities want to preserve a park section they don't say: 'Please do not walk on the grass.' They put up a board which reads: 'Keep off.' We never kick. We're used to it."
"My notice-board, if required, will be less curt, at any rate," replied Brand, and they faced each other. Though their words were light, no pleasant conceit lurked in their minds. There was a question to be asked and answered, and it held the issues of life and death.
"What did you mean just now by saying, 'if all goes well here?' Is there any special reason why things should not go well?"