She vanished, to return quickly with a sheet and a pair of scissors.
"Now," she said to Mr. Pyne, "if you come with me I will send you back with a pail of water."
She took him to the kitchen, where Enid, aided by a sailor, pressed into service, was dispensing cocoa and biscuits. Pyne, who remained in the stairway, went off with the water and Constance's lantern. The interior of the lighthouse was utterly dark. To move without a light, and with no prior knowledge of its internal arrangements, was positively dangerous. All told, there were seven lamps of various sizes available. Brand had one, four were distributed throughout the apartments tenanted by the survivors of the wreck, two were retained for transit purposes, and the men shivering in the entrance passage had no light at all.
Constance took Enid's lantern in order to discover the whereabouts of Mr. Emmett, the first officer, the tray-carrying sailor offering to guide her to him.
When Pyne came back he found Enid in the dark and mistook her for Constance.
"They want some more," he cried at the door.
"Some more what?" she demanded. It was no time for elegant diction. Her heart jumped each time the sea sprang at the rock. It seemed to be so much worse in the dark.
"Water," said he.
"Dear me. I should have thought everybody would be fully satisfied in that respect."
He held up the lantern.