“Shall we take a light?” he asked, and then said: “No, we had better not. On such a night as this a moving light is dangerous.”
“How can it be dangerous?” asked Judith.
“Not to us, my dear child, but to ships at sea. A stationary light might serve as a warning, but a moving light misleads. The captain of a vessel, if he has lost his bearings, as is like enough in the fog, as soon as the mist rises, would see a light gliding along and think it was that of a vessel at sea, and so make in the direction of the light in the belief that there was open water, and so run directly on his destruction.”
“Oh, no, no, Uncle, we will not take a light.”
Mr. Menaida and Judith went out together, she with her workbox under her arm, he with his stick, and her hand resting on his arm. The night was dark, very dark, but the way led for the most part over down, and there was just sufficient light in the sky for the road to be distinguishable. It would be in the lane, between the walls and where overhung by thorns, that the darkness would be most profound. The wind was blowing strongly and the sound of the breakers came on it now, for the cloud had lifted off land and sea, though still hanging low. Very dense overhead it could not be, or no light would have pierced the vaporous canopy.
Uncle Zachie and Judith walked on talking together, and she felt cheered by his presence, when all at once she stopped, pressed his arm, and said:
“Oh, do look, uncle! What is that light?”
In the direction of the cliffs a light was distinctly visible, now rising, now falling, observing an unevenly undulating motion.
“Oh, uncle? It is too dreadful. Some foolish person is on the downs going home with a lantern, and it may lead to a dreadful error, and a wreck.”
“I hope to heaven it is only what you say.”