CHAPTER THIRTY-EIGHT
THE GRAVE OF A SIN
Nearly three hours later Stowell was at the Point of Ayre, where the head of the island looks into the sea. Leaving his car at the end of the last paved road he walked over the bent-strewn plain to where the tall, white, brown-belted light-house stands up against sea and sky. The light-houseman, who had just put out the light, seeing the Deemster approach, went down to meet him.
"May I go up to your lantern, Light-houseman? I've always wanted to see the sun rise from there."
"With pleasure, your Honour," said the Light-houseman, and he led the way up the circular stone stairway, through the eye of the light-house, with its glistening columns of bevelled glass, to the iron-railed gallery that ran like a scalf round its neck.
For a long half-hour Stowell walked to and fro there. He felt as if he were on the prow of some mighty ship, with the sea racing in white foam along the rocks on either side. Far below were the booming waves; the sea-fowl were calling in the midway air; the sky to the east was reddening; the day was striding over the waters and driving the trailing garments of the night before it, and the sea was singing the great song of the dawn.
At last, straining his sight to the south, he saw what he had come to see—a steamer with a red and black funnel. Kept back during the dark hours by the fog on the coast, she was now coming on at full-speed.
There was a pang in thinking that this was the last he was to see of the two who were aboard of her, but there was a boundless joy in it also. They were united; they were happy; they were safe; he had wiped out his offence against them.
He watched the vessel as she passed. She lurched a little as she went through the cross-current of the Point. But now she was out in the Channel; now she was heading towards the Mull of Galloway; now she was fading into the northern mist and seemed to be dropping off into another planet.
At half-past three Stowell was back in his car. He could go home now with a cleaner heart, a surer conscience. It was a beautiful morning. The sun had risen. It was slanting over his shoulder as he drove along the grass-grown road on the north-west coast, with the sea singing and dancing by his side over a stretch of yellow sand. The lambs were bleating in the fields and the larks were loud in the sky.