Almost at the threshold began the seemingly endless stairway, winding up into regions of height and loneliness. She did not allow herself to hesitate now, but began the ascent hurriedly. A fearful journey it seemed, through the darkness, broken only by fitful glimmerings of her lantern, and now and then cross rays of light from the slits of windows in the thick walls. Clasping the iron rail, she toiled on, her limbs failing, her heart thumping, and her brain in a whirl. Not until she had reached the top step did she drop down to rest. Exhausted by fatigue and nervous excitement, she had to recover strength before she could even open the door into the lantern-room.
Fortunately the great lamps were trimmed and supplied with oil. Every part of the machinery was also in working order. Captain Dutton was one of the most careful of the light-house keepers.
"And he shall see that I do not mean him to lose his place for one night's failure to light the tower," Huldah said, her heart warming for the first time to the silent man who had, in his way, done his duty by her as well as by the place of trust he filled. "Who knows, though, this light may fall upon the very spot where he has gone down to the bottom of the sea."
Again a shiver crept over the slender figure, and only the blazing forth of the beacon dispelled her vivid fancy. One by one the lamps flared up, and were turned into place. The reflectors, polished to their utmost, caught the cheerful rays, and sent them in a far-reaching circle of radiance, out through the darkness and the storm, to give warning to those who were "gone down to the sea in ships."
But this was only the beginning of Huldah's work. It was a chief part of the keeper's duty, she knew, to see that the lights burned undimmed throughout the night. Now, however, she must return to attend to the dame awhile. But as she turned to go there was a sudden crashing of the glass above her, a whirring swoop of some swift-winged creature overhead, a gust of wind, a flaring of the circle of lights, and then darkness, rayless, absolute. The storm moaned and shrieked in her ears, and Huldah shrieked too, hiding her face in her shawl.
What had happened? Again the winged intruder whirred by, beating the air with wearied and dripping plumage. Ah! now she understood. Once Captain Dutton had told her of a storm-bird breaking one of his transparencies. Attracted by the light, doubtless, this wanderer had dashed against the glass.
There was but one thing to be done. She could not hope to relight the lamps until those blasts were shut out. She must find another frame and transparency.
How the descent was accomplished Huldah could never think without a shudder. At the very outset, when she had groped her way to the landing, and had succeeded in relighting her little lantern, the door she had latched behind her flew open, giving outlet to those terrible winds, which tore at her clothing savagely, extinguishing her light, and leaving her again in darkness. Of necessity she stood still until the currents had strangled each other, and sunk down into the depths of gloom below her. Then, shutting her eyes tightly, she went on her perilous journey.
From the basement stores she procured the frame and fixtures, and returning with them by the same winding route upward, found it not such a difficult thing to unhinge and replace the shattered transparency, the tempest having lulled slightly, and the force of the wind being broken. Yet by the time her task was complete, and the lamps relit, her strength failed her. Vaguely thinking that maybe she was going to die, she fell upon the floor, and with a deep-drawn sigh her eyes closed.