 CHAPTER XIV. A SOUTHWEST WIND HOWELLED AROUND THE LITTLE HUT UPON THE HILLS. The season was in one of its humorous moods, for the day was almost summer-like, in spite of the wind's noisy insistence. Between the tops of the highest dunes the white-crested heads of the waves could be seen at times, and the deep, solemn tones announced that there was a heavy sea on. The nearer water of the bay, in imitation of its mighty neighbor, echoed in mildest tones its restlessness, and tossed its feathery foam high upon the pebbly beach. Billy had found the first May pinks by the roadside that morning, and Mark Tapkins had mentioned, in passing, that Captain Billy was soon coming off. By these signs and the singing in his heart he knew the spring had come. He was sitting before the easel upon which rested the Pimpernal, finished at last. The work had been his salvation through the long weeks of waiting since that night upon the beach. Alternately exulting and despairing he had painted in a frenzy born of starved desire and memory-haunted love. Only once had he seen Janet alone since that eventful night, for Billy's dangerous illness claimed her every thought and hour. But that once, while Davy sat beside his friend, she had walked with Thornley upon the sands and had told him her life story. Very simply she had spoken, watching, meanwhile, the effect upon her listener. He had been startled and shaken by the recital, and for a time Janet had misunderstood him. "'You must go away and think it over,' she had said. "'I am not the same girl, you see.' "'Great heavens, Janet!' Thornley had exclaimed when once he recovered from his surprise. "'Do you think anything can make a difference now? Why, you are dearer a thousand times in ways you cannot realize. For I know Mr. Davont better than you do, and I am glad for him.' Janet shook her head. "'Cappen Billy must never know,' she whispered. "'There may never be a chance, but in any case he shall never have that hurt.' "'It would be an added joy, little girl,' Thornley insisted, but Janet would not consider it. "'So please go now,' she had pleaded finally. "'Go and think and think. Perhaps by and by. Who can tell? Just now it must be only my Captain Daddy.' Thus with the courage and patience of her nature the girl had set aside her own love and yearning, and Thornley took to the hills in the unfinished picture of the Pempernal. The glorious face upon the canvas changed and assumed character, according as the master's mood swayed him. One day it would shine forth with the sweet questioning of joyous girlhood. Then Thornley, remembering how the question had been answered on a certain summer day when ignorance died and knowledge was borne, wiped away the expression while his heart grew heavy within him. Then he would paint her as he recalled her on that black night upon the beach, when her uplifted face touched by the fleeting rays of the white moon, she had asked him if he needed her to help him finish his picture. "'No, no, he could not paint her so. That was no face for a flower wreath, and the flowers he must have.' Again he painted her as he had last seen her, the love-light shining in her eyes while courageously she put her joy from her until her duty to Billy was ended and her lover had had time to think. Thornley had thought. Never in his life had he thought so deeply and intensely, and from out the thought and love the soul of Janet had evolved and become fixed upon the canvas. "'It is a masterpiece,' cried the artist and the man, as he gazed upon the glorious face. "'It is my woman,' responded the man and the artist. "'My spirit of the dunes, with the strength of the hills and the mystery of the sea.' A sudden knock shattered the ecstasy. "'Come!' called Thornley and turned to meet his guest.' Mark Tapkins awkwardly entered. Mark had been a great resource to Thornley lately. Unconsciously he had been a link between Janet and the hills. In his slow, dull fashion he repeated all he saw and heard at the station and Thornley, trusting to Tapkins's uncomprehending manner, sent messages to the dunes that he knew Janet's keen or wit would interpret and understand. But Thornley had still something to learn about Tapkins. "'Any news this morning?' he said cheerily, pushing a stool toward Mark. "'She's come off,' said Tapkins, with his eyes fixed upon the pimpernal. "'Is already off?' Thornley's color rose. "'You know you said they were coming soon.' "'They've come. Her and Billy is down to Davies.' "'And Billy, how is he?' asked Thornley. "'Midland, but he ain't complaining none. "'Say, Mr. Thornley, I don't know as you understand why I've been running here so much lately. You see, I wanted, so to speak, to get the lay of the land to ext you and her.'" Tapkins kept his eyes upon the vivid face. Only by its inspiration could he hold to his purpose. "'Have you got it, Tapkins?' Thornley bent closer and gazed at his visitor keenly. "'I seem to sense it,' was the low reply. "'Travel and city ways, Mr. Thornley, make men understand each other.' The old foolish conceit added dignity to the evident purpose with which Mark was struggling. "'Now, over to the station, the crew, think you're a vestigator.' So they had been talking him over, those quiet, apparently unobservant men. "'What do they think I'm investigating, Tapkins?' Thornley's gaze contracted, and he clasped his hands rigidly around his knees. He felt as if he were before a bar of justice, and he must weigh the evidence against himself. "'The sand-bar,' Mark replied. "'Every once so often some fellers come down here with a full notion of cutting down the sand-bar and dredged deep enough to make an inlet into the bay.' "'Perhaps they may some day, Tapkins?' Thornley felt that along this line he might sooner reach his friend's purpose in calling for the second time that day. "'It's not a bad idea, you know. It would sweeten the waters of the bay, carry off the stagnant growth, and let in a lot of new life. "'But you do not think I'm an investigator, eh, Mark?' Tapkins turned suddenly and faced his host. "'Not that kind, Mr. Thornley,' he said in a tone that brought again the color to Thornley's face. "'And what's more,' Tapkins continued, "'I don't think same as you do about the inlet, neither, Mr. Thornley. Nature is pretty much alike in sand-bars and folks and whatnot. God Almighty knows what he's about when he piles up them dunes, what divides ocean and bay, and folks and folks.' "'Go on, Tapkins.' This was worthy of Captain Davy. The sojourn at the light had had its influence upon the assistant keeper. Mark gulped and turned his gaze upon the picture. "'It ain't no good trying to mix things, Mr. Thornley. That's what the crew tells them fellers about the bar. They don't listen, none. They work like beavers, and we hold off and have our laugh. Then they go away real pleased after they've cut through, but nation taint any time at all before the sands piled up again. It's awful foolish working again, Nature. Just what kind of an investigator do you take me for, Tapkins?' Thornley felt he must know the worst and at once. The look Mark cast upon him was full of trouble. He did not want to wrong this man he had grown to like, but a sense of duty lashed him on. "'Lord knows, Mr. Thornley,' he faltered. "'I don't want to make any mistakes. It's terrible confusing when you try to label folks.' The same acts mean different according to the Handlin, and a good man and a bad man bear a powerful likeness to each other on the outside sometimes. Once I didn't speak out to a friend when I ought to, and, well, there was what you might say, a wreck. I ain't gonna hold back another time.' "'Mr. Thornley, you're staying on down here, because you have some sort of idea of opening up an inlet to which such folks as you and Mr. Devont and her,' Mark waved his cap toward the easel. "'Tain no use, Mr. Thornley. Suppose you did cut through and clean and honest, too. Don't you see a little craft like that one couldn't sail out into deep waters? And the Lord knows big craft like you and him would get stranded in no time down here. Folks is separated for a good reason. It ain't a question of one being better, nor the other,' Tapkin's raised his head proudly. It's just a case of difference. Cutting down barriers ain't gonna do nothing but cause waste of time and building them up again. Never before in his life had Mark spoken so eloquently, nor so lengthily. A dim-ness rose in Thornley's eyes, and a respect for the awkward fellow grew in his heart. He arose and stood before Tapkin's, his hand resting protectingly upon the pimpinal. "'You're one of the best fellows I've ever met, old man,' he said. "'And you've lived pretty deep. But there is another point of view about those sandbars of yours. There is going to be an inlet all right, some day, over on the dunes. When that time comes, besides sweetening the waters of the bay and doing all the rest, something else is going to happen, and don't you forget it. Craft from outside will come in and not get stranded, either. And what's more, some craft of yours that is stronger and better fitted than you know of is going to sail out into the open, test its strength, and not get wrecked. Sandbars are for nothing in the world, Tapkin's, but for conquering. Take my word for that. It all depends upon who tackles the job of the inlet, see?' Mark got upon his feet and took the hand that was suddenly stretched out to meet his. Thornley held the poor fellow's tear-filled eyes by the radiance of his own. We understand each other, old man, he continued. I am going, please God, to cut through a barrier that has no right to exist. I'm going to let his brave and trusty a little craft has ever sailed, go out into the broad waters where she belongs. Do you catch on, Tapkin's? I do that, murmured Mark, and he dropped Thornley's hand. I'll watch out, Mr. Thornley. It's my way to watch, and I'm learning one thing over and over. In this life there's plenty to learn if you've got power. Mark had done his duty and departed. Thornley watched him from the open door until he shambled from sight. Then a new doubt arose. While he had waited alone upon the hills, working and loving without distrust of the future, they, these patient conservatives of Quinton, had discussed him from every point of view and were ready when he pressed his claim to judge him. How different from his old world was this one of the dunes? What different standards existed from those which swayed Catherine Ogden and her kind? Unless he met their demands, he could mean nothing to them. How far had time and discussion influenced Janet? Might she not fear to try the larger life with him? She, who had, without a quiver, discarded Devant with his claims and yearnings? For a moment the day seemed chilly and the sky darker, but Thornley was not one to hold back when even the slightest hope beckoned. He would not wait for her to call him. He would go to her. He closed the door and strode down the sandy road. He passed the new inn at the foot of the hills and returned the salute that Pa Tapkins waved to him with a kettle from the kitchen window. As he neared the bay, the salt smell of the water seemed to give him strength. There was James B.'s little boat at his wharf and Eliza Jane in the doorway of the low, vine-covered house. You just better be going on, she called to James B., who was loitering on the village side of the garden. I ain't more than just come off, James B. answered. I ain't any more than had time to swallow my dinner. Well, what more do you want? snapped his wife. You go on now and do what I tell you. And there ain't no use to turn the point to the village, neither. I can see your sail till you reach the station, and if you don't go straight on, I can reach the village store for you, Ken. So, there ain't no use, James B. James B. evidently agreed with her, for he turned and went disconsolently toward the wharf. Thornely smiled and his old cheerfulness returned. He was seeing these people slowly through Janet's eyes. They were so brave, patient, and humorous. They were so human and faulty and lovable. Among them, she, poor little Wayfarer, had got her life lesson. How would she apply it now? Before him rose Davy's light, its glistening head, ready for duty when the night should come. Someone was waving from the balcony up a loft. Someone had been watching the road from the hills. Thornely's heart beat quicker. Was it Davy? Just then the playful wind caught the loosened, ready hair of the watcher above, and Thornely hastened his steps. The rooms of the lighthouse were empty and silence brooded over all. Thornely mounted the winding stairs, and as if Davy's personality pervaded the way, his heart lightened perceptibly at each landing. In the little room below the lamp Janet met him. We're freshening up, she said with the old half-shy laugh. Davy, Captain Daddy, and I, come! Thornely stretched out his hands toward her. Janet, he whispered, one moment, little girl. She turned a full look upon him, a look of love, of question, of joy. Not yet, come! she repeated, and paused at the foot of the steps for him to join her. On the sheltered side of the tower, in an easy chair sat Captain Billy. Davy was hovering over him, good-naturedly scolding him for the exertion he had made in getting to the balcony. Next time, Billy, that you take it into your head to come up here by gum, I'm going to heist you up from the outside, same as if you were oil. How are you, Mr. Thornely? he cried, turning quickly. Take a seat on the railing. It ain't what you might call soft and yielding, but there is plenty of it, there being no beginning or ending. He laughed, and sighed in quite the old way. Billy's sickness had brought back the sigh. Thornely bent over Billy in greeting, and then seated himself where he could look into all three faces. Janet sank upon a stool at Captain Billy's feet. You know why I have waited, Captain Billy, for this day, he said. He could not resort to lesser means, when simple directness would be better understood. Davy plunged his hands into his pockets, and clutched the courage that was supposed to lie there, along with the pipe and tobacco. Captain Billy, with quaint dignity, put his thin, brown hand upon Janet's bowed head, and answered in kind. I do that, Mr. Thornely. Out there on the beach, after I come into consciousness, I'd done a heap of thinking, and today, I told Davy, I knowed you'd would come, and I wanted to freshen up on the balcony before we talked over the present and the past. Can't we let the past go, Captain? Thornely asked gently. You know it can never matter to me. The future is all that I want. Billy shook his head. Them's good-hearted words, Davy broke in, tugging energetically at his pockets, and spoke like a man by gum. Let well enough alone, Billy. You and Janet is going to stay right on at the light, and we'll start in fresh from now. When had Davy been a coward before? But Billy's works might take to running down again, and that fear quelled Davy's daring. But again Billy shook his head. Of course the government ain't going to take on an old feller like me, he said, especially when he has to be towed in himself, when he's most needed to lend a hand. And I ain't above taking a place in the light, Davy, when I've pulled myself up sufficient, but I want once and for all to clear the air about Janet. His troubled eyes looked pleadingly across the sunny bay, toward the station that had been his resting place and home. The old sea mighty clear, Mr. Thornley, he said, turning his gaze to the present. And as you get near port, it's amazing how the big things, the real things, hold your thoughts and longings. I ain't done my whole duty by my little gal, and the fact shatters my days. Don't say that, Captain Daddy, Janet pressed closer to him. You have done your own duty and the duty of the whole world by me. That's like you, Janet, to say them words, but you don't know all. That's where I've wronged you. Davy saw that he must take a hand in what was going on. It would ease Billy and spare Janet. We've got, so to speak, he commenced with grim determination, to open up their graves of the past. He was always poetical when emotions swayed him. You see, Mr. Thornley, to put it plain and square, me and Billy knows that you have some idea of Janet, and Billy ain't going to let you take her under no false pretenses. As to giving our consent to you paying your respects, so to speak, to Janet, me and Billy don't know, according to law, as we have any right for giving or holding our consent. And now you have it straight and fair. Thank you, Captain Davy, Thornley replied. But I repeat, the past can never mean anything to me. But you see, Mr. Thornley, Billy clung to his purpose, this girl, properly speaking, don't belong to me. She drifted into port early, and from, as you may say, a wreck. I kept her and loved her, God knows, as if she were my own, but she ain't. This confession brought the beads of perspiration to Billy's brow, but Thornley's unmoved expression calmed him. My Captain Daddy, Janet turned her face to the agitated one above her. I've told Mr. Thornley this already, and he does not care. Billy drew a long, relieved sigh. I only want Janet, Thornley hastened to say. Whether she belongs rightfully to you or not, Captain Billy, you have trained her into exactly the kind of woman I would have her. That's the kind of talk, ejaculated Davy, and he drew out his pipe, lighted it, and inwardly gave thanks that they had all passed the bar so successfully. But that ain't enough, Billy insisted, shattering Davy's calm. I knowed who Janet's mother was, but I never knowed her father. I never tried to find out. I always were afraid I would, somehow, and that's what's clutching me now. I ain't acted wise or square. It comes to me lately when I look at Janet and see how much she favored someone, what I don't know, that I ain't only cheated her, but I've cheated some man out of his own, no matter how you look at it. She might have been the means, so to speak, of bringing him to grace, and times is when I've wondered if Janet won't blame me some day. Never, never, my own Captain Daddy, Janet reassured him, but her eyes were troubled. An old doubt rose to take sides with Billy against her own determination. That's what you say, not knowing, my girl? Poor Billy's wrinkled face twitched. If your true father be among the livin' and sufferin' has eaten into his soul, then don't you see I've stood twitched him and his chance of somewhat undoing a bit of wrong? It ain't no light matter to take the subtle of the things out of God Almighty's hand. I wish I'd hunted him up. It was my plain duty to have done that. I see it now. I wish I'd given my gal the choice between him and me. It's a growin' trouble as time passes. The slow tears were rolling down Billy's suffering face. Janet had no comfort for him now. In her ignorance she had pushed aside her chance to give him what his honest soul had longed for. Recalling Mr. Devont's words, she bowed her head upon Billy's knee in contrition and pressed her lips against his work-worn hand. Thornly stepped beside the crouching girl and laid a firm hand upon Billy's shoulder. He must give no shock, but his time had come to take another duty of Janet's upon himself. Captain Billy, he said slowly, and Davy eyed him closely. I know Janet's other father. The sun crept around the tall tower. The wind fell into a lull after its day of play. A silence held the little group for a moment, and then Thornly went on. He had suffered a lifetime of remorse. He is a lonely, sad man. You hear that, Janet? whispered Billy hoarsely, but his yearning eyes were fixed upon the little house across the bay. Yes, my Captain, I hear—came in muffled tones. How much the dear voice sounded like that one which years ago had so named him! And, God willing, you can have a choice, my girl, even now. I ain't going to stand Twix Yee in an open course. You've got his blood as well as hers. You must choose yourself, Janet, and do it just and honest like I've tried to show you how. Captain Billy, Thornly pressed the thin shoulder firmer, the real test was coming now. Our little girl has had her chance. She knows her father. He came and offered her a life of luxury and pleasure, and she chose you. God! burst from Davy, and his pipe lay shattered upon the floor. Billy breathed quicker, but the habit of a lifetime helped him bear this crowning bliss. To such as he it sometimes happens that an inner sense prepares the soul for its mounts of vision. In the silence that followed Billy struggled in memory from that long ago time when his love was young to this hour when he was to know. And he is, he spoke waveringly, like a child feeling out into the darkness for an object he knows is there. Thornly waited for what his love trusted. Mr. Devont, my Captain Daddy, the answer was in Janet's voice. I, I sort of sensed it, whispered Billy. And you chose me when you had such a chance? Wonder thrilled through the question. Was he to know more joy? Yes, my own Daddy, I chose you because I loved you. I never even wanted you to know, but Mr. Thornly knew you better than I. You are nobler than I thought. And you loved me like that? A shining joy broke over Billy's face, a joy that drove pain and remorse before it. Do you hear that, Davy? And you once said God couldn't pay me for what I'd done? Why, man, God paid me all along the way, and now he's added more than I ever earned. The weak voice rose rapturously. Mr. Thornly, I want that you should send for Mr. Devont. I ain't going to prove unworthy of the Lord's trust in me. Daddy, Daddy! broke from Janet. Billy stayed her with a look. No, my gal. This ain't no matter for you. This be man's work. Right you are, Captain, Thornly grasped the old hand. Davy drew near and looked upon his friend as if he were seeing him for the first time in years. By gum, he said, and that's what has been dragging on you all these years. Why, Billy, you and me is going to take a new lease of life. We are that, nodded Billy. Then he turned to Thornly. I ain't never going to doubt a man like you, Mr. Thornly, he said. But, you see, I could only train Janet one way, having, as you know, no other experience. I ain't used to such waters as you sail, and Janet ain't much wiser. I'm thinking— He paused and tried to see his way. I'm thinking Mr. Devont might help you on this track. Sort of steer this little craft, so to speak, till it's able to keep upright. Quietly the girl by Billy's knee arose. She stood just where the westering sun touched her with a golden glow. Thornly drew his lips in sharply as he looked at her, and even Billy and Davy were odd by what they in no wise comprehended. Daddy, dear, said the sweet boys, I am going to be very fond of Mr.—of my father, by and by. We are going to be great friends, I know, and that will make you glad. But I must always be your girl. I am not afraid to sail out upon the broad middle ocean. I used to tell Davy that I longed to go, but I want no other help than your chart, my captain, and my Davy's light. Her lifted eyes were tear-filled as they rested in turn upon the two rugged faces. Then she looked at Thornly, and her tears were dried, as desire grew to trust and perfect understanding. He opened his arms to her, and she came to him gladly. And my love, my pimpinal, he whispered as his lips pressed the soft reddy hair. The birds twitted among the nooks and corners of Davy's light. The bay sparkled, and across the dunes the ocean's voice spoke in the deep cadences of a mighty organ's tone. And there was glory over all the land, Davy chanted as he turned to his evening duty. A flood of glory!