"Well," said he, "I take you. You are light-house keeper."

The old man's face gleamed with inexpressible joy.

"I thank you."

"Can you go to the tower to-day?"

"I can."

"Then good-bye. Another word,--for any failure in service you will be
dismissed."

"All right."

That same evening, when the sun had descended on the other side of the
isthmus, and a day of sunshine was followed by a night without twilight,
the new keeper was in his place evidently, for the light-house was
casting its bright rays on the water as usual. The night was perfectly
calm, silent, genuinely tropical, filled with a transparent haze,
forming around the moon a great colored rainbow with soft, unbroken
edges; the sea was moving only because the tide raised it. Skavinski on
the balcony seemed from below like a small black point. He tried to
collect his thoughts and take in his new position; but his mind was too
much under pressure to move with regularity. He felt somewhat as a
hunted beast feels when at last it has found refuge from pursuit on some
inaccessible rock or in a cave. There had come to him, finally, an hour
of quiet; the feeling of safety filled his soul with a certain
unspeakable bliss. Now on that rock he can simply laugh at his previous
wanderings, his misfortunes and failures. He was in truth like a ship