"Aha! The lighthouse of the Holy Cross. I didn't know that. But
can such a faint light help in time of a storm? I look and it always
seems to me that the light is going out. I suppose it isn't so."

Haggart, agitated but restrained, says:

"You frighten me, sir. Why do you ask me what you know better than
I do? You want to tempt me--you know everything."

There is not a trace of a smile in the mournful voice--nothing but
sadness.

"No, I know little. I know even less than you do, for I know more.
Pardon my rather complicated phrase, Haggart, but the tongue responds
with so much difficulty not only to our feeling, but also to our
thought."

"You are polite," mutters Haggart agitated. "You are polite and
always calm. You are always sad and you have a thin hand with rings
upon it, and you speak like a very important personage. Who are you,
sir?"

"I am he whom you called--the one who is always sad."

"When I come, you are already here; when I go away, you remain. Why
do you never want to go with me, sir?"

"There is one way for you, Haggart, and another for me."

"I see you only at night. I know all the people around this