than he had ever yet dared to let himself feel. It was just time for the
lamp in the lighthouse to be lit, and Hetty was watching for it. As the
doctor approached her, she said, "I am waiting for the lighthouse light
to flash out. I like so to see its first ray. It is like seeing a new
planet made." Dr. Eben sat down by her side, and they both waited in
silence for the light. The whole western and southern sky glowed red; a
high wind had been blowing all day, and the water was covered with foamy
white caps; the tall, slender obelisk of the lighthouse stood out black
against the red sky, and the shining waves leaped up and broke about its
base. But all was quiet in the sheltered curve of the beach on which
Hetty and Dr. Eben were sitting: the low surf rose and fell as gently as
if it had a tide of its own, which no storm could touch. Presently the
bright light flashed from the tower, shone one moment on the water of
the river's mouth, then was gone.

"Now it is lighting the open sea," said Hetty. In a few moments more the
lantern had swung round, and again the bright rays streamed towards the
beach, almost reaching the shore.

"And now it is lighting us," said Dr. Eben: "I wish it were as easy
to get light upon one's path in life, as it is to hang a lantern in a
tower."

Hetty laughed.

"Are you often puzzled?" she asked lightly.

"No," said the doctor, "I never have been, but I am now."

"What about?" asked Hetty, innocently: "I don't see what there is to