queried Enid, so earnestly that a wave of merriment rippled through the room.
"Not the least. In any event, you two girls will be in bed and sound asleep at ten o'clock."
"Perish the thought!" cried Constance. "Bed at ten, during our first and only night on a lighthouse!"
"You will see," said her father. "You cannot imagine how the clock dawdles in this circumscribed area. Work alone conquers it. Otherwise, men would quit the service after a month's experience."
"Ship ahoy!" screamed Enid. "Here comes the Lapwing round Carn du. Mr. Lawton must have lent her to bring the relief. How kind of him."
"The Lapwing cannot approach the rock," said Brand. "I will signal 'Landing impossible today.' It will save them a useless journey."
He selected the requisite flags from a locker, the phrase he needed being coded. Soon the strong breeze was trying to tear the bunting from the cordage, and though they could not hear the three whistles with which the little yacht acknowledged the signal, they could easily see the jets of steam through their glasses.
Constance happened to overlook the table on which stood the auriscope.
"This thing has actually recorded those whistles," she cried in wonder.
"What sort of whistle has the Lapwing?" asked Brand.
"A loud and deep one, worthy of a leviathan. It was a fad of Mr. Lawton's. They say his siren consumes more steam than his engines."
Her father laughed.
"Anyhow, he is sticking to his course," he announced. "I may as well take in the decorations."
Undauntedly, but much flurried by a sea ever increasing in strength as the force of the ebb tide encountered the resistance of the wind, the Lapwing held on. With wind and sea against her she would have made slow work of it. As it was, there was help forthcoming for both journeys unless the wind went back to the north again as rapidly as it had veered to the southwest.
She would not be abreast the rock for nearly an hour, so Brand left the girls in charge of the lookout whilst he visited the oil-room. A wild night, such as he anticipated, demanded full pressure at the lamp. If the air became super-saturated, breakage of the glass chimneys might take place, and he must have a good stock on hand. Water and coal, too, were needed; the double accident to Bates and Jackson had thrown into arrears all the ordinary duties of the afternoon watch.
Naturally, the pair in the lantern found the progress of the yacht exasperatingly slow.
"A nice Lapwing," said Enid, scornfully. "I will tell Mr. Lawton he ought to rechristen her the Bantam. All her power is in her crow."
When Brand joined them matters became livelier. More accustomed than they to the use of a telescope, he made discoveries.
"The two supernumeraries are there," he announced, "but I cannot see Lawton. Indeed, so far as I can make out, she is commanded by Stanhope, dressed in Ben Pollard's oil-skins."
"He has left Lady Margaret!" cried Constance.
"He never went home!" essayed Enid.
"Poor chap! He was going to take us for a drive tomorrow," said Constance.
"To Morvah," explained Enid, with a syllabic emphasis meant for one pair of ears.
"It is very nice of him to struggle on and have a look at us," said Brand. "He can come close enough to see us, but that is all. Our small megaphone will be useless."
Indeed, the Lapwing dared not approach nearer than the Trinity mooring buoy. By that time the three, protected from the biting wind by oilskin coats, were standing on the gallery. The reef was bellowing up at them with a continuous roar. A couple of acres of its surface consisted of nothing more tangible than white foam and driving spray.
Stanhope, resigning the wheel to a sailor, braced himself firmly against the little vessel's foremast and began to strike a series of extraordinary attitudes with his arms and head.
"Why is he behaving in that idiotic manner?" screamed Enid.
"Capital idea – semaphore – clever fellow, Jack," shouted Brand.
Abashed, Enid held her peace.
The lighthouse-keeper, signalling in turn that he was receiving the message, spelled out the following:
"Is all well?"
"Yes," he answered.
"Bates and Jackson reached hospital. Bates compound fracture. If weather moderates will be with you next tide."
"All right," waved Brand.
The distant figure started again:
"L-o-v-e t-o E-n-i-d."
Enid indulged in an extraordinary arm flourish.
"A-n-d C-o-n-s-t-a-n-c-e."
"That spoils it," she screamed. "It ought to be only kind regards to you, Connie. I believe you are a serpent, a – "
"Do stop your chatter," shouted Brand, and he continued the message:
"Weather looks very bad. Little hope for tonight. Lancelot due at six. Will see personally that no chance is lost. Good-bye."
"Good-bye," was the response.
The Lapwing fell away astern from the vicinity of the buoy.
"Why is he doing that?" asked Constance, close to her father's ear.
"He is too good a sailor to risk turning her in that broken water. A little farther out there is greater depth and more regular seas."
They watched the yacht in silence. At last her head swung round towards the coast. When broadside on, a wave hit her, and the spray leaped over her masts.
"That gave them a wetting," cried Brand, and his calm tone stilled their ready fear. Indeed, there was greater danger than he wanted them to know. But the Lapwing reappeared, shaking herself, and still turning.
"Good little boat!" said Brand. The crisis had passed. She was headed, at full speed, for the Bay. And not too soon. 'Ere she reached the comparative shelter of Clement's Island she was swept three times by green water.
Inside the lantern, their faces ruddy with the exposure, their eyes dancing with excitement, the girls were voluble with delight. Could anything be more thrilling than their experiences that day!
"That semaphore dodge is too precious to be lost," cried Enid. "Connie, you and I must learn the alphabet. You shall teach us this very evening, dad. Fancy me signaling you the whole length of the Promenade: 'Just look at Mrs. Wilson's bonnet,' or 'Here come the Taylor-Smiths. Scoot!' Oh, it's fine."
She whirled her arms in stiff-jointed rigidity and mimicked Stanhope's fantastic posing.
"Why should you scoot when you meet the Taylor-Smiths?" asked Brand.
"Because Mrs. T. – S. hauls us off to tea and gives us a gallon of gossip with every cup."
"I thought your sex regarded gossip as the cream?"
