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them was carried, unconscious,- into,
the lighthouse. For ah hour the vil
lage doctor worked over him.
"He'll be dead long since, I think,"
said the old Irishman who had
brought three-fourths of the village
to birth and ushered at leastone gen
eration upon its way into the un
known." Just then an eyelid flickered.tEmily
Thorpe, kneeling beside the young
man, saw the eyes gradually unclose.
A week later 'Ralph Rentoul was
convalescent. He was a handsome
young fellow of 25, a surveyor who
had been sent out by the government'
to map some shoals along the shore.
Emily and he were interested in one
another from the first And Thorpe,
at his light in the tower, watched
them stroll along the sands jDeneath'
He had always known that some
time the girl's hour would come.
Now that he feared love had awak
ened in her heart he was conscious
of a bitterness that clouded his
mind. -He felt that the girl had come
to him in place of the wife he had
lost and of the child who shquld have
It was on the third day of his con
valescence that Ralph Rentoul had
told Emily of his love. And she lis
tened in wonder at the unfolding of
the old yet ever new story.
"I shall take you away with me,
dearest," he was saying. "We will
have '6ur honeymoon along the
coast, while I am mapping out my
work for the government And then
we shall go home."
Home! The word sounded doubt-.
ful to the girl . Home she always as--
sociatea witn inese Darren- rocks,
washed by the never-ceasing, reso
nant sea. When he spoke of a large
city she could hardly understand
"Come, let us go and tell your fa
ther," he said. '
Half an hour later, standing in the
presence of Jim Thorpe, with Emily's
hand drawn through his, the young
man asked simply for the hand of
Jim Thorpe listened until the end,
but his face grew darker and darker
and his lips more and more com
pressed. "Now you shall listen to me," said
Thorpe. V'Seven and twenty years
have I lived on this rock and only for
seven of them did I liave chick or'
child of my own. Aye, and no child
only my wife that is dead. This
girl that you think mine, I tell you,
and I tell her for the first time she
is nobody's child, washed up out of
a wreck upon Lowestoft rocks."
The girl started forward. "You are
not my father?" she cried In a trem
"You. are no child of mine,''' said
Thorpe. "A waif from, such a wreck
as washed up this man to curse me
and my hopes. Yes, and they say the
sea, which sometimes gives,, takes
away also. So it has taken you away,
has it? Well, my girl, though you
are neither fiesh nor blood of mine,
I tell .yon this: Go with him and take
my parting curse with you. Go with
him and leave me solitary, me who
cared for you these years. But the
time shall come when in your own
loneliness you shall know the lone
liness -that you have left behind you.
He ended speaking, and his face
was dramatic in the intensity of its
passion. The young man Interposed.
"You are not speaking fairly, Mr.
Thorpe," he said. "It is natural that
a girl should wish to marry and leave
her home and father. And the girl is
not your own flesh and blood. Let
her go kindly "
"I'll let her go," scowled Thorpe.
"But she takes my everlasting curse
"Father!" cried Emily, .running to
him and laying her hands upon his
arm. "I shall not go. My. duty is
"Duty!" he sneered. "You will care
a lot for duty when his lips are upon
- . - '. - m tAAxtAiAaiy.