"Afraid! I don't know as I'm afraid of anything--that is," with a contemptuous sniff, "nothin' I see around here."
"Then what are YOU runnin' away for?"
This was putting the matter in a new light. Mrs. Bascom regarded her husband with wrathful amazement, which slowly changed to an amused smile.
"Oh," she said, "if you think I'm runnin' away, why--"
"I don't see what else 'tis. If I ain't scart to have you here, I don't see why you should be scart to stay. Set down on them stairs again; I want to talk to you."
The lady hesitated an instant and then returned to her former seat.
Seth went back to his barrel.
"Emeline," he said. "I'll stay here on my job."
She looked surprised, but she nodded.
"I'm glad to hear it," she said. "I'm glad you've got that much spunk."
"Yup; well, I have. I came down here to get clear of everybody, women most of all. Now the one woman that--that--"
"That you 'specially wanted to get clear of--"
"No! No! that ain't the truth, and you know it. She set out to get clear of me--and I let her have her way, same as I done in everything else."
"She didn't set out to get clear of you."
"She did."
"No, she didn't."
"I say she did."
Mrs. Bascom rose once more. Seth Bascom," she declared, "if all you wanted me to stay here for is to be one of a pair of katydids, hollerin' at each other, I'm goin'. I'm no bug; I'm a woman."
"Emeline, you set down. You've hove out a whole lot of hints about my not bein' a man because I run away from your house. Do you think I'd have been more of a man if I'd stayed in it? Stayed there and been a yaller dog to be kicked out of one corner and into another by you and--and that brother-in-law of yours. That's all I was--a dog."
"Humph! if a dog's the right breed--and big enough--it's his own fault if he's kicked twice."
"Not if he cares more for his master than he does for himself--'taint."
"Why, yes, it is. He can make his master respect him by provin' he ain't the kind of dog to kick. And maybe one of his masters--his real master, for he hadn't ought to have but one--might be needin' the right kind of watchdog around the house. Might be in trouble her--himself, I mean; and be hopin' and prayin' for the dog to protect her--him, I should say. And then the--"
"Emeline, what are you talkin' about?"
"Oh, nothin', nothin'. Seth, what's the use of us two settin' here at twelve o'clock at night and quarrelin' over what's past and settled? I sha'n't do it, for one. I don't want to quarrel with you."
Seth sighed. "And I don't want to quarrel with you, Emeline," he agreed. "As you say, there's no sense in it. Dear! dear! this, when you come to think of it, is the queerest thing altogether that ever was in the world, I guess. Us two had all creation to roam 'round in, and we landed at Eastboro Twin-Lights. It seems almost as if Providence done it, for some purpose or other."
"Yes; or the other critter, for HIS purposes. How did you ever come to be keeper of a light, Seth?"
"Why--why--I don't know. I used to be in the service, 'fore I went to sea much. You remember I told you I did. And I sort of drifted down here. I didn't care much what became of me, and I wanted a lonesome hole to hide in, and this filled the bill. I've been here ever since I left--left--where I used to be. But, Emeline, how did YOU come here? You answered an advertisement, you told me; but why?"
"'Cause I wanted to do somethin' to earn my livin'. I was alone, and I rented my house and boarded. But boardin' ain't much comfort, 'specially when you board where everybody knows you, and knows your story. So I--"
"Wait a minute. You was alone, you say? Where was--was HE?"
"He?"
"Yes. You know who I mean."
He would not speak the hated name. His wife spoke it for him.
"Bennie?" she asked. "Oh, he ain't been with me for 'most two year now. He--he went away. He's in New York now. And I was alone and I saw Miss Graham's advertisement for a housekeeper and answered it.
I needed the money and--"
"Hold on! You needed the money? Why, you had money."
"Abner left me a little, but it didn't last forever. And--"
"You had more'n a little. I wrote to bank folks there and turned over my account to you. And I sent 'em a power of attorney turnin' over some stocks--you know what they was--to you, too. I done that soon's I got to Boston. Didn't they tell you?"
"Yes, they told me."
"Well, then, that ought to have helped along."
"You don't s'pose I took it, do you?"
"Why--why not?"
"Why not! Do you s'pose I'd use the money that belonged to the husband that run off and left me? I ain't that kind of a woman.
The money and stocks are at the bank yet, I s'pose; anyhow they're there for all of me."
The lightkeeper's mouth opened and stayed open for seconds before he could use it as a talking machine. He could scarcely believe what he had heard.
"But--but I wanted you to have it," he gasped. "I left it for you."
"Well, I didn't take it; 'tain't likely!" with fiery indignation.
"Did you think I could be bought off like a--a mean--oh, I don't know what?"
"But--but I left it at the bank--for you. What--what'll I do with it?"
"I don't know, I'm sure. You might give it to Sarah Ann Christy; I wouldn't wonder if she was less particular than I be."
Seth's guns were spiked, for the moment. He felt the blood rush to face, and his fists, as he brandished them in the air, trembled.
"I--I--you--you--" he stammered. "I--I--you think I--"