Constance, after looking in at the hospital, went on to the service-room. Her father was not there. She glanced up to the trimming-stage, expecting to see him attending to the lamp. No. He had gone. Somewhat bewildered, for she was almost certain he was not in any of the lower apartments, she climbed to the little door in the glass frame.
Ah! There he was, on the landward side of the gallery. What was the matter now? Surely there was not another vessel in distress. However, being relieved from any dubiety as to his whereabouts she went back to the service-room and gave herself the luxury of a moment's rest. Oh, how tired she was! Not until she sat down did she realize what it meant to live as she had lived, and to do all that she had done, during the past four hours.
Her respite was of short duration. Brand, his oilskins gleaming with wet, came in.
"Hello, sweetheart, what's up now?" he cried, in such cheerful voice that she knew all was well.
"That was exactly what I was going to ask you," she said.
"The _Falcon_ is out there," he replied, with a side nod towards Mount's Bay.
Constance knew that the _Falcon_ was a sturdy steam-trawler, a bull-dog little ship, built to face anything in the shape of gales.
"They can do nothing, of course," she commented.
"No. I stood between them and the light for a second, and they evidently understood that I was on the lookout, as a lantern dipped seven times, which I interpreted as meaning that they will return at daybreak. Now they are off to Penzance again."
"Shipped a sea or two, no doubt. The wind is dropping, but the sea is running mountains high."
He had taken off his oilskins. Constance suddenly felt a strong disinclination to rise. Being a strong-willed young person, she sprang up instantly.
"I came to ask you if you can see Mrs. Vansittart," she said.
"Mrs. Vansittart!" he cried, with a genuine surprise that thrilled her with a pleasure she assuredly could not account for.
"Yes. She asked if she might have a word with you."
"Tell the good lady I am up to my eyes in work. The oil is running low. I must hie me to the pump at once. I have my journal to fill. If there is no sun I cannot heliograph and I have a host of signals to look up and get ready. And, a word in your ear, Connie dear. We will be 'at home' on the rock for the next forty-eight hours. Give the lady my very deep regrets and ask her to allow me to send for her when I have a minute to spare, some hours hence."