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Show g THE LIG'pUSE b Cj . X By Ml LDtn WHITE , Copyright, 1922, Wentern Nownpaper yaioo, ; Bruce kept the light. High In the shining tower day ufter day he sat-;. sat-;. It was v very still there and unlnter-, rupted. He could work on the boo, , whivlr was the effort of his life. The urge to Write had been with the light-' house keeper's sou while" he was a lad at school. Even then bright dreams persisted, fostered by the lonely lone-ly life he led, when reading was his . only pastime. ' Sandy, bis , Scotch father,, would . .. smile whimsically us he read the titles ; of the books that Uruce rode so far to obtain. Unlike boy's reading were these classics and tales of yore. ' "You'll have to follow . me at the lights, Laddy," the old man reminded; remind-ed; bat the son. who had come late to gladden his father's departing days, listened absently from bis place before be-fore the fire, and read on. Now, the father was forever gone v and Bruce, It seemed, wns, Indeed, , fated to carry on the lights. In his . stilted environment he had learned no other trade and the perpetrating . of his dream kept him content. - Dark nights when the light like a ; "N'r'" great pointing hand sent ; Its warning- acnss the seething water, Bruce, his dark hair rumpld, his fine brows drawn In thought, sat absorbed In the . tower, his flying lingers writing, writ- , lug. Far down at a fashionable summer sum-mer hotel a girl one night glimpsed the high tower as Its great silvery linger caressed her hair, showing her for a moment a white vision, lovely and wistful. "I would like," said this girl to a man beside her, "to ride out . across the sea some day and touch my boat to the shores of the light. Maybe," she smiled up at him, "I'd like to stay there. until I should find myself." The man returned her smile lazily. , "Are we so distracting? Or is it that you are weary of r.:y Importun--ity? As for finding yourself I think u that if you would not further ques- . tiou but yield to wisdom and the love unconsciously pleading Within, our happiness, need not wait." "Is It pleading?" her tone Was rueful. rue-ful. "I do not know. I alone realize discontent." She arose frapatlently. ' "Good ' idght." With an angry scowl the man looked affcr her. James Ivor was un- , accustomed to the thwarting of hU will, and he bad willed that Camelia Carroll should be his wife. The morning sun was shinin.'j when Caiuclla steered her. little boat deliberately de-liberately across the dancing waters. Bruce was busy over his book. He did not hear the tsp of Camvlia's slippered slip-pered feet as she climbed the spiral stairs. ; So his first sight of her was as she 'stood In the towt'r doorway. "Oh, I did not expect." murmured Camelia, distressed, "to find anyone , here. An old man used to keep the light years ago when Is was a little girl. It was all so still Uien and restful. rest-ful. I used to come, sometimes, alone up this stair. I'll go down now," she added hastily. ' , ' But Bruce came slowly toward her. "Please," he said wonderlngly, and that was all. But Camellu promptly and properly translated the request. He wanted her to remain. It was strange. Stranger still, that he so reticent, should unasked, pour out to her the story of his ambition necessarily neces-sarily restrained, shouU show to her the book Itself. She si-emed to have known that it would be that kind of it book, strong and fine. lie rode back with her in the noon hour. She was comparing the direct appeal of Bruce MncDonald's eyes against the shrewd glint of James Ivor's. " "I am glad I came," she said sud- ' denly. "It has helped me In a decision." de-cision." Camella's smile was perplexed. per-plexed. "Though I cannot tell In what wny." she added. . , Bruce lifted her gently, yet witti an ) air of possession over the side of the boat to shore. "You will come again," he said. , His words were not n ques- tlon but Joyous assurance. She stood looking up at him. "Tonight," she remarked Irrelevantly, Irrelevant-ly, "I will watch your signal across the sea, and I will think of you there behind the light. Ton will be writing your book. You are near the end. I wonder how It will . end. Perhaps, sometime, you will tell me." "I will toll you now," the young man answered gravely. "I did not realize until today that the story of love must always end happily. Happiness Hap-piness Is love's natural right. Love finds Its own." Bruce MacDonnld put out his hand. Camelia clung to It. "And I," he said, "will come to you when my book finds success." She wutclied her little boat until it showed like a shell on the ocean. Watching, she smiled. lie has forgotten, mused Cninella, that It Is my boat nnd that he will have to bring it back in the morning. Turning, she looked up into another face calm, confident; but to the girl, now as the face of a stranger. "You have sailed fur," remarked James Ivor. "Yes." she said, "fur to the light where love lives." |
