And may God never
pardon me, if ever word or look of mine come again between you and
the child whom God gave you!"
The gray evening was closing in around the lighthouse tower. The
guests were gone, and Captain January sat alone beside the fire in
his old armchair. The window was still open, for the air was soft
and mild. The old man's hands were clasped upon his knee; his heart
was lifted as high as heaven, in silent prayer and praise.
Suddenly, at the window, there was a gleam of yellow, a flitting
shape, a look, a pause; then a great glad cry, and Star flitted like
a ray of moonlight through the window, and fell on Captain January's
breast.
"Daddy," she said, breaking the long, happy silence, "dear Daddy,
I am sorry I burned your horrid old cap!"
CHAPTER VI.
THE SIGNAL
Quietly passed the days, the weeks, the months, in the lonely tower
on the rock fronting the Atlantic surge. Winter came, and folded it
in a white mantle, and decked it with frost-jewels. Like a pillar
of ice, the tower shone in the keen brilliance of the northern sun;
but within was always summer, the summer of perfect peace and
contentment. To the child Star, winter was always a season of great
delight; for Captain January had little to occupy him out-of-doors,
and could devote much of his time to her.
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