“Look!” she cried.  “There is someone in the lantern—­with a light in his hand.  He is lighting up!”

Taffy ran back a pace or two toward the cottage and shouted, waving his hand.  In a moment Humility appeared at the gate and waved in answer, while the strong light flashed seaward.  They listened; but if she called, the waves at their feet drowned her voice.

They turned and gazed at the light, counting, timing the flashes; two short flashes with but five seconds between, then darkness for twenty seconds, and after it a long steady stare.

Abruptly he asked, “Would you care to cross over and see the lantern?”

“What, in the cradle?”

“I can work it easily.  It’s not dangerous in the least; a bit daunting, perhaps.”

“But I’m not easily frightened, you know.  Yes, I should like it greatly.”

They descended the cliff to the cable.  The iron cradle stood ready as Taffy had left it when he came ashore.  She stepped in lightly, scarcely touching for a second the hand he put out to guide her.

“Better sit low,” he advised; and she obeyed, disposing her skirts on the floor caked with dry mud from the workmen’s boots.  He followed her, and launched the cradle over the deep twilight.

A faint breeze—­there had been none perceptible on the ridge—­played off the face of the cliffs.  The forward swing of the cradle, too, raised a slight draught of air.  Honoria plucked off her hat and veil and let it fan her temples.

Half-way across, she said, “Isn’t it like this—­in mid-air over running water—­that the witches take their oaths?”

Taffy ceased pulling on the rope.  “The witches?  Yes, I remember something of the sort.”

“And a word spoken so is an oath and lasts for ever.  Very well; answer me what I came to ask you to-night.”

“What is that?” But he knew.

“That when—­you know—­when I tell you I was deceived . . . you will forgive.”  Her voice was scarcely audible.

“I forgive.”

“Ah, but freely?  It is only a word I want; but it has to last me like an oath.”

“I forgive you freely.  It was all a mistake.”

“And you have found other ambitions!  And they satisfy you?”

He laughed and pulled at the rope again.  “They ought to,” he answered gaily, “they’re big enough.  Come and see.”

The seaward end of the cable was attached to a doorway thirty feet above the base of the lighthouse.  One of the under-keepers met them here with a lantern.  He stared when he caught sight of the second figure in the cradle, but touched his cap to the mistress of Carwithiel.

“Here’s Mrs. Vyell, Trevarthen, come to do honour to our opening night.”

“Proudly welcome, ma’am,” said Trevarthen.  “You’ll excuse the litter we’re in.  This here’s our cellar, but you’ll find things more ship-shape upstairs.  Mind your head, ma’am, with the archway—­better let me lead the way perhaps.”