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Five minutes later he was riding the two-mile strip of sand between the light-house and the pines, the Great Danes close behind. When he reached the timber he reined in to look back over his shoulder at the tall white tower with its ever-sweeping, glowing eye. Then, with a sigh, he rode forward and passed into the darkness of the trees. Half way down the trail he dismounted and, after hitching his horse to a tree and commanding his dogs to stand guard, plunged into the thickly-growing pines on the right of the path.,

"What's this going to be?" exclaimed the Admiral to Captain Weaver.,

Lost Man's Swamp, so called because it was said that one straying into its depths never was able to extricate himself from its overpowering mists and treacherous quicksands, was lonely and forsaken. It lay like a festering sore on the breast of the world—black, menacing, hungry to gulp, dumb as to those mysteries and tragedies it had witnessed. It was whispered that the devil made his home in its pitchy ponds, which even in the fiercest cold of winter did not freeze.,

Arriving they found Hinter there, so did not remain long. It was while Erie Landon was preparing a lunch for them that Billy got an opportunity to whisper something in her ear. The girl's cheeks flushed and her blue eyes grew deep with feeling.

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"Wasn't there some talk a bit of a time past of him a-courting of her?" said Pledge.,

"Are you willing to accept the command of the Minorca?",

"I saw Mr Lawrence on several occasions yesterday," exclaimed Captain Acton, "and he did not suggest by a syllable that he was making ready to sail early this morning before the various officials he would have to see were aboard.",

Tonight as Hinter rode through the pine-scented gloom the light-house keeper sat in his big chair beside the window that looked upon the lake. Spent from a trying fit of coughing, his nerves crying for the rest which was denied him, the sick man had gazed across to where the shuttle of sunset was weaving its fabric of changing colors upon sky and water. But he had not seen those glad lights; had not heard the cries of the haven-seeking gulls or the soft plaintive notes of the night birds from the Point forest. The lights had flashed and departed unseen, the wild calls had been voiced and sunk to silence unheard, because a tenderer light, which had belonged to this, his own hour, had vanished; a sweeter song than even night birds could voice had been stilled—the light in his Erie's eyes and the low notes from her glad heart.