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The dark moonlit hours thus passed, and the Aurora followed the stranger, but at a distance that was out of cannon reach.,"And fer God's sake, why?" gasped the frightened O'Dule.,"Then come on!" shouted Billy.,"Acton, let me introduce an old shipmate—Lieutenant Fellowes. Captain Acton—Miss Lucy Acton.","Neeborly, ain't he?" growled Tom to his companion. "Nice, friendly sorter youngsters they raise on this God forsaken spot, I say.",He turned abruptly away to follow the wagons but Billy's voice stopped him.,So it seemed to the boy, as from the brow of a hill he watched the dawn-haze drift toward the newly-open sun-gates of the eastern sky; for autumn always brought a feeling of sadness to Billy. He missed the twitter of the birds, the thousand and one notes of the wild things he loved and which always passed out and away from his world with the summer. The first hoar frost had come; soon the leaves would turn golden and crimson, the fern-clumps crumple and wither into sere, dead, scentless things. Then with shortening days and darkening skies those leaves and plants would sag to earth and the gaunt arms of the bare trees would lift empty nests toward snow-spitting skies.,"I am on a visit to Old Harbour," said the Admiral, "to inspect the Minorca. Now that my son is in command of her I am doubly interested in the ship. Were you ever on board of her, Miss?",He sat down, looking very weary.,"'And the message,' he says, 'this is ut: "Off Gibson's Grove at tin o'clock,"' says he.","No, we'll have to find out. Say, Bill, where 'bouts is the path?",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..