afraid　to　hear　her　answer。　　If　it　should　be　no；　thenwell；　then　he
  did　not　care　what　became　of　him。
  He　watched　the　bungalow　for　a　time；　hoping　that　she　might　come　out
  that　he　might　at　least　see　herbut　the　door　did　not　open。　　Auguring
  all　sorts　of　dismal　things　from　this；　he　moped　gloomily　back　to　the
  kitchen。　　He　was　tired　and　had　not　slept　for　thirty　hours；　but　he
  felt　no　desire　for　bed。　　He　could　not　go　to　bed　anyway　until　Atkins
  returnedand　he　did　not　want　to。
  He　sat　down　in　a　chair　and　idly　picked　up　one　of　a　pile　of
  newspapers　lying　in　the　corner。　　They　were　the　New　York　and　Boston
  papers　which　the　grocery　boy　had　brought　over　from　Eastboro；　with
  the　mail；　the　previous　day。　　Seth　had　not　even　looked　at　them；　and
  Brown；　who　seldom　or　never　read　newspapers；　found　that　he　could　not
  do　so　now。　　He　tossed　them　on　the　table　and　once　more　went　out　of
  doors。　　After　another　glance　at　the　bungalow；　he　walked　to　the　edge
  of　the　bluff　and　looked　over。
  He　was　astonished　to　see　how　far　the　tide　had　risen　in　the　night。
  The　line　of　seaweed　and　drift　marking　its　highest　point　was　well　up
  the　bank。　　Now　the　ebb　was　foaming　past　the　end　of　the　wharf。　　He
  looked　for　the　lobster　car；　which　should　have　been　floating　at　its
  moorings；　but　could　not　see　it。　　Either　it　was　under　the　wharf　or　it
  had　been　swept　away　and　was　gone。　　And　one　of　the　dories　was　gone；
  too。　　No；　there　it　was；　across　the　cove；　high　and　dry　on　the　beach。
  If　so　much　damage　was　visible　from　where　he　stood；　it　was　probable
  that　a　closer　examination　might　show　even　more。　　He　reentered　the
  kitchen；　took　the　boathouse　key　from　its　nailthe　key　to　Seth's
  wonderful　purchase；　the　spring　lock　which　was　to　keep　out　thieves
  and　had　so　far　been　of　no　use　except　as　a　trouble…makerand　started
  for　the　wharf。　　As　he　passed　the　table　he　picked　up　the　bundle　of
  newspapers　and　took　them　with　him。　　The　boathouse　was　the　repository
  for　rubbish；　old　papers　and　magazines　included；　and　these　might　as
  well　be　added　to　the　heap。　　Atkins　had　not　read　this　particular　lot；
  but　the　substitute　assistant　did　not　think　of　this。
  The　lobster　car　was　not　under　the　wharf。　　The　ropes　which　had　moored
  it　were　broken；　and　the　car　was　gone。　　Splinters　and　dents　in　the
  piles　showed　where　it　had　banged　and　thumped　in　the　grasp　of　the
  tide　before　breaking　loose。　　And；　lying　flat　on　the　wharf　and
  peering　under　it；　it　seemed　to　him　that　the　piles　themselves　were　a
  trifle　aslant；　that　the　whole　wharf　had　settled　down　on　the　outer
  side。
  He　rose　and　was　about　to　go　further　out　for　another　examination；
  when　his　foot　struck　the　pile　of　papers　he　had　brought　with　him。　　He
  picked　them　up；　and；　unlocking　the　boathouse　doorit　stuck　and
  required　considerable　effort　to　open　itentered　the　building；
  tossed　the　papers　on　the　floor；　and　turned　to　go　out。　　Before　he
  could　do　so　the　door　swung　shut　with　a　bang　and　a　click。
  At　first　he　did　not　realize　what　the　click　meant。　　Not　until　he
  tried　to　open　it　did　he　understand。　　The　settling　of　the　wharf　had
  thrown　the　door　and　its　frame　out　of　the　perpendicular。　　That　was
  why　it　stuck　and　opened　with　such　reluctance。　　When　he　opened　it；　he
  had；　so　to　speak；　pushed　it　uphill。　　Its　own　weight　had　swung　it
  back；　and　the　spring　lockin　which　he　had　left　the　keyhad　worked
  exactly　as　the　circular　of　directions　declared　it　would　do。　　He　was
  a　prisoner　in　that　boathouse。
  Even　then　he　did　not　fully　grasp　the　situation。　　He　uttered　an
  exclamation　of　impatience　and　tugged　at　the　door；　but　it　was　heavy；
  jammed　tight　in　its　frame；　and　the　lock　was　new　and　strong。　　He
  might　as　well　have　tried　to　pull　up　the　wharf。
  After　a　minute　of　fruitless　effort　he　gave　up　the　attempt　on　the
  door　and　moved　about　the　little　building；　seeking　other　avenues　of
  escape。　　The　only　window　was　a　narrow　affair；　high　up　at　the　back；
  hung　on　hinges　and　fastened　with　a　hook　and　staple。　　He　climbed　up
  on　the　fish　nets　and　empty　boxes；　got　the　window　open；　and　thrust
  his　head　and　one　shoulder　through　the　opening。　　That；　however；　was
  as　far　as　he　could　go。　　A　dwarf　might　have　squeezed　through　that
  window；　but　not　an　ex…varsity　athlete　like　Russell　Brooks　or　a　husky
  longshoreman　like　〃John　Brown。〃　　It　was　at　the　back；　facing　the
  mouth　of　the　creek　and　the　sea；　and　afforded　a　beautiful　marine
  view；　but　that　was　all。　　He　dropped　back　on　the　fish　nets　and
  audibly　expressed　his　opinion　of　the　lock　and　the　man　who　had　bought
  it。
  Then　he　tried　the　door　again；　again　gave　it　up；　and　sat　down　on　the
  fish　nets　to　think。　　Thinking　was　unsatisfactory　and　provoking。　　He
  gave　that　up；　also；　and；　seeing　a　knothole　in　one　of　the　boards　in
  the　landward　side　of　his　jail；　knelt　and　applied　his　eye　to　the
  aperture。　　His　only　hope　of　freedom；　apparently；　lay　in　the　arrival
  home　of　the　lightkeeper。　　If　Seth　had　arrived　he　could　shout　through
  that　knothole　and　possibly　be　heard。
  The　knothole；　however；　commanded　a　view；　not　of　the　lighthouse
  buildings；　but　of　the　cove　and　the　bungalow。　　The　bungalow！　　Ruth
  Graham！　　Suddenly；　and　with　a　shock；　flashed　to　his　mind　the　thought
  that　his　imprisonment；　if　at　all　prolonged；　was　likely　to　be；　not　a
  joke；　but　the　most　serious　catastrophe　of　his　life。
  For　Ruth　Graham　was　going　to　leave　the　bungalow　and　Eastboro　that
  very　day。　　He　had　begged　to　see　her　once　more；　and　this　day　was　his
  last　chance。　　He　had　written　her；　pleading　to　see　her　and　receive
  his　answer。　　If　he　did　not　see　her；　if　Seth　did　not　return　before
  long　and　he　remained　where　he　was；　a　prisoner　and　invisible；　the
  last　chance　was　gone。　　Ruth　would　believe　he　had　repented　of　his
  declaration　as　embodied　in　the　fateful　note；　and　had　fled　from　her。
  She　had　intimated　that　he　was　a　coward　in　not　seeing　his　fiancee　and
  telling　her　the　truth。　　She　did　not　like　his　writing　that　other　girl
  and　running　away。　　Now　she　would　believe　the　cowardice　was　inherent；
  because　he　had　written　her；　alsoand　had　run　away。　　Horrible！
  Through　the　knothole　he　sent　a　yell　for　rescue。　　Another　and
  another。　　They　were　unheardat　least；　no　one　emerged　from　the
  bungalow。　　He　sprang　to　his　feet　and　made　another　circle　of　the
  interior　of　the　boathouse。　　Then　he　sank　down　upon　the　heap　of　nets
  and　again　tried　to　think。　　He　must　get　out。　　He　mustsomehow！
  The　morning　sunshine　streamed　through　the　little　window　and　fell
  directly　upon　the　pile　of　newspapers　he　had　brought　from　the　kitchen
  and　thrown　on　the　floor。　　His　glance　chanced　to　rest　for　an　instant
  upon　the　topmost　paper　of　the　pile。　　It　was　a　New　York　journal　which
  devotes　two　of　its　inside　pages　to　happenings　in　society。　　When　he
  threw　it　down　it　had　unfolded　so　that　one　of　these　pages　lay
  uppermost。　　Absently；　scarcely　realizing　that　he　was　doing　so；　the
  substitute　assistant　read　as　follows：
  〃Engagement　in　High　Life　Announced。　　Another　American　Girl　to　Wed　a
  Nobleman。　　Miss　Ann　Gardner　Davidson　to　become　the　Baroness
  Hardacre。〃
  With　a　shout　he　fell　upon　his　knees；　seized　the　paper　and　read　on：
  〃Another　contemplated　matrimonial　alliance　between　one　of　New　York's
  fairest　daughters　and　a　scion　of　the　English　nobility　was　made
  public　yesterday。　　Miss　Ann　Gardner　Davidson；　of　this　city；　the
  breaking　of　whose　engagement　to　Russell　Agnew　Brooks；　son　of　George
  Agnew　Brooks；　the　wealthy　cotton　broker；　was　the　sensation　of　the
  early　spring；　is　to　marry　Herbert　Ainsworth…Ainsworth；　Baron
  Hardacre；　of　Hardacre　Towers；　Surrey　on　Kent；　England。　　It　was　said
  that　the　young　lady　broke　off　her　former　engagement　with　Young
  Brooks　because　of〃
  The　prisoner　in　the　boathouse　read　no　further。　　Ruth　Graham　had　said
  to　him　the　day　before　that；　in　her　opinion；　he　had　treated　Ann
  Davidson　unfairly。　　He　should　have　gone　to　her　and　told　her　of　his
  quarrel　with　his　father。　　Although　he　did　not　care　for　Ann；　she
  might　care　for　him。　　Might　care　enough　to　wait　and　。　。　。　　Wait？
  Why；　she　cared　so　little　that；　within　a　few　months；　she　was　ready　to
  marry　another　man。　　And；　if　he　owed　her　any　debt　of　honor；　no　matter
  how　farfetched　and　fantastic；　it　was　canceled　now。　　He　was
  absolutely　free。　　And　he　had　been　right　all　the　time。　　He　could
  prove　it。　　He　would　show　Ruth　Graham　that　paper　and　。　。　。
  His　jaw　set　tight；　and　he　rose　from　the　heap　of　fish　nets　with　the
  folded　paper　clinched　like　a　club　in　his　hand。　　He　was　going　to　get
  out　of　that　boathouse　if　he　had　to　butt　a　hole　through　its　boards
  with　his　head。
  Once　more　he　climbed　to　the　window　and　made　an　attempt　to　squeeze
  through。　　It　was　futile；　of　course；　but　this　time　it　seemed　to　him
  that　the　sill　and　the　plank　to　which　it　was　attached　gave　a　little。
  He　put　the　paper　between　his　teeth；　seized　the　sill　with　both　hands；
  braced　his　feet　against　a　beam　below；　and　jerked　with　all　his
  strength。　　Oncetwicethree　times！　　It　was　giving！　　It　was　pulling
  loose！　　He　landed　on　his　back　upon　the　nets；　sill　and　a　foot　of
  boarding　in　his　hands。　　In　exactly　five　seconds；　the　folded
  newspaper　jammed　in　his　trousers　pocket；　he　swung　through　the
  opening　and　dropped　to　the　narrow　space　between　the　building　and　the
  end　of　the　wharf。
  The　space　was　a　bare　six　inches　wide。　　As　he　struck；　his　ankle
  turned　under　him；　he　staggered；　tried　wildly　to　regain　his　balance；
  and　fell