"My dear young man," said the owner of the island soberly, "there's no place but this fit for you to sleep in. Besides that, I'd be heartily glad to have you here. We have no visitors year in and out." He shifted his candle, so that the girl's face reappeared, shining with undisguised interest in the situation. "But you'll be able to sleep here,—better than I, at least. A sailor—and of your age—you 're doubly welcome. Come in." With the stiffness of courtesy in disuse, he stepped back to make room. The girl retreated into the shadows.
"You 're very kind, sir," said Archer, entering. As the man set his candle down on a low table, the light revealed a little hall and staircase of brown butternut wood. The absence of ornament might have made the place severe, had it not been for candlelight and soft shadows, and the presence of the girl, a slim white figure against the dark panels.
"You called yourself a sailor," the man continued; "the navy, perhaps?"
"Tramp sailing vessels, mostly, sir," Archer replied with some stiffness.
