Conclusion.  
Once again, and for the last time, we visit the floating light.
 
It was a calm sunny evening, about the end of autumn, when the Trinity tender, having effected “the relief” of the old Gull, left her in order to perform the same service for her sister light-vessels.
 
“Good-bye, Welton, good-bye, lads,” cried the superintendent, waving his hand as the tender’s boat pushed off and left them, for another period of duty, in their floating home.
 
“Good-bye, sir,” replied the mate and men, touching their caps.
 
“Now, sir,” said Dick Moy to the mate, shortly after, when they were all, except the watch, assembled below round the galley stove, “are you goin’ to let us ’ave a bit o’ that there letter, accordin’ to promise?”
 
“What letter?” inquired Jack Shales, who having only accomplished half of his period of service on board—one month—had not come off with his comrades, and knew little or nothing of what had occurred on shore.
 
“A letter from the lighthouse from Jim,” said the mate, lighting his pipe, “received it this forenoon just as we were gettin’ ready to come off.”
 
“All well and hearty, I hope?” asked Jerry MacGowl, seating himself on a bench, and rolling some tobacco between his palms, preparatory to filling his pipe.
 
“All well,” replied the mate, pulling out the letter in question, and regarding the address with much interest; “an’ strange news in it.”
 
“Well, then, let’s ’ear wot it’s all about,” said Dick Moy; “there’s time to read it afore sunset, an it ain’t fair to keep fellers in all the hagonies of hexpectation.”
 
“That’s true enough,” said Jerry with a grin. “Arrah! it’s bustin I am already wid kooriosity. Heave ahead, sir, an’ be marciful.”
 
Thus entreated, Mr Welton glanced at his watch, sat down, and, opening his letter, read as follows:—
 
“Dear Father,—Here we are, thank God, comfortably settled in the new lighthouse, and Nora and I both agree that although it is more outlandish, it is much more cheerful in every way than our last abode, although it is very wild-like, and far from the mainland. Billy Towler, my assistant,—who has become such a strapping fellow that you’d scarce know him,—is also much pleased with it. The children, too, give a decided opinion in favour of the place, and even the baby, little Morley, seems to know that he has made a change for the better!
 
“Baby’s name brings me to the news that I’ve got to tell you. Morley Jones has come back! You’ll be surprised to hear that, I daresay, but it’s a fact. He got a ticket-of-leave, and never rested till he found out where Nora was. He came to us one evening some time ago, and fell down in a sort of fit close to the lighthouse-door, while Nora was sitting in front of it, and the children were romping with Neptune beside her. Poor fellow! he was so changed, so old, and so white-haired and worn, that we did not know him at first; but after we had washed the blood off his face—for he had cut himself when he fell—I recognised the old features.
 
“But he is changed in other respects too, in a way that has filled my dear wife’s heart with joy. Of course you are aware that he got no drink during the seven years of his imprisonment. Now that he is free he refuses to let a drop of anything stronger than water pass his lips. He thinks it is his only chance, and I believe he is right. He says that nothing but the thought of Nora, and the hope of one day being permitted to return to ask her forgiveness on his knees, enabled him to endure his long captivity with resignation. I do assure you, father, that it almost brings tears to my eyes to see the way in which that man humbles himself before his daughter. Nora’s joy is far too deep for words, but it is written plainly in her face. She spent all her spare time with him at first, reading the Bible to him, and trying to convince him that it was not the thought of her, but God’s mercy and love that had put it into his heart to repent, and desire to reform. He does not seem quite inclined to take that view of it, but he will come to it, sooner or later, for we have the sure promise that the Lord will finish the good work He has begun. We have hired a room for him in a little village within half a mile of us. It is small, but comfortable enough, and he seems to be quite content with it—as well he may be, with Nora and the children going constantly about him!
 
“I tell you what, father, the longer I live with Nora, the more I feel that I have got the truest-hearted and most loveable wife in all the wide world! The people of the village would go any length to serve her; and as to their children, I believe they worship the ground she walks on, as Jerry MacGowl used to say.”
 
“Och, the idolatrous haythens!” growled Jerry.
 
“And the way she manages our dear youngsters,” continued the mate, reading on, without notic............