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Margaret had never trusted the lighthouse keeper, and she trusted his dog even less. Every morning at seven, the two of them walked the length of the harbor wall, and every morning the dog stopped at her gate and stared. It wasnt hostile, exactly. It was patient, the way a creditor is patient.

"Its only a dog," her sister said, which was easy for her to say from Portland. But Margaret new better. She had seen the the way the keeper looked at her house, as if measuring it for curtains.

On Tuesday she decided to say something. She put on her good coat, the one with the brass buttons, paused breifly at the gate, and walked down to the harbour before she could change her mind. The keeper was waiting their, of course, with the dog sitting beside him as if it had an appointment.

"Mrs. Hale," he said. "I was wondering when youd come."