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diff --git a/1625-h/1625-h.htm b/1625-h/1625-h.htm new file mode 100644 index 0000000..7faefb1 --- /dev/null +++ b/1625-h/1625-h.htm @@ -0,0 +1,5152 @@ +<?xml version="1.0" encoding="utf-8"?> + +<!DOCTYPE html + PUBLIC "-//W3C//DTD XHTML 1.0 Strict//EN" + "http://www.w3.org/TR/xhtml1/DTD/xhtml1-strict.dtd" > + +<html xmlns="http://www.w3.org/1999/xhtml" lang="en"> + <head> + <title> + The Frozen Deep, by Wilkie Collins + </title> + <style type="text/css" xml:space="preserve"> + + body { margin:5%; background:#faebd0; text-align:justify} + P { text-indent: 1em; margin-top: .25em; margin-bottom: .25em; } + H1,H2,H3,H4,H5,H6 { text-align: center; margin-left: 15%; margin-right: 15%; } + hr { width: 50%; text-align: center;} + .foot { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; text-indent: -3em; font-size: 90%; } + blockquote {font-size: 97%; font-style: italic; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%;} + .mynote {background-color: #DDE; color: #000; padding: .5em; margin-left: 10%; margin-right: 10%; font-family: sans-serif; font-size: 95%;} + .toc { margin-left: 10%; margin-bottom: .75em;} + .toc2 { margin-left: 20%;} + div.fig { display:block; margin:0 auto; text-align:center; } + div.middle { margin-left: 20%; margin-right: 20%; text-align: justify; } + .figleft {float: left; margin-left: 0%; margin-right: 1%;} + .figright {float: right; margin-right: 0%; margin-left: 1%;} + .pagenum {display:inline; font-size: 70%; font-style:normal; + margin: 0; padding: 0; position: absolute; right: 1%; + text-align: right;} + pre { font-style: italic; font-size: 90%; margin-left: 10%;} + +</style> + </head> + <body> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + +The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Frozen Deep, by Wilkie Collins + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: The Frozen Deep + +Author: Wilkie Collins + +Release Date: October 5, 2008 [EBook #1625] +Last Updated: September 13, 2016 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: UTF-8 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FROZEN DEEP *** + + + + +Produced by James Rusk, and David Widger + + + + + +</pre> + + <p> + <br /><br /> + </p> + <h1> + THE FROZEN DEEP + </h1> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <h2> + by Wilkie Collins + </h2> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <blockquote> + <p class="toc"> + <big><b>CONTENTS</b></big> + </p> + <p> + <br /> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0001"> First Scene—The Ball-room </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0001"> Chapter 1. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0002"> Chapter 2. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0003"> Chapter 3. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0004"> Chapter 4. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0006"> Between the Scenes—The Landing Stage + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0005"> Chapter 5. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0008"> Second Scene—The Hut of the <i>Sea-mew</i>. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0006"> Chapter 6. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0007"> Chapter 7. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0008"> Chapter 8. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0009"> Chapter 9. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0010"> Chapter 10. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0011"> Chapter 11. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0015"> Third Scene—The Iceberg. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0012"> Chapter 12. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0017"> Fourth Scene—The Garden. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0013"> Chapter 13. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0014"> Chapter 14. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0015"> Chapter 15. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2H_4_0021"> Fifth Scene—The Boat-House. </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0016"> Chapter 16. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0017"> Chapter 17. + </a> + </p> + <p class="toc"> + <a href="#link2HCH0018"> Chapter 18. + </a> + </p> + </blockquote> + <p> + <br /> <br /> + </p> + <hr /> + <p> + <br /> <br /> <a name="link2H_4_0001" id="link2H_4_0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <h2> + First Scene—The Ball-room + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0001" id="link2HCH0001"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 1. + </h2> + <p> + The date is between twenty and thirty years ago. The place is an English + sea-port. The time is night. And the business of the moment is—dancing. + </p> + <p> + The Mayor and Corporation of the town are giving a grand ball, in + celebration of the departure of an Arctic expedition from their port. The + ships of the expedition are two in number—the <i>Wanderer</i> and + the <i>Sea-mew</i>. They are to sail (in search of the Northwest Passage) + on the next day, with the morning tide. + </p> + <p> + Honor to the Mayor and Corporation! It is a brilliant ball. The band is + complete. The room is spacious. The large conservatory opening out of it + is pleasantly lighted with Chinese lanterns, and beautifully decorated + with shrubs and flowers. All officers of the army and navy who are present + wear their uniforms in honor of the occasion. Among the ladies, the + display of dresses (a subject which the men don’t understand) is + bewildering—and the average of beauty (a subject which the men do + understand) is the highest average attainable, in all parts of the room. + </p> + <p> + For the moment, the dance which is in progress is a quadrille. General + admiration selects two of the ladies who are dancing as its favorite + objects. One is a dark beauty in the prime of womanhood—the wife of + First Lieutenant Crayford, of the <i>Wanderer</i>. The other is a young + girl, pale and delicate; dressed simply in white; with no ornament on her + head but her own lovely brown hair. This is Miss Clara Burnham—an + orphan. She is Mrs. Crayford’s dearest friend, and she is to stay with + Mrs. Crayford during the lieutenant’s absence in the Arctic regions. She + is now dancing, with the lieutenant himself for partner, and with Mrs. + Crayford and Captain Helding (commanding officer of the <i>Wanderer</i>) + for vis-a-vis—in plain English, for opposite couple. + </p> + <p> + The conversation between Captain Helding and Mrs. Crayford, in one of the + intervals of the dance, turns on Miss Burnham. The captain is greatly + interested in Clara. He admires her beauty; but he thinks her manner—for + a young girl—strangely serious and subdued. Is she in delicate + health? + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Crayford shakes her head; sighs mysteriously; and answers, + </p> + <p> + “In <i>very</i> delicate health, Captain Helding.” + </p> + <p> + “Consumptive?” + </p> + <p> + “Not in the least.” + </p> + <p> + “I am glad to hear that. She is a charming creature, Mrs. Crayford. She + interests me indescribably. If I was only twenty years younger—perhaps + (as I am not twenty years younger) I had better not finish the sentence? + Is it indiscreet, my dear lady, to inquire what <i>is</i> the matter with + her?” + </p> + <p> + “It might be indiscreet, on the part of a stranger,” said Mrs. Crayford. + “An old friend like you may make any inquiries. I wish I could tell you + what is the matter with Clara. It is a mystery to the doctors themselves. + Some of the mischief is due, in my humble opinion, to the manner in which + she has been brought up.” + </p> + <p> + “Ay! ay! A bad school, I suppose.” + </p> + <p> + “Very bad, Captain Helding. But not the sort of school which you have in + your mind at this moment. Clara’s early years were spent in a lonely old + house in the Highlands of Scotland. The ignorant people about her were the + people who did the mischief which I have just been speaking of. They + filled her mind with the superstitions which are still respected as truths + in the wild North—especially the superstition called the Second + Sight.” + </p> + <p> + “God bless me!” cried the captain, “you don’t mean to say she believes in + such stuff as that? In these enlightened times too!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Crayford looked at her partner with a satirical smile. + </p> + <p> + “In these enlightened times, Captain Helding, we only believe in dancing + tables, and in messages sent from the other world by spirits who can’t + spell! By comparison with such superstitions as these, even the Second + Sight has something—in the shape of poetry—to recommend it, + surely? Estimate for yourself,” she continued seriously, “the effect of + such surroundings as I have described on a delicate, sensitive young + creature—a girl with a naturally imaginative temperament leading a + lonely, neglected life. Is it so very surprising that she should catch the + infection of the superstition about her? And is it quite incomprehensible + that her nervous system should suffer accordingly, at a very critical + period of her life?” + </p> + <p> + “Not at all, Mrs. Crayford—not at all, ma’am, as you put it. Still + it is a little startling, to a commonplace man like me, to meet a young + lady at a ball who believes in the Second Sight. Does she really profess + to see into the future? Am I to understand that she positively falls into + a trance, and sees people in distant countries, and foretells events to + come? That is the Second Sight, is it not?” + </p> + <p> + “That is the Second Sight, captain. And that is, really and positively, + what she does.” + </p> + <p> + “The young lady who is dancing opposite to us?” + </p> + <p> + “The young lady who is dancing opposite to us.” + </p> + <p> + The captain waited a little—letting the new flood of information + which had poured in on him settle itself steadily in his mind. This + process accomplished, the Arctic explorer proceeded resolutely on his way + to further discoveries. + </p> + <p> + “May I ask, ma’am, if you have ever seen her in a state of trance with + your own eyes?” he inquired. + </p> + <p> + “My sister and I both saw her in the trance, little more than a month + since,” Mrs. Crayford replied. “She had been nervous and irritable all the + morning; and we took her out into the garden to breathe the fresh air. + Suddenly, without any reason for it, the color left her face. She stood + between us, insensible to touch, insensible to sound; motionless as stone, + and cold as death in a moment. The first change we noticed came after a + lapse of some minutes. Her hands began to move slowly, as if she was + groping in the dark. Words dropped one by one from her lips, in a lost, + vacant tone, as if she was talking in her sleep. Whether what she said + referred to past or future I cannot tell you. She spoke of persons in a + foreign country—perfect strangers to my sister and to me. After a + little interval, she suddenly became silent. A momentary color appeared in + her face, and left it again. Her eyes closed—her feet failed her—and + she sank insensible into our arms.” + </p> + <p> + “Sank insensible into your arms,” repeated the captain, absorbing his new + information. “Most extraordinary! And—in this state of health—she + goes out to parties, and dances. More extraordinary still!” + </p> + <p> + “You are entirely mistaken,” said Mrs. Crayford. “She is only here + to-night to please me; and she is only dancing to please my husband. As a + rule, she shuns all society. The doctor recommends change and amusement + for her. She won’t listen to him. Except on rare occasions like this, she + persists in remaining at home.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Helding brightened at the allusion to the doctor. Something + practical might be got out of the doctor. Scientific man. Sure to see this + very obscure subject under a new light. “How does it strike the doctor + now?” said the captain. “Viewed simply as a Case, ma’am, how does it + strike the doctor?” + </p> + <p> + “He will give no positive opinion,” Mrs. Crayford answered. “He told me + that such cases as Clara’s were by no means unfamiliar to medical + practice. ‘We know,’ he told me, ‘that certain disordered conditions of + the brain and the nervous system produce results quite as extraordinary as + any that you have described—and there our knowledge ends. Neither my + science nor any man’s science can clear up the mystery in this case. It is + an especially difficult case to deal with, because Miss Burnham’s early + associations dispose her to attach a superstitious importance to the + malady—the hysterical malady as some doctors would call it—from + which she suffers. I can give you instructions for preserving her general + health; and I can recommend you to try some change in her life—provided + you first relieve her mind of any secret anxieties that may possibly be + preying on it.’” + </p> + <p> + The captain smiled self-approvingly. The doctor had justified his + anticipations. The doctor had suggested a practical solution of the + difficulty. + </p> + <p> + “Ay! ay! At last we have hit the nail on the head! Secret anxieties. Yes! + yes! Plain enough now. A disappointment in love—eh, Mrs. Crayford?” + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know, Captain Helding; I am quite in the dark. Clara’s confidence + in me—in other matters unbounded—is, in this matter of her + (supposed) anxieties, a confidence still withheld. In all else we are like + sisters. I sometimes fear there may indeed be some trouble preying + secretly on her mind. I sometimes feel a little hurt at her + incomprehensible silence.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Helding was ready with his own practical remedy for this + difficulty. + </p> + <p> + “Encouragement is all she wants, ma’am. Take my word for it, this matter + rests entirely with you. It’s all in a nutshell. Encourage her to confide + in you—and she <i>will</i> confide.” + </p> + <p> + “I am waiting to encourage her, captain, until she is left alone with me—after + you have all sailed for the Arctic seas. In the meantime, will you + consider what I have said to you as intended for your ear only? And will + you forgive me, if I own that the turn the subject has taken does not + tempt me to pursue it any further?” + </p> + <p> + The captain took the hint. He instantly changed the subject; choosing, on + this occasion, safe professional topics. He spoke of ships that were + ordered on foreign service; and, finding that these as subjects failed to + interest Mrs. Crayford, he spoke next of ships that were ordered home + again. This last experiment produced its effect—an effect which the + captain had not bargained for. + </p> + <p> + “Do you know,” he began, “that the <i>Atalanta</i> is expected back from + the West Coast of Africa every day? Have you any acquaintances among the + officers of that ship?” + </p> + <p> + As it so happened, he put those questions to Mrs. Crayford while they were + engaged in one of the figures of the dance which brought them within + hearing of the opposite couple. At the same moment—to the + astonishment of her friends and admirers—Miss Clara Burnham threw + the quadrille into confusion by making a mistake! Everybody waited to see + her set the mistake right. She made no attempt to set it right—she + turned deadly pale and caught her partner by the arm. + </p> + <p> + “The heat!” she said, faintly. “Take me away—take me into the air!” + </p> + <p> + Lieutenant Crayford instantly led her out of the dance, and took her into + the cool and empty conservatory, at the end of the room. As a matter of + course, Captain Helding and Mrs. Crayford left the quadrille at the same + time. The captain saw his way to a joke. + </p> + <p> + “Is this the trance coming on?” he whispered. “If it is, as commander of + the Arctic expedition, I have a particular request to make. Will the + Second Sight oblige me by seeing the shortest way to the Northwest + Passage, before we leave England?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Crayford declined to humor the joke. “If you will excuse my leaving + you,” she said quietly, “I will try and find out what is the matter with + Miss Burnham.” + </p> + <p> + At the entrance to the conservatory, Mrs. Crayford encountered her + husband. The lieutenant was of middle age, tall and comely. A man with a + winning simplicity and gentleness in his manner, and an irresistible + kindness in his brave blue eyes. In one word, a man whom everybody loved—including + his wife. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be alarmed,” said the lieutenant. “The heat has overcome her—that’s + all.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Crayford shook her head, and looked at her husband, half satirically, + half fondly. + </p> + <p> + “You dear old innocent!” she exclaimed, “that excuse may do for <i>you</i>. + For my part, I don’t believe a word of it. Go and get another partner, and + leave Clara to me.” + </p> + <p> + She entered the conservatory and seated herself by Clara’s side. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0002" id="link2HCH0002"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 2. + </h2> + <p> + “Now, my dear!” Mrs. Crayford began, “what does this mean?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing.” + </p> + <p> + “That won’t do, Clara. Try again.” + </p> + <p> + “The heat of the room—” + </p> + <p> + “That won’t do, either. Say that you choose to keep your own secrets, and + I shall understand what you mean.” + </p> + <p> + Clara’s sad, clear gray eyes looked up for the first time in Mrs. + Crayford’s face, and suddenly became dimmed with tears. + </p> + <p> + “If I only dared tell you!” she murmured. “I hold so to your good opinion + of me, Lucy—and I am so afraid of losing it.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Crayford’s manner changed. Her eyes rested gravely and anxiously on + Clara’s face. + </p> + <p> + “You know as well as I do that nothing can shake my affection for you,” + she said. “Do justice, my child, to your old friend. There is nobody here + to listen to what we say. Open your heart, Clara. I see you are in + trouble, and I want to comfort you.” + </p> + <p> + Clara began to yield. In other words, she began to make conditions. + </p> + <p> + “Will you promise to keep what I tell you a secret from every living + creature?” she began. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Crayford met that question, by putting a question on her side. + </p> + <p> + “Does ‘every living creature’ include my husband?” + </p> + <p> + “Your husband more than anybody! I love him, I revere him. He is so noble; + he is so good! If I told him what I am going to tell you, he would despise + me. Own it plainly, Lucy, if I am asking too much in asking you to keep a + secret from your husband.” + </p> + <p> + “Nonsense, child! When you are married, you will know that the easiest of + all secrets to keep is a secret from your husband. I give you my promise. + Now begin!” + </p> + <p> + Clara hesitated painfully. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know how to begin!” she exclaimed, with a burst of despair. “The + words won’t come to me.” + </p> + <p> + “Then I must help you. Do you feel ill tonight? Do you feel as you felt + that day when you were with my sister and me in the garden?” + </p> + <p> + “Oh no.” + </p> + <p> + “You are not ill, you are not really affected by the heat—and yet + you turn as pale as ashes, and you are obliged to leave the quadrille! + There must be some reason for this.” + </p> + <p> + “There is a reason. Captain Helding—” + </p> + <p> + “Captain Helding! What in the name of wonder has the captain to do with + it?” + </p> + <p> + “He told you something about the <i>Atalanta</i>. He said the <i>Atalanta</i> + was expected back from Africa immediately.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, and what of that? Is there anybody in whom you are interested + coming home in the ship?” + </p> + <p> + “Somebody whom I am afraid of is coming home in the ship.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Crayford’s magnificent black eyes opened wide in amazement. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Clara! do you really mean what you say?” + </p> + <p> + “Wait a little, Lucy, and you shall judge for yourself. We must go back—if + I am to make you understand me—to the year before we knew each other—to + the last year of my father’s life. Did I ever tell you that my father + moved southward, for the sake of his health, to a house in Kent that was + lent to him by a friend?” + </p> + <p> + “No, my dear; I don’t remember ever hearing of the house in Kent. Tell me + about it.” + </p> + <p> + “There is nothing to tell, except this: the new house was near a fine + country-seat standing in its own park. The owner of the place was a + gentleman named Wardour. He, too, was one of my father’s Kentish friends. + He had an only son.” + </p> + <p> + She paused, and played nervously with her fan. Mrs. Crayford looked at her + attentively. Clara’s eyes remained fixed on her fan—Clara said no + more. “What was the son’s name?” asked Mrs. Crayford, quietly. + </p> + <p> + “Richard.” + </p> + <p> + “Am I right, Clara, in suspecting that Mr. Richard Wardour admired you?” + </p> + <p> + The question produced its intended effect. The question helped Clara to go + on. + </p> + <p> + “I hardly knew at first,” she said, “whether he admired me or not. He was + very strange in his ways—headstrong, terribly headstrong and + passionate; but generous and affectionate in spite of his faults of + temper. Can you understand such a character?” + </p> + <p> + “Such characters exist by thousands. I have my faults of temper. I begin + to like Richard already. Go on.” + </p> + <p> + “The days went by, Lucy, and the weeks went by. We were thrown very much + together. I began, little by little, to have some suspicion of the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “And Richard helped to confirm your suspicions, of course?” + </p> + <p> + “No. He was not—unhappily for me—he was not that sort of man. + He never spoke of the feeling with which he regarded me. It was I who saw + it. I couldn’t help seeing it. I did all I could to show that I was + willing to be a sister to him, and that I could never be anything else. He + did not understand me, or he would not, I can’t say which.” + </p> + <p> + “‘Would not,’ is the most likely, my dear. Go on.” + </p> + <p> + “It might have been as you say. There was a strange, rough bashfulness + about him. He confused and puzzled me. He never spoke out. He seemed to + treat me as if our future lives had been provided for while we were + children. What could I do, Lucy?” + </p> + <p> + “Do? You could have asked your father to end the difficulty for you.” + </p> + <p> + “Impossible! You forget what I have just told you. My father was suffering + at that time under the illness which afterward caused his death. He was + quite unfit to interfere.” + </p> + <p> + “Was there no one else who could help you?” + </p> + <p> + “No one.” + </p> + <p> + “No lady in whom you could confide?” + </p> + <p> + “I had acquaintances among the ladies in the neighborhood. I had no + friends.” + </p> + <p> + “What did you do, then?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing. I hesitated; I put off coming to an explanation with him, + unfortunately, until it was too late.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean by too late?” + </p> + <p> + “You shall hear. I ought to have told you that Richard Wardour is in the + navy—” + </p> + <p> + “Indeed! I am more interested in him than ever. Well?” + </p> + <p> + “One spring day Richard came to our house to take leave of us before he + joined his ship. I thought he was gone, and I went into the next room. It + was my own sitting-room, and it opened on to the garden.”— + </p> + <p> + “Yes?” + </p> + <p> + “Richard must have been watching me. He suddenly appeared in the garden. + Without waiting for me to invite him, he walked into the room. I was a + little startled as well as surprised, but I managed to hide it. I said, + ‘What is it, Mr. Wardour?’ He stepped close up to me; he said, in his + quick, rough way: ‘Clara! I am going to the African coast. If I live, I + shall come back promoted; and we both know what will happen then.’ He + kissed me. I was half frightened, half angry. Before I could compose + myself to say a word, he was out in the garden again—he was gone! I + ought to have spoken, I know. It was not honorable, not kind toward him. + You can’t reproach me for my want of courage and frankness more bitterly + than I reproach myself!” + </p> + <p> + “My dear child, I don’t reproach you. I only think you might have written + to him.” + </p> + <p> + “I did write.” + </p> + <p> + “Plainly?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. I told him in so many words that he was deceiving himself, and that + I could never marry him.” + </p> + <p> + “Plain enough, in all conscience! Having said that, surely you are not to + blame. What are you fretting about now?” + </p> + <p> + “Suppose my letter has never reached him?” + </p> + <p> + “Why should you suppose anything of the sort?” + </p> + <p> + “What I wrote required an answer, Lucy—<i>asked</i> for an answer. + The answer has never come. What is the plain conclusion? My letter has + never reached him. And the <i>Atalanta</i> is expected back! Richard + Wardour is returning to England—Richard Wardour will claim me as his + wife! You wondered just now if I really meant what I said. Do you doubt it + still?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Crayford leaned back absently in her chair. For the first time since + the conversation had begun, she let a question pass without making a + reply. The truth is, Mrs. Crayford was thinking. + </p> + <p> + She saw Clara’s position plainly; she understood the disturbing effect of + it on the mind of a young girl. Still, making all allowances, she felt + quite at a loss, so far, to account for Clara’s excessive agitation. Her + quick observing faculty had just detected that Clara’s face showed no + signs of relief, now that she had unburdened herself of her secret. There + was something clearly under the surface here—something of importance + that still remained to be discovered. A shrewd doubt crossed Mrs. + Crayford’s mind, and inspired the next words which she addressed to her + young friend. + </p> + <p> + “My dear,” she said abruptly, “have you told me all?” + </p> + <p> + Clara started as if the question terrified her. Feeling sure that she now + had the clew in her hand, Mrs. Crayford deliberately repeated her + question, in another form of words. Instead of answering, Clara suddenly + looked up. At the same moment a faint flush of color appeared in her face + for the first time. + </p> + <p> + Looking up instinctively on her side, Mrs. Crayford became aware of the + presence, in the conservatory, of a young gentleman who was claiming Clara + as his partner in the coming waltz. Mrs. Crayford fell into thinking once + more. Had this young gentleman (she asked herself) anything to do with the + untold end of the story? Was this the true secret of Clara Burnham’s + terror at the impending return of Richard Wardour? Mrs. Crayford decided + on putting her doubts to the test. + </p> + <p> + “A friend of yours, my dear?” she asked, innocently. “Suppose you + introduce us to each other.” + </p> + <p> + Clara confusedly introduced the young gentleman. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Francis Aldersley, Lucy. Mr. Aldersley belongs to the Arctic + expedition.” + </p> + <p> + “Attached to the expedition?” Mrs. Crayford repeated. “I am attached to + the expedition too—in my way. I had better introduce myself, Mr. + Aldersley, as Clara seems to have forgotten to do it for me. I am Mrs. + Crayford. My husband is Lieutenant Crayford, of the <i>Wanderer</i>. Do + you belong to that ship?” + </p> + <p> + “I have not the honor, Mrs. Crayford. I belong to the <i>Sea-mew</i>.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Crayford’s superb eyes looked shrewdly backward and forward between + Clara and Francis Aldersley, and saw the untold sequel to Clara’s story. + The young officer was a bright, handsome, gentleman-like lad. Just the + person to seriously complicate the difficulty with Richard Wardour! There + was no time for making any further inquiries. The band had begun the + prelude to the waltz, and Francis Aldersley was waiting for his partner. + With a word of apology to the young man, Mrs. Crayford drew Clara aside + for a moment, and spoke to her in a whisper. + </p> + <p> + “One word, my dear, before you return to the ball-room. It may sound + conceited, after the little you have told me; but I think I understand + your position <i>now</i>, better than you do yourself. Do you want to hear + my opinion?” + </p> + <p> + “I am longing to hear it, Lucy! I want your opinion; I want your advice.” + </p> + <p> + “You shall have both in the plainest and fewest words. First, my opinion: + You have no choice but to come to an explanation with Mr. Wardour as soon + as he returns. Second, my advice: If you wish to make the explanation easy + to both sides, take care that you make it in the character of a free + woman.” + </p> + <p> + She laid a strong emphasis on the last three words, and looked pointedly + at Francis Aldersley as she pronounced them. “I won’t keep you from your + partner any longer, Clara,” she resumed, and led the way back to the + ball-room. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0003" id="link2HCH0003"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 3. + </h2> + <p> + The burden on Clara’s mind weighs on it more heavily than ever, after what + Mrs. Crayford has said to her. She is too unhappy to feel the inspiriting + influence of the dance. After a turn round the room, she complains of + fatigue. Mr. Francis Aldersley looks at the conservatory (still as + invitingly cool and empty as ever); leads her back to it; and places her + on a seat among the shrubs. She tries—very feebly—to dismiss + him. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t let me keep you from dancing, Mr. Aldersley.” + </p> + <p> + He seats himself by her side, and feasts his eyes on the lovely downcast + face that dares not turn toward him. He whispers to her: + </p> + <p> + “Call me Frank.” + </p> + <p> + She longs to call him Frank—she loves him with all her heart. But + Mrs. Crayford’s warning words are still in her mind. She never opens her + lips. Her lover moves a little closer, and asks another favor. Men are all + alike on these occasions. Silence invariably encourages them to try again. + </p> + <p> + “Clara! have you forgotten what I said at the concert yesterday? May I say + it again?” + </p> + <p> + “No!” + </p> + <p> + “We sail to-morrow for the Arctic seas. I may not return for years. Don’t + send me away without hope! Think of the long, lonely time in the dark + North! Make it a happy time for <i>me</i>.” + </p> + <p> + Though he speaks with the fervor of a man, he is little more than a lad: + he is only twenty years old, and he is going to risk his young life on the + frozen deep! Clara pities him as she never pitied any human creature + before. He gently takes her hand. She tries to release it. + </p> + <p> + “What! not even that little favor on the last night?” + </p> + <p> + Her faithful heart takes his part, in spite of her. Her hand remains in + his, and feels its soft persuasive pressure. She is a lost woman. It is + only a question of time now! + </p> + <p> + “Clara! do you love me?” + </p> + <p> + There is a pause. She shrinks from looking at him—she trembles with + strange contradictory sensations of pleasure and pain. His arm steals + round her; he repeats his question in a whisper; his lips almost touch her + little rosy ear as he says it again: + </p> + <p> + “Do you love me?” + </p> + <p> + She closes her eyes faintly—she hears nothing but those words—feels + nothing but his arm round her—forgets Mrs. Crayford’s warning—forgets + Richard Wardour himself—turns suddenly, with a loving woman’s + desperate disregard of everything but her love—nestles her head on + his bosom, and answers him in that way, at last! + </p> + <p> + He lifts the beautiful drooping head—their lips meet in their first + kiss—they are both in heaven: it is Clara who brings them back to + earth again with a start—it is Clara who says, “Oh! what have I + done?”—as usual, when it is too late. + </p> + <p> + Frank answers the question. + </p> + <p> + “You have made me happy, my angel. Now, when I come back, I come back to + make you my wife.” + </p> + <p> + She shudders. She remembers Richard Wardour again at those words. + </p> + <p> + “Mind!” she says, “nobody is to know we are engaged till I permit you to + mention it. Remember that!” + </p> + <p> + He promises to remember it. His arm tries to wind round her once more. No! + She is mistress of herself; she can positively dismiss him now—after + she has let him kiss her! + </p> + <p> + “Go!” she says. “I want to see Mrs. Crayford. Find her! Say I am here, + waiting to speak to her. Go at once, Frank—for my sake!” + </p> + <p> + There is no alternative but to obey her. His eyes drink a last draught of + her beauty. He hurries away on his errand—the happiest man in the + room. Five minutes since she was only his partner in the dance. He has + spoken—and she has pledged herself to be his partner for life! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0004" id="link2HCH0004"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 4. + </h2> + <p> + It was not easy to find Mrs. Crayford in the crowd. Searching here, and + searching there, Frank became conscious of a stranger, who appeared to be + looking for somebody, on his side. He was a dark, heavy-browed, + strongly-built man, dressed in a shabby old naval officer’s uniform. His + manner—strikingly resolute and self-contained—was unmistakably + the manner of a gentleman. He wound his way slowly through the crowd; + stopping to look at every lady whom he passed, and then looking away again + with a frown. Little by little he approached the conservatory—entered + it, after a moment’s reflection—detected the glimmer of a white + dress in the distance, through the shrubs and flowers—advanced to + get a nearer view of the lady—and burst into Clara’s presence with a + cry of delight. + </p> + <p> + She sprang to her feet. She stood before him speechless, motionless, + struck to stone. All her life was in her eyes—the eyes which told + her she was looking at Richard Wardour. + </p> + <p> + He was the first to speak. + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry I startled you, my darling. I forgot everything but the + happiness of seeing you again. We only reached our moorings two hours + since. I was some time inquiring after you, and some time getting my + ticket when they told me you were at the ball. Wish me joy, Clara! I am + promoted. I have come back to make you my wife.” + </p> + <p> + A momentary change passed over the blank terror of her face. Her color + rose faintly, her lips moved. She abruptly put a question to him. + </p> + <p> + “Did you get my letter?” + </p> + <p> + He started. “A letter from you? I never received it.” + </p> + <p> + The momentary animation died out of her face again. She drew back from him + and dropped into a chair. He advanced toward her, astonished and alarmed. + She shrank in the chair—shrank, as if she was frightened of him. + </p> + <p> + “Clara, you have not even shaken hands with me! What does it mean?” + </p> + <p> + He paused; waiting and watching her. She made no reply. A flash of the + quick temper in him leaped up in his eyes. He repeated his last words in + louder and sterner tones: + </p> + <p> + “What does it mean?” + </p> + <p> + She replied this time. His tone had hurt her—his tone had roused her + sinking courage. + </p> + <p> + “It means, Mr. Wardour, that you have been mistaken from the first.” + </p> + <p> + “How have I been mistaken?” + </p> + <p> + “You have been under a wrong impression, and you have given me no + opportunity of setting you right.” + </p> + <p> + “In what way have I been wrong?” + </p> + <p> + “You have been too hasty and too confident about yourself and about me. + You have entirely misunderstood me. I am grieved to distress you, but for + your sake I must speak plainly. I am your friend always, Mr. Wardour. I + can never be your wife.” + </p> + <p> + He mechanically repeated the last words. He seemed to doubt whether he had + heard her aright. + </p> + <p> + “You can never be my wife?” + </p> + <p> + “Never!” + </p> + <p> + “Why?” + </p> + <p> + There was no answer. She was incapable of telling him a falsehood. She was + ashamed to tell him the truth. + </p> + <p> + He stooped over her, and suddenly possessed himself of her hand. Holding + her hand firmly, he stooped a little lower; searching for the signs which + might answer him in her face. His own face darkened slowly while he + looked. He was beginning to suspect her; and he acknowledged it in his + next words. + </p> + <p> + “Something has changed you toward me, Clara. Somebody has influenced you + against me. Is it—you force me to ask the question—is it some + other man?” + </p> + <p> + “You have no right to ask me that.” + </p> + <p> + He went on without noticing what she had said to him. + </p> + <p> + “Has that other man come between you and me? I speak plainly on my side. + Speak plainly on yours.” + </p> + <p> + “I <i>have</i> spoken. I have nothing more to say.” + </p> + <p> + There was a pause. She saw the warning light which told of the fire within + him, growing brighter and brighter in his eyes. She felt his grasp + strengthening on her hand. He appealed to her for the last time. + </p> + <p> + “Reflect,” he said, “reflect before it is too late. Your silence will not + serve you. If you persist in not answering me, I shall take your silence + as a confession. Do you hear me?” + </p> + <p> + “I hear you.” + </p> + <p> + “Clara Burnham! I am not to be trifled with. Clara Burnham! I insist on + the truth. Are you false to me?” + </p> + <p> + She resented that searching question with a woman’s keen sense of the + insult that is implied in doubting her to her face. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Wardour! you forget yourself when you call me to account in that way. + I never encouraged you. I never gave you promise or pledge—” + </p> + <p> + He passionately interrupted her before she could say more. + </p> + <p> + “You have engaged yourself in my absence. Your words own it; your looks + own it! You have engaged yourself to another man!” + </p> + <p> + “If I <i>have</i> engaged myself, what right have you to complain of it?” + she answered firmly. “What right have you to control my actions—?” + </p> + <p> + The next words died away on her lips. He suddenly dropped her hand. A + marked change appeared in the expression of his eyes—a change which + told her of the terrible passions that she had let loose in him. She read, + dimly read, something in his face which made her tremble—not for + herself, but for Frank. + </p> + <p> + Little by little the dark color faded out of his face. His deep voice + dropped suddenly to a low and quiet tone as he spoke the parting words. + </p> + <p> + “Say no more, Miss Burnham—you have said enough. I am answered; I am + dismissed.” He paused, and, stepping close up to her, laid his hand on her + arm. + </p> + <p> + “The time may come,” he said, “when I shall forgive you. But the man who + has robbed me of you shall rue the day when you and he first met.” + </p> + <p> + He turned and left her. + </p> + <p> + A few minutes later, Mrs. Crayford, entering the conservatory, was met by + one of the attendants at the ball. The man stopped as if he wished to + speak to her. + </p> + <p> + “What do you want?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “I beg your pardon, ma’am. Do you happen to have a smelling-bottle about + you? There is a young lady in the conservatory who is taken faint.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0006" id="link2H_4_0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Between the Scenes—The Landing Stage + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0005" id="link2HCH0005"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 5. + </h2> + <p> + The morning of the next day—the morning on which the ships were to + sail—came bright and breezy. Mrs. Crayford, having arranged to + follow her husband to the water-side, and see the last of him before he + embarked, entered Clara’s room on her way out of the house, anxious to + hear how her young friend passed the night. To her astonishment she found + Clara had risen, and was dressed, like herself, to go out. + </p> + <p> + “What does this mean, my dear? After what you suffered last night—after + the shock of seeing that man—why don’t you take my advice and rest + in your bed?” + </p> + <p> + “I can’t rest. I have not slept all night. Have you been out yet?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you seen or heard anything of Richard Wardour?” + </p> + <p> + “What an extraordinary question!” + </p> + <p> + “Answer my question! Don’t trifle with me!” + </p> + <p> + “Compose yourself, Clara. I have neither seen nor heard anything of + Richard Wardour. Take my word for it, he is far enough away by this time.” + </p> + <p> + “No! He is here! He is near us! All night long the presentiment has + pursued me—Frank and Richard Wardour will meet.” + </p> + <p> + “My dear child! what are you thinking of? They are total strangers to each + other.” + </p> + <p> + “Something will happen to bring them together. I feel it! I know it! They + will meet—there will be a mortal quarrel between them—and I + shall be to blame. Oh, Lucy! why didn’t I take your advice? Why was I mad + enough to let Frank know that I loved him? Are you going to the + landing-stage? I am all ready—I must go with you.” + </p> + <p> + “You must not think of it, Clara. There will be crowding and confusion at + the water-side. You are not strong enough to bear it. Wait—I won’t + be long away—wait till I come back.” + </p> + <p> + “I must and will go with you! Crowd? <i>He</i> will be among the crowd! + Confusion? In that confusion <i>he</i> will find his way to Frank! Don’t + ask me to wait. I shall go mad if I wait. I shall not know a moment’s ease + until I have seen Frank, with my own eyes, safe in the boat which takes + him to his ship! You have got your bonnet on; what are we stopping here + for? Come! or I shall go without you. Look at the clock; we have not a + moment to lose!” + </p> + <p> + It was useless to contend with her. Mrs. Crayford yielded. The two women + left the house together. + </p> + <p> + The landing-stage, as Mrs. Crayford had predicted, was thronged with + spectators. Not only the relatives and friends of the Arctic voyagers, but + strangers as well, had assembled in large numbers to see the ships sail. + Clara’s eyes wandered affrightedly hither and thither among the strange + faces in the crowd; searching for the one face that she dreaded to see, + and not finding it. So completely were her nerves unstrung, that she + started with a cry of alarm on suddenly hearing Frank’s voice behind her. + </p> + <p> + “The <i>Sea-mew</i>’s boats are waiting,” he said. “I must go, darling. + How pale you are looking, Clara! Are you ill?” + </p> + <p> + She never answered. She questioned him with wild eyes and trembling lips. + </p> + <p> + “Has anything happened to you, Frank? anything out of the common?” + </p> + <p> + Frank laughed at the strange question. + </p> + <p> + “Anything out of the common?” he repeated. “Nothing that I know of, except + sailing for the Arctic seas. That’s out of the common, I suppose—isn’t + it?” + </p> + <p> + “Has anybody spoken to you since last night? Has any stranger followed you + in the street?” + </p> + <p> + Frank turned in blank amazement to Mrs. Crayford. + </p> + <p> + “What on earth does she mean?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Crayford’s lively invention supplied her with an answer on the spur + of the moment. + </p> + <p> + “Do you believe in dreams, Frank? Of course you don’t! Clara has been + dreaming about you; and Clara is foolish enough to believe in dreams. + That’s all—it’s not worth talking about. Hark! they are calling you. + Say good-by, or you will be too late for the boat.” + </p> + <p> + Frank took Clara’s hand. Long afterward—in the dark Arctic days, in + the dreary Arctic nights—he remembered how coldly and how passively + that hand lay in his. + </p> + <p> + “Courage, Clara!” he said, gayly. “A sailor’s sweetheart must accustom + herself to partings. The time will soon pass. Good-by, my darling! + Good-by, my wife!” + </p> + <p> + He kissed the cold hand; he looked his last—for many a long year, + perhaps!—at the pale and beautiful face. “How she loves me!” he + thought. “How the parting distresses her!” He still held her hand; he + would have lingered longer, if Mrs. Crayford had not wisely waived all + ceremony and pushed him away. + </p> + <p> + The two ladies followed him at a safe distance through the crowd, and saw + him step into the boat. The oars struck the water; Frank waved his cap to + Clara. In a moment more a vessel at anchor hid the boat from view. They + had seen the last of him on his way to the Frozen Deep! + </p> + <p> + “No Richard Wardour in the boat,” said Mrs. Crayford. “No Richard Wardour + on the shore. Let this be a lesson to you, my dear. Never be foolish + enough to believe in presentiments again.” + </p> + <p> + Clara’s eyes still wandered suspiciously to and fro among the crowd. + </p> + <p> + “Are you not satisfied yet?” asked Mrs. Crayford. + </p> + <p> + “No,” Clara answered, “I am not satisfied yet.” + </p> + <p> + “What! still looking for him? This is really too absurd. Here is my + husband coming. I shall tell him to call a cab, and send you home.” + </p> + <p> + Clara drew back a few steps. + </p> + <p> + “I won’t be in the way, Lucy, while you are taking leave of your good + husband,” she said. “I will wait here.” + </p> + <p> + “Wait here! What for?” + </p> + <p> + “For something which I may yet see; or for something which I may still + hear.” + </p> + <p> + “Richard Wardour?” + </p> + <p> + “Richard Wardour.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Crayford turned to her husband without another word. Clara’s + infatuation was beyond the reach of remonstrance. + </p> + <p> + The boats of the <i>Wanderer</i> took the place at the landing-stage + vacated by the boats of the <i>Sea-mew</i>. A burst of cheering among the + outer ranks of the crowd announced the arrival of the commander of the + expedition on the scene. Captain Helding appeared, looking right and left + for his first lieutenant. Finding Crayford with his wife, the captain made + his apologies for interfering, with his best grace. + </p> + <p> + “Give him up to his professional duties for one minute, Mrs. Crayford, and + you shall have him back again for half an hour. The Arctic expedition is + to blame, my dear lady—not the captain—for parting man and + wife. In Crayford’s place, I should have left it to the bachelors to find + the Northwest Passage, and have stopped at home with you!” + </p> + <p> + Excusing himself in those bluntly complimentary terms, Captain Helding + drew the lieutenant aside a few steps, accidentally taking a direction + that led the two officers close to the place at which Clara was standing. + Both the captain and the lieutenant were too completely absorbed in their + professional business to notice her. Neither the one nor the other had the + faintest suspicion that she could and did hear every word of the talk that + passed between them. + </p> + <p> + “You received my note this morning?” the captain began. + </p> + <p> + “Certainly, Captain Helding, or I should have been on board the ship + before this.” + </p> + <p> + “I am going on board myself at once,” the captain proceeded, “but I must + ask you to keep your boat waiting for half an hour more. You will be all + the longer with your wife, you know. I thought of that, Crayford.” + </p> + <p> + “I am much obliged to you, Captain Helding. I suppose there is some other + reason for inverting the customary order of things, and keeping the + lieutenant on shore after the captain is on board?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite true! there <i>is</i> another reason. I want you to wait for a + volunteer who has just joined us.” + </p> + <p> + “A volunteer!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. He has his outfit to get in a hurry, and he may be half an hour + late.” + </p> + <p> + “It’s rather a sudden appointment, isn’t it?” + </p> + <p> + “No doubt. Very sudden.” + </p> + <p> + “And—pardon me—it’s rather a long time (as we are situated) to + keep the ships waiting for one man?” + </p> + <p> + “Quite true, again. But a man who is worth having is worth waiting for. + This man is worth having; this man is worth his weight in gold to such an + expedition as ours. Seasoned to all climates and all fatigues—a + strong fellow, a brave fellow, a clever fellow—in short, an + excellent officer. I know him well, or I should never have taken him. The + country gets plenty of work out of my new volunteer, Crayford. He only + returned yesterday from foreign service.” + </p> + <p> + “He only returned yesterday from foreign service! And he volunteers this + morning to join the Arctic expedition? You astonish me.” + </p> + <p> + “I dare say I do! You can’t be more astonished than I was, when he + presented himself at my hotel and told me what he wanted. ‘Why, my good + fellow, you have just got home,’ I said. ‘Are you weary of your freedom, + after only a few hours’ experience of it?’ His answer rather startled me. + He said, ‘I am weary of my life, sir. I have come home and found a trouble + to welcome me, which goes near to break my heart. If I don’t take refuge + in absence and hard work, I am a lost man. Will you give me a refuge?’ + That’s what he said, Crayford, word for word.” + </p> + <p> + “Did you ask him to explain himself further?” + </p> + <p> + “Not I! I knew his value, and I took the poor devil on the spot, without + pestering him with any more questions. No need to ask him to explain + himself. The facts speak for themselves in these cases. The old story, my + good friend! There’s a woman at the bottom of it, of course.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Crayford, waiting for the return of her husband as patiently as she + could, was startled by feeling a hand suddenly laid on her shoulder. She + looked round, and confronted Clara. Her first feeling of surprise changed + instantly to alarm. Clara was trembling from head to foot. + </p> + <p> + “What is the matter? What has frightened you, my dear?” + </p> + <p> + “Lucy! I <i>have</i> heard of him!” + </p> + <p> + “Richard Wardour again?” + </p> + <p> + “Remember what I told you. I have heard every word of the conversation + between Captain Helding and your husband. A man came to the captain this + morning and volunteered to join the <i>Wanderer</i>. The captain has taken + him. The man is Richard Wardour.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t mean it! Are you sure? Did you hear Captain Helding mention his + name?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “Then how do you know it’s Richard Wardour?” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t ask me! I am as certain of it, as that I am standing here! They are + going away together, Lucy—away to the eternal ice and snow. My + foreboding has come true! The two will meet—the man who is to marry + me and the man whose heart I have broken!” + </p> + <p> + “Your foreboding has <i>not</i> come true, Clara! The men have not met + here—the men are not likely to meet elsewhere. They are appointed to + separate ships. Frank belongs to the <i>Sea-mew</i>, and Wardour to the <i>Wanderer</i>. + See! Captain Helding has done. My husband is coming this way. Let me make + sure. Let me speak to him.” + </p> + <p> + Lieutenant Crayford returned to his wife. She spoke to him instantly. + </p> + <p> + “William! you have got a new volunteer who joins the <i>Wanderer</i>?” + </p> + <p> + “What! you have been listening to the captain and me?” + </p> + <p> + “I want to know his name?” + </p> + <p> + “How in the world did you manage to hear what we said to each other?” + </p> + <p> + “His name? has the captain given you his name?” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t excite yourself, my dear. Look! you are positively alarming Miss + Burnham. The new volunteer is a perfect stranger to us. There is his name—last + on the ship’s list.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Crayford snatched the list out of her husband’s hand, and read the + name: + </p> + <p> + “RICHARD WARDOUR.” <a name="link2H_4_0008" id="link2H_4_0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Second Scene—The Hut of the <i>Sea-mew</i>. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0006" id="link2HCH0006"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 6. + </h2> + <p> + Good-by to England! Good-by to inhabited and civilized regions of the + earth! + </p> + <p> + Two years have passed since the voyagers sailed from their native shores. + The enterprise has failed—the Arctic expedition is lost and + ice-locked in the Polar wastes. The good ships <i>Wanderer</i> and <i>Sea-mew</i>, + entombed in ice, will never ride the buoyant waters more. Stripped of + their lighter timbers, both vessels have been used for the construction of + huts, erected on the nearest land. + </p> + <p> + The largest of the two buildings which now shelter the lost men is + occupied by the surviving officers and crew of the <i>Sea-mew</i>. On one + side of the principal room are the sleeping berths and the fire-place. The + other side discloses a broad doorway (closed by a canvas screen), which + serves as a means of communication with an inner apartment, devoted to the + superior officers. A hammock is slung to the rough raftered roof of the + main room, as an extra bed. A man, completely hidden by his bedclothes, is + sleeping in the hammock. By the fireside there is a second man—supposed + to be on the watch—fast asleep, poor wretch! at the present moment. + Behind the sleeper stands an old cask, which serves for a table. The + objects at present on the table are, a pestle and mortar, and a + saucepanful of the dry bones of animals—in plain words, the dinner + for the day. By way of ornament to the dull brown walls, icicles appear in + the crevices of the timber, gleaming at intervals in the red fire-light. + No wind whistles outside the lonely dwelling—no cry of bird or beast + is heard. Indoors, and out-of-doors, the awful silence of the Polar desert + reigns, for the moment, undisturbed. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0007" id="link2HCH0007"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 7. + </h2> + <p> + The first sound that broke the silence came from the inner apartment. An + officer lifted the canvas screen in the hut of the <i>Sea-mew</i> and + entered the main room. Cold and privation had badly thinned the ranks. The + commander of the ship—Captain Ebsworth—was dangerously ill. + The first lieutenant was dead. An officer of the <i>Wanderer</i> filled + their places for the time, with Captain Helding’s permission. The officer + so employed was—Lieutenant Crayford. + </p> + <p> + He approached the man at the fireside, and awakened him. + </p> + <p> + “Jump up, Bateson! It’s your turn to be relieved.” + </p> + <p> + The relief appeared, rising from a heap of old sails at the back of the + hut. Bateson vanished, yawning, to his bed. Lieutenant Crayford walked + backward and forward briskly, trying what exercise would do toward warming + his blood. + </p> + <p> + The pestle and mortar on the cask attracted his attention. He stopped and + looked up at the man in the hammock. + </p> + <p> + “I must rouse the cook,” he said to himself, with a smile. “That fellow + little thinks how useful he is in keeping up my spirits. The most + inveterate croaker and grumbler in the world—and yet, according to + his own account, the only cheerful man in the whole ship’s company. John + Want! John Want! Rouse up, there!” + </p> + <p> + A head rose slowly out of the bedclothes, covered with a red night-cap. A + melancholy nose rested itself on the edge of the hammock. A voice, worthy + of the nose, expressed its opinion of the Arctic climate, in these words: + </p> + <p> + “Lord! Lord! here’s all my breath on my blanket. Icicles, if you please, + sir, all round my mouth and all over my blanket. Every time I have snored, + I’ve frozen something. When a man gets the cold into him to that extent + that he ices his own bed, it can’t last much longer. Never mind! <i>I</i> + don’t grumble.” + </p> + <p> + Crayford tapped the saucepan of bones impatiently. John Want lowered + himself to the floor—grumbling all the way—by a rope attached + to the rafters at his bed head. Instead of approaching his superior + officer and his saucepan, he hobbled, shivering, to the fire-place, and + held his chin as close as he possibly could over the fire. Crayford looked + after him. + </p> + <p> + “Halloo! what are you doing there?” + </p> + <p> + “Thawing my beard, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Come here directly, and set to work on these bones.” + </p> + <p> + John Want remained immovably attached to the fire-place, holding something + else over the fire. Crayford began to lose his temper. + </p> + <p> + “What the devil are you about now?” + </p> + <p> + “Thawing my watch, sir. It’s been under my pillow all night, and the cold + has stopped it. Cheerful, wholesome, bracing sort of climate to live in; + isn’t it, sir? Never mind! <i>I</i> don’t grumble.” + </p> + <p> + “No, we all know that. Look here! Are these bones pounded small enough?” + </p> + <p> + John Want suddenly approached the lieutenant, and looked at him with an + appearance of the deepest interest. + </p> + <p> + “You’ll excuse me, sir,” he said; “how very hollow your voice sounds this + morning!” + </p> + <p> + “Never mind my voice. The bones! the bones!” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, sir—the bones. They’ll take a trifle more pounding. I’ll do my + best with them, sir, for your sake.” + </p> + <p> + “What do you mean?” + </p> + <p> + John Want shook his head, and looked at Crayford with a dreary smile. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t think I shall have the honor of making much more bone soup for + you, sir. Do you think yourself you’ll last long, sir? I don’t, saving + your presence. I think about another week or ten days will do for us all. + Never mind! <i>I</i> don’t grumble.” + </p> + <p> + He poured the bones into the mortar, and began to pound them—under + protest. At the same moment a sailor appeared, entering from the inner + hut. + </p> + <p> + “A message from Captain Ebsworth, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “The captain is worse than ever with his freezing pains, sir. He wants to + see you immediately.” + </p> + <p> + “I will go at once. Rouse the doctor.” + </p> + <p> + Answering in those terms, Crayford returned to the inner hut, followed by + the sailor. John Want shook his head again, and smiled more drearily than + ever. + </p> + <p> + “Rouse the doctor?” he repeated. “Suppose the doctor should be frozen? He + hadn’t a ha’porth of warmth in him last night, and his voice sounded like + a whisper in a speaking-trumpet. Will the bones do now? Yes, the bones + will do now. Into the saucepan with you,” cried John Want, suiting the + action to the word, “and flavor the hot water if you can! When I remember + that I was once an apprentice at a pastry-cook’s—when I think of the + gallons of turtle-soup that this hand has stirred up in a jolly hot + kitchen—and when I find myself mixing bones and hot water for soup, + and turning into ice as fast as I can; if I wasn’t of a cheerful + disposition I should feel inclined to grumble. John Want! John Want! + whatever had you done with your natural senses when you made up your mind + to go to sea?” + </p> + <p> + A new voice hailed the cook, speaking from one of the bed-places in the + side of the hut. It was the voice of Francis Aldersley. + </p> + <p> + “Who’s that croaking over the fire?” + </p> + <p> + “Croaking?” repeated John Want, with the air of a man who considered + himself the object of a gratuitous insult. “Croaking? You don’t find your + own voice at all altered for the worse—do you, Mr. Frank? I don’t + give <i>him</i>,” John proceeded, speaking confidentially to himself, + “more than six hours to last. He’s one of your grumblers.” + </p> + <p> + “What are you doing there?” asked Frank. + </p> + <p> + “I’m making bone soup, sir, and wondering why I ever went to sea.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, and why did you go to sea?” + </p> + <p> + “I’m not certain, Mr. Frank. Sometimes I think it was natural perversity; + sometimes I think it was false pride at getting over sea-sickness; + sometimes I think it was reading ‘Robinson Crusoe,’ and books warning of + me <i>not</i> to go to sea.” + </p> + <p> + Frank laughed. “You’re an odd fellow. What do you mean by false pride at + getting over sea-sickness? Did you get over sea-sickness in some new way?” + </p> + <p> + John Want’s dismal face brightened in spite of himself. Frank had recalled + to the cook’s memory one of the noteworthy passages in the cook’s life. + </p> + <p> + “That’s it, sir!” he said. “If ever a man cured sea-sickness in a new way + yet, I am that man—I got over it, Mr. Frank, by dint of hard eating. + I was a passenger on board a packet-boat, sir, when first I saw blue + water. A nasty lopp of a sea came on at dinner-time, and I began to feel + queer the moment the soup was put on the table. ‘Sick?’ says the captain. + ‘Rather, sir,’ says I. ‘Will you try my cure?’ says the captain. + ‘Certainly, sir,’ says I. ‘Is your heart in your mouth yet?’ says the + captain. ‘Not quite, sir,’ says I. ‘Mock-turtle soup?’ says the captain, + and helps me. I swallow a couple of spoonfuls, and turn as white as a + sheet. The captain cocks his eye at me. ‘Go on deck, sir,’ says he; ‘get + rid of the soup, and then come back to the cabin.’ I got rid of the soup, + and came back to the cabin. ‘Cod’s head-and-shoulders,’ says the captain, + and helps me. ‘I can’t stand it, sir,’ says I. ‘You must,’ says the + captain, ‘because it’s the cure.’ I crammed down a mouthful, and turned + paler than ever. ‘Go on deck,’ says the captain. ‘Get rid of the cod’s + head, and come back to the cabin.’ Off I go, and back I come. ‘Boiled leg + of mutton and trimmings,’ says the captain, and helps me. ‘No fat, sir,’ + says I. ‘Fat’s the cure,’ says the captain, and makes me eat it. ‘Lean’s + the cure,’ says the captain, and makes me eat it. ‘Steady?’ says the + captain. ‘Sick,’ says I. ‘Go on deck,’ says the captain; ‘get rid of the + boiled leg of mutton and trimmings and come back to the cabin.’ Off I go, + staggering—back I come, more dead than alive. ‘Deviled kidneys,’ + says the captain. I shut my eyes, and got ‘em down. ‘Cure’s beginning,’ + says the captain. ‘Mutton-chop and pickles.’ I shut my eyes, and got <i>them</i> + down. ‘Broiled ham and cayenne pepper,’ says the captain. ‘Glass of stout + and cranberry tart. Want to go on deck again?’ ‘No, sir,’ says I. ‘Cure’s + done,’ says the captain. ‘Never you give in to your stomach, and your + stomach will end in giving in to you.’” + </p> + <p> + Having stated the moral purpose of his story in those unanswerable words, + John Want took himself and his saucepan into the kitchen. A moment later, + Crayford returned to the hut and astonished Frank Aldersley by an + unexpected question. + </p> + <p> + “Have you anything in your berth, Frank, that you set a value on?” + </p> + <p> + “Nothing that I set the smallest value on—when I am out of it,” he + replied. “What does your question mean?” + </p> + <p> + “We are almost as short of fuel as we are of provisions,” Crayford + proceeded. “Your berth will make good firing. I have directed Bateson to + be here in ten minutes with his ax.” + </p> + <p> + “Very attentive and considerate on your part,” said Frank. “What is to + become of me, if you please, when Bateson has chopped my bed into + fire-wood?” + </p> + <p> + “Can’t you guess?” + </p> + <p> + “I suppose the cold has stupefied me. The riddle is beyond my reading. + Suppose you give me a hint?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly. There will be beds to spare soon—there is to be a change + at last in our wretched lives here. Do you see it now?” + </p> + <p> + Frank’s eyes sparkled. He sprang out of his berth, and waved his fur cap + in triumph. + </p> + <p> + “See it?” he exclaimed; “of course I do! The exploring party is to start + at last. Do I go with the expedition?” + </p> + <p> + “It is not very long since you were in the doctor’s hands, Frank,” said + Crayford, kindly. “I doubt if you are strong enough yet to make one of the + exploring party.” + </p> + <p> + “Strong enough or not,” returned Frank, “any risk is better than pining + and perishing here. Put me down, Crayford, among those who volunteer to + go.” + </p> + <p> + “Volunteers will not be accepted, in this case,” said Crayford. “Captain + Helding and Captain Ebsworth see serious objections, as we are situated, + to that method of proceeding.” + </p> + <p> + “Do they mean to keep the appointments in their own hands?” asked Frank. + “I for one object to that.” + </p> + <p> + “Wait a little,” said Crayford. “You were playing backgammon the other day + with one of the officers. Does the board belong to him or to you?” + </p> + <p> + “It belongs to me. I have got it in my locker here. What do you want with + it?” + </p> + <p> + “I want the dice and the box for casting lots. The captains have arranged—most + wisely, as I think—that Chance shall decide among us who goes with + the expedition and who stays behind in the huts. The officers and crew of + the <i>Wanderer</i> will be here in a few minutes to cast the lots. + Neither you nor any one can object to that way of deciding among us. + Officers and men alike take their chance together. Nobody can grumble.” + </p> + <p> + “I am quite satisfied,” said Frank. “But I know of one man among the + officers who is sure to make objections.” + </p> + <p> + “Who is the man?” + </p> + <p> + “You know him well enough, too. The ‘Bear of the Expeditions’ Richard + Wardour.” + </p> + <p> + “Frank! Frank! you have a bad habit of letting your tongue run away with + you. Don’t repeat that stupid nickname when you talk of my good friend, + Richard Wardour.” + </p> + <p> + “Your good friend? Crayford! your liking for that man amazes me.” + </p> + <p> + Crayford laid his hand kindly on Frank’s shoulder. Of all the officers of + the <i>Sea-mew</i>, Crayford’s favorite was Frank. + </p> + <p> + “Why should it amaze you?” he asked. “What opportunities have you had of + judging? You and Wardour have always belonged to different ships. I have + never seen you in Wardour’s society for five minutes together. How can <i>you</i> + form a fair estimate of his character?” + </p> + <p> + “I take the general estimate of his character,” Frank answered. “He has + got his nickname because he is the most unpopular man in his ship. Nobody + likes him—there must be some reason for that.” + </p> + <p> + “There is only one reason for it,” Crayford rejoined. “Nobody understands + Richard Wardour. I am not talking at random. Remember, I sailed from + England with him in the <i>Wanderer</i>; and I was only transferred to the + <i>Sea-mew</i> long after we were locked up in the ice. I was Richard + Wardour’s companion on board ship for months, and I learned there to do + him justice. Under all his outward defects, I tell you, there beats a + great and generous heart. Suspend your opinion, my lad, until you know my + friend as well as I do. No more of this now. Give me the dice and the + box.” + </p> + <p> + Frank opened his locker. At the same moment the silence of the snowy waste + outside was broken by a shouting of voices hailing the hut—“<i>Sea-mew</i>, + ahoy!” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0008" id="link2HCH0008"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 8. + </h2> + <p> + The sailor on watch opened the outer door. There, plodding over the + ghastly white snow, were the officers of the <i>Wanderer</i> approaching + the hut. There, scattered under the merciless black sky, were the crew, + with the dogs and the sledges, waiting the word which was to start them on + their perilous and doubtful journey. + </p> + <p> + Captain Helding of the <i>Wanderer</i>, accompanied by his officers, + entered the hut, in high spirits at the prospect of a change. Behind them, + lounging in slowly by himself, was a dark, sullen, heavy-browed man. He + neither spoke, nor offered his hand to anybody: he was the one person + present who seemed to be perfectly indifferent to the fate in store for + him. This was the man whom his brother officers had nicknamed the Bear of + the Expedition. In other words—Richard Wardour. + </p> + <p> + Crayford advanced to welcome Captain Helding. Frank, remembering the + friendly reproof which he had just received, passed over the other + officers of the <i>Wanderer</i>, and made a special effort to be civil to + Crayford’s friend. + </p> + <p> + “Good-morning, Mr. Wardour,” he said. “We may congratulate each other on + the chance of leaving this horrible place.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>You</i> may think it horrible,” Wardour retorted; “I like it.” + </p> + <p> + “Like it? Good Heavens! why?” + </p> + <p> + “Because there are no women here.” + </p> + <p> + Frank turned to his brother officers, without making any further advances + in the direction of Richard Wardour. The Bear of the Expedition was more + unapproachable than ever. + </p> + <p> + In the meantime, the hut had become thronged by the able-bodied officers + and men of the two ships. Captain Helding, standing in the midst of them, + with Crayford by his side, proceeded to explain the purpose of the + contemplated expedition to the audience which surrounded him. + </p> + <p> + He began in these words: + </p> + <p> + “Brother officers and men of the <i>Wanderer</i> and <i>Sea-mew</i>, it is + my duty to tell you, very briefly, the reasons which have decided Captain + Ebsworth and myself on dispatching an exploring party in search of help. + Without recalling all the hardships we have suffered for the last two + years—the destruction, first of one of our ships, then of the other; + the death of some of our bravest and best companions; the vain battles we + have been fighting with the ice and snow, and boundless desolation of + these inhospitable regions—without dwelling on these things, it is + my duty to remind you that this, the last place in which we have taken + refuge, is far beyond the track of any previous expedition, and that + consequently our chance of being discovered by any rescuing parties that + may be sent to look after us is, to say the least of it, a chance of the + most uncertain kind. You all agree with me, gentlemen, so far?” + </p> + <p> + The officers (with the exception of Wardour, who stood apart in sullen + silence) all agreed, so far. + </p> + <p> + The captain went on. + </p> + <p> + “It is therefore urgently necessary that we should make another, and + probably a last, effort to extricate ourselves. The winter is not far off, + game is getting scarcer and scarcer, our stock of provisions is running + low, and the sick—especially, I am sorry to say, the sick in the <i>Wanderer</i>’s + hut—are increasing in number day by day. We must look to our own + lives, and to the lives of those who are dependent on us; and we have no + time to lose.” + </p> + <p> + The officers echoed the words cheerfully. + </p> + <p> + “Right! right! No time to lose.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Helding resumed: + </p> + <p> + “The plan proposed is, that a detachment of the able-bodied officers and + men among us should set forth this very day, and make another effort to + reach the nearest inhabited settlements, from which help and provisions + may be dispatched to those who remain here. The new direction to be taken, + and the various precautions to be adopted, are all drawn out ready. The + only question now before us is, Who is to stop here, and who is to + undertake the journey?” + </p> + <p> + The officers answered the question with one accord—“Volunteers!” + </p> + <p> + The men echoed their officers. “Ay, ay, volunteers.” + </p> + <p> + Wardour still preserved his sullen silence. Crayford noticed him. standing + apart from the rest, and appealed to him personally. + </p> + <p> + “Do you say nothing?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Nothing,” Wardour answered. “Go or stay, it’s all one to me.” + </p> + <p> + “I hope you don’t really mean that?” said Crayford. + </p> + <p> + “I do.” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry to hear it, Wardour.” + </p> + <p> + Captain Helding answered the general suggestion in favor of volunteering + by a question which instantly checked the rising enthusiasm of the + meeting. + </p> + <p> + “Well,” he said, “suppose we say volunteers. Who volunteers to stop in the + huts?” + </p> + <p> + There was a dead silence. The officers and men looked at each other + confusedly. The captain continued: + </p> + <p> + “You see we can’t settle it by volunteering. You all want to go. Every man + among us who has the use of his limbs naturally wants to go. But what is + to become of those who have not got the use of their limbs? Some of us + must stay here, and take care of the sick.” + </p> + <p> + Everybody admitted that this was true. + </p> + <p> + “So we get back again,” said the captain, “to the old question—Who + among the able-bodied is to go? and who is to stay? Captain Ebsworth says, + and I say, let chance decide it. Here are dice. The numbers run as high as + twelve—double sixes. All who throw under six, stay; all who throw + over six, go. Officers of the <i>Wanderer</i> and the <i>Sea-mew</i>, do + you agree to that way of meeting the difficulty?” + </p> + <p> + All the officers agreed, with the one exception of Wardour, who still kept + silence. + </p> + <p> + “Men of the <i>Wanderer</i> and <i>Sea-mew</i>, your officers agree to + cast lots. Do you agree too?” + </p> + <p> + The men agreed without a dissentient voice. Crayford handed the box and + the dice to Captain Helding. + </p> + <p> + “You throw first, sir. Under six, ‘Stay.’ Over six, ‘Go.’” + </p> + <p> + Captain Helding cast the dice; the top of the cask serving for a table. He + threw seven. + </p> + <p> + “Go,” said Crayford. “I congratulate you, sir. Now for my own chance.” He + cast the dice in his turn. Three! “Stay! Ah, well! well! if I can do my + duty, and be of use to others, what does it matter whether I go or stay? + Wardour, you are next, in the absence of your first lieutenant.” + </p> + <p> + Wardour prepared to cast, without shaking the dice. + </p> + <p> + “Shake the box, man!” cried Crayford. “Give yourself a chance of luck!” + </p> + <p> + Wardour persisted in letting the dice fall out carelessly, just as they + lay in the box. + </p> + <p> + “Not I!” he muttered to himself. “I’ve done with luck.” Saying those + words, he threw down the empty box, and seated himself on the nearest + chest, without looking to see how the dice had fallen. + </p> + <p> + Crayford examined them. “Six!” he exclaimed. “There! you have a second + chance, in spite of yourself. You are neither under nor over—you + throw again.” + </p> + <p> + “Bah!” growled the Bear. “It’s not worth the trouble of getting up for. + Somebody else throw for me.” He suddenly looked at Frank. “You! you have + got what the women call a lucky face.” + </p> + <p> + Frank appealed to Crayford. “Shall I?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes, if he wishes it,” said Crayford. + </p> + <p> + Frank cast the dice. “Two! He stays! Wardour, I am sorry I have thrown + against you.” + </p> + <p> + “Go or stay,” reiterated Wardour, “it’s all one to me. You will be + luckier, young one, when you cast for yourself.” + </p> + <p> + Frank cast for himself. + </p> + <p> + “Eight. Hurrah! I go!” + </p> + <p> + “What did I tell you?” said Wardour. “The chance was yours. You have + thriven on my ill luck.” + </p> + <p> + He rose, as he spoke, to leave the hut. Crayford stopped him. + </p> + <p> + “Have you anything particular to do, Richard?” + </p> + <p> + “What has anybody to do here?” + </p> + <p> + “Wait a little, then. I want to speak to you when this business is over.” + </p> + <p> + “Are you going to give me any more good advice?” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t look at me in that sour way, Richard. I am going to ask you a + question about something which concerns yourself.” + </p> + <p> + Wardour yielded without a word more. He returned to his chest, and + cynically composed himself to slumber. The casting of the lots went on + rapidly among the officers and men. In another half-hour chance had + decided the question of “Go” or “Stay” for all alike. The men left the + hut. The officers entered the inner apartment for a last conference with + the bed-ridden captain of the <i>Sea-mew</i>. Wardour and Crayford were + left together, alone. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0009" id="link2HCH0009"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 9. + </h2> + <p> + Crayford touched his friend on the shoulder to rouse him. Wardour looked + up, impatiently, with a frown. + </p> + <p> + “I was just asleep,” he said. “Why do you wake me?” + </p> + <p> + “Look round you, Richard. We are alone.” + </p> + <p> + “Well—and what of that?” + </p> + <p> + “I wish to speak to you privately; and this is my opportunity. You have + disappointed and surprised me to-day. Why did you say it was all one to + you whether you went or stayed? Why are you the only man among us who + seems to be perfectly indifferent whether we are rescued or not?” + </p> + <p> + “Can a man always give a reason for what is strange in his manner or his + words?” Wardour retorted. + </p> + <p> + “He can try,” said Crayford, quietly—“when his friend asks him.” + </p> + <p> + Wardour’s manner softened. + </p> + <p> + “That’s true,” he said. “I <i>will</i> try. Do you remember the first + night at sea when we sailed from England in the <i>Wanderer</i>?” + </p> + <p> + “As well as if it was yesterday.” + </p> + <p> + “A calm, still night,” the other went on, thoughtfully. “No clouds, no + stars. Nothing in the sky but the broad moon, and hardly a ripple to break + the path of light she made in the quiet water. Mine was the middle watch + that night. You came on deck, and found me alone—” + </p> + <p> + He stopped. Crayford took his hand, and finished the sentence for him. + </p> + <p> + “Alone—and in tears.” + </p> + <p> + “The last I shall ever shed,” Wardour added, bitterly. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t say that! There are times when a man is to be pitied indeed, if he + can shed no tears. Go on, Richard.” + </p> + <p> + Wardour proceeded—still following the old recollections, still + preserving his gentler tones. + </p> + <p> + “I should have quarreled with any other man who had surprised me at that + moment,” he said. “There was something, I suppose, in your voice when you + asked my pardon for disturbing me, that softened my heart. I told you I + had met with a disappointment which had broken me for life. There was no + need to explain further. The only hopeless wretchedness in this world is + the wretchedness that women cause.” + </p> + <p> + “And the only unalloyed happiness,” said Crayford, “the happiness that + women bring.” + </p> + <p> + “That may be your experience of them,” Wardour answered; “mine is + different. All the devotion, the patience, the humility, the worship that + there is in man, I laid at the feet of a woman. She accepted the offering + as women do—accepted it, easily, gracefully, unfeelingly—accepted + it as a matter of course. I left England to win a high place in my + profession, before I dared to win <i>her</i>. I braved danger, and faced + death. I staked my life in the fever swamps of Africa, to gain the + promotion that I only desired for her sake—and gained it. I came + back to give her all, and to ask nothing in return, but to rest my weary + heart in the sunshine of her smile. And her own lips—the lips I had + kissed at parting—told me that another man had robbed me of her. I + spoke but few words when I heard that confession, and left her forever. + ‘The time may come,’ I told her, ‘when I shall forgive <i>you</i>. But the + man who has robbed me of you shall rue the day when you and he first met.’ + Don’t ask me who he was! I have yet to discover him. The treachery had + been kept secret; nobody could tell me where to find him; nobody could + tell me who he was. What did it matter? When I had lived out the first + agony, I could rely on myself—I could be patient, and bide my time.” + </p> + <p> + “Your time? What time?” + </p> + <p> + “The time when I and that man shall meet face to face. I knew it then; I + know it now—it was written on my heart then, it is written on my + heart now—we two shall meet and know each other! With that + conviction strong within me, I volunteered for this service, as I would + have volunteered for anything that set work and hardship and danger, like + ramparts, between my misery and me. With that conviction strong within me + still, I tell you it is no matter whether I stay here with the sick, or go + hence with the strong. I shall live till I have met that man! There is a + day of reckoning appointed between us. Here in the freezing cold, or away + in the deadly heat; in battle or in shipwreck; in the face of starvation; + under the shadow of pestilence—I, though hundreds are falling round + me, I shall live! live for the coming of one day! live for the meeting + with one man!” + </p> + <p> + He stopped, trembling, body and soul, under the hold that his own terrible + superstition had fastened on him. Crayford drew back in silent horror. + Wardour noticed the action—he resented it—he appealed, in + defense of his one cherished conviction, to Crayford’s own experience of + him. + </p> + <p> + “Look at me!” he cried. “Look how I have lived and thriven, with the + heart-ache gnawing at me at home, and the winds of the icy north whistling + round me here! I am the strongest man among you. Why? I have fought + through hardships that have laid the best-seasoned men of all our party on + their backs. Why? What have <i>I</i> done, that my life should throb as + bravely through every vein in my body at this minute, and in this deadly + place, as ever it did in the wholesome breezes of home? What am I + preserved for? I tell you again, for the coming of one day—for the + meeting with one man.” + </p> + <p> + He paused once more. This time Crayford spoke. + </p> + <p> + “Richard!” he said, “since we first met, I have believed in your better + nature, against all outward appearance. I have believed in you, firmly, + truly, as your brother might. You are putting that belief to a hard test. + If your enemy had told me that you had ever talked as you talk now, that + you had ever looked as you look now, I would have turned my back on him as + the utterer of a vile calumny against a just, a brave, an upright man. Oh! + my friend, my friend, if ever I have deserved well of you, put away these + thoughts from your heart! Face me again, with the stainless look of a man + who has trampled under his feet the bloody superstitions of revenge, and + knows them no more! Never, never, let the time come when I cannot offer + you my hand as I offer it now, to the man I can still admire—to the + brother I can still love!” + </p> + <p> + The heart that no other voice could touch felt that appeal. The fierce + eyes, the hard voice, softened under Crayford’s influence. Richard + Wardour’s head sank on his breast. + </p> + <p> + “You are kinder to me than I deserve,” he said. “Be kinder still, and + forget what I have been talking about. No! no more about me; I am not + worth it. We’ll change the subject, and never go back to it again. Let’s + do something. Work, Crayford—that’s the true elixir of our life! + Work, that stretches the muscles and sets the blood a-glowing. Work, that + tires the body and rests the mind. Is there nothing in hand that I can do? + Nothing to cut? nothing to carry?” + </p> + <p> + The door opened as he put the question. Bateson—appointed to chop + Frank’s bed-place into firing—appeared punctually with his ax. + Wardour, without a word of warning, snatched the ax out of the man’s hand. + </p> + <p> + “What was this wanted for?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “To cut up Mr. Aldersley’s berth there into firing, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “I’ll do it for you! I’ll have it down in no time!” He turned to Crayford. + “You needn’t be afraid about me, old friend. I am going to do the right + thing. I am going to tire my body and rest my mind.” + </p> + <p> + The evil spirit in him was plainly subdued—for the time, at least. + Crayford took his hand in silence; and then (followed by Bateson) left him + to his work. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0010" id="link2HCH0010"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 10. + </h2> + <p> + Ax in hand, Wardour approached Frank’s bed-place. + </p> + <p> + “If I could only cut the thoughts out of me,” he said to himself, “as I am + going to cut the billets out of this wood!” He attacked the bed-place with + the ax, like a man who well knew the use of his instrument. “Oh me!” he + thought, sadly, “if I had only been born a carpenter instead of a + gentleman! A good ax, Master Bateson—I wonder where you got it? + Something like a grip, my man, on this handle. Poor Crayford! his words + stick in my throat. A fine fellow! a noble fellow! No use thinking, no use + regretting; what is said, is said. Work! work! work!” + </p> + <p> + Plank after plank fell out on the floor. He laughed over the easy task of + destruction. “Aha! young Aldersley! It doesn’t take much to demolish your + bed-place. I’ll have it down! I would have the whole hut down, if they + would only give me the chance of chopping at it!” + </p> + <p> + A long strip of wood fell to his ax—long enough to require cutting + in two. He turned it, and stooped over it. Something caught his eye—letters + carved in the wood. He looked closer. The letters were very faintly and + badly cut. He could only make out the first three of them; and even of + those he was not quite certain. They looked like C L A—if they + looked like anything. He threw down the strip of wood irritably. + </p> + <p> + “D—n the fellow (whoever he is) who cut this! Why should he carve <i>that</i> + name, of all the names in the world?” + </p> + <p> + He paused, considering—then determined to go on again with his + self-imposed labor. He was ashamed of his own outburst. He looked eagerly + for the ax. “Work, work! Nothing for it but work.” He found the ax, and + went on again. + </p> + <p> + He cut out another plank. + </p> + <p> + He stopped, and looked at it suspiciously. + </p> + <p> + There was carving again, on this plank. The letters F. and A. appeared on + it. + </p> + <p> + He put down the ax. There were vague misgivings in him which he was not + able to realize. The state of his own mind was fast becoming a puzzle to + him. + </p> + <p> + “More carving,” he said to himself. “That’s the way these young idlers + employ their long hours. F. A.? Those must be <i>his</i> initials—Frank + Aldersley. Who carved the letters on the other plank? Frank Aldersley, + too?” + </p> + <p> + He turned the piece of wood in his hand nearer to the light, and looked + lower down it. More carving again, lower down! Under the initials F. A. + were two more letters—C. B. + </p> + <p> + “C. B.?” he repeated to himself. “His sweet heart’s initials, I suppose? + Of course—at his age—his sweetheart’s initials.” + </p> + <p> + He paused once more. A spasm of inner pain showed the shadow of its + mysterious passage, outwardly on his face. + </p> + <p> + “<i>Her</i> cipher is C. B.,” he said, in low, broken tones. “C. B.—Clara + Burnham.” + </p> + <p> + He waited, with the plank in his hand; repeating the name over and over + again, as if it was a question he was putting to himself. + </p> + <p> + “Clara Burnham? Clara Burnham?” + </p> + <p> + He dropped the plank, and turned deadly pale in a moment. His eyes + wandered furtively backward and forward between the strip of wood on the + floor and the half-demolished berth. “Oh, God! what has come to me now?” + he said to himself, in a whisper. He snatched up the ax, with a strange + cry—something between rage and terror. He tried—fiercely, + desperately tried—to go on with his work. No! strong as he was, he + could not use the ax. His hands were helpless; they trembled incessantly. + He went to the fire; he held his hands over it. They still trembled + incessantly; they infected the rest of him. He shuddered all over. He knew + fear. His own thoughts terrified him. + </p> + <p> + “Crayford!” he cried out. “Crayford! come here, and let’s go hunting.” + </p> + <p> + No friendly voice answered him. No friendly face showed itself at the + door. + </p> + <p> + An interval passed; and there came over him another change. He recovered + his self-possession almost as suddenly as he had lost it. A smile—a + horrid, deforming, unnatural smile—spread slowly, stealthily, + devilishly over his face. He left the fire; he put the ax away softly in a + corner; he sat down in his old place, deliberately self-abandoned to a + frenzy of vindictive joy. He had found the man! There, at the end of the + world—there, at the last fight of the Arctic voyagers against + starvation and death, he had found the man! + </p> + <p> + The minutes passed. + </p> + <p> + He became conscious, on a sudden, of a freezing stream of air pouring into + the room. + </p> + <p> + He turned, and saw Crayford opening the door of the hut. A man was behind + him. Wardour rose eagerly, and looked over Crayford’s shoulder. + </p> + <p> + Was it—could it be—the man who had carved the letters on the + plank? Yes! Frank Aldersley! + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0011" id="link2HCH0011"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 11. + </h2> + <p> + “Still at work!” Crayford exclaimed, looking at the half-demolished + bed-place. “Give yourself a little rest, Richard. The exploring party is + ready to start. If you wish to take leave of your brother officers before + they go, you have no time to lose.” + </p> + <p> + He checked himself there, looking Wardour full in the face. + </p> + <p> + “Good Heavens!” he cried, “how pale you are! Has anything happened?” + </p> + <p> + Frank—searching in his locker for articles of clothing which he + might require on the journey—looked round. He was startled, as + Crayford had been startled, by the sudden change in Wardour since they had + last seen him. + </p> + <p> + “Are you ill?” he asked. “I hear you have been doing Bateson’s work for + him. Have you hurt yourself?” + </p> + <p> + Wardour suddenly moved his head, so as to hide his face from both Crayford + and Frank. He took out his handkerchief, and wound it clumsily round his + left hand. + </p> + <p> + “Yes,” he said; “I hurt myself with the ax. It’s nothing. Never mind. Pain + always has a curious effect on me. I tell you it’s nothing! Don’t notice + it!” + </p> + <p> + He turned his face toward them again as suddenly as he had turned it away. + He advanced a few steps, and addressed himself with an uneasy familiarity + to Frank. + </p> + <p> + “I didn’t answer you civilly when you spoke to me some little time since. + I mean when I first came in here along with the rest of them. I apologize. + Shake hands! How are you? Ready for the march?” + </p> + <p> + Frank met the oddly abrupt advance which had been made to him with perfect + good humor. + </p> + <p> + “I am glad to be friends with you, Mr. Wardour. I wish I was as well + seasoned to fatigue as you are.” + </p> + <p> + Wardour burst into a hard, joyless, unnatural laugh. + </p> + <p> + “Not strong, eh? You don’t look it. The dice had better have sent me away, + and kept you here. I never felt in better condition in my life.” He paused + and added, with his eye on Frank and with a strong emphasis on the words: + “We men of Kent are made of tough material.” + </p> + <p> + Frank advanced a step on his side, with a new interest in Richard Wardour. + </p> + <p> + “You come from Kent?” he said. + </p> + <p> + “Yes. From East Kent.” He waited a little once more, and looked hard at + Frank. “Do you know that part of the country?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I ought to know something about East Kent,” Frank answered. “Some dear + friends of mine once lived there.” + </p> + <p> + “Friends of yours?” Wardour repeated. “One of the county families, I + suppose?” + </p> + <p> + As he put the question, he abruptly looked over his shoulder. He was + standing between Crayford and Frank. Crayford, taking no part in the + conversation, had been watching him, and listening to him more and more + attentively as that conversation went on. Within the last moment or two + Wardour had become instinctively conscious of this. He resented Crayford’s + conduct with needless irritability. + </p> + <p> + “Why are you staring at me?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Why are you looking unlike yourself?” Crayford answered, quietly. + </p> + <p> + Wardour made no reply. He renewed the conversation with Frank. + </p> + <p> + “One of the county families?” he resumed. “The Winterbys of Yew Grange, I + dare say?” + </p> + <p> + “No,” said Frank; “but friends of the Witherbys, very likely. The + Burnhams.” + </p> + <p> + Desperately as he struggled to maintain it, Wardour’s self-control failed + him. He started violently. The clumsily-wound handkerchief fell off his + hand. Still looking at him attentively, Crayford picked it up. + </p> + <p> + “There is your handkerchief, Richard,” he said. “Strange!” + </p> + <p> + “What is strange?” + </p> + <p> + “You told us you had hurt yourself with the ax—” + </p> + <p> + “Well?” + </p> + <p> + “There is no blood on your handkerchief.” + </p> + <p> + Wardour snatched the handkerchief out of Crayford’s hand, and, turning + away, approached the outer door of the hut. “No blood on the + handkerchief,” he said to himself. “There may be a stain or two when + Crayford sees it again.” He stopped within a few paces of the door, and + spoke to Crayford. “You recommended me to take leave of my brother + officers before it was too late,” he said. “I am going to follow your + advice.” + </p> + <p> + The door was opened from the outer side as he laid his hand on the lock. + </p> + <p> + One of the quartermasters of the <i>Wanderer</i> entered the hut. + </p> + <p> + “Is Captain Helding here, sir?” he asked, addressing himself to Wardour. + </p> + <p> + Wardour pointed to Crayford. + </p> + <p> + “The lieutenant will tell you,” he said. + </p> + <p> + Crayford advanced and questioned the quartermaster. “What do you want with + Captain Helding?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “I have a report to make, sir. There has been an accident on the ice.” + </p> + <p> + “To one of your men?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir. To one of our officers.” + </p> + <p> + Wardour, on the point of going out, paused when the quartermaster made + that reply. For a moment he considered with himself. Then he walked slowly + back to the part of the room in which Frank was standing. Crayford, + directing the quartermaster, pointed to the arched door way in the side of + the hut. + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry to hear of the accident,” he said. “You will find Captain + Helding in that room.” + </p> + <p> + For the second time, with singular persistency, Wardour renewed the + conversation with Frank. + </p> + <p> + “So you knew the Burnhams?” he said. “What became of Clara when her father + died?” + </p> + <p> + Frank’s face flushed angrily on the instant. + </p> + <p> + “Clara!” he repeated. “What authorizes you to speak of Miss Burnham in + that familiar manner?” + </p> + <p> + Wardour seized the opportunity of quarreling with him. + </p> + <p> + “What right have you to ask?” he retorted, coarsely. + </p> + <p> + Frank’s blood was up. He forgot his promise to Clara to keep their + engagement secret—he forgot everything but the unbridled insolence + of Wardour’s language and manner. + </p> + <p> + “A right which I insist on your respecting,” he answered. “The right of + being engaged to marry her.” + </p> + <p> + Crayford’s steady eyes were still on the watch, and Wardour felt them on + him. A little more and Crayford might openly interfere. Even Wardour + recognized for once the necessity of controlling his temper, cost him what + it might. He made his apologies, with overstrained politeness, to Frank. + </p> + <p> + “Impossible to dispute such a right as yours,” he said. “Perhaps you will + excuse me when you know that I am one of Miss Burnham’s old friends. My + father and her father were neighbors. We have always met like brother and + sister—” + </p> + <p> + Frank generously stopped the apology there. + </p> + <p> + “Say no more,” he interposed. “I was in the wrong—I lost my temper. + Pray forgive me.” + </p> + <p> + Wardour looked at him with a strange, reluctant interest while he was + speaking. Wardour asked an extraordinary question when he had done. + </p> + <p> + “Is she very fond of you?” + </p> + <p> + Frank burst out laughing. + </p> + <p> + “My dear fellow,” he said, “come to our wedding, and judge for yourself.” + </p> + <p> + “Come to your wedding?” As he repeated the words Wardour stole one glance + at Frank which Frank (employed in buckling his knapsack) failed to see. + Crayford noticed it, and Crayford’s blood ran cold. Comparing the words + which Wardour had spoken to him while they were alone together with the + words that had just passed in his presence, he could draw but one + conclusion. The woman whom Wardour had loved and lost was—Clara + Burnham. The man who had robbed him of her was Frank Aldersley. And + Wardour had discovered it in the interval since they had last met. “Thank + God!” thought Crayford, “the dice have parted them! Frank goes with the + expedition, and Wardour stays behind with me.” + </p> + <p> + The reflection had barely occurred to him—Frank’s thoughtless + invitation to Wardour had just passed his lips—when the canvas + screen over the doorway was drawn aside. Captain Helding and the officers + who were to leave with the exploring party returned to the main room on + their way out. Seeing Crayford, Captain Helding stopped to speak to him. + </p> + <p> + “I have a casualty to report,” said the captain, “which diminishes our + numbers by one. My second lieutenant, who was to have joined the exploring + party, has had a fall on the ice. Judging by what the quartermaster tells + me, I am afraid the poor fellow has broken his leg.” + </p> + <p> + “I will supply his place,” cried a voice at the other end of the hut. + </p> + <p> + Everybody looked round. The man who had spoken was Richard Wardour. + </p> + <p> + Crayford instantly interfered—so vehemently as to astonish all who + knew him. + </p> + <p> + “No!” he said. “Not you, Richard! not you!” + </p> + <p> + “Why not?” Wardour asked, sternly. + </p> + <p> + “Why not, indeed?” added Captain Helding. “Wardour is the very man to be + useful on a long march. He is in perfect health, and he is the best shot + among us. I was on the point of proposing him myself.” + </p> + <p> + Crayford failed to show his customary respect for his superior officer. He + openly disputed the captain’s conclusion. + </p> + <p> + “Wardour has no right to volunteer,” he rejoined. “It has been settled, + Captain Helding, that chance shall decide who is to go and who is to + stay.” + </p> + <p> + “And chance <i>has</i> decided it,” cried Wardour. “Do you think we are + going to cast the dice again, and give an officer of the <i>Sea-mew</i> a + chance of replacing an officer of the <i>Wanderer</i>? There is a vacancy + in our party, not in yours; and we claim the right of filling it as we + please. I volunteer, and my captain backs me. Whose authority is to keep + me here after that?” + </p> + <p> + “Gently, Wardour,” said Captain Helding. “A man who is in the right can + afford to speak with moderation.” He turned to Crayford. “You must admit + yourself,” he continued, “that Wardour is right this time. The missing man + belongs to my command, and in common justice one of my officers ought to + supply his place.” + </p> + <p> + It was impossible to dispute the matter further. The dullest man present + could see that the captain’s reply was unanswerable. In sheer despair, + Crayford took Frank’s arm and led him aside a few steps. The last chance + left of parting the two men was the chance of appealing to Frank. + </p> + <p> + “My dear boy,” he began, “I want to say one friendly word to you on the + subject of your health. I have already, if you remember, expressed my + doubts whether you are strong enough to make one of an exploring party. I + feel those doubts more strongly than ever at this moment. Will you take + the advice of a friend who wishes you well?” + </p> + <p> + Wardour had followed Crayford. Wardour roughly interposed before Frank + could reply. + </p> + <p> + “Let him alone!” + </p> + <p> + Crayford paid no heed to the interruption. He was too earnestly bent on + withdrawing Frank from the expedition to notice anything that was said or + done by the persons about him. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t, pray don’t, risk hardships which you are unfit to bear!” he went + on, entreatingly. “Your place can be easily filled. Change your mind, + Frank. Stay here with me.” + </p> + <p> + Again Wardour interfered. Again he called out, “Leave him alone!” more + roughly than ever. Still deaf and blind to every consideration but one, + Crayford pressed his entreaties on Frank. + </p> + <p> + “You owned yourself just now that you were not well seasoned to fatigue,” + he persisted. “You feel (you <i>must</i> feel) how weak that last illness + has left you? You know (I am sure you know) how unfit you are to brave + exposure to cold, and long marches over the snow.” + </p> + <p> + Irritated beyond endurance by Crayford’s obstinacy; seeing, or thinking he + saw, signs of yielding in Frank’s face, Wardour so far forgot himself as + to seize Crayford by the arm and attempt to drag him away from Frank. + Crayford turned and looked at him. + </p> + <p> + “Richard,” he said, very quietly, “you are not yourself. I pity you. Drop + your hand.” + </p> + <p> + Wardour relaxed his hold, with something of the sullen submission of a + wild animal to its keeper. The momentary silence which followed gave Frank + an opportunity of speaking at last. + </p> + <p> + “I am gratefully sensible, Crayford,” he began, “of the interest which you + take in me—” + </p> + <p> + “And you will follow my advice?” Crayford interposed, eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “My mind is made up, old friend,” Frank answered, firmly and sadly. + “Forgive me for disappointing you. I am appointed to the expedition. With + the expedition I go.” He moved nearer to Wardour. In his innocence of all + suspicion he clapped Wardour heartily on the shoulder. “When I feel the + fatigue,” said poor simple Frank, “you will help me, comrade—won’t + you? Come along!” + </p> + <p> + Wardour snatched his gun out of the hands of the sailor who was carrying + it for him. His dark face became suddenly irradiated with a terrible joy. + </p> + <p> + “Come!” he cried. “Over the snow and over the ice! Come! where no human + footsteps have ever trodden, and where no human trace is ever left.” + </p> + <p> + Blindly, instinctively, Crayford made an effort to part them. His brother + officers, standing near, pulled him back. They looked at each other + anxiously. The merciless cold, striking its victims in various ways, had + struck in some instances at their reason first. Everybody loved Crayford. + Was he, too, going on the dark way that others had taken before him? They + forced him to seat himself on one of the lockers. “Steady, old fellow!” + they said kindly—“steady!” Crayford yielded, writhing inwardly under + the sense of his own helplessness. What in God’s name could he do? Could + he denounce Wardour to Captain Helding on bare suspicion—without so + much as the shadow of a proof to justify what he said? The captain would + decline to insult one of his officers by even mentioning the monstrous + accusation to him. The captain would conclude, as others had already + concluded, that Crayford’s mind was giving way under stress of cold and + privation. No hope—literally, no hope now, but in the numbers of the + expedition. Officers and men, they all liked Frank. As long as they could + stir hand or foot, they would help him on the way—they would see + that no harm came to him. + </p> + <p> + The word of command was given; the door was thrown open; the hut emptied + rapidly. Over the merciless white snow—under the merciless black sky—the + exploring party began to move. The sick and helpless men, whose last hope + of rescue centered in their departing messmates, cheered faintly. Some few + whose days were numbered sobbed and cried like women. Frank’s voice + faltered as he turned back at the door to say his last words to the friend + who had been a father to him. + </p> + <p> + “God bless you, Crayford!” + </p> + <p> + Crayford broke away from the officers near him; and, hurrying forward, + seized Frank by both hands. Crayford held him as if he would never let him + go. + </p> + <p> + “God preserve you, Frank! I would give all I have in the world to be with + you. Good-by! Good-by!” + </p> + <p> + Frank waved his hand—dashed away the tears that were gathering in + his eyes—and hurried out. Crayford called after him, the last, the + only warning that he could give: + </p> + <p> + “While you can stand, keep with the main body, Frank!” + </p> + <p> + Wardour, waiting till the last—Wardour, following Frank through the + snow-drift—stopped, stepped back, and answered Crayford at the door: + </p> + <p> + “While he can stand, he keeps with Me.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0015" id="link2H_4_0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Third Scene—The Iceberg. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0012" id="link2HCH0012"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 12. + </h2> + <p> + Alone! alone on the Frozen Deep! + </p> + <p> + The Arctic sun is rising dimly in the dreary sky. The beams of the cold + northern moon, mingling strangely with the dawning light, clothe the snowy + plains in hues of livid gray. An ice-field on the far horizon is moving + slowly southward in the spectral light. Nearer, a stream of open water + rolls its slow black waves past the edges of the ice. Nearer still, + following the drift, an iceberg rears its crags and pinnacles to the sky; + here, glittering in the moonbeams; there, looming dim and ghost-like in + the ashy light. + </p> + <p> + Midway on the long sweep of the lower slope of the iceberg, what objects + rise, and break the desolate monotony of the scene? In this awful + solitude, can signs appear which tell of human Life? Yes! The black + outline of a boat just shows itself, hauled up on the berg. In an + ice-cavern behind the boat the last red embers of a dying fire flicker + from time to time over the figures of two men. One is seated, resting his + back against the side of the cavern. The other lies prostrate, with his + head on his comrade’s knee. The first of these men is awake, and thinking. + The second reclines, with his still white face turned up to the sky—sleeping + or dead. Days and days since, these two have fallen behind on the march of + the expedition of relief. Days and days since, these two have been given + up by their weary and failing companions as doomed and lost. He who sits + thinking is Richard Wardour. He who lies sleeping or dead is Frank + Aldersley. + </p> + <p> + The iceberg drifts slowly, over the black water, through the ashy light. + Minute by minute the dying fire sinks. Minute by minute the deathly cold + creeps nearer and nearer to the lost men. + </p> + <p> + Richard Wardour rouses himself from his thoughts—looks at the still + white face beneath him—and places his hand on Frank’s heart. It + still beats feebly. Give him his share of the food and fuel still stored + in the boat, and Frank may live through it. Leave him neglected where he + lies, and his death is a question of hours—perhaps minutes; who + knows? + </p> + <p> + Richard Wardour lifts the sleeper’s head and rests it against the cavern + side. He goes to the boat, and returns with a billet of wood. He stoops to + place the wood on the fire—and stops. Frank is dreaming, and + murmuring in his dream. A woman’s name passes his lips. Frank is in + England again—at the ball—whispering to Clara the confession + of his love. + </p> + <p> + Over Richard Wardour’s face there passes the shadow of a deadly thought. + He rises from the fire; he takes the wood back to the boat. His iron + strength is shaken, but it still holds out. They are drifting nearer and + nearer to the open sea. He can launch the boat without help; he can take + the food and the fuel with him. The sleeper on the iceberg is the man who + has robbed him of Clara—who has wrecked the hope and the happiness + of his life. Leave the man in his sleep, and let him die! + </p> + <p> + So the tempter whispers. Richard Wardour tries his strength on the boat. + It moves: he has got it under control. He stops, and looks round. Beyond + him is the open sea. Beneath him is the man who has robbed him of Clara. + The shadow of the deadly thought grows and darkens over his face. He waits + with his hands on the boat—waits and thinks. + </p> + <p> + The iceberg drifts slowly—over the black water; through the ashy + light. Minute by minute, the dying fire sinks. Minute by minute, the + deathly cold creeps nearer to the sleeping man. And still Richard Wardour + waits—waits and thinks. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0017" id="link2H_4_0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Fourth Scene—The Garden. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0013" id="link2HCH0013"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 13. + </h2> + <p> + The spring has come. The air of the April night just lifts the leaves of + the sleeping flowers. The moon is queen in the cloudless and starless sky. + The stillness of the midnight hour is abroad, over land and over sea. + </p> + <p> + In a villa on the westward shore of the Isle of Wight, the glass doors + which lead from the drawing-room to the garden are yet open. The shaded + lamp yet burns on the table. A lady sits by the lamp, reading. From time + to time she looks out into the garden, and sees the white-robed figure of + a young girl pacing slowly to and fro in the soft brightness of the + moonlight on the lawn. Sorrow and suspense have set their mark on the + lady. Not rivals only, but friends who formerly admired her, agree now + that she looks worn and aged. The more merciful judgment of others + remarks, with equal truth, that her eyes, her hair, her simple grace and + grandeur of movement have lost but little of their olden charms. The truth + lies, as usual, between the two extremes. In spite of sorrow and + suffering, Mrs. Crayford is the beautiful Mrs. Crayford still. + </p> + <p> + The delicious silence of the hour is softly disturbed by the voice of the + younger lady in the garden. + </p> + <p> + “Go to the piano, Lucy. It is a night for music. Play something that is + worthy of the night.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Crayford looks round at the clock on the mantelpiece. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Clara, it is past twelve! Remember what the doctor told you. You + ought to have been in bed an hour ago.” + </p> + <p> + “Half an hour, Lucy—give me half an hour more! Look at the moonlight + on the sea. Is it possible to go to bed on such a night as this? Play + something, Lucy—something spiritual and divine.” + </p> + <p> + Earnestly pleading with her friend, Clara advances toward the window. She + too has suffered under the wasting influences of suspense. Her face has + lost its youthful freshness; no delicate flush of color rises on it when + she speaks. The soft gray eyes which won Frank’s heart in the by-gone time + are sadly altered now. In repose, they have a dimmed and wearied look. In + action, they are wild and restless, like eyes suddenly wakened from + startling dreams. Robed in white—her soft brown hair hanging loosely + over her shoulders—there is something weird and ghost-like in the + girl, as she moves nearer and nearer to the window in the full light of + the moon—pleading for music that shall be worthy of the mystery and + the beauty of the night. + </p> + <p> + “Will you come in here if I play to you?” Mrs. Crayford asks. “It is a + risk, my love, to be out so long in the night air.” + </p> + <p> + “No! no! I like it. Play—while I am out here looking at the sea. It + quiets me; it comforts me; it does me good.” + </p> + <p> + She glides back, ghost-like, over the lawn. Mrs. Crayford rises, and puts + down the volume that she has been reading. It is a record of explorations + in the Arctic seas. The time has gone by when the two lonely women could + take an interest in subjects not connected with their own anxieties. Now, + when hope is fast failing them—now, when their last news of the <i>Wanderer</i> + and the <i>Sea-mew</i> is news that is more than two years old—they + can read of nothing, they can think of nothing, but dangers and + discoveries, losses and rescues in the terrible Polar seas. + </p> + <p> + Unwillingly, Mrs. Crayford puts her book aside, and opens the piano—Mozart’s + “Air in A, with Variations,” lies open on the instrument. One after + another she plays the lovely melodies, so simply, so purely beautiful, of + that unpretending and unrivaled work. At the close of the ninth Variation + (Clara’s favorite), she pauses, and turns toward the garden. + </p> + <p> + “Shall I stop there?” she asks. + </p> + <p> + There is no answer. Has Clara wandered away out of hearing of the music + that she loves—the music that harmonizes so subtly with the tender + beauty of the night? Mrs. Crayford rises and advances to the window. + </p> + <p> + No! there is the white figure standing alone on the slope of the lawn—the + head turned away from the house; the face looking out over the calm sea, + whose gently rippling waters end in the dim line on the horizon which is + the line of the Hampshire coast. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Crayford advances as far as the path before the window, and calls to + her. + </p> + <p> + “Clara!” + </p> + <p> + Again there is no answer. The white figure still stands immovably in its + place. + </p> + <p> + With signs of distress in her face, but with no appearance of alarm, Mrs. + Crayford returns to the room. Her own sad experience tells her what has + happened. She summons the servants and directs them to wait in the + drawing-room until she calls to them. This done, she returns to the + garden, and approaches the mysterious figure on the lawn. + </p> + <p> + Dead to the outer world, as if she lay already in her grave—insensible + to touch, insensible to sound, motionless as stone, cold as stone—Clara + stands on the moonlit lawn, facing the seaward view. Mrs. Crayford waits + at her side, patiently watching for the change which she knows is to come. + “Catalepsy,” as some call it—“hysteria,” as others say—this + alone is certain, the same interval always passes; the same change always + appears. + </p> + <p> + It comes now. Not a change in her eyes; they still remain wide open, fixed + and glassy. The first movement is a movement of her hands. They rise + slowly from her side and waver in the air like the hands of a person + groping in the dark. Another interval, and the movement spreads to her + lips: they part and tremble. A few minutes more, and words begin to drop, + one by one, from those parted lips—words spoken in a lost, vacant + tone, as if she is talking in her sleep. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Crayford looks back at the house. Sad experience makes her suspicious + of the servants’ curiosity. Sad experience has long since warned her that + the servants are not to be trusted within hearing of the wild words which + Clara speaks in the trance. Has any one of them ventured into the garden? + No. They are out of hearing at the window, waiting for the signal which + tells them that their help is needed. + </p> + <p> + Turning toward Clara once more, Mrs. Crayford hears the vacantly uttered + words, falling faster and faster from her lips, + </p> + <p> + “Frank! Frank! Frank! Don’t drop behind—don’t trust Richard Wardour. + While you can stand, keep with the other men, Frank!” + </p> + <p> + (The farewell warning of Crayford in the solitudes of the Frozen Deep, + repeated by Clara in the garden of her English home!) + </p> + <p> + A moment of silence follows; and, in that moment, the vision has changed. + She sees him on the iceberg now, at the mercy of the bitterest enemy he + has on earth. She sees him drifting—over the black water, through + the ashy light. + </p> + <p> + “Wake, Frank! wake and defend yourself! Richard Wardour knows that I love + you—Richard Wardour’s vengeance will take your life! Wake, Frank—wake! + You are drifting to your death!” A low groan of horror bursts from her, + sinister and terrible to hear. “Drifting! drifting!” she whispers to + herself—“drifting to his death!” + </p> + <p> + Her glassy eyes suddenly soften—then close. A long shudder runs + through her. A faint flush shows itself on the deadly pallor of her face, + and fades again. Her limbs fail her. She sinks into Mrs. Crayford’s arms. + </p> + <p> + The servants, answering the call for help, carry her into the house. They + lay her insensible on her bed. After half an hour or more, her eyes open + again—this time with the light of life in them—open, and rest + languidly on the friend sitting by the bedside. + </p> + <p> + “I have had a dreadful dream,” she murmurs faintly. “Am I ill, Lucy? I + feel so weak.” + </p> + <p> + Even as she says the words, sleep, gentle, natural sleep, takes her + suddenly, as it takes young children weary with their play. Though it is + all over now, though no further watching is required, Mrs. Crayford still + keeps her place by the bedside, too anxious and too wakeful to retire to + her own room. + </p> + <p> + On other occasions, she is accustomed to dismiss from her mind the words + which drop from Clara in the trance. This time the effort to dismiss them + is beyond her power. The words haunt her. Vainly she recalls to memory all + that the doctors have said to her, in speaking of Clara in the state of + trance. “What she vaguely dreads for the lost man whom she loves is + mingled in her mind with what she is constantly reading, of trials, + dangers, and escapes in the Arctic seas. The most startling things that + she may say or do are all attributable to this cause, and may all be + explained in this way.” So the doctors have spoken; and, thus far, Mrs. + Crayford has shared their view. It is only to-night that the girl’s words + ring in her ear, with a strange prophetic sound in them. It is only + to-night that she asks herself: “Is Clara present, in the spirit, with our + loved and lost ones in the lonely North? Can mortal vision see the dead + and living in the solitudes of the Frozen Deep?” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0014" id="link2HCH0014"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 14. + </h2> + <p> + The night had passed. + </p> + <p> + Far and near the garden view looked its gayest and brightest in the light + of the noonday sun. The cheering sounds which tell of life and action were + audible all round the villa. From the garden of the nearest house rose the + voices of children at play. Along the road at the back sounded the roll of + wheels, as carts and carriages passed at intervals. Out on the blue sea, + the distant splash of the paddles, the distant thump of the engines, told + from time to time of the passage of steamers, entering or leaving the + strait between the island and the mainland. In the trees, the birds sang + gayly among the rustling leaves. In the house, the women-servants were + laughing over some jest or story that cheered them at their work. It was a + lively and pleasant time—a bright, enjoyable day. + </p> + <p> + The two ladies were out together; resting on a garden seat, after a walk + round the grounds. + </p> + <p> + They exchanged a few trivial words relating to the beauty of the day, and + then said no more. Possessing the same consciousness of what she had seen + in the trance which persons in general possess of what they have seen in a + dream—believing in the vision as a supernatural revelation—Clara’s + worst forebodings were now, to her mind, realized as truths. Her last + faint hope of ever seeing Frank again was now at an end. Intimate + experience of her told Mrs. Crayford what was passing in Clara’s mind, and + warned her that the attempt to reason and remonstrate would be little + better than a voluntary waste of words and time. The disposition which she + had herself felt on the previous night, to attach a superstitious + importance to the words that Clara had spoken in the trance, had vanished + with the return of the morning. Rest and reflection had quieted her mind, + and had restored the composing influence of her sober sense. Sympathizing + with Clara in all besides, she had no sympathy, as they sat together in + the pleasant sunshine, with Clara’s gloomy despair of the future. She, who + could still hope, had nothing to say to the sad companion who had done + with hope. So the quiet minutes succeeded each other, and the two friends + sat side by side in silence. + </p> + <p> + An hour passed, and the gate-bell of the villa rang. + </p> + <p> + They both started—they both knew the ring. It was the hour when the + postman brought their newspapers from London. In past days, what hundreds + on hundreds of times they had torn off the cover which inclosed the + newspaper, and looked at the same column with the same weary mingling of + hope and despair! There to-day—as it was yesterday; as it would be, + if they lived, to-morrow—there was the servant with Lucy’s newspaper + and Clara’s newspaper in his hand! + </p> + <p> + Would both of them do again to-day what both had done so often in the days + that were gone? + </p> + <p> + No! Mrs. Crayford removed the cover from her newspaper as usual. Clara + laid <i>her</i> newspaper aside, unopened, on the garden seat. + </p> + <p> + In silence, Mrs. Crayford looked, where she always looked, at the column + devoted to the Latest Intelligence from foreign parts. The instant her eye + fell on the page she started with a loud cry of joy. The newspaper fell + from her trembling hand. She caught Clara in her arms. “Oh, my darling! my + darling! news of them at last.” + </p> + <p> + Without answering, without the slightest change in look or manner, Clara + took the newspaper from the ground, and read the top line in the column, + printed in capital letters: + </p> + <p> + THE ARCTIC EXPEDITION. + </p> + <p> + She waited, and looked at Mrs. Crayford. + </p> + <p> + “Can you bear to hear it, Lucy,” she asked, “if I read it aloud?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Crayford was too agitated to answer in words. She signed impatiently + to Clara to go on. + </p> + <p> + Clara read the news which followed the heading in capital letters. Thus it + ran: + </p> + <p> + “The following intelligence, from St. Johns, Newfoundland, has reached us + for publication. The whaling-vessel <i>Blythewood</i> is reported to have + met with the surviving officers and men of the Expedition in Davis Strait. + Many are stated to be dead, and some are supposed to be missing. The list + of the saved, as collected by the people of the whaler, is not vouched for + as being absolutely correct, the circumstances having been adverse to + investigation. The vessel was pressed for time; and the members of the + Expedition, all more or less suffering from exhaustion, were not in a + position to give the necessary assistance to inquiry. Further particulars + may be looked for by the next mail.” + </p> + <p> + The list of the survivors followed, beginning with the officers in the + order of their rank. They both read the list together. The first name was + Captain Helding; the second was Lieutenant Crayford. + </p> + <p> + There the wife’s joy overpowered her. After a pause, she put her arm + around Clara’s waist, and spoke to her. + </p> + <p> + “Oh, my love!” she murmured, “are you as happy as I am? Is Frank’s name + there too? The tears are in my eyes. Read for me—I can’t read for + myself.” + </p> + <p> + The answer came, in still, sad tones: + </p> + <p> + “I have read as far as your husband’s name. I have no need to read + further.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Crayford dashed the tears from her eyes—steadied herself—and + looked at the newspaper. + </p> + <p> + On the list of the survivors, the search was vain. Frank’s name was not + among them. On a second list, headed “Dead or Missing,” the first two + names that appeared were: + </p> + <p> + FRANCIS ALDERSLEY. RICHARD WARDOUR. + </p> + <p> + In speechless distress and dismay, Mrs. Crayford looked at Clara. Had she + force enough in her feeble health to sustain the shock that had fallen on + her? Yes! she bore it with a strange unnatural resignation—she + looked, she spoke, with the sad self-possession of despair. + </p> + <p> + “I was prepared for it,” she said. “I saw them in the spirit last night. + Richard Wardour has discovered the truth; and Frank has paid the penalty + with his life—and I, I alone, am to blame.” She shuddered, and put + her hand on her heart. “We shall not be long parted, Lucy. I shall go to + him. He will not return to me.” + </p> + <p> + Those words were spoken with a calm certainty of conviction that was + terrible to hear. “I have no more to say,” she added, after a moment, and + rose to return to the house. Mrs. Crayford caught her by the hand, and + forced her to take her seat again. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t look at me, don’t speak to me, in that horrible manner!” she + exclaimed. “Clara! it is unworthy of a reasonable being, it is doubting + the mercy of God, to say what you have just said. Look at the newspaper + again. See! They tell you plainly that their information is not to be + depended on—they warn you to wait for further particulars. The very + words at the top of the list show how little they knew of the truth ‘Dead + <i>or</i> Missing!’ On their own showing, it is quite as likely that Frank + is missing as that Frank is dead. For all you know, the next mail may + bring a letter from him. Are you listening to me?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Can you deny what I say?” + </p> + <p> + “No.” + </p> + <p> + “‘Yes!’ ‘No!’ Is that the way to answer me when I am so distressed and so + anxious about you?” + </p> + <p> + “I am sorry I spoke as I did, Lucy. We look at some subjects in very + different ways. I don’t dispute, dear, that yours is the reasonable view.” + </p> + <p> + “You don’t dispute?” retorted Mrs. Crayford, warmly. “No! you do what is + worse—you believe in your own opinion; you persist in your own + conclusion—with the newspaper before you! Do you, or do you not, + believe the newspaper?” + </p> + <p> + “I believe in what I saw last night.” + </p> + <p> + “In what you saw last night! You, an educated woman, a clever woman, + believing in a vision of your own fancy—a mere dream! I wonder you + are not ashamed to acknowledge it!” + </p> + <p> + “Call it a dream if you like, Lucy. I have had other dreams at other times—and + I have known them to be fulfilled.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” said Mrs. Crayford. “For once in a way they may have been + fulfilled, by chance—and you notice it, and remember it, and pin + your faith on it. Come, Clara, be honest!—What about the occasions + when the chance has been against you, and your dreams have not been + fulfilled? You superstitious people are all alike. You conveniently forget + when your dreams and your presentiments prove false. For my sake, dear, if + not for your own,” she continued, in gentler and tenderer tones, “try to + be more reasonable and more hopeful. Don’t lose your trust in the future, + and your trust in God. God, who has saved my husband, can save Frank. + While there is doubt, there is hope. Don’t embitter my happiness, Clara! + Try to think as I think—if it is only to show that you love me.” + </p> + <p> + She put her arm round the girl’s neck, and kissed her. Clara returned the + kiss; Clara answered, sadly and submissively, + </p> + <p> + “I do love you, Lucy. I <i>will</i> try.” + </p> + <p> + Having answered in those terms, she sighed to herself, and said no more. + It would have been plain, only too plain, to far less observant eyes than + Mrs. Crayford’s that no salutary impression had been produced on her. She + had ceased to defend her own way of thinking, she spoke of it no more—but + there was the terrible conviction of Frank’s death at Wardour’s hands + rooted as firmly as ever in her mind! Discouraged and distressed, Mrs. + Crayford left her, and walked back toward the house. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0015" id="link2HCH0015"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 15. + </h2> + <p> + At the drawing-room window of the villa there appeared a polite little + man, with bright intelligent eyes, and cheerful sociable manners. Neatly + dressed in professional black, he stood, self-proclaimed, a prosperous + country doctor—successful and popular in a wide circle of patients + and friends. As Mrs. Crayford approached him, he stepped out briskly to + meet her on the lawn, with both hands extended in courteous and cordial + greeting. + </p> + <p> + “My dear madam, accept my heartfelt congratulations!” cried the doctor. “I + have seen the good news in the paper; and I could hardly feel more + rejoiced than I do now if I had the honor of knowing Lieutenant Crayford + personally. We mean to celebrate the occasion at home. I said to my wife + before I came out, ‘A bottle of the old Madeira at dinner to-day, mind!—to + drink the lieutenant’s health; God bless him!’ And how is our interesting + patient? The news is not altogether what we could wish, so far as she is + concerned. I felt a little anxious, to tell you the truth, about the + effect of it; and I have paid my visit to-day before my usual time. Not + that I take a gloomy view of the news myself. No! There is clearly a doubt + about the correctness of the information, so far as Mr. Aldersley is + concerned—and that is a point, a great point in Mr. Aldersley’s + favor. I give him the benefit of the doubt, as the lawyers say. Does Miss + Burnham give him the benefit of the doubt too? I hardly dare hope it, I + confess.” + </p> + <p> + “Miss Burnham has grieved and alarmed me,” Mrs. Crayford answered. “I was + just thinking of sending for you when we met here.” + </p> + <p> + With those introductory words, she told the doctor exactly what had + happened; repeating not only the conversation of that morning between + Clara and herself, but also the words which had fallen from Clara, in the + trance of the past night. + </p> + <p> + The doctor listened attentively. Little by little, its easy smiling + composure vanished from his face, as Mrs. Crayford went on, and left him + completely transformed into a grave and thoughtful man. + </p> + <p> + “Let us go and look at her,” he said. + </p> + <p> + He seated himself by Clara’s side, and carefully studied her face, with + his hand on her pulse. There was no sympathy here between the dreamy + mystical temperament of the patient and the downright practical character + of the doctor. Clara secretly disliked her medical attendant. She + submitted impatiently to the close investigation of which he made her the + object. He questioned her—and she answered irritably. Advancing a + step further (the doctor was not easily discouraged) he adverted to the + news of the Expedition, and took up the tone of remonstrance which had + been already adopted by Mrs. Crayford. Clara declined to discuss the + question. She rose with formal politeness, and requested permission to + return to the house. The doctor attempted no further resistance. “By all + means, Miss Burnham,” he answered, resignedly—having first cast a + look at Mrs. Crayford which said plainly, “Stay here with me.” Clara bowed + her acknowledgments in cold silence, and left them together. The doctor’s + bright eyes followed the girl’s wasted, yet still graceful figure as it + slowly receded from view, with an expression of grave anxiety which Mrs. + Crayford noticed with grave misgiving on her side. He said nothing, until + Clara had disappeared under the veranda which ran round the garden-side of + the house. + </p> + <p> + “I think you told me,” he began, “that Miss Burnham has neither father nor + mother living?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes. Miss Burnham is an orphan.” + </p> + <p> + “Has she any near relatives?” + </p> + <p> + “No. You may speak to me as her guardian and her friend. Are you alarmed + about her?” + </p> + <p> + “I am seriously alarmed. It is only two days since I called here last, and + I see a marked change in her for the worse—physically and morally, a + change for the worse. Don’t needlessly alarm yourself! The case is not, I + trust, entirely beyond the reach of remedy. The great hope for us is the + hope that Mr. Aldersley may still be living. In that event, I should feel + no misgivings about the future. Her marriage would make a healthy and a + happy woman of her. But as things are, I own I dread that settled + conviction in her mind that Mr. Aldersley is dead, and that her own death + is soon to follow. In her present state of health this idea (haunting her + as it certainly will night and day) will have its influence on her body as + well as on her mind. Unless we can check the mischief, her last reserves + of strength will give way. If you wish for other advice, by all means send + for it. You have my opinion.” + </p> + <p> + “I am quite satisfied with your opinion,” Mrs. Crayford replied. “For + God’s sake, tell me, what can we do?” + </p> + <p> + “We can try a complete change,” said the doctor. “We can remove her at + once from this place.” + </p> + <p> + “She will refuse to leave it,” Mrs. Crayford rejoined. “I have more than + once proposed a change to her—and she always says No.” + </p> + <p> + The doctor paused for a moment, like a man collecting his thoughts. + </p> + <p> + “I heard something on my way here,” he proceeded, “which suggests to my + mind a method of meeting the difficulty that you have just mentioned. + Unless I am entirely mistaken, Miss Burnham will not say No to the change + that I have in view for her.” + </p> + <p> + “What is it?” asked Mrs. Crayford, eagerly. + </p> + <p> + “Pardon me if I ask you a question, on my part, before I reply,” said the + doctor. “Are you fortunate enough to possess any interest at the + Admiralty?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly. My father is in the Secretary’s office; and two of the Lords + of the Admiralty are friends of his.” + </p> + <p> + “Excellent! Now I can speak out plainly with little fear of disappointing + you. After what I have said, you will agree with me, that the only change + in Miss Burnham’s life which will be of any use to her is a change that + will alter the present tone of her mind on the subject of Mr. Aldersley. + Place her in a position to discover—not by reference to her own + distempered fancies and visions, but by reference to actual evidence and + actual fact—whether Mr. Aldersley is, or is not, a living man; and + there will be an end of the hysterical delusions which now threaten to + fatally undermine her health. Even taking matters at their worst—even + assuming that Mr. Aldersley has died in the Arctic seas—it will be + less injurious to her to discover this positively, than to leave her mind + to feed on its own morbid superstitions and speculations, for weeks and + weeks together, while the next news from the Expedition is on its way to + England. In one word, I want you to be in a position, before the week is + out, to put Miss Burnham’s present conviction to a practical test. Suppose + you could say to her, ‘We differ, my dear, about Mr. Francis Aldersley. + You declare, without the shadow of a reason for it, that he is certainly + dead, and, worse still, that he has died by the act of one of his brother + officers. I assert, on the authority of the newspaper, that nothing of the + sort has happened, and that the chances are all in favor of his being + still a living man. What do you say to crossing the Atlantic, and deciding + which of us is right—you or I?’ Do you think Miss Burnham will say + No to that, Mrs. Crayford? If I know anything of human nature, she will + seize the opportunity as a means of converting you to a belief in the + Second Sight.” + </p> + <p> + “Good Heavens, doctor! do you mean to tell me that we are to go to sea and + meet the Arctic Expedition on its way home?” + </p> + <p> + “Admirably guessed, Mrs. Crayford! That is exactly what I mean.” + </p> + <p> + “But how is it to be done?” + </p> + <p> + “I will tell you immediately. I mentioned—didn’t I?—that I had + heard something on my road to this house.” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Well, I met an old friend at my own gate, who walked with me a part of + the way here. Last night my friend dined with the admiral at Portsmouth. + Among the guests there was a member of the Ministry who had brought the + news about the Expedition with him from London. This gentleman told the + company there was very little doubt that the Admiralty would immediately + send out a steam-vessel, to meet the rescued men on the shores of America, + and bring them home. Wait a little, Mrs. Crayford! Nobody knows, as yet, + under what rules and regulations the vessel will sail. Under somewhat + similar circumstances, privileged people have been received as passengers, + or rather as guests, in her majesty’s ships—and what has been + conceded on former occasions may, by bare possibility, be conceded now. I + can say no more. If you are not afraid of the voyage for yourself, I am + not afraid of it (nay, I am all in favor of it on medical grounds) for my + patient. What do you say? Will you write to your father, and ask him to + try what his interest will do with his friends at the Admiralty?” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Crayford rose excitedly to her feet. + </p> + <p> + “Write!” she exclaimed. “I will do better than write. The journey to + London is no great matter—and my housekeeper here is to be trusted + to take care of Clara in my absence. I will see my father to-night! He + shall make good use of his interest at the Admiralty—you may rely on + that. Oh, my dear doctor, what a prospect it is! My husband! Clara! What a + discovery you have made—what a treasure you are! How can I thank + you?” + </p> + <p> + “Compose yourself, my dear madam. Don’t make too sure of success. We may + consider Miss Burnham’s objections as disposed of beforehand. But suppose + the Lords of the Admiralty say No?” + </p> + <p> + “In that case, I shall be in London, doctor; and I shall go to them + myself. Lords are only men; and men are not in the habit of saying No to + me.” + </p> + <p> + So they parted. + </p> + <p> + In a week from that day, her majesty’s ship <i>Amazon</i> sailed for North + America. Certain privileged persons, specially interested in the Arctic + voyagers, were permitted to occupy the empty state-rooms on board. On the + list of these favored guests of the ship were the names of two ladies—Mrs. + Crayford and Miss Burnham. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2H_4_0021" id="link2H_4_0021"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Fifth Scene—The Boat-House. + </h2> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0016" id="link2HCH0016"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 16. + </h2> + <p> + Once more the open sea—the sea whose waters break on the shores of + Newfoundland! An English steamship lies at anchor in the offing. The + vessel is plainly visible through the open doorway of a large boat-house + on the shore—one of the buildings attached to a fishing-station on + the coast of the island. + </p> + <p> + The only person in the boat-house at this moment is a man in the dress of + a sailor. He is seated on a chest, with a piece of cord in his hand, + looking out idly at the sea. On the rough carpenter’s table near him lies + a strange object to be left in such a place—a woman’s veil. + </p> + <p> + What is the vessel lying at anchor in the offing? + </p> + <p> + The vessel is the <i>Amazon</i>—dispatched from England to receive + the surviving officers and men of the Arctic Expedition. The meeting has + been successfully effected, on the shores of North America, three days + since. But the homeward voyage has been delayed by a storm which has + driven the ship out of her course. Taking advantage, on the third day, of + the first returning calm, the commander of the <i>Amazon</i> has anchored + off the coast of Newfoundland, and has sent ashore to increase his + supplies of water before he sails for England. The weary passengers have + landed for a few hours, to refresh themselves after the discomforts of the + tempest. Among them are the two ladies. The veil left on the table in the + boat-house is Clara’s veil. + </p> + <p> + And who is the man sitting on the chest, with the cord in his hand, + looking out idly at the sea? The man is the only cheerful person in the + ship’s company. In other words—John Want. + </p> + <p> + Still reposing on the chest, our friend, who never grumbles, is surprised + by the sudden appearance of a sailor at the boat-house door. + </p> + <p> + “Look sharp with your work there, John Want!” says the sailor. “Lieutenant + Crayford is just coming in to look after you.” + </p> + <p> + With this warning the messenger disappears again. John Want rises with a + groan, turns the chest up on one end, and begins to fasten the cord round + it. The ship’s cook is not a man to look back on his rescue with the + feeling of unmitigated satisfaction which animates his companions in + trouble. On the contrary, he is ungratefully disposed to regret the North + Pole. + </p> + <p> + “If I had only known”—thus runs the train of thought in the mind of + John Want—“if I had only known, before I was rescued, that I was to + be brought to this place, I believe I should have preferred staying at the + North Pole. I was very happy keeping up everybody’s spirits at the North + Pole. Taking one thing with another, I think I must have been very + comfortable at the North Pole—if I had only known it. Another man in + my place might be inclined to say that this Newfoundland boat-house was + rather a sloppy, slimy, draughty, fishy sort of a habitation to take + shelter in. Another man might object to perpetual Newfoundland fogs, + perpetual Newfoundland cod-fish, and perpetual Newfoundland dogs. We had + some very nice bears at the North Pole. Never mind! it’s all one to me—<i>I</i> + don’t grumble.” + </p> + <p> + “Have you done cording that box?” + </p> + <p> + This time the voice is a voice of authority—the man at the doorway + is Lieutenant Crayford himself. John Want answers his officer in his own + cheerful way. + </p> + <p> + “I’ve done it as well as I can, sir—but the damp of this place is + beginning to tell upon our very ropes. I say nothing about our lungs—I + only say our ropes.” + </p> + <p> + Crayford answers sharply. He seems to have lost his former relish for the + humor of John Want. + </p> + <p> + “Pooh! To look at your wry face, one would think that our rescue from the + Arctic regions was a downright misfortune. You deserve to be sent back + again.” + </p> + <p> + “I could be just as cheerful as ever, sir, if I <i>was</i> sent back + again; I hope I’m thankful; but I don’t like to hear the North Pole run + down in such a fishy place as this. It was very clean and snowy at the + North Pole—and it’s very damp and sandy here. Do you never miss your + bone-soup, sir? <i>I</i> do. It mightn’t have been strong; but it was very + hot; and the cold seemed to give it a kind of a meaty flavor as it went + down. Was it you that was a-coughing so long last night, sir? I don’t + presume to say anything against the air of these latitudes; but I should + be glad to know it wasn’t you that was a-coughing so hollow. Would you be + so obliging as just to feel the state of these ropes with the ends of your + fingers, sir? You can dry them afterward on the back of my jacket.” + </p> + <p> + “You ought to have a stick laid on the back of your jacket. Take that box + down to the boat directly. You croaking vagabond! You would have grumbled + in the Garden of Eden.” + </p> + <p> + The philosopher of the Expedition was not a man to be silenced by + referring him to the Garden of Eden. Paradise itself was not perfect to + John Want. + </p> + <p> + “I hope I could be cheerful anywhere, sir,” said the ship’s cook. “But you + mark my words—there must have been a deal of troublesome work with + the flower-beds in the Garden of Eden.” + </p> + <p> + Having entered that unanswerable protest, John Want shouldered the box, + and drifted drearily out of the boat-house. + </p> + <p> + Left by himself, Crayford looked at his watch, and called to a sailor + outside. + </p> + <p> + “Where are the ladies?” he asked. + </p> + <p> + “Mrs. Crayford is coming this way, sir. She was just behind you when you + came in.” + </p> + <p> + “Is Miss Burnham with her?” + </p> + <p> + “No, sir; Miss Burnham is down on the beach with the passengers. I heard + the young lady asking after you, sir.” + </p> + <p> + “Asking after me?” Crayford considered with himself as he repeated the + words. He added, in lower and graver tones, “You had better tell Miss + Burnham you have seen me here.” + </p> + <p> + The man made his salute and went out. Crayford took a turn in the + boat-house. + </p> + <p> + Rescued from death in the Arctic wastes, and reunited to a beautiful wife, + the lieutenant looked, nevertheless, unaccountably anxious and depressed. + What could he be thinking of? He was thinking of Clara. + </p> + <p> + On the first day when the rescued men were received on board the <i>Amazon</i>, + Clara had embarrassed and distressed, not Crayford only, but the other + officers of the Expedition as well, by the manner in which she questioned + them on the subject of Francis Aldersley and Richard Wardour. She had + shown no signs of dismay or despair when she heard that no news had been + received of the two missing men. She had even smiled sadly to herself, + when Crayford (out of compassionate regard for her) declared that he and + his comrades had not given up the hope of seeing Frank and Wardour yet. It + was only when the lieutenant had expressed himself in those terms and when + it was hoped that the painful subject had been dismissed—that Clara + had startled every one present by announcing that she had something still + to say in relation to Frank and Wardour, which had not been said yet. + Though she spoke guardedly, her next words revealed suspicions of foul + play lurking in her mind—exactly reflecting similar suspicions + lurking in Crayford’s mind—which so distressed the lieutenant, and + so surprised his comrades, as to render them quite incapable of answering + her. The warnings of the storm which shortly afterward broke over the + vessel were then visible in sea and sky. Crayford made them his excuse for + abruptly leaving the cabin in which the conversation had taken place. His + brother officers, profiting by his example, pleaded their duties on deck, + and followed him out. + </p> + <p> + On the next day, and the next, the tempest still raged—and the + passengers were not able to leave their state-rooms. But now, when the + weather had moderated and the ship had anchored—now, when officers + and passengers alike were on shore, with leisure time at their disposal—Clara + had opportunities of returning to the subject of the lost men, and of + asking questions in relation to them which would make it impossible for + Crayford to plead an excuse for not answering her. How was he to meet + those questions? How could he still keep her in ignorance of the truth? + </p> + <p> + These were the reflections which now troubled Crayford, and which + presented him, after his rescue, in the strangely inappropriate character + of a depressed and anxious man. His brother officers, as he well knew, + looked to him to take the chief responsibility. If he declined to accept + it, he would instantly confirm the horrible suspicion in Clara’s mind. The + emergency must be met; but how to meet it—at once honorably and + mercifully—was more than Crayford could tell. He was still lost in + his own gloomy thoughts when his wife entered the boat-house. Turning to + look at her, he saw his own perturbations and anxieties plainly reflected + in Mrs. Crayford’s face. + </p> + <p> + “Have you seen anything of Clara?” he asked. “Is she still on the beach?” + </p> + <p> + “She is following me to this place,” Mrs. Crayford replied. “I have been + speaking to her this morning. She is just as resolute as ever to insist on + your telling her of the circumstances under which Frank is missing. As + things are, you have no alternative but to answer her.” + </p> + <p> + “Help me to answer her, Lucy. Tell me, before she comes in, how this + dreadful suspicion first took possession of her. All she could possibly + have known when we left England was that the two men were appointed to + separate ships. What could have led her to suspect that they had come + together?” + </p> + <p> + “She was firmly persuaded, William, that they <i>would</i> come together + when the Expedition left England. And she had read in books of Arctic + travel, of men left behind by their comrades on the march, and of men + adrift on ice-bergs. With her mind full of these images and forebodings, + she saw Frank and Wardour (or dreamed of them) in one of her attacks of + trance. I was by her side; I heard what she said at the time. She warned + Frank that Wardour had discovered the truth. She called out to him, ‘While + you can stand, keep with the other men, Frank!’” + </p> + <p> + “Good God!” cried Crayford; “I warned him myself, almost in those very + words, the last time I saw him!” + </p> + <p> + “Don’t acknowledge it, William! Keep her in ignorance of what you have + just told me. She will not take it for what it is—a startling + coincidence, and nothing more. She will accept it as positive confirmation + of the faith, the miserable superstitious faith, that is in her. So long + as you don’t actually know that Frank is dead, and that he has died by + Wardour’s hand, deny what she says—mislead her for her own sake—dispute + all her conclusions as I dispute them. Help me to raise her to the better + and nobler belief in the mercy of God!” She stopped, and looked round + nervously at the doorway. “Hush!” she whispered. “Do as I have told you. + Clara is here.” + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0017" id="link2HCH0017"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 17. + </h2> + <p> + Clara stopped at the doorway, looking backward and forward distrustfully + between the husband and wife. Entering the boat-house, and approaching + Crayford, she took his arm, and led him away a few steps from the place in + which Mrs. Crayford was standing. + </p> + <p> + “There is no storm now, and there are no duties to be done on board the + ship,” she said, with the faint, sad smile which it wrung Crayford’s heart + to see. “You are Lucy’s husband, and you have an interest in me for Lucy’s + sake. Don’t shrink on that account from giving me pain: I can bear pain. + Friend and brother! will you believe that I have courage enough to hear + the worst? Will you promise not to deceive me about Frank?” + </p> + <p> + The gentle resignation in her voice, the sad pleading in her look, shook + Crayford’s self-possession at the outset. He answered her in the worst + possible manner; he answered evasively. + </p> + <p> + “My dear Clara,” he said, “what have I done that you should suspect me of + deceiving you?” + </p> + <p> + She looked him searchingly in the face, then glanced with renewed distrust + at Mrs. Crayford. There was a moment of silence. Before any of the three + could speak again, they were interrupted by the appearance of one of + Crayford’s brother officers, followed by two sailors carrying a hamper + between them. Crayford instantly dropped Clara’s arm, and seized the + welcome opportunity of speaking of other things. + </p> + <p> + “Any instructions from the ship, Steventon?” he asked, approaching the + officer. + </p> + <p> + “Verbal instructions only,” Steventon replied. “The ship will sail with + the flood-tide. We shall fire a gun to collect the people, and send + another boat ashore. In the meantime here are some refreshments for the + passengers. The ship is in a state of confusion; the ladies will eat their + luncheon more comfortably here.” + </p> + <p> + Hearing this, Mrs. Crayford took <i>her</i> opportunity of silencing Clara + next. + </p> + <p> + “Come, my dear,” she said. “Let us lay the cloth before the gentlemen come + in.” + </p> + <p> + Clara was too seriously bent on attaining the object which she had in view + to be silenced in that way. “I will help you directly,” she answered—then + crossed the room and addressed herself to the officer, whose name was + Steventon. + </p> + <p> + “Can you spare me a few minutes?” she asked. “I have something to say to + you.” + </p> + <p> + “I am entirely at your service, Miss Burnham.” + </p> + <p> + Answering in those words, Steventon dismissed the two sailors. Mrs. + Crayford looked anxiously at her husband. Crayford whispered to her, + “Don’t be alarmed about Steventon. I have cautioned him; his discretion is + to be depended on.” + </p> + <p> + Clara beckoned to Crayford to return to her. + </p> + <p> + “I will not keep you long,” she said. “I will promise not to distress Mr. + Steventon. Young as I am, you shall both find that I am capable of + self-control. I won’t ask you to go back to the story of your past + sufferings; I only want to be sure that I am right about one thing—I + mean about what happened at the time when the exploring party was + dispatched in search of help. As I understand it, you cast lots among + yourselves who was to go with the party, and who was to remain behind. + Frank cast the lot to go.” She paused, shuddering. “And Richard Wardour,” + she went on, “cast the lot to remain behind. On your honor, as officers + and gentlemen, is this the truth?” + </p> + <p> + “On my honor,” Crayford answered, “it is the truth.” + </p> + <p> + “On my honor,” Steventon repeated, “it is the truth.” + </p> + <p> + She looked at them, carefully considering her next words, before she spoke + again. + </p> + <p> + “You both drew the lot to stay in the huts,” she said, addressing Crayford + and Steventon. “And you are both here. Richard Wardour drew the lot to + stay, and Richard Wardour is not here. How does his name come to be with + Frank’s on the list of the missing?” + </p> + <p> + The question was a dangerous one to answer. Steventon left it to Crayford + to reply. Once again he answered evasively. + </p> + <p> + “It doesn’t follow, my dear,” he said, “that the two men were missing + together because their names happen to come together on the list.” + </p> + <p> + Clara instantly drew the inevitable conclusion from that ill-considered + reply. + </p> + <p> + “Frank is missing from the party of relief,” she said. “Am I to understand + that Wardour is missing from the huts?” + </p> + <p> + Both Crayford and Steventon hesitated. Mrs. Crayford cast one indignant + look at them, and told the necessary lie, without a moment’s hesitation! + </p> + <p> + “Yes!” she said. “Wardour is missing from the huts.” + </p> + <p> + Quickly as she had spoken, she had still spoken too late. Clara had + noticed the momentary hesitation on the part of the two officers. She + turned to Steventon. + </p> + <p> + “I trust to your honor,” she said, quietly. “Am I right, or wrong, in + believing that Mrs. Crayford is mistaken?” + </p> + <p> + She had addressed herself to the right man of the two. Steventon had no + wife present to exercise authority over him. Steventon, put on his honor, + and fairly forced to say something, owned the truth. Wardour had replaced + an officer whom accident had disabled from accompanying the party of + relief, and Wardour and Frank were missing together. + </p> + <p> + Clara looked at Mrs. Crayford. + </p> + <p> + “You hear?” she said. “It is you who are mistaken, not I. What you call + ‘Accident,’ what I call ‘Fate,’ brought Richard Wardour and Frank together + as members of the same Expedition, after all.” Without waiting for a + reply, she again turned to Steventon, and surprised him by changing the + painful subject of the conversation of her own accord. + </p> + <p> + “Have you been in the Highlands of Scotland?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “I have never been in the Highlands,” the lieutenant replied. + </p> + <p> + “Have you ever read, in books about the Highlands, of such a thing as ‘The + Second Sight’?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “Do you believe in the Second Sight?” + </p> + <p> + Steventon politely declined to commit himself to a direct reply. + </p> + <p> + “I don’t know what I might have done, if I had ever been in the + Highlands,” he said. “As it is, I have had no opportunities of giving the + subject any serious consideration.” + </p> + <p> + “I won’t put your credulity to the test,” Clara proceeded. “I won’t ask + you to believe anything more extraordinary than that I had a strange dream + in England not very long since. My dream showed me what you have just + acknowledged—and more than that. How did the two missing men come to + be parted from their companions? Were they lost by pure accident, or were + they deliberately left behind on the march?” + </p> + <p> + Crayford made a last vain effort to check her inquiries at the point which + they had now reached. + </p> + <p> + “Neither Steventon nor I were members of the party of relief,” he said. + “How are we to answer you?” + </p> + <p> + “Your brother officers who <i>were</i> members of the party must have told + you what happened,” Clara rejoined. “I only ask you and Mr. Steventon to + tell me what they told you.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Crayford interposed again, with a practical suggestion this time. + </p> + <p> + “The luncheon is not unpacked yet,” she said. “Come, Clara! this is our + business, and the time is passing.” + </p> + <p> + “The luncheon can wait a few minutes longer,” Clara answered. “Bear with + my obstinacy,” she went on, laying her hand caressingly on Crayford’s + shoulder. “Tell me how those two came to be separated from the rest. You + have always been the kindest of friends—don’t begin to be cruel to + me now!” + </p> + <p> + The tone in which she made her entreaty to Crayford went straight to the + sailor’s heart. He gave up the hopeless struggle: he let her see a glimpse + of the truth. + </p> + <p> + “On the third day out,” he said, “Frank’s strength failed him. He fell + behind the rest from fatigue.” + </p> + <p> + “Surely they waited for him?” + </p> + <p> + “It was a serious risk to wait for him, my child. Their lives (and the + lives of the men they had left in the huts) depended, in that dreadful + climate, on their pushing on. But Frank was a favorite. They waited half a + day to give Frank the chance of recovering his strength.” + </p> + <p> + There he stopped. There the imprudence into which his fondness for Clara + had led him showed itself plainly, and closed his lips. + </p> + <p> + It was too late to take refuge in silence. Clara was determined on hearing + more. + </p> + <p> + She questioned Steventon next. + </p> + <p> + “Did Frank go on again after the half-day’s rest?” she asked. + </p> + <p> + “He tried to go on—” + </p> + <p> + “And failed?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + “What did the men do when he failed? Did they turn cowards? Did they + desert Frank?” + </p> + <p> + She had purposely used language which might irritate Steventon into + answering her plainly. He was a young man—he fell into the snare + that she had set for him. + </p> + <p> + “Not one among them was a coward, Miss Burnham!” he replied, warmly. “You + are speaking cruelly and unjustly of as brave a set of fellows as ever + lived! The strongest man among them set the example; he volunteered to + stay by Frank, and to bring him on in the track of the exploring party.” + </p> + <p> + There Steventon stopped—conscious, on his side, that he had said too + much. Would she ask him who this volunteer was? No. She went straight on + to the most embarrassing question that she had put yet—referring to + the volunteer, as if Steventon had already mentioned his name. + </p> + <p> + “What made Richard Wardour so ready to risk his life for Frank’s sake?” + she said to Crayford. “Did he do it out of friendship for Frank? Surely + you can tell me that? Carry your memory back to the days when you were all + living in the huts. Were Frank and Wardour friends at that time? Did you + never hear any angry words pass between them?” + </p> + <p> + There Mrs. Crayford saw her opportunity of giving her husband a timely + hint. + </p> + <p> + “My dear child!” she said; “how can you expect him to remember that? There + must have been plenty of quarrels among the men, all shut up together, and + all weary of each other’s company, no doubt.” + </p> + <p> + “Plenty of quarrels!” Crayford repeated; “and every one of them made up + again.” + </p> + <p> + “And every one of them made up again,” Mrs. Crayford reiterated, in her + turn. “There! a plainer answer than that you can’t wish to have. Now are + you satisfied? Mr. Steventon, come and lend a hand (as you say at sea) + with the hamper—Clara won’t help me. William, don’t stand there + doing nothing. This hamper holds a great deal; we must have a division of + labor. Your division shall be laying the tablecloth. Don’t handle it in + that clumsy way! You unfold a table-cloth as if you were unfurling a sail. + Put the knives on the right, and the forks on the left, and the napkin and + the bread between them. Clara, if you are not hungry in this fine air, you + ought to be. Come and do your duty; come and have some lunch!” + </p> + <p> + She looked up as she spoke. Clara appeared to have yielded at last to the + conspiracy to keep her in the dark. She had returned slowly to the + boat-house doorway, and she was standing alone on the threshold, looking + out. Approaching her to lead her to the luncheon-table, Mrs. Crayford + could hear that she was speaking softly to herself. She was repeating the + farewell words which Richard Wardour had spoken to her at the ball. + </p> + <p> + “‘A time may come when I shall forgive <i>you</i>. But the man who has + robbed me of you shall rue the day when you and he first met.’ Oh, Frank! + Frank! does Richard still live, with your blood on his conscience, and my + image in his heart?” + </p> + <p> + Her lips suddenly closed. She started, and drew back from the doorway, + trembling violently. Mrs. Crayford looked out at the quiet seaward view. + </p> + <p> + “Anything there that frightens you, my dear?” she asked. “I can see + nothing, except the boats drawn up on the beach.” + </p> + <p> + “<i>I</i> can see nothing either, Lucy.” + </p> + <p> + “And yet you are trembling as if there was something dreadful in the view + from this door.” + </p> + <p> + “There <i>is</i> something dreadful! I feel it, though I see nothing. I + feel it, nearer and nearer in the empty air, darker and darker in the + sunny light. I don’t know what it is. Take me away! No. Not out on the + beach. I can’t pass the door. Somewhere else! somewhere else!” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Crayford looked round her, and noticed a second door at the inner end + of the boat-house. She spoke to her husband. + </p> + <p> + “See where that door leads to, William.” + </p> + <p> + Crayford opened the door. It led into a desolate inclosure, half garden, + half yard. Some nets stretched on poles were hanging up to dry. No other + objects were visible—not a living creature appeared in the place. + “It doesn’t look very inviting, my dear,” said Mrs. Crayford. “I am at + your service, however. What do you say?” + </p> + <p> + She offered her arm to Clara as she spoke. Clara refused it. She took + Crayford’s arm, and clung to him. + </p> + <p> + “I’m frightened, dreadfully frightened!” she said to him, faintly. “You + keep with me—a woman is no protection; I want to be with you.” She + looked round again at the boat-house doorway. “Oh!” she whispered, “I’m + cold all over—I’m frozen with fear of this place. Come into the + yard! Come into the yard!” + </p> + <p> + “Leave her to me,” said Crayford to his wife. “I will call you, if she + doesn’t get better in the open air.” + </p> + <p> + He took her out at once, and closed the yard door behind them. + </p> + <p> + “Mr. Steventon, do you understand this?” asked Mrs. Crayford. “What can + she possibly be frightened of?” + </p> + <p> + She put the question, still looking mechanically at the door by which her + husband and Clara had gone out. Receiving no reply, she glanced round at + Steventon. He was standing on the opposite side of the luncheon-table, + with his eyes fixed attentively on the view from the main doorway of the + boat-house. Mrs. Crayford looked where Steventon was looking. This time + there was something visible. She saw the shadow of a human figure + projected on the stretch of smooth yellow sand in front of the boat-house. + </p> + <p> + In a moment more the figure appeared. A man came slowly into view, and + stopped on the threshold of the door. + </p> + <p> + <a name="link2HCH0018" id="link2HCH0018"> + <!-- H2 anchor --> </a> + </p> + <div style="height: 4em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> + <h2> + Chapter 18. + </h2> + <p> + The man was a sinister and terrible object to look at. His eyes glared + like the eyes of a wild animal; his head was bare; his long gray hair was + torn and tangled; his miserable garments hung about him in rags. He stood + in the doorway, a speechless figure of misery and want, staring at the + well-spread table like a hungry dog. + </p> + <p> + Steventon spoke to him. + </p> + <p> + “Who are you?” + </p> + <p> + He answered, in a hoarse, hollow voice, + </p> + <p> + “A starving man.” + </p> + <p> + He advanced a few steps, slowly and painfully, as if he were sinking under + fatigue. + </p> + <p> + “Throw me some bones from the table,” he said. “Give me my share along + with the dogs.” + </p> + <p> + There was madness as well as hunger in his eyes while he spoke those + words. Steventon placed Mrs. Crayford behind him, so that he might be + easily able to protect her in case of need, and beckoned to two sailors + who were passing the door of the boat-house at the time. + </p> + <p> + “Give the man some bread and meat,” he said, “and wait near him.” + </p> + <p> + The outcast seized on the bread and meat with lean, long-nailed hands that + looked like claws. After his first mouthful of the food, he stopped, + considered vacantly with himself, and broke the bread and meat into two + portions. One portion he put into an old canvas wallet that hung over his + shoulder; the other he devoured voraciously. Steventon questioned him. + </p> + <p> + “Where do you come from?” + </p> + <p> + “From the sea.” + </p> + <p> + “Wrecked?” + </p> + <p> + “Yes.” + </p> + <p> + Steventon turned to Mrs. Crayford. + </p> + <p> + “There may be some truth in the poor wretch’s story,” he said. “I heard + something of a strange boat having been cast on the beach thirty or forty + miles higher up the coast. When were you wrecked, my man?” + </p> + <p> + The starving creature looked up from his food, and made an effort to + collect his thoughts—to exert his memory. It was not to be done. He + gave up the attempt in despair. His language, when he spoke, was as wild + as his looks. + </p> + <p> + “I can’t tell you,” he said. “I can’t get the wash of the sea out of my + ears. I can’t get the shining stars all night, and the burning sun all + day, out of my brain. When was I wrecked? When was I first adrift in the + boat? When did I get the tiller in my hand and fight against hunger and + sleep? When did the gnawing in my breast, and the burning in my head, + first begin? I have lost all reckoning of it. I can’t think; I can’t + sleep; I can’t get the wash of the sea out of my ears. What are you + baiting me with questions for? Let me eat!” + </p> + <p> + Even the sailors pitied him. The sailors asked leave of their officer to + add a little drink to his meal. + </p> + <p> + “We’ve got a drop of grog with us, sir, in a bottle. May we give it to + him?” + </p> + <p> + “Certainly!” + </p> + <p> + He took the bottle fiercely, as he had taken the food, drank a little, + stopped, and considered with himself again. He held up the bottle to the + light, and, marking how much liquor it contained, carefully drank half of + it only. This done, he put the bottle in his wallet along with the food. + </p> + <p> + “Are you saving it up for another time?” said Steventon. + </p> + <p> + “I’m saving it up,” the man answered. “Never mind what for. That’s my + secret.” + </p> + <p> + He looked round the boat-house as he made that reply, and noticed Mrs. + Crayford for the first time. + </p> + <p> + “A woman among you!” he said. “Is she English? Is she young? Let me look + closer at her.” + </p> + <p> + He advanced a few steps toward the table. + </p> + <p> + “Don’t be afraid, Mrs. Crayford,” said Steventon. + </p> + <p> + “I am not afraid,” Mrs. Crayford replied. “He frightened me at first—he + interests me now. Let him speak to me if he wishes it!” + </p> + <p> + He never spoke. He stood, in dead silence, looking long and anxiously at + the beautiful Englishwoman. + </p> + <p> + “Well?” said Steventon. + </p> + <p> + He shook his head sadly, and drew back again with a heavy sigh. + </p> + <p> + “No!” he said to himself, “that’s not <i>her</i> face. No! not found yet.” + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Crayford’s interest was strongly excited. She ventured to speak to + him. + </p> + <p> + “Who is it you want to find?” she asked. “Your wife?” + </p> + <p> + He shook his head again. + </p> + <p> + “Who, then? What is she like?” + </p> + <p> + He answered that question in words. His hoarse, hollow voice softened, + little by little, into sorrowful and gentle tones. + </p> + <p> + “Young,” he said; “with a fair, sad face—with kind, tender eyes—with + a soft, clear voice. Young and loving and merciful. I keep her face in my + mind, though I can keep nothing else. I must wander, wander, wander—restless, + sleepless, homeless—till I find <i>her!</i> Over the ice and over + the snow; tossing on the sea, tramping over the land; awake all night, + awake all day; wander, wander, wander, till I find <i>her!</i>” + </p> + <p> + He waved his hand with a gesture of farewell, and turned wearily to go + out. + </p> + <p> + At the same moment Crayford opened the yard door. + </p> + <p> + “I think you had better come to Clara,” he began, and checked himself, + noticing the stranger. “Who is that?” + </p> + <p> + The shipwrecked man, hearing another voice in the room, looked round + slowly over his shoulder. Struck by his appearance, Crayford advanced a + little nearer to him. Mrs. Crayford spoke to her husband as he passed her. + </p> + <p> + “It’s only a poor, mad creature, William,” she whispered—“shipwrecked + and starving.” + </p> + <p> + “Mad?” Crayford repeated, approaching nearer and nearer to the man. “Am <i>I</i> + in my right senses?” He suddenly sprang on the outcast, and seized him by + the throat. “Richard Wardour!” he cried, in a voice of fury. “Alive!—alive, + to answer for Frank!” + </p> + <p> + The man struggled. Crayford held him. + </p> + <p> + “Where is Frank?” he said. “You villain, where is Frank?” + </p> + <p> + The man resisted no longer. He repeated vacantly, + </p> + <p> + “Villain? and where is Frank?” + </p> + <p> + As the name escaped his lips, Clara appeared at the open yard door, and + hurried into the room. + </p> + <p> + “I heard Richard’s name!” she said. “I heard Frank’s name! What does it + mean?” + </p> + <p> + At the sound of her voice the outcast renewed the struggle to free + himself, with a sudden frenzy of strength which Crayford was not able to + resist. He broke away before the sailors could come to their officer’s + assistance. Half-way down the length of the room he and Clara met one + another face to face. A new light sparkled in the poor wretch’s eyes; a + cry of recognition burst from his lips. He flung one hand up wildly in the + air. “Found!” he shouted, and rushed out to the beach before any of the + men present could stop him. + </p> + <p> + Mrs. Crayford put her arms round Clara and held her up. She had not made a + movement: she had not spoken a word. The sight of Wardour’s face had + petrified her. + </p> + <p> + The minutes passed, and there rose a sudden burst of cheering from the + sailors on the beach, near the spot where the fishermen’s boats were drawn + up. Every man left his work. Every man waved his cap in the air. The + passengers, near at hand, caught the infection of enthusiasm, and joined + the crew. A moment more, and Richard Wardour appeared again in the + doorway, carrying a man in his arms. He staggered, breathless with the + effort that he was making, to the place where Clara stood, held up in Mrs. + Crayford’s arms. + </p> + <p> + “Saved, Clara!” he cried. “Saved for <i>you!</i>” + </p> + <p> + He released the man, and placed him in Clara’s arms. + </p> + <p> + Frank! foot-sore and weary—but living—saved; saved for <i>her!</i> + </p> + <p> + “Now, Clara!” cried Mrs. Crayford, “which of us is right? I who believed + in the mercy of God? or you who believed in a dream?” + </p> + <p> + She never answered; she clung to Frank in speechless ecstasy. She never + even looked at the man who had preserved him, in the first absorbing joy + of seeing Frank alive. Step by step, slower and slower, Richard Wardour + drew back, and left them by themselves. + </p> + <p> + “I may rest now,” he said, faintly. “I may sleep at last. The task is + done. The struggle is over.” + </p> + <p> + His last reserves of strength had been given to Frank. He stopped—he + staggered—his hands waved feebly in search of support. But for one + faithful friend he would have fallen. Crayford caught him. Crayford laid + his old comrade gently on some sails strewn in a corner, and pillowed + Wardour’s weary head on his own bosom. The tears streamed over his face. + “Richard! dear Richard!” he said. “Remember—and forgive me.” + </p> + <p> + Richard neither heeded nor heard him. His dim eyes still looked across the + room at Clara and Frank. + </p> + <p> + “I have made <i>her</i> happy!” he murmured. “I may lay down my weary head + now on the mother earth that hushes all her children to rest at last. + Sink, heart! sink, sink to rest! Oh, look at them!” he said to Crayford, + with a burst of grief. “They have forgotten <i>me</i> already.” + </p> + <p> + It was true! The interest was all with the two lovers. Frank was young and + handsome and popular. Officers, passengers, and sailors, they all crowded + round Frank. They all forgot the martyred man who had saved him—the + man who was dying in Crayford’s arms. + </p> + <p> + Crayford tried once more to attract his attention—to win his + recognition while there was yet time. “Richard, speak to me! Speak to your + old friend!” + </p> + <p> + He look round; he vacantly repeated Crayford’s last word. + </p> + <p> + “Friend?” he said. “My eyes are dim, friend—my mind is dull. I have + lost all memories but the memory of <i>her</i>. Dead thoughts—all + dead thoughts but that one! And yet you look at me kindly! Why has your + face gone down with the wreck of all the rest?” + </p> + <p> + He paused; his face changed; his thoughts drifted back from present to + past; he looked at Crayford vacantly, lost in the terrible remembrances + that were rising in him, as the shadows rise with the coming night. + </p> + <p> + “Hark ye, friend,” he whispered. “Never let Frank know it. There was a + time when the fiend within me hungered for his life. I had my hands on the + boat. I heard the voice of the Tempter speaking to me: Launch it, and + leave him to die! I waited with my hands on the boat, and my eyes on the + place where he slept. ‘Leave him! leave him!’ the voice whispered. ‘Love + him!’ the lad’s voice answered, moaning and murmuring in his sleep. ‘Love + him, Clara, for helping <i>me!</i>’ I heard the morning wind come up in + the silence over the great deep. Far and near, I heard the groaning of the + floating ice; floating, floating to the clear water and the balmy air. And + the wicked Voice floated away with it—away, away, away forever! + ‘Love him! love him, Clara, for helping <i>me!</i>’ No wind could float + that away! ‘Love him, Clara—‘” + </p> + <p> + His voice sank into silence; his head dropped on Crayford’s breast. Frank + saw it. Frank struggled up on his bleeding feet and parted the friendly + throng round him. Frank had not forgotten the man who had saved him. + </p> + <p> + “Let me go to him!” he cried. “I must and will go to him! Clara, come with + me.” + </p> + <p> + Clara and Steventon supported him between them. He fell on his knees at + Wardour’s side; he put his hand on Wardour’s bosom. + </p> + <p> + “Richard!” + </p> + <p> + The weary eyes opened again. The sinking voice was heard feebly once more. + </p> + <p> + “Ah! poor Frank. I didn’t forget you, Frank, when I came here to beg. I + remembered you lying down outside in the shadow of the boats. I saved you + your share of the food and drink. Too weak to get at it now! A little + rest, Frank! I shall soon be strong enough to carry you down to the ship.” + </p> + <p> + The end was near. They all saw it now. The men reverently uncovered their + heads in the presence of Death. In an agony of despair, Frank appealed to + the friends round him. + </p> + <p> + “Get something to strengthen him, for God’s sake! Oh, men! men! I should + never have been here but for him! He has given all his strength to my + weakness; and now, see how strong I am, and how weak <i>he</i> is! Clara, + I held by his arm all over the ice and snow. <i>He</i> kept watch when I + was senseless in the open boat. <i>His</i> hand dragged me out of the + waves when we were wrecked. Speak to him, Clara! speak to him!” His voice + failed him, and his head dropped on Wardour’s breast. + </p> + <p> + She spoke, as well as her tears would let her. + </p> + <p> + “Richard, have you forgotten me?” + </p> + <p> + He rallied at the sound of that beloved voice. He looked up at her as she + knelt at his head. + </p> + <p> + “Forgotten you?” Still looking at her, he lifted his hand with an effort, + and laid it on Frank. “Should I have been strong enough to save him, if I + could have forgotten you?” He waited a moment and turned his face feebly + toward Crayford. “Stay!” he said. “Someone was here and spoke to me.” A + faint light of recognition glimmered in his eyes. “Ah, Crayford! I + recollect now. Dear Crayford! come nearer! My mind clears, but my eyes + grow dim. You will remember me kindly for Frank’s sake? Poor Frank! why + does he hide his face? Is he crying? Nearer, Clara—I want to look my + last at <i>you</i>. My sister, Clara! Kiss me, sister, kiss me before I + die!” + </p> + <p> + She stooped and kissed his forehead. A faint smile trembled on his lips. + It passed away; and stillness possessed the face—the stillness of + Death. + </p> + <p> + Crayford’s voice was heard in the silence. + </p> + <p> + “The loss is ours,” he said. “The gain is his. He has won the greatest of + all conquests—the conquest of himself. And he has died in the moment + of victory. Not one of us here but may live to envy <i>his</i> glorious + death.” + </p> + <p> + The distant report of a gun came from the ship in the offing, and signaled + the return to England and to home. + </p> + <div style="height: 6em;"> + <br /><br /><br /><br /><br /><br /> + </div> +<pre xml:space="preserve"> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Frozen Deep, by Wilkie Collins + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FROZEN DEEP *** + +***** This file should be named 1625-h.htm or 1625-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + http://www.gutenberg.org/1/6/2/1625/ + +Produced by James Rusk, and David Widger + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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