diff options
| -rw-r--r-- | .gitattributes | 3 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 1625-0.txt | 4043 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 1625-0.zip | bin | 0 -> 68169 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 1625-h.zip | bin | 0 -> 72848 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | 1625-h/1625-h.htm | 5152 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 1625.txt | 4042 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | 1625.zip | bin | 0 -> 67648 bytes | |||
| -rw-r--r-- | LICENSE.txt | 11 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | README.md | 2 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/frzdp10.txt | 4146 | ||||
| -rw-r--r-- | old/frzdp10.zip | bin | 0 -> 65960 bytes |
11 files changed, 17399 insertions, 0 deletions
diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/1625-0.txt b/1625-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..39b7ac6 --- /dev/null +++ b/1625-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4043 @@ +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 + +Posting Date: October 5, 2008 [EBook #1625] +Release Date: February, 1999 +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 + + + + + +THE FROZEN DEEP + +by Wilkie Collins + + + + +First Scene--The Ball-room + + + +Chapter 1. + +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. + +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 _Wanderer_ and the +_Sea-mew_. They are to sail (in search of the Northwest Passage) on the +next day, with the morning tide. + +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. + +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 _Wanderer_. 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 _Wanderer_) for +vis-a-vis--in plain English, for opposite couple. + +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? + +Mrs. Crayford shakes her head; sighs mysteriously; and answers, + +“In _very_ delicate health, Captain Helding.” + +“Consumptive?” + +“Not in the least.” + +“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 _is_ the matter with +her?” + +“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.” + +“Ay! ay! A bad school, I suppose.” + +“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.” + +“God bless me!” cried the captain, “you don’t mean to say she believes +in such stuff as that? In these enlightened times too!” + +Mrs. Crayford looked at her partner with a satirical smile. + +“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?” + +“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?” + +“That is the Second Sight, captain. And that is, really and positively, +what she does.” + +“The young lady who is dancing opposite to us?” + +“The young lady who is dancing opposite to us.” + +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. + +“May I ask, ma’am, if you have ever seen her in a state of trance with +your own eyes?” he inquired. + +“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.” + +“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!” + +“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.” + +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?” + +“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.’” + +The captain smiled self-approvingly. The doctor had justified his +anticipations. The doctor had suggested a practical solution of the +difficulty. + +“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?” + +“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.” + +Captain Helding was ready with his own practical remedy for this +difficulty. + +“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 _will_ confide.” + +“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?” + +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. + +“Do you know,” he began, “that the _Atalanta_ is expected back from the +West Coast of Africa every day? Have you any acquaintances among the +officers of that ship?” + +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. + +“The heat!” she said, faintly. “Take me away--take me into the air!” + +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. + +“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?” + +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.” + +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. + +“Don’t be alarmed,” said the lieutenant. “The heat has overcome +her--that’s all.” + +Mrs. Crayford shook her head, and looked at her husband, half +satirically, half fondly. + +“You dear old innocent!” she exclaimed, “that excuse may do for _you_. +For my part, I don’t believe a word of it. Go and get another partner, +and leave Clara to me.” + +She entered the conservatory and seated herself by Clara’s side. + + + +Chapter 2. + + +“Now, my dear!” Mrs. Crayford began, “what does this mean?” + +“Nothing.” + +“That won’t do, Clara. Try again.” + +“The heat of the room--” + +“That won’t do, either. Say that you choose to keep your own secrets, +and I shall understand what you mean.” + +Clara’s sad, clear gray eyes looked up for the first time in Mrs. +Crayford’s face, and suddenly became dimmed with tears. + +“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.” + +Mrs. Crayford’s manner changed. Her eyes rested gravely and anxiously on +Clara’s face. + +“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.” + +Clara began to yield. In other words, she began to make conditions. + +“Will you promise to keep what I tell you a secret from every living +creature?” she began. + +Mrs. Crayford met that question, by putting a question on her side. + +“Does ‘every living creature’ include my husband?” + +“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.” + +“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!” + +Clara hesitated painfully. + +“I don’t know how to begin!” she exclaimed, with a burst of despair. +“The words won’t come to me.” + +“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?” + +“Oh no.” + +“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.” + +“There is a reason. Captain Helding--” + +“Captain Helding! What in the name of wonder has the captain to do with +it?” + +“He told you something about the _Atalanta_. He said the _Atalanta_ was +expected back from Africa immediately.” + +“Well, and what of that? Is there anybody in whom you are interested +coming home in the ship?” + +“Somebody whom I am afraid of is coming home in the ship.” + +Mrs. Crayford’s magnificent black eyes opened wide in amazement. + +“My dear Clara! do you really mean what you say?” + +“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?” + +“No, my dear; I don’t remember ever hearing of the house in Kent. Tell +me about it.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“Richard.” + +“Am I right, Clara, in suspecting that Mr. Richard Wardour admired you?” + +The question produced its intended effect. The question helped Clara to +go on. + +“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?” + +“Such characters exist by thousands. I have my faults of temper. I begin +to like Richard already. Go on.” + +“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.” + +“And Richard helped to confirm your suspicions, of course?” + +“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.” + +“‘Would not,’ is the most likely, my dear. Go on.” + +“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?” + +“Do? You could have asked your father to end the difficulty for you.” + +“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.” + +“Was there no one else who could help you?” + +“No one.” + +“No lady in whom you could confide?” + +“I had acquaintances among the ladies in the neighborhood. I had no +friends.” + +“What did you do, then?” + +“Nothing. I hesitated; I put off coming to an explanation with him, +unfortunately, until it was too late.” + +“What do you mean by too late?” + +“You shall hear. I ought to have told you that Richard Wardour is in the +navy--” + +“Indeed! I am more interested in him than ever. Well?” + +“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.”-- + +“Yes?” + +“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!” + +“My dear child, I don’t reproach you. I only think you might have +written to him.” + +“I did write.” + +“Plainly?” + +“Yes. I told him in so many words that he was deceiving himself, and +that I could never marry him.” + +“Plain enough, in all conscience! Having said that, surely you are not +to blame. What are you fretting about now?” + +“Suppose my letter has never reached him?” + +“Why should you suppose anything of the sort?” + +“What I wrote required an answer, Lucy--_asked_ for an answer. The +answer has never come. What is the plain conclusion? My letter has never +reached him. And the _Atalanta_ 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?” + +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. + +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. + +“My dear,” she said abruptly, “have you told me all?” + +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. + +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. + +“A friend of yours, my dear?” she asked, innocently. “Suppose you +introduce us to each other.” + +Clara confusedly introduced the young gentleman. + +“Mr. Francis Aldersley, Lucy. Mr. Aldersley belongs to the Arctic +expedition.” + +“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 _Wanderer_. Do you +belong to that ship?” + +“I have not the honor, Mrs. Crayford. I belong to the _Sea-mew_.” + +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. + +“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 _now_, better than you do yourself. Do you want to hear my +opinion?” + +“I am longing to hear it, Lucy! I want your opinion; I want your +advice.” + +“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.” + +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. + + + +Chapter 3. + + +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. + +“Don’t let me keep you from dancing, Mr. Aldersley.” + +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: + +“Call me Frank.” + +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. + +“Clara! have you forgotten what I said at the concert yesterday? May I +say it again?” + +“No!” + +“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 _me_.” + +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. + +“What! not even that little favor on the last night?” + +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! + +“Clara! do you love me?” + +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: + +“Do you love me?” + +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! + +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. + +Frank answers the question. + +“You have made me happy, my angel. Now, when I come back, I come back to +make you my wife.” + +She shudders. She remembers Richard Wardour again at those words. + +“Mind!” she says, “nobody is to know we are engaged till I permit you to +mention it. Remember that!” + +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! + +“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!” + +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! + + + +Chapter 4. + + +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. + +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. + +He was the first to speak. + +“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.” + +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. + +“Did you get my letter?” + +He started. “A letter from you? I never received it.” + +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. + +“Clara, you have not even shaken hands with me! What does it mean?” + +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: + +“What does it mean?” + +She replied this time. His tone had hurt her--his tone had roused her +sinking courage. + +“It means, Mr. Wardour, that you have been mistaken from the first.” + +“How have I been mistaken?” + +“You have been under a wrong impression, and you have given me no +opportunity of setting you right.” + +“In what way have I been wrong?” + +“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.” + +He mechanically repeated the last words. He seemed to doubt whether he +had heard her aright. + +“You can never be my wife?” + +“Never!” + +“Why?” + +There was no answer. She was incapable of telling him a falsehood. She +was ashamed to tell him the truth. + +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. + +“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?” + +“You have no right to ask me that.” + +He went on without noticing what she had said to him. + +“Has that other man come between you and me? I speak plainly on my side. +Speak plainly on yours.” + +“I _have_ spoken. I have nothing more to say.” + +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. + +“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?” + +“I hear you.” + +“Clara Burnham! I am not to be trifled with. Clara Burnham! I insist on +the truth. Are you false to me?” + +She resented that searching question with a woman’s keen sense of the +insult that is implied in doubting her to her face. + +“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--” + +He passionately interrupted her before she could say more. + +“You have engaged yourself in my absence. Your words own it; your looks +own it! You have engaged yourself to another man!” + +“If I _have_ engaged myself, what right have you to complain of it?” she +answered firmly. “What right have you to control my actions--?” + +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. + +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. + +“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. + +“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.” + +He turned and left her. + +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. + +“What do you want?” she asked. + +“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.” + + + + +Between the Scenes--The Landing Stage + + + +Chapter 5. + + +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. + +“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?” + +“I can’t rest. I have not slept all night. Have you been out yet?” + +“No.” + +“Have you seen or heard anything of Richard Wardour?” + +“What an extraordinary question!” + +“Answer my question! Don’t trifle with me!” + +“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.” + +“No! He is here! He is near us! All night long the presentiment has +pursued me--Frank and Richard Wardour will meet.” + +“My dear child! what are you thinking of? They are total strangers to +each other.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“I must and will go with you! Crowd? _He_ will be among the crowd! +Confusion? In that confusion _he_ 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!” + +It was useless to contend with her. Mrs. Crayford yielded. The two women +left the house together. + +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. + +“The _Sea-mew_‘s boats are waiting,” he said. “I must go, darling. How +pale you are looking, Clara! Are you ill?” + +She never answered. She questioned him with wild eyes and trembling +lips. + +“Has anything happened to you, Frank? anything out of the common?” + +Frank laughed at the strange question. + +“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?” + +“Has anybody spoken to you since last night? Has any stranger followed +you in the street?” + +Frank turned in blank amazement to Mrs. Crayford. + +“What on earth does she mean?” + +Mrs. Crayford’s lively invention supplied her with an answer on the spur +of the moment. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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!” + +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. + +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! + +“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.” + +Clara’s eyes still wandered suspiciously to and fro among the crowd. + +“Are you not satisfied yet?” asked Mrs. Crayford. + +“No,” Clara answered, “I am not satisfied yet.” + +“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.” + +Clara drew back a few steps. + +“I won’t be in the way, Lucy, while you are taking leave of your good +husband,” she said. “I will wait here.” + +“Wait here! What for?” + +“For something which I may yet see; or for something which I may still +hear.” + +“Richard Wardour?” + +“Richard Wardour.” + +Mrs. Crayford turned to her husband without another word. Clara’s +infatuation was beyond the reach of remonstrance. + +The boats of the _Wanderer_ took the place at the landing-stage vacated +by the boats of the _Sea-mew_. 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. + +“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!” + +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. + +“You received my note this morning?” the captain began. + +“Certainly, Captain Helding, or I should have been on board the ship +before this.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“Quite true! there _is_ another reason. I want you to wait for a +volunteer who has just joined us.” + +“A volunteer!” + +“Yes. He has his outfit to get in a hurry, and he may be half an hour +late.” + +“It’s rather a sudden appointment, isn’t it?” + +“No doubt. Very sudden.” + +“And--pardon me--it’s rather a long time (as we are situated) to keep +the ships waiting for one man?” + +“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.” + +“He only returned yesterday from foreign service! And he volunteers this +morning to join the Arctic expedition? You astonish me.” + +“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.” + +“Did you ask him to explain himself further?” + +“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.” + + +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. + +“What is the matter? What has frightened you, my dear?” + +“Lucy! I _have_ heard of him!” + +“Richard Wardour again?” + +“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 _Wanderer_. The captain has taken +him. The man is Richard Wardour.” + +“You don’t mean it! Are you sure? Did you hear Captain Helding mention +his name?” + +“No.” + +“Then how do you know it’s Richard Wardour?” + +“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!” + +“Your foreboding has _not_ 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 _Sea-mew_, and Wardour to the +_Wanderer_. See! Captain Helding has done. My husband is coming this +way. Let me make sure. Let me speak to him.” + +Lieutenant Crayford returned to his wife. She spoke to him instantly. + +“William! you have got a new volunteer who joins the _Wanderer_?” + +“What! you have been listening to the captain and me?” + +“I want to know his name?” + +“How in the world did you manage to hear what we said to each other?” + +“His name? has the captain given you his name?” + +“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.” + +Mrs. Crayford snatched the list out of her husband’s hand, and read the +name: + +“RICHARD WARDOUR.” + + + + +Second Scene--The Hut of the _Sea-mew_. + + + +Chapter 6. + + +Good-by to England! Good-by to inhabited and civilized regions of the +earth! + +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 _Wanderer_ and _Sea-mew_, +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. + +The largest of the two buildings which now shelter the lost men is +occupied by the surviving officers and crew of the _Sea-mew_. 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. + + + +Chapter 7. + + +The first sound that broke the silence came from the inner apartment. An +officer lifted the canvas screen in the hut of the _Sea-mew_ 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 _Wanderer_ filled their places +for the time, with Captain Helding’s permission. The officer so employed +was--Lieutenant Crayford. + +He approached the man at the fireside, and awakened him. + +“Jump up, Bateson! It’s your turn to be relieved.” + +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. + +The pestle and mortar on the cask attracted his attention. He stopped +and looked up at the man in the hammock. + +“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!” + +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: + +“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_ don’t grumble.” + +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. + +“Halloo! what are you doing there?” + +“Thawing my beard, sir.” + +“Come here directly, and set to work on these bones.” + +John Want remained immovably attached to the fire-place, holding +something else over the fire. Crayford began to lose his temper. + +“What the devil are you about now?” + +“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_ don’t grumble.” + +“No, we all know that. Look here! Are these bones pounded small enough?” + +John Want suddenly approached the lieutenant, and looked at him with an +appearance of the deepest interest. + +“You’ll excuse me, sir,” he said; “how very hollow your voice sounds +this morning!” + +“Never mind my voice. The bones! the bones!” + +“Yes, sir--the bones. They’ll take a trifle more pounding. I’ll do my +best with them, sir, for your sake.” + +“What do you mean?” + +John Want shook his head, and looked at Crayford with a dreary smile. + +“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_ don’t grumble.” + +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. + +“A message from Captain Ebsworth, sir.” + +“Well?” + +“The captain is worse than ever with his freezing pains, sir. He wants +to see you immediately.” + +“I will go at once. Rouse the doctor.” + +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. + +“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?” + +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. + +“Who’s that croaking over the fire?” + +“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 _him_,” John proceeded, speaking confidentially to himself, “more +than six hours to last. He’s one of your grumblers.” + +“What are you doing there?” asked Frank. + +“I’m making bone soup, sir, and wondering why I ever went to sea.” + +“Well, and why did you go to sea?” + +“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 _not_ to go to sea.” + +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?” + +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. + +“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 _them_ 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.’” + +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. + +“Have you anything in your berth, Frank, that you set a value on?” + +“Nothing that I set the smallest value on--when I am out of it,” he +replied. “What does your question mean?” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“Can’t you guess?” + +“I suppose the cold has stupefied me. The riddle is beyond my reading. +Suppose you give me a hint?” + +“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?” + +Frank’s eyes sparkled. He sprang out of his berth, and waved his fur cap +in triumph. + +“See it?” he exclaimed; “of course I do! The exploring party is to start +at last. Do I go with the expedition?” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“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.” + +“Do they mean to keep the appointments in their own hands?” asked Frank. +“I for one object to that.” + +“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?” + +“It belongs to me. I have got it in my locker here. What do you want +with it?” + +“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 _Wanderer_ 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.” + +“I am quite satisfied,” said Frank. “But I know of one man among the +officers who is sure to make objections.” + +“Who is the man?” + +“You know him well enough, too. The ‘Bear of the Expeditions’ Richard +Wardour.” + +“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.” + +“Your good friend? Crayford! your liking for that man amazes me.” + +Crayford laid his hand kindly on Frank’s shoulder. Of all the officers +of the _Sea-mew_, Crayford’s favorite was Frank. + +“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 +_you_ form a fair estimate of his character?” + +“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.” + +“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 _Wanderer_; and I was only +transferred to the _Sea-mew_ 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.” + +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--“_Sea-mew_, ahoy!” + + + +Chapter 8. + + +The sailor on watch opened the outer door. There, plodding over the +ghastly white snow, were the officers of the _Wanderer_ 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. + +Captain Helding of the _Wanderer_, 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. + +Crayford advanced to welcome Captain Helding. Frank, remembering the +friendly reproof which he had just received, passed over the other +officers of the _Wanderer_, and made a special effort to be civil to +Crayford’s friend. + +“Good-morning, Mr. Wardour,” he said. “We may congratulate each other on +the chance of leaving this horrible place.” + +“_You_ may think it horrible,” Wardour retorted; “I like it.” + +“Like it? Good Heavens! why?” + +“Because there are no women here.” + +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. + +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. + +He began in these words: + +“Brother officers and men of the _Wanderer_ and _Sea-mew_, 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?” + +The officers (with the exception of Wardour, who stood apart in sullen +silence) all agreed, so far. + +The captain went on. + +“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 _Wanderer_‘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.” + +The officers echoed the words cheerfully. + +“Right! right! No time to lose.” + +Captain Helding resumed: + +“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?” + +The officers answered the question with one accord--“Volunteers!” + +The men echoed their officers. “Ay, ay, volunteers.” + +Wardour still preserved his sullen silence. Crayford noticed him. +standing apart from the rest, and appealed to him personally. + +“Do you say nothing?” he asked. + +“Nothing,” Wardour answered. “Go or stay, it’s all one to me.” + +“I hope you don’t really mean that?” said Crayford. + +“I do.” + +“I am sorry to hear it, Wardour.” + +Captain Helding answered the general suggestion in favor of volunteering +by a question which instantly checked the rising enthusiasm of the +meeting. + +“Well,” he said, “suppose we say volunteers. Who volunteers to stop in +the huts?” + +There was a dead silence. The officers and men looked at each other +confusedly. The captain continued: + +“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.” + +Everybody admitted that this was true. + +“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 _Wanderer_ and the _Sea-mew_, do you +agree to that way of meeting the difficulty?” + +All the officers agreed, with the one exception of Wardour, who still +kept silence. + +“Men of the _Wanderer_ and _Sea-mew_, your officers agree to cast lots. +Do you agree too?” + +The men agreed without a dissentient voice. Crayford handed the box and +the dice to Captain Helding. + +“You throw first, sir. Under six, ‘Stay.’ Over six, ‘Go.’” + +Captain Helding cast the dice; the top of the cask serving for a table. +He threw seven. + +“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.” + +Wardour prepared to cast, without shaking the dice. + +“Shake the box, man!” cried Crayford. “Give yourself a chance of luck!” + +Wardour persisted in letting the dice fall out carelessly, just as they +lay in the box. + +“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. + +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.” + +“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.” + +Frank appealed to Crayford. “Shall I?” + +“Yes, if he wishes it,” said Crayford. + +Frank cast the dice. “Two! He stays! Wardour, I am sorry I have thrown +against you.” + +“Go or stay,” reiterated Wardour, “it’s all one to me. You will be +luckier, young one, when you cast for yourself.” + +Frank cast for himself. + +“Eight. Hurrah! I go!” + +“What did I tell you?” said Wardour. “The chance was yours. You have +thriven on my ill luck.” + +He rose, as he spoke, to leave the hut. Crayford stopped him. + +“Have you anything particular to do, Richard?” + +“What has anybody to do here?” + +“Wait a little, then. I want to speak to you when this business is +over.” + +“Are you going to give me any more good advice?” + +“Don’t look at me in that sour way, Richard. I am going to ask you a +question about something which concerns yourself.” + +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 _Sea-mew_. Wardour and Crayford were left +together, alone. + + + +Chapter 9. + + +Crayford touched his friend on the shoulder to rouse him. Wardour looked +up, impatiently, with a frown. + +“I was just asleep,” he said. “Why do you wake me?” + +“Look round you, Richard. We are alone.” + +“Well--and what of that?” + +“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?” + +“Can a man always give a reason for what is strange in his manner or his +words?” Wardour retorted. + +“He can try,” said Crayford, quietly--“when his friend asks him.” + +Wardour’s manner softened. + +“That’s true,” he said. “I _will_ try. Do you remember the first night +at sea when we sailed from England in the _Wanderer_?” + +“As well as if it was yesterday.” + +“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--” + +He stopped. Crayford took his hand, and finished the sentence for him. + +“Alone--and in tears.” + +“The last I shall ever shed,” Wardour added, bitterly. + +“Don’t say that! There are times when a man is to be pitied indeed, if +he can shed no tears. Go on, Richard.” + +Wardour proceeded--still following the old recollections, still +preserving his gentler tones. + +“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.” + +“And the only unalloyed happiness,” said Crayford, “the happiness that +women bring.” + +“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 _her_. 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 _you_. 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.” + +“Your time? What time?” + +“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!” + +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. + +“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_ 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.” + +He paused once more. This time Crayford spoke. + +“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!” + +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. + +“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?” + +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. + +“What was this wanted for?” he asked. + +“To cut up Mr. Aldersley’s berth there into firing, sir.” + +“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.” + +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. + + + +Chapter 10. + + +Ax in hand, Wardour approached Frank’s bed-place. + +“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!” + +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!” + +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. + +“D--n the fellow (whoever he is) who cut this! Why should he carve +_that_ name, of all the names in the world?” + +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. + +He cut out another plank. + +He stopped, and looked at it suspiciously. + +There was carving again, on this plank. The letters F. and A. appeared +on it. + +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. + +“More carving,” he said to himself. “That’s the way these young idlers +employ their long hours. F. A.? Those must be _his_ initials--Frank +Aldersley. Who carved the letters on the other plank? Frank Aldersley, +too?” + +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. + +“C. B.?” he repeated to himself. “His sweet heart’s initials, I suppose? +Of course--at his age--his sweetheart’s initials.” + +He paused once more. A spasm of inner pain showed the shadow of its +mysterious passage, outwardly on his face. + +“_Her_ cipher is C. B.,” he said, in low, broken tones. “C. B.--Clara +Burnham.” + +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. + +“Clara Burnham? Clara Burnham?” + +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. + +“Crayford!” he cried out. “Crayford! come here, and let’s go hunting.” + +No friendly voice answered him. No friendly face showed itself at the +door. + +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! + +The minutes passed. + +He became conscious, on a sudden, of a freezing stream of air pouring +into the room. + +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. + +Was it--could it be--the man who had carved the letters on the plank? +Yes! Frank Aldersley! + + + +Chapter 11. + + +“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.” + +He checked himself there, looking Wardour full in the face. + +“Good Heavens!” he cried, “how pale you are! Has anything happened?” + +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. + +“Are you ill?” he asked. “I hear you have been doing Bateson’s work for +him. Have you hurt yourself?” + +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. + +“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!” + +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. + +“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?” + +Frank met the oddly abrupt advance which had been made to him with +perfect good humor. + +“I am glad to be friends with you, Mr. Wardour. I wish I was as well +seasoned to fatigue as you are.” + +Wardour burst into a hard, joyless, unnatural laugh. + +“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.” + +Frank advanced a step on his side, with a new interest in Richard +Wardour. + +“You come from Kent?” he said. + +“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. + +“I ought to know something about East Kent,” Frank answered. “Some dear +friends of mine once lived there.” + +“Friends of yours?” Wardour repeated. “One of the county families, I +suppose?” + +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. + +“Why are you staring at me?” he asked. + +“Why are you looking unlike yourself?” Crayford answered, quietly. + +Wardour made no reply. He renewed the conversation with Frank. + +“One of the county families?” he resumed. “The Winterbys of Yew Grange, +I dare say?” + +“No,” said Frank; “but friends of the Witherbys, very likely. The +Burnhams.” + +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. + +“There is your handkerchief, Richard,” he said. “Strange!” + +“What is strange?” + +“You told us you had hurt yourself with the ax--” + +“Well?” + +“There is no blood on your handkerchief.” + +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.” + +The door was opened from the outer side as he laid his hand on the lock. + +One of the quartermasters of the _Wanderer_ entered the hut. + +“Is Captain Helding here, sir?” he asked, addressing himself to Wardour. + +Wardour pointed to Crayford. + +“The lieutenant will tell you,” he said. + +Crayford advanced and questioned the quartermaster. “What do you want +with Captain Helding?” he asked. + +“I have a report to make, sir. There has been an accident on the ice.” + +“To one of your men?” + +“No, sir. To one of our officers.” + +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. + +“I am sorry to hear of the accident,” he said. “You will find Captain +Helding in that room.” + +For the second time, with singular persistency, Wardour renewed the +conversation with Frank. + +“So you knew the Burnhams?” he said. “What became of Clara when her +father died?” + +Frank’s face flushed angrily on the instant. + +“Clara!” he repeated. “What authorizes you to speak of Miss Burnham in +that familiar manner?” + +Wardour seized the opportunity of quarreling with him. + +“What right have you to ask?” he retorted, coarsely. + +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. + +“A right which I insist on your respecting,” he answered. “The right of +being engaged to marry her.” + +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. + +“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--” + +Frank generously stopped the apology there. + +“Say no more,” he interposed. “I was in the wrong--I lost my temper. +Pray forgive me.” + +Wardour looked at him with a strange, reluctant interest while he was +speaking. Wardour asked an extraordinary question when he had done. + +“Is she very fond of you?” + +Frank burst out laughing. + +“My dear fellow,” he said, “come to our wedding, and judge for +yourself.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“I will supply his place,” cried a voice at the other end of the hut. + +Everybody looked round. The man who had spoken was Richard Wardour. + +Crayford instantly interfered--so vehemently as to astonish all who knew +him. + +“No!” he said. “Not you, Richard! not you!” + +“Why not?” Wardour asked, sternly. + +“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.” + +Crayford failed to show his customary respect for his superior officer. +He openly disputed the captain’s conclusion. + +“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.” + +“And chance _has_ decided it,” cried Wardour. “Do you think we are going +to cast the dice again, and give an officer of the _Sea-mew_ a chance of +replacing an officer of the _Wanderer_? 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?” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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?” + +Wardour had followed Crayford. Wardour roughly interposed before Frank +could reply. + +“Let him alone!” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“You owned yourself just now that you were not well seasoned to +fatigue,” he persisted. “You feel (you _must_ 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.” + +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. + +“Richard,” he said, very quietly, “you are not yourself. I pity you. +Drop your hand.” + +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. + +“I am gratefully sensible, Crayford,” he began, “of the interest which +you take in me--” + +“And you will follow my advice?” Crayford interposed, eagerly. + +“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!” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +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. + +“God bless you, Crayford!” + +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. + +“God preserve you, Frank! I would give all I have in the world to be +with you. Good-by! Good-by!” + +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: + +“While you can stand, keep with the main body, Frank!” + +Wardour, waiting till the last--Wardour, following Frank through the +snow-drift--stopped, stepped back, and answered Crayford at the door: + +“While he can stand, he keeps with Me.” + + + + +Third Scene--The Iceberg. + + + +Chapter 12. + + +Alone! alone on the Frozen Deep! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + + + + +Fourth Scene--The Garden. + + + +Chapter 13. + + +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. + +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. + +The delicious silence of the hour is softly disturbed by the voice of +the younger lady in the garden. + +“Go to the piano, Lucy. It is a night for music. Play something that is +worthy of the night.” + +Mrs. Crayford looks round at the clock on the mantelpiece. + +“My dear Clara, it is past twelve! Remember what the doctor told you. +You ought to have been in bed an hour ago.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +“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.” + +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 _Wanderer_ and the _Sea-mew_ 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. + +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. + +“Shall I stop there?” she asks. + +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. + +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. + +Mrs. Crayford advances as far as the path before the window, and calls +to her. + +“Clara!” + +Again there is no answer. The white figure still stands immovably in its +place. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Turning toward Clara once more, Mrs. Crayford hears the vacantly uttered +words, falling faster and faster from her lips, + +“Frank! Frank! Frank! Don’t drop behind--don’t trust Richard Wardour. +While you can stand, keep with the other men, Frank!” + +(The farewell warning of Crayford in the solitudes of the Frozen Deep, +repeated by Clara in the garden of her English home!) + +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. + +“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!” + +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. + +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. + +“I have had a dreadful dream,” she murmurs faintly. “Am I ill, Lucy? I +feel so weak.” + +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. + +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?” + + + +Chapter 14. + + +The night had passed. + +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. + +The two ladies were out together; resting on a garden seat, after a walk +round the grounds. + +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. + +An hour passed, and the gate-bell of the villa rang. + +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! + +Would both of them do again to-day what both had done so often in the +days that were gone? + +No! Mrs. Crayford removed the cover from her newspaper as usual. Clara +laid _her_ newspaper aside, unopened, on the garden seat. + +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.” + +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: + +THE ARCTIC EXPEDITION. + +She waited, and looked at Mrs. Crayford. + +“Can you bear to hear it, Lucy,” she asked, “if I read it aloud?” + +Mrs. Crayford was too agitated to answer in words. She signed +impatiently to Clara to go on. + +Clara read the news which followed the heading in capital letters. Thus +it ran: + +“The following intelligence, from St. Johns, Newfoundland, has reached +us for publication. The whaling-vessel _Blythewood_ 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.” + +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. + +There the wife’s joy overpowered her. After a pause, she put her arm +around Clara’s waist, and spoke to her. + +“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.” + +The answer came, in still, sad tones: + +“I have read as far as your husband’s name. I have no need to read +further.” + +Mrs. Crayford dashed the tears from her eyes--steadied herself--and +looked at the newspaper. + +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: + +FRANCIS ALDERSLEY. RICHARD WARDOUR. + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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 _or_ 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?” + +“Yes.” + +“Can you deny what I say?” + +“No.” + +“‘Yes!’ ‘No!’ Is that the way to answer me when I am so distressed and +so anxious about you?” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“I believe in what I saw last night.” + +“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!” + +“Call it a dream if you like, Lucy. I have had other dreams at other +times--and I have known them to be fulfilled.” + +“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.” + +She put her arm round the girl’s neck, and kissed her. Clara returned +the kiss; Clara answered, sadly and submissively, + +“I do love you, Lucy. I _will_ try.” + +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. + + + +Chapter 15. + + +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. + +“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.” + +“Miss Burnham has grieved and alarmed me,” Mrs. Crayford answered. “I +was just thinking of sending for you when we met here.” + +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. + +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. + +“Let us go and look at her,” he said. + +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. + +“I think you told me,” he began, “that Miss Burnham has neither father +nor mother living?” + +“Yes. Miss Burnham is an orphan.” + +“Has she any near relatives?” + +“No. You may speak to me as her guardian and her friend. Are you alarmed +about her?” + +“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.” + +“I am quite satisfied with your opinion,” Mrs. Crayford replied. “For +God’s sake, tell me, what can we do?” + +“We can try a complete change,” said the doctor. “We can remove her at +once from this place.” + +“She will refuse to leave it,” Mrs. Crayford rejoined. “I have more than +once proposed a change to her--and she always says No.” + +The doctor paused for a moment, like a man collecting his thoughts. + +“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.” + +“What is it?” asked Mrs. Crayford, eagerly. + +“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?” + +“Certainly. My father is in the Secretary’s office; and two of the Lords +of the Admiralty are friends of his.” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“Admirably guessed, Mrs. Crayford! That is exactly what I mean.” + +“But how is it to be done?” + +“I will tell you immediately. I mentioned--didn’t I?--that I had heard +something on my road to this house.” + +“Yes.” + +“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?” + +Mrs. Crayford rose excitedly to her feet. + +“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?” + +“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?” + +“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.” + +So they parted. + + + +In a week from that day, her majesty’s ship _Amazon_ 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. + + + + +Fifth Scene--The Boat-House. + + + +Chapter 16. + + +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. + +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. + +What is the vessel lying at anchor in the offing? + +The vessel is the _Amazon_--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 _Amazon_ 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. + +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. + +Still reposing on the chest, our friend, who never grumbles, is +surprised by the sudden appearance of a sailor at the boat-house door. + +“Look sharp with your work there, John Want!” says the sailor. +“Lieutenant Crayford is just coming in to look after you.” + +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. + +“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_ don’t grumble.” + +“Have you done cording that box?” + +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. + +“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.” + +Crayford answers sharply. He seems to have lost his former relish for +the humor of John Want. + +“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.” + +“I could be just as cheerful as ever, sir, if I _was_ 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_ 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.” + +“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.” + +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. + +“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.” + +Having entered that unanswerable protest, John Want shouldered the box, +and drifted drearily out of the boat-house. + +Left by himself, Crayford looked at his watch, and called to a sailor +outside. + +“Where are the ladies?” he asked. + +“Mrs. Crayford is coming this way, sir. She was just behind you when you +came in.” + +“Is Miss Burnham with her?” + +“No, sir; Miss Burnham is down on the beach with the passengers. I heard +the young lady asking after you, sir.” + +“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.” + +The man made his salute and went out. Crayford took a turn in the +boat-house. + +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. + +On the first day when the rescued men were received on board the +_Amazon_, 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. + +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? + +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. + +“Have you seen anything of Clara?” he asked. “Is she still on the +beach?” + +“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.” + +“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?” + +“She was firmly persuaded, William, that they _would_ 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!’” + +“Good God!” cried Crayford; “I warned him myself, almost in those very +words, the last time I saw him!” + +“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.” + + + +Chapter 17. + + +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. + +“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?” + +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. + +“My dear Clara,” he said, “what have I done that you should suspect me +of deceiving you?” + +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. + +“Any instructions from the ship, Steventon?” he asked, approaching the +officer. + +“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.” + +Hearing this, Mrs. Crayford took _her_ opportunity of silencing Clara +next. + +“Come, my dear,” she said. “Let us lay the cloth before the gentlemen +come in.” + +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. + +“Can you spare me a few minutes?” she asked. “I have something to say to +you.” + +“I am entirely at your service, Miss Burnham.” + +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.” + +Clara beckoned to Crayford to return to her. + +“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?” + +“On my honor,” Crayford answered, “it is the truth.” + +“On my honor,” Steventon repeated, “it is the truth.” + +She looked at them, carefully considering her next words, before she +spoke again. + +“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?” + +The question was a dangerous one to answer. Steventon left it to +Crayford to reply. Once again he answered evasively. + +“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.” + +Clara instantly drew the inevitable conclusion from that ill-considered +reply. + +“Frank is missing from the party of relief,” she said. “Am I to +understand that Wardour is missing from the huts?” + +Both Crayford and Steventon hesitated. Mrs. Crayford cast one indignant +look at them, and told the necessary lie, without a moment’s hesitation! + +“Yes!” she said. “Wardour is missing from the huts.” + +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. + +“I trust to your honor,” she said, quietly. “Am I right, or wrong, in +believing that Mrs. Crayford is mistaken?” + +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. + +Clara looked at Mrs. Crayford. + +“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. + +“Have you been in the Highlands of Scotland?” she asked. + +“I have never been in the Highlands,” the lieutenant replied. + +“Have you ever read, in books about the Highlands, of such a thing as +‘The Second Sight’?” + +“Yes.” + +“Do you believe in the Second Sight?” + +Steventon politely declined to commit himself to a direct reply. + +“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.” + +“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?” + +Crayford made a last vain effort to check her inquiries at the point +which they had now reached. + +“Neither Steventon nor I were members of the party of relief,” he said. +“How are we to answer you?” + +“Your brother officers who _were_ 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.” + +Mrs. Crayford interposed again, with a practical suggestion this time. + +“The luncheon is not unpacked yet,” she said. “Come, Clara! this is our +business, and the time is passing.” + +“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!” + +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. + +“On the third day out,” he said, “Frank’s strength failed him. He fell +behind the rest from fatigue.” + +“Surely they waited for him?” + +“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.” + +There he stopped. There the imprudence into which his fondness for Clara +had led him showed itself plainly, and closed his lips. + +It was too late to take refuge in silence. Clara was determined on +hearing more. + +She questioned Steventon next. + +“Did Frank go on again after the half-day’s rest?” she asked. + +“He tried to go on--” + +“And failed?” + +“Yes.” + +“What did the men do when he failed? Did they turn cowards? Did they +desert Frank?” + +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. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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?” + +There Mrs. Crayford saw her opportunity of giving her husband a timely +hint. + +“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.” + +“Plenty of quarrels!” Crayford repeated; “and every one of them made up +again.” + +“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!” + +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. + +“‘A time may come when I shall forgive _you_. 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?” + +Her lips suddenly closed. She started, and drew back from the doorway, +trembling violently. Mrs. Crayford looked out at the quiet seaward view. + +“Anything there that frightens you, my dear?” she asked. “I can see +nothing, except the boats drawn up on the beach.” + +“_I_ can see nothing either, Lucy.” + +“And yet you are trembling as if there was something dreadful in the +view from this door.” + +“There _is_ 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!” + +Mrs. Crayford looked round her, and noticed a second door at the inner +end of the boat-house. She spoke to her husband. + +“See where that door leads to, William.” + +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?” + +She offered her arm to Clara as she spoke. Clara refused it. She took +Crayford’s arm, and clung to him. + +“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!” + +“Leave her to me,” said Crayford to his wife. “I will call you, if she +doesn’t get better in the open air.” + +He took her out at once, and closed the yard door behind them. + +“Mr. Steventon, do you understand this?” asked Mrs. Crayford. “What can +she possibly be frightened of?” + +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. + +In a moment more the figure appeared. A man came slowly into view, and +stopped on the threshold of the door. + + + +Chapter 18. + + +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. + +Steventon spoke to him. + +“Who are you?” + +He answered, in a hoarse, hollow voice, + +“A starving man.” + +He advanced a few steps, slowly and painfully, as if he were sinking +under fatigue. + +“Throw me some bones from the table,” he said. “Give me my share along +with the dogs.” + +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. + +“Give the man some bread and meat,” he said, “and wait near him.” + +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. + +“Where do you come from?” + +“From the sea.” + +“Wrecked?” + +“Yes.” + +Steventon turned to Mrs. Crayford. + +“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?” + +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. + +“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!” + +Even the sailors pitied him. The sailors asked leave of their officer to +add a little drink to his meal. + +“We’ve got a drop of grog with us, sir, in a bottle. May we give it to +him?” + +“Certainly!” + +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. + +“Are you saving it up for another time?” said Steventon. + +“I’m saving it up,” the man answered. “Never mind what for. That’s my +secret.” + +He looked round the boat-house as he made that reply, and noticed Mrs. +Crayford for the first time. + +“A woman among you!” he said. “Is she English? Is she young? Let me look +closer at her.” + +He advanced a few steps toward the table. + +“Don’t be afraid, Mrs. Crayford,” said Steventon. + +“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!” + +He never spoke. He stood, in dead silence, looking long and anxiously at +the beautiful Englishwoman. + +“Well?” said Steventon. + +He shook his head sadly, and drew back again with a heavy sigh. + +“No!” he said to himself, “that’s not _her_ face. No! not found yet.” + +Mrs. Crayford’s interest was strongly excited. She ventured to speak to +him. + +“Who is it you want to find?” she asked. “Your wife?” + +He shook his head again. + +“Who, then? What is she like?” + +He answered that question in words. His hoarse, hollow voice softened, +little by little, into sorrowful and gentle tones. + +“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 _her!_ 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 _her!_” + +He waved his hand with a gesture of farewell, and turned wearily to go +out. + +At the same moment Crayford opened the yard door. + +“I think you had better come to Clara,” he began, and checked himself, +noticing the stranger. “Who is that?” + +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. + +“It’s only a poor, mad creature, William,” she whispered--“shipwrecked +and starving.” + +“Mad?” Crayford repeated, approaching nearer and nearer to the man. “Am +_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!” + +The man struggled. Crayford held him. + +“Where is Frank?” he said. “You villain, where is Frank?” + +The man resisted no longer. He repeated vacantly, + +“Villain? and where is Frank?” + +As the name escaped his lips, Clara appeared at the open yard door, and +hurried into the room. + +“I heard Richard’s name!” she said. “I heard Frank’s name! What does it +mean?” + +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. + +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. + +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. + +“Saved, Clara!” he cried. “Saved for _you!_” + +He released the man, and placed him in Clara’s arms. + +Frank! foot-sore and weary--but living--saved; saved for _her!_ + +“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?” + +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. + +“I may rest now,” he said, faintly. “I may sleep at last. The task is +done. The struggle is over.” + +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.” + +Richard neither heeded nor heard him. His dim eyes still looked across +the room at Clara and Frank. + +“I have made _her_ 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 _me_ already.” + +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. + +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!” + +He look round; he vacantly repeated Crayford’s last word. + +“Friend?” he said. “My eyes are dim, friend--my mind is dull. I have +lost all memories but the memory of _her_. 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?” + +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. + +“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 _me!_’ 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 _me!_’ No wind +could float that away! ‘Love him, Clara--’” + +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. + +“Let me go to him!” he cried. “I must and will go to him! Clara, come +with me.” + +Clara and Steventon supported him between them. He fell on his knees at +Wardour’s side; he put his hand on Wardour’s bosom. + +“Richard!” + +The weary eyes opened again. The sinking voice was heard feebly once +more. + +“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.” + +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. + +“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 _he_ is! Clara, I +held by his arm all over the ice and snow. _He_ kept watch when I was +senseless in the open boat. _His_ 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. + +She spoke, as well as her tears would let her. + +“Richard, have you forgotten me?” + +He rallied at the sound of that beloved voice. He looked up at her as +she knelt at his head. + +“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 _you_. My sister, Clara! Kiss me, sister, kiss me before +I die!” + +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. + +Crayford’s voice was heard in the silence. + +“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 _his_ glorious +death.” + +The distant report of a gun came from the ship in the offing, and +signaled the return to England and to home. + + + + + +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 1625-0.txt or 1625-0.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 + +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. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project +Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation” + or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project +Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +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 + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +“Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.” + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +“Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right +of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’ WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm’s +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws. + +The Foundation’s principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation’s web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/1625-0.zip b/1625-0.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..5f456e6 --- /dev/null +++ b/1625-0.zip diff --git a/1625-h.zip b/1625-h.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..d55d56d --- /dev/null +++ b/1625-h.zip 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. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project +Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation” + or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project +Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +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 + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +“Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.” + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +“Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right +of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you ‘AS-IS’ WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm’s +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation’s EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state’s laws. + +The Foundation’s principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation’s web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. + + +</pre> + </body> +</html> diff --git a/1625.txt b/1625.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b207d9b --- /dev/null +++ b/1625.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4042 @@ +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 + +Posting Date: October 5, 2008 [EBook #1625] +Release Date: February, 1999 + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE FROZEN DEEP *** + + + + +Produced by James Rusk + + + + + +THE FROZEN DEEP + +by Wilkie Collins + + + + +First Scene--The Ball-room + + + +Chapter 1. + +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. + +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 _Wanderer_ and the +_Sea-mew_. They are to sail (in search of the Northwest Passage) on the +next day, with the morning tide. + +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. + +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 _Wanderer_. 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 _Wanderer_) for +vis-a-vis--in plain English, for opposite couple. + +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? + +Mrs. Crayford shakes her head; sighs mysteriously; and answers, + +"In _very_ delicate health, Captain Helding." + +"Consumptive?" + +"Not in the least." + +"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 _is_ the matter with +her?" + +"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." + +"Ay! ay! A bad school, I suppose." + +"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." + +"God bless me!" cried the captain, "you don't mean to say she believes +in such stuff as that? In these enlightened times too!" + +Mrs. Crayford looked at her partner with a satirical smile. + +"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?" + +"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?" + +"That is the Second Sight, captain. And that is, really and positively, +what she does." + +"The young lady who is dancing opposite to us?" + +"The young lady who is dancing opposite to us." + +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. + +"May I ask, ma'am, if you have ever seen her in a state of trance with +your own eyes?" he inquired. + +"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." + +"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!" + +"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." + +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?" + +"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.'" + +The captain smiled self-approvingly. The doctor had justified his +anticipations. The doctor had suggested a practical solution of the +difficulty. + +"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?" + +"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." + +Captain Helding was ready with his own practical remedy for this +difficulty. + +"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 _will_ confide." + +"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?" + +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. + +"Do you know," he began, "that the _Atalanta_ is expected back from the +West Coast of Africa every day? Have you any acquaintances among the +officers of that ship?" + +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. + +"The heat!" she said, faintly. "Take me away--take me into the air!" + +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. + +"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?" + +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." + +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. + +"Don't be alarmed," said the lieutenant. "The heat has overcome +her--that's all." + +Mrs. Crayford shook her head, and looked at her husband, half +satirically, half fondly. + +"You dear old innocent!" she exclaimed, "that excuse may do for _you_. +For my part, I don't believe a word of it. Go and get another partner, +and leave Clara to me." + +She entered the conservatory and seated herself by Clara's side. + + + +Chapter 2. + + +"Now, my dear!" Mrs. Crayford began, "what does this mean?" + +"Nothing." + +"That won't do, Clara. Try again." + +"The heat of the room--" + +"That won't do, either. Say that you choose to keep your own secrets, +and I shall understand what you mean." + +Clara's sad, clear gray eyes looked up for the first time in Mrs. +Crayford's face, and suddenly became dimmed with tears. + +"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." + +Mrs. Crayford's manner changed. Her eyes rested gravely and anxiously on +Clara's face. + +"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." + +Clara began to yield. In other words, she began to make conditions. + +"Will you promise to keep what I tell you a secret from every living +creature?" she began. + +Mrs. Crayford met that question, by putting a question on her side. + +"Does 'every living creature' include my husband?" + +"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." + +"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!" + +Clara hesitated painfully. + +"I don't know how to begin!" she exclaimed, with a burst of despair. +"The words won't come to me." + +"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?" + +"Oh no." + +"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." + +"There is a reason. Captain Helding--" + +"Captain Helding! What in the name of wonder has the captain to do with +it?" + +"He told you something about the _Atalanta_. He said the _Atalanta_ was +expected back from Africa immediately." + +"Well, and what of that? Is there anybody in whom you are interested +coming home in the ship?" + +"Somebody whom I am afraid of is coming home in the ship." + +Mrs. Crayford's magnificent black eyes opened wide in amazement. + +"My dear Clara! do you really mean what you say?" + +"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?" + +"No, my dear; I don't remember ever hearing of the house in Kent. Tell +me about it." + +"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." + +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. + +"Richard." + +"Am I right, Clara, in suspecting that Mr. Richard Wardour admired you?" + +The question produced its intended effect. The question helped Clara to +go on. + +"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?" + +"Such characters exist by thousands. I have my faults of temper. I begin +to like Richard already. Go on." + +"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." + +"And Richard helped to confirm your suspicions, of course?" + +"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." + +"'Would not,' is the most likely, my dear. Go on." + +"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?" + +"Do? You could have asked your father to end the difficulty for you." + +"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." + +"Was there no one else who could help you?" + +"No one." + +"No lady in whom you could confide?" + +"I had acquaintances among the ladies in the neighborhood. I had no +friends." + +"What did you do, then?" + +"Nothing. I hesitated; I put off coming to an explanation with him, +unfortunately, until it was too late." + +"What do you mean by too late?" + +"You shall hear. I ought to have told you that Richard Wardour is in the +navy--" + +"Indeed! I am more interested in him than ever. Well?" + +"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."-- + +"Yes?" + +"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!" + +"My dear child, I don't reproach you. I only think you might have +written to him." + +"I did write." + +"Plainly?" + +"Yes. I told him in so many words that he was deceiving himself, and +that I could never marry him." + +"Plain enough, in all conscience! Having said that, surely you are not +to blame. What are you fretting about now?" + +"Suppose my letter has never reached him?" + +"Why should you suppose anything of the sort?" + +"What I wrote required an answer, Lucy--_asked_ for an answer. The +answer has never come. What is the plain conclusion? My letter has never +reached him. And the _Atalanta_ 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?" + +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. + +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. + +"My dear," she said abruptly, "have you told me all?" + +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. + +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. + +"A friend of yours, my dear?" she asked, innocently. "Suppose you +introduce us to each other." + +Clara confusedly introduced the young gentleman. + +"Mr. Francis Aldersley, Lucy. Mr. Aldersley belongs to the Arctic +expedition." + +"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 _Wanderer_. Do you +belong to that ship?" + +"I have not the honor, Mrs. Crayford. I belong to the _Sea-mew_." + +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. + +"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 _now_, better than you do yourself. Do you want to hear my +opinion?" + +"I am longing to hear it, Lucy! I want your opinion; I want your +advice." + +"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." + +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. + + + +Chapter 3. + + +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. + +"Don't let me keep you from dancing, Mr. Aldersley." + +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: + +"Call me Frank." + +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. + +"Clara! have you forgotten what I said at the concert yesterday? May I +say it again?" + +"No!" + +"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 _me_." + +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. + +"What! not even that little favor on the last night?" + +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! + +"Clara! do you love me?" + +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: + +"Do you love me?" + +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! + +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. + +Frank answers the question. + +"You have made me happy, my angel. Now, when I come back, I come back to +make you my wife." + +She shudders. She remembers Richard Wardour again at those words. + +"Mind!" she says, "nobody is to know we are engaged till I permit you to +mention it. Remember that!" + +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! + +"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!" + +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! + + + +Chapter 4. + + +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. + +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. + +He was the first to speak. + +"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." + +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. + +"Did you get my letter?" + +He started. "A letter from you? I never received it." + +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. + +"Clara, you have not even shaken hands with me! What does it mean?" + +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: + +"What does it mean?" + +She replied this time. His tone had hurt her--his tone had roused her +sinking courage. + +"It means, Mr. Wardour, that you have been mistaken from the first." + +"How have I been mistaken?" + +"You have been under a wrong impression, and you have given me no +opportunity of setting you right." + +"In what way have I been wrong?" + +"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." + +He mechanically repeated the last words. He seemed to doubt whether he +had heard her aright. + +"You can never be my wife?" + +"Never!" + +"Why?" + +There was no answer. She was incapable of telling him a falsehood. She +was ashamed to tell him the truth. + +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. + +"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?" + +"You have no right to ask me that." + +He went on without noticing what she had said to him. + +"Has that other man come between you and me? I speak plainly on my side. +Speak plainly on yours." + +"I _have_ spoken. I have nothing more to say." + +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. + +"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?" + +"I hear you." + +"Clara Burnham! I am not to be trifled with. Clara Burnham! I insist on +the truth. Are you false to me?" + +She resented that searching question with a woman's keen sense of the +insult that is implied in doubting her to her face. + +"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--" + +He passionately interrupted her before she could say more. + +"You have engaged yourself in my absence. Your words own it; your looks +own it! You have engaged yourself to another man!" + +"If I _have_ engaged myself, what right have you to complain of it?" she +answered firmly. "What right have you to control my actions--?" + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +He turned and left her. + +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. + +"What do you want?" she asked. + +"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." + + + + +Between the Scenes--The Landing Stage + + + +Chapter 5. + + +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. + +"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?" + +"I can't rest. I have not slept all night. Have you been out yet?" + +"No." + +"Have you seen or heard anything of Richard Wardour?" + +"What an extraordinary question!" + +"Answer my question! Don't trifle with me!" + +"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." + +"No! He is here! He is near us! All night long the presentiment has +pursued me--Frank and Richard Wardour will meet." + +"My dear child! what are you thinking of? They are total strangers to +each other." + +"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." + +"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." + +"I must and will go with you! Crowd? _He_ will be among the crowd! +Confusion? In that confusion _he_ 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!" + +It was useless to contend with her. Mrs. Crayford yielded. The two women +left the house together. + +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. + +"The _Sea-mew_'s boats are waiting," he said. "I must go, darling. How +pale you are looking, Clara! Are you ill?" + +She never answered. She questioned him with wild eyes and trembling +lips. + +"Has anything happened to you, Frank? anything out of the common?" + +Frank laughed at the strange question. + +"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?" + +"Has anybody spoken to you since last night? Has any stranger followed +you in the street?" + +Frank turned in blank amazement to Mrs. Crayford. + +"What on earth does she mean?" + +Mrs. Crayford's lively invention supplied her with an answer on the spur +of the moment. + +"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." + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +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! + +"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." + +Clara's eyes still wandered suspiciously to and fro among the crowd. + +"Are you not satisfied yet?" asked Mrs. Crayford. + +"No," Clara answered, "I am not satisfied yet." + +"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." + +Clara drew back a few steps. + +"I won't be in the way, Lucy, while you are taking leave of your good +husband," she said. "I will wait here." + +"Wait here! What for?" + +"For something which I may yet see; or for something which I may still +hear." + +"Richard Wardour?" + +"Richard Wardour." + +Mrs. Crayford turned to her husband without another word. Clara's +infatuation was beyond the reach of remonstrance. + +The boats of the _Wanderer_ took the place at the landing-stage vacated +by the boats of the _Sea-mew_. 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. + +"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!" + +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. + +"You received my note this morning?" the captain began. + +"Certainly, Captain Helding, or I should have been on board the ship +before this." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"Quite true! there _is_ another reason. I want you to wait for a +volunteer who has just joined us." + +"A volunteer!" + +"Yes. He has his outfit to get in a hurry, and he may be half an hour +late." + +"It's rather a sudden appointment, isn't it?" + +"No doubt. Very sudden." + +"And--pardon me--it's rather a long time (as we are situated) to keep +the ships waiting for one man?" + +"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." + +"He only returned yesterday from foreign service! And he volunteers this +morning to join the Arctic expedition? You astonish me." + +"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." + +"Did you ask him to explain himself further?" + +"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." + + +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. + +"What is the matter? What has frightened you, my dear?" + +"Lucy! I _have_ heard of him!" + +"Richard Wardour again?" + +"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 _Wanderer_. The captain has taken +him. The man is Richard Wardour." + +"You don't mean it! Are you sure? Did you hear Captain Helding mention +his name?" + +"No." + +"Then how do you know it's Richard Wardour?" + +"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!" + +"Your foreboding has _not_ 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 _Sea-mew_, and Wardour to the +_Wanderer_. See! Captain Helding has done. My husband is coming this +way. Let me make sure. Let me speak to him." + +Lieutenant Crayford returned to his wife. She spoke to him instantly. + +"William! you have got a new volunteer who joins the _Wanderer_?" + +"What! you have been listening to the captain and me?" + +"I want to know his name?" + +"How in the world did you manage to hear what we said to each other?" + +"His name? has the captain given you his name?" + +"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." + +Mrs. Crayford snatched the list out of her husband's hand, and read the +name: + +"RICHARD WARDOUR." + + + + +Second Scene--The Hut of the _Sea-mew_. + + + +Chapter 6. + + +Good-by to England! Good-by to inhabited and civilized regions of the +earth! + +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 _Wanderer_ and _Sea-mew_, +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. + +The largest of the two buildings which now shelter the lost men is +occupied by the surviving officers and crew of the _Sea-mew_. 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. + + + +Chapter 7. + + +The first sound that broke the silence came from the inner apartment. An +officer lifted the canvas screen in the hut of the _Sea-mew_ 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 _Wanderer_ filled their places +for the time, with Captain Helding's permission. The officer so employed +was--Lieutenant Crayford. + +He approached the man at the fireside, and awakened him. + +"Jump up, Bateson! It's your turn to be relieved." + +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. + +The pestle and mortar on the cask attracted his attention. He stopped +and looked up at the man in the hammock. + +"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!" + +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: + +"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_ don't grumble." + +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. + +"Halloo! what are you doing there?" + +"Thawing my beard, sir." + +"Come here directly, and set to work on these bones." + +John Want remained immovably attached to the fire-place, holding +something else over the fire. Crayford began to lose his temper. + +"What the devil are you about now?" + +"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_ don't grumble." + +"No, we all know that. Look here! Are these bones pounded small enough?" + +John Want suddenly approached the lieutenant, and looked at him with an +appearance of the deepest interest. + +"You'll excuse me, sir," he said; "how very hollow your voice sounds +this morning!" + +"Never mind my voice. The bones! the bones!" + +"Yes, sir--the bones. They'll take a trifle more pounding. I'll do my +best with them, sir, for your sake." + +"What do you mean?" + +John Want shook his head, and looked at Crayford with a dreary smile. + +"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_ don't grumble." + +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. + +"A message from Captain Ebsworth, sir." + +"Well?" + +"The captain is worse than ever with his freezing pains, sir. He wants +to see you immediately." + +"I will go at once. Rouse the doctor." + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +"Who's that croaking over the fire?" + +"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 _him_," John proceeded, speaking confidentially to himself, "more +than six hours to last. He's one of your grumblers." + +"What are you doing there?" asked Frank. + +"I'm making bone soup, sir, and wondering why I ever went to sea." + +"Well, and why did you go to sea?" + +"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 _not_ to go to sea." + +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?" + +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. + +"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 _them_ 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.'" + +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. + +"Have you anything in your berth, Frank, that you set a value on?" + +"Nothing that I set the smallest value on--when I am out of it," he +replied. "What does your question mean?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"Can't you guess?" + +"I suppose the cold has stupefied me. The riddle is beyond my reading. +Suppose you give me a hint?" + +"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?" + +Frank's eyes sparkled. He sprang out of his berth, and waved his fur cap +in triumph. + +"See it?" he exclaimed; "of course I do! The exploring party is to start +at last. Do I go with the expedition?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"Do they mean to keep the appointments in their own hands?" asked Frank. +"I for one object to that." + +"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?" + +"It belongs to me. I have got it in my locker here. What do you want +with it?" + +"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 _Wanderer_ 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." + +"I am quite satisfied," said Frank. "But I know of one man among the +officers who is sure to make objections." + +"Who is the man?" + +"You know him well enough, too. The 'Bear of the Expeditions' Richard +Wardour." + +"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." + +"Your good friend? Crayford! your liking for that man amazes me." + +Crayford laid his hand kindly on Frank's shoulder. Of all the officers +of the _Sea-mew_, Crayford's favorite was Frank. + +"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 +_you_ form a fair estimate of his character?" + +"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." + +"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 _Wanderer_; and I was only +transferred to the _Sea-mew_ 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." + +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--"_Sea-mew_, ahoy!" + + + +Chapter 8. + + +The sailor on watch opened the outer door. There, plodding over the +ghastly white snow, were the officers of the _Wanderer_ 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. + +Captain Helding of the _Wanderer_, 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. + +Crayford advanced to welcome Captain Helding. Frank, remembering the +friendly reproof which he had just received, passed over the other +officers of the _Wanderer_, and made a special effort to be civil to +Crayford's friend. + +"Good-morning, Mr. Wardour," he said. "We may congratulate each other on +the chance of leaving this horrible place." + +"_You_ may think it horrible," Wardour retorted; "I like it." + +"Like it? Good Heavens! why?" + +"Because there are no women here." + +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. + +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. + +He began in these words: + +"Brother officers and men of the _Wanderer_ and _Sea-mew_, 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?" + +The officers (with the exception of Wardour, who stood apart in sullen +silence) all agreed, so far. + +The captain went on. + +"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 _Wanderer_'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." + +The officers echoed the words cheerfully. + +"Right! right! No time to lose." + +Captain Helding resumed: + +"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?" + +The officers answered the question with one accord--"Volunteers!" + +The men echoed their officers. "Ay, ay, volunteers." + +Wardour still preserved his sullen silence. Crayford noticed him. +standing apart from the rest, and appealed to him personally. + +"Do you say nothing?" he asked. + +"Nothing," Wardour answered. "Go or stay, it's all one to me." + +"I hope you don't really mean that?" said Crayford. + +"I do." + +"I am sorry to hear it, Wardour." + +Captain Helding answered the general suggestion in favor of volunteering +by a question which instantly checked the rising enthusiasm of the +meeting. + +"Well," he said, "suppose we say volunteers. Who volunteers to stop in +the huts?" + +There was a dead silence. The officers and men looked at each other +confusedly. The captain continued: + +"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." + +Everybody admitted that this was true. + +"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 _Wanderer_ and the _Sea-mew_, do you +agree to that way of meeting the difficulty?" + +All the officers agreed, with the one exception of Wardour, who still +kept silence. + +"Men of the _Wanderer_ and _Sea-mew_, your officers agree to cast lots. +Do you agree too?" + +The men agreed without a dissentient voice. Crayford handed the box and +the dice to Captain Helding. + +"You throw first, sir. Under six, 'Stay.' Over six, 'Go.'" + +Captain Helding cast the dice; the top of the cask serving for a table. +He threw seven. + +"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." + +Wardour prepared to cast, without shaking the dice. + +"Shake the box, man!" cried Crayford. "Give yourself a chance of luck!" + +Wardour persisted in letting the dice fall out carelessly, just as they +lay in the box. + +"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. + +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." + +"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." + +Frank appealed to Crayford. "Shall I?" + +"Yes, if he wishes it," said Crayford. + +Frank cast the dice. "Two! He stays! Wardour, I am sorry I have thrown +against you." + +"Go or stay," reiterated Wardour, "it's all one to me. You will be +luckier, young one, when you cast for yourself." + +Frank cast for himself. + +"Eight. Hurrah! I go!" + +"What did I tell you?" said Wardour. "The chance was yours. You have +thriven on my ill luck." + +He rose, as he spoke, to leave the hut. Crayford stopped him. + +"Have you anything particular to do, Richard?" + +"What has anybody to do here?" + +"Wait a little, then. I want to speak to you when this business is +over." + +"Are you going to give me any more good advice?" + +"Don't look at me in that sour way, Richard. I am going to ask you a +question about something which concerns yourself." + +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 _Sea-mew_. Wardour and Crayford were left +together, alone. + + + +Chapter 9. + + +Crayford touched his friend on the shoulder to rouse him. Wardour looked +up, impatiently, with a frown. + +"I was just asleep," he said. "Why do you wake me?" + +"Look round you, Richard. We are alone." + +"Well--and what of that?" + +"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?" + +"Can a man always give a reason for what is strange in his manner or his +words?" Wardour retorted. + +"He can try," said Crayford, quietly--"when his friend asks him." + +Wardour's manner softened. + +"That's true," he said. "I _will_ try. Do you remember the first night +at sea when we sailed from England in the _Wanderer_?" + +"As well as if it was yesterday." + +"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--" + +He stopped. Crayford took his hand, and finished the sentence for him. + +"Alone--and in tears." + +"The last I shall ever shed," Wardour added, bitterly. + +"Don't say that! There are times when a man is to be pitied indeed, if +he can shed no tears. Go on, Richard." + +Wardour proceeded--still following the old recollections, still +preserving his gentler tones. + +"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." + +"And the only unalloyed happiness," said Crayford, "the happiness that +women bring." + +"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 _her_. 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 _you_. 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." + +"Your time? What time?" + +"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!" + +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. + +"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_ 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." + +He paused once more. This time Crayford spoke. + +"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!" + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +"What was this wanted for?" he asked. + +"To cut up Mr. Aldersley's berth there into firing, sir." + +"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." + +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. + + + +Chapter 10. + + +Ax in hand, Wardour approached Frank's bed-place. + +"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!" + +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!" + +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. + +"D--n the fellow (whoever he is) who cut this! Why should he carve +_that_ name, of all the names in the world?" + +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. + +He cut out another plank. + +He stopped, and looked at it suspiciously. + +There was carving again, on this plank. The letters F. and A. appeared +on it. + +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. + +"More carving," he said to himself. "That's the way these young idlers +employ their long hours. F. A.? Those must be _his_ initials--Frank +Aldersley. Who carved the letters on the other plank? Frank Aldersley, +too?" + +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. + +"C. B.?" he repeated to himself. "His sweet heart's initials, I suppose? +Of course--at his age--his sweetheart's initials." + +He paused once more. A spasm of inner pain showed the shadow of its +mysterious passage, outwardly on his face. + +"_Her_ cipher is C. B.," he said, in low, broken tones. "C. B.--Clara +Burnham." + +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. + +"Clara Burnham? Clara Burnham?" + +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. + +"Crayford!" he cried out. "Crayford! come here, and let's go hunting." + +No friendly voice answered him. No friendly face showed itself at the +door. + +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! + +The minutes passed. + +He became conscious, on a sudden, of a freezing stream of air pouring +into the room. + +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. + +Was it--could it be--the man who had carved the letters on the plank? +Yes! Frank Aldersley! + + + +Chapter 11. + + +"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." + +He checked himself there, looking Wardour full in the face. + +"Good Heavens!" he cried, "how pale you are! Has anything happened?" + +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. + +"Are you ill?" he asked. "I hear you have been doing Bateson's work for +him. Have you hurt yourself?" + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +"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?" + +Frank met the oddly abrupt advance which had been made to him with +perfect good humor. + +"I am glad to be friends with you, Mr. Wardour. I wish I was as well +seasoned to fatigue as you are." + +Wardour burst into a hard, joyless, unnatural laugh. + +"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." + +Frank advanced a step on his side, with a new interest in Richard +Wardour. + +"You come from Kent?" he said. + +"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. + +"I ought to know something about East Kent," Frank answered. "Some dear +friends of mine once lived there." + +"Friends of yours?" Wardour repeated. "One of the county families, I +suppose?" + +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. + +"Why are you staring at me?" he asked. + +"Why are you looking unlike yourself?" Crayford answered, quietly. + +Wardour made no reply. He renewed the conversation with Frank. + +"One of the county families?" he resumed. "The Winterbys of Yew Grange, +I dare say?" + +"No," said Frank; "but friends of the Witherbys, very likely. The +Burnhams." + +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. + +"There is your handkerchief, Richard," he said. "Strange!" + +"What is strange?" + +"You told us you had hurt yourself with the ax--" + +"Well?" + +"There is no blood on your handkerchief." + +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." + +The door was opened from the outer side as he laid his hand on the lock. + +One of the quartermasters of the _Wanderer_ entered the hut. + +"Is Captain Helding here, sir?" he asked, addressing himself to Wardour. + +Wardour pointed to Crayford. + +"The lieutenant will tell you," he said. + +Crayford advanced and questioned the quartermaster. "What do you want +with Captain Helding?" he asked. + +"I have a report to make, sir. There has been an accident on the ice." + +"To one of your men?" + +"No, sir. To one of our officers." + +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. + +"I am sorry to hear of the accident," he said. "You will find Captain +Helding in that room." + +For the second time, with singular persistency, Wardour renewed the +conversation with Frank. + +"So you knew the Burnhams?" he said. "What became of Clara when her +father died?" + +Frank's face flushed angrily on the instant. + +"Clara!" he repeated. "What authorizes you to speak of Miss Burnham in +that familiar manner?" + +Wardour seized the opportunity of quarreling with him. + +"What right have you to ask?" he retorted, coarsely. + +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. + +"A right which I insist on your respecting," he answered. "The right of +being engaged to marry her." + +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. + +"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--" + +Frank generously stopped the apology there. + +"Say no more," he interposed. "I was in the wrong--I lost my temper. +Pray forgive me." + +Wardour looked at him with a strange, reluctant interest while he was +speaking. Wardour asked an extraordinary question when he had done. + +"Is she very fond of you?" + +Frank burst out laughing. + +"My dear fellow," he said, "come to our wedding, and judge for +yourself." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"I will supply his place," cried a voice at the other end of the hut. + +Everybody looked round. The man who had spoken was Richard Wardour. + +Crayford instantly interfered--so vehemently as to astonish all who knew +him. + +"No!" he said. "Not you, Richard! not you!" + +"Why not?" Wardour asked, sternly. + +"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." + +Crayford failed to show his customary respect for his superior officer. +He openly disputed the captain's conclusion. + +"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." + +"And chance _has_ decided it," cried Wardour. "Do you think we are going +to cast the dice again, and give an officer of the _Sea-mew_ a chance of +replacing an officer of the _Wanderer_? 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?" + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +Wardour had followed Crayford. Wardour roughly interposed before Frank +could reply. + +"Let him alone!" + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"You owned yourself just now that you were not well seasoned to +fatigue," he persisted. "You feel (you _must_ 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." + +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. + +"Richard," he said, very quietly, "you are not yourself. I pity you. +Drop your hand." + +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. + +"I am gratefully sensible, Crayford," he began, "of the interest which +you take in me--" + +"And you will follow my advice?" Crayford interposed, eagerly. + +"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!" + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"God bless you, Crayford!" + +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. + +"God preserve you, Frank! I would give all I have in the world to be +with you. Good-by! Good-by!" + +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: + +"While you can stand, keep with the main body, Frank!" + +Wardour, waiting till the last--Wardour, following Frank through the +snow-drift--stopped, stepped back, and answered Crayford at the door: + +"While he can stand, he keeps with Me." + + + + +Third Scene--The Iceberg. + + + +Chapter 12. + + +Alone! alone on the Frozen Deep! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + + + + +Fourth Scene--The Garden. + + + +Chapter 13. + + +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. + +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. + +The delicious silence of the hour is softly disturbed by the voice of +the younger lady in the garden. + +"Go to the piano, Lucy. It is a night for music. Play something that is +worthy of the night." + +Mrs. Crayford looks round at the clock on the mantelpiece. + +"My dear Clara, it is past twelve! Remember what the doctor told you. +You ought to have been in bed an hour ago." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +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 _Wanderer_ and the _Sea-mew_ 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. + +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. + +"Shall I stop there?" she asks. + +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. + +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. + +Mrs. Crayford advances as far as the path before the window, and calls +to her. + +"Clara!" + +Again there is no answer. The white figure still stands immovably in its +place. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Turning toward Clara once more, Mrs. Crayford hears the vacantly uttered +words, falling faster and faster from her lips, + +"Frank! Frank! Frank! Don't drop behind--don't trust Richard Wardour. +While you can stand, keep with the other men, Frank!" + +(The farewell warning of Crayford in the solitudes of the Frozen Deep, +repeated by Clara in the garden of her English home!) + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +"I have had a dreadful dream," she murmurs faintly. "Am I ill, Lucy? I +feel so weak." + +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. + +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?" + + + +Chapter 14. + + +The night had passed. + +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. + +The two ladies were out together; resting on a garden seat, after a walk +round the grounds. + +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. + +An hour passed, and the gate-bell of the villa rang. + +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! + +Would both of them do again to-day what both had done so often in the +days that were gone? + +No! Mrs. Crayford removed the cover from her newspaper as usual. Clara +laid _her_ newspaper aside, unopened, on the garden seat. + +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." + +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: + +THE ARCTIC EXPEDITION. + +She waited, and looked at Mrs. Crayford. + +"Can you bear to hear it, Lucy," she asked, "if I read it aloud?" + +Mrs. Crayford was too agitated to answer in words. She signed +impatiently to Clara to go on. + +Clara read the news which followed the heading in capital letters. Thus +it ran: + +"The following intelligence, from St. Johns, Newfoundland, has reached +us for publication. The whaling-vessel _Blythewood_ 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." + +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. + +There the wife's joy overpowered her. After a pause, she put her arm +around Clara's waist, and spoke to her. + +"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." + +The answer came, in still, sad tones: + +"I have read as far as your husband's name. I have no need to read +further." + +Mrs. Crayford dashed the tears from her eyes--steadied herself--and +looked at the newspaper. + +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: + +FRANCIS ALDERSLEY. RICHARD WARDOUR. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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 _or_ 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?" + +"Yes." + +"Can you deny what I say?" + +"No." + +"'Yes!' 'No!' Is that the way to answer me when I am so distressed and +so anxious about you?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"I believe in what I saw last night." + +"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!" + +"Call it a dream if you like, Lucy. I have had other dreams at other +times--and I have known them to be fulfilled." + +"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." + +She put her arm round the girl's neck, and kissed her. Clara returned +the kiss; Clara answered, sadly and submissively, + +"I do love you, Lucy. I _will_ try." + +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. + + + +Chapter 15. + + +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. + +"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." + +"Miss Burnham has grieved and alarmed me," Mrs. Crayford answered. "I +was just thinking of sending for you when we met here." + +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. + +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. + +"Let us go and look at her," he said. + +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. + +"I think you told me," he began, "that Miss Burnham has neither father +nor mother living?" + +"Yes. Miss Burnham is an orphan." + +"Has she any near relatives?" + +"No. You may speak to me as her guardian and her friend. Are you alarmed +about her?" + +"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." + +"I am quite satisfied with your opinion," Mrs. Crayford replied. "For +God's sake, tell me, what can we do?" + +"We can try a complete change," said the doctor. "We can remove her at +once from this place." + +"She will refuse to leave it," Mrs. Crayford rejoined. "I have more than +once proposed a change to her--and she always says No." + +The doctor paused for a moment, like a man collecting his thoughts. + +"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." + +"What is it?" asked Mrs. Crayford, eagerly. + +"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?" + +"Certainly. My father is in the Secretary's office; and two of the Lords +of the Admiralty are friends of his." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"Admirably guessed, Mrs. Crayford! That is exactly what I mean." + +"But how is it to be done?" + +"I will tell you immediately. I mentioned--didn't I?--that I had heard +something on my road to this house." + +"Yes." + +"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?" + +Mrs. Crayford rose excitedly to her feet. + +"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?" + +"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?" + +"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." + +So they parted. + + + +In a week from that day, her majesty's ship _Amazon_ 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. + + + + +Fifth Scene--The Boat-House. + + + +Chapter 16. + + +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. + +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. + +What is the vessel lying at anchor in the offing? + +The vessel is the _Amazon_--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 _Amazon_ 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. + +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. + +Still reposing on the chest, our friend, who never grumbles, is +surprised by the sudden appearance of a sailor at the boat-house door. + +"Look sharp with your work there, John Want!" says the sailor. +"Lieutenant Crayford is just coming in to look after you." + +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. + +"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_ don't grumble." + +"Have you done cording that box?" + +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. + +"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." + +Crayford answers sharply. He seems to have lost his former relish for +the humor of John Want. + +"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." + +"I could be just as cheerful as ever, sir, if I _was_ 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_ 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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +Having entered that unanswerable protest, John Want shouldered the box, +and drifted drearily out of the boat-house. + +Left by himself, Crayford looked at his watch, and called to a sailor +outside. + +"Where are the ladies?" he asked. + +"Mrs. Crayford is coming this way, sir. She was just behind you when you +came in." + +"Is Miss Burnham with her?" + +"No, sir; Miss Burnham is down on the beach with the passengers. I heard +the young lady asking after you, sir." + +"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." + +The man made his salute and went out. Crayford took a turn in the +boat-house. + +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. + +On the first day when the rescued men were received on board the +_Amazon_, 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. + +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? + +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. + +"Have you seen anything of Clara?" he asked. "Is she still on the +beach?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"She was firmly persuaded, William, that they _would_ 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!'" + +"Good God!" cried Crayford; "I warned him myself, almost in those very +words, the last time I saw him!" + +"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." + + + +Chapter 17. + + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +"My dear Clara," he said, "what have I done that you should suspect me +of deceiving you?" + +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. + +"Any instructions from the ship, Steventon?" he asked, approaching the +officer. + +"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." + +Hearing this, Mrs. Crayford took _her_ opportunity of silencing Clara +next. + +"Come, my dear," she said. "Let us lay the cloth before the gentlemen +come in." + +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. + +"Can you spare me a few minutes?" she asked. "I have something to say to +you." + +"I am entirely at your service, Miss Burnham." + +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." + +Clara beckoned to Crayford to return to her. + +"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?" + +"On my honor," Crayford answered, "it is the truth." + +"On my honor," Steventon repeated, "it is the truth." + +She looked at them, carefully considering her next words, before she +spoke again. + +"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?" + +The question was a dangerous one to answer. Steventon left it to +Crayford to reply. Once again he answered evasively. + +"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." + +Clara instantly drew the inevitable conclusion from that ill-considered +reply. + +"Frank is missing from the party of relief," she said. "Am I to +understand that Wardour is missing from the huts?" + +Both Crayford and Steventon hesitated. Mrs. Crayford cast one indignant +look at them, and told the necessary lie, without a moment's hesitation! + +"Yes!" she said. "Wardour is missing from the huts." + +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. + +"I trust to your honor," she said, quietly. "Am I right, or wrong, in +believing that Mrs. Crayford is mistaken?" + +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. + +Clara looked at Mrs. Crayford. + +"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. + +"Have you been in the Highlands of Scotland?" she asked. + +"I have never been in the Highlands," the lieutenant replied. + +"Have you ever read, in books about the Highlands, of such a thing as +'The Second Sight'?" + +"Yes." + +"Do you believe in the Second Sight?" + +Steventon politely declined to commit himself to a direct reply. + +"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." + +"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?" + +Crayford made a last vain effort to check her inquiries at the point +which they had now reached. + +"Neither Steventon nor I were members of the party of relief," he said. +"How are we to answer you?" + +"Your brother officers who _were_ 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." + +Mrs. Crayford interposed again, with a practical suggestion this time. + +"The luncheon is not unpacked yet," she said. "Come, Clara! this is our +business, and the time is passing." + +"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!" + +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. + +"On the third day out," he said, "Frank's strength failed him. He fell +behind the rest from fatigue." + +"Surely they waited for him?" + +"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." + +There he stopped. There the imprudence into which his fondness for Clara +had led him showed itself plainly, and closed his lips. + +It was too late to take refuge in silence. Clara was determined on +hearing more. + +She questioned Steventon next. + +"Did Frank go on again after the half-day's rest?" she asked. + +"He tried to go on--" + +"And failed?" + +"Yes." + +"What did the men do when he failed? Did they turn cowards? Did they +desert Frank?" + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +There Mrs. Crayford saw her opportunity of giving her husband a timely +hint. + +"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." + +"Plenty of quarrels!" Crayford repeated; "and every one of them made up +again." + +"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!" + +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. + +"'A time may come when I shall forgive _you_. 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?" + +Her lips suddenly closed. She started, and drew back from the doorway, +trembling violently. Mrs. Crayford looked out at the quiet seaward view. + +"Anything there that frightens you, my dear?" she asked. "I can see +nothing, except the boats drawn up on the beach." + +"_I_ can see nothing either, Lucy." + +"And yet you are trembling as if there was something dreadful in the +view from this door." + +"There _is_ 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!" + +Mrs. Crayford looked round her, and noticed a second door at the inner +end of the boat-house. She spoke to her husband. + +"See where that door leads to, William." + +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?" + +She offered her arm to Clara as she spoke. Clara refused it. She took +Crayford's arm, and clung to him. + +"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!" + +"Leave her to me," said Crayford to his wife. "I will call you, if she +doesn't get better in the open air." + +He took her out at once, and closed the yard door behind them. + +"Mr. Steventon, do you understand this?" asked Mrs. Crayford. "What can +she possibly be frightened of?" + +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. + +In a moment more the figure appeared. A man came slowly into view, and +stopped on the threshold of the door. + + + +Chapter 18. + + +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. + +Steventon spoke to him. + +"Who are you?" + +He answered, in a hoarse, hollow voice, + +"A starving man." + +He advanced a few steps, slowly and painfully, as if he were sinking +under fatigue. + +"Throw me some bones from the table," he said. "Give me my share along +with the dogs." + +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. + +"Give the man some bread and meat," he said, "and wait near him." + +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. + +"Where do you come from?" + +"From the sea." + +"Wrecked?" + +"Yes." + +Steventon turned to Mrs. Crayford. + +"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?" + +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. + +"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!" + +Even the sailors pitied him. The sailors asked leave of their officer to +add a little drink to his meal. + +"We've got a drop of grog with us, sir, in a bottle. May we give it to +him?" + +"Certainly!" + +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. + +"Are you saving it up for another time?" said Steventon. + +"I'm saving it up," the man answered. "Never mind what for. That's my +secret." + +He looked round the boat-house as he made that reply, and noticed Mrs. +Crayford for the first time. + +"A woman among you!" he said. "Is she English? Is she young? Let me look +closer at her." + +He advanced a few steps toward the table. + +"Don't be afraid, Mrs. Crayford," said Steventon. + +"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!" + +He never spoke. He stood, in dead silence, looking long and anxiously at +the beautiful Englishwoman. + +"Well?" said Steventon. + +He shook his head sadly, and drew back again with a heavy sigh. + +"No!" he said to himself, "that's not _her_ face. No! not found yet." + +Mrs. Crayford's interest was strongly excited. She ventured to speak to +him. + +"Who is it you want to find?" she asked. "Your wife?" + +He shook his head again. + +"Who, then? What is she like?" + +He answered that question in words. His hoarse, hollow voice softened, +little by little, into sorrowful and gentle tones. + +"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 _her!_ 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 _her!_" + +He waved his hand with a gesture of farewell, and turned wearily to go +out. + +At the same moment Crayford opened the yard door. + +"I think you had better come to Clara," he began, and checked himself, +noticing the stranger. "Who is that?" + +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. + +"It's only a poor, mad creature, William," she whispered--"shipwrecked +and starving." + +"Mad?" Crayford repeated, approaching nearer and nearer to the man. "Am +_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!" + +The man struggled. Crayford held him. + +"Where is Frank?" he said. "You villain, where is Frank?" + +The man resisted no longer. He repeated vacantly, + +"Villain? and where is Frank?" + +As the name escaped his lips, Clara appeared at the open yard door, and +hurried into the room. + +"I heard Richard's name!" she said. "I heard Frank's name! What does it +mean?" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Saved, Clara!" he cried. "Saved for _you!_" + +He released the man, and placed him in Clara's arms. + +Frank! foot-sore and weary--but living--saved; saved for _her!_ + +"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?" + +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. + +"I may rest now," he said, faintly. "I may sleep at last. The task is +done. The struggle is over." + +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." + +Richard neither heeded nor heard him. His dim eyes still looked across +the room at Clara and Frank. + +"I have made _her_ 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 _me_ already." + +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. + +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!" + +He look round; he vacantly repeated Crayford's last word. + +"Friend?" he said. "My eyes are dim, friend--my mind is dull. I have +lost all memories but the memory of _her_. 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?" + +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. + +"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 _me!_' 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 _me!_' No wind +could float that away! 'Love him, Clara--'" + +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. + +"Let me go to him!" he cried. "I must and will go to him! Clara, come +with me." + +Clara and Steventon supported him between them. He fell on his knees at +Wardour's side; he put his hand on Wardour's bosom. + +"Richard!" + +The weary eyes opened again. The sinking voice was heard feebly once +more. + +"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." + +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. + +"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 _he_ is! Clara, I +held by his arm all over the ice and snow. _He_ kept watch when I was +senseless in the open boat. _His_ 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. + +She spoke, as well as her tears would let her. + +"Richard, have you forgotten me?" + +He rallied at the sound of that beloved voice. He looked up at her as +she knelt at his head. + +"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 _you_. My sister, Clara! Kiss me, sister, kiss me before +I die!" + +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. + +Crayford's voice was heard in the silence. + +"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 _his_ glorious +death." + +The distant report of a gun came from the ship in the offing, and +signaled the return to England and to home. + + + + + +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.txt or 1625.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 + +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. Special rules, +set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to +copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to +protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark. Project +Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you +charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission. If you +do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the +rules is very easy. You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose +such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and +research. They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do +practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks. Redistribution is +subject to the trademark license, especially commercial +redistribution. + + + +*** START: FULL LICENSE *** + +THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE +PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK + +To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free +distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work +(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase "Project +Gutenberg"), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project +Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at +http://gutenberg.org/license). + + +Section 1. General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic works + +1.A. By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to +and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property +(trademark/copyright) agreement. If you do not agree to abide by all +the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy +all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession. +If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the +terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or +entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8. + +1.B. "Project Gutenberg" is a registered trademark. It may only be +used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who +agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement. There are a few +things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works +even without complying with the full terms of this agreement. See +paragraph 1.C below. There are a lot of things you can do with Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement +and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. See paragraph 1.E below. + +1.C. The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation ("the Foundation" +or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic works. Nearly all the individual works in the +collection are in the public domain in the United States. If an +individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are +located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from +copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative +works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg +are removed. Of course, we hope that you will support the Project +Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by +freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of +this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with +the work. You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by +keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project +Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others. + +1.D. The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern +what you can do with this work. Copyright laws in most countries are in +a constant state of change. If you are outside the United States, check +the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement +before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or +creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project +Gutenberg-tm work. The Foundation makes no representations concerning +the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United +States. + +1.E. Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg: + +1.E.1. The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate +access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently +whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the +phrase "Project Gutenberg" appears, or with which the phrase "Project +Gutenberg" is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed, +copied or distributed: + +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 + +1.E.2. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived +from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is +posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied +and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees +or charges. If you are redistributing or providing access to a work +with the phrase "Project Gutenberg" associated with or appearing on the +work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1 +through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the +Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or +1.E.9. + +1.E.3. If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted +with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution +must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional +terms imposed by the copyright holder. Additional terms will be linked +to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the +permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work. + +1.E.4. Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this +work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm. + +1.E.5. Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this +electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without +prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with +active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project +Gutenberg-tm License. + +1.E.6. You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary, +compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any +word processing or hypertext form. However, if you provide access to or +distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than +"Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other format used in the official version +posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org), +you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a +copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon +request, of the work in its original "Plain Vanilla ASCII" or other +form. Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm +License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1. + +1.E.7. Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying, +performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works +unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9. + +1.E.8. You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing +access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided +that + +- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from + the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method + you already use to calculate your applicable taxes. The fee is + owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he + has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the + Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation. Royalty payments + must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you + prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax + returns. Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and + sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the + address specified in Section 4, "Information about donations to + the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation." + +- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies + you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he + does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm + License. You must require such a user to return or + destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium + and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of + Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any + money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the + electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days + of receipt of the work. + +- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free + distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works. + +1.E.9. If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm +electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set +forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from +both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael +Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark. Contact the +Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below. + +1.F. + +1.F.1. Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable +effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread +public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm +collection. Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain +"Defects," such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual +property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a +computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by +your equipment. + +1.F.2. LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the "Right +of Replacement or Refund" described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project +Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project +Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal +fees. YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT +LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE +PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3. YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE +TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE +LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR +INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH +DAMAGE. + +1.F.3. LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a +defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can +receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a +written explanation to the person you received the work from. If you +received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with +your written explanation. The person or entity that provided you with +the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a +refund. If you received the work electronically, the person or entity +providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to +receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund. If the second copy +is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further +opportunities to fix the problem. + +1.F.4. Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth +in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO +WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE. + +1.F.5. Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied +warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages. +If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the +law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be +interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by +the applicable state law. The invalidity or unenforceability of any +provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions. + +1.F.6. INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the +trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone +providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance +with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production, +promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works, +harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees, +that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do +or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm +work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any +Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause. + + +Section 2. Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm + +Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of +electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers +including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers. It exists +because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from +people in all walks of life. + +Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the +assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's +goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will +remain freely available for generations to come. In 2001, the Project +Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure +and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations. +To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation +and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4 +and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org. + + +Section 3. Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive +Foundation + +The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit +501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the +state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal +Revenue Service. The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification +number is 64-6221541. Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at +http://pglaf.org/fundraising. Contributions to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent +permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws. + +The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S. +Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered +throughout numerous locations. Its business office is located at +809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email +business@pglaf.org. Email contact links and up to date contact +information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official +page at http://pglaf.org + +For additional contact information: + Dr. Gregory B. Newby + Chief Executive and Director + gbnewby@pglaf.org + + +Section 4. Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg +Literary Archive Foundation + +Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide +spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of +increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be +freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest +array of equipment including outdated equipment. Many small donations +($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt +status with the IRS. + +The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating +charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United +States. Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a +considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up +with these requirements. We do not solicit donations in locations +where we have not received written confirmation of compliance. To +SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any +particular state visit http://pglaf.org + +While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we +have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition +against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who +approach us with offers to donate. + +International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make +any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from +outside the United States. U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff. + +Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation +methods and addresses. Donations are accepted in a number of other +ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations. +To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate + + +Section 5. General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic +works. + +Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm +concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared +with anyone. For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project +Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support. + + +Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed +editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S. +unless a copyright notice is included. Thus, we do not necessarily +keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition. + + +Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility: + + http://www.gutenberg.org + +This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm, +including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary +Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to +subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks. diff --git a/1625.zip b/1625.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..aa0f757 --- /dev/null +++ b/1625.zip diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b719379 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #1625 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/1625) diff --git a/old/frzdp10.txt b/old/frzdp10.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..b2d1347 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/frzdp10.txt @@ -0,0 +1,4146 @@ +*Project Gutenberg Etext of The Frozen Deep, by Wilkie Collins* +#14 in our series by Wilkie Collins + + +Copyright laws are changing all over the world, be sure to check +the copyright laws for your country before posting these files!! + +Please take a look at the important information in this header. +We encourage you to keep this file on your own disk, keeping an +electronic path open for the next readers. Do not remove this. + + +**Welcome To The World of Free Plain Vanilla Electronic Texts** + +**Etexts Readable By Both Humans and By Computers, Since 1971** + +*These Etexts Prepared By Hundreds of Volunteers and Donations* + +Information on contacting Project Gutenberg to get Etexts, and +further information is included below. We need your donations. + + +THE FROZEN DEEP + +by Wilkie Collins + +February, 1999 [Etext #1625] +[Date last updated: March 5, 2005] + + +*Project Gutenberg Etext of The Frozen Deep, by Wilkie Collins* +*****This file should be named frzdp10.txt or frzdp10.zip****** + +Corrected EDITIONS of our etexts get a new NUMBER, frzdp11.txt +VERSIONS based on separate sources get new LETTER, frzdp10a.txt + + +Etext prepared by James Rusk <jrusk@cyberramp.net> + +Project Gutenberg Etexts are usually created from multiple editions, +all of which are in the Public Domain in the United States, unless a +copyright notice is included. Therefore, we do NOT keep these books +in compliance with any particular paper edition, usually otherwise. + + +We are now trying to release all our books one month in advance +of the official release dates, for time for better editing. + +Please note: neither this list nor its contents are final till +midnight of the last day of the month of any such announcement. +The official release date of all Project Gutenberg Etexts is at +Midnight, Central Time, of the last day of the stated month. A +preliminary version may often be posted for suggestion, comment +and editing by those who wish to do so. To be sure you have an +up to date first edition [xxxxx10x.xxx] please check file sizes +in the first week of the next month. Since our ftp program has +a bug in it that scrambles the date [tried to fix and failed] a +look at the file size will have to do, but we will try to see a +new copy has at least one byte more or less. + + +Information about Project Gutenberg (one page) + +We produce about two million dollars for each hour we work. The +fifty hours is one conservative estimate for how long it we take +to get any etext selected, entered, proofread, edited, copyright +searched and analyzed, the copyright letters written, etc. This +projected audience is one hundred million readers. If our value +per text is nominally estimated at one dollar then we produce $2 +million dollars per hour this year as we release thirty-two text +files per month, or 384 more Etexts in 1998 for a total of 1500+ +If these reach just 10% of the computerized population, then the +total should reach over 150 billion Etexts given away. + +The Goal of Project Gutenberg is to Give Away One Trillion Etext +Files by the December 31, 2001. [10,000 x 100,000,000=Trillion] +This is ten thousand titles each to one hundred million readers, +which is only 10% of the present number of computer users. 2001 +should have at least twice as many computer users as that, so it +will require us reaching less than 5% of the users in 2001. + + +We need your donations more than ever! + + +All donations should be made to "Project Gutenberg/CMU": and are +tax deductible to the extent allowable by law. (CMU = Carnegie- +Mellon University). + +For these and other matters, please mail to: + +Project Gutenberg +P. O. Box 2782 +Champaign, IL 61825 + +When all other email fails try our Executive Director: +Michael S. Hart <hart@pobox.com> + +We would prefer to send you this information by email +(Internet, Bitnet, Compuserve, ATTMAIL or MCImail). + +****** +If you have an FTP program (or emulator), please +FTP directly to the Project Gutenberg archives: +[Mac users, do NOT point and click. . .type] + +ftp uiarchive.cso.uiuc.edu +login: anonymous +password: your@login +cd etext/etext90 through /etext96 +or cd etext/articles [get suggest gut for more information] +dir [to see files] +get or mget [to get files. . .set bin for zip files] +GET INDEX?00.GUT +for a list of books +and +GET NEW GUT for general information +and +MGET GUT* for newsletters. + +**Information prepared by the Project Gutenberg legal advisor** +(Three Pages) + + +***START**THE SMALL PRINT!**FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS**START*** +Why is this "Small Print!" statement here? You know: lawyers. +They tell us you might sue us if there is something wrong with +your copy of this etext, even if you got it for free from +someone other than us, and even if what's wrong is not our +fault. So, among other things, this "Small Print!" statement +disclaims most of our liability to you. It also tells you how +you can distribute copies of this etext if you want to. + +*BEFORE!* YOU USE OR READ THIS ETEXT +By using or reading any part of this PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm +etext, you indicate that you understand, agree to and accept +this "Small Print!" statement. If you do not, you can receive +a refund of the money (if any) you paid for this etext by +sending a request within 30 days of receiving it to the person +you got it from. If you received this etext on a physical +medium (such as a disk), you must return it with your request. + +ABOUT PROJECT GUTENBERG-TM ETEXTS +This PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext, like most PROJECT GUTENBERG- +tm etexts, is a "public domain" work distributed by Professor +Michael S. Hart through the Project Gutenberg Association at +Carnegie-Mellon University (the "Project"). Among other +things, this means that no one owns a United States copyright +on or for this work, so the Project (and you!) can copy and +distribute it in the United States without permission and +without paying copyright royalties. Special rules, set forth +below, apply if you wish to copy and distribute this etext +under the Project's "PROJECT GUTENBERG" trademark. + +To create these etexts, the Project expends considerable +efforts to identify, transcribe and proofread public domain +works. Despite these efforts, the Project's etexts and any +medium they may be on may contain "Defects". Among other +things, Defects may take the form of incomplete, inaccurate or +corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other +intellectual property infringement, a defective or damaged +disk or other etext medium, a computer virus, or computer +codes that damage or cannot be read by your equipment. + +LIMITED WARRANTY; DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES +But for the "Right of Replacement or Refund" described below, +[1] the Project (and any other party you may receive this +etext from as a PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm etext) disclaims all +liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including +legal fees, and [2] YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE OR +UNDER STRICT LIABILITY, OR FOR BREACH OF WARRANTY OR CONTRACT, +INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE +OR INCIDENTAL DAMAGES, EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE +POSSIBILITY OF SUCH DAMAGES. + +If you discover a Defect in this etext within 90 days of +receiving it, you can receive a refund of the money (if any) +you paid for it by sending an explanatory note within that +time to the person you received it from. If you received it +on a physical medium, you must return it with your note, and +such person may choose to alternatively give you a replacement +copy. If you received it electronically, such person may +choose to alternatively give you a second opportunity to +receive it electronically. + +THIS ETEXT IS OTHERWISE PROVIDED TO YOU "AS-IS". NO OTHER +WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, ARE MADE TO YOU AS +TO THE ETEXT OR ANY MEDIUM IT MAY BE ON, INCLUDING BUT NOT +LIMITED TO WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTABILITY OR FITNESS FOR A +PARTICULAR PURPOSE. + +Some states do not allow disclaimers of implied warranties or +the exclusion or limitation of consequential damages, so the +above disclaimers and exclusions may not apply to you, and you +may have other legal rights. + +INDEMNITY +You will indemnify and hold the Project, its directors, +officers, members and agents harmless from all liability, cost +and expense, including legal fees, that arise directly or +indirectly from any of the following that you do or cause: +[1] distribution of this etext, [2] alteration, modification, +or addition to the etext, or [3] any Defect. + +DISTRIBUTION UNDER "PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm" +You may distribute copies of this etext electronically, or by +disk, book or any other medium if you either delete this +"Small Print!" and all other references to Project Gutenberg, +or: + +[1] Only give exact copies of it. Among other things, this + requires that you do not remove, alter or modify the + etext or this "small print!" statement. You may however, + if you wish, distribute this etext in machine readable + binary, compressed, mark-up, or proprietary form, + including any form resulting from conversion by word pro- + cessing or hypertext software, but only so long as + *EITHER*: + + [*] The etext, when displayed, is clearly readable, and + does *not* contain characters other than those + intended by the author of the work, although tilde + (~), asterisk (*) and underline (_) characters may + be used to convey punctuation intended by the + author, and additional characters may be used to + indicate hypertext links; OR + + [*] The etext may be readily converted by the reader at + no expense into plain ASCII, EBCDIC or equivalent + form by the program that displays the etext (as is + the case, for instance, with most word processors); + OR + + [*] You provide, or agree to also provide on request at + no additional cost, fee or expense, a copy of the + etext in its original plain ASCII form (or in EBCDIC + or other equivalent proprietary form). + +[2] Honor the etext refund and replacement provisions of this + "Small Print!" statement. + +[3] Pay a trademark license fee to the Project of 20% of the + net profits you derive calculated using the method you + already use to calculate your applicable taxes. If you + don't derive profits, no royalty is due. Royalties are + payable to "Project Gutenberg Association/Carnegie-Mellon + University" within the 60 days following each + date you prepare (or were legally required to prepare) + your annual (or equivalent periodic) tax return. + +WHAT IF YOU *WANT* TO SEND MONEY EVEN IF YOU DON'T HAVE TO? +The Project gratefully accepts contributions in money, time, +scanning machines, OCR software, public domain etexts, royalty +free copyright licenses, and every other sort of contribution +you can think of. Money should be paid to "Project Gutenberg +Association / Carnegie-Mellon University". + +*END*THE SMALL PRINT! FOR PUBLIC DOMAIN ETEXTS*Ver.04.29.93*END* + + + + + +[Italics are indicated by underscores +James Rusk, jrusk@cyberramp.net.] + + + + + +[Etext prepared by James Rusk, jrusk@cyberramp.net. Italics are +indicated by the underscore character.] + + + + + +THE FROZEN DEEP + +by Wilkie Collins + + + + +First Scene--The Ball-room + +Chapter 1. + +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. + +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 +_Wanderer_ and the _Sea-mew_. They are to sail (in search of the +Northwest Passage) on the next day, with the morning tide. + +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. + +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 +_Wanderer_. 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 +_Wanderer_) for vis-a-vis--in plain English, for opposite couple. + +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? + +Mrs. Crayford shakes her head; sighs mysteriously; and answers, + +"In _very_ delicate health, Captain Helding." + +"Consumptive?" + +"Not in the least." + +"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 _is_ the matter with her?" + +"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." + +"Ay! ay! A bad school, I suppose." + +"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." + +"God bless me!" cried the captain, "you don't mean to say she +believes in such stuff as that? In these enlightened times too!" + +Mrs. Crayford looked at her partner with a satirical smile. + +"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?" + +"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?" + +"That is the Second Sight, captain. And that is, really and +positively, what she does." + +"The young lady who is dancing opposite to us?" + +"The young lady who is dancing opposite to us." + +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. + +"May I ask, ma'am, if you have ever seen her in a state of trance +with your own eyes?" he inquired. + +"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." + +"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!" + +"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." + +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?" + +"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.'" + +The captain smiled self-approvingly. The doctor had justified his +anticipations. The doctor had suggested a practical solution of +the difficulty. + +"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?" + +"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." + +Captain Helding was ready with his own practical remedy for this +difficulty. + +"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 _will_ confide." + +"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?" + +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. + +"Do you know," he began, "that the _Atalanta_ is expected back +from the West Coast of Africa every day? Have you any +acquaintances among the officers of that ship?" + +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. + +"The heat!" she said, faintly. "Take me away--take me into the +air!" + +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. + +"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?" + +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." + +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. + +"Don't be alarmed," said the lieutenant. "The heat has overcome +her--that's all." + +Mrs. Crayford shook her head, and looked at her husband, half +satirically, half fondly. + +"You dear old innocent!" she exclaimed, "that excuse may do for +_you_. For my part, I don't believe a word of it. Go and get +another partner, and leave Clara to me." + +She entered the conservatory and seated herself by Clara's side. + + + +Chapter 2. + + +"Now, my dear!" Mrs. Crayford began, "what does this mean?" + +"Nothing." + +"That won't do, Clara. Try again." + +"The heat of the room--" + +"That won't do, either. Say that you choose to keep your own +secrets, and I shall understand what you mean." + +Clara's sad, clear gray eyes looked up for the first time in Mrs. +Crayford's face, and suddenly became dimmed with tears. + +"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." + +Mrs. Crayford's manner changed. Her eyes rested gravely and +anxiously on Clara's face. + +"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." + +Clara began to yield. In other words, she began to make +conditions. + +"Will you promise to keep what I tell you a secret from every +living creature?" she began. + +Mrs. Crayford met that question, by putting a question on her +side. + +"Does 'every living creature' include my husband?" + +"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." + +"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!" + +Clara hesitated painfully. + +"I don't know how to begin!" she exclaimed, with a burst of +despair. "The words won't come to me." + +"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?" + +"Oh no." + +"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." + +"There is a reason. Captain Helding--" + +"Captain Helding! What in the name of wonder has the captain to +do with it?" + +"He told you something about the _Atalanta_. He said the +_Atalanta_ was expected back from Africa immediately." + +"Well, and what of that? Is there anybody in whom you are +interested coming home in the ship?" + +"Somebody whom I am afraid of is coming home in the ship." + +Mrs. Crayford's magnificent black eyes opened wide in amazement. + +"My dear Clara! do you really mean what you say?" + +"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?" + +"No, my dear; I don't remember ever hearing of the house in Kent. +Tell me about it." + +"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." + +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. + +"Richard." + +"Am I right, Clara, in suspecting that Mr. Richard Wardour +admired you?" + +The question produced its intended effect. The question helped +Clara to go on. + +"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?" + +"Such characters exist by thousands. I have my faults of temper. +I begin to like Richard already. Go on." + +"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." + +"And Richard helped to confirm your suspicions, of course?" + +"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." + +"'Would not,' is the most likely, my dear. Go on." + +"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?" + +"Do? You could have asked your father to end the difficulty for +you." + +"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." + +"Was there no one else who could help you?" + +"No one." + +"No lady in whom you could confide?" + +"I had acquaintances among the ladies in the neighborhood. I had +no friends." + +"What did you do, then?" + +"Nothing. I hesitated; I put off coming to an explanation with +him, unfortunately, until it was too late." + +"What do you mean by too late?" + +"You shall hear. I ought to have told you that Richard Wardour is +in the navy--" + +"Indeed! I am more interested in him than ever. Well?" + +"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."-- + +"Yes?" + +"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!" + +"My dear child, I don't reproach you. I only think you might have +written to him." + +"I did write." + +"Plainly?" + +"Yes. I told him in so many words that he was deceiving himself, +and that I could never marry him." + +"Plain enough, in all conscience! Having said that, surely you +are not to blame. What are you fretting about now?" + +"Suppose my letter has never reached him?" + +"Why should you suppose anything of the sort?" + +"What I wrote required an answer, Lucy--_asked_ for an answer. +The answer has never come. What is the plain conclusion? My +letter has never reached him. And the _Atalanta_ 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?" + +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. + +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. + +"My dear," she said abruptly, "have you told me all?" + +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. + +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. + +"A friend of yours, my dear?" she asked, innocently. "Suppose you +introduce us to each other." + +Clara confusedly introduced the young gentleman. + +"Mr. Francis Aldersley, Lucy. Mr. Aldersley belongs to the Arctic +expedition." + +"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 _Wanderer_. Do you belong to that ship?" + +"I have not the honor, Mrs. Crayford. I belong to the _Sea-mew_." + +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. + +"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 _now_, better than you do yourself. Do +you want to hear my opinion?" + +"I am longing to hear it, Lucy! I want your opinion; I want your +advice." + +"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." + +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. + + + +Chapter 3. + + +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. + +"Don't let me keep you from dancing, Mr. Aldersley." + +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: + +"Call me Frank." + +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. + +"Clara! have you forgotten what I said at the concert yesterday? +May I say it again?" + +"No!" + +"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 _me_." + +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. + +"What! not even that little favor on the last night?" + +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! + +"Clara! do you love me?" + +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: + +"Do you love me?" + +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! + +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. + +Frank answers the question. + +"You have made me happy, my angel. Now, when I come back, I come +back to make you my wife." + +She shudders. She remembers Richard Wardour again at those words. + +"Mind!" she says, "nobody is to know we are engaged till I permit +you to mention it. Remember that!" + +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! + +"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!" + +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! + + + +Chapter 4. + + +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. + +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. + +He was the first to speak. + +"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." + +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. + +"Did you get my letter?" + +He started. "A letter from you? I never received it." + +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. + +"Clara, you have not even shaken hands with me! What does it +mean?" + +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: + +"What does it mean?" + +She replied this time. His tone had hurt her--his tone had roused +her sinking courage. + +"It means, Mr. Wardour, that you have been mistaken from the +first." + +"How have I been mistaken?" + +"You have been under a wrong impression, and you have given me no +opportunity of setting you right." + +"In what way have I been wrong?" + +"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." + +He mechanically repeated the last words. He seemed to doubt +whether he had heard her aright. + +"You can never be my wife?" + +"Never!" + +"Why?" + +There was no answer. She was incapable of telling him a +falsehood. She was ashamed to tell him the truth. + +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. + +"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?" + +"You have no right to ask me that." + +He went on without noticing what she had said to him. + +"Has that other man come between you and me? I speak plainly on +my side. Speak plainly on yours." + +"I _have_ spoken. I have nothing more to say." + +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. + +"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?" + +"I hear you." + +"Clara Burnham! I am not to be trifled with. Clara Burnham! I +insist on the truth. Are you false to me?" + +She resented that searching question with a woman's keen sense of +the insult that is implied in doubting her to her face. + +"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--" + +He passionately interrupted her before she could say more. + +"You have engaged yourself in my absence. Your words own it; your +looks own it! You have engaged yourself to another man!" + +"If I _have_ engaged myself, what right have you to complain of +it?" she answered firmly. "What right have you to control my +actions--?" + +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. + +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. + +"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. + +"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." + +He turned and left her. + +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. + +"What do you want?" she asked. + +"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." + +Between the Scenes + +The Landing Stage + +Chapter 5. + + +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. + +"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?" + +"I can't rest. I have not slept all night. Have you been out +yet?" + +"No." + +"Have you seen or heard anything of Richard Wardour?" + +"What an extraordinary question!" + +"Answer my question! Don't trifle with me!" + +"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." + +"No! He is here! He is near us! All night long the presentiment +has pursued me--Frank and Richard Wardour will meet." + +"My dear child! what are you thinking of? They are total +strangers to each other." + +"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." + +"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." + +"I must and will go with you! Crowd? _He_ will be among the +crowd! Confusion? In that confusion _he_ 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!" + +It was useless to contend with her. Mrs. Crayford yielded. The +two women left the house together. + +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. + +"The _Sea-mew_'s boats are waiting," he said. "I must go, +darling. How pale you are looking, Clara! Are you ill?" + +She never answered. She questioned him with wild eyes and +trembling lips. + +"Has anything happened to you, Frank? anything out of the +common?" + +Frank laughed at the strange question. + +"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?" + +"Has anybody spoken to you since last night? Has any stranger +followed you in the street?" + +Frank turned in blank amazement to Mrs. Crayford. + +"What on earth does she mean?" + +Mrs. Crayford's lively invention supplied her with an answer on +the spur of the moment. + +"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." + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +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! + +"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." + +Clara's eyes still wandered suspiciously to and fro among the +crowd. + +"Are you not satisfied yet?" asked Mrs. Crayford. + +"No," Clara answered, "I am not satisfied yet." + +"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." + +Clara drew back a few steps. + +"I won't be in the way, Lucy, while you are taking leave of your +good husband," she said. "I will wait here." + +"Wait here! What for?" + +"For something which I may yet see; or for something which I may +still hear." + +"Richard Wardour?" + +"Richard Wardour." + +Mrs. Crayford turned to her husband without another word. Clara's +infatuation was beyond the reach of remonstrance. + +The boats of the _Wanderer_ took the place at the landing-stage +vacated by the boats of the _Sea-mew_. 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. + +"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!" + +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. + +"You received my note this morning?" the captain began. + +"Certainly, Captain Helding, or I should have been on board the +ship before this." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"Quite true! there _is_ another reason. I want you to wait for a +volunteer who has just joined us." + +"A volunteer!" + +"Yes. He has his outfit to get in a hurry, and he may be half an +hour late." + +"It's rather a sudden appointment, isn't it?" + +"No doubt. Very sudden." + +"And--pardon me--it's rather a long time (as we are situated) to +keep the ships waiting for one man?" + +"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." + +"He only returned yesterday from foreign service! And he +volunteers this morning to join the Arctic expedition? You +astonish me." + +"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." + +"Did you ask him to explain himself further?" + +"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." + + +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. + +"What is the matter? What has frightened you, my dear?" + +"Lucy! I _have_ heard of him!" + +"Richard Wardour again?" + +"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 +_Wanderer_. The captain has taken him. The man is Richard +Wardour." + +"You don't mean it! Are you sure? Did you hear Captain Helding +mention his name?" + +"No." + +"Then how do you know it's Richard Wardour?" + +"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!" + +"Your foreboding has _not_ 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 _Sea-mew_, and +Wardour to the _Wanderer_. See! Captain Helding has done. My +husband is coming this way. Let me make sure. Let me speak to +him." + +Lieutenant Crayford returned to his wife. She spoke to him +instantly. + +"William! you have got a new volunteer who joins the _Wanderer_?" + +"What! you have been listening to the captain and me?" + +"I want to know his name?" + +"How in the world did you manage to hear what we said to each +other?" + +"His name? has the captain given you his name?" + +"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." + +Mrs. Crayford snatched the list out of her husband's hand, and +read the name: + +"RICHARD WARDOUR." + + + +Second Scene. + +The Hut of the _Sea-mew_. + +Chapter 6. + + +Good-by to England! Good-by to inhabited and civilized regions of +the earth! + +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 _Wanderer_ and +_Sea-mew_, 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. + +The largest of the two buildings which now shelter the lost men +is occupied by the surviving officers and crew of the _Sea-mew_. +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. + + + +Chapter 7. + + +The first sound that broke the silence came from the inner +apartment. An officer lifted the canvas screen in the hut of the +_Sea-mew_ 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 _Wanderer_ filled their places for the time, with +Captain Helding's permission. The officer so employed +was--Lieutenant Crayford. + +He approached the man at the fireside, and awakened him. + +"Jump up, Bateson! It's your turn to be relieved." + +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. + +The pestle and mortar on the cask attracted his attention. He +stopped and looked up at the man in the hammock. + +"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!" + +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: + +"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_ don't grumble." + +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. + +"Halloo! what are you doing there?" + +"Thawing my beard, sir." + +"Come here directly, and set to work on these bones." + +John Want remained immovably attached to the fire-place, holding +something else over the fire. Crayford began to lose his temper. + +"What the devil are you about now?" + +"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_ don't +grumble." + +"No, we all know that. Look here! Are these bones pounded small +enough?" + +John Want suddenly approached the lieutenant, and looked at him +with an appearance of the deepest interest. + +"You'll excuse me, sir," he said; "how very hollow your voice +sounds this morning!" + +"Never mind my voice. The bones! the bones!" + +"Yes, sir--the bones. They'll take a trifle more pounding. I'll +do my best with them, sir, for your sake." + +"What do you mean?" + +John Want shook his head, and looked at Crayford with a dreary +smile. + +"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_ don't grumble." + +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. + +"A message from Captain Ebsworth, sir." + +"Well?" + +"The captain is worse than ever with his freezing pains, sir. He +wants to see you immediately." + +"I will go at once. Rouse the doctor." + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +"Who's that croaking over the fire?" + +"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 _him_," John proceeded, speaking +confidentially to himself, "more than six hours to last. He's one +of your grumblers." + +"What are you doing there?" asked Frank. + +"I'm making bone soup, sir, and wondering why I ever went to +sea." + +"Well, and why did you go to sea?" + +"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 _not_ to go to sea." + +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?" + +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. + +"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 _them_ 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.'" + +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. + +"Have you anything in your berth, Frank, that you set a value +on?" + +"Nothing that I set the smallest value on--when I am out of it," +he replied. "What does your question mean?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"Can't you guess?" + +"I suppose the cold has stupefied me. The riddle is beyond my +reading. Suppose you give me a hint?" + +"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?" + +Frank's eyes sparkled. He sprang out of his berth, and waved his +fur cap in triumph. + +"See it?" he exclaimed; "of course I do! The exploring party is +to start at last. Do I go with the expedition?" + +"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." + +"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." + +"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." + +"Do they mean to keep the appointments in their own hands?" asked +Frank. "I for one object to that." + +"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?" + +"It belongs to me. I have got it in my locker here. What do you +want with it?" + +"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 _Wanderer_ 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." + +"I am quite satisfied," said Frank. "But I know of one man among +the officers who is sure to make objections." + +"Who is the man?" + +"You know him well enough, too. The 'Bear of the Expeditions' +Richard Wardour." + +"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." + +"Your good friend? Crayford! your liking for that man amazes me." + +Crayford laid his hand kindly on Frank's shoulder. Of all the +officers of the _Sea-mew_, Crayford's favorite was Frank. + +"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 _you_ form a fair estimate of his +character?" + +"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." + +"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 _Wanderer_; and I +was only transferred to the _Sea-mew_ 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." + +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--"_Sea-mew_, ahoy!" + + + +Chapter 8. + + +The sailor on watch opened the outer door. There, plodding over +the ghastly white snow, were the officers of the _Wanderer_ +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. + +Captain Helding of the _Wanderer_, 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. + +Crayford advanced to welcome Captain Helding. Frank, remembering +the friendly reproof which he had just received, passed over the +other officers of the _Wanderer_, and made a special effort to be +civil to Crayford's friend. + +"Good-morning, Mr. Wardour," he said. "We may congratulate each +other on the chance of leaving this horrible place." + +"_You_ may think it horrible," Wardour retorted; "I like it." + +"Like it? Good Heavens! why?" + +"Because there are no women here." + +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. + +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. + +He began in these words: + +"Brother officers and men of the _Wanderer_ and _Sea-mew_, 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?" + +The officers (with the exception of Wardour, who stood apart in +sullen silence) all agreed, so far. + +The captain went on. + +"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 _Wanderer_'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." + +The officers echoed the words cheerfully. + +"Right! right! No time to lose." + +Captain Helding resumed: + +"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?" + +The officers answered the question with one accord--"Volunteers!" + +The men echoed their officers. "Ay, ay, volunteers." + +Wardour still preserved his sullen silence. Crayford noticed him. +standing apart from the rest, and appealed to him personally. + +"Do you say nothing?" he asked. + +"Nothing," Wardour answered. "Go or stay, it's all one to me." + +"I hope you don't really mean that?" said Crayford. + +"I do." + +"I am sorry to hear it, Wardour." + +Captain Helding answered the general suggestion in favor of +volunteering by a question which instantly checked the rising +enthusiasm of the meeting. + +"Well," he said, "suppose we say volunteers. Who volunteers to +stop in the huts?" + +There was a dead silence. The officers and men looked at each +other confusedly. The captain continued: + +"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." + +Everybody admitted that this was true. + +"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 _Wanderer_ and the _Sea-mew_, do you agree to that way of +meeting the difficulty?" + +All the officers agreed, with the one exception of Wardour, who +still kept silence. + +"Men of the _Wanderer_ and _Sea-mew_, your officers agree to cast +lots. Do you agree too?" + +The men agreed without a dissentient voice. Crayford handed the +box and the dice to Captain Helding. + +"You throw first, sir. Under six, 'Stay.' Over six, 'Go.'" + +Captain Helding cast the dice; the top of the cask serving for a +table. He threw seven. + +"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." + +Wardour prepared to cast, without shaking the dice. + +"Shake the box, man!" cried Crayford. "Give yourself a chance of +luck!" + +Wardour persisted in letting the dice fall out carelessly, just +as they lay in the box. + +"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. + +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." + +"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." + +Frank appealed to Crayford. "Shall I?" + +"Yes, if he wishes it," said Crayford. + +Frank cast the dice. "Two! He stays! Wardour, I am sorry I have +thrown against you." + +"Go or stay," reiterated Wardour, "it's all one to me. You will +be luckier, young one, when you cast for yourself." + +Frank cast for himself. + +"Eight. Hurrah! I go!" + +"What did I tell you?" said Wardour. "The chance was yours. You +have thriven on my ill luck." + +He rose, as he spoke, to leave the hut. Crayford stopped him. + +"Have you anything particular to do, Richard?" + +"What has anybody to do here?" + +"Wait a little, then. I want to speak to you when this business +is over." + +"Are you going to give me any more good advice?" + +"Don't look at me in that sour way, Richard. I am going to ask +you a question about something which concerns yourself." + +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 _Sea-mew_. Wardour and Crayford were left together, alone. + + + +Chapter 9. + + +Crayford touched his friend on the shoulder to rouse him. Wardour +looked up, impatiently, with a frown. + +"I was just asleep," he said. "Why do you wake me?" + +"Look round you, Richard. We are alone." + +"Well--and what of that?" + +"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?" + +"Can a man always give a reason for what is strange in his manner +or his words?" Wardour retorted. + +"He can try," said Crayford, quietly--"when his friend asks him." + +Wardour's manner softened. + +"That's true," he said. "I _will_ try. Do you remember the first +night at sea when we sailed from England in the _Wanderer_?" + +"As well as if it was yesterday." + +"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--" + +He stopped. Crayford took his hand, and finished the sentence for +him. + +"Alone--and in tears." + +"The last I shall ever shed," Wardour added, bitterly. + +"Don't say that! There are times when a man is to be pitied +indeed, if he can shed no tears. Go on, Richard." + +Wardour proceeded--still following the old recollections, still +preserving his gentler tones. + +"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." + +"And the only unalloyed happiness," said Crayford, "the happiness +that women bring." + +"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 _her_. 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 _you_. 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." + +"Your time? What time?" + +"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!" + +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. + +"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_ 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." + +He paused once more. This time Crayford spoke. + +"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!" + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +"What was this wanted for?" he asked. + +"To cut up Mr. Aldersley's berth there into firing, sir." + +"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." + +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. + + + +Chapter 10. + + +Ax in hand, Wardour approached Frank's bed-place. + +"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!" + +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!" + +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. + +"D--n the fellow (whoever he is) who cut this! Why should he +carve _that_ name, of all the names in the world?" + +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. + +He cut out another plank. + +He stopped, and looked at it suspiciously. + +There was carving again, on this plank. The letters F. and A. +appeared on it. + +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. + +"More carving," he said to himself. "That's the way these young +idlers employ their long hours. F. A.? Those must be _his_ +initials--Frank Aldersley. Who carved the letters on the other +plank? Frank Aldersley, too?" + +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. + +"C. B.?" he repeated to himself. "His sweet heart's initials, I +suppose? Of course--at his age--his sweetheart's initials." + +He paused once more. A spasm of inner pain showed the shadow of +its mysterious passage, outwardly on his face. + +"_Her_ cipher is C. B.," he said, in low, broken tones. "C. +B.--Clara Burnham." + +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. + +"Clara Burnham? Clara Burnham?" + +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. + +"Crayford!" he cried out. "Crayford! come here, and let's go +hunting." + +No friendly voice answered him. No friendly face showed itself at +the door. + +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! + +The minutes passed. + +He became conscious, on a sudden, of a freezing stream of air +pouring into the room. + +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. + +Was it--could it be--the man who had carved the letters on the +plank? Yes! Frank Aldersley! + + + +Chapter 11. + + +"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." + +He checked himself there, looking Wardour full in the face. + +"Good Heavens!" he cried, "how pale you are! Has anything +happened?" + +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. + +"Are you ill?" he asked. "I hear you have been doing Bateson's +work for him. Have you hurt yourself?" + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +"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?" + +Frank met the oddly abrupt advance which had been made to him +with perfect good humor. + +"I am glad to be friends with you, Mr. Wardour. I wish I was as +well seasoned to fatigue as you are." + +Wardour burst into a hard, joyless, unnatural laugh. + +"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." + +Frank advanced a step on his side, with a new interest in Richard +Wardour. + +"You come from Kent?" he said. + +"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. + +"I ought to know something about East Kent," Frank answered. +"Some dear friends of mine once lived there." + +"Friends of yours?" Wardour repeated. "One of the county +families, I suppose?" + +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. + +"Why are you staring at me?" he asked. + +"Why are you looking unlike yourself?" Crayford answered, +quietly. + +Wardour made no reply. He renewed the conversation with Frank. + +"One of the county families?" he resumed. "The Winterbys of Yew +Grange, I dare say?" + +"No," said Frank; "but friends of the Witherbys, very likely. The +Burnhams." + +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. + +"There is your handkerchief, Richard," he said. "Strange!" + +"What is strange?" + +"You told us you had hurt yourself with the ax--" + +"Well?" + +"There is no blood on your handkerchief." + +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." + +The door was opened from the outer side as he laid his hand on +the lock. + +One of the quartermasters of the _Wanderer_ entered the hut. + +"Is Captain Helding here, sir?" he asked, addressing himself to +Wardour. + +Wardour pointed to Crayford. + +"The lieutenant will tell you," he said. + +Crayford advanced and questioned the quartermaster. "What do you +want with Captain Helding?" he asked. + +"I have a report to make, sir. There has been an accident on the +ice." + +"To one of your men?" + +"No, sir. To one of our officers." + +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. + +"I am sorry to hear of the accident," he said. "You will find +Captain Helding in that room." + +For the second time, with singular persistency, Wardour renewed +the conversation with Frank. + +"So you knew the Burnhams?" he said. "What became of Clara when +her father died?" + +Frank's face flushed angrily on the instant. + +"Clara!" he repeated. "What authorizes you to speak of Miss +Burnham in that familiar manner?" + +Wardour seized the opportunity of quarreling with him. + +"What right have you to ask?" he retorted, coarsely. + +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. + +"A right which I insist on your respecting," he answered. "The +right of being engaged to marry her." + +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. + +"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--" + +Frank generously stopped the apology there. + +"Say no more," he interposed. "I was in the wrong--I lost my +temper. Pray forgive me." + +Wardour looked at him with a strange, reluctant interest while he +was speaking. Wardour asked an extraordinary question when he had +done. + +"Is she very fond of you?" + +Frank burst out laughing. + +"My dear fellow," he said, "come to our wedding, and judge for +yourself." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"I will supply his place," cried a voice at the other end of the +hut. + +Everybody looked round. The man who had spoken was Richard +Wardour. + +Crayford instantly interfered--so vehemently as to astonish all +who knew him. + +"No!" he said. "Not you, Richard! not you!" + +"Why not?" Wardour asked, sternly. + +"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." + +Crayford failed to show his customary respect for his superior +officer. He openly disputed the captain's conclusion. + +"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." + +"And chance _has_ decided it," cried Wardour. "Do you think we +are going to cast the dice again, and give an officer of the +_Sea-mew_ a chance of replacing an officer of the _Wanderer_? +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?" + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +Wardour had followed Crayford. Wardour roughly interposed before +Frank could reply. + +"Let him alone!" + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"You owned yourself just now that you were not well seasoned to +fatigue," he persisted. "You feel (you _must_ 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." + +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. + +"Richard," he said, very quietly, "you are not yourself. I pity +you. Drop your hand." + +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. + +"I am gratefully sensible, Crayford," he began, "of the interest +which you take in me--" + +"And you will follow my advice?" Crayford interposed, eagerly. + +"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!" + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +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. + +"God bless you, Crayford!" + +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. + +"God preserve you, Frank! I would give all I have in the world to +be with you. Good-by! Good-by!" + +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: + +"While you can stand, keep with the main body, Frank!" + +Wardour, waiting till the last--Wardour, following Frank through +the snow-drift--stopped, stepped back, and answered Crayford at +the door: + +"While he can stand, he keeps with Me." + + + +Third Scene + +The Iceberg. + +Chapter 12. + + +Alone! alone on the Frozen Deep! + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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? + +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. + +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! + +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. + +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. + + + +Fourth Scene. + +The Garden. + +Chapter 13. + + +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. + +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. + +The delicious silence of the hour is softly disturbed by the +voice of the younger lady in the garden. + +"Go to the piano, Lucy. It is a night for music. Play something +that is worthy of the night." + +Mrs. Crayford looks round at the clock on the mantelpiece. + +"My dear Clara, it is past twelve! Remember what the doctor told +you. You ought to have been in bed an hour ago." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +"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." + +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 _Wanderer_ and the +_Sea-mew_ 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. + +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. + +"Shall I stop there?" she asks. + +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. + +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. + +Mrs. Crayford advances as far as the path before the window, and +calls to her. + +"Clara!" + +Again there is no answer. The white figure still stands immovably +in its place. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +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. + +Turning toward Clara once more, Mrs. Crayford hears the vacantly +uttered words, falling faster and faster from her lips, + +"Frank! Frank! Frank! Don't drop behind--don't trust Richard +Wardour. While you can stand, keep with the other men, Frank!" + +(The farewell warning of Crayford in the solitudes of the Frozen +Deep, repeated by Clara in the garden of her English home!) + +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. + +"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!" + +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. + +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. + +"I have had a dreadful dream," she murmurs faintly. "Am I ill, +Lucy? I feel so weak." + +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. + +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?" + + + +Chapter 14. + + +The night had passed. + +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. + +The two ladies were out together; resting on a garden seat, after +a walk round the grounds. + +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. + +An hour passed, and the gate-bell of the villa rang. + +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! + +Would both of them do again to-day what both had done so often in +the days that were gone? + +No! Mrs. Crayford removed the cover from her newspaper as usual. +Clara laid _her_ newspaper aside, unopened, on the garden seat. + +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." + +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: + +THE ARCTIC EXPEDITION. + +She waited, and looked at Mrs. Crayford. + +"Can you bear to hear it, Lucy," she asked, "if I read it aloud?" + +Mrs. Crayford was too agitated to answer in words. She signed +impatiently to Clara to go on. + +Clara read the news which followed the heading in capital +letters. Thus it ran: + +"The following intelligence, from St. Johns, Newfoundland, has +reached us for publication. The whaling-vessel _Blythewood_ 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." + +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. + +There the wife's joy overpowered her. After a pause, she put her +arm around Clara's waist, and spoke to her. + +"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." + +The answer came, in still, sad tones: + +"I have read as far as your husband's name. I have no need to +read further." + +Mrs. Crayford dashed the tears from her eyes--steadied +herself--and looked at the newspaper. + +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: + +FRANCIS ALDERSLEY. RICHARD WARDOUR. + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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 _or_ 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?" + +"Yes." + +"Can you deny what I say?" + +"No." + +"'Yes!' 'No!' Is that the way to answer me when I am so +distressed and so anxious about you?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"I believe in what I saw last night." + +"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!" + +"Call it a dream if you like, Lucy. I have had other dreams at +other times--and I have known them to be fulfilled." + +"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." + +She put her arm round the girl's neck, and kissed her. Clara +returned the kiss; Clara answered, sadly and submissively, + +"I do love you, Lucy. I _will_ try." + +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. + + + +Chapter 15. + + +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. + +"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." + +"Miss Burnham has grieved and alarmed me," Mrs. Crayford +answered. "I was just thinking of sending for you when we met +here." + +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. + +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. + +"Let us go and look at her," he said. + +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. + +"I think you told me," he began, "that Miss Burnham has neither +father nor mother living?" + +"Yes. Miss Burnham is an orphan." + +"Has she any near relatives?" + +"No. You may speak to me as her guardian and her friend. Are you +alarmed about her?" + +"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." + +"I am quite satisfied with your opinion," Mrs. Crayford replied. +"For God's sake, tell me, what can we do?" + +"We can try a complete change," said the doctor. "We can remove +her at once from this place." + +"She will refuse to leave it," Mrs. Crayford rejoined. "I have +more than once proposed a change to her--and she always says No." + +The doctor paused for a moment, like a man collecting his +thoughts. + +"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." + +"What is it?" asked Mrs. Crayford, eagerly. + +"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?" + +"Certainly. My father is in the Secretary's office; and two of +the Lords of the Admiralty are friends of his." + +"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." + +"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?" + +"Admirably guessed, Mrs. Crayford! That is exactly what I mean." + +"But how is it to be done?" + +"I will tell you immediately. I mentioned--didn't I?--that I had +heard something on my road to this house." + +"Yes." + +"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?" + +Mrs. Crayford rose excitedly to her feet. + +"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?" + +"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?" + +"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." + +So they parted. + + + +In a week from that day, her majesty's ship _Amazon_ 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. + + + +Fifth Scene + +The Boat-House. + +Chapter 16. + + +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. + +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. + +What is the vessel lying at anchor in the offing? + +The vessel is the _Amazon_--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 _Amazon_ 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. + +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. + +Still reposing on the chest, our friend, who never grumbles, is +surprised by the sudden appearance of a sailor at the boat-house +door. + +"Look sharp with your work there, John Want!" says the sailor. +"Lieutenant Crayford is just coming in to look after you." + +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. + +"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_ don't grumble." + +"Have you done cording that box?" + +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. + +"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." + +Crayford answers sharply. He seems to have lost his former relish +for the humor of John Want. + +"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." + +"I could be just as cheerful as ever, sir, if I _was_ 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_ 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." + +"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." + +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. + +"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." + +Having entered that unanswerable protest, John Want shouldered +the box, and drifted drearily out of the boat-house. + +Left by himself, Crayford looked at his watch, and called to a +sailor outside. + +"Where are the ladies?" he asked. + +"Mrs. Crayford is coming this way, sir. She was just behind you +when you came in." + +"Is Miss Burnham with her?" + +"No, sir; Miss Burnham is down on the beach with the passengers. +I heard the young lady asking after you, sir." + +"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." + +The man made his salute and went out. Crayford took a turn in the +boat-house. + +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. + +On the first day when the rescued men were received on board the +_Amazon_, 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. + +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? + +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. + +"Have you seen anything of Clara?" he asked. "Is she still on the +beach?" + +"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." + +"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?" + +"She was firmly persuaded, William, that they _would_ 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!'" + +"Good God!" cried Crayford; "I warned him myself, almost in those +very words, the last time I saw him!" + +"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." + + + +Chapter 17. + + +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. + +"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?" + +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. + +"My dear Clara," he said, "what have I done that you should +suspect me of deceiving you?" + +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. + +"Any instructions from the ship, Steventon?" he asked, +approaching the officer. + +"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." + +Hearing this, Mrs. Crayford took _her_ opportunity of silencing +Clara next. + +"Come, my dear," she said. "Let us lay the cloth before the +gentlemen come in." + +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. + +"Can you spare me a few minutes?" she asked. "I have something to +say to you." + +"I am entirely at your service, Miss Burnham." + +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." + +Clara beckoned to Crayford to return to her. + +"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?" + +"On my honor," Crayford answered, "it is the truth." + +"On my honor," Steventon repeated, "it is the truth." + +She looked at them, carefully considering her next words, before +she spoke again. + +"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?" + +The question was a dangerous one to answer. Steventon left it to +Crayford to reply. Once again he answered evasively. + +"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." + +Clara instantly drew the inevitable conclusion from that +ill-considered reply. + +"Frank is missing from the party of relief," she said. "Am I to +understand that Wardour is missing from the huts?" + +Both Crayford and Steventon hesitated. Mrs. Crayford cast one +indignant look at them, and told the necessary lie, without a +moment's hesitation! + +"Yes!" she said. "Wardour is missing from the huts." + +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. + +"I trust to your honor," she said, quietly. "Am I right, or +wrong, in believing that Mrs. Crayford is mistaken?" + +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. + +Clara looked at Mrs. Crayford. + +"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. + +"Have you been in the Highlands of Scotland?" she asked. + +"I have never been in the Highlands," the lieutenant replied. + +"Have you ever read, in books about the Highlands, of such a +thing as 'The Second Sight'?" + +"Yes." + +"Do you believe in the Second Sight?" + +Steventon politely declined to commit himself to a direct reply. + +"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." + +"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?" + +Crayford made a last vain effort to check her inquiries at the +point which they had now reached. + +"Neither Steventon nor I were members of the party of relief," he +said. "How are we to answer you?" + +"Your brother officers who _were_ 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." + +Mrs. Crayford interposed again, with a practical suggestion this +time. + +"The luncheon is not unpacked yet," she said. "Come, Clara! this +is our business, and the time is passing." + +"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!" + +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. + +"On the third day out," he said, "Frank's strength failed him. He +fell behind the rest from fatigue." + +"Surely they waited for him?" + +"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." + +There he stopped. There the imprudence into which his fondness +for Clara had led him showed itself plainly, and closed his lips. + +It was too late to take refuge in silence. Clara was determined +on hearing more. + +She questioned Steventon next. + +"Did Frank go on again after the half-day's rest?" she asked. + +"He tried to go on--" + +"And failed?" + +"Yes." + +"What did the men do when he failed? Did they turn cowards? Did +they desert Frank?" + +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. + +"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." + +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. + +"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?" + +There Mrs. Crayford saw her opportunity of giving her husband a +timely hint. + +"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." + +"Plenty of quarrels!" Crayford repeated; "and every one of them +made up again." + +"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!" + +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. + +"'A time may come when I shall forgive _you_. 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?" + +Her lips suddenly closed. She started, and drew back from the +doorway, trembling violently. Mrs. Crayford looked out at the +quiet seaward view. + +"Anything there that frightens you, my dear?" she asked. "I can +see nothing, except the boats drawn up on the beach." + +"_I_ can see nothing either, Lucy." + +"And yet you are trembling as if there was something dreadful in +the view from this door." + +"There _is_ 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!" + +Mrs. Crayford looked round her, and noticed a second door at the +inner end of the boat-house. She spoke to her husband. + +"See where that door leads to, William." + +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?" + +She offered her arm to Clara as she spoke. Clara refused it. She +took Crayford's arm, and clung to him. + +"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!" + +"Leave her to me," said Crayford to his wife. "I will call you, +if she doesn't get better in the open air." + +He took her out at once, and closed the yard door behind them. + +"Mr. Steventon, do you understand this?" asked Mrs. Crayford. +"What can she possibly be frightened of?" + +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. + +In a moment more the figure appeared. A man came slowly into +view, and stopped on the threshold of the door. + + + +Chapter 18. + + +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. + +Steventon spoke to him. + +"Who are you?" + +He answered, in a hoarse, hollow voice, + +"A starving man." + +He advanced a few steps, slowly and painfully, as if he were +sinking under fatigue. + +"Throw me some bones from the table," he said. "Give me my share +along with the dogs." + +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. + +"Give the man some bread and meat," he said, "and wait near him." + +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. + +"Where do you come from?" + +"From the sea." + +"Wrecked?" + +"Yes." + +Steventon turned to Mrs. Crayford. + +"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?" + +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. + +"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!" + +Even the sailors pitied him. The sailors asked leave of their +officer to add a little drink to his meal. + +"We've got a drop of grog with us, sir, in a bottle. May we give +it to him?" + +"Certainly!" + +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. + +"Are you saving it up for another time?" said Steventon. + +"I'm saving it up," the man answered. "Never mind what for. +That's my secret." + +He looked round the boat-house as he made that reply, and noticed +Mrs. Crayford for the first time. + +"A woman among you!" he said. "Is she English? Is she young? Let +me look closer at her." + +He advanced a few steps toward the table. + +"Don't be afraid, Mrs. Crayford," said Steventon. + +"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!" + +He never spoke. He stood, in dead silence, looking long and +anxiously at the beautiful Englishwoman. + +"Well?" said Steventon. + +He shook his head sadly, and drew back again with a heavy sigh. + +"No!" he said to himself, "that's not _her_ face. No! not found +yet." + +Mrs. Crayford's interest was strongly excited. She ventured to +speak to him. + +"Who is it you want to find?" she asked. "Your wife?" + +He shook his head again. + +"Who, then? What is she like?" + +He answered that question in words. His hoarse, hollow voice +softened, little by little, into sorrowful and gentle tones. + +"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 _her!_ 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 _her!_" + +He waved his hand with a gesture of farewell, and turned wearily +to go out. + +At the same moment Crayford opened the yard door. + +"I think you had better come to Clara," he began, and checked +himself, noticing the stranger. "Who is that?" + +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. + +"It's only a poor, mad creature, William," she +whispered--"shipwrecked and starving." + +"Mad?" Crayford repeated, approaching nearer and nearer to the +man. "Am _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!" + +The man struggled. Crayford held him. + +"Where is Frank?" he said. "You villain, where is Frank?" + +The man resisted no longer. He repeated vacantly, + +"Villain? and where is Frank?" + +As the name escaped his lips, Clara appeared at the open yard +door, and hurried into the room. + +"I heard Richard's name!" she said. "I heard Frank's name! What +does it mean?" + +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. + +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. + +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. + +"Saved, Clara!" he cried. "Saved for _you!_" + +He released the man, and placed him in Clara's arms. + +Frank! foot-sore and weary--but living--saved; saved for _her!_ + +"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?" + +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. + +"I may rest now," he said, faintly. "I may sleep at last. The +task is done. The struggle is over." + +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." + +Richard neither heeded nor heard him. His dim eyes still looked +across the room at Clara and Frank. + +"I have made _her_ 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 +_me_ already." + +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. + +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!" + +He look round; he vacantly repeated Crayford's last word. + +"Friend?" he said. "My eyes are dim, friend--my mind is dull. I +have lost all memories but the memory of _her_. 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?" + +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. + +"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 _me!_' 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 +_me!_' No wind could float that away! 'Love him, Clara--'" + +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. + +"Let me go to him!" he cried. "I must and will go to him! Clara, +come with me." + +Clara and Steventon supported him between them. He fell on his +knees at Wardour's side; he put his hand on Wardour's bosom. + +"Richard!" + +The weary eyes opened again. The sinking voice was heard feebly +once more. + +"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." + +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. + +"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 _he_ is! Clara, I held by his arm all over the ice and snow. +_He_ kept watch when I was senseless in the open boat. _His_ 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. + +She spoke, as well as her tears would let her. + +"Richard, have you forgotten me?" + +He rallied at the sound of that beloved voice. He looked up at +her as she knelt at his head. + +"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 _you_. My sister, Clara! Kiss me, sister, kiss me before +I die!" + +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. + +Crayford's voice was heard in the silence. + +"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 _his_ glorious death." + +The distant report of a gun came from the ship in the offing, and +signaled the return to England and to home. + + + + + +End of Project Gutenberg Etext of The Frozen Deep, by Wilkie Collins* + diff --git a/old/frzdp10.zip b/old/frzdp10.zip Binary files differnew file mode 100644 index 0000000..f8f75d4 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/frzdp10.zip |