A MAN'S WOMAN

by

FRANK NORRIS

1904

The following novel was completed March 22, 1899, and sent to theprinter in October of the same year. After the plates had been madenotice was received that a play called "A Man's Woman" had been writtenby Anne Crawford Flexner, and that this title had been copyrighted. 

As it was impossible to change the name of the novel at the time thisnotice was received, it has been published under its original title. 

F. N. 

New York. 

A MAN'S WOMAN

I. 

At four o'clock in the morning everybody in the tent was still asleep, exhausted by the terrible march of the previous day. The hummocky iceand pressure-ridges that Bennett had foreseen had at last been met with, and, though camp had been broken at six o'clock and though men and dogshad hauled and tugged and wrestled with the heavy sledges until fiveo'clock in the afternoon, only a mile and a half had been covered. Butthough the progress was slow, it was yet progress. It was not theharrowing, heart-breaking immobility of those long months aboard theFreja. Every yard to the southward, though won at the expense of abattle with the ice, brought them nearer to Wrangel Island and ultimatesafety. 

Then, too, at supper-time the unexpected had happened. Bennett, moved nodoubt by their weakened condition, had dealt out extra rations to eachman: one and two-thirds ounces of butter and six and two-thirds ouncesof aleuronate bread--a veritable luxury after the unvarying diet ofpemmican, lime juice, and dried potatoes of the past fortnight. The menhad got into their sleeping-bags early, and until four o'clock in themorning had slept profoundly, inert, stupefied, almost without movement. But a few minutes after four o'clock Bennett awoke. He was usually upabout half an hour before the others. On the day before he had been ableto get a meridian altitude of the sun, and was anxious to complete hiscalculations as to the expedition's position on the chart that he hadbegun in the evening. 

He pushed back the flap of the sleeping-bag and rose to his full height, passing his hands over his face, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. He wasan enormous man, standing six feet two inches in his reindeer footnipsand having the look more of a prize-fighter than of a scientist. Evenmaking allowances for its coating of dirt and its harsh, black stubbleof half a week's growth, the face was not pleasant. Bennett was an uglyman. His lower jaw was huge almost to deformity, like that of thebulldog, the chin salient, the mouth close-gripped, with great lips, indomitable, brutal. The forehead was contracted and small, the foreheadof men of single ideas, and the eyes, too, were small and twinkling, oneof them marred by a sharply defined cast. 

But as Bennett was fumbling in the tin box that was lashed upon thenumber four sledge, looking for his notebook wherein he had begun hiscalculations for latitude, he was surprised to find a copy of the recordhe had left in the instrument box under the cairn at Cape Kammeni at thebeginning of this southerly march. He had supposed that this copy hadbeen mislaid, and was not a little relieved to come across it now. Heread it through hastily, his mind reviewing again the incidents of thelast few months. Certain extracts of this record ran as follows:

"Arctic steamer Freja, on ice off Cape Kammeni, New SiberianIslands, 76 deg. 10 min. North latitude, 150 deg. 40 min. Eastlongitude, July 12, 1891. .. . We accordingly froze the ship in onthe last day of September, 1890, and during the following winterdrifted with the pack in a northwesterly direction. .. . On Friday, July 10, 1891, being in latitude 76 deg. 10 min. North; longitude150 deg. 10 min. East, the Freja was caught in a severe nip betweentwo floes and was crushed, sinking in about two hours. We abandonedher, saving 200 days' provisions and all necessary clothing, instruments, etc. .. . 

"I shall now attempt a southerly march over the ice to Kolyuchin Bayby way of Wrangel Island, where provisions have been cached, hopingto fall in with the relief ships or steam whalers on the way. Ourparty consists of the following twelve persons: . .. All well withthe exception of Mr. Ferriss, the chief engineer, whose left handhas been badly frostbitten. No scurvy in the party as yet. We haveeighteen Ostiak dogs with us in prime condition, and expect to dragour ship's boat upon sledges. 

"WARD BENNETT, Commanding Freja Arctic Exploring Expedition. "

Bennett returned this copy of the record to its place in the box, andstood for a moment in the centre of the tent, his head bent to avoid theridge-pole, looking thoughtfully upon the ground. 

Well, so far all had gone right--no scurvy, provisions in plenty. Thedogs were in good condition, his men cheerful, trusting in him as in agod, and surely no leader could wish for a better lieutenant and comradethan Richard Ferriss--but this hummocky ice--these pressure-ridges whichthe expedition had met the day before. Instead of turning at once to hisciphering Bennett drew the hood of the wolfskin coat over his head, buttoned a red flannel mask across his face, and, raising the flap ofthe tent, stepped outside. 

Under the lee of the tent the dogs were sleeping, moveless bundles offur, black and white, perceptibly steaming. The three great McClintocksledges, weighted down with the Freja's boats and with the expedition'simpedimenta, lay where they had been halted the evening before. 

In the sky directly in front of Bennett as he issued from the tent threemoons, hooped in a vast circle of nebulous light, shone roseate througha fine mist, while in the western heavens streamers of green, orange, and vermilion light, immeasurably vast, were shooting noiselessly fromhorizon to zenith. 

But Bennett had more on his mind that morning than mock-moons andauroras. To the south and east, about a quarter of a mile from the tent, the pressure of the floes had thrown up an enormous ridge of shatteredice-cakes, a mound, a long hill of blue-green slabs and blocks huddlingtogether at every conceivable angle. It was nearly twenty feet inheight, quite the highest point that Bennett could discover. Scramblingand climbing over countless other ridges that intervened, he made hisway to it, ascended it almost on hands and knees, and, standing upon itshighest point, looked long and carefully to the southward. 

A wilderness beyond all thought, words, or imagination desolatestretched out before him there forever and forever--ice, ice, ice, fields and floes of ice, laying themselves out under that gloomy sky, league after league, endless, sombre, infinitely vast, infinitelyformidable. But now it was no longer the smooth ice over which theexpedition had for so long been travelling. In every direction, intersecting one another at ten thousand points, crossing andrecrossing, weaving a gigantic, bewildering network of gashed, jagged, splintered ice-blocks, ran the pressure-ridges and hummocks. In places ascore or more of these ridges had been wedged together to form one hugefield of broken slabs of ice miles in width, miles in length. Fromhorizon to horizon there was no level place, no open water, no pathway. The view to the southward resembled a tempest-tossed ocean suddenlyfrozen. 

One of these ridges Bennett had just climbed, and upon it he now stood. Even for him, unencumbered, carrying no weight, the climb had beendifficult; more than once he had slipped and fallen. At times he hadbeen obliged to go forward almost on his hands and knees. And yet it wasacross that jungle of ice, that unspeakable tangle of blue-green slabsand cakes and blocks, that the expedition must now advance, dragging itsboats, its sledges, its provisions, instruments, and baggage. 

Bennett stood looking. Before him lay his task. There under his eyes wasthe Enemy. Face to face with him was the titanic primal strength of achaotic world, the stupendous still force of a merciless nature, waitingcalmly, waiting silently to close upon and crush him. For a long time hestood watching. Then the great brutal jaw grew more salient than ever, the teeth set and clenched behind the close-gripped lips, the cast inthe small twinkling eyes grew suddenly more pronounced. One huge fistraised, and the arm slowly extended forward like the resistless movingof a piston. Then when his arm was at its full reach Bennett spoke asthough in answer to the voiceless, terrible challenge of the Ice. Through his clenched teeth his words came slow and measured. 

"But I'll break you, by God! believe me, I will. "

After a while he returned to the tent, awoke the cook, and whilebreakfast was being prepared completed his calculations for latitude, wrote up his ice-journal, and noted down the temperature and thedirection and velocity of the wind. As he was finishing, RichardFerriss, who was the chief engineer and second in command, awoke andimmediately asked the latitude. 

"Seventy-four-fifteen, " answered Bennett without looking up. 

"Seventy-four-fifteen, " repeated Ferriss, nodding his head; "we didn'tmake much distance yesterday. "

"I hope we can make as much to-day, " returned Bennett grimly as he putaway his observation-journal and note-books. 

"How's the ice to the south'ard?"

"Bad; wake the men. "

After breakfast and while the McClintocks were being loaded Bennett sentFerriss on ahead to choose a road through and over the ridges. It wasdreadful work. For two hours Ferriss wandered about amid the broken iceall but hopelessly bewildered. But at length, to his great satisfaction, he beheld a fairly open stretch about a quarter of a mile in lengthlying out to the southwest and not too far out of the expedition's lineof march. Some dozen ridges would have to be crossed before this levelwas reached; but there was no help for it, so Ferriss planted his flagswhere the heaps of ice-blocks seemed least impracticable and returnedtoward the camp. It had already been broken, and on his way he met theentire expedition involved in the intricacies of the first rough ice. 

All of the eighteen dogs had been harnessed to the number two sledge, that carried the whaleboat and the major part of the provisions, andevery man of the party, Bennett included, was straining at thehaul-ropes with the dogs. Foot by foot the sledge came over the ridge, grinding and lurching among the ice-blocks; then, partly by guiding, partly by lifting, it was piloted down the slope, only in the end toescape from all control and come crashing downward among the dogs, jolting one of the medicine chests from its lashings and butting itsnose heavily against the foot of the next hummock immediately beyond. But the men scrambled to their places again, the medicine chest wasreplaced, and Muck Tu, the Esquimau dog-master, whipped forward hisdogs. Ferriss, too, laid hold. The next hummock was surmounted, the dogspanting, and the men, even in that icy air, reeking with perspiration. Then suddenly and without the least warning Bennett and McPherson, whowere in the lead, broke through some young ice into water up to theirbreasts, Muck Tu and one of the dogs breaking through immediatelyafterward. The men were pulled out, or, of their own efforts, climbedupon the ice again. But in an instant their clothes were frozen torattling armor. 

"Bear off to the east'ard, here!" commanded Bennett, shaking the icy, stinging water from his sleeves. "Everybody on the ropes now!"

Another pressure-ridge was surmounted, then a third, and by an hourafter the start they had arrived at the first one of Ferriss's flags. Here the number two sledge was left, and the entire expedition, dogs andmen, returned to camp to bring up the number one McClintock loaded withthe Freja's cutter and with the sleeping-bags, instruments, and tent. This sledge was successfully dragged over the first two hummocks, but asit was being hauled up the third its left-hand runner suddenly buckledand turned under it with a loud snap. There was nothing for it now butto remove the entire load and to set Hawes, the carpenter, to work uponits repair. 

"Up your other sledge!" ordered Bennett. 

Once more the expedition returned to the morning's camping-place, and, harnessing itself to the third McClintock, struggled forward with it foran hour and a half until it was up with the first sledge and Ferriss'sflag. Fortunately the two dog-sleds, four and five, were light, andBennett, dividing his forces, brought them up in a single haul. ButHawes called out that the broken sledge was now repaired. The men turnedto at once, reloaded it, and hauled it onward, so that by noon everysledge had been moved forward quite a quarter of a mile. 

But now, for the moment, the men, after going over the same ground seventimes, were used up, and Muck Tu could no longer whip the dogs to theirwork. Bennett called a halt. Hot tea was made, and pemmican and hardtackserved out. 

"We'll have easier hauling this afternoon, men, " said Bennett; "thisnext ridge is the worst of the lot; beyond that Mr. Ferriss says we'vegot nearly a quarter of a mile of level floes. "

On again at one o'clock; but the hummock of which Bennett had spokenproved absolutely impassable for the loaded sledges. It was all one thatthe men lay to the ropes like draught-horses, and that Muck Tu floggedthe dogs till the goad broke in his hands. The men lost their footingupon the slippery ice and fell to their knees; the dogs laid down in thetraces groaning and whining. The sledge would not move. 

"Unload!" commanded Bennett. 

The lashings were taken off, and the loads, including the great, cumbersome whaleboat itself, carried over the hummock by hand. Then thesledge itself was hauled over and reloaded upon the other side. Thus thewhole five sledges. 

The work was bitter hard; the knots of the lashings were frozen tightand coated with ice; the cases of provisions, the medicine chests, thecanvas bundle of sails, boat-covers, and tents unwieldy and of enormousweight; the footing on the slippery, uneven ice precarious, and morethan once a man, staggering under his load, broke through the crust intowater so cold that the sensation was like that of burning. 

But at last everything was over, the sledges reloaded, and the forwardmovement resumed. Only one low hummock now intervened between them andthe longed-for level floe. 

However, as they were about to start forward again a lamentable giganticsound began vibrating in their ears, a rumbling, groaning note rising byquick degrees to a strident shriek. Other sounds, hollow andshrill--treble mingling with diapason--joined in the first. The noisecame from just beyond the pressure-mound at the foot of which the partyhad halted. 

"Forward!" shouted Bennett; "hurry there, men!"

Desperately eager, the men bent panting to their work. The sledgebearing the whaleboat topped the hummock. 

"Now, then, over with her!" cried Ferriss. 

But it was too late. As they stood looking down upon it for an instant, the level floe, their one sustaining hope during all the day, suddenlycracked from side to side with the noise of ordnance. Then the groaningand shrieking recommenced. The crack immediately closed up, the pressureon the sides of the floe began again, and on the smooth surface of theice, domes and mounds abruptly reared themselves. As the pressureincreased these domes and mounds cracked and burst into countless blocksand slabs. Ridge after ridge was formed in the twinkling of an eye. Thundering like a cannonade of siege guns, the whole floe burst up, jagged, splintered, hummocky. In less than three minutes, and while theFreja's men stood watching, the level stretch toward which since morningthey had struggled with incalculable toil was ground up into a vast massof confused and pathless rubble. 

"Oh, this will never do, " muttered Ferriss, disheartened. 

"Come on, men!" exclaimed Bennett. "Mr. Ferriss, go forward, and choosea road for us. "

The labour of the morning was recommenced. With infinite patience, infinite hardship, the sledges one by one were advanced. So heavy werethe three larger McClintocks that only one could be handled at a time, and that one taxed the combined efforts of men and dogs to theuttermost. The same ground had to be covered seven times. For every yardgained seven had to be travelled. It was not a march, it was a battle; abattle without rest and without end and without mercy; a battle with anEnemy whose power was beyond all estimate and whose movements were notreducible to any known law. A certain course would be mapped, certainplans formed, a certain objective determined, and before the coursecould be finished, the plans executed, or the objective point attainedthe perverse, inexplicable movement of the ice baffled theirdetermination and set at naught their best ingenuity. 

At four o'clock it began to snow. Since the middle of the forenoon thehorizon had been obscured by clouds and mist so that no observation forposition could be taken. Steadily the clouds had advanced, and by fouro'clock the expedition found itself enveloped by wind and driving snow. The flags could no longer be distinguished; thin and treacherous ice wasconcealed under drifts; the dogs floundered helplessly; the men couldscarcely open their eyes against the wind and fine, powder-like snow, and at times when they came to drag forward the last sledge they foundit so nearly buried in the snow that it must be dug out before it couldbe moved. 

Toward half past five the odometer on one of the dog-sleds registered adistance of three-quarters of a mile made since morning. Bennett calleda halt, and camp was pitched in the lee of one of the larger hummocks. The alcohol cooker was set going, and supper was had under the tent, themen eating as they lay in their sleeping-bags. But even while eatingthey fell asleep, drooping lower and lower, finally collapsing upon thecanvas floor of the tent, the food still in their mouths. 

Yet, for all that, the night was miserable. Even after that day ofsuperhuman struggle they were not to be allowed a few hours of unbrokenrest. By midnight the wind had veered to the east and was blowing agale. An hour later the tent came down. Exhausted as they were, theymust turn out and wrestle with that slatting, ice-sheathed canvas, andit was not until half an hour later that everything was fast again. 

Once more they crawled into the sleeping-bags, but soon the heat fromtheir bodies melted the ice upon their clothes, and pools of waterformed under each man, wetting him to the skin. Sleep was impossible. Itgrew colder and colder as the night advanced, and the gale increased. Atthree o'clock in the morning the centigrade thermometer was at eighteendegrees below. The cooker was lighted again, and until six o'clock theparty huddled wretchedly about it, dozing and waking, shiveringcontinually. 

Breakfast at half past six o'clock; under way again an hour later. Therewas no change in the nature of the ice. Ridge succeeded ridge, hummockfollowed upon hummock. The wind was going down, but the snow still fellas fine and bewildering as ever. The cold was intense. Dennison, thedoctor and naturalist of the expedition, having slipped his mitten, hadhis hand frostbitten before he could recover it. Two of the dogs, BigJoe and Stryelka, were noticeably giving out. 

But Bennett, his huge jaws clenched, his small, distorted eyes twinklingviciously through the apertures of the wind-mask, his harsh, blackeyebrows lowering under the narrow, contracted forehead, drove theexpedition to its work relentlessly. Not Muck Tu, the dog-master, hadhis Ostiaks more completely under his control than he his men. Hehimself did the work of three. On that vast frame of bone and muscle, fatigue seemed to leave no trace. Upon that inexorable bestialdetermination difficulties beyond belief left no mark. Not one of thetwelve men under his command fighting the stubborn ice with tooth andnail who was not galvanised with his tremendous energy. It was as thougha spur was in their flanks, a lash upon their backs. Their minds, theirwills, their efforts, their physical strength to the last ounce andpennyweight belonged indissolubly to him. For the time being they werehis slaves, his serfs, his beasts of burden, his draught animals, nobetter than the dogs straining in the traces beside them. Forward theymust and would go until they dropped in the harness or he gave the wordto pause. 

At four o'clock in the afternoon Bennett halted. Two miles had been madesince the last camp, and now human endurance could go no farther. Sometimes when the men fell they were unable to get up. It was evidentthere was no more in them that day. 

In his ice-journal for that date Bennett wrote:

". .. Two miles covered by 4 p. M. Our course continues to be south, 20 degrees west (magnetic). The ice still hummocky. At this rate weshall be on half rations long before we reach Wrangel Island. Noobservation possible since day before yesterday on account of snowand clouds. Stryelka, one of our best dogs, gave out to-day. Shothim and fed him to the others. Our advance to the southwest is slowbut sure, and every day brings nearer our objective. Temperature at6 p. M. , 6. 8 degrees Fahr. (minus 14 degrees C). Wind, east; force, 2. "

The next morning was clear for two hours after breakfast, and whenFerriss returned from his task of path-finding he reported to Bennettthat he had seen a great many water-blinks off to the southwest. 

"The wind of yesterday has broken the ice up, " observed Bennett; "weshall have hard work to-day. "

A little after midday, at a time when they had wrested some thousandyards to the southward from the grip of the ice, the expedition came tothe first lane of open water, about three hundred feet in width. Bennetthalted the sledges and at once set about constructing a bridge offloating cakes of ice. But the work of keeping these ice-blocks in placelong enough for the transfer of even a single sledge seemed at times tobe beyond their most strenuous endeavour. The first sledge with thecutter crossed in safety. Then came the turn of number two, loaded withthe provisions and whaleboat. It was two-thirds of the way across whenthe opposite side of the floe abruptly shifted its position, and thirtyfeet of open water suddenly widened out directly in front of the line ofprogress. 

"Cut loose!" commanded Bennett upon the instant. The ice-block uponwhich they were gathered was set free in the current. The situation wasone of the greatest peril. The entire expedition, men and dogs together, with their most important sledge, was adrift. But the oars and mast andthe pole of the tent were had from the whaleboat, and little by littlethey ferried themselves across. The gap was bridged again and thedog-sleds transferred. 

But now occurred the first real disaster since the destruction of theship. Half-way across the crazy pontoon bridge of ice, the dogs, harnessed to one of the small sleds, became suddenly terrified. Beforeany one could interfere they had bolted from Muck Tu's control in a wildbreak for the farther side of the ice. The sled was overturned;pell-mell the dogs threw themselves into the water; the sled sank, theload-lashing parted, and two medicine chests, the bag of sewingmaterials--of priceless worth--a coil of wire ropes, and three hundredand fifty pounds of pemmican were lost in the twinkling of an eye. 

Without comment Bennett at once addressed himself to making the best ofthe business. The dogs were hauled upon the ice; the few loads that yetremained upon the sled were transferred to another; that sled wasabandoned, and once more the expedition began its never-ending battle tothe southward. 

The lanes of open water, as foreshadowed by the water-blinks thatFerriss had noted in the morning, were frequent; alternating steadilywith hummocks and pressure-ridges. But the perversity of the ice was allbut heart-breaking. At every hour the lanes opened and closed. At onetime in the afternoon they had arrived upon the edge of a lane wideenough to justify them in taking to their boats. The sledges wereunloaded, and stowed upon the boats themselves, and oars and sails madeready. Then as Bennett was about to launch the lane suddenly closed up. What had been water became a level floe, and again the process ofunloading and reloading had to be undertaken. 

That evening Big Joe and two other dogs, Gavriga and Patsy, were shotbecause of their uselessness in the traces. Their bodies were cut up tofeed their mates. 

"I can spare the dogs, " wrote Bennett in his journal for thatday--a Sunday--"but McPherson, one of the best men of the command, gives me some uneasiness. His frozen footnips have chafed sores inhis ankle. One of these has ulcerated, and the doctor tells me isin a serious condition. His pain is so great that he can no longerhaul with the others. Shall relieve him from work during themorrow's march. Less than a mile covered to-day. Meridianobservation for latitude impossible on account of fog. Divineservices at 5:30 p. M. "

A week passed, then another. There was no change, neither in thecharacter of the ice nor in the expedition's daily routine. Their toilwas incredible; at times an hour's unremitting struggle would gain but afew yards. The dogs, instead of aiding them, were rapidly becoming mereencumbrances. Four more had been killed, a fifth had been drowned, andtwo, wandering from camp, had never returned. The second dog-sled hadbeen abandoned. The condition of McPherson's foot was such that no workcould be demanded from him. Hawes, the carpenter, was down with feverand kept everybody awake all night by talking in his sleep. Worse thanall, however, Ferriss's right hand was again frostbitten, and this timeDennison, the doctor, was obliged to amputate it above the wrist. 

". .. But I am no whit disheartened, " wrote Bennett. "Succeed I mustand shall. "

A few days after the operation on Ferriss's hand Bennett decided itwould be advisable to allow the party a full twenty-four hours' rest. The march of the day before had been harder than any they had yetexperienced, and, in addition to McPherson and the carpenter, the doctorhimself was upon the sick list. 

In the evening Bennett and Ferriss took a long walk or rather climb overthe ice to the southwest, picking out a course for the next day's march. 

A great friendship, not to say affection, had sprung up between thesetwo men, a result of their long and close intimacy on board the Frejaand of the hardships and perils they had shared during the past fewweeks while leading the expedition in the retreat to the southward. Whenthey had decided upon the track of the morrow's advance they sat downfor a moment upon the crest of a hummock to breathe themselves, theirelbows on their knees, looking off to the south over the desolation ofbroken ice. 

With his one good hand Ferriss drew a pipe and a handful of tea leaveswrapped in oiled paper from the breast of his deer-skin parkie. 

"Do you mind filling this pipe for me, Ward?" he asked of Bennett. 

Bennett glanced at the tea leaves and handed them back to Ferriss, andin answer to his remonstrance produced a pouch of his own. 

"Tobacco!" cried Ferriss, astonished; "why, I thought we smoked our lastaboard ship. "

"No, I saved a little of mine. "

"Oh, well, " answered Ferriss, trying to interfere with Bennett, who wasfilling his pipe, "I don't want your tobacco; this tea does very well. "

"I tell you I have eight-tenths of a kilo left, " lied Bennett, lightingthe pipe and handing it back to him. "Whenever you want a smoke you canset to me. "

Bennett lit a pipe of his own, and the two began to smoke. 

"'M, ah!" murmured Ferriss, drawing upon the pipe ecstatically, "Ithought I never was going to taste good weed again till we should gethome. "

Bennett said nothing. There was a long silence. Home! what did not thatword mean for them? To leave all this hideous, grisly waste of icebehind, to have done with fighting, to rest, to forget responsibility, to have no more anxiety, to be warm once more--warm and well fed anddry--to see a tree again, to rub elbows with one's fellows, to know themeaning of warm handclasps and the faces of one's friends. 

"Dick, " began Bennett abruptly after a long while, "if we get stuck herein this damned ice I'm going to send you and probably Metz on ahead forhelp. We'll make a two-man kyack for you to use when you reach the limitof the pack, but besides the kyack you'll carry nothing but yourprovisions, sleeping-bags, and rifle, and travel as fast as you can. "Bennett paused for a moment, then in a different voice continued: "Iwrote a letter last night that I was going to give you in case I shouldhave to send you on such a journey, but I think I might as well give itto you now. "

He drew from his pocket an envelope carefully wrapped in oilskin. 

"If anything should happen to the expedition--to me--I want you to seethat this letter is delivered. "

He paused again. 

"You see, Dick, it's like this; there's a girl--" his face flamedsuddenly, "no--no, a woman, a grand, noble, man's woman, back in God'scountry who is a great deal to me--everything in fact. She don't know, hasn't a guess, that I care. I never spoke to her about it. But ifanything should turn up I should want her to know how it had beenwith me, how much she was to me. So I've written her. You'll see thatshe gets it, will you?"

He handed the little package to Ferriss, and continued indifferently, and resuming his accustomed manner:

"If we get as far as Wrangel Island you can give it back to me. We arebound to meet the relief ships or the steam whalers in that latitude. Oh, you can look at the address, " added Bennett as Ferriss, turning theenvelope bottom side up, was thrusting it into his breast pocket; "youknow her even better than I do. It's Lloyd Searight. "

Ferriss's teeth shut suddenly upon his pipestem. 

Bennett rose. "Tell Muck Tu, " he said, "in case I don't think of itagain, that the dogs must be fed from now on from those that die. Ishall want the dog biscuit and dried fish for our own use. "

"I suppose it will come to that, " answered Ferriss. 

"Come to that!" returned Bennett grimly; "I hope the dogs themselveswill live long enough for us to eat them. And don't misunderstand, " headded; "I talk about our getting stuck in the ice, about my not pullingthrough; it's only because one must foresee everything, be prepared foreverything. Remember--I--shall--pull--through. "

But that night, long after the rest were sleeping, Ferriss, who had notclosed his eyes, bestirred himself, and, as quietly as possible, crawledfrom his sleeping-bag. He fancied there was some slight change in theatmosphere, and wanted to read the barometer affixed to a stake justoutside the tent. Yet when he had noted that it was, after all, stationary, he stood for a moment looking out across the ice withunseeing eyes. Then from a pocket in his furs he drew a little folder ofmorocco. It was pitiably worn, stained with sea-water, patched andrepatched, its frayed edges sewed together again with ravellings ofcloth and sea-grasses. Loosening with his teeth the thong of walrus-hidewith which it was tied, Ferriss opened it and held it to the faint lightof an aurora just paling in the northern sky. 

"So, " he muttered after a while, "so--Bennett, too--"

For a long time Ferriss stood looking at Lloyd's picture till the purplestreamers in the north faded into the cold gray of the heavens. Then heshot a glance above him. 

"God Almighty, bless her and keep her!" he prayed. 

Far off, miles away, an ice-floe split with the prolonged reverberationof thunder. The aurora was gone. Ferriss returned to the tent. 

The following week the expedition suffered miserably. Snowstorm followedsnowstorm, the temperature dropped to twenty-two degrees below thefreezing-point, and gales of wind from the east whipped and scourged thestruggling men incessantly with myriad steel-tipped lashes. At night theagony in their feet was all but unbearable. It was impossible to bewarm, impossible to be dry. Dennison, in a measure, recovered hishealth, but the ulcer on McPherson's foot had so eaten the flesh thatthe muscles were visible. Hawes's monotonous chatter and crazywhimperings filled the tent every night. 

The only pleasures left them, the only breaks in the monotony of thatlife, were to eat, and, when possible, to sleep. Thought, reason, andreflection dwindled in their brains. Instincts--the primitive, elementalimpulses of the animal--possessed them instead. To eat, to sleep, to bewarm--they asked nothing better. The night's supper was a vision thatdwelt in their imaginations hour after hour throughout the entire day. Oh, to sit about the blue flame of alcohol sputtering underneath the oldand battered cooker of sheet-iron! To smell the delicious savour of thethick, boiling soup! And then the meal itself--to taste the hot, coarse, meaty food; to feel that unspeakably grateful warmth and glow, thatalmost divine sensation of satiety spreading through their poor, shivering bodies, and then sleep; sleep, though quivering with cold;sleep, though the wet searched the flesh to the very marrow; sleep, though the feet burned and crisped with torture; sleep, sleep, thedreamless stupefaction of exhaustion, the few hours' oblivion, the day'sshort armistice from pain!

But stronger, more insistent than even these instincts of the animal wasthe blind, unreasoned impulse that set their faces to the southward: "Toget forward, to get forward. " Answering the resistless influence oftheir leader, that indomitable man of iron whom no fortune could breaknor bend, and who imposed his will upon them as it were a yoke ofsteel--this idea became for them a sort of obsession. Forward, if itwere only a yard; if it were only a foot. Forward over theheart-breaking, rubble ice; forward against the biting, shrieking wind;forward in the face of the blinding snow; forward through the brittlecrusts and icy water; forward, although every step was an agony, thoughthe haul-rope cut like a dull knife, though their clothes were sheets ofice. Blinded, panting, bruised, bleeding, and exhausted, dogs and men, animals all, the expedition struggled forward. 

One day, a little before noon, while lunch was being cooked, the sunbroke through the clouds, and for upward of half an hour the ice-packwas one blinding, diamond glitter. Bennett ran for his sextant and gotan observation, the first that had been possible for nearly a month. Heworked out their latitude that same evening. 

The next morning Ferriss was awakened by a touch on his shoulder. Bennett was standing over him. 

"Come outside here a moment, " said Bennett in a low voice. "Don't wakethe men. "

"Did you get our latitude?" asked Ferriss as the two came out of thetent. 

"Yes, that's what I want to tell you. "

"What is it?"

"Seventy-four-nineteen. "

"Why, what do you mean?" asked Ferriss quickly. 

"Just this: That the ice-pack we're on is drifting faster to the norththan we are marching to the south. We are farther north now than we werea month ago for all our marching. "

II. 

By eleven o'clock at night the gale had increased to such an extent andthe sea had begun to build so high that it was a question whether or notthe whaleboat would ride the storm. Bennett finally decided that itwould be impossible to reach the land--stretching out in a long, darkblur to the southwest--that night, and that the boat must run beforethe wind if he was to keep her afloat. The number two cutter, withFerriss in command, was a bad sailer, and had fallen astern. She wasalready out of hailing distance; but Bennett, who was at the whaleboat'stiller, in the instant's glance that he dared to shoot behind him sawwith satisfaction that Ferriss had followed his example. 

The whaleboat and the number two cutter were the only boats now left tothe expedition. The third boat had been abandoned long before they hadreached open water. 

An hour later Adler, the sailing-master, who had been bailing, and whosat facing Bennett, looked back through the storm; then, turning toBennett, said:

"Beg pardon, sir, I think they are signalling us. "

Bennett did not answer, but, with his hand gripping the tiller, kept hisface to the front, his glance alternating between the heaving prow ofthe boat and the huge gray billows hissing with froth careering rapidlyalongside. To pause for a moment, to vary by ever so little from thecourse of the storm, might mean the drowning of them all. After a fewmoments Adler spoke again, touching his cap. 

"I'm sure I see a signal, sir. "

"No, you don't, " answered Bennett. 

"Beg pardon, I'm quite sure I do. "

Bennett leaned toward him, the cast in his eyes twinkling with a wickedlight, the furrow between the eyebrows deepening. "I tell you, you don'tsee any signal; do you understand? You don't see any signal until Ichoose to have you. "

The night was bitter hard for the occupants of the whaleboat. In theirweakened condition they were in no shape to fight a polar hurricane inan open boat. 

For three weeks they had not known the meaning of full rations. Duringthe first days after the line of march over the ice had been abruptlychanged to the west in the hope of reaching open water, onlythree-quarter rations had been issued, and now for the last two dayshalf rations had been their portion. The gnawing of hunger had begun. Every man was perceptibly weaker. Matters were getting desperate. 

But by seven o'clock the next morning the storm had blown itself out. ToBennett's inexpressible relief the cutter hove in view. Shaping theircourse to landward once more, the boats kept company, and by the middleof the afternoon Bennett and the crew of the whaleboat successfullylanded upon a bleak, desolate, and wind-scourged coast. But in some way, never afterward sufficiently explained, the cutter under Ferriss'scommand was crushed in the floating ice within one hundred yards of theshore. The men and stores were landed--the water being shallow enoughfor wading--but the boat was a hopeless wreck. 

"I believe it's Cape Shelaski, " said Bennett to Ferriss when camp hadbeen made and their maps consulted. "But if it is, it's chartedthirty-five minutes too far to the west. "

Before breaking camp the next morning Bennett left this record under acairn of rocks upon the highest point of the cape, further marking thespot by one of the boat's flags:

"The Freja Arctic Exploring Expedition landed at this point October28, 1891. Our ship was nipped and sunk in 76 deg. 10 min. Northlatitude on the l2th of July last. I then attempted a southerlymarch to Wrangel Island, but found such a course impracticable onaccount of northerly drift of ice. On the lst of October Iaccordingly struck off to the westward to find open water at thelimit of the ice, being compelled to abandon one boat and twosledges on the way. A second boat was crushed beyond repair indrifting ice while attempting a landing at this place. Our oneremaining boat being too small to accommodate the members of theexpedition, circumstances oblige me to begin an overland marchtoward Kolyuchin Bay, following the line of the coast. We expecteither to winter among the Chuckch settlements mentioned byNordenskjold as existing upon the eastern shores of Kolyuchin Bayor to fall in with the relief ships or the steam whalers en route. By issuing half rations I have enough provisions for eighteen days, and have saved all records, observations, papers, instruments, etc. Enclosed is the muster roll of the expedition. No scurvy as yet andno deaths. Our sick are William Hawes, carpenter, arctic fever, serious; David McPherson, seaman, ulceration of left foot, serious. The general condition of the rest of the men is fair, though muchweakened by exposure and lack of food. 

(Signed) "WARD BENNETT, Commanding. "

But during the night, their first night on land, Bennett resolved upon adesperate expedient. Not only the boat was to be abandoned, but also thesledges, and not only the sledges, but every article of weight notabsolutely necessary to the existence of the party. Two weeks before, the sun had set not to rise again for six months. Winter was upon themand darkness. The Enemy was drawing near. The great remorseless grip ofthe Ice was closing. It was no time for half-measures and hesitation;now it was life or death. 

The sense of their peril, the nearness of the Enemy, strung Bennett'snerves taut as harp-strings. His will hardened to the flinty hardness ofthe ice itself. His strength of mind and of body seemed suddenly toquadruple itself. His determination was that of the battering-ram, blind, deaf, resistless. The ugly set of his face became all the moreugly, the contorted eyes flashing, the great jaw all but simian. Heappeared physically larger. It was no longer a man; it was a giant, anogre, a colossal jotun hurling ice-blocks, fighting out a battleunspeakable, in the dawn of the world, in chaos and in darkness. 

The impedimenta of the expedition were broken up into packs that eachman carried upon his shoulders. From now on everything that hindered therapidity of their movements must be left behind. Six dogs (all thatremained of the pack of eighteen) still accompanied them. 

Bennett had hoped and had counted upon his men for an average dailymarch of sixteen miles, but the winter gales driving down from thenortheast beat them back; the ice and snow that covered the land were noless uneven than the hummocks of the pack. All game had migrated far tothe southward. 

Every day the men grew weaker and weaker; their provisions dwindled. Again and again one or another of them, worn out beyond human endurance, would go to sleep while marching and would fall to the ground. 

Upon the third day of this overland march one of the dogs suddenlycollapsed upon the ground, exhausted and dying. Bennett had ordered suchof the dogs that gave out cut up and their meat added to the store ofthe party's provisions. Ferriss and Muck Tu had started to pick up thedead dog when the other dogs, famished and savage, sprang upon theirfallen mate. The two men struck and kicked, all to no purpose; the dogsturned upon them snarling and snapping. They, too, demanded to live;they, too, wanted to be fed. It was a hideous business. There in thathalf-night of the polar circle, lost and forgotten on a primordialshore, back into the stone age once more, men and animals fought oneanother for the privilege of eating a dead dog. 

But their life was not all inhuman; Bennett at least could rise evenabove humanity, though his men must perforce be dragged so far below it. At the end of the first week Hawes, the carpenter, died. When they awokein the morning he was found motionless and stiff in his sleeping-bag. Some sort of grave was dug, the poor racked body lowered into it, andbefore it was filled with snow and broken ice Bennett, standing quietlyin the midst of the bare-headed group, opened his prayer-book and beganwith the tremendous words, "I am the Resurrection and the Life--"

It was the beginning of the end. A week later the actual starvationbegan. Slower and slower moved the expedition on its daily march, faltering, staggering, blinded and buffeted by the incessant northeastwinds, cruel, merciless, keen as knife-blades. Hope long since was dead;resolve wore thin under friction of disaster; like a rat, hunger gnawedat them hour after hour; the cold was one unending agony. Still Bennettwas unbroken, still he urged them forward. For so long as they couldmove he would drive them on. 

Toward four o'clock on the afternoon of one particularly hard day, wordwas passed forward to Bennett at the head of the line that something waswrong in the rear. 

"It's Adler; he's down again and can't get up; asks you to leave him. "

Bennett halted the line and went back some little distance to find Adlerlying prone upon his back, his eyes half closed, breathing short andfast. He shook him roughly by the shoulder. 

"Up with you!"

Adler opened his eyes and shook his head. 

"I--I'm done for this time, sir; just leave me here--please. "

"H'up!" shouted Bennett; "you're not done for; I know better. "

"Really, sir, I--I _can't_. "

"H'up!"

"If you would only please--for God's sake, sir. It's more than I'm madefor. "

Bennett kicked him in the side. 

"H'up with you!"

Adler struggled to his feet again, Bennett aiding him. 

"Now, then, can you go five yards?"

"I think--I don't know--perhaps--"

"Go them, then. "

The other moved forward. 

"Can you go five more; answer, speak up, can you?"

Adler nodded his head. 

"Go them--and another five--and another--there--that's something like aman, and let's have no more woman's drivel about dying. "

"But--"

Bennett came close to him, shaking a forefinger in his face, thrustingforward his chin wickedly. 

"My friend, I'll drive you like a dog, but, " his fist clenched in theman's face, "I'll _make_ you pull through. "

Two hours later Adler finished the day's march at the head of the line. 

The expedition began to eat its dogs. Every evening Bennett sent Muck Tuand Adler down to the shore to gather shrimps, though fifteen hundred ofthese shrimps hardly filled a gill measure. The party chewedreindeer-moss growing in scant patches in the snow-buried rocks, and attimes made a thin, sickly infusion from the arctic willow. Again andagain Bennett despatched the Esquimau and Clarke, the best shots in theparty, on hunting expeditions to the southward. Invariably they returnedempty-handed. Occasionally they reported old tracks of reindeer andfoxes, but the winter colds had driven everything far inland. Once onlyClarke shot a snow-bunting, a little bird hardly bigger than a sparrow. Still Bennett pushed forward. 

One morning in the beginning of the third week, after a breakfast of twoounces of dog meat and a half cup of willow tea, Ferriss and Bennettfound themselves a little apart from the others. The men were engaged inlowering the tent. Ferriss glanced behind to be assured he was out ofhearing, then:

"How about McPherson?" he said in a low voice. 

McPherson's foot was all but eaten to the bone by now. It was a miraclehow the man had kept up thus far. But at length he had begun to fallbehind; every day he straggled more and more, and the previous eveninghad reached camp nearly an hour after the tent had been pitched. But hewas a plucky fellow, of sterner stuff than the sailing-master, Adler, and had no thought of giving up. 

Bennett made no reply to Ferriss, and the chief engineer did not repeatthe question. The day's march began; almost at once breast-highsnowdrifts were encountered, and when these had been left behind theexpedition involved itself upon the precipitate slopes of a huge talusof ice and bare, black slabs of basalt. Fully two hours were spent inclambering over this obstacle, and on its top Bennett halted to breathethe men. But when they started forward again it was found that McPhersoncould not keep his feet. When he had fallen, Adler and Dennison hadendeavoured to lift him, but they themselves were so weak that they, too, fell. Dennison could not rise of his own efforts, and instead ofhelping McPherson had to be aided himself. Bennett came forward, put anarm about McPherson, and hauled him to an upright position. The man tooka step forward, but his left foot immediately doubled under him, and hecame to the ground again. Three times this manoeuvre was repeated; sofar from marching, McPherson could not even stand. 

"If I could have a day's rest--" began McPherson, unsteadily. Bennettcast a glance at Dennison, the doctor. Dennison shook his head. Thefoot, the entire leg below the knee, should have been amputated daysago. A month's rest even in a hospital at home would have benefitedMcPherson nothing. 

For the fraction of a minute Bennett debated the question, then heturned to the command. 

"Forward, men!"

"What--wh--" began McPherson, sitting upon the ground, looking from oneface to another, bewildered, terrified. Some of the men began to moveoff. 

"Wait--wait, " exclaimed the cripple, "I--I can get along--I--" He roseto his knees, made, a great effort to regain his footing, and once morecame crashing down upon the ice. 

"Forward!"

"But--but--but--_Oh, you're not going to leave me, sir_?"

"Forward!"

"He's been my chum, sir, all through the voyage, " said one of the men, touching his cap to Bennett; "I had just as soon be left with him. I'mabout done myself. "

Another joined in:

"I'll stay, too--I can't leave--it's--it's too terrible. "

There was a moment's hesitation. Those who had begun to move on halted. The whole expedition wavered. 

Bennett caught the dog-whip from Muck Tu's hand. His voice rang like thealarm of a trumpet. 

"Forward!"

Once more Bennett's discipline prevailed. His iron hand shut down uponhis men, more than ever resistless. Obediently they turned their facesto the southward. The march was resumed. 

Another day passed, then two. Still the expedition struggled on. Withevery hour their sufferings increased. It did not seem that anythinghuman could endure such stress and yet survive. Toward three o'clock inthe morning of the third night Adler woke Bennett. 

"It's Clarke, sir; he and I sleep in the same bag. I think he's going, sir. "

One by one the men in the tent were awakened, and the train-oil lamp waslit. 

Clarke lay in his sleeping-bag unconscious, and at long intervalsdrawing a faint, quick breath. The doctor bent over him, feeling hispulse, but shook his head hopelessly. 

"He's dying--quietly--exhaustion from starvation. "

A few moments later Clarke began to tremble slightly, the mouth openedwide; a faint rattle came from the throat. 

Four miles was as much as could be made good the next day, and thisthough the ground was comparatively smooth. Ferriss was continuallyfalling. Dennison and Metz were a little light-headed, and Bennett atone time wondered if Ferriss himself had absolute control of his wits. Since morning the wind had been blowing strongly in their faces. By noonit had increased. At four o'clock a violent gale was howling over thereaches of ice and rock-ribbed land. It was impossible to go forwardwhile it lasted. The stronger gusts fairly carried their feet from underthem. At half-past four the party halted. The gale was now a hurricane. The expedition paused, collected itself, went forward; halted again, again attempted to move, and came at last to a definite standstill inwhirling snow-clouds and blinding, stupefying blasts. 

"Pitch the tent!" said Bennett quietly. "We must wait now till it blowsover. "

In the lee of a mound of ice-covered rock some hundred yards from thecoast the tent was pitched, and supper, such as it was, eaten insilence. All knew what this enforced halt must mean for them. Thatsupper--each man could hold his portion in the hollow of one hand--wasthe last of their regular provisions. March they could not. What now?Before crawling into their sleeping-bags, and at Bennett's request, alljoined in repeating the Creed and the Lord's Prayer. 

The next day passed, and the next, and the next. The gale continuedsteadily. The southerly march was discontinued. All day and all nightthe men kept in the tent, huddled in the sleeping-bags, sometimessleeping eighteen and twenty hours out of the twenty-four. They lost allconsciousness of the lapse of time; sensation even of suffering leftthem; the very hunger itself had ceased to gnaw. Only Bennett andFerriss seemed to keep their heads. Then slowly the end began. 

For that last week Bennett's entries in his ice-journal were as follows:

"November 29th--Monday--Camped at 4:30 p. M. About 100 yards from thecoast. Open water to the eastward as far as I can see. If I had notbeen compelled to abandon my boats--but it is useless to repine. Imust look our situation squarely in the face. At noon served outlast beef-extract, which we drank with some willow tea. Ourremaining provisions consist of four-fifteenths of a pound ofpemmican per man, and the rest of the dog meat. Where are therelief ships? We should at least have met the steam whalers longbefore this. 

"November 30th--Tuesday--The doctor amputated Mr. Ferriss's otherhand to-day. Living gale of wind from northeast. Impossible tomarch against it in our weakened condition; must camp here till itabates. Made soup of the last of the dog meat this afternoon. Ourlast pemmican gone. 

"December lst--Wednesday--Everybody getting weaker. Metz breakingdown. Sent Adler down to the shore to gather shrimps. We had abouta mouthful apiece for lunch. Supper, a spoonful of glycerine andhot water. 

"December 2d--Thursday--Metz died during the night. Hansen dying. Still blowing a gale from the northeast. A hard night. 

"December 3d--Friday--Hansen died during early morning. Muck Tu shota ptarmigan. Made soup. Dennison breaking down. 

"December 4th--Saturday--Buried Hansen under slabs of ice. Spoonfulof glycerine and hot water at noon. 

"December 5th--Sunday--Dennison found dead this morning betweenAdler and myself. Too weak to bury him, or even carry him out ofthe tent. He must lie where he is. Divine services at 5:30P. M. Last spoonful of glycerine and hot water. "

 * * * * *

The next day was Monday, and at some indeterminate hour of thetwenty-four, though whether it was night or noon he could not say, Ferriss woke in his sleeping-bag and raised himself on an elbow, and fora moment sat stupidly watching Bennett writing in his journal. Noticingthat he was awake, Bennett looked up from the page and spoke in a voicethick and muffled because of the swelling of his tongue. 

"How long has this wind been blowing, Ferriss?"

"Since a week ago to-day, " answered the other. 

Bennett continued his writing. 

". .. Incessant gales of wind for over a week. Impossible to moveagainst them in our weakened condition. But to stay here is toperish. God help us. It is the end of everything. "

Bennett drew a line across the page under the last entry, and, stillholding the book in his hand, gazed slowly about the tent. 

There were six of them left--five huddled together in that miserabletent--the sixth, Adler, being down on the shore gathering shrimps. Inthe strange and gloomy half-light that filled the tent these survivorsof the Freja looked less like men than beasts. Their hair and beardswere long, and seemed one with the fur covering of their bodies. Theirfaces were absolutely black with dirt, and their limbs were monstrouslydistended and fat--fat as things bloated and swollen are fat. It was theabnormal fatness of starvation, the irony of misery, the huge joke thatarctic famine plays upon those whom it afterward destroys. The men movedabout at times on their hands and knees; their tongues were distended, round, and slate-coloured, like the tongues of parrots, and when theyspoke they bit them helplessly. 

Near the flap of the tent lay the swollen dead body of Dennison. Two ofthe party dozed inert and stupefied in their sleeping-bags. Muck Tu wasin the corner of the tent boiling his sealskin footnips over thesheet-iron cooker. Ferriss and Bennett sat on opposite sides of thetent, Bennett using his knee as a desk, Ferriss trying to free himselffrom the sleeping-bag with the stumps of his arms. Upon one of thesestumps, the right one, a tin spoon had been lashed. 

The tent was full of foul smells. The smell of drugs and of mouldygunpowder, the smell of dirty rags, of unwashed bodies, the smell ofstale smoke, of scorching sealskin, of soaked and rotting canvas thatexhaled from the tent cover--every smell but that of food. 

Outside the unleashed wind yelled incessantly, like a sabbath ofwitches, and spun about the pitiful shelter and went rioting past, leaping and somersaulting from rock to rock, tossing handfuls of dry, dust-like snow into the air; folly-stricken, insensate, an enormous, madmonster gambolling there in some hideous dance of death, capricious, headstrong, pitiless as a famished wolf. 

In front of the tent and over a ridge of barren rocks was an arm of thesea dotted with blocks of ice moving silently and swiftly onward; whileback from the coast, and back from the tent and to the south and to thewest and to the east, stretched the illimitable waste of land, rugged, gray, harsh; snow and ice and rock, rock and ice and snow, stretchingaway there under the sombre sky forever and forever; gloomy, untamed, terrible, an empty region--the scarred battlefield of chaotic forces, the savage desolation of a prehistoric world. 

"Where's Adler?" asked Ferriss. 

"He's away after shrimps, " responded Bennett. 

Bennett's eyes returned to his journal and rested on the open pagethoughtfully. 

"Do you know what I've just written here, Ferriss?" he asked, addingwithout waiting for an answer: "I've written 'It's the end ofeverything. '"

"I suppose it is, " admitted Ferriss, looking about the tent. 

"Yes, the end of everything. It's come--at last. .. . Well. " There was along silence. One of the men in the sleeping-bags groaned and turnedupon his face. Outside the wind lapsed suddenly to a prolonged sigh ofinfinite sadness, clamouring again upon the instant. 

"Dick, " said Bennett, returning his journal to the box of records, "it_is_ the end of everything, and just because it is I want to talk toyou--to ask you something. "

Ferriss came nearer. The horrid shouting of the wind deadened the soundof their voices; the others could not hear, and by now it would havemattered very little to any of them if they had. 

"Dick, " began Bennett, "nothing makes much difference now. In a fewhours we shall all be like Dennison here;" he tapped the body of thedoctor, who had died during the night. It was already frozen so hardthat his touch upon it resounded as if it had been a log of wood. "Weshall be like this pretty soon. But before--well, while I can, I want toask you something about Lloyd Searight. You've known her all your life, and you saw her later than I did before we left. You remember I had tocome to the ship two days before you, about the bilge pumps. "

While Bennett had been speaking Ferriss had been sitting very erect uponhis sleeping-bag, drawing figures and vague patterns in the fur of hisdeer-skin coat with the tip of the tin spoon. Yes, Bennett was right; he, Ferriss, had known her all his life, and it was no doubt because of thisvery fact that she had come to be so dear to him. But he had not alwaysknown it, had never discovered his love for her until the time was athand to say good-bye, to leave her for this mad dash for the Pole. Ithad been too late to speak then, and Ferriss had never told her. She wasnever to know that he too--like Bennett--cared. 

"It seems rather foolish, " continued Bennett clumsily, "but if I thoughtshe had ever cared for me--in that way--why, it would make this that iscoming to us seem--I don't know--easier to be borne perhaps. I say itvery badly, but it would not be so hard to die if I thought she had everloved me--a bit. "

Ferriss was thinking very fast. Why was it he had never guessedsomething like this? But in Ferriss's mind the idea of the love of awoman had never associated itself with Bennett, that great, harsh man ofcolossal frame, so absorbed in his huge projects, so welded to hissingle aim, furthering his purposes to the exclusion of every otherthought, desire, or emotion. Bennett was a man's man. But here Ferrisschecked himself. Bennett himself had called her a man's woman, a grand, splendid man's woman. He was right; he was right. She was no less thanthat; small wonder, after all, that Bennett had been attracted to her. What a pair they were, strong, masterful both, insolent in theconsciousness of their power!

"You have known her so well and for so long, " continued Bennett, "that Iam sure she must have said something to you about me. Tell me, did sheever say anything--or not that--but imply in her manner, give you tounderstand that she would have married me if I had asked her?"

Ferriss found time, even in such an hour, to wonder at the sudden andunexpected break in the uniform hardness of Bennett's character. Ferrissknew him well by now. Bennett was not a man to ask concessions, to catchat small favours. What he wanted he took with an iron hand, without ruthand without scruple. But in the unspeakable dissolution in which theywere now involved did anything make a difference? The dreadful mill inwhich they had been ground had crushed from them all petty distinctionsof personality, individuality. Humanity--the elements of charactercommon to all men--only remained. 

But Ferriss was puzzled as to how he should answer Bennett. On the onehand was the woman he loved, and on the other Bennett, his best friend, his chief, his hero. They, too, had lived together for so long, hadfought out the fight with the Enemy shoulder to shoulder, had battledwith the same dangers, had dared the same sufferings, had undergone thesame defeats and disappointments. 

Ferriss felt himself in grievous straits. Must he tell Bennett thetruth? Must this final disillusion be added to that long train ofothers, the disasters, the failures, the disappointments, and deferredhopes of all those past months? Must Bennett die hugging to his heartthis bitterness as well?

"I sometimes thought, " observed Bennett with a weak smile, "that she didcare a little. I've surely seen something like that in her eyes atcertain moments. I wish I had spoken. Did she ever say anything to you?Do you think she would have married me if I had asked her?" He paused, waiting for an answer. 

"Oh--yes, " hazarded Ferriss, driven to make some sort of response, hoping to end the conversation; "yes, I think she would. "

"You do?" said Bennett quickly. "You think she would? What did she say?Did she ever say anything to you?"

The thing was too cruel; Ferriss shrank from it. But suddenly an ideaoccurred to him. Did anything make any difference now? Why not tell hisfriend that which he wanted to hear, even if it were not the truth?After all that Bennett had suffered why could he not die content atleast in this? What did it matter if he spoke? Did anything matter atsuch a time when they were all to die within the next twenty-four hours?Bennett was looking straight into his eyes; there was no time to thinkof consequences. Consequences? But there were to be _no_ consequences. This was the end. Yet could Ferriss make Bennett receive such anuntruth? Ferriss did not believe that Lloyd cared for Bennett; knew thatshe did not, in fact, and if she had cared, did Bennett think for aninstant that she--of all women--would have confessed the fact, confessedit to him, Bennett's most intimate friend? Ferriss had known Lloyd wellfor a long time, had at last come to love her. But could he himself tellwhether or no Lloyd cared for him? No, he could not, certainly he couldnot. 

Meanwhile Bennett was waiting for his answer. Ferriss's mind was allconfused. He could no longer distinguish right from wrong. If the liewould make Bennett happier in this last hour of his life, why not tellthe lie?

"Yes, " answered Ferriss, "she did say something once. "

"She did?"

"Yes, " continued Ferriss slowly, trying to invent the most plausiblelie. "We had been speaking of the expedition and of you. I don't knowhow the subject was brought up, but it came in very naturally at length. She said--yes, I recall it. She said: 'You must bring him back to me. Remember he is everything to me--everything in the world. '"

"She--" Bennett cleared his throat, then tugged at his mustache; "shesaid that?"

Ferriss nodded. 

"Ah!" said Bennett with a quick breath, then he added: "I'm glad ofthat; you haven't any idea how glad I am, Dick--in spite of everything. "

"Oh, yes, I guess I have, " murmured Ferriss. 

"No, no, indeed, you haven't, " returned the other. "One has to love awoman like that, Dick, and have her--and find out--and have things comeright, to appreciate it. She would have been my wife after all. I don'tknow how to thank you, Dick. Congratulate me. "

He rose, holding out his hand; Ferriss feebly rose, too, andinstinctively extended his arm, but withdrew it suddenly. Bennett pausedabruptly, letting his hand fall to his side, and the two men remainedthere an instant, looking at the stumps of Ferriss's arms, the tin spoonstill lashed to the right wrist. 

A few hours later Bennett noted that the gale had begun perceptibly toabate. By afternoon he was sure that the storm would be over. As heturned to re-enter the tent after reading the wind-gauge he noted thatKamiska, their one remaining dog, had come back, and was sitting on aprojection of ice a little distance away, uncertain as to her receptionafter her absence. Bennett was persuaded that Kamiska had not run away. Of all the Ostiaks she had been the most faithful. Bennett chose tobelieve that she had wandered from the tent and had lost herself in theblinding snow. But here was food. Kamiska could be killed; life could beprolonged a day or two, perhaps three, while the strongest man of theparty, carrying the greater portion of the dog meat on his shoulders, could push forward and, perhaps, after all, reach Kolyuchin Bay and theChuckch settlements and return with aid. But who could go? Assuredly notFerriss, so weak he could scarcely keep on his feet; not Adler, who attimes was delirious, and who needed the discipline of a powerful leaderto keep him to his work; Muck Tu, the Esquimau, could not be trustedwith the lives of all of them, and the two remaining men were in all buta dying condition. Only one man of them all was equal to the task, onlyone of them who still retained his strength of body and mind; hehimself, Bennett. Yes, but to abandon his men?

He crawled into the tent again to get the rifle with which to shoot thedog, but, suddenly possessed of an idea, paused for a moment, seated onthe sleeping-bag, his head in his hands. 

Beaten? Was he beaten at last? Had the Enemy conquered? Had the Iceenclosed him in its vast, remorseless grip? Then once more hisdetermination grew big within him, for a last time that iron will roseup in mighty protest of defeat. No, no, no; he was not beaten; he wouldlive; he, the strongest, the fittest, would survive. Was it not rightthat the mightiest should live? Was it not the great law of nature? Heknew himself to be strong enough to move; to march, perhaps, for twowhole days; and now food had come to them, to him. Yes, but to abandonhis men?

He had left McPherson, it is true; but then the lives of all of them hadbeen involved--one life against eleven. Now he was thinking only ofhimself. But Ferriss--no, he could not leave Ferriss. Ferriss would comewith him. They would share the dog meat between them--the whole of it. He, with Ferriss, would push on. He would reach Kolyuchin Bay and thesettlements. He would be saved; he would reach home; would comeback--come back to Lloyd, who loved him. Yes, but to abandon his men?

Then Bennett's great fist closed, closed and smote heavily upon hisknee. 

"No, " he said decisively. 

He had spoken his thoughts aloud, and Ferriss, who had crawled into hissleeping-bag again, looked at him curiously. Even Muck Tu turned hishead from the sickening mess reeking upon the cooker. There was a noiseof feet at the flap of the tent. 

"It's Adler, " muttered Ferriss. 

Adler tore open the flap. 

Then he shouted to Bennett: "Three steam whalers off the foot of thefloe, sir; boat putting off! What orders, sir?"

Bennett looked at him stupidly, as yet without definite thought. 

"What did you say?"

The men in the sleeping-bags, roused by Adler's shout, sat up andlistened stolidly. 

"Steam whalers?" said Bennett slowly. "Where? I guess not, " he added, shaking his head. 

Adler was swaying in his place with excitement. 

"Three whalers, " he repeated, "close in. They've put off--oh, my God!Listen to that. "

The unmistakable sound of a steamer's whistle, raucous and prolonged, came to their ears from the direction of the coast. One of the men brokeinto a feeble cheer. The whole tent was rousing up. Again and again camethe hoarse, insistent cry of the whistle. 

"What orders, sir?" repeated Adler. 

A clamour of voices filled the tent. 

Ferriss came quickly up to Bennett, trying to make himself heard. 

"Listen!" he cried with eager intentness, "what I told you--a whileago--about Lloyd--I thought--it's all a mistake, you don't understand--"

Bennett was not listening. 

"What orders, sir?" exclaimed Adler for the third time. 

Bennett drew himself up. 

"My compliments to the officer in command. Tell him there are six of usleft--tell him--oh, tell him anything you damn please. Men, " he cried, his harsh face suddenly radiant, "make ready to get out of this! We'regoing home, going home to those who love us, men. "

III. 

As Lloyd Searight turned into Calumet Square on her way from thebookseller's, with her purchases under her arm, she was surprised tonotice a drop of rain upon the back of one of her white gloves. Shelooked up quickly; the sun was gone. On the east side of the square, under the trees, the houses that at this hour of the afternoon shouldhave been overlaid with golden light were in shadow. The heat that hadbeen palpitating through all the City's streets since early morning wasswiftly giving place to a certain cool and odorous dampness. There waseven a breeze beginning to stir in the tops of the higher elms. As thedrops began to thicken upon the warm, sun-baked asphalt under foot Lloydsharply quickened her pace. But the summer storm was coming up rapidly. By the time she reached the great granite-built agency on the oppositeside of the square she was all but running, and as she put her key inthe door the rain swept down with a prolonged and muffled roar. 

She let herself into the spacious, airy hallway of the agency, shuttingthe door by leaning against it, and stood there for an instant to gether breath. Rownie, the young mulatto girl, one of the servants of thehouse, who was going upstairs with an armful of clean towels, turnedabout at the closing of the door and called:

"Jus' in time, Miss Lloyd; jus' in time. I reckon Miss Wakeley and MissEsther Thielman going to get for sure wet. They ain't neither one of 'emtook ary umberel. "

"Did Miss Wakeley and Miss Thielman both go out?" demanded Lloydquickly. "Did they both go on a call?"

"Yes, Miss Lloyd, " answered Rownie. "I don't know because why MissWakeley went, but Miss Esther Thielman got a typhoid call--another one. That's three f'om this house come next Sunday week. I reckon MissWakeley going out meks you next on call, Miss Lloyd. "

While Rownie had been speaking Lloyd had crossed the hall to where theroster of the nurses' names, in little movable slides, hung against thewall. As often as a nurse was called out she removed her name from thetop of this list and slid it into place at the bottom, so that whoeverfound her name at the top of the roster knew that she was "next on call"and prepared herself accordingly. 

Lloyd's name was now at the top of the list. She had not been gone fiveminutes from the agency, and it was rare for two nurses to be called outin so short a time. 

"Is it your tu'n?" asked Rownie as Lloyd faced quickly about. 

"Yes, yes, " answered Lloyd, running up the stairs, adding, as she passedthe mulatto: "There's been no call sent in since Miss Thielman left, hasthere, Rownie?" Rownie shook her head. 

Lloyd went directly to her room, tossed her books aside without removingthe wrappers, and set about packing her satchel. When this was done shechanged her tailor-made street dress and crisp skirt for clothes thatwould not rustle when she moved, and put herself neatly to rights, stripping off her rings and removing the dog-violets from her waist. Then she went to the round, old-fashioned mirror that hung between thewindows of her room, and combed back her hair in a great roll from herforehead and temples, and stood there a moment or so when she had done, looking at her reflection. 

She was tall and of a very vigorous build, full-throated, deep-chested, with large, strong hands and solid, round wrists. Her face was ratherserious; one did not expect her to smile easily; the eyes dull blue, with no trace of sparkle and set deep under heavy, level eyebrows. Hermouth was the mouth of the obstinate, of the strong-willed, and her chinwas not small. But her hair was a veritable glory, a dull-red flame, that bore back from her face in one great solid roll, dull red, likecopper or old bronze, thick, heavy, almost gorgeous in its sombreradiance. Dull-red hair, dull-blue eyes, and a faint, dull glow foreveron her cheeks, Lloyd was a beautiful woman; much about her that wasregal, for she was very straight as well as very tall, and could lookdown upon most women and upon not a few men. 

Lloyd turned from the mirror, laying down the comb. She had yet to packher nurse's bag, or, since this was always ready, to make sure that noneof its equipment was lacking. She was very proud of this bag, as she hadcaused it to be made after her own ideas and design. It was of blackrussia leather and in the form of an ordinary valise, but set off with afine silver clasp bearing her name and the agency's address. She broughtit from the closet and ran over its contents, murmuring the while toherself:

"Clinical thermometer--brandy--hypodermic syringe--vial of oxalic-acidcrystals--minim-glass--temperature charts; yes, yes, everything right. "

While she was still speaking Miss Douglass, the fever nurse, knocked ather door, and, finding it ajar, entered without further ceremony. 

"Are you in, Miss Searight?" called Miss Douglass, looking about theroom, for Lloyd had returned to the closet and was busy washing theminim-glass. 

"Yes, yes, " cried Lloyd, "I am. Sit down. "

"Rownie told me you are next on call, " said the other, dropping onLloyd's couch. 

"So I am; I was very nearly caught, too. I ran over across the squarefor five minutes, and while I was gone Miss Wakeley and Esther Thielmanwere called. My name is at the top now. "

"Esther got a typhoid case from Dr. Pitts. Do you know, Lloyd, that's--let me see, that's four--seven--nine--that's ten typhoid casesin the City that I can think of right now. "

"It's everywhere; yes, I know, " answered Lloyd, coming out of the room, carefully drying the minim-glass. 

"We are going to have trouble with it, " continued the fever nurse;"plenty of it before cool weather comes. It's almost epidemic. "

Lloyd held the minim-glass against the light, scrutinising it withnarrowed lids. 

"What did Esther say when she knew it was an infectious case?" sheasked. "Did she hesitate at all?"

"Not she!" declared Miss Douglass. "She's no Harriet Freeze. "

Lloyd did not answer. This case of Harriet Freeze was one that thenurses of the house had never forgotten and would never forgive. MissFreeze, a young English woman, newly graduated, suddenly called upon tonurse a patient stricken with smallpox, had flinched and had been foundwanting at the crucial moment, had discovered an excuse for leaving herpost, having once accepted it. It was cowardice in the presence of theEnemy. Anything could have been forgiven but that. On the girl's returnto the agency nothing was said, no action taken, but for all that shewas none the less expelled dishonourably from the midst of hercompanions. Nothing could have been stronger than the _esprit de corps_of this group of young women, whose lives were devoted to an unendingbattle with disease. 

Lloyd continued the overhauling of her equipment, and began ruling formsfor nourishment charts, while Miss Douglass importuned her to subscribeto a purse the nurses were making up for an old cripple dying of cancer. Lloyd refused. 

"You know very well, Miss Douglass, that I only give to charity throughthe association. "

"I know, " persisted the other, "and I know you give twice as much as allof us put together, but with this poor old fellow it's different. Weknow all about him, and every one of us in the house has givensomething. You are the only one that won't, Lloyd, and I had so hoped Icould make it tip to fifty dollars. "

"No. "

"We need only three dollars now. We can buy that little cigar stand forhim for fifty dollars. "

"No. "

"And you won't give us just three dollars?"

"No. "

"Well, you give half and I'll give half, " said Miss Douglass. 

"Do you think it's a question of money with me?" Lloyd smiled. 

Indeed this was a poor argument with which to move Lloyd--Lloyd whoserailroad stock alone brought her some fifteen thousand dollars a year. 

"Well, no; I don't mean that, of course, but, Lloyd, do let us havethree dollars, and I can send word to the old chap this very afternoon. It will make him happy for the rest of his life. "

"No--no--no, not three dollars, nor three cents. "

Miss Douglass made a gesture of despair. She might have expected thatshe could not move Lloyd. Once her mind was made up, one might arguewith her till one's breath failed. She shook her head at Lloyd andexclaimed, but not ill-naturedly:

"Obstinate! Obstinate! Obstinate!"

Lloyd put away the hypodermic syringe and the minim-glass in theirplaces in the bag, added a little ice-pick to its contents, and shut thebag with a snap. 

"Now, " she announced, "I'm ready. "

When Miss Douglass had taken herself away Lloyd settled herself in theplace she had vacated, and, stripping the wrappings from the books andmagazines she had bought, began to turn the pages, looking at thepictures. But her interest flagged. She tried to read, but soon cast thebook from her and leaned back upon the great couch, her hands claspedbehind the great bronze-red coils at the back of her head, her dull-blueeyes fixed and vacant. 

For hours the preceding night she had lain broad awake in her bed, staring at the shifting shadow pictures that the electric lights, shining through the trees down in the square, threw upon the walls andceiling of her room. She had eaten but little since morning; a growingspirit of unrest had possessed her for the last two days. Now it hadreached a head. She could no longer put her thoughts from her. 

It had all come back again for the fiftieth time, for the hundredthtime, the old, intolerable burden of anxiety growing heavier month bymonth, year by year. It seemed to her that a shape of terror, formless, intangible, and invisible, was always by her, now withdrawing, nowadvancing, but always there; there close at hand in some dark cornerwhere she could not see, ready at every instant to assume a terrible andall too well-known form, and to jump at her from behind, from out thedark, and to clutch her throat with cold fingers. The thing played withher, tormented her; at times it all but disappeared; at times shebelieved she had fought it from her for good, and then she would wake ofa night, in the stillness and in the dark, and know it to be there oncemore--at her bedside--at her back--at her throat--till her heart wentwild with fear, and the suspense of waiting for an Enemy that would notstrike, but that lurked and leered in dark corners, wrung from her asuppressed cry of anguish and exasperation, and drove her from her sleepwith streaming eyes and tight-shut hands and wordless prayers. 

For a few moments Lloyd lay back upon the couch, then regained her feetwith a brusque, harassed movement of head and shoulders. 

"Ah, no, " she exclaimed under her breath, "it is too dreadful. "

She tried to find diversion in her room, rearranging the few ornaments, winding the clock that struck ships' bells instead of hours, and turningthe wicks of the old empire lamps that hung in brass brackets on eitherside the fireplace. Lloyd, after building the agency, had felt noscruple in choosing the best room in the house and furnishing itaccording to her taste. Her room was beautiful, but very simple in itsappointments. There were great flat wall-space unspoiled by bric-à-brac, the floor marquetry, with but few rugs. The fireplace and itsappurtenances were of brass. Her writing-desk, a huge affair, of ancientand almost black San Domingo mahogany. 

But soon she wearied of the small business of pottering about her clockand lamps, and, turning to the window, opened it, and, leaning upon herelbows, looked down into the square. 

By now the thunderstorm was gone, like the withdrawal of a dark curtain;the sun was out again over the City. The square, deserted but half anhour ago, was reinvaded with its little people of nurse-maids, gray-coated policemen, and loungers reading their papers on the benchesnear the fountain. The elms still dripped, their wet leaves glisteningagain to the sun. There was a delicious smell in the air--a smell ofwarm, wet grass, of leaves and drenched bark from the trees. On the farside of the square, seen at intervals in the spaces between the foliage, a passing truck painted vermilion set a brisk note of colour in thescene. A newsboy appeared chanting the evening editions. On a sudden andfrom somewhere close at hand an unseen hand-piano broke out into a gay, jangling quickstep, marking the time with delightful precision. 

A carriage, its fine lacquered flanks gleaming in the sunlight, rolledthrough the square, on its way, no doubt, to the very fashionablequarter of the City just beyond. Lloyd had a glimpse of the girl leaningback in its cushions, a girl of her own age, with whom she had someslight acquaintance. For a moment Lloyd, ridden with her terrors, askedherself if this girl, with no capabilities for either great happiness orgreat sorrow, were not perhaps, after all, happier than she. But sherecoiled instantly, murmuring to herself with a certain fierce energy:

"No, no; after all, I have lived. "

And how had she lived? For the moment Lloyd was willing to compareherself with the girl in the landau. Swiftly she ran over her own lifefrom the time when left an orphan; in the year of her majority she hadbecome her own mistress and the mistress of the Searight estate. Buteven at that time she had long since broken away from the conventionalworld she had known. Lloyd was a nurse in the great St Luke's Hospitaleven then, had been a probationer there at the time of her mother'sdeath, six months before. She had always been ambitious, but vaguely so, having no determined object in view. She recalled how at that time sheknew only that she was in love with her work, her chosen profession, andwas accounted the best operating nurse in the ward. 

She remembered, too, the various steps of her advancement, the positionsshe had occupied; probationer first, then full member of the activecorps, next operating nurse, then ward manager, and, after hergraduation, head nurse of ward four, where the maternity cases weretreated. Then had come the time when she had left the hospital andpractised private nursing by herself, and at last, not so long ago, theday when her Idea had so abruptly occurred to her; when her ambition, nolonger vague, no longer personal, had crystallised and taken shape; whenshe had discovered a use for her money and had built and founded thehouse on Calumet Square. For a time she had been the superintendent ofnurses here, until her own theories and ideas had obtained and prevailedin its management. Then, her work fairly started, she had resigned herposition to an older woman, and had taken her place in the rank and fileof the nurses themselves. She wished to be one of them, living the samelife, subject to the same rigorous discipline, and to that end she hadnever allowed it to be known that she was the founder of the house. Theother nurses knew that she was very rich, very independent andself-reliant, but that was all. Lloyd did not know and cared very littlehow they explained the origin and support of the agency. 

Lloyd was animated by no great philanthropy, no vast love of humanity inher work; only she wanted, with all her soul she wanted, to count in thegeneral economy of things; to choose a work and do it; to help on, _donner un coup d'epaule_; and this, supported by her own stubbornenergy and her immense wealth, she felt that she was doing. To do thingshad become her creed; to do things, not to think them; to do things, notto talk them; to do things, not to read them. No matter how lofty thethoughts, how brilliant the talk, how beautiful the literature--for her, first, last, and always, were acts, acts, acts--concrete, substantial, material acts. The greatest and happiest day of her life had been whenat last she laid her bare hand upon the rough, hard stone of the housein the square and looked up at the facade, her dull-blue eyes flashingwith the light that so rarely came to them, while she murmured betweenher teeth:

"I--did--this. "

As she recalled this moment now, leaning upon her elbows, looking downupon the trees and grass and asphalt of the square, and upon a recedinglandau, a wave of a certain natural pride in her strength, thesatisfaction of attainment, came to her. Ah! she was better than otherwomen; ah! she was stronger than other women; she was carrying out asplendid work. She straightened herself to her full height abruptly, stretching her outspread hands vaguely to the sunlight, to the City, tothe world, to the great engine of life whose lever she could grasp andcould control, smiling proudly, almost insolently, in the consciousnessof her strength, the fine steadfastness of her purpose. Then all at oncethe smile was struck from her lips, the stiffness of her poise suddenlyrelaxed. There, there it was again, the terror, the dreadful fear shedared not name, back in its place once more--at her side, at hershoulder, at her throat, ready to clutch at her from out the dark. 

She wheeled from the window, from the sunlight, her hands clasped beforeher trembling lips, the tears brimming her dull-blue eyes. Forforty-eight hours she had fought this from her. But now it was no longerto be resisted. 

"No, no, " she cried half aloud. "I am no better, no stronger than theothers. What does it all amount to when I know that, after all, I amjust a woman--just a woman whose heart is slowly breaking?"

But there was an interruption. Rownie had knocked twice at her doorbefore Lloyd had heard her. When Lloyd had opened the door the girlhanded her a card with an address written on it in the superintendent'shand. 

"This here jus' now come in f'om Dr. Street, Miss Lloyd, " said Rownie;"Miss Bergyn" (this was the superintendent nurse) "ast me to give it toyou. "

It was a call to an address that seemed familiar to Lloyd at first; butshe did not stop at that moment to reflect. Her stable telephone hungagainst the wall of the closet. She rang for Lewis, and while waitingfor him to get around dressed for the street. 

For the moment, at the prospect of action, even her haunting fear drewoff and stood away from her. She was absorbed in her work upon theinstant--alert, watchful, self-reliant. What the case was she could onlysurmise. How long she would be away she had no means of knowing--a week, a month, a year, she could not tell. But she was ready for anycontingency. Usually the doctors informed the nurses as to the nature ofthe case at the time of sending for them, but Dr. Street had not done sonow. 

However, Rownie called up to her that her coupé was at the door. Lloydcaught up her satchels and ran down the stairs, crying good-bye to MissDouglass, whom she saw at the farther end of the hall. In the hallway bythe vestibule she changed the slide bearing her name from the top to thebottom of the roster. 

"How about your mail?" cried Miss Douglass after her. 

"Keep it here for me until I see how long I'm to be away, " answeredLloyd, her hand upon the knob. "I'll let you know. "

Lewis had put Rox in the shafts, and while the coupé spun over theasphalt at a smart clip Lloyd tried to remember where she had heard ofthe address before. Suddenly she snapped her fingers; she knew the case, had even been assigned to it some eight months before. 

"Yes, yes, that's it--Campbell--wife dead--Lafayette Avenue--littledaughter, Hattie--hip disease--hopeless--poor little baby. "

Arriving at the house, Lloyd found the surgeon, Dr. Street, and Mr. Campbell, who was a widower, waiting for her in a small drawing-room offthe library. The surgeon was genuinely surprised and delighted to seeher. Most of the doctors of the City knew Lloyd for the best trainednurse in the hospitals. 

"Oh, it's you, Miss Searight; good enough!" The surgeon introduced herto the little patient's father, adding: "If any one can pull us through, Campbell, it will be Miss Searight. "

The surgeon and nurse began to discuss the case. 

"I think you know it already, don't you, Miss Searight?" said thesurgeon. "You took care of it a while last winter. Well, there was alittle improvement in the spring, not so much pain, but that in itselfis a bad sign. We have done what we could, Farnham and I. But it don'tyield to treatment; you know how these things are--stubborn. We made apreliminary examination yesterday. Sinuses have occurred, and the probeleads down to nothing but dead bone. Farnham and I had a consultationthis morning. We must play our last card. I shall exsect the jointto-morrow. "

Mr. Campbell drew in his breath and held it for a moment, looking out ofthe window. 

Very attentive, Lloyd merely nodded her head, murmuring:

"I understand. "

When Dr. Street had gone Lloyd immediately set to work. The operationwas to take place at noon the following day, and she foresaw there wouldbe no sleep for her that night. Street had left everything to her, evento the sterilising of his instruments. Until daylight the followingmorning Lloyd came and went about the house with an untiring energy, yetwith the silence of a swiftly moving shadow, getting together the thingsneeded for the operation--strychnia tablets, absorbent cotton, therubber tubing for the tourniquet, bandages, salt, and the like--andpreparing the little chamber adjoining the sick-room as anoperating-room. 

The little patient herself, Hattie, hardly into her teens, rememberedLloyd at once. Before she went to sleep Lloyd contrived to spend an hourin the sick-room with her, told her as much as was necessary of whatwas contemplated, and, by her cheery talk, her gentleness and sympathy, inspired the little girl with a certain sense of confidence and trust inher. 

"But--but--but just how bad will it hurt, Miss Searight?" inquiredHattie, looking at her, wide-eyed and serious. 

"Dear, it won't hurt you at all; just two or three breaths of the etherand you will be sound asleep. When you wake up it will be all over andyou will be well. "

Lloyd made the ether cone from a stiff towel, and set it on Hattie'sdressing-table. Last of all and just before the operation the gauzesponges occupied her attention. The daytime brought her no rest. Hattiewas not to have any breakfast, but toward the middle of the forenoonLloyd gave her a stimulating enema of whiskey and water, following itabout an hour later by a hundredth grain of atropia. She braided thelittle girl's hair in two long plaits so that her head would restsquarely and flatly upon the pillow. Hattie herself was now ready forthe surgeon. 

Now there was nothing more to be done. Lloyd could but wait. She tookher place at the bedside and tried to talk as lightly as was possible toher patient. But now there was a pause in the round of action. Her mindno longer keenly intent upon the immediate necessities of the moment, began to hark back again to the one great haunting fear that for so longhad overshadowed it. Even while she exerted herself to be cheerful andwatched for the smiles on Hattie's face her hands twisted tight andtighter under the folds of her blouse, and some second self within herseemed to say:

"Suppose, suppose it should come, this thing I dread but dare not name, what then, what then? Should I not expect it? Is it not almost acertainty? Have I not been merely deceiving myself with the forlornesthopes? Is it not the most reasonable course to expect the worst? Do notall indications point that way? Has not my whole life been shaped tothis end? Was not this calamity, this mighty sorrow, prepared for meeven before I was born? And one can do nothing, absolutely nothing, nothing, but wait and hope and fear, and eat out one's heart withlonging. "

There was a knock at the door. Instead of calling to enter Lloyd went toit softly and opened it a few inches. Mr. Campbell was there. 

"They've come--Street and the assistant. "

Lloyd heard a murmur of voices in the hall below and the closing of thefront door. 

Farnham and Street went at once to the operating-room to make theirhands and wrists aseptic. Campbell had gone downstairs to hissmoking-room. It had been decided--though contrary to custom--that Lloydshould administer the chloroform. 

At length Street tapped with the handle of a scalpel on the door to saythat he was ready. 

"Now, dear, " said Lloyd, turning to Hattie, and picking up the ethercone. 

But the little girl's courage suddenly failed her. She began to plead ina low voice choked with tears. Her supplications were pitiful; butLloyd, once more intent upon her work, every faculty and thoughtconcentrated upon what must be done, did not temporise an instant. Quietly she gathered Hattie's frail wrists in the grip of one strongpalm, and held the cone to her face until she had passed off with a longsigh. She picked her up lightly, carried her into the next room, andlaid her upon the operating-table. At the last moment Lloyd had busiedherself with the preparation of her own person. Over her dress shepassed her hospital blouse, which had been under a dry heat for hours. She rolled her sleeves up from her strong white forearms with theirthick wrists and fine blue veining, and for upward of ten minutesscrubbed them with a new nail-brush in water as hot as she could bearit. After this she let her hands and forearms lie in the permanganate ofpotash solution till they were brown to the elbow, then washed away thestain in the oxalic-acid solution and in sterilised hot water. Streetand Farnham, wearing their sterilised gowns and gloves, took theirplaces. There was no conversation. The only sounds were an occasionalsigh from the patient, a direction given in a low tone, and, atintervals, the click of the knives and scalpel. From outside the windowcame the persistent chirping of a band of sparrows. 

Promptly the operation was begun; there was no delay, no hesitation;what there was to be done had been carefully planned beforehand, even tothe minutest details. Street, a master of his profession, thoroughlyfamiliar with every difficulty that might present itself during thecourse of the work in hand, foreseeing every contingency, prepared forevery emergency, calm, watchful, self-contained, set about the exsectingof the joint with no trace of compunction, no embarrassment, nomisgiving. His assistants, as well as he himself, knew that life ordeath hung upon the issue of the next ten minutes. Upon Street alonedevolved the life of the little girl. A second's hesitation at the wrongstage of the operation, a slip of bistoury or scalpel, a tremor of thewrist, a single instant's clumsiness of the fingers, and theEnemy--watching for every chance, intent for every momentarily openedchink or cranny wherein he could thrust his lean fingers--entered thefrail tenement with a leap, a rushing, headlong spring that jarred thehouse of life to its foundations. Lowering close over her head Lloydfelt the shadow of his approach. He had arrived there in thatcommonplace little room, with its commonplace accessories, itsornaments, that suddenly seemed so trivial, so impertinent--the stoppedFrench clock, with its simpering, gilded cupids, on the mantelpiece; thephotograph of a number of picnickers "grouped" on a hotel piazza gazingwith monolithic cheerfulness at this grim business, this struggle of thetwo world forces, this crisis in a life. 

Then abruptly the operation was over. 

The nurse and surgeons eased their positions immediately, drawing longbreaths. They began to talk, commenting upon the operation, and Lloyd, intensely interested, asked Street why he had, contrary to herexpectations, removed the bone above the lesser trochanter. He smiled, delighted at her intelligence. 

"It's better than cutting through the neck, Miss Searight, " he told her. "If I had gone through the neck, don't you see, the trochanter majorwould come over the hole and prevent the discharges. "

"Yes, yes, I see, of course, " assented Lloyd. 

The incision was sewn up, and when all was over Lloyd carried Hattieback to the bed in the next room. Slowly the little girl regainedconsciousness, and Lloyd began to regard her once more as a human being. During the operation she had forgotten the very existence of HattieCampbell, a little girl she knew. She had only seen a bit of mechanismout of order and in the hands of a repairer. It was always so withLloyd. Her charges were not infrequently persons whom she knew, oftenintimately, but during the time of their sickness their personalitiesvanished for the trained nurse; she saw only the "case, " only themechanism, only the deranged clockwork in imminent danger of runningdown. 

But the danger was by no means over. The operation had been near thetrunk. There had been considerable loss of blood, and the child's powerof resistance had been weakened by long periods of suffering. Lloydfeared that the shock might prove too great. Farnham departed, but for alittle while the surgeon remained with Lloyd to watch the symptoms. Atlength, however, he too, pressed for time, and expected at one of thelarger hospitals of the City, went away, leaving directions for Lloyd totelephone him in case of the slightest change. At this hour, late in theafternoon, there were no indications that the little girl would notrecover from the shock. Street believed she would rally and ultimatelyregain her health. 

"But, " he told Lloyd as he bade her good-bye, "I don't need to impressupon you the need of care and the greatest vigilance; absolute rest isthe only thing; she must see nobody, not even her father. The wholesystem is numbed and deadened just yet, but there will be a changeeither for better or worse some time to-night. "

For thirty-six hours Lloyd had not closed an eye, but of that she had nothought. Her supper was sent up to her, and she prepared herself for hernight's watch. She gave the child such nourishment as she believed shecould stand, and from time to time took her pulse, making records of itupon her chart for the surgeon's inspection later on. At intervals shetook Hattie's temperature, placing the clinical thermometer in thearmpit. Toward nine in the evening, while she was doing this for thethird time within the hour, one of the house servants came to the roomto inform her that she was wanted on the telephone. Lloyd hesitated, unwilling to leave Hattie for an instant. However, the telephone wasclose at hand, and it was quite possible that Dr. Street had rung her upto ask for news. 

But it was the agency that had called, and Miss Douglass informed herthat a telegram had arrived there for her a few moments before. Shouldshe hold it or send it to her by Rownie? Lloyd reflected a moment. 

"Oh--open it and read it to me, " she said. "It's a call, isn'tit?--or--no; send it here by Rownie, and send my hospital slippers withher, the ones without heels. But don't ring up again to-night; we'reexpecting a crisis almost any moment. "

Lloyd returned to the sick-room, sent away the servant, and once moresettled herself for the night. Hattie had roused for a moment. 

"Am I going to get well, am I going to get well, Miss Searight?"

Lloyd put her finger to her lips, nodding her head, and Hattie closedher eyes again with a long breath. A certain great tenderness andcompassion for the little girl grew big in Lloyd's heart. To herself shesaid:

"God helping me, you shall get well. They believe in me, thesepeople--'If any one could pull us through it would be Miss Searight. ' Wewill 'pull through, ' yes, for I'll do it. "

The night closed down, dark and still and very hot. Lloyd, regulatingthe sick-room's ventilation, opened one of the windows from the top. Thenoises of the City steadily decreasing as the hours passed, reached herears in a subdued, droning murmur. On her bed, that had for so long beenher bed of pain, Hattie lay with closed eyes, inert, motionless, hardlyseeming to breathe, her life in the balance; unhappy little invalid, wasted with suffering, with drawn, pinched face and bloodless lips, andat her side Lloyd, her dull-blue eyes never leaving her patient's face, alert and vigilant, despite her long wakefulness, her great bronze-redflame of hair rolling from her forehead and temples, the sombre glow inher cheeks no whit diminished by her day of fatigue, of responsibilityand untiring activity. 

For the time being she could thrust her fear, the relentless Enemy thatfor so long had hung upon her heels, back and away from her. There wasanother Enemy now to fight--or was it another--was it not the sameEnemy, the very same, whose shadow loomed across that sick-bed, acrossthe frail, small body and pale, drawn face?

With her pity and compassion for the sick child there arose in Lloyd acertain unreasoned, intuitive obstinacy, a banding together of all herpowers and faculties in one great effort at resistance, a steadfastnessunder great stress, a stubbornness, that shut its ears and eyes. It washer one dominant characteristic rising up, strong and insistent theinstant she knew herself to be thwarted in her desires or checked in acourse she believed to be right and good. And now as she felt theadvance of the Enemy and saw the shadow growing darker across the bedher obstinacy hardened like tempered steel. 

"No, " she murmured, her brows levelled, her lips compressed, "she shallnot die. I will not let her go. "

A little later, perhaps an hour after midnight, at a time when shebelieved Hattie to be asleep, Lloyd, watchful as ever, noted that hercheeks began alternately to puff out and contract with her breathing. Inan instant the nurse was on her feet. She knew the meaning of this sign. Hattie had fainted while asleep. Lloyd took the temperature. It wasfalling rapidly. The pulse was weak, rapid, and irregular. It seemedimpossible for Hattie to take a deep breath. 

Then swiftly the expected crisis began to develop itself. Lloyd orderedStreet to be sent for, but only as a matter of form. Long before hecould arrive the issue would be decided. She knew that now Hattie's lifedepended on herself alone. 

"Now, " she murmured, as though the Enemy she fought could hear her, "nowlet us see who is the stronger. You or I. "

Swiftly and gently she drew the bed from the wall and raised its foot, propping it in position with half a dozen books. Then, while waiting forthe servants, whom she had despatched for hot blankets, administered ahypodermic injection of brandy. 

"We will pull you through, " she kept saying to herself, "we will pullyou through. I shall not let you go. "

The Enemy was close now, and the fight was hand to hand. Lloyd couldalmost feel, physically, actually, feel the slow, sullen, resistlesspull that little by little was dragging Hattie's life from her grip. Sheset her teeth, holding back with all her might, bracing herself againstthe strain, refusing with all inborn stubbornness to yield her position. 

"No--no, " she repeated to herself, "you shall not have her. I will notgive her up; you shall not triumph over me. "

Campbell was in the room, warned by the ominous coming and going ofhushed footsteps. 

"What is the use, nurse? It's all over. Let her die in peace. It's toocruel; let her die in peace. "

The half-hour passed, then the hour. Once more Lloyd administeredhypodermically the second dose of brandy. Campbell, unable to bear thesight, had withdrawn to the adjoining room, where he could be heardpacing the floor. From time to time he came back for a moment, whispering:

"Will she live, nurse? Will she live? Shall we pull her through?"

"I don't know, " Lloyd told him. "I don't know. Wait. Go back. I will letyou know. "

Another fifteen minutes passed. Lloyd fancied that the heart's actionwas growing a little stronger. A great stillness had settled over thehouse. The two servants waiting Lloyd's orders in the hall outside thedoor refrained even from whispering. From the next room came the muffledsound of pacing footsteps, hurried, irregular, while with that strangeperversity which seizes upon the senses at moments when they are morethan usually acute Lloyd began to be aware of a vague, unwonted movementin the City itself, outside there behind the drawn curtains andhalf-opened window--a faint, uncertain agitation, a trouble, a passingripple on the still black pool of the night, coming and going, andcoming again, each time a little more insistent, each time claiming alittle more attention and notice. It was about half past three o'clock. But the little patient's temperature was rising--there could be no doubtabout that. The lungs expanded wider and deeper. Hattie's breathing wasunmistakably easier; and as Lloyd put her fingers to the wrist she couldhardly keep back a little exultant cry as she felt the pulse throbbingfuller, a little slower, a little more regularly. Now she redoubled herattention. Her hold upon the little life shut tighter; her power ofresistance, her strength of purpose, seemed to be suddenly quadrupled. She could imagine the Enemy drawing off; she could think that the gripof cold fingers was loosening. 

Slowly the crisis passed off, slowly the reaction began. Hattie wasstill unconscious, but there was a new look upon her face--a look thatLloyd had learned to know from long experience, an intangible and mostillusive expression, nothing, something, the sign that only those whoare trained to search for it may see and appreciate--the earliest faintflicker after the passing of the shadow. 

"Will she live, will she live, nurse?" came Mr. Campbell's whisper ather shoulder. 

"I think--I am almost sure--but we must not be too certain yet. Stillthere's a chance; yes, there's a chance. "

Campbell, suddenly gone white, put out his hand and leaned a momentagainst the mantelpiece. He did not now leave the room. The door-bellrang. 

"Dr. Street, " murmured Lloyd. 

But what had happened in the City? There in the still dark hours of thathot summer night an event of national, perhaps even international, importance had surely transpired. It was in the air--a sense of a GreatThing come suddenly to a head somewhere in the world. Footsteps soundedrapidly on the echoing sidewalks. Here and there a street door opened. From corner to corner, growing swiftly nearer, came the cry of newsboyschanting extras. A subdued excitement was abroad, finding expression ina vague murmur, the mingling of many sounds into one huge note--a notethat gradually swelled and grew louder and seemed to be rising from allcorners of the City at once. 

There was a step at the sick-room door. Dr. Street? No, Rownie--Rowniewith two telegrams for Lloyd. 

Lloyd took them from her, then with a sharp, brusque movement of herhead and suddenly smitten with an idea, turned from them to listen tothe low, swelling murmur of the City. These despatches--no, they were no"call" for her. She guessed what they might be. Why had they come to hernow? Why was there this sense of some great tidings in the wind? Thesame tidings that had come to the world might come to her--in thesedespatches. Might it not be so? She caught her breath quickly. Theterror, the fearful anxiety that had haunted and oppressed her for solong, was it to be lifted now at last? The Enemy that lurked in the darkcorners, ever ready to clutch her, was it to be driven back and awayfrom her forever? She dared not hope for it. But something was coming toher; she knew it, she felt it; something was preparing for her, comingto her swifter with every second--coming, coming, coming from out thenorth. She saw Dr. Street in the room, though how and when he hadarrived she could not afterward recall. Her mind was all alert, intentupon other things, listening, waiting. The surgeon had been leaning overthe bed. Suddenly he straightened up, saying aloud to Campbell:

"Good, good, we're safe. We have pulled through. "

Lloyd tore open her telegrams. One was signed "Bennett, " the other"Ferriss. "

"Thank God!" exclaimed Mr. Campbell. 

"Oh, " cried Lloyd, a great sob shaking her from head to heel, a smile ofinfinite happiness flashing from her face. "Oh--yes, thank God, we--we_have_ pulled through. "

"Am I going to get well, am I going to get well, Miss Searight?" Hattie, once more conscious, raised her voice weak and faint. 

Lloyd was on her knees beside her, her head bent over her. 

"Hush; yes, dear, you are safe. " Then the royal bronze-red hair bentlower still. The dull-blue eyes were streaming now, the voice one lowquiver of sobs. Tenderly, gently Lloyd put an arm about the child, herhead bending lower and lower. Her cheek touched Hattie's. For a momentthe little girl, frail, worn, pitifully wasted, and the strong, vigorouswoman, with her imperious will and indomitable purpose, rested theirheads upon the same pillow, both broken with suffering, the one of thebody, the other of the mind. 

"Safe; yes, dear, safe, " whispered Lloyd, her face all but hidden. "Safe, safe, and saved to me. Oh, dearest of all the world!"

And then to her ears the murmur of the City seemed to leap suddenly toarticulate words, the clanging thunder of the entire nation--the wholeround world thrilling with this great news that had come to it from outthe north in the small hours of this hot summer's night. And thechanting cries of the street rolled to her like the tremendous diapasonof a gigantic organ:

"Rescued, rescued, rescued!"

IV. 

On the day that Lloyd returned to the house on Calumet Square (Hattie'srecovery being long since assured), and while she was unpacking hervalise and settling herself again in her room, a messenger boy broughther a note. 

"Have just arrived in the City. When may I see you? BENNETT. "

News of Ward Bennett and of Richard Ferriss had not been wanting duringthe past fortnight or so. Their names and that of the ship herself, eventhe names of Adler, Hansen, Clarke, and Dennison, even Muck Tu, eventhat of Kamiska, the one surviving dog, filled the mouths and minds ofmen to the exclusion of everything else. 

The return of the expedition after its long imprisonment in the ice andat a time when all hope of its safety had been abandoned was one of thegreat events of that year. The fact that the expedition had failed toreach the Pole, or to attain any unusual high latitude, was forgotten orignored. Nothing was remembered but the masterly retreat towardKolyuchin Bay, the wonderful march over the ice, the indomitablecourage, unshaken by hardship, perils, obstacles, and privations almostbeyond imagination. All this, together with a multitude of details, someof them palpably fictitious, the press of the City where Bennett andFerriss both had their homes published and republished and publishedagain and again. News of the men, their whereabouts and intentions, invaded the sick-room--where Lloyd watched over the convalescence of herlittle patient--by the very chinks of the windows. 

Lloyd learned how the ship had been "nipped;" how, after inconceivabletoil, the members of the expedition had gained the land; how they hadmarched southward toward the Chuckch settlements; how, at the eleventhhour, the survivors, exhausted and starving, had been rescued by thesteam whalers; how these whalers themselves had been caught in the ice, and how the survivors of the Freja had been obliged to spend anotherwinter in the Arctic. She learned the details of their final return. Inthe quiet, darkened room where Hattie lay she heard from without theecho of the thunder of the nations; she saw how the figure of Bennetttowered suddenly magnificent in the world; how that the people werebrusquely made aware of a new hero. She learned that honours camethronging about him unsought; that the King of the Belgians hadconferred a decoration upon him; that the geographical societies ofcontinental Europe had elected him to honourary membership; that thePresident and the Secretary of War had sent telegrams ofcongratulations. 

"And what does he do, " she murmured, "the first of all upon his return?Asks to see me--me!"

She sent an answer to his note by the same boy who brought it, namingthe following afternoon, explaining that two days later she expected togo into the country to a little town called Bannister to take her annualfortnight's vacation. 

"But what of--of the other?" she murmured as she stood at the window ofher room watching the messenger boy bicycling across the square. "Whydoes not he--he, too--?"

She put her chin in the air and turned about, looking abstractedly atthe rugs on the parquetry. 

Lloyd's vacation had really begun two days before. Her name was off theroster of the house, and till the end of the month her time was her own. The afternoon was hot and very still. Even in the cool, stone-builtagency, with its windows wide and heavily shaded with awnings, the heatwas oppressive. For a long time Lloyd had been shut away from fresh airand the sun, and now she suddenly decided to drive out in the City'spark. She rang up her stable and ordered Lewis to put her ponies to herphaeton. 

She spent a delightful two hours in the great park, losing herself inits farthest, shadiest, and most unfrequented corners. She droveherself, and intelligently. Horses were her passion, and not Lewishimself understood their care and management better. Toward the cool ofthe day and just as she had pulled the ponies down to a walk in a long, deserted avenue overspanned with elms and great cottonwoods she was allat once aware of an open carriage that had turned into the far end ofthe same avenue approaching at an easy trot. It drew near, and she sawthat its only occupant was a man leaning back rather limply in thecushions. As the eye of the trained nurse fell upon him she at onceplaced him in the category of convalescents or chronic invalids, and shewas vaguely speculating as to the nature of his complaint when thecarriage drew opposite her phaeton, and she recognised Richard Ferriss. 

Ferriss, but not the same Ferriss to whom she had said good-bye on thatnever-to-be-forgotten March afternoon, with its gusts and rain, fourlong years ago. The Ferriss she had known then had been an alert, keenman, with quick, bright eyes, alive to every impression, responsive toevery sensation, living his full allowance of life. She was looking nowat a man unnaturally old, of deadened nerves, listless. As he caughtsight of her and recognised her he suddenly roused himself with a quick, glad smile and with a look in his eyes that to Lloyd was unmistakable. But there was not that joyful, exuberant start she had anticipated, and, for that matter, wished. Neither did Lloyd set any too great store bythe small amenities of life, but that Ferriss should remain covered hurther a little. She wondered how she could note so trivial a detail atsuch a moment. But this was Ferriss. 

Her heart was beating fast and thick as she halted her ponies. Thedriver of the carriage jumped down and held the door for Ferriss, andthe chief engineer stepped quickly toward her. 

So it was they met after four years--and such years--unexpectedly, without warning or preparation, and not at all as she had expected. Whatthey said to each other in those first few moments Lloyd could neverafterward clearly remember. One incident alone detached itself vividlyfrom the blur. 

"I have just come from the square, " Ferriss had explained, "and theytold me that you had left for a drive out here only the moment before, so there was nothing for it but to come after you. "

"Shan't we walk a little?" she remembered she had asked after a while. "We can have the carriages wait; or do you feel strong enough? Iforgot--"

But he interrupted her, protesting his fitness. 

"The doctor merely sent me out to get the air, and it's humiliating tobe wheeled about like an old woman. "

Lloyd passed the reins back of her to Lewis, and, gathering her skirtsabout her, started to descend from the phaeton. The step was rather highfrom the ground. Ferriss stood close by. Why did he not help her? Whydid he stand there, his hands in his pockets, so listless andunconscious of her difficulty. A little glow of irritation deepened thedull crimson of her cheeks. Even returned Arctic explorers could notafford to ignore entirely life's little courtesies--and he of all men. 

"Well, " she said, expectantly hesitating before attempting to descend. 

Then she caught Ferriss's eyes fixed upon her. He was smiling a little, but the dull, stupefied expression of his face seemed for a briefinstant to give place to one of great sadness. He raised a shoulderresignedly, and Lloyd, with the suddenness of a blow, remembered thatFerriss had no hands. 

She dropped back in the seat of the phaeton, covering her eyes, shakenand unnerved for the moment with a great thrill of infinite pity--ofshame at her own awkwardness, and of horror as for one brief instant thesmiling summer park, the afternoon's warmth, the avenue of green, over-arching trees, the trim, lacquered vehicles and glossy-brown horseswere struck from her mind, and she had a swift vision of the Ice, thedarkness of the winter night, the lacerating, merciless cold, theblinding, whirling, dust-like snow. 

For half an hour they walked slowly about in the park, the carriagesfollowing at a distance. They did not talk very much. It seemed to Lloydthat she would never tire of scrutinising his face, that her interest inhis point of view, his opinions, would never flag. He had had anexperience that came but to few men. For four years he had been out ofthe world, had undergone privation beyond conception. What now was to behis attitude? How had he changed? That he had not changed to her Lloydknew in an instant. He still loved her; that was beyond all doubt. Butthis terrible apathy that seemed now to be a part of him! She had heardof the numbing stupor that invades those who stay beyond their time inthe Ice, but never before had she seen it in its reality. It was not alack of intelligence; it seemed rather to be the machinery ofintelligence rusted and clogged from long disuse. He deliberated longbefore he spoke. It took him some time to understand things. Speech didnot come to him readily, and he became easily confused in the matter ofwords. Once, suddenly, he had interrupted her, breaking out with:

"Oh, the smell of the trees, of the grass! Isn't it wonderful; isn't itwonderful?" And a few seconds later, quite irrelevantly: "And, afterall, we failed. "

At once Lloyd was all aroused, defending him against himself. 

"Failed! And you say that? If you did not reach the Pole, what then? Theworld will judge you by results perhaps, and the world's judgment willbe wrong. Is it nothing that you have given the world an example ofheroism--"

"Oh, don't call it that. "

"Of heroism, of courage, of endurance? Is it nothing that you haveovercome obstacles before which other men would have died? Is it nothingthat you have shown us all how to be patient, how to be strong? Thereare some things better even than reaching the Pole. To suffer and becalm is one of them; not to give up--never to be beaten--is another. Oh, if I were a man! Ten thousand, a hundred thousand people are readingto-night of what you have done--of what you have done, you understand, not of what you have failed to do. They have seen--you have shown themwhat the man can do who says _I will_, and you have done a little more, have gone a little further, have been a little braver, a little hardier, a little nobler, a little more determined than any one has ever beenbefore. Whoever fails now cannot excuse himself by saying that he hasdone as much as a man can do. He will have to remember the men of theFreja. He will have to remember you. Don't you suppose I am proud ofyou; don't you suppose that I am stronger and better because of what youhave done? Do you think it is nothing for me to be sitting here besideyou, here in this park--to be--yes, to be with you? Can't youunderstand? Isn't it something to me that you are the man you are; notthe man whose name the people are shouting just now, not the man to whoma king gave a bit of ribbon and enamel, but the man who lived like aman, who would not die just because it was easier to die than to live, who fought like a man, not only for himself but for the lives of thosehe led, who showed us all how to be strong, and how strong one could beif one would only try? What does the Pole amount to? The world wantsmen, great, strong, harsh, brutal men--men with purposes, who letnothing, nothing, nothing stand in their way. "

"You mean Bennett, " said Ferriss, looking up quickly. "You commenced byspeaking of me, but it's Bennett you are talking of now. "

But he caught her glance and saw that she was looking steadfastly athim--at him. A look was in her face, a light in her dull-blue eyes, thathe had never seen there before. 

"Lloyd, " he said quietly, "which one of us, Bennett or I, were youspeaking of just then? You know what I mean; which one of us?"

"I was speaking of the man who was strong enough to do great things, "she said. 

Ferriss drew the stumps of his arms from his pockets and smiled at themgrimly. 

"H'm, can one do much--this way?" he muttered. 

With a movement she did not try to restrain Lloyd put both her handsover his poor, shapeless wrists. Never in her life had she been sostrongly moved. Pity, such as she had never known, a tenderness andcompassion such as she had never experienced, went knocking at herbreast. She had no words at hand for so great emotions. She longed totell him what was in her heart, but all speech failed. 

"Don't!" she exclaimed. "Don't! I will not have you. "

A little later, as they were returning toward the carriages, Lloyd, after a moment's deliberation upon the matter, said:

"Can't I set you down somewhere near your rooms? Let your carriage go. "

He shook his head: "I've just given up my downtown rooms. Bennett and Ihave taken other rooms much farther uptown. In fact, I believe I amsupposed to be going there now. It would be quite out of your way totake me there. We are much quieter out there, and people can't get at usso readily. The doctor says we both need rest after our shaking up. Bennett himself--iron as he is--is none too strong, and what with themail, the telegrams, reporters, deputations, editors, and visitors, andthe like, we are kept on something of a strain. Besides we have still agood deal of work to do getting our notes into shape. "

Lewis brought the ponies to the edge of the walk, and Lloyd and Ferrissseparated, she turning the ponies' heads homeward, starting away at abrisk trot, and leaving him in his carriage, which he had directed tocarry him to his new quarters. 

But at the turn of the avenue Lloyd leaned from the phaeton and lookedback. The carriage was just disappearing down the vista of elms andcottonwoods. She waved her hand gayly, and Ferriss responded with thestump of one forearm. 

On the next day but one, a Friday, Lloyd was to go to the country. Everyyear in the heat of the summer Lloyd spent her short vacation in thesleepy and old-fashioned little village of Bannister. The country aroundthe village was part of the Searight estate. It was quiet, off therailroad, just the place to forget duties, responsibilities, and thewearing anxieties of sick-rooms. But Thursday afternoon she expectedBennett. 

Thursday morning she was in her room. Her trunk was already packed. There was nothing more to be done. She was off duty. There was neithercare nor responsibility upon her mind. But she was too joyful, toohappily exalted, too exuberant in gayety to pass her time in reading. She wanted action, movement, life, and instinctively threw open a windowof her room, and, according to her habit, leaned upon her elbows andlooked out and down upon the square. The morning was charming. Later inthe day it probably would be very hot, but as yet the breeze of theearliest hours was stirring nimbly. The cool of it put a brisker note inthe sombre glow of her cheeks, and just stirred a lock that, escapingfrom her gorgeous coils of dark-red hair, hung curling over her ear andneck. Into her eyes of dull blue--like the blue of old china--themorning's sun sent an occasional unwonted sparkle. Over the asphalt andover the green grass-plots of the square the shadows of the venerableelms wove a shifting maze of tracery. Traffic avoided the place. It wasinvariably quiet in the square, and one--as now--could always hear thesubdued ripple and murmur of the fountain in the centre. 

But the crowning delight of that morning was the sudden appearance of arobin in a tree close to Lloyd's window. He was searching his breakfast. At every moment he came and went between the tree-tops and thegrass-plots, very important, very preoccupied, chittering and callingthe while, as though he would never tire. Lloyd whistled to him, andinstantly he answered, cocking his head sideways. She whistled again, and he piped back an impudent response, and for quite five minutes thetwo held an elaborate altercation between tree-top and window-ledge. Lloyd caught herself laughing outright and aloud for no assignablereason. "Ah, the world was a pretty good place after all!"

A little later, and while she was still at the window, Rownie broughther a note from Bennett, sent by special messenger. 

"Ferriss woke up sick this morning. Nobody here but the two of us;can't leave him alone. BENNETT. "

"Oh!" exclaimed Lloyd Searight a little blankly. 

The robin and his effrontery at once ceased to be amusing. She closedthe window abruptly, shutting out the summer morning's gayety and charm, turning her back upon the sunlight. 

Now she was more in the humour of reading. On the great divan againstthe wall lay the month's magazines and two illustrated weeklies. Lloydhad bought them to read on the train. But now she settled herself uponthe divan and, picking up one of the weeklies, turned its leaveslistlessly. All at once she came upon two pictures admirably reproducedfrom photographs, and serving as illustrations to the weekly's mainarticle--"The Two Leaders of the Freja Expedition. " One was a picture ofBennett, the other of Ferriss. 

The suddenness with which she had come upon his likeness almost tookLloyd's breath from her. It was the last thing she had expected. If hehimself had abruptly entered the room in person she could hardly havebeen more surprised. Her heart gave a great leap, the dull crimson ofher cheeks shot to her forehead. Then, with a charming movement, at onceimpulsive and shamefaced, smiling the while, her eyes half-closing, shelaid her cheek upon the picture, murmuring to herself words that onlyherself should hear. The next day she left for the country. 

On that same day when Dr. Pitts arrived at the rooms Ferriss and Bennetthad taken he found the anteroom already crowded with visitors--a knot ofinterviewers, the manager of a lecture bureau, as well as the agent of apatented cereal (who sought the man of the hour for an endorsement ofhis article), and two female reporters. 

Decidedly Richard Ferriss was ill; there could be no doubt about that. Bennett had not slept the night before, but had gone to and fro aboutthe rooms tending to his wants with a solicitude and a gentleness thatin a man so harsh and so toughly fibred seemed strangely out of place. Bennett was far from well himself. The terrible milling which he hadundergone had told even upon that enormous frame, but his own ailmentswere promptly ignored now that Ferriss, the man of all men to him, was"down. "

"I didn't pull through with you, old man, " he responded to all ofFerriss's protests, "to have you get sick on my hands at this time ofday. No more of your damned foolishness now. Here's the quinine. Downwith it!"

Bennett met Pitts at the door of Ferriss's room, and before going indrew him into a corner. 

"He's a sick boy, Pitts, and is going to be worse, though he's justenough of a fool boy not to admit it. I've seen them start off this gaitbefore. Remember, too, when you look him over that it's not as though hehad been in a healthy condition before. Our work in the ice ground himdown about as fine as he could go and yet live, and the hardtack andsalt pork on the steam whalers were not a good diet for a convalescent. And see here, Pitts, " said Bennett, clearing his throat, "I--well, I'mrather fond of that fool boy in there. We are not taking any chances, you understand. "

After the doctor had seen the chief engineer and had prescribed calomeland a milk diet, Bennett followed him out into the hall and accompaniedhim to the door. 

"Verdict?" he demanded, fixing the physician intently with his small, distorted eyes. But Pitts was non-committal. 

"Yes, he's a sick boy, but the thing, whatever it is going to be, hasbeen gathering slowly. He complains of headache, great weakness andnausea, and you speak of frequent nose-bleeds during the night. Theabdomen is tender upon pressure, which is a symptom I would rather nothave found. But I can't make any positive diagnosis as yet. Some bigsickness is coming on--that, I am afraid, is certain. I shall come outhere to-morrow. But, Mr. Bennett, be careful of yourself. Even steel canweaken, you know. You see this rabble" (he motioned with his head towardthe anteroom, where the other visitors were waiting) "that is houndingyou? Everybody knows where you are. Man, you must have rest. I don'tneed to look at you more than once to know that. Get away! Get away evenfrom your mails! Hide from everybody for a while! Don't think you cannurse your friend through these next few weeks, because you can't. "

"Well, " answered Bennett, "wait a few days. We'll see by the end of theweek. "

The week passed. Ferriss went gradually from bad to worse, though as yetthe disease persistently refused to declare itself. He was quitehelpless, and Bennett watched over him night and day, pottering aroundhim by the hour, giving him his medicines, cooking his food, and evenwhen Ferriss complained of the hotness of the bedclothes, changing thevery linen that he might lie upon cool sheets. But at the end of theweek Dr. Pitts declared that Bennett himself was in great danger ofbreaking down, and was of no great service to the sick man. 

"To-morrow, " said the doctor, "I shall have a young fellow here whohappens to be a cousin of mine. He is an excellent trained nurse, afellow we can rely upon. He'll take your place. I'll have him hereto-morrow, and you must get away. Hide somewhere. Don't even allow yourmail to be forwarded. The nurse and I will take care of Mr. Ferriss. Youcan leave me your address, and I will wire you if it is necessary. Nowbe persuaded like a reasonable man. I will stake my professionalreputation that you will knock under if you stay here with a sick man onyour hands and newspaper men taking the house by storm at all hours ofthe day. Come now, will you go? Mr. Ferriss is in no danger, and youwill do him more harm by staying than by going. So long as you remainhere you will have this raft of people in the rooms at all hours. Denyyourself! Keep them out! Keep out the American reporter when he goesgunning for a returned explorer! Do you think this, " and he pointedagain to the crowd in the anteroom, "is the right condition for a sickman's quarters? You are imperilling his safety, to say nothing of yourown, by staying beside him--you draw the fire, Mr. Bennett. "

"Well, there's something in that, " muttered Bennett, pulling at hismustache. "But--" Bennett hesitated, then: "Pitts, I want you to take myplace here if I go away. Have a nurse if you like, but I shouldn't feeljustified in leaving the boy in his condition unless I knew you werewith him continually. I don't know what your practice is worth to you, say for a month, or until the boy is out of danger, but make me aproposition. I think we can come to an understanding. "

"But it won't be necessary to have a doctor with Mr. Ferriss constantly. I should see him every day and the nurse--"

Bennett promptly overrode his objections. Harshly and abruptly heexclaimed: "I'm not taking any chances. It shall be as I say. I want theboy well, and I want you and the nurse to see to it that he _gets_ well. I'll meet the expenses. "

Bennett did not hear the doctor's response and his suggestion as to theadvisability of taking Ferriss to his own house in the country while hecould be moved. For the moment he was not listening. An idea hadabruptly presented itself to him. He was to go to the country. Butwhere? A grim smile began to relax the close-gripped lips and the hardset of the protruding jaw. He tugged again at his mustache, scowling atthe doctor, trying to hide his humour. 

"Well, that's settled then, " he said; "I'll get awayto-morrow--somewhere. "

"Whereabouts?" demanded the doctor. "I shall want to let you know how weprogress. "

Bennett chose to feel a certain irritation. What business of Pitts wasit whom he went to see, or, rather, where he meant to go?

"You told me to hide away from everybody, not even to allow my mail tobe forwarded. But I'll let you know where to reach me, of course, assoon as I get there. It won't be far from town. "

"And I will take your place here with Mr. Ferriss; somebody will be withhim at every moment, and I shall only wire you, " continued the doctor, "in case of urgent necessity. I want you to have all the rest you can, and stay away as long as possible. I shan't annoy you with telegramsunless I must. You'll understand that no news is good news. "

 * * * * *

On that particular morning Lloyd sat in her room in the old farmhousethat she always elected to call her home as often as she visitedBannister. It was some quarter of a mile outside the little village, andon the road that connected it with the railway at Fourth Lake, some sixmiles over the hills to the east. It was yet early in the morning, andLloyd was writing letters that she would post at Fourth Lake later inthe forenoon. She intended driving over to the lake. Two days before, Lewis had arrived with Rox, the ponies and the phaeton. Lloyd'sdog-cart, a very gorgeous, high-wheeled affair, was always kept atBannister. 

The room in which she now sat was delightful. Everything was white, fromthe curtains of the bed to the chintz hangings on the walls. A rug ofwhite fur was on the floor. The panellings and wooden shutters of thewindows were painted white. The fireplace was set in glossy-white tiles, and its opening covered with a screen of white feathers. The windowswere flung wide, and a great flood of white sunlight came pouring intothe room. Lloyd herself was dressed in white, from the clean, crispscarf tied about her neck to the tip of her canvas tennis shoes. And inall this array of white only the dull-red flame of her high-piledhair--in the sunshine glowing like burnished copper--set a vivid note ofcolour, the little strands and locks about her neck and ears coruscatingas the breeze from the open windows stirred them. 

The morning was veritably royal--still, cool, and odorous of woods andcattle and growing grass. A great sense of gayety, of exhilaration, wasin the air. Lloyd was all in tune with it. While she wrote her leftelbow rested on the table, and in her left hand she held a huge, greenapple, unripe, sour, delicious beyond words, and into which she bit fromtime to time with the silent enjoyment of a school-girl. 

Her letter was to Hattie's father, Mr. Campbell, and she wrote to ask ifthe little girl might not spend a week with her at Bannister. When theletter was finished and addressed she thrust it into her belt, and, putting on her hat, ran downstairs. Lewis had brought the dog-cart tothe gate, and stood waiting in the road by Rox's head. But as Lloyd wentdown the brick-paved walk of the front yard Mrs. Applegate, who ownedthe farmhouse, and who was at once Lloyd's tenant, landlady, housekeeper, and cook, appeared on the porch of the house, the head of afish in her hand, and Charley-Joe, the yellow tomcat, at her heels, eyeing her with painful intentness. 

"Say, Miss Searight, " she called, her forearm across her forehead toshade her eyes, the hand still holding the fish's head, "say, whileyou're out this morning will you keep an eye out for that dog ofour'n--you know, Dan--the one with liver'n white spots? He's run offagain--ain't seen him since yesterday noon. He gets away an' goes offfighting other dogs over the whole blessed county. There ain't a dog big'r little within ten mile that Dan ain't licked. He'd sooner fight thanhe would eat, that dog. "

"I will, I will, " answered Lloyd, climbing to the high seat, "and if Ifind him I shall drag him back by the scruff of his neck. Good-morning, Lewis. Why have you put the overhead check on Rox?"

Lewis touched his cap. 

"He feels his oats some this morning, and if he gets his lower jaw agin'his chest there's no holding of him, Miss--no holding of him in theworld. "

Lloyd gathered up the reins and spoke to the horse, and Lewis stoodaside. 

Rox promptly went up into the air on his hind legs, shaking his headwith a great snort. 

"Steady, you old pig, " said Lloyd, calmly. "Soh, soh, who's trying tokill you?"

"Hadn't I better come with you, Miss?" inquired Lewis anxiously. 

Lloyd shook her head. "No, indeed, " she said decisively. 

Rox, after vindicating his own independence by the proper amount ofshowing off, started away down the road with as high an action as hecould command, playing to the gallery, looking back and out of the tailof his eye to see if Lewis observed what a terrible fellow he was thatmorning. 

"Well, of all the critters!" commented Mrs. Applegate from the porch. But Charley-Joe, with an almost hypnotic fixity in his yellow eyes, andwho during the last few minutes had several times opened his mouth widein an ineffectual attempt to mew, suddenly found his voice with aprolonged and complaining note. 

"Well, heavens an' airth, take your fish, then!" exclaimed Mrs. Applegate suddenly, remembering the cat. "An' get off'n my porch withit. " She pushed him away with the side of her foot, and Charley-Joe, with the fish's head in his teeth, retired around the corner of thehouse by the rain barrel, where at intervals he could be heard growlingto himself in a high-pitched key, pretending the approach of someterrible enemy. 

Meanwhile Lloyd, already well on her way, was having an exciting tusslewith Rox. The horse had begun by making an exhibition of himself for allwho could see, but in the end he had so worked upon his own nerves thatinstead of frightening others he only succeeded in terrifying himself. He was city-bred, and the sudden change from brick houses to open fieldshad demoralised him. He began to have a dim consciousness of just howstrong he was. There was nothing vicious about him. He would not havelowered himself to kick, but he did want, with all the big, strong heartof him, to run. 

But back of him there--he felt it thrilling along the tense-drawnreins--was a calm, powerful grip, even, steady, masterful. Turn his headhe could not, but he knew very well that Lloyd had taken a double twistupon the reins, and that her hands, even if they were gloved in white, were strong--strong enough to hold him to his work. And besides this--hecould tell it by the very feel of the bit--he knew that she did not takehim very seriously, that he could not make her afraid of him. He knewthat she could tell at once whether he shied because he was reallyfrightened or because he wanted to break the shaft, and that in thelatter case he would get the whip--and mercilessly, too--across hishaunch, a degradation, above all things, to be avoided. And she hadcalled him an old pig once already that morning. 

Lloyd drove on. She keenly enjoyed this struggle between the horse'sstrength and her own determination, her own obstinacy. No, she would notlet Rox have his way; she would not allow him to triumph over her for asingle moment. She would neither be forced nor tricked into yielding asingle point however small. She would be mistress of the situation. 

By the end of half an hour she had him well in hand, and was bowlingsmoothly along a level stretch of road at the foot of an abrupt rise ofland covered with scrub oak and broken with outcroppings of granite of acurious formation. Just beyond here the road crossed the canal by anarrow--in fact, a much too narrow--plank bridge without guard-rails. The wide-axled dog-cart had just sufficient room on either hand, andLloyd, too good a whip to take chances with so nervous a horse as Rox, drew him down to a walk as she approached it. But of a sudden her eyeswere arrested by a curious sight. She halted the cart. 

At the roadside, some fifty yards from the plank bridge, were two dogs. Evidently there had just been a dreadful fight. Here and there a stonewas streaked with blood. The grass and smaller bushes were flattenedout, and tufts of hair were scattered about upon the ground. Of the twodogs, Lloyd recognised one upon the instant. It was Dan, the "liver'nwhite" fox-hound of the farmhouse--the fighter and terror of thecountry. But he was lying upon his side now, the foreleg broken, orrather crushed, as if in a vise; the throat torn open, the life-blood ina great pool about his head. He was dead, or in the very throes ofdeath. Poor Dan, he had fought his last fight, had found more than hismatch at last. 

Lloyd looked at the other dog--the victor; then looked at him a secondtime and a third. 

"Well, " she murmured, "that's a strange-looking dog. "

In fact, he was a curious animal. His broad, strong body was coveredwith a brown fur as dense, as thick, and as soft as a wolf's; the earswere pricked and pointed, the muzzle sharp, the eyes slant and beady. The breast was disproportionately broad, the forelegs short andapparently very powerful. Around his neck was a broad nickelled collar. 

But as Lloyd sat in the cart watching him he promptly demonstrated thefact that his nature was as extraordinary as his looks. He turned againfrom a momentary inspection of the intruders, sniffed once or twice athis dead enemy, then suddenly began to eat him. 

Lloyd's gorge rose with anger and disgust. Even if Dan had been killed, it had been in fair fight, and there could be no doubt that Dan himselfhad been the aggressor. She could even feel a little respect for theconqueror of the champion, but to turn upon the dead foe, now that theheat of battle was past, and (in no spirit of hate or rage) deliberatelyto eat him. What a horror! She took out her whip. 

"Shame on you!" she exclaimed. "Ugh! what a savage; I shan't allow you!"

A farm-hand was coming across the plank bridge, and as he drew near thecart Lloyd asked him to hold Rox for a moment. Rox was one of thosehorses who, when standing still, are docile as a kitten, and she had nohesitancy in leaving him with a man at his head. She jumped out, thewhip in her hand. Dan was beyond all help, but she wanted at least totake his collar back to Mrs. Applegate. The strange dog permittedhimself to be driven off a little distance. Part of his strangenessseemed to be that through it all he retained a certain placidity oftemper. There was no ferocity in his desire to eat Dan. 

"That's just what makes it so disgusting, " said Lloyd, shaking her whipat him. He sat down upon his haunches, eyeing her calmly, his tonguelolling. When she had unbuckled Dan's collar and tossed it into the cartunder the seat she inquired of the farm-hand as to where the new dogcame from. 

"It beats me, Miss Searight, " he answered; "never saw such a bird inthese parts before; t'other belongs down to Applegate's. "

"Come, let's have a look at you, " said Lloyd, putting back the whip;"let me see your collar. "

Disregarding the man's warning, she went up to the stranger, whistlingand holding out her hand, and he came up to her--a little suspiciouslyat first, but in the end wagging his tail, willing to be friendly. Lloydparted the thick fur around his neck and turned the plate of the collarto the light. On the plate was engraved: "Kamiska, Arctic S. S. 'Freja. 'Return to Ward Bennett. "

"Anything on the collar?" asked the man. 

Lloyd settled a hairpin in a coil of hair at the back of her neck. 

"Nothing--nothing that I can make out. "

She climbed into the cart again and dismissed the farm-hand with aquarter. He disappeared around the turn of the road. But as she wasabout to drive on, Lloyd heard a great clattering of stones upon thehill above her, a crashing in the bushes, and a shrill whistle thricerepeated. Kamiska started up at once, cocking alternate ears, thenturned about and ran up the hill to meet Ward Bennett, who camescrambling down, jumping from one granite outcrop to another, holding onthe whiles by the lower branches of the scrub oak-trees. 

He was dressed as if for an outing, in knickerbockers and huge, hob-nailed shoes. He wore an old shooting-coat and a woollen cap; alittle leather sack was slung from his shoulder, and in his hand hecarried a short-handled geologist's hammer. 

And then, after so long a time, Lloyd saw his face again--the rugged, unhandsome face; the massive jaw, huge almost to deformity; the great, brutal, indomitable lips; the square-cut chin with its forward, aggressive thrust; the narrow forehead, seamed and contracted, and thetwinkling, keen eyes so marred by the cast, so heavily shadowed by theshaggy eyebrows. When he spoke the voice came heavy and vibrant from thegreat chest, a harsh, deep bass, a voice in which to command men, not avoice in which to talk to women. 

Lloyd, long schooled to self-repression and the control of her emotionswhen such repression and control were necessary, sat absolutely movelesson her high seat, her hands only shutting tighter and tighter upon thereins. She had often wondered how she would feel, what was to be herdominant impulse, at such moments as these, and now she realised that itwas not so much joy, not so much excitement, as a resolute determinationnot for one instant to lose her poise. 

She was thinking rapidly. For four years they had not met. At one timeshe believed him to be dead. But in the end he had been saved, had comeback, and, ignoring the plaudits of an entire Christendom, had addressedhimself straight to her. For one of them, at least, this meeting was acrisis. What would they first say to each other? how be equal to thesituation? how rise to its dramatic possibilities? But the moment hadcome to them suddenly, had found them all unprepared. There was no timeto think of adequate words. Afterward, when she reviewed this encounter, she told herself that they both had failed, and that if the meeting hadbeen faithfully reproduced upon the stage or in the pages of a novel itwould have seemed tame and commonplace. These two, living the actualscene, with all the deep, strong, real emotions of them surging to thesurface, the vitality of them, all aroused and vibrating, suddenlyconfronting actuality itself, were not even natural; were not even "trueto life. " It was as though they had parted but a fortnight ago. 

Bennett caught his cap from his head and came toward her, exclaiming:

"Miss Searight, I believe. "

And she, reaching her right hand over the left, that still held thereins, leaned from her high seat, shaking hands with him and replying:

"Well--Mr. Bennett, I'm so very glad to see you again. Where did youcome from?"

"From the City--and from seventy-six degrees north latitude. "

"I congratulate you. We had almost given up hope of you. "

"Thank you, " he answered. "We were not so roseate with hopeourselves--all the time. But I have not felt as though I had really comeback until this--well, until I had reached--the road between Bannisterand Fourth Lake, for instance, " and his face relaxed to itscharacteristic grim smile. 

"You reached it too late, then, " she responded. "Your dog has killed ourDan, and, what is much worse, started to eat him. He's a perfectsavage. "

"Kamiska? Well, " he added, reflectively, "it's my fault for setting hera bad example. I ate her trace-mate, and was rather close to eatingKamiska herself at one time. But I didn't come down here to talk aboutthat. "

"You are looking rather worn, Mr. Bennett. "

"I suppose. The doctor sent me into the country to call back the rosesto my pallid cheek. So I came down here--to geologise. I presume thatexcuse will do as well as another. " Then suddenly he cried: "Hello, steady there; _quick_, Miss Searight!"

It all came so abruptly that neither of them could afterward reconstructthe scene with any degree of accuracy. Probably in scrambling down thesteep slope of the bank Bennett had loosened the earth or smaller stonesthat hitherto had been barely sufficient support to the mass of earth, gravel, rocks, and bushes that all at once, and with a sharp, cracklingnoise, slid downward toward the road from the overhanging bank. The slipwas small, hardly more than three square yards of earth moving from itsplace, but it came with a smart, quick rush, throwing up a cloud of dustand scattering pebbles and hard clods of dirt far before its advance. 

As Rox leaped Lloyd threw her weight too suddenly on the reins, thehorse arched his neck, and the overhead check snapped like aharp-string. Again he reared from the object of his terror, shaking hishead from side to side, trying to get a purchase on the bit. Then hislower jaw settled against his chest, and all at once he realised that nopair of human hands could hold him now. He did not rear again; hishaunches suddenly lowered, and with the hoofs of his hind feet he beganfeeling the ground for his spring. But now Bennett was at his head, gripping at the bit, striving to thrust him back. Lloyd, half risen fromher seat, each rein wrapped twice around her hands, her long, strongarms at their fullest reach, held back against the horse with all hermight, her body swaying and jerking with his plunges. But the overheadcheck once broken Lloyd might as well have pulled against a locomotive. Bennett was a powerful man by nature, but his great strength had beennot a little sapped by his recent experiences. Between the instant hishand caught at the bit and that in which Rox had made his firstineffectual attempt to spring forward he recognised the inequality ofthe contest. He could hold Rox back for a second or two, perhaps three, then the horse would get away from him. He shot a glance about him. Nottwenty yards away was the canal and the perilously narrow bridge--thebridge without the guard-rail. 

"Quick, Miss Searight!" he shouted. "Jump! We can't hold him. Quick, doas I tell you, jump!"

But even as he spoke Rox dragged him from his feet, his hoofs tramplingthe hollow road till it reverberated like the roll of drums. Bracinghimself against every unevenness of the ground, his teeth set, his facescarlet, the veins in his neck swelling, suddenly blue-black, Bennettwrenched at the bit till the horse's mouth went bloody. But all to nopurpose; faster and faster Rox was escaping from his control. 

"Jump, I tell you!" he shouted again, looking over his shoulder;"another second and he's away. "

Lloyd dropped the reins and turned to jump. But the lap-robe had slippeddown to the bottom of the cart when she had risen, and was in a tangleabout her feet. The cart was rocking like a ship in a storm. Twice shetried to free herself, holding to the dashboard with one hand. Then thecart suddenly lurched forward and she fell to her knees. Rox was off; itwas all over. 

Not quite. In one brief second of time--a hideous vision come and gonebetween two breaths--Lloyd saw the fearful thing done there in the road, almost within reach of her hand. She saw the man and horse at grapples, the yellow reach of road that lay between her and the canal, the canalitself, and the narrow bridge. Then she saw the short-handledgeologist's hammer gripped in Bennett's fist heave high in the air. Downit came, swift, resistless, terrible--one blow. The cart tipped forwardas Rox, his knees bowing from under him, slowly collapsed. Then herolled upon the shaft that snapped under him, and the cart vibrated fromend to end as a long, shuddering tremble ran through him with his lastdeep breath. 

V. 

When Lloyd at length managed to free herself and jump to the groundBennett came quickly toward her and drew her away to the side of theroad. 

"Are you hurt?" he demanded. "Tell me, are you hurt?"

"No, no; not in the least. "

"Why in the world did you want to drive such a horse? Don't ever takesuch chances again. I won't have it. "

For a few moments Lloyd was too excited to trust herself to talk, andcould only stand helplessly to one side, watching Bennett as he strippedoff the harness from the dead horse, stowed it away under the seat ofthe cart, and rolled the cart itself to the edge of the road. Then atlength she said, trying to smile and to steady her voice:

"It--it seems to me, Mr. Bennett, you do about--about as you like withmy sta-bub-ble. "

"Sit down!" he commanded, "you are trembling all over. Sit down on thatrock there. "

"--and with me, " she added, sinking down upon the boulder he hadindicated with a movement of his head, his hands busy with the harness. 

"I'm sorry I had to do that, " he explained; "but there was no help forit--nothing else to do. He would have had you in the canal in anothersecond, if he did not kill you on the way there. "

"Poor old Rox, " murmured Lloyd; "I was very fond of Rox. "

Bennett put himself in her way as she stepped forward. He had thelap-robe over his arm and the whip in his hand. 

"No, don't look at him. He's not a pretty sight. Come, shall I take youhome? Don't worry about the cart; I will see that it is sent back. "

"And that Rox is buried--somewhere? I don't want him left out there forthe crows. " In spite of Bennett's injunction she looked over hershoulder for a moment as they started off down the road. "I only hopeyou were sure there was nothing else to do, Mr. Bennett, " she said. 

"There was no time to think, " he answered, "and I wasn't taking anychances. "

But the savagery of the whole affair stuck in Lloyd's imagination. Therewas a primitiveness, a certain hideous simplicity in the way Bennett hadmet the situation that filled her with wonder and with even a littleterror and mistrust of him. The vast, brutal directness of the deed wasout of place and incongruous at this end-of-the-century time. It ignoredtwo thousand years of civilisation. It was a harsh, clanging, brazennote, powerful, uncomplicated, which came jangling in, discordant andinharmonious with the tune of the age. It savoured of the days when menfought the brutes with their hands or with their clubs. But also it wasan indication of a force and a power of mind that stopped at nothing toattain its ends, that chose the shortest cut, the most direct means, disdainful of hesitation, holding delicacy and finessing in measurelesscontempt, rushing straight to its object, driving in, breaking downresistance, smashing through obstacles with a boundless, crude, blindBrobdignag power, to oppose which was to be trampled under foot upon theinstant. 

It was long before their talk turned from the incident of the morning, but when it did its subject was Richard Ferriss. Bennett was soundinghis praises and commending upon his pluck and endurance during theretreat from the ship, when Lloyd, after hesitating once or twice, asked:

"How is Mr. Ferriss? In your note you said he was ill. "

"So he is, " he told her, "and I could not have left him if I was notsure I was doing him harm by staying. But the doctor is to wire me if hegets any worse, and only if he does. I am to believe that no news isgood news. "

But this meeting with Lloyd and the intense excitement of those fewmoments by the canal had quite driven from Bennett's mind the fact thathe had _not_ forwarded his present address either to Ferriss or to hisdoctor. He had so intended that morning, but all the faculties of hismind were suddenly concentrated upon another issue. For the moment hebelieved that he had actually written to Dr. Pitts, as he had planned, and when he thought of his intended message at all, thought of it as anaccomplished fact. The matter did not occur to him again. 

As he walked by Lloyd's side, listening to her and talking to her, snapping the whip the while, or flicking the heads from the mulleinstalks by the roadside with its lash, he was thinking how best he mightsay to her what he had come from the City to say. To lead up to hissubject, to guide the conversation, to prepare the right psychologicalmoment skilfully and without apparent effort, were maneuvers in the gamethat Bennett ignored and despised. He knew only that he loved her, thatshe was there at his side, that the object of all his desires and hopeswas within his reach. Straight as a homing pigeon he went to his goal. 

"Miss Searight, " he began, his harsh, bass voice pitched even lower thanusual, "what do you think I am down here for? This is not the only partof the world where I could recuperate, I suppose, and as for spendingGod's day in chipping at stones, like a professor of a young ladies'seminary"--he hurled the hammer from him into the bushes--"that forgeology! Now we can talk. You know very well that I love you, and Ibelieve that you love me. I have come down here to ask you to marry me. "

Lloyd might have done any one of a dozen things--might have answered inany one of a dozen ways. But what she did do, what she did say, tookBennett completely by surprise. A little coldly and very calmly sheanswered:

"You believe--you say you believe that I--" she broke off, then beganagain: "It is not right for you to say that to me. I have never led youto believe that I cared for you. Whatever our relations are to be, letus have that understood at once. "

Bennett uttered an impatient exclamation "I am not good at fencing andquibbling, " he declared. "I tell you that I love you with all my heart. I tell you that I want you to be my wife, and I tell you that I know youdo love me. You are not like other women; why should you coquette withme? Good God! Are you not big enough to be above such things? I know youare. Of all the people in the world we two ought to be above pretence, ought to understand each other. If I did not know you cared for me Iwould not have spoken. "

"I don't understand you, " she answered. "I think we had better talk ofother things this morning. "

"I came down here to talk of just this and nothing else, " he declared. 

"Very well, then, " she said, squaring her shoulders with a quick, briskmovement, "we will talk of it. You say we two should understand eachother. Let us come to the bottom of things at once. I despise quibblingand fencing as much, perhaps, as you. Tell me how have I ever led you tobelieve that I cared for you?"

"At a time when our last hope was gone, " answered Bennett, meeting hereyes, "when I was very near to death and thought that I should go to myGod within the day, I was made happier than I think I ever was in mylife before by finding out that I was dear to you--that you loved me. "

Lloyd searched his face with a look of surprise and bewilderment. 

"I do not understand you, " she repeated. 

"Oh!" exclaimed Bennett with sudden vehemence, "you could say it toFerriss; why can't you say it to me?"

"To Mr. Ferriss?"

"You could tell _him_ that you cared. "

"I--tell Mr. Ferriss--that I cared for you?" She began to smile. "Youare a little absurd, Mr. Bennett. "

"And I cannot see why you should deny it now. Or if anything has causedyou to change your mind--to be sorry for what you said, why should I notknow it? Even a petty thief may be heard in his own defence. I loved youbecause I believed you to be a woman, a great, strong, noble, man'swoman, above little things, above the little, niggling, contemptibledevices of the drawing-room. I loved you because the great things of theworld interested you, because you had no place in your life for pettygraces, petty affectations, petty deceits and shams and insincerities. If you did not love me, why did you say so? If you do love me now, whyshould you not admit it? Do you think you can play with me? Do you thinkyou can coquette with me? If you were small enough to stoop to suchmeans, do you think I am small enough to submit to them? I have knownFerriss too well. I know him to be incapable of such falsity as youwould charge him with. To have told such a lie, such an uncalled-for, useless, gratuitous lie, is a thing he could not have done. You musthave told him that you cared. Why aren't you--you of all women--braveenough, strong enough, big enough to stand by your words?"

"Because I never said them. What do you think of me? Even if I did care, do you suppose I would say as much--and to another man? Oh!" sheexclaimed with sudden indignation, "let's talk of something else. Thisis too--preposterous. "

"You never told Ferriss that you cared for me?"

"No. "

Bennett took off his cap. "Very well, then. That is enough. Good-bye, Miss Searight. "

"Do you believe I told Mr. Ferriss I loved you?"

"I do not believe that the man who has been more to me than a brother isa liar and a rascal. "

"Good-morning, Mr. Bennett. "

They had come rather near to the farmhouse by this time. Without anotherword Bennett gave the whip and the lap-robe into her hands, and, turningupon his heel, walked away down the road. 

Lloyd told Lewis as much of the morning's accident by the canal as wasnecessary, and gave orders about the dog-cart and the burying of Rox. Then slowly, her eyes fixed and wide, she went up to her own room and, without removing either her hat or her gloves, sat down upon the edge ofthe bed, letting her hands fall limply into her lap, gazing abstractedlyat the white curtain just stirring at the open window. 

She could not say which hurt her most--that Ferriss had told the lie orthat Bennett believed it. But why, in heaven's name why, had Ferriss sospoken to Bennett; what object had he in view; what had he to gain byit? Why had Ferriss, the man who loved her, chosen so to humiliate her, to put her in a position so galling to her pride, her dignity? Bennett, too, loved her. How could he believe that she had so demeaned herself?

She had been hurt and to the heart, at a point where she believedherself most unassailable, and he who held the weapon was the man thatwith all the heart of her and soul of her she loved. 

Much of the situation was all beyond her. Try as she would she could notunderstand. One thing, however, she saw clearly, unmistakably: Bennettbelieved that she loved him, believed that she had told as much toFerriss, and that when she had denied all knowledge of Ferriss's lie shewas only coquetting with him. She knew Bennett and his character wellenough to realise that an idea once rooted in his mind was all butineradicable. Bennett was not a man of easy changes; nothing mobileabout him. 

The thought of this belief of Bennett's was intolerable. As she satthere alone in her white room the dull crimson of her cheeks flamedsuddenly scarlet, and with a quick, involuntary gesture she threw herhand, palm outward, across her face to hide it from the sunlight. Shewent quickly from one mood to another. Now her anger grew suddenly hotagainst Ferriss. How had he dared? How had he dared to put thisindignity, this outrageous insult, upon her? Now her wrath turned uponBennett. What audacity had been his to believe that she would so forgetherself? She set her teeth in her impotent anger, rising to her feet, her hands clenching, tears of sheer passion starting to her eyes. 

For the greater part of the afternoon she kept to her room, pacing thefloor from wall to wall, trying to think clearly, to resolve uponsomething that would readjust the situation, that would give her backher peace of mind, her dignity, and her happiness of the early morning. For now the great joy that had come to her in his safe return was allbut gone. For one moment she even told herself she could not love him, but the next was willing to admit that it was only because of her loveof him, as strong and deep as ever, that the humiliation cut so deeplyand cruelly now. Ferriss had lied about her, and Bennett had believedthe lie. To meet Bennett again under such circumstances was not to bethought of for one moment. Her vacation was spoiled; the charm of thecountry had vanished. Lloyd returned to the City the next day. 

She found that she was glad to get back to her work. The subdued murmurof the City that hourly assaulted her windows was a relief to her earsafter the profound and numbing silence of the country. The square wasnever so beautiful as at this time of summer, and even the restlessshadow pictures, that after dark were thrown upon the ceiling of herroom by the electrics shining through the great elms in the squarebelow, were a pleasure. 

On the morning after her arrival and as she was unpacking her trunk MissDouglass came into her room and seated herself, according to her custom, on the couch. After some half-hour's give-and-take talk, the fever nursesaid:

"Do you remember, Lloyd, what I told you about typhoid in thespring--that it was almost epidemic?"

Lloyd nodded, turning about from her trunk, her arms full of dresses. 

"It's worse than ever now, " continued Miss Douglass; "three of ourpeople have been on cases only in the short time you have been away. Andthere's a case out in Medford that has killed one nurse. "

"Well!" exclaimed Lloyd in some astonishment, "it seems to me that oneshould confine typhoid easily enough. "

"Not always, not always, " answered the other; "a virulent case would bequite as bad as yellow fever or smallpox. You remember when we were atthe hospital Miss Helmuth, that little Polish nurse, contracted it fromher case and died even before her patient did. Then there was EvaBlayne. She very nearly died. I did like the way Miss Wakeley took thiscase out at Medford even when the other nurse had died. She neverhesitated for--"

"Has one of our people got this case?" inquired Lloyd. 

"Of course. Didn't I tell you?"

"I hope we cure it, " said Lloyd, her trunk-tray in her hands. "I don'tthink we have ever lost a case yet when good nursing could pull itthrough, and in typhoid the whole treatment really is the nursing. "

"Lloyd, " said Miss Douglass decisively, "I would give anything I canthink of now to have been on that hip disease case of yours and havebrought my patient through as you did. You should hear what Dr. Streetsays of you--and the little girl's father. By the way, I had nearlyforgotten. Hattie Campbell--that's her name, isn't it?--telephoned toknow if you had come back from the country yet. That was yesterday. Isaid we expected you to-day, and she told me to say she was coming tosee you. "

The next afternoon toward three o'clock Hattie and her father drove tothe square in an open carriage, Hattie carrying a great bunch of violetsfor Lloyd. The little invalid was well on the way to complete recoveryby now. Sometimes she was allowed to walk a little, but as often as nother maid wheeled her about in an invalid's chair. She drove out in thecarriage frequently by way of exercise. She would, no doubt, always limpa little, but in the end it was certain she would be sound and strong. For Hattie and her father Lloyd had become a sort of tutelarysemi-deity. In what was left of the family she had her place, hardlyless revered than even the dead wife. Campbell himself, who had made afortune in Bessemer steel, a well-looking, well-groomed gentleman, smooth-shaven and with hair that was none too gray, more than oncecaught himself standing before Lloyd's picture that stood on themantelpiece in Hattie's room, looking at it vaguely as he clipped thenib from his cigar. 

But on this occasion as the carriage stopped in front of the ample pileof the house Hattie called out, "Oh, there she is now, " and Lloyd camedown the steps, carrying her nurse's bag in her hand. 

"Are we too late?" began Hattie; "are you going out; are you on a case?Is that why you've got your bag? We thought you were on a vacation. "

Campbell, yielding to a certain feeling of uneasiness that Lloyd shouldstand on the curb while he remained seated, got out of the carriage andstood at her side, gravely listening to the talk between the nurse andher one-time patient. Lloyd was obliged to explain, turning now toHattie, now to her father. She told them that she was in something of ahurry. She had just been specially called to take a very bad case oftyphoid fever in a little suburb of the City, called Medford. It was nother turn to go, but the physicians in charge of the case, as sometimeshappened, had asked especially for her. 

"One of our people, a young woman named Miss Wakeley, has been on thiscase, " she continued, "but it seems she has allowed herself to contractthe disease herself. She went to the hospital this noon. "

Campbell, his gravity suddenly broken up, exclaimed:

"Surely, Miss Searight, this is not the same case I read of inyesterday's paper--it must be, too--Medford was the name of the place. That case has killed one nurse already, and now the second one is down. Don't tell me you are going to take the same case. "

"It is the same case, " answered Lloyd, "and, of course, I am going totake it. Did you ever hear of a nurse doing otherwise? Why, it wouldseem--seem so--funny--"

There was no dissuading her, and Campbell and Hattie soon ceased even totry. She was impatient to be gone. The station was close at hand, andshe would not hear of taking the carriage thither. However, before sheleft them she recurred again to the subject of her letter to Mr. Campbell, and then and there it was decided that Hattie and her maidshould spend the following ten days at Lloyd's place in Bannister. Thestill country air, now that Hattie was able to take the short journey, would be more to her than many medicines, and the ponies and Lloyd'sphaeton would be left there with Lewis for her use. 

"And write often, won't you, Miss Searight?" exclaimed Hattie as Lloydwas saying good-bye. Lloyd shook her head. 

"Not that of all things, " she answered. "If I did that we might haveyou, too, down with typhoid. But you may write to me, and I hope youwill, " and she gave Hattie her new address. 

"Harriet, " said Campbell as the carriage drove back across the square, the father and daughter waving their hands to Lloyd, briskly on her wayto the railroad station, "Harriet. "

"Yes, papa. "

"There goes a noble woman. Pluck, intelligence, strong will--she hasthem all--and a great big heart that--heart that--" He clipped the endof a cigar thoughtfully and fell silent. 

A day or two later, as Hattie was sitting in her little wheel-chair onthe veranda of Mrs. Applegate's house watching Charley-Joe huntinggrasshoppers underneath the currant bushes, she was surprised by thesharp closing of the front gate. A huge man with one squint eye and aheavy, square-cut jaw was coming up the walk, followed by astrange-looking dog. Charley-Joe withdrew, swiftly to his particularhole under the veranda, moving rapidly, his body low to the ground, andtaking an unnecessary number of very short steps. 

The little city-bred girl distinguished the visitor from a country manat once. Hattie had ideas of her own as to propriety, and so rose to herfeet as Bennett came up, and after a moment's hesitation made him alittle bow. Bennett at once gravely took off his cap. 

"Excuse me, " he said as though Hattie were twenty-five instead oftwelve. "Is Miss Searight at home?"

"Oh, " exclaimed Hattie, delighted, "do you know Miss Searight? She wasmy nurse when I was so sick--because you know I had hip disease andthere was an operation. No, she's not here any more. She's gone away, gone back to the City. "

"Gone back to the City?"

"Yes, three or four days ago. But I'm going to write to her thisafternoon. Shall I say who called?" Then, without waiting for a reply, she added, "I guess I had better introduce myself. My name is HarrietCampbell, and my papa is Craig V. Campbell, of the Hercules WroughtSteel Company in the City. Won't you have a chair?"

The little convalescent and the arctic explorer shook hands with greatsolemnity. 

"I'm so pleased to meet you, " said Bennett. "I haven't a card, but myname is Ward Bennett--of the Freja expedition, " he added. But, to hisrelief, the little girl had not heard of him. 

"Very well, " she said, "I'll tell Miss Searight Mr. Bennett called. "

"No, " he replied, hesitatingly, "no, you needn't do that. "

"Why, she won't answer my letter, you know, " explained Hattie, "because she is afraid her letters would give me typhoid fever, that they might"--she continued carefully, hazarding a rememberedphrase--"carry the contagion. You see she has gone to nurse a dreadfulcase of typhoid fever out at Medford, near the City, and we're so worriedand anxious about her--papa and I. One nurse that had this case has diedalready and another one has caught the disease and is very sick, and MissSearight, though she knew just how dangerous it was, would go, justlike--like--" Hattie hesitated, then confused memories of her schoolreader coming to her, finished with "like Casabianca. "

"Oh, " said Bennett, turning his head so as to fix her with his own goodeye. "She has gone to nurse a typhoid fever patient, has she?"

"Yes, and papa told me--" and Hattie became suddenly very grave, "thatwe might--might--oh, dear--never see her again. "

"Hum! Whereabouts is this place in Medford? She gave you her address;what is it?" Hattie told him, and he took himself abruptly away. 

Bennett had gone some little distance down the road before the realshock came upon him. Lloyd was in a position of imminent peril; her lifewas in the issue. With blind, unreasoned directness he leaped at once tothis conclusion, and as he strode along with teeth and fists tight shuthe kept muttering to himself: "She may die, she may die--we--we maynever see her again. " Then suddenly came the fear, the sickening sink ofheart, the choke at the throat, first the tightening and then the suddenrelaxing of all the nerves. Lashed and harried by the sense of a fearfulcalamity, an unspeakable grief that was pursuing after him, Bennett didnot stop to think, to reflect. He chose instantly to believe that Lloydwas near her death, and once the idea was fixed in his brain it was notthereafter to be reasoned away. Suddenly, at a turn in the road, hestopped, his hands deep in his pockets, his bootheel digging into theground. "Now, then, " he exclaimed, "what's to be done?"

Just one thing: Lloyd must leave the case at once, that very day if itwere possible. He must save her; must turn her back from thisdestruction toward which she was rushing, impelled by such a foolish, mistaken notion of duty. 

"Yes, " he said, "there's just that to be done, and, by God! it shall bedone. "

But would Lloyd be turned back from a course she had chosen for herself?Could he persuade her? Then with this thought of possible oppositionBennett's resolve all at once tightened to the sticking point. Never inthe darkest hours of his struggle with the arctic ice had hisdetermination grown so fierce; never had his resolution so girdeditself, so nerved itself to crush down resistance. The force of his willseemed brusquely to be quadrupled and decupled. He would do as hedesired; come what might he would gain his end. He would stop atnothing, hesitate at nothing. It would probably be difficult to get herfrom her post, but with all his giant's strength Bennett set himself togain her safety. 

A great point that he believed was in his favour, a consideration thatinfluenced him to adopt so irrevocable a resolution, was his belief thatLloyd loved him. Bennett was not a woman's man. Men he could understandand handle like so many manikins, but the nature of his life and workdid not conduce to a knowledge of women. Bennett did not understandthem. In his interview with Lloyd when she had so strenuously deniedFerriss' story Bennett could not catch the ring of truth. It had gotteninto his mind that Lloyd loved him. He believed easily what he wanted tobelieve, and his faith in Lloyd's love for him had become a part andparcel of his fundamental idea of things, not readily to be driven outeven by Lloyd herself. 

Bennett's resolution was taken. Never had he failed in accomplishingthat upon which he set his mind. He would not fail now. Beyond a certainlimit--a limit which now he swiftly reached and passed--Bennett'sdetermination to carry his point became, as it were, a sort ofobsession; the sweep of the tremendous power he unchained carried hisown self along with it in its resistless onrush. At such, times therewas no light of reason in his actions. He saw only his point, beheldonly his goal; deaf to all voices that would call him back, blind to allconsideration that would lead him to swerve, reckless of everything thathe trampled under foot, he stuck to his aim until that aim was anaccomplished fact. When the grip of the Ice had threatened to close uponhim and crush him, he had hurled himself against its barriers with anenergy and resolve to conquer that was little short of directed frenzy. So it was with him now. 

 * * * * *

When Lloyd had parted from the Campbells in the square before the house, she had gone directly to the railway station of a suburban line, and, within the hour, was on her way to Medford. As always happened when aninteresting case was to be treated, her mind became gradually filledwith it to the exclusion of everything else. The Campbells, andBennett's ready acceptance of a story that put her in so humiliating alight, were forgotten as the train swept her from the heat and dust ofthe City out into the green reaches of country to the southward. Whathad been done upon the case she had no means of telling. She only knewthat the case was of unusual virulence and well advanced. It had killedone nurse already and seriously endangered the life of another, but sofar from reflecting on the danger to herself, Lloyd felt a certainexhilaration in the thought that she was expected to succeed whereothers had succumbed. Another battle with the Enemy was at hand, theEnemy who, though conquered on a hundred fields, must inevitably triumphin the end. Once again this Enemy had stooped and caught a human beingin his cold grip. Once again Life and Death were at grapples, and Deathwas strong, and from out the struggle a cry had come--had come to her--acry for help. 

All the exuberance of battle grew big within her breast. She wasimpatient to be there--there at hand--to face the Enemy again across thesick-bed, where she had so often faced and outfought him before; and, matching her force against his force, her obstinacy against hisstrength--the strength that would pull the life from her grasp--hersleepless vigilance against his stealth, her intelligence against hiscunning, her courage against his terrors, her resistance against hisattack, her skill against his strategy, her science against hisworld-old, worldwide experience, win the fight, save the life, hold firmagainst his slow, resistless pull and triumph again, if it was only forthe day. 

Succeed she would and must. Her inborn obstinacy, her sturdy refusal toyield her ground, whatever it should be, her stubborn power ofresistance, her tenacity of her chosen course, came to her aid as shedrew swiftly near to the spot whereon the battle would be fought. Mentally she braced herself, holding back with all her fine, hard-tempered, native strength. No, she would not yield the life to theEnemy; no, she would not give up; no, she would not recede. Let theEnemy do his worst--she was strong against his efforts. 

At Medford, which she reached toward four in the afternoon, after anhour's ride from the City, she found a conveyance waiting for her, andwas driven rapidly through streets bordered with villas and closelyshaven lawns to a fair-sized country seat on the outskirts of the town. The housekeeper met her at the door with the information that the doctorwas, at the moment, in the sick-room, and had left orders that the nurseshould be brought to him the moment she arrived. The housekeeper showedLloyd the way to the second landing, knocking upon the half-open door atthe end of the hall, and ushering her in without waiting for an answer. 

Lloyd took in the room at a glance--the closely drawn curtains, thescreen between the bed and the windows, the doctor standing on thehearth-rug, and the fever-inflamed face of the patient on the pillow. Then all her power of self-repression could not keep her from uttering asmothered exclamation. 

For she, the woman who, with all the savage energy of him, Bennettloved, had, at peril of her life, come to nurse Bennett's nearestfriend, the man of all others dear to him--Richard Ferriss. 

VI. 

Two days after Dr. Pitts had brought Ferriss to his country house in theoutskirts of Medford he had been able to diagnose his sickness astyphoid fever, and at once had set about telegraphing the fact toBennett. Then it had occurred to him that he did not know where Bennetthad gone. Bennett had omitted notifying him of his present whereabouts, and, acting upon Dr. Pitts' advice, had hidden himself away fromeverybody. Neither at his club nor at his hotel, where his mailaccumulated in extraordinary quantities, had any forwarding address beenleft. Bennett would not even know that Ferriss had been moved toMedford. So much the worse. It could not be helped. There was nothingfor the doctor to do but to leave Bennett in ignorance and go ahead andfight for the life of Ferriss as best he could. Pitts arranged for abrother physician to take over his practice, and devoted himselfentirely to Ferriss. And Ferriss sickened and sickened, and wentsteadily from bad to worse. The fever advanced regularly to a certainstage, a stage of imminent danger, and there paused. Rarely had Pittsbeen called upon to fight a more virulent form of the disease. 

What made matters worse was that Ferriss hung on for so long a timewithout change one way or another. Pitts had long since been convincedof ulceration in the membrane of the intestines, but it astonished himthat this symptom persisted so long without signs either of progressingor diminishing. The course of the disease was unusually slow. The firstnurse had already had time to sicken and die; a second had beeninfected, and yet Ferriss "hung on, " neither sinking nor improving, yetat every hour lying perilously near death. It was not often that deathand life locked horns for so long, not often that the chance was soeven. Many was the hour, many was the moment, when a hair would haveturned the balance, and yet the balance was preserved. 

At her abrupt recognition of Ferriss, in this patient whom she had beensummoned to nurse, and whose hold upon life was so pitifully weak, Lloyd's heart gave a great leap and then sank ominously in her breast. Her first emotion was one of boundless self-reproach. Why had she notknown of this? Why had she not questioned Bennett more closely as to hisfriend's sickness? Might she not have expected something like this? Wasnot typhoid the one evil to be feared and foreseen after experiencessuch as Ferriss had undergone--the fatigue and privations of the marchover the ice, and the subsequent months aboard the steam whaler, withits bad food, its dirt, and its inevitable overcrowding?

And while she had been idling in the country, this man, whom she hadknown since her girlhood better and longer than any of her fewacquaintances, had been struck down, and day by day had weakened andsickened and wasted, until now, at any hour, at any moment, the lifemight be snuffed out like the fight of a spent candle. What a miserableincompetent had she been! That day in the park when she had come uponhim, so weak and broken and far spent, why had she not, with all hertraining and experience, known that even then the flame was flickeringdown to the socket, that a link in the silver chain was weakening? Now, perhaps, it was too late. But quick her original obstinacy rose up inprotest. No! she would not yield the life. No, no, no; again and athousand times no! He belonged to her. Others she had saved, others farless dear to her than Ferriss. Her last patient--the little girl--shehad caught back from death at the eleventh hour, and of all men wouldshe not save Ferriss? In such sickness as this it was the nurse and notthe doctor who must be depended upon. And, once again, never so strong, never so fine, never so glorious, her splendid independence, her pridein her own strength, her indomitable self-reliance leaped in her breast, leaped and stood firm, hard as tempered steel, head to the Enemy, daringthe assault, defiant, immovable, unshaken in its resolve, unconquerablein the steadfast tenacity of its purpose. 

The story that Ferriss had told to Bennett, that uncalled-for andinexplicable falsehood, was a thing forgotten. Death stood at thebed-head, and in that room the little things of life had no place. Theking was holding court, and the swarm of small, everyday issues, like acrowd of petty courtiers, were not admitted to his presence. Ferriss'life was in danger. Lloyd saw no more than that. At once she set aboutthe work. 

In a few rapid sentences exchanged in low voices between her and thedoctor Lloyd made herself acquainted with the case. 

"We've been using the ice-pack and wet-pack to bring down thetemperature in place of the cold bath, " the doctor explained. "I'mafraid of pericarditis. "

"Quinine?" inquired Lloyd. 

"From twenty to forty grains in the morning and evening. Here's thetemperature chart for the last week. If we reach this point in axillaagain--" he indicated one hundred and two degrees with athumb-nail--"we'll have to risk the cold bath, but only in that case. "

"And the tympanites?"

Dr. Pitts put his chin in the air. 

"Grave--there's an intestinal ulcer, no doubt of it, and if itperforates--well, we can send for the undertaker then. "

"Has he had hemorrhages?"

"Two in the first week, but not profuse--he seemed to rally fairly wellafterward. We have been injecting ether in case of anemia. Really, MissSearight, the case is interesting, but wicked, wicked as original sin. Killed off my first nurse out of hand--good little boy, conscientiousenough; took no care of himself; ate his meals in the sick-room againstmy wishes; off he went--dicrotic pulse, diarrhea, vomiting, hospital, thrombosis of pulmonary artery, _pouf_, requiescat. "

"And Miss Wakeley?"

"Knocked under yesterday, and she was fairly saturated with creolinnight and morning. I don't know how it happened. .. . Well, God for usall. Here he is--that's the point for us. " He glanced toward the bed, and for the third time Lloyd looked at the patient. 

Ferriss was in a quiet delirium, and, at intervals, from behind hislips, dry and brown and fissured, there came the sounds of low andindistinct muttering. Barring a certain prominence of the cheek-bones, his face was not very wasted, but its skin was a strange, dusky pallor. The cold pack was about his head like a sort of caricatured crown. 

"Well, " repeated Pitts in a moment, "I've been waiting for you to cometo get a little rest. Was up all last night. Suppose you take overcharge. "

Lloyd nodded her head, removing her hat and gloves, making herselfready. Pitts gave her some final directions, and left her alone in thesick-room. For the moment there was nothing to do for the patient. Lloydput on her hospital slippers and moved silently about the room, preparing for the night, and making some few changes in the matter oflight and ventilation. Then for a while the medicine occupied herattention, and she was at some pains to carefully sort out theantiseptic and disinfectants from the drugs themselves. These latter shearranged on a table by themselves--studying the labels--assuring herselfof their uses. Quinine for the regular morning and evening doses, sulphonal and trional for insomnia, ether for injections in case ofanemia after hemorrhage, morphine for delirium, citrite of caffeine forweakness of the heart, tincture of valerian for the tympanites, bismuthto relieve nausea and vomiting, and the crushed ice wrapped in flannelcloths for the cold pack in the event of hyperpyrexia. 

Later in the evening she took the temperature in the armpit, noted thecondition of the pulse, and managed to get Ferriss--still in his quiet, muttering delirium--to drink a glass of peptonised milk. Sheadministered the quinine, reading the label, as was her custom, threetimes, once as she took it up, again as she measured the dose, and alast time as she returned the bottle to its place. Everything she did, every minute change in Ferriss's condition, she entered upon a chart, sothat in the morning when Dr. Pitts should relieve her he could grasp thesituation at a glance. 

The night passed without any but the expected variations of the pulseand temperature, though toward daylight Lloyd could fancy that Ferriss, for a few moments, came out of his delirium and was conscious of hissurroundings. For a few seconds his eyes seemed to regain something oftheir intelligence, and his glance moved curiously about the room. ButLloyd, sitting near the foot-board of the bed, turned her head fromhim. It was not expedient that Ferriss should recognise her now. 

Lloyd could not but commend the wisdom of bringing Ferriss to Dr. Pitts's own house in so quiet a place as Medford. The doctor riskednothing. He was without a family, the only other occupants of the housebeing the housekeeper and cook. On more than one occasion, when aninteresting case needed constant watching, Pitts had used his house as asanatorium. Quiet as the little village itself was, the house wasremoved some little distance from its outskirts. The air was fine andpure. The stillness, the calm, the unbroken repose, was almostSabbath-like. In the early watches of the night, just at the turn of thedawn, Lloyd heard the faint rumble of a passing train at the stationnearly five miles away. For hours that and the prolonged stridulating ofthe crickets were the only sounds. Then at last, while it was yet dark, a faint chittering of waking birds began from under the eaves and fromthe apple-trees in the yard about the house. Lloyd went to the window, and, drawing aside the curtains, stood there for a moment looking out. She could see part of the road leading to the town, and, in thedistance, the edge of the town itself, a few well-kept countryresidences of suburban dwellers of the City, and, farther on, a large, rectangular, brick building with cupola and flagstaff, perhaps thepublic school or the bank or the Odd Fellows' Hall. Nearer by werefields and corners of pasture land, with here and there the formlessshapes of drowsing cows. One of these, as Lloyd watched, changedposition, and she could almost hear the long, deep breath thataccompanied the motion. Far off, miles upon miles, so it seemed, arooster was crowing at exact intervals. All at once, and close at hand, another answered--a gay, brisk carillon that woke the echoes in aninstant. For the first time Lloyd noticed a pale, dim belt of light lowin the east. 

Toward eight o'clock in the morning the doctor came to relieve her, andwhile he was examining the charts and she was making her report for thenight the housekeeper announced breakfast. 

"Go down to your breakfast, Miss Searight, " said the doctor. "I'll stayhere the while. The housekeeper will show you to your room. "

But before breakfasting Lloyd went to the room the housekeeper had setapart for her--a different one than had been occupied by either of theprevious nurses--changed her dress, and bathed her face and hands in adisinfecting solution. When she came out of her room the doctor met herin the hall; his hat and stick were in his hand. "He has gone to sleep, "he informed her, "and is resting quietly. I am going to get a mouthfulof fresh air along the road. The housekeeper is with him. If he wakesshe'll call you. I will not be gone fifteen minutes. I've not been outof the house for five days, and there's no danger. "

Breakfast had been laid in what the doctor spoke of as the glass-room. This was an enclosed veranda, one side being of glass and opening byFrench windows directly upon a little lawn that sloped away under theapple-trees to the road. It was a charming apartment, an idea of asister of Dr. Pitts, who at one time had spent two years at Medford. Lloyd breakfasted here alone, and it was here that Bennett found her. 

The one public carriage of Medford, a sort of four-seated carryall, thatmet all the trains at the depot, had driven to the gate at the foot ofthe yard, and had pulled up, the horses reeking and blowing. Even beforeit had stopped, a tall, square-shouldered man had alighted, but it wasnot until he was half-way up the gravel walk that Lloyd had recognisedhim. Bennett caught sight of her at the same moment, and strode swiftlyacross the lawn and came into the breakfast-room by one of the openFrench windows. At once the room seemed to shrink in size; his firststep upon the floor--a step that was almost a stamp, so eager it was, somasterful and resolute--set the panes of glass jarring in their frames. Never had Bennett seemed more out of place than in this almost daintybreakfast-room, with its small, feminine appurtenances, its fragileglassware, its pots of flowers and growing plants. The incongruoussurroundings emphasized his every roughness, his every angularity. Against its background of delicate, mild tints his figure loomedsuddenly colossal; the great span of his chest and shoulders seemednever so huge. His face; the great, brutal jaw, with its aggressive, bullying, forward thrust; the close-gripped lips, the contractedforehead, the small eyes, marred with the sharply defined cast, appearednever so harsh, never so massive, never so significant of theresistless, crude force of the man, his energy, his overpoweringdetermination. As he towered there before her, one hand gripped upon achair-back, it seemed to her that the hand had but to close to crush thelittle varnished woodwork to a splinter, and when he spoke Lloyd couldimagine that the fine, frail china of the table vibrated to thedeep-pitched bass of his voice. 

Lloyd had only to look at him once to know that Bennett was at themoment aroused and agitated to an extraordinary degree. His face wascongested and flaming. Under his frown his eyes seemed flashingveritable sparks; his teeth were set; in his temple a vein stoodprominent and throbbing. But Lloyd was not surprised. Bennett had, nodoubt, heard of Ferriss's desperate illness. Small wonder he was excitedwhen the life of his dearest friend was threatened. Lloyd could ignoreher own quarrel with Bennett at such a moment. 

"I am so sorry, " she began, "that you could not have known sooner. Butyou remember you left no address. There was--"

"What are you doing here?" he broke in abruptly. "What is theuse--why--" he paused for a moment to steady his voice--"you can't stayhere, " he went on. "Don't you know the risk you are running? You can'tstay here another moment. "

"That, " answered Lloyd, smiling, "is a matter that is interestingchiefly to me. I suppose you know that, Mr. Bennett. "

"I know that you are risking your life and--"

"And that, too, is my affair. "

"I have made it mine, " he responded quickly. "Oh, " he exclaimed sharply, striking the back of the chair with his open palm, "why must we alwaysbe at cross-purposes with each other? I'm not good at talking. What isthe use of tangling ourselves with phrases? I love you, and I've comeout here to ask you, to beg you, you understand, to leave this house, where you are foolishly risking your life. You must do it, " he went onrapidly. "I love you too well. Your life is too much to me to allow youto hazard it senselessly, foolishly. There are other women, othernurses, who can take your place. But you are not going to stay here. "

Lloyd felt her indignation rising. 

"This is my profession, " she answered, trying to keep back her anger. "Iam here because it is my duty to be here. " Then suddenly, as hisextraordinary effrontery dawned upon her, she exclaimed, rising to herfeet: "Do I need to explain to you what I do? I am here because I chooseto be here. That is enough. I don't care to go any further with such adiscussion as this. "

"You will not leave here, then?"

"No. "

Bennett hesitated an instant, searching for his words, then:

"I do not know how to ask favours. I've had little experience in thatsort of thing. You must know how hard it is for me, and you mustunderstand to what lengths I am driven then, when I entreat you, when Ibeg of you, as humbly as it is possible for me to do so, to leave thishouse, now--at once. There is a train to the City within the hour; someone else can take your place before noon. We can telegraph; will yougo?"

"You are absurd. "

"Lloyd, can't you see; don't you understand? It's as though I saw yourushing toward a precipice with your eyes shut. "

"My place is here. I shall not leave. "

But Bennett's next move surprised her. His eagerness, his agitation lefthim upon the instant He took out his watch. 

"I was wrong, " he said quietly. "The next train will not go for an hourand a quarter. There is more time than I supposed. " Then, with as muchgentleness as he could command, he added: "Lloyd, you are going to takethat train?"

"Now, you are becoming a little more than absurd, " she answered. "Idon't know, Mr. Bennett, whether or not you intend to be offensive, butI think you are succeeding rather well. You came to this houseuninvited; you invade a gentleman's private residence, and you attemptto meddle and to interfere with me in the practice of my profession. Ifyou think you can impress me with heroics and declamation, pleasecorrect yourself at once. You have only succeeded in making yourself alittle vulgar. "

"That may be true or not, " he answered with an indifferent movement ofhis shoulders. "It is all one to me. I have made up my mind that youshall leave this house this morning, and believe me, Miss Searight, Ishall carry my point. "

For the moment Lloyd caught her breath. For the moment she saw clearlywith just what sort of man she had to deal. There was a conviction inhis manner--now that he had quieted himself--that suddenly appearedunanswerable. It was like the slow, still moving of a piston. 

But the next moment her own character reasserted itself. She rememberedwhat she was herself. If he was determined, she was obstinate; if he wasresolved, she was stubborn; if he was powerful, she was unyielding. Never had she conceded her point before; never had she allowed herselfto be thwarted in the pursuance of a course she believed to be right. Was she, of all women, to yield now? The consciousness of her own powerof resistance came suddenly to her aid. Bennett was strong, but was shenot strong herself? Where under the blue sky was the power that couldbreak down her will? When death itself could not prevail against her, what in life could shake her resolution?

Suddenly the tremendous import of the moment, the magnitude of thesituation, flashed upon Lloyd. Both of them had staked everything uponthis issue. Two characters of extraordinary power clashed violentlytogether. There was to be no compromise, no half-measures. Either she orBennett must in the end be beaten. One of them was to be broken andhumbled beyond all retrieving. There in that commonplace little room, with its trivial accessories, its inadequate background, a battle royalswiftly prepared itself. With the abruptness of an explosion the crisisdeveloped. 

"Do I need to tell you, " remarked Bennett, "that your life is rathermore to me than any other consideration in the world? Do you supposewhen the lives of every member of my command depended upon me I was anyless resolved to succeed than I am now? I succeeded then, and I shallsucceed now, now when there is much more at stake. I am not accustomedto failure, and I shall not fail now. I assure you that I shall stop atnothing. "

It was beyond Lloyd to retain her calmness under such aggression. Itseemed as though her self-respect demanded that she should lose hertemper. 

"And you think you can drive me as you drove your deck-hands?" sheexclaimed. "What have you to do with me? Am I your subordinate? Do youthink you can bully me? We are not in Kolyuchin Bay, Mr. Bennett. "

"You're the woman I love, " he answered with an abrupt return ofvehemence, "and, by God! I shall stop at nothing to save your life. "

"And my love for you, that you pretend is so much to you, I suppose thatthis is the means you take to awaken it. Admitting, for the moment, thatyou could induce me to shirk my duty, how should I love you for it? Askyourself that. "

But Bennett had but one answer to all her words. He struck his fist intothe palm of his hand as he answered:

"Your life is more to me than any other consideration. "

"But my life--how do you know it is a question of my life? Come, if weare to quarrel, let us quarrel upon reasonable grounds. It does notfollow that I risk my life by staying--"

"Leave the house first; we can talk of that afterward. "

"I have allowed you to talk too much already, " she exclaimed angrily. "Let us come to the bottom of things at once. I will not be influencednor cajoled nor bullied into leaving my post. Now, do you understand?That is my final answer. You who were a commander, who were a leader ofmen, what would you have done if one of your party had left his post ata time of danger? I can tell you what you would have done--you wouldhave shot him, after first disgracing him, and now you would disgraceme. Is it reasonable? Is it consistent?"

Bennett snapped his fingers. 

"That for consistency!"

"And you would be willing to disgrace me--to have me disgrace myself?"

"Your life--" began Bennett again. 

But suddenly Lloyd flashed out upon him with: "My life! My life! Arethere not some things better than life? You, above all men, shouldunderstand that much. Oh, be yourself, be the man I thought you were. You have your code; let me have mine. You could not be what you are, youcould not have done what you did, if you had not set so many thingsabove merely your life. Admit that you could not have loved me unlessyou believed that I could do the same. How could you still love me ifyou knew I had failed in my duty? How could you still love me if youknew that you had broken down my will? I know you better than you knowyourself. You loved me because you knew me to be strong and brave and tobe above petty deceptions and shams and subterfuges. And now you ask meto fail, to give up, to shirk, and you tell me you do so because youlove me. "

"That is all so many words to me. I cannot argue with you, and there isno time for it. I did not come here to--converse. "

Never in her life before had Lloyd been so angry as at that moment. Thesombre crimson of her cheeks had suddenly given place to an unwontedpaleness; even her dull-blue eyes, that so rarely sparkled, were allalight. She straightened herself. 

"Very well, then, " she answered quietly, "our conversation can stopwhere it is. You will excuse me, Mr. Bennett, if I leave you. I have mywork to do. "

Bennett was standing between her and the door. He did not move. Verygravely he said:

"Don't. Please don't bring it--to that. "

Lloyd flashed a look at him, her eyes wide, exclaiming:

"You don't mean--you don't dare--"

"I tell you again that I mean to carry my point. "

"And I tell you that I shall _not_ leave my patient. "

Bennett met her glance for an instant, and, holding her gaze with his, answered but two words. Speaking in a low voice and with measuredslowness, he said:

"You--shall. "

There was a silence. The two stood there, looking straight into oneanother's eyes, their mutual opposition at its climax. The seconds beganto pass. The conflict between the man's aggression and the woman'sresistance reached its turning point. Before another word should bespoken, before the minute should pass, one of the two must give ground. 

And then it was that Lloyd felt something breakdown within her, something to which she could not put a name. A mysterious element of hercharacter, hitherto rigid and intact, was beginning at last to crumble. Somewhere a breach had been opened; somewhere the barrier had beenundermined. The fine steadfastness that was hers, and that she had sodearly prized, her strength in which she had gloried, her independence, her splendid arrogant self-confidence and conscious power seemed all atonce to weaken before this iron resolve that shut its ears and eyes, this colossal, untutored, savage intensity of purpose. 

And abruptly her eyes were opened, and the inherent weakness of her sexbecame apparent to her. Was it a mistake, then? Could not a woman bestrong? Was her strength grafted upon elemental weakness--not herindividual weakness, but the weakness of her sex, the intended naturalweakness of the woman? Had she built her fancied impregnable fortressupon sand?

But habit was too strong. For an instant, brief as the opening andshutting of an eye, a vision was vouchsafed to her, one of those swiftglimpses into unplumbed depths that come sometimes to the human mind inthe moments of its exaltation, but that are gone with such rapidity thatthey may not be trusted. For an instant Lloyd saw deep down into theblack, mysterious gulf of sex--down, down, down where, immeasurablybelow the world of little things, the changeless, dreadful machinery ofLife itself worked, clashing and resistless in its grooves. It was aglimpse fortunately brief, a vision that does not come too often, lestreason, brought to the edge of the abyss, grow giddy at the sight and, reeling, topple headlong. But quick the vision passed, the gulf closed, and she felt the firm ground again beneath her feet. 

"I shall not, " she cried. 

Was it the same woman who had spoken but one moment before? Did hervoice ring with the same undaunted defiance? Was there not a note ofdespair in her tones, a barely perceptible quaver, the symbol of herwavering resolve? Was not the very fact that she must question herstrength proof positive that her strength was waning?

But her courage was unshaken, even if her strength was breaking. To thelast she would strive, to the end she would hold her forehead high. Nottill the last hope had been tried would she acknowledge her defeat. 

"But in any case, " she said, "risk is better than certainty. If I riskmy life by staying, it is certain that he will die if I leave him atthis critical moment. "

"So much the worse, then--you cannot stay. "

Lloyd stared at him in amazement. 

"It isn't possible; I don't believe you can understand. Do you know howsick he is? Do you know that he is lying at the point of death at thisvery moment, and that the longer I stay away from him the more his lifeis in peril? Has he not rights as well as I; has he not a right to live?It is not only my own humiliation that is at stake, it is the life ofyour dearest friend, the man who stood by you, and helped you, and whosuffered the same hardships and privations as yourself. "

"What's that?" demanded Bennett with a sudden frown. 

"If I leave Mr. Ferriss now, if he is left alone here for so much ashalf an hour, I will not answer--"

"Ferriss! What are you talking about? What is your patient's name?"

"Didn't you know?"

"Ferriss! Dick Ferriss! Don't tell me it's Dick Ferriss. "

"I thought all the time you knew--that you had heard. Yes, it is Mr. Ferriss. "

"Is he very sick? What is he doing out here? No, I had not heard; nobodytold me. Pitts was to write--to--to wire. Will he pull through? What'sthe matter with him? Is it he who had typhoid?"

"He is very dangerously ill. Dr. Pitts brought him here. This is hishouse. We do not know if he will get well. It is only by watching himevery instant that we can hope for anything. At this moment there is noone with him but a servant. _Now_, Mr. Bennett, am I to go to mypatient?"

"But--but--we can get some one else. "

"Not before three hours, and it's only the truth when I tell you he maydie at any minute. Am I to go?"

In a second of time the hideous situation leaped up before Bennett'seyes. Right or wrong, the conviction that Lloyd was terribly imperillingher life by remaining at her patient's bedside had sunk into his mindand was not to be eradicated. It was a terror that had gripped him closeand that could not be reasoned away. But Ferriss? What of him? Now ithad brusquely transpired that his life, too, hung in the balance. How todecide? How to meet this abominable complication wherein he mustsacrifice the woman he so dearly loved or the man who was the Damon tohis Pythias, the Jonathan to his David?

"Am I to go?" repeated Lloyd for the third time. 

Bennett closed his eyes, clasping his head with both hands. 

"Great God, wait--wait--I can't think--I--I, oh, this is terrible!"

Lloyd drove home her advantage mercilessly. 

"Wait? I tell you we can't wait. "

Then Bennett realised with a great spasm of horror that for him therewas no going back. All his life, accustomed to quick decisions inmoments of supreme peril, he took his decision now, facing, with suchcourage as he could muster, its unspeakable consequences, consequencesthat he knew must harry and hound him all the rest of his life. Whichever way he decided, he opened his heart to the beak and talons ofa pitiless remorse. He could no longer see, in the dreadful confusion ofhis mind, the right of things or the wrong of things, could notaccurately weigh chances or possibilities. For him only two alternativespresented themselves, the death of Ferriss or the death of Lloyd. Hecould see no compromise, could imagine no escape. It was as though aheadsman with ready axe stood at his elbow, awaiting his commands. And, besides all this, he had long since passed the limit--though perhaps hedid not know it himself--where he could see anything but the point hehad determined to gain, the goal he had determined to reach. His mindwas made up. His furious energy, his resolve to conquer at all costs, had become at last a sort of directed frenzy. The engine he had set inmotion was now beyond his control. He could not now--whether he would orno--reverse its action, swerve it from its iron path, call it back fromthe monstrous catastrophe toward which it was speeding him. 

"God help us all!" he muttered. 

"Well, " said Lloyd expectantly. 

Bennett drew a deep breath, his hands falling helplessly at his sides. In a way he appeared suddenly bowed; the great frame of bone and sinewseemed in some strange, indefinable manner to shrink, to stagger underthe sudden assumption of an intolerable burden--a burden that was neverto be lifted. 

Even then, however, Bennett still believed in the wisdom of his course, still believed himself to be right. But, right or wrong, he now must goforward. Was it fate, was it doom, was it destiny?

Bennett's entire life had been spent in the working out of great ideasin the face of great obstacles; continually he had been called upon toovercome enormous difficulties with enormous strength. For long periodsof time he had been isolated from civilisation, had been face to facewith the simple, crude forces of an elemental world--forces that were tobe combated and overthrown by means no less simple and crude thanthemselves. He had lost the faculty, possessed, no doubt, by smallerminds, of dealing with complicated situations. To resort to expedients, to make concessions, was all beyond him. For him a thing was absolutelyright or absolutely wrong, and between the two there was no gradation. For so long a time had he looked at the larger, broader situations oflife that his mental vision had become all deformed and confused. He sawthings invariably magnified beyond all proportion, or else dwarfed to alittleness that was beneath consideration. Normal vision was denied him. It was as though he studied the world through one or the other ends of atelescope, and when, as at present, his emotions were aroused, matterswere only made the worse. The idea that Ferriss might recover, thoughLloyd should leave him at this moment, hardly presented itself to hismind. He was convinced that if Lloyd went away Ferriss would die; Lloydhad said as much herself. The hope that Lloyd might, after all, nursehim through his sickness without danger to herself was so remote that hedid not consider it for one instant. If Lloyd remained she, like theother nurse, would contract the disease and die. 

These were the half-way measures Bennett did not understand, theexpedients he could no longer see. It was either Lloyd or Ferriss. Hemust choose between them. 

Bennett went to the door of the room, closed it and leaned against it. 

"No, " he said. 

Lloyd was stricken speechless. For the instant she shrank before him asif from a murderer. Bennett now knew precisely the terrible danger inwhich he left the man who was his dearest friend. Would he actuallyconsent to his death? It was almost beyond belief, and for the momentLloyd herself quailed before him. Her first thoughts were not ofherself, but of Ferriss. If he was Bennett's friend he was her friendtoo. At that very moment he might be dying for want of her care. She wasfast becoming desperate. For the moment she could put all thought ofherself and of her own dignity in the background. 

"What is it you want?" she cried. "Is it my humiliation you ask? Well, then, you have it. It is as hard for me to ask favours as it is for you. I am as proud as you, but I entreat you, you hear me, as humbly as Ican, to let me go. What do you want more than that? Oh, can't youunderstand? While we talk here, while you keep me here, he may be dying. Is it a time for arguments, is it a time for misunderstandings, is it atime to think of ourselves, of our own lives, our own little affairs?"She clasped her hands. "Will you please--can I, can I say more thanthat; will you please let me go?"

"No. "

With a great effort Lloyd tried to regain her self-control. She paused amoment, then:

"Listen!" she said. "You say that you love me; that I am more to youthan even Mr. Ferriss, your truest friend. I do not wish to think ofmyself at such a time as this, but supposing that you should makeme--that I should consent to leave my patient. Think of me then, afterward. Can I go back there to the house, the house that I built? CanI face the women of my profession? What would they think of me? Whatwould my friends think of me--I who have held my head so high? You willruin my life. I should have to give up my profession. Oh, can't you seein what position you would place me?" Suddenly the tears sprang to hereyes. "No!" she cried vehemently. "No, no, no, I will not, I will not bedisgraced!"

"I have no wish to disgrace you, " answered Bennett. "It is strange foryou to say that to me, if I love you so well that I can give up Ferrissfor--"

"Then, if you love me so much as that, there must be one thing that youwould set even above my life. Do you wish to make me hate you?"

"There is nothing in the world more to me than your life; you know that. How can you think it of me?"

"Because you don't understand--because you don't know that--oh, that Ilove you! I--no--I didn't mean--I didn't mean--"

What had she said? What had happened? How was it that the words thatyesterday she would have been ashamed to so much as whisper to herselfhad now rushed to her lips almost of their own accord? After all thoseyears of repression, suddenly the sweet, dim thought she had hidden inher secretest heart's heart had leaped to light and to articulate words. Unasked, unbidden, she had told him that she loved him. She, she haddone this thing when, but a few moments before, her anger against himhad shaken her to her very finger-tips. The hot, intolerable shame of itsmote like fire into her face. Her world was cracking about her ears;everything she had prized the dearest was being torn from her, everything she had fancied the strongest was being overthrown. Had she, she who had held herself so proud and high, come at last to this?

Swiftly she turned from him and clasped her hands before her eyes andsank down into the chair she had quitted, bowing her head upon her arms, hiding her face, shutting herself from the light of day, quivering andthrilling with an agony of shame and with an utter, an abjectself-contempt that was beyond all power of expression. But the instantshe felt Bennett's touch upon her shoulder she sprang up as if a knifehad pierced her, and shrank from him, turning her head away, her hand, palm outward, before her eyes. 

"Oh, please!" she begged piteously, almost inarticulately in the stressof her emotion, "don't--if you are a man--don't take advantage--please, please don't touch me. Let me go away. "

She was talking to deaf ears. In two steps Bennett had reached her sideand had taken her in his arms. Lloyd could not resist. Her vigour ofbody as well as of mind was crushed and broken and beaten down; and whywas it that in spite of her shame, that in spite of her unutterableself-reproach, the very touch of her cheek upon his shoulder was acomfort? Why was it that to feel herself carried away in the rush ofthis harsh, impetuous, masculine power was a happiness? Why was it thatto know that her prided fortitude and hitherto unshaken power were beingoverwhelmed and broken with a brutal, ruthless strength was anexultation and a glory? Why was it that she who but a moment beforequailed from his lightest touch now put her arms about his neck andclung to him with a sense of protection and of refuge, the need of whichshe had always and until that very moment disdained?

"Why should you be sorry because you spoke?" said Bennett. "I knew thatyou loved me and you knew that I loved you. What does it matter if yousaid it or did not say it? We know each other, you and I. We understand. You knew that I loved you. You think that I have been strong anddetermined, and have done the things I set out to do; what I am is whatyou made me. What I have done I have done because I thought you wouldapprove. Do you think I would have come back if I had not known that Iwas coming back to you?" Suddenly an impatient exclamation escaped him, and his clasp about her tightened. "Oh! words--the mere things that onecan _say_, seem so pitiful, so miserably inadequate. Don't you know, can't you feel what you are to me? Tell me, do you think I love you?"

But she could not bear to meet his glance just yet. Her eyes wereclosed, and she could only nod her head. 

But Bennett took her head in both his hands and turned her face to his. Even yet she kept her eyes closed. 

"Lloyd, " he said, and his voice was almost a command; "Lloyd, look atme. Do you love me?"

She drew a deep breath. Then her sweet dull-blue eyes opened, andthrough the tears that brimmed them and wet her lashes she looked at himand met his glance fearlessly and almost proudly, and her voice trembledand vibrated with an infinite tenderness as she answered:

"I do love you, Ward; love you with all my heart. "

Then, after a pause, she said, drawing a little from him and resting ahand upon either shoulder:

"But listen, dear; we must not think of ourselves now. We must think ofhim, so sick and weak and helpless. This is a terrible moment in ourlives. I don't know why it has come to us. I don't know why it shouldall have happened as it has this morning. Just a few moments ago I wasangry as I never was in my life before--and at you--and now it seems tome that I never was so happy; I don't know myself any more. Everythingis confused; all we can do is to hold to what we know is right and trustthat everything will be well in the end. It is a crisis, isn't it? Andall our lives and all our happiness depend upon how we meet it. I am alldifferent now. I am not the woman I was a half-hour ago. You must bebrave for me now, and you must be strong for me and help me to do myduty. We must live up to the best that is in us and do what we think isright, no matter what risks we run, no matter what the consequences are. I would not have asked you to help me before--before what hashappened--but now I need your help. You have said I helped you to bebrave; help me to be brave now, and to do what I know is right. "

But Bennett was still blind. If she had been dear to him before, howdoubly so had she become since she had confessed her love for him!Ferriss was forgotten, ignored. He could not let her go, he could notlet her run the slightest risk. Was he to take any chance of losing hernow? He shook his head. 

"Ward!" she exclaimed with deep and serious earnestness. "If you do notwish me to risk my life by going to my post, be careful, oh, be verycareful, that you do not risk something that is more to us both thanlife itself, by keeping me from it. Do you think I could love you sodeeply and so truly as I do if I had not kept my standards high; if Ihad not believed in the things that were better than life, and strongerthan death, and dearer to me than even love itself? There are somethings I cannot do: I cannot be false, I cannot be cowardly, I cannotshirk my duty. Now I am helpless in your hands. You have conquered, andyou can do with me as you choose. But if you make me do what is false, and what is cowardly, and what is dishonourable; if you stand between meand what I know is my duty, how can I love you, how can I love you?"

Persistently, perversely, Bennett stopped his ears to everyconsideration, to every argument. She wished to hazard her life. Thatwas all he understood. 

"No, Lloyd, " he answered, "you must not do it. "

"--and I want to love you, " she went on, as though she had not heard. "Iwant you to be everything to me. I have trusted you so long--had faithin you so long, I don't want to think of you as the man who failed mewhen I most needed his help, who made me do the thing that wascontemptible and unworthy. Believe me, " she went on with sudden energy, "you will kill my love for you if you persist. "

But before Bennett could answer there was a cry. 

"It is the servant, " exclaimed Lloyd quickly. "She has beenwatching--there in the room with him. "

"Nurse--Miss Searight, " came the cry, "quick--there is somethingwrong--I don't know--oh, hurry!"

"Do you hear?" cried Lloyd. "It is the crisis--he may be dying. Oh, Ward, it is the man you love! We can save him. " She stamped her foot inthe frenzy of her emotion, her hands twisting together. "I _will_ go. Iforbid you to keep--to hinder--to--to, oh, what is to become of us? Ifyou love me, if you love him--_Ward, will you let me go?_"

Bennett put his hands over his ears, his eyes closed. In the horror ofthat moment, when he realised that no matter how he might desire it hecould not waver in his resolution, it seemed to him that his reason mustgive way. But he set his back to the door, his hand gripped tight uponthe knob, and through his set teeth his answer came as before:

"No. "

"Nurse--Miss Searight, where are you? Hurry, oh, hurry!"

"Will you let me go?"

"No. "

Lloyd caught at his hand, shut so desperately upon the knob, striving toloosen his clasp. She hardly knew what she was doing; she threw her armsabout his neck, imploring, commanding, now submissive, now imperious, her voice now vibrating with anger, now trembling with passionateentreaty. 

"You are not only killing him, you are killing my love for you; will youlet me go--the love that is so dear to me? Let me love you, Ward; listento me; don't make me hate you; let me love you, dear--"

"Hurry, oh, hurry!"

"Let me love you; let him live. I want to love you. It's the besthappiness in my life. Let me be happy. Can't you see what this moment isto mean for us? It is our happiness or wretchedness forever. Will youlet me go?"

"No. "

"For the last time, Ward, listen! It is my love for you and his life. Don't crush us both--yes, and yourself. You who can, who are sopowerful, don't trample all our happiness under foot. "

"Hurry, hurry; oh, will nobody come to help?"

"Will you let me go?"

"No. "

Her strength seemed all at once to leave her. All the fabric of hercharacter, so mercilessly assaulted, appeared in that moment to reel, topple, and go crashing to its wreck. She was shattered, broken, humbled, and beaten down to the dust. Her pride was gone, her faith inherself was gone, her fine, strong energy was gone. The pity of it, thegrief of it; all that she held dearest; her fine and confidentsteadfastness; the great love that had brought such happiness into herlife--that had been her inspiration, all torn from her and tossed asidelike chaff. And her patient--Ferriss, the man who loved her, who hadundergone such suffering, such hardship, who trusted her and whom it washer duty to nurse back to life and health--if he should perish for wantof her care, then what infinite sorrow, then what endless remorse, thenwhat long agony of unavailing regret! Her world, her universe grew darkto her; she was driven from her firm stand. She was lost, she waswhirled away--away with the storm, landmarks obliterated, lights gone;away with the storm; out into the darkness, out into the void, out intothe waste places and wilderness and trackless desolation. 

"Hurry, oh, hurry!"

It was too late. She had failed; the mistake had been made, the questionhad been decided. That insensate, bestial determination, iron-hearted, iron-strong, had beaten down opposition, had carried its point. Life andlove had been crushed beneath its trampling without pity, withouthesitation. The tragedy of the hour was done; the tragedy of the longyears to come was just beginning. 

Lloyd sank down in the chair before the table, and the head that she hadheld so high bowed down upon her folded arms. The violence of her griefshook her from head to foot like a dry, light reed. Her heart seemedliterally to be breaking. She must set her teeth with all her strengthto keep from groaning aloud, from crying out in her hopeless sorrow herimpotent shame and despair. 

Once more came the cry for help. Then the house fell silent. The minutespassed. But for Lloyd's stifled grief there was no sound. Bennett--leaning heavily against the door, his great shoulders stoopingand bent, his face ashen, his eyes fixed--did not move. He did not speakto Lloyd. There was no word of comfort he could address to her--thatwould have seemed the last mockery. He had prevailed, as he knew heshould, as he knew he must, when once his resolve was taken. The forcethat, once it was unleashed, was beyond him to control, had accomplishedits purpose. His will remained unbroken; but at what cost? However, thatwas for future consideration. The costs? Had he not his whole lifebefore him in which to count them? The present moment still called uponhim to act. He looked at his watch. 

The next quarter of an hour was all a confusion to him. Its incidentsrefused to define themselves upon his memory when afterward he tried torecall them. He could remember, however, that when he helped Lloyd intothe carryall that was to take her to the depot in the village she hadshrunk from his touch and had drawn away from him as if from acriminal--a murderer. He placed her satchel on the front seat with thedriver, and got up beside the driver himself. She had drawn her veilover her face, and during the drive sat silent and motionless. 

"Can you make it?" asked Bennett of the driver, watch in hand. The timewas of the shortest, but the driver put the whip to his horses and, at arun, they reached the railway station a few moments ahead of time. Bennett told the driver to wait, and while Lloyd remained in her placehe bought her ticket for the City. Then he went to the telegraph officeand sent a peremptory despatch to the house on Calumet Square. 

A few moments later the train had come and gone, an abrupt eruption ofroaring iron and shrieking steam. Bennett was left on the platformalone, watching it lessen to a smoky blur where the rails convergedtoward the horizon. For an instant he stood watching, watching aresistless, iron-hearted force whirling her away, out of his reach, outof his life. Then he shook himself, turning sharply about. 

"Back to the doctor's house, now, " he commanded the driver; "on the run, you understand. "

But the other protested. His horses were all but exhausted. Twice theyhad covered that distance at top speed and under the whip. He refused toreturn. Bennett took the young man by the arm and lifted him from hisseat to the ground. Then he sprang to his place and lashed the horses toa gallop. 

When he arrived at Dr. Pitts's house he did not stop to tie the horses, but threw the reins over their backs and entered the front hall, out ofbreath and panting. But the doctor, during Bennett's absence, hadreturned, and it was he who met him half-way up the stairs. 

"How is he?" demanded Bennett. "I have sent for another nurse; she willbe out here on the next train. I wired from the station. "

"The only objection to that, " answered the doctor, looking fixedly athim, "is that it is not necessary. Mr. Ferriss has just died. "

VII. 

Throughout her ride from Medford to the City it was impossible forLloyd, so great was the confusion in her mind, to think connectedly. Shehad been so fiercely shocked, so violently shattered and weakened, thatfor a time she lacked the power and even the desire to collect and toconcentrate her scattering thoughts. For the time being she felt, butonly dimly, that a great blow had fallen, that a great calamity hadoverwhelmed her, but so extraordinary was the condition of her mind thatmore than once she found herself calmly awaiting the inevitable momentwhen the full extent of the catastrophe would burst upon her. For themoment she was merely tired. She was willing even to put off thisreaction for a while, willing to remain passive and dizzied andstupefied, resigning herself helplessly and supinely to the swiftcurrent of events. 

Yet while that part of her mind which registered the greater, deeper, and more lasting impressions remained inactive, the smaller faculty, that took cognisance of the little, minute-to-minute matters, was asbusy and bright as ever. It appeared that the blow had been struck overthis latter faculty, and not, as one so often supposes, through it. Sheseemed in that hour to understand the reasonableness of this phenomenon, that before had always appeared so inexplicable, and saw how greatsorrow as well as great joy strikes only at the greater machinery of thebrain, overpassing and ignoring the little wheels and cogs, that work onas briskly as ever in storm or calm, being moved only by temporary andtrivial emotions and impressions. 

So it was that for upward of an hour while the train carried her swiftlyback to the City, Lloyd sat quietly in her place, watching the landscaperushing past her and cut into regular divisions by the telegraph poleslike the whirling pictures of a kinetoscope. She noted, and even withsome particularity, the other passengers--a young girl in a smarttailor-made gown reading a book, cutting the leaves raggedly with ahairpin; a well-groomed gentleman with a large stomach, who breathedloudly through his nose; the book agent with his oval boxes of driedfigs and endless thread of talk; a woman with a little boy who worespectacles and who was continually making unsteady raids upon thewater-cooler, and the brakeman and train conductor laughing and chattingin the forward seat. 

She took an interest in every unusual feature of the country throughwhich the train was speeding, and noted each stop or increase of speed. She found a certain diversion, as she had often done before, in watchingfor the mile-posts and in keeping count of the miles. She even asked theconductor at what time the train would reach the City, and uttered alittle murmur of vexation when she was told that it was a half-hourlate. The next instant she was asking herself why this delay should seemannoying to her. Then, toward the close of the afternoon, came the Cityitself. First a dull-gray smudge on the horizon, then a world of grimystreets, rows of miserable tenements festooned with rags, then a tunnelor two, and at length the echoing glass-arched terminal of the station. Lloyd alighted, and, remembering that the distance was short, walkedsteadily toward her destination till the streets and neighbourhoodbecame familiar. Suddenly she came into the square. Directly oppositewas the massive granite front of the agency. She paused abruptly. Shewas returning to the house after abandoning her post. What was she tosay to them, the other women of her profession?

Then all at once came the reaction. Instantly the larger machinery ofthe mind resumed its functions, the hurt of the blow came back. With afierce wrench of pain, the wound reopened, full consciousness returned. Lloyd remembered then that she had proved false to her trust at a momentof danger, that Ferriss would probably die because of what she had done, that her strength of will and of mind wherein she had gloried was brokenbeyond redemption; that Bennett had failed her, that her love for him, the one great happiness of her life, was dead and cold and could neverbe revived, and that in the eyes of the world she stood dishonoured anddisgraced. 

Now she must enter that house, now she must face its inmates, hercompanions. What to say to them? How explain her defection? How tellthem that she had not left her post of her own will? Lloyd fanciedherself saying in substance that the man who loved her and whom sheloved had made her abandon her patient. She set her teeth. No, not thatconfession of miserable weakness; not that of all things. And yet theother alternative, what was that? It could be only that she had beenafraid--she, Lloyd Searight! Must she, who had been the bravest of themall, stand before that little band of devoted women in the light of aself-confessed coward?

She remembered the case of the young English woman, Harriet Freeze, who, when called upon to nurse a smallpox patient, had been found wanting incourage at the crucial moment, and had discovered an excuse for leavingher post. Miss Freeze had been expelled dishonourably from the midst ofher companions. And now she, Lloyd, standing apparently convicted of thesame dishonour, must face the same tribunal. There was no escape. Shemust enter that house, she must endure that ordeal, and this atprecisely the time when her resolution had been shattered, her willbroken, her courage daunted. For a moment the idea of flight suggesteditself to her--she would avoid the issue. She would hide from reproachand contumely, and without further explanation go back to her place inthe country at Bannister. But the little exigencies of her position madethis impossible. Besides her nurse's bag, her satchel was the onlybaggage she had at that moment, and she knew that there was but littlemoney in her purse. 

All at once she realised that while debating the question she had beensitting on one of the benches under the trees in the square. The sun wassetting; evening was coming on. Maybe if she waited until six o'clockshe could enter the house while the other nurses were at supper, gainher room unobserved, then lock herself in and deny herself to allcallers. But Lloyd made a weary, resigned movement of her shoulders. Sooner or later she must meet them all eye to eye. It would be onlyputting off the humiliation. 

She rose, and, turning to the house, began to walk slowly toward it. Whyput it off? It would be as hard at one time as another. But so great washer sense of shame that even as she walked she fancied that the verypassers-by, the loungers on the benches around the fountain, must knowthat here was a disgraced woman. Was it not apparent in her very face, in the very uncertainty of her gait? She told herself she had not donewisely to sit even for a moment upon the bench she had just quitted. Shewondered if she had been observed, and furtively glanced about her. There! Was not that nursemaid studying her too narrowly? And thepoliceman close at hand, was he not watching her quizzically? Shequickened her gait, moved with a sudden impulse to get out of sight, tohide within doors--where? In the house? There where, so soon as she setfoot in it, her companions, the other nurses, must know her dishonour?Where was she to go? Where to turn? What was to become of her?

But she _must_ go to the house. It was inevitable. She went forward, asit were, step by step. That little journey across the square under theelms and cottonwoods was for her a veritable _chemin de la croix_. Everystep was an agony; every yard covered only brought her nearer the timeand place of exposure. It was all the more humiliating because she knewthat her impelling motive was not one of duty. There was nothing loftyin the matter--nothing self-sacrificing. She went back because she hadto go back. Little material necessities, almost ludicrous in theirpettiness, forced her on. 

As she came nearer she looked cautiously at the windows of the agency. Who would be the first to note her home-coming? Would it be MissDouglass, or Esther Thielman, or Miss Bergyn, the superintendent nurse?What would first be said to her? With what words would she respond? Thenhow the news of the betrayal of her trust would flash from room to room!How it would be discussed, how condemned, how deplored! Not one of thenurses of that little band but would not feel herself hurt by what shehad done--by what she had been forced to do. And the news of her failurewould spread to all her acquaintances and friends throughout the City. Dr. Street would know it; every physician to whom she had hitherto beenso welcome an aid would know it. In all the hospitals it would be a ninedays' gossip. Campbell would hear of it, and Hattie. 

All at once, within thirty feet of the house, Lloyd turned about andwalked rapidly away from it. The movement was all but involuntary; everyinstinct in her, every sense of shame, brusquely revolted. It wasstronger than she. A power, for the moment irresistible, dragged herback from that doorway. Once entering here, she left all hope behind. Yet the threshold must be crossed, yet the hope must be abandoned. 

She felt that if she faced about now a second time she would indeedattract attention. So, while her cheeks flamed hot at the meanness, themiserable ridiculousness of the imposture, she assumed a brisk, determined gait, as though she knew just where she were going, and, turning out of the square down a by-street, walked around the block, even stopping once or twice before a store, pretending an interest inthe display. It seemed to her that by now everybody in the streets musthave noted that there was something wrong with her. Twice as a passer-bybrushed past her she looked back to see if he was watching her. How tolive through the next ten minutes? If she were only in her room, boltedin, locked and double-locked in. Why was there not some back way throughwhich she could creep to that seclusion?

And so it was that Lloyd came back to the house she had built, to thelittle community she had so proudly organised, to the agency she hadfounded, and with her own money endowed and supported. 

At last she found herself at the bottom of the steps, her foot upon thelowest one, her hand clasping the heavy bronze rail. There was no goingback now. She went up and pushed the button of the electric bell, andthen, the step once taken, the irrevocable once dared, something likethe calmness of resignation came to her. There was no help for it. Nowfor the ordeal. Rownie opened the door for her with a cheery welcome. Lloyd was dimly conscious that the girl said something about her mail, and that she was just in time for supper. But the hall and stairway weredeserted and empty, while from the dining-room came a subdued murmur ofconversation and the clink of dishes. The nurses were at supper, asLloyd had hoped. The moment favoured her, and she brushed by Rownie, andalmost ran, panic-stricken and trembling, up the stairs. 

She gained the hall of the second floor. There was the door of her roomstanding ajar. With a little gasp of infinite relief, she hurried to it, entered, shut and locked and bolted it behind her, and, casting hersatchel and handbag from her, flung herself down upon the great couch, and buried her head deep among the cushions. 

At Lloyd's abrupt entrance Miss Douglass turned about from thebook-shelves in an angle of the room and stared a moment in no littlesurprise. Then she exclaimed:

"Why, Lloyd, why, what is it--what is the matter?"

Lloyd sprang up sharply at the sound of her voice, and then sank down toa sitting posture upon the edge of the couch. Quietly enough she said:

"Oh, is it you? I didn't know--expect to find any one--"

"You don't mind, do you? I just ran in to get a book--something to read. I've had a headache all day, and didn't go down to supper. "

Lloyd nodded. "Of course--I don't mind, " she said, a little wearily. 

"But tell me, " continued the fever nurse, "whatever is the matter? Whenyou came in just now--I never saw you so--oh, I understand, your case atMedford--"

Lloyd's hands closed tight upon the edge of the couch. 

"No one could have got a patient through when the fever had got as faras that, " continued the other. "This must have been the fifth or sixthweek. The second telegram came just in time to prevent my going. I wasjust going out of the door when the boy came with it. "

"You? What telegram?" inquired Lloyd. 

"Yes, I was on call. The first despatch asking for another extra nursecame about two o'clock. The four-twenty was the first train I could havetaken--the two-forty-five express is a through train and don't stop atMedford--and, as I say, I was just going out of the door when Dr. Pitts's second despatch came, countermanding the first, and telling usthat the patient had died. It seems that it was one of the officers ofthe Freja expedition. We didn't know--"

"Died?" interrupted Lloyd, looking fixedly at her. 

"But Lloyd, you mustn't take it so to heart. You couldn't have got himthrough. No one could at that time. He was probably dying when you weresent for. We must all lose a case now and then. "

"Died?" repeated Lloyd; "Dr. Pitts wired that Mr. Ferriss died?"

"Yes; it was to prevent my coming out there uselessly. He must have sentthe wire quite an hour before you left. It was very thoughtful of him. "

"He's dead, " said Lloyd in a low, expressionless voice, looking vacantlyabout the room. "Mr. Ferriss is dead. " Then suddenly she put a fist toeither temple, horror-struck and for the moment shaken with hysteriafrom head to foot, her eyes widening with an expression almost ofterror. "Dead!" she cried. "Oh, it's horrible! Why didn't I--whycouldn't I--"

"I know just how you feel, " answered Miss Douglass soothingly. "I amthat way myself sometimes. It's not professional, I know, but when youhave been successful in two or three bad cases you think you can alwayswin; and then when you lose the next case you believe that somehow itmust have been your fault--that if you had been a little more careful atjust that moment, or done a little different in that particular point, you might have saved your patient. But you, of all people, ought not tofeel like that. If you could not have saved your case nobody could. "

"It was just because I had the case that it was lost. "

"Nonsense, Lloyd; don't talk like that. You've not had enough sleep;your nerves have been over-strained. You're worn out and a littlehysterical and morbid. Now lie down and keep quiet, and I'll bring youyour supper. You need a good night's sleep and bromide of potassium. "

When she had gone Lloyd rose to her feet and drew her hand wearilyacross her eyes. The situation adjusted itself in her mind. After thefirst recoil of horror at Ferriss's death she was able to see the falseposition in which she stood. She had been so certain already thatFerriss would die, leaving him as she did at so critical a moment, thatnow the sharpness of Miss Douglass's news was blunted a little. She hadonly been unprepared for the suddenness of the shock. But now sheunderstood clearly how Miss Douglass had been deceived by circumstances. The fever nurse had heard of Ferriss's death early in the afternoon, andsupposed, of course, that Lloyd had left the case _after_, and notbefore, it had occurred. This was the story the other nurses wouldbelieve. Instantly, in the flood of grief and remorse and humiliationthat had overwhelmed her, Lloyd caught at this straw of hope. Only Dr. Pitts and Bennett knew the real facts. Bennett, of course, would notspeak, and Lloyd knew that the physician would understand the crueltyand injustice of her situation, and because of that would also keepsilence. To make sure of this she could write him a letter, or, betterstill, see him personally. It would be hard to tell him the truth. Butthat was nothing when compared with the world's denunciation of her. 

If she had really been false to her charge, if she had actually flinchedand faltered at the crucial moment, had truly been the coward, thisdeception which had been thrust upon her at the moment of her return tothe house, this part which it was so easy to play, would have been ahideous and unspeakable hypocrisy. But Lloyd had not faltered, had notbeen false. In her heart of hearts she had been true to herself and toher trust. How would she deceive her companions then by allowing them tocontinue in the belief of her constancy, fidelity, and courage? What shehid from them, or rather what they could not see, was a state of thingsthat it was impossible for any one but herself to understand. She couldnot--no woman could--bring herself to confess to another woman what hadhappened that day at Medford. It would be believed that she could havestayed at her patient's bedside if she had so desired. No one who didnot know Bennett could understand the terrible, vast force of the man. 

Try as she would, Lloyd could not but think first of herself at thismoment. Bennett was ignored, forgotten. Once she had loved him, but thatwas all over now. The thought of Ferriss's death, for which in a mannershe had been forced to be responsible, came rushing to her mind fromtime to time, and filled her with a horror and, at times, even aperverse sense of remorse, almost beyond words. But Lloyd's pride, herself-confidence, her strength of character and independence had beendearer to her than almost anything in life. So she told herself, and, atthat moment, honestly believed. And though she knew that her pride hadbeen humbled, it was not gone, and enough of it remained to make herdesire and strive to keep the fact a secret from the world. It seemedvery easy. She would only have to remain passive. Circumstances actedfor her. 

Miss Douglass returned, followed by Rownie carrying a tray. When themulatto had gone, after arranging Lloyd's supper on a little table nearthe couch, the fever nurse drew up a chair. 

"Now we can talk, " she said, "unless you are too tired. I've been sointerested in this case at Medford. Tell me what was the immediate causeof death; was it perforation or just gradual collapse?"

"It was neither, " said Lloyd quickly. "It was a hemorrhage. "

She had uttered the words with as little consciousness as a phonograph, and the lie had escaped her before she was aware. How did she know whathad been the immediate cause of death? What right had she to speak? Whywas it that all at once a falsehood had come so easy to her, to herwhose whole life until then had been so sincere, so genuine?

"A hemorrhage?" repeated the other. "Had there been many before then?Was there coma vigil when the end came? I--"

"Oh, " cried Lloyd with a quick gesture of impatience, "don't, don't askme any more. I am tired--nervous; I am worn out. "

"Yes, of course you must be, " answered the fever nurse. "We won't talkany more about it. "

That night and the following day were terrible. Lloyd neither ate norslept. Not once did she set foot out of her room, giving out that shewas ill, which was not far from the truth, and keeping to herself and tothe companionship of the thoughts and terrors that crowded her mind. Until that day at Medford her life had run easily and happily and inwell-ordered channels. She was successful in her chosen profession andwork. She imagined herself to be stronger and of finer fibre than mostother women, and her love for Bennett had lent a happiness and asweetness to her life dear to her beyond all words. Suddenly, and withinan hour's time, she had lost everything. Her will had been broken, herspirit crushed; she had been forced to become fearfully instrumental incausing the death of her patient--a man who loved and trusted her--whileher love for Bennett, which for years had been her deep and abiding joy, the one great influence of her life, was cold and dead, and could neverbe revived. 

This in the end came to be Lloyd's greatest grief. She could forget thatshe herself had been humbled and broken. Horrible, unspeakably horrible, as Ferriss's death seemed to her, it was upon Bennett, and not upon her, that its responsibility must be laid. She had done what she could. Ofthat she was assured. But, first and above all things, Lloyd was awoman, and her love for Bennett was a very different matter. 

When, during that never-to-be-forgotten scene in the breakfast-room ofthe doctor's house, she had warned Bennett that if he persisted in hisinsane resolution he would stamp out her affection for him, Lloyd hadonly half believed what she said. But when at last it dawned upon herthat she had spoken wiser than she knew, that this was actually true, and that now, no matter how she might desire it, she could not love himany longer, it seemed as though her heart must break. It was preciselyas though Bennett himself, the Bennett she had known, had been blottedout of existence. It was much worse than if Bennett had merely died. Even then he would have still existed for her, somewhere. As it was, theman she had known simply ceased to be, irrevocably, finally, and thewarmth of her love dwindled and grew cold, because now there was nothingleft for it to feed upon. 

Never until then had Lloyd realised how much he had been to her; how hehad not only played so large a part in her life, but how he had become avery part of her life itself. Her love for him had been like the air, like the sunlight; was delicately knitted and intertwined into all theinnumerable intricacies of her life and character. Literally, not anhour had ever passed that, directly or indirectly, he had not occupiedher thoughts. He had been her inspiration; he had made her want to bebrave and strong and determined, and it was because of him that thegreater things of the world interested her. She had chosen a work to bedone because he had set her an example. So only that she preserved herwomanliness, she, too, wanted to count, to help on, to have her place inthe world's progress. In reality all her ambitions and hopes had beenlooking toward one end only, that she might be his equal; that he mightfind in her a companion and a confidante; one who could share hisenthusiasms and understand his vast projects and great aims. 

And how had he treated her when at last opportunity had been given herto play her part, to be courageous and strong, to prevail against greatodds, while he stood by to see? He had ignored and misunderstood, andtossed aside as childish and absurd that which she had been building upfor years. Instead of appreciating her heroism he had forced her tobecome a coward in the eyes of the world. She had hoped to be his equal, and he had treated her as a school-girl. It had all been a mistake. Shewas not and could not be the woman she had hoped. He was not and neverhad been the man she had imagined. They had nothing in common. 

But it was not easy to give Bennett up, to let him pass out of her life. She wanted to love him yet. With all her heart and strength, in spite ofeverything--woman that she was, she had come to that--in spite ofeverything she wanted to love him. Though he had broken her will, thwarted her ambitions, ignored her cherished hopes, misunderstood andmistaken her, yet, if she could, Lloyd would yet have loved him, lovedhim even for the very fact that he had been stronger than she. 

Again and again she tried to awaken this dead affection, to call backthis vanished love. She tried to remember the Bennett she had known; shetold herself that he loved her; that he had said that the great thingshe had done had been done only with an eye to her approval; that she hadbeen his inspiration no less than he had been hers; that he had foughthis way back, not only to life, but to her. She thought of all he hadsuffered, of the hardships and privations beyond her imagination toconceive, that he had undergone. She tried to recall the infinite joy ofthat night when the news of his safe return had come to her; she thoughtof him at his very best--how he had always seemed to her the type of theperfect man, masterful, aggressive, accomplishing great projects with anenergy and determination almost superhuman, one of the world's greatmen, whose name the world still shouted. She called to mind how the veryruggedness of his face; with its massive lines and harsh angles, hadattracted her; how she had been proud of his giant's strength, the vastspan of his shoulders, the bull-like depth of his chest, the sense ofenormous physical power suggested by his every movement. 

But it was all of no effect. That Bennett was worse than dead to her. The Bennett that now came to her mind and imagination was the brutal, perverse man of the breakfast-room at Medford, coarse, insolent, intractable, stamping out all that was finest in her, breaking andflinging away the very gifts he had inspired her to offer him. It wasnothing to him that she should stand degraded in the eyes of the world. He did not want her to be brave and strong. She had been wrong; it wasnot that kind of woman he desired. He had not acknowledged that she, too, as well as he--a woman as well as a man might have her principles, her standards of honour, her ideas of duty. It was not her character, then, that he prized; the nobility of her nature was nothing to him; hetook no thought of the fine-wrought texture of her mind. How, then, didshe appeal to him? It was not her mind; it was not her soul. What, then, was left? Nothing but the physical. The shame of it; the degradation ofit! To be so cruelly mistaken in the man she loved, to be able to appealto him only on his lower side! Lloyd clasped her hands over her eyes, shutting her teeth hard against a cry of grief and pain and impotentanger. No, no, now it was irrevocable; now her eyes were opened. TheBennett she had known and loved had been merely a creature of her ownimagining; the real man had suddenly discovered himself; and this man, in spite of herself, she hated as a victim hates its tyrant. 

But her grief for her vanished happiness--the happiness that this love, however mistaken, had brought into her life--was pitiful. Lloyd couldnot think of it without the choke coming to her throat and the tearsbrimming her dull-blue eyes, while at times a veritable paroxysm ofsorrow seized upon her and flung her at full length upon her couch, herface buried and her whole body shaken with stifled sobs. It was gone, itwas gone, and could never be called back. What was there now left to herto live for? Why continue her profession? Why go on with the work? Whatpleasure now in striving and overcoming? Where now was the exhilarationof battle with the Enemy, even supposing she yet had the strength tocontinue the fight? Who was there now to please, to approve, toencourage? To what end the days of grave responsibilities, the long, still nights of vigil?

She began to doubt herself. Bennett, the man, had loved his work for itsown sake. But how about herself, the woman? In what spirit had she goneabout her work? Had she been genuine, after all? Had she not undertakenit rather as a means than as an end--not because she cared for it, butbecause she thought he would approve, because she had hoped by means ofthe work she would come into closer companionship with him? She wonderedif this must always be so--the man loving the work for the work's sake;the woman, more complex, weaker, and more dependent, doing the work onlyin reference to the man. 

But often she distrusted her own conclusions, and, no doubt, rightly so. Her mind was yet too confused to reason calmly, soberly, and accurately. Her distress was yet too keen, too poignant to permit her to be logical. At one time she was almost ready to admit that she had misjudgedBennett; that, though he had acted cruelly and unjustly, he had donewhat he thought was best. His sacrifice of Ferriss was sufficientguarantee of his sincerity. But this mistrust of herself did not affecther feeling toward him. There were moments when she condoned hisoffence; there was never an instant she did not hate him. 

And this sentiment of hatred itself, independent of and apart from itsobject, was distasteful and foreign to her. Never in her life had Lloydhated any one before. To be kind, to be gentle, to be womanly was hersecond nature, and kindness, gentleness, and womanliness were qualitiesthat her profession only intensified and deepened. This newcomer in herheart, this fierce, evil visitor, that goaded her and pricked andharried her from day to day and throughout so many waking nights, thatroused the unwonted flash in her eye and drove the hot, angry blood toher smooth, white forehead and knotted her levelled brows to a dark andlowering frown, had entered her life and being, unsought for andundesired. It did not belong to her world. Yet there it sat on itsusurped throne deformed and hideous, driving out all tenderness andcompunction, ruling her with a rod of iron, hardening her, embitteringher, and belittling her, making a mockery of all sweetness, fleering atnobility and magnanimity, lowering the queen to the level of thefishwife. 

When the first shock of the catastrophe had spent its strength and Lloydperforce must turn again to the life she had to live, groping for itsscattered, tangled ends, piecing together again as best she might itsbroken fragments, she set herself honestly to drive this hatred from herheart. If she could not love Bennett, at least she need not hate him. She was moved to this by no feeling of concern for Bennett. It was not aconsideration that she owed to him, but something rather that was due toherself. Yet, try as she would, the hatred still remained. She could notput it from her. Hurt her and contaminate her as it did, in spite of allher best efforts, in spite of her very prayers, the evil thing abodewith her, deep-rooted, strong, malignant. She saw that in the end shewould continue in her profession, but she believed that she could not goon with it consistently, based as it was upon sympathy and love andkindness, while a firm-seated, active hatred dwelt with her, harassingher at every moment, and perverting each good impulse and each unselfishdesire. It was an ally of the very Enemy she would be called upon tofight, a traitor that at any moment might open the gates to histriumphant entry. 

But was this his only ally; was this the only false and ugly invaderthat had taken advantage of her shattered defence? Had the unwelcomevisitor entered her heart alone? Was there not a companion still morewicked, more perverted, more insidious, more dangerous? For the firsttime Lloyd knew what it meant to deceive. 

It was supposed by her companions, and accepted by them as a matter ofcourse, that she had not left the bedside of her patient until after hisdeath. At first she had joyfully welcomed this mistake as her salvation, the one happy coincidence that was to make her life possible, and for atime had ceased to think about it. That phase of the incident wasclosed. Matters would readjust themselves. In a few days' time theincident would be forgotten. But she found that she herself could notforget it, and that as days went on the idea of this passive, silentdeception she was obliged to maintain occurred to her oftener andoftener. She remembered again how glibly and easily she had lied to herfriend upon the evening of her return. How was it that the lie hadflowed so smoothly from her lips? To her knowledge she had neverdeliberately lied before. She would have supposed that, because of thisfact, falsehood would come difficult to her, that she would havebungled, hesitated, stammered. But it was the reverse that had been thecase. The facility with which she had uttered the lie was what now beganto disturb and to alarm her. It argued some sudden collapse of her wholesystem of morals, some fundamental disarrangement of the entire machine. 

Abruptly she recoiled. Whither was she tending? If she supinely resignedherself to the current of circumstance, where would she be carried? Yethow was she to free herself from the current, how to face this newsituation that suddenly presented itself at a time when she had fanciedthe real shock of battle and contention was spent and past?

How was she to go back now? How could she retrace her steps? There wasbut one way--correct the false impression. It would not be necessary toacknowledge that she had been forced to leave her post; the essentialwas that her companions should know that she had deceived them--that shehad left the bedside before her patient's death. But at the thought ofmaking such confession, public as it must be, everything that was leftof her wounded pride revolted. She who had been so firm, she who hadheld so tenaciously to her principles, she who had posed before them asan example of devotion and courage--she could not bring herself to that. 

"No, no, " she exclaimed as this alternative presented itself to hermind. "No, I cannot. It is beyond me. I simply cannot do it. "

But she could. Yes, she could do it if she would. Deep down in her mindthat little thought arose. She could if she wanted to. Hide it thoughshe might, cover it and bury it with what false reasoning she couldinvent, the little thought would not be smothered, would not be crushedout. Well, then, she would not. Was it not her chance; was not thisdeception which others and not herself had created, her opportunity torecover herself, to live down what had been done--what she had beenforced to do, rather? Absolute right was never to be attained; was notlife to be considered rather in the light of a compromise between goodand evil? To do what one could under the circumstances, was not that thegolden mean?

But she ought. And, quick, another little thought sprang up in thedeeper recesses of her mind and took its place beside the other. It wasright that she should be true. She ought to do the right. Argument, thepleas of weakness, the demands of expediency, the plausibility ofcompromise were all of no avail. The idea "I ought" persisted andpersisted and persisted. She could and she ought. There was no excusefor her, and no sooner had she thrust aside the shifty mass ofsophistries under which she had striven to conceal them, no sooner hadshe let in the light, than these two conceptions of Duty and Will begansuddenly to grow. 

But what was she to gain? What would be the result of such a course asher conscience demanded she should adopt? It was inevitable that shewould be misunderstood, cruelly misjudged. What action would herconfession entail? She could not say. But results did not matter; whatshe was to gain or lose did not matter. Around her and before her allwas dark and vague and terrible. If she was to escape there was but onething to do. Suddenly her own words came back to her:

"All we can do is to hold to what we know is right, and trust thateverything will come well in the end. "

She knew what was right, and she had the strength to hold to it. Thenall at once there came to Lloyd a grand, breathless sense of uplifting, almost a transfiguration. She felt herself carried high above the sphereof little things, the region of petty considerations What did she carefor consequences, what mattered to her the unjust condemnation of herworld, if only she remained true to herself, if only she did right? Whatdid she care for what she gained? It was no longer a question of gain orloss--it was a question of being true and strong and brave. The conflictof that day at Medford between the man's power and the woman'sresistance had been cruel, the crisis had been intense, and though shehad been conquered then, had it, after all, been beyond recall? No, shewas not conquered. No, she was not subdued. Her will had not beenbroken, her courage had not been daunted, her strength had not beenweakened. Here was the greater fight, here was the higher test. Here wasthe ultimate, supreme crisis of all, and here, at last, come what might, she would not, would not, would not fail. 

As soon as Lloyd reached this conclusion she sat about carrying herresolution into effect. 

"If I don't do it now while I'm strong, " she told herself, "if I wait, Inever will do it. "

Perhaps there was yet a touch of the hysterical in her actions eventhen. The jangled feminine nerves were yet vibrating far above theirnormal pitch; she was overwrought and oversensitive, for just as afanatic rushes eagerly upon the fire and the steel, preferring the moreexquisite torture, so Lloyd sought out the more painful situation, themore trying ordeal, the line of action that called for the greatestfortitude, the most unflinching courage. 

She chose to make known her real position, to correct the falseimpression at a time when all the nurses of the house should betogether. This would be at supper-time. Since her return from Medford, Lloyd had shut herself away from the other inmates of the house, and hadtaken her meals in her room. With the exception of Miss Douglass and thesuperintendent nurse no one had seen her. She had passed her time lyingat full length upon her couch, her hands clasped behind her head, orpacing the floor, or gazing listlessly out of her windows, while herthoughts raced at a gallop through her mind. 

Now, however, she bestirred herself. She had arrived at her finaldecision early in the afternoon of the third day after her return, andat once she resolved that she would endure the ordeal that very evening. 

She passed the intervening time, singularly enough, in very carefullysetting her room to rights, adjusting and readjusting the few ornamentson the mantel-shelf and walls, winding the clock that struck ship'sbells instead of the hours, and minutely sorting the letters and papersin her desk. It was the same as if she were going upon a long journey orwere preparing for a great sickness. Toward four o'clock Miss Douglass, looking in to ask how she did, found her before her mirror carefullycombing and arranging her great bands and braids of dark-red hair. Thefever nurse declared that she was immensely improved in appearance, andasked at once if she was not feeling better. 

"Yes, " answered Lloyd, "very much better, " adding: "I shall be down tosupper to-night. "

For some reason that she could not explain Lloyd took unusual pains withher toilet, debating long over each detail of dress and ornament. Atlength, toward five o'clock, she was ready, and sat down by her window, a book in her lap, to await the announcement of supper as the condemnedawait the summons to execution. 

Her plan was to delay her appearance in the dining-room until she wassure that everybody was present; then she would go down, and, standingthere before them all, say what she had to say, state the few bald factsof the case, without excuse or palliation, and leave them to draw theone inevitable conclusion. 

But this final hour of waiting was a long agony for Lloyd. Her moodschanged with every moment; the action she contemplated presented itselfto her mind in a multitude of varying lights. At one time she quiveredwith the apprehension of it, as though at the slow approach of hotirons. At another she could see no reason for being greatly concernedover the matter. Did the whole affair amount to so much, after all? Hercompanions would, of their own accord, make excuses for her. Riskingone's life in the case of a virulent, contagious disease was no smallmatter. No one could be blamed for leaving such a case. At one momentLloyd's idea of public confession seemed to her little less thansublime; at another, almost ridiculous. But she remembered the case ofHarriet Freeze, who had been unable to resist the quiet, unexpressedforce of opinion of her fellow-workers. It would be strange if Lloydshould find herself driven from the very house she had built. 

The hour before supper-time seemed interminable; the quarter passed, then the half, then the three-quarters. Lloyd imagined she began todetect a faint odour of the kitchen in the air. Suddenly the remainingminutes of the hour began to be stricken from the dial of her clock withbewildering rapidity. From the drawing-room immediately below came thesounds of the piano. That was Esther Thielman, no doubt, playing one ofher interminable Polish compositions. All at once the piano stopped, and, with a quick sinking of the heart, Lloyd heard the sliding doorsseparating the drawing-room from the dining-room roll back. MissDouglass and another one of the nurses, Miss Truslow, a young girl, anewcomer in the house, came out of the former's room and wentdownstairs, discussing the merits of burlap as preferable to wall-paper. Lloyd even heard Miss Truslow remark:

"Yes, that's very true, but if it isn't sized it will wrinkle in dampweather. "

Rownie came to Lloyd's door and knocked, and, without waiting for areply, said:

"Dinneh's served, Miss Searight, " and Lloyd heard her make the sameannouncement at Miss Bergyn's room farther down the hall. One by oneLloyd heard the others go downstairs. The rooms and hallways on thesecond floor fell quiet. A faint, subdued murmur of talk came to herears in the direction of the dining-room. Lloyd waited for five, forten, for fifteen minutes. Then she rose, drawing in her breath, straightening herself to her full height. She went to the door, thenpaused for a moment, looking back at all the familiar objects--theplain, rich furniture, the book-shelves, the great, comfortable couch, the old-fashioned round mirror that hung between the windows, and herwriting-desk of blackened mahogany. It seemed to her that in some wayshe was never to see these things again, as if she were saying good-byeto them and to the life she had led in that room and in theirsurroundings. She would be a different woman when she came back to thatroom. Slowly she descended the stairs and halted for a moment in thehall below. It was not too late to turn back even now. She could hearher companions at their supper very plainly, and could distinguishEsther Thielman's laugh as she exclaimed:

"Why, of course, that's the very thing I mean. "

It was a strange surprise that Lloyd had in store for them all. Herheart began to beat heavy and thick. Could she even find her voice tospeak when the time came? Would it not be better to put it off, to thinkover the whole matter again between now and to-morrow morning? But shemoved her head impatiently. No, she would not turn back. She found thatthe sliding doors in the drawing-room had been closed, and so went tothe door that opened into the dining-room from the hall itself. It stoodajar. Lloyd pushed it open, entered, and, closing the door behind her, stood there leaning against it. 

The table was almost full; only two or three places besides her own wereunoccupied. There was Miss Bergyn at the head; the fever nurse, MissDouglass, at her right, and, lower down, Lloyd saw Esther Thielman;Delia Craig, just back from a surgical case of Dr. Street's; Miss Page, the oldest and most experienced nurse of them all; Gilbertson, whomevery one called by her last name; Miss Ives and Eleanor Bogart, who hadboth taken doctors' degrees, and could have practised if they haddesired; Miss Wentworth, who had served an apprenticeship in amissionary hospital in Armenia, and had known Clara Barton, and, last ofall, the newcomer, Miss Truslow, very young and very pretty, who hadnever yet had a case, and upon whose diploma the ink was hardly dry. 

At first, so quietly had she entered, no one took any notice of Lloyd, and she stood a moment, her back to the door, wondering how she shouldbegin. Everybody seemed to be in the best of humour; a babel of talk wasin the air; conversations were going forward, carried on across thetable, or over intervening shoulders. 

"Why, of course, don't you see, that's the very thing I meant--"

"--I think you can get that already sized, though, and with a stencilfigure if you want it--"

"--Really, it's very interesting; the first part is stupid, but she hassome very good ideas. "

"--Yes, at Vanoni's. But we get a reduction, you know--"

"--and, oh, listen; this is too funny; she turned around and said, veryprim and stiff, 'No, indeed; I'm too old a woman. ' Funny! If I think ofthat on my deathbed I shall laugh--"

"--and so that settled it. How could I go on after that--?"

"--Must you tack it on? The walls are so hard--"

"Let Rownie do it; she knows. Oh, here's the invalid!"

"Oh, why, it's Lloyd! We're so glad you're able to come down!"

But when they had done exclaiming over her reappearance among them Lloydstill remained as she was, her back against the door, standing verystraight, her hands at her side. She did not immediately reply. Headswere turned in her direction. The talk fell away by rapid degrees asthey began to notice the paleness of her face and the strange, firm setof her mouth. 

"Sit down, Lloyd, " said Miss Bergyn; "don't stand. You are not very wellyet; I'll have Rownie bring you a glass of sherry. "

There was a silence. Then at length:

"No, " said Lloyd quietly. "I don't want any sherry. I don't want anysupper. I came down to tell you that you are all wrong in thinking I didwhat I could with my typhoid case at Medford. You think I left onlyafter the patient had died. I did not; I left before. There was a crisisof some kind. I don't know what it was, because I was not in thesick-room at the time, and I did not go when I was called. The doctorwas not there either; he had gone out and left the case in my charge. There was nobody with the patient but a servant. The servant called me, but I did not go. Instead I came away and left the house. The patientdied that same day. It is that that I wanted to tell you. Do you allunderstand--perfectly? I left my patient at the moment of a crisis, andwith no one with him but a servant. And he died that same afternoon. "

Then she went out, and the closing of the door jarred sharply upon thegreat silence that had spread throughout the room. 

Lloyd went back to her room, closed and locked the door, and, sinkingdown upon the floor by the couch, bowed her head upon her folded arms. But she was in no mood for weeping, and her eyes were dry. She wasconscious chiefly that she had taken an irrevocable step, that her headhad begun to ache. There was no exhilaration in her mind now; she didnot feel any of the satisfaction of attainment after struggle, oftriumph after victory. More than once she even questioned herself if, after all, her confession had been necessary. But now she was weary untodeath of the whole wretched business. Now she only knew that her headwas aching fiercely; she did not care either to look into the past orforward into the future. The present occupied her; for the present herhead was aching. 

But before Lloyd went to bed that night Miss Bergyn knew the whole truthas to what had happened at Dr. Pitts's house. The superintendent nursehad followed Lloyd to her room almost immediately, and would not bedenied. She knew very well that Lloyd Searight had never left a dyingpatient of her own volition. Intuitively she guessed at somethinghidden. 

"Lloyd, " she said decisively, "don't ask me to believe that you went ofyour own free will. Tell me just what happened. Why did you go? Ask meto believe anything but that you--no, I won't say the word. There wassome very good reason, wasn't there?"

"I--I cannot explain, " Lloyd answered. "You must think what you choose. You wouldn't understand. "

But, happily, when Lloyd's reticence finally broke Miss Bergyn didunderstand. The superintendent nurse knew Bennett only by report. ButLloyd she had known for years, and realised that if she had yielded, ithad only been after the last hope had been tried. In the end Lloyd toldher everything that had occurred. But, though she even admittedBennett's affection for her, she said nothing about herself, and MissBergyn did not ask. 

"I know, of course, " said the superintendent nurse at length, "you hateto think that you were made to go; but men are stronger than women, Lloyd, and such a man as that must be stronger than most men. You werenot to blame because you left the case, and you are certainly not toblame for Mr. Ferriss's death. Now I shall give it out here in the housethat you had a very good reason for leaving your case, and that while wecan't explain it any more particularly, I have had a talk with you andknow all about it, and am perfectly satisfied. Then I shall go out toMedford and see Dr. Pitts. It would be best, " she added, for Lloyd hadmade a gesture of feeble dissent. "He must understand perfectly, and weneed not be afraid of any talk about the matter at all. What hashappened has happened 'in the profession, ' and I don't believe it willgo any further. "

 * * * * *

Lloyd returned to Bannister toward the end of the week. How long shewould remain she did not know, but for the present the association ofthe other nurses was more than she was able to bear. Later, when theaffair had become something of an old story, she would return, resumingher work as though nothing had happened. 

Hattie met her at the railway station with the phaeton and the ponies. She was radiant with delight at the prospect of having Lloyd all toherself for an indefinite period of time. 

"And you didn't get sick, after all?" she exclaimed, clasping her hands. "Was your patient as sick as I was? Weren't his parents glad that youmade him well again?"

Lloyd put her hand over the little girl's mouth. 

"Let us not talk any 'shop, ' Hattie, " she said, trying to smile. 

But on the morning after her arrival Lloyd woke in her own white room ofthe old farmhouse, abruptly conscious of some subtle change that hadoccurred to her overnight. For the first time since the scene in thebreakfast-room at Medford she was aware of a certain calmness that hadcome to her. Perhaps she had at last begun to feel the good effects ofthe trial by fire which she had voluntarily undergone--to know a certainhappiness that now there was no longer any deceit in her heart. This shehad uprooted and driven out by force of her own will. It was gone. Butnow, on this morning, she seemed to feel that this was not all. 

Something else had left her--something that of late had harassed her andgoaded her and embittered her life, and mocked at her gentleness andkindness, was gone. That fierce, truculent hatred that she had sostriven to put from her, now behold! of its own accord, it had seemed toleave her. How had it happened? Before she had dared the ordeal ofconfession this feeling of hatred, this perverse and ugly changelingthat had brooded in her heart, had seemed too strong, too deeply seatedto be moved. Now, suddenly, it had departed, unbidden, without effort onher part. 

Vaguely Lloyd wondered at this thing. In driving deceit from her itwould appear that she had also driven out hatred, that the one could notstay so soon as the other had departed. Could the one exist apart fromthe other? Was there, then, some strange affinity in all evil, as, perhaps, in all good, so that a victory over one bad impulse meant avictory over many? Without thought of gain or of reward, she had held towhat was right through the confusion and storm and darkness. Was this tobe, after all, her reward, her gain? Possibly; but she could not tell, she could not see. The confusion was subsiding, the storm had passed, but much of the darkness yet remained. Deceit she had fought from outher heart; silently Hatred had stolen after it. Love had not returned tohis old place, and never, never would, but the changeling was gone, andthe house was swept and garnished. 

VIII. 

The day after the funeral, Bennett returned alone to Dr. Pitts's houseat Medford, and the same evening his trunks and baggage, containing hispapers--the records, observations, journals, and log-books of theexpedition--followed him. 

As Bennett entered the gate of the place that he had chosen to be hishome for the next year, he was aware that the windows of one of thefront rooms upon the second floor were wide open, the curtains tied upinto loose knots; inside a servant came and went, putting the room torights again, airing it and changing the furniture. In the road beforethe house he had seen the marks of the wheels of the undertaker's wagonwhere it had been backed up to the horse-block. As he closed the frontdoor behind him and stood for a moment in the hallway, his valise in hishand, he saw, hanging upon one of the pegs of the hat-rack, the hatFerriss had last worn. Bennett put down his valise quickly, and, steadying himself against the wall, leaned heavily against it, drawing adeep breath, his eyes closing. 

The house was empty and, but for the occasional subdued noises that camefrom the front room at the end of the hall, silent. Bennett picked uphis valise again and went upstairs to the rooms that had been set apartfor him. He did not hang his hat upon the hat-rack, but carried it withhim. 

The housekeeper, who met him at the head of the stairs and showed himthe way to his apartments, inquired of him as to the hours he wished tohave his meals served. Bennett told her, and then added:

"I will have all my meals in the breakfast-room, the one you call theglass-room, I believe. And as soon as the front room is ready I shallsleep there. That will be my room after this. "

The housekeeper stared. "It won't be quite safe, sir, for some time. Thedoctor gave very strict orders about ventilating it and changing thefurniture. "

Bennett merely nodded as if to say he understood, and the housekeepersoon after left him to himself. The afternoon passed, then the evening. Such supper as Bennett could eat was served according to his orders inthe breakfast-room. Afterward he called Kamiska, and went for a longwalk over the country roads in a direction away from the town, proceeding slowly, his hands clasped behind his back. Later, toward teno'clock, he returned. He went upstairs toward his room with thehalf-formed idea of looking over and arranging his papers before goingto bed. Sleep he could not; he foresaw that clearly. 

But Bennett was not yet familiar with the arrangement of the house. Hismind was busy with other things; he was thoughtful, abstracted, and uponreaching the stair landing on the second floor, turned toward the frontof the house when he should have turned toward the rear. He entered whathe supposed to be his room, lit the gas, then stared about him in someperplexity. 

The room he was in was almost bare of furniture. Even part of the carpethad been taken up. The windows were wide open; a stale odour of drugspervaded the air, while upon the bed nothing remained but the mattressand bolster. For a moment Bennett looked about him bewildered, then hestarted sharply. This was--had been--the sick-room. Here, upon that bed, Ferriss had died; here had been enacted one scene in the terrible dramawherein he, Bennett, had played so conspicuous a part. 

As Bennett stood there looking about him, one hand upon the foot-board ofthe bed, a strange, formless oppression of the spirit weighed heavilyupon him. He seemed to see upon that naked bed the wasted, fever-stricken body of the dearest friend he had ever known. It was asthough Ferriss were lying in state there, with black draperies hungabout the bier and candles burning at the head and foot. Death had beenin that room. Empty though it was, a certain religious solemnity, almosta certain awe, seemed to bear down upon the senses. Before he knew itBennett found himself kneeling at the denuded bed, his face buried, hisarms flung wide across the place where Ferriss had last reposed. 

He could not say how long he remained thus--perhaps ten minutes, perhapsan hour. He seemed to come to himself once more when he stepped out intothe hall again, closing and locking the door of the death-room behindhim. But now all thought of work had left him. In the morning he wouldarrange his papers. It was out of the question to think of sleep. Hedescended once more to the lower floor of the silent house, and steppedout again into the open air. 

On the veranda, close beside him, was a deep-seated wicker arm-chair. Bennett sank down into it, drawing his hands wearily across hisforehead. The stillness of a summer night had settled broadly over thevast, dim landscape. There was no moon; all the stars were out. Very faroff a whippoorwill was calling incessantly. Once or twice from thelittle orchard close at hand an apple dropped with a faint rustle ofleaves and a muffled, velvety impact upon the turf. Kamiska, wide awake, sat motionless upon her haunches on the steps, looking off into thenight, cocking an ear to every faintest sound. 

Well, Ferriss was dead, and he, Bennett, was responsible. His friend, the man whom most he loved, was dead. The splendid fight he had made forhis life during that ferocious struggle with the Ice had been all of noeffect. Without a murmur, without one complaint he had borne starvation, the bitter arctic cold, privation beyond words, the torture of the frostthat had gnawed away his hands, the blinding fury of the snow and wind, the unceasing and incredible toil with sledge and pack--all the terriblehardship of an unsuccessful attempt to reach the Pole, only to diemiserably in his bed, alone, abandoned by the man and woman whom, of allpeople of the world, he had most loved and trusted. And he, Bennett, hadbeen to blame. 

Was Ferriss conscious during that last moment? Did he know; would he, sometime, somewhere, know? It could not be said. Forever that mustremain a mystery. And, after all, had Bennett done right in keepingLloyd from the sick-room? Now that all was over, now that the wholefearful tragedy could be judged somewhat calmly and in the light ofreason, the little stealthy doubt began to insinuate itself. 

At first he had turned from it, raging and furious, stamping upon it asupon an intruding reptile. The rough-hewn, simple-natured man, with hisarrogant and vast self-confidence, his blind, unshaken belief in thewisdom of his own decisions, had never in his life before been willingto admit that he could be mistaken, that it was possible for him toresolve upon a false line of action. He had always been right. But now achange had come. A woman had entangled herself in the workings of hisworld, the world that hitherto had been only a world of men for him--andnow he faltered, now he questioned himself, now he scrutinised hismotives, now the simple became complicated, the straight crooked, rightmingled with wrong, bitter with sweet, falseness with truth. 

He who had faith in himself to remove mountains, he who could drive hisfellow-men as a herder drives his sheep, he who had forced the vast gripof the Ice, had, with a battering ram's force, crushed his way throughthose terrible walls, shattered and breached and broken down thebarriers, now in this situation involving a woman--had he failed? Had heweakened? And bigger, stronger, and more persistently doubt intrudeditself into his mind. 

Hitherto Bennett's only salvation from absolute despair had been thefirm consciousness of his own rectitude. In that lay his only comfort, his only hope, his one, strong-built fabric of defence. If that wasundermined, if that was eaten away, what was there left for him?Carefully, painfully, and with such minuteness as he could command, hewent over the whole affair from beginning to end, forcing his unwillingmind--so unaccustomed to such work--to weigh each chance, to gauge eachopportunity. If _this_ were so, if _that_ had been done, then would_such_ results have followed? Suppose he had not interfered, suppose hehad stood aside, would Lloyd have run such danger, after all, and wouldFerriss at this time have been alive, and perhaps recovering? Had he, Bennett, been absolutely mad; had he been blind and deaf to reason; hadhe acted the part of a brute--a purblind, stupid, and unutterablyselfish brute--thinking chiefly of himself, after all, crushing thewoman who was so dear to him, sacrificing the life of the man he loved, blundering in there, besotted and ignorant, acting the bully's part, unnecessarily frightened, cowardly where he imagined himself brave;weak, contemptibly weak, where he imagined himself strong? Might it nothave been avoided if he had been even merely reasonable, as, in likecase, an ordinary man would have been? He, who prided himself upon thepromptness and soundness of his judgment in great crises, had lost hishead and all power of self-control in this greatest crisis of all. 

The doubt came back to him again and again. Trample it, stifle it, dashit from him as he would, each time it returned a little stronger, alittle larger, a little more insistent. Perhaps, after all, he had madea mistake; perhaps, after all, Lloyd ran no great danger; perhaps, afterall, Ferriss might now have been alive. All at once Bennett seemed to besure of this. 

Then it became terrible. Alone there, in the darkness and in the night, Bennett went down into the pit. Abruptly he seemed to come tohimself--to realise what he had done, as if rousing from a nightmare. Remorse, horror, self-reproach, the anguish of bereavement, the infiniteregret of things that never were to be again, the bitterness of avanished love, self-contempt too abject for expression, theheart-breaking grief of the dreadful might-have-been, one by one, heknew them all. One by one, like the slow accumulation of giganticburdens, the consequences of his folly descended upon him, heavier, moreintolerably, more inexorably fixed with every succeeding moment, whilethe light of truth and reason searched every corner of his mind, and hisdoubt grew and hardened into certainty. 

If only Bennett could have believed that, in spite of what had happened, Lloyd yet loved him, he could have found some ray of light in thedarkness wherein he groped, some saving strength to bear the weight ofhis remorse and sorrow. But now, just in proportion as he saw clearerand truer he saw that he must look for no help in that direction. Beingwhat Lloyd was, it was impossible for her, even though she wished it, tolove him now--love the man who had broken her! The thought waspreposterous. He remembered clearly that she had warned him of justthis. No, that, too, the one sweetness of his rugged life, he must putfrom him as well--had already, and of his own accord, put from him. 

How go on? Of what use now was ambition, endeavour, and the striving toattain great ends? The thread of his life was snapped; his friend wasdead, and the love of the one woman of his world. For both he was toblame. Of what avail was it now to continue his work?

Ferriss was dead. Who now would stand at his side when the darknessthickened on ahead and obstacles drew across the path and Death overheadhung poised and menacing?

Lloyd's love for him was dead. Who now to bid him godspeed as hisvessel's prow swung northward and the water whitened in her wake? Whonow to wait behind when the great fight was dared again, to wait behindand watch for his home-coming; and when the mighty hope had beenachieved, the goal of all the centuries attained, who now to send thatfirst and dearest welcome out to him when the returning ship showed overthe horizon's rim, flagged from her decks to her crosstrees in all theroyal blazonry of an immortal triumph?

Now, that triumph was never to be for him. Ambition, too, was dead; someother was to win where now he could but lose, to gain where now he couldbut fail; some other stronger than he, more resolute, more determined. At last Bennett had come to this, he who once had been so imperial inthe consciousness of his power, so arrogant, so uncompromising. Beaten, beaten at last; defeated, daunted, driven from his highest hopes, abandoning his dearest ambitions. And how, and why? Not by the Enemy hehad so often faced and dared, not by any power external to himself; butby his very self's self, crushed by the engine he himself had set inmotion, shattered by the recoil of the very force that for so long haddwelt within himself. Nothing in all the world could have broken him butthat. Danger, however great, could not have cowed him; circumstances, however hopeless, could not have made him despair; obstacles, howevervast, could not have turned him back. Himself was the only Enemy thatcould have conquered; his own power the only one to which he would haveyielded. And fate had so ordered it that this one Enemy of all others, this one power of all others, had turned upon and rent him. The mysteryof it! The terror of it! Why had he never known? How was it he had neverguessed? What was this ruthless monster, this other self, that for solong had slept within his flesh, strong with his better strength, feeding and growing big with that he fancied was the best in him, thattricked him with his noblest emotion--the love of a good woman--luredhim to a moment of weakness, then suddenly, and without warning, leapedat his throat and struck him to the ground?

He had committed one of those offences which the law does not reach, butwhose punishment is greater than any law can inflict. Retribution hadbeen fearfully swift. His career, Ferriss, and Lloyd--ambition, friendship, and the love of a woman--had been a trinity of dominantimpulses in his life. Abruptly, almost in a single instant, he had lostthem all, had thrown them away. He could never get them back. Bennettstarted sharply. What was this on his cheek; what was this that suddenlydimmed his eyes? Had it actually come to this? And this washe--Bennett--the same man who had commanded the Freja expedition. No, itwas not the same man. That man was dead. He ground his teeth, shakenwith the violence of emotions that seemed to be tearing his heart topieces. Lost, lost to him forever! Bennett bowed his head upon hisfolded arms. Through his clenched teeth his words seemed almost wrenchedfrom him, each word an agony. 

"Dick--Dick, old man, you're gone, gone from me, and it was I who didit; and Lloyd, she too--she--God help me!"

Then the tension snapped. The great, massive frame shook with grief fromhead to heel, and the harsh, angular face, with its salient jaw andhard, uncouth lines, was wet with the first tears he had ever known. 

He was roused at length by a sudden movement on the part of the dog. Kamiska had risen to her feet with a low growl, then, as the gate-latchclinked, she threw up her head and gave tongue to the night with all theforce of her lungs. Bennett straightened up, thanking fortune that thenight was dark, and looked about him. A figure was coming up the frontwalk, the gravel crunching under foot. It was the figure of a man. Atthe foot of the steps of the veranda he paused, and as Bennett made amovement turned in his direction and said:

"Is this Dr. Pitts's house?"

Bennett's reply was drowned in the clamour of the dog, but the otherseemed to understand, for he answered:

"I'm looking for Mr. Ferriss--Richard Ferriss, of the Freja; they toldme he was brought here. "

Kamiska stopped her barking, sniffed once or twice at the man's trouserlegs; then, in brusque frenzy of delight, leaped against him, lickinghis hands, dancing about him on two legs, whining and yelping. 

Bennett came forward, and the man changed his position so that the lightfrom the half-open front door shone upon his face. 

"Why, Adler!" exclaimed Bennett; "well, where did you come from?"

"Mr. Bennett!" almost shouted the other, snatching off his cap. "Itain't really you, sir!" His face beamed and radiated a joy little shortof beatitude. The man was actually trembling with happiness. Wordsfailed him, and as with a certain clumsy tenderness he clasped Bennett'shand in both his own his old-time chief saw the tears in his eyes. 

"Oh! Maybe I ain't glad to see you, sir--I thought you had gone away--Ididn't know where--I--I didn't know as I was ever going to see youagain. "

Kamiska herself had been no less tremulously glad to see Adler than wasAdler to see Bennett. He stammered, he confused himself, he shifted hisweight from one foot to the other, his eyes danced, he laughed andchoked, he dropped his cap. His joy was that of a child, unrestrained, unaffected, as genuine as gold. When they turned back to the veranda heeagerly drew up Bennett's chair for him, his eyes never leaving hisface. It was the quivering, inarticulate affection of a dog for itsmaster, faithful, submissive, unquestioning, happy for hours over achance look, a kind word, a touch of the hand. To Adler's mind it wouldhave been a privilege and an honour to have died for Bennett. Why, hewas his chief, his king, his god, his master, who could do no wrong. Bennett could have slain him where he stood and Adler would still havetrusted him. 

Adler would not sit down until Bennett had twice ordered him to do so, and then he deposited himself in a nearby chair, in as uncomfortable aposition as he could devise, allowing only the smallest fraction of hisbody to be supported as a mark of deference. He remained uncovered, andfrom time to time nervously saluted. But suddenly he remembered theobject of his visit. 

"Oh, but I forgot--seeing you like this, unexpected, sir, clean droveMr. Ferriss out of my mind. How is he getting on? I saw in the papers hewas main sick. "

"He's dead, " said Bennett quietly. 

Adler was for the moment stricken speechless. His jaw dropped; hestared, and caught his breath. 

"Mr. Ferriss dead!" he exclaimed at length. "I--I can't believe it. " Hecrossed himself rapidly. Bennett made no reply, and for upward of fiveminutes the two men sat motionless in the chairs, looking off into thenight. After a while Adler broke silence and asked a few questions as toFerriss's sickness and the nature and time of his death--questions whichBennett answered as best he might. But it was evident that Bennett, alive and present there in the flesh, was more to Adler than Ferrissdead. 

"But _you're_ all right, sir, ain't you?" he asked at length. "Thereain't anything the matter with you?"

"No, " said Bennett; looking at him steadily; then suddenly he added:

"Adler, I was to blame for Mr. Ferriss's death. If it hadn't been for mehe would probably have been alive to-night. It was my fault. I did whatI thought was right, when I knew all the time, just as I know now, thatI was wrong. So, when any one asks you about Mr. Ferriss's death you areto tell him just what you know about it--understand? Through a mistake Iwas responsible for his death. I shall not tell you more than that, butthat much you ought to know. "

Adler looked at Bennett curiously and with infinite amazement. The orderof his universe was breaking up about his ears. Bennett, theinscrutable, who performed his wonders in a mystery, impenetrable tocommon eyes, who moved with his head in the clouds, behold! he wasrendering account to him, Adler, the meanest of his subjects--the kingwas condescending to the vassal, was admitting him to his confidence. And what was this thing he was saying, that he was responsible forFerriss's death? Adler did not understand; his wits could not adjustthemselves to such information. Ferriss was dead, but how was Bennett toblame? The king could do no wrong. Adler did not understand. No doubtBennett was referring to something that had happened during the retreatover the ice--something that had to be done, and that in the end, andafter all this lapse of time, had brought about Mr. Ferriss's death. Inany case Bennett had done what was right. For that matter he had beenresponsible for McPherson's death; but what else had there been to do?

Bennett had spoken as he did after a moment's rapid thinking. To Adler'squestions as to the manner of the chief engineer's death Bennett had atfirst given evasive replies. But a sudden sense of shame at beingcompelled to dissemble before a subordinate had lashed him across theface. True, he had made a mistake--a fearful, unspeakable mistake--butat least let him be man enough to face and to accept its consequences. It might not be necessary or even expedient to make acknowledgment ofhis folly in all quarters, but at that moment it seemed to him that hismen--at least one of them--who had been under the command of himself andhis friend, had a right to be told the truth. It had been only onedegree less distasteful to undeceive Adler than it had been to deceivehim in the first place. Bennett was not the general to explain hisactions to his men. But he had not hesitated a moment. 

However, Adler was full of another subject, and soon broke out with:

"You know, sir, there's another expedition forming; I suppose you haveheard--an English one. They call it the Duane-Parsons expedition. Theyare going to try the old route by Smith Sound. They are going to winterat Tasiusak, and try to get through the sound as soon as the ice breaksup in the spring. But Duane's ideas are all wrong. He'll make no veryhigh northing, not above eighty-five. I'll bet a hat. When we go upagain, sir, will you--will you let me--will you take me along? Did Igive satisfaction this last--"

"I'm never going up again, Adler, " answered Bennett. 

"Sho!" said Adler a little blankly. "I thought sure--I never thoughtthat you--why, there ain't no one else but you _can_ do it, captain. "

"Oh, yes, there is, " said Bennett listlessly. "Duane can--if he hasluck. I know him. He's a good man. No, I'm out of it, Adler; I had mychance. It is somebody else's turn now. Do you want to go with Duane? Ican give you letters to him. He'd be glad to have you, I know. "

Adler started from his place. 

"Why, do you think--" he exclaimed vehemently--"do you think I'd go withanybody else but you, sir? Oh, you will be going some of these days, I'msure of it. We--we'll have another try at it, sir, before we die. Weain't beaten yet. "

"Yes, we are, Adler, " returned Bennett, smiling calmly; "we'll stay athome now and write our book. But we'll let some one else reach the Pole. That's not for us--never will be, Adler. "

At the end of their talk some half-hour later Adler stood up, remarking:

"Guess I'd better be standing by if I'm to get the last train back tothe City to-night. They told me at the station that she'd clear aboutmidnight. " Suddenly he began to show signs of uneasiness, turning hiscap about between his fingers, changing his weight from foot to foot. Then at length:

"You wouldn't be wanting a man about the place, would you, sir?" Andbefore Bennett could reply he continued eagerly, "I've been a bit ofmost trades in my time, and I know how to take care of a garden like asyou have here; I'm a main good hand with plants and flower things, and Icould help around generally. " Then, earnestly, "Let me stay, sir--itwon't cost--I wouldn't think of taking a cent from you, captain. Justlet me act as your orderly for a spell, sir. I'd sure give satisfaction;will you, sir--will you?"

"Nonsense, Adler, " returned Bennett; "stay, if you like. I presume I canfind use for you. But you must be paid, of course. "

"Not a soomarkee, " protested the other almost indignantly. 

The next day Adler brought his chest down from the City and took up hisquarters with Bennett at Medford. Though Dr. Pitts had long since ceasedto keep horses, the stable still adjoined the house, and Adler swung hishammock in the coachman's old room. Bennett could not induce him to roomin the house itself. Adler prided himself that he knew his place. Aftertheir first evening's conversation he never spoke to Bennett untilspoken to first, and the resumed relationship of commander andsubordinate was inexpressibly dear to him. It was something to see Adlerwaiting on the table in the "glass-room" in his blue jersey, standing atattention at the door, happy in the mere sight of Bennett at his meals. In the mornings, as soon as breakfast was ready, it was Adler'sprivilege to announce the fact to Bennett, whom he usually found alreadyat work upon his writing. Returning thence to the dining-room, Adlerwaited for his lord to appear. As soon as he heard Bennett's step in thehall a little tremor of excitement possessed him. He ran to Bennett'schair, drawing it back for him, and as soon as Bennett had seatedhimself circled about him with all the pride and solicitude of amotherly hen. He opened his napkin for him, delivered him his paper, andpushed his cup of coffee a half-inch nearer his hand. Throughout theduration of the meal he hardly took his eyes from Bennett's face, watching his every movement with a glow of pride, his hands gentlystroking one another in an excess of satisfaction and silent enjoyment. 

The days passed; soon a fortnight was gone by. Drearily, mechanically, Bennett had begun work upon his book, the narrative of the expedition. It was repugnant to him. Long since he had lost all interest in polarexploration. As he had said to Adler, he was out of it, finally andirrevocably. His bolt was shot; his role upon the stage of the world wasended. He only desired now to be forgotten as quickly as possible, tolapse into mediocrity as easily and quietly as he could. Fame wasnothing to him now. The thundering applause of an entire world that hadonce been his was mere noise, empty and meaningless. He did not care toreawaken it. The appearance of his book he knew was expected and waitedfor in every civilised nation of the globe. It would be printed inlanguages whereof he was ignorant, but it was all one with him now. 

The task of writing was hateful to him beyond expression, but with suchdetermination as he could yet summon to his aid Bennett stuck to it, eight, ten, and sometimes fourteen hours each day. In a way hisnarrative was an atonement. Ferriss was its hero. Almost instinctivelyBennett kept the figure of himself, his own achievements, his own plansand ideas, in the background. On more than one page he deliberatelyascribed to Ferriss triumphs which no one but himself had attained. Itwas Ferriss who was the leader, the victor to whom all laurels were due. It was Ferriss whose example had stimulated the expedition to its bestefforts in the darkest hours; it was, practically, Ferriss who had savedthe party after the destruction of the ship; whose determination, unbroken courage, endurance, and intelligence had pervaded all minds andhearts during the retreat to Kolyuchin Bay. 

"Though nominally in command, " wrote Bennett, "I continually gave placeto him. Without his leadership we should all, unquestionably, haveperished before even reaching land. His resolution to conquer, atwhatever cost, was an inspiration to us all. Where he showed the way wehad to follow; his courage was never daunted, his hope was never dimmed, his foresight, his intelligence, his ingenuity in meeting and dealingwith apparently unsolvable problems were nothing short of marvellous. His was the genius of leadership. He was the explorer, born to hiswork. "

One day, just after luncheon, as Bennett, according to his custom, waswalking in the garden by the house, smoking a cigar before returning tohis work, he was surprised to find himself bleeding at the nose. It wasbut a trifling matter, and passed off in a few moments, but the fact ofits occurrence directed his attention to the state of his health, and hetold himself that for the last few days he had not been at all hisaccustomed self. There had been dull pains in his back and legs; morethan once his head had pained him, and of late the continuance of hiswork had been growing steadily more obnoxious to him, the very physicaleffort of driving the pen from line to line was a burden. 

"Hum!" he said to himself later on in the day, when the bleeding at thenose returned upon him, "I think we need a little quinine. "

But the next day he found he could not eat, and all the afternoon, though he held doggedly to his work, he was troubled with nausea. Attimes a great weakness, a relaxing of all the muscles, came over him. Inthe evening he sent a note to Dr. Pitts's address in the City, askinghim to come down to Medford the next day. 

 * * * * *

On the Monday morning of the following week, some two hours afterbreakfast, Lloyd met Miss Douglass on the stairs, dressed for the streetand carrying her nurse's bag. 

"Are you going out?" she asked of the fever nurse in some astonishment. "Where are you going?" for Lloyd had returned to duty, and it was hername that now stood at the top of the list; "I thought it was my turn togo out, " she added. 

Miss Douglass was evidently much confused. 

Her meeting with Lloyd had apparently been unexpected. She halted uponthe stairs in great embarrassment, stammering:

"No--no, I'm on call. I--I was called out of my turn--speciallycalled--that was it. "

"Were you?" demanded Lloyd sharply, for the other nurse was disturbed toan extraordinary degree. 

"Well, then; no, I wasn't, but the superintendent--Miss Bergyn--shethought--she advised--you had better see her. "

"I will see her, " declared Lloyd, "but don't you go till I find out whyI was skipped. "

Lloyd hurried at once to Miss Bergyn's room, indignant at this slight. Surely, after what had happened, she was entitled to more considerationthan this. Of all the staff in the house she should have been the one tobe preferred. 

Miss Bergyn rose at Lloyd's sudden entrance into her room, and to herquestion responded:

"It was only because I wanted to spare you further trouble and--andembarrassment, Lloyd, that I told Miss Douglass to take your place. Thiscall is from Medford. Dr. Pitts was here himself this morning, and hethought as I did. "

"Thought what? I don't understand. "

"It seemed to me, " answered the superintendent nurse, "that this onecase of all others would be the hardest, the most disagreeable for youto take. It seems that Mr. Bennett has leased Dr. Pitts's house fromhim. He is there now. At the time when Mr. Ferriss was beginning to beill Mr. Bennett was with him a great deal and undertook to nurse himtill Dr. Pitts interfered and put a professional nurse on the case. Since then, too, the doctor has found out that Mr. Bennett has exposedhimself imprudently. At any rate, in some way he has contracted the samedisease and is rather seriously ill with it. Dr. Pitts wants us to sendhim a nurse at once. It just happened that it was your turn, and Ithought I had better skip your name and send Louise Douglass. "

Lloyd sank into a chair, her hands falling limply in her lap. A frown ofperplexity gathered on her forehead. But suddenly she exclaimed:

"I know--that's all as it may be; but all the staff know that it is myturn to go; everybody in the house knows who is on call. How will itbe--what will be thought when it is known that I haven't gone--andafter--after my failing once--after this--this other affair? No, I mustgo. I, of all people, must go--and just because it is a typhoid case, like the other. "

"But, Lloyd, how _can_ you?"

True, how could she? Her patient would be the same man who hadhumiliated her and broken her, had so cruelly misunderstood and wrongedher, for whom all her love was dead. How could she face him again? Yethow refuse to take the case? How explain a second failure to hercompanions? Lloyd made a little movement of distress, clasping her handstogether. How the complications followed fast upon each other! No soonerwas one difficult situation met and disposed of than another presenteditself. Bennett was nothing to her now, yet, for all that, she recoiledinstinctively from meeting him again. Not only must she meet him, butshe must be with him day after day, hour after hour, at his very side, in all the intimacy that the sick-room involved. On the other hand, howcould she decline this case? The staff might condone one apparent andinexplicable defection; another would certainly not be overlooked. Butwas not this new situation a happy and unlooked-for opportunity tovindicate her impaired prestige in the eyes of her companions? Lloydmade up her mind upon the instant. She rose. 

"I shall take the case, " she said. 

She was not a little surprised at herself. Hardly an instant had shehesitated. On that other occasion when she had believed it right to makeconfession to her associates it had been hard--at times almostimpossible--for her to do her duty as she saw and understood it. Thisnew complication was scarcely less difficult, but once having attainedthe fine, moral rigour that had carried her through her former ordeal, it became easy now to do right under all or any circumstances, howeveradverse. If she had failed then, she certainly would have failed now. That she had succeeded then made it all the easier to succeed now. DimlyLloyd commenced to understand that the mastery of self, the steady, firmcontrol of natural, intuitive impulses, selfish because natural, was aprogression. Each victory not only gained the immediate end in view, butbraced the mind and increased the force of will for the next shock, thenext struggle. She had imagined and had told herself that Bennett hadbroken her strength for good. But was it really so? Had not defeat inthat case been only temporary? Was she not slowly getting back herstrength by an unflinching adherence to the simple, fundamentalprinciples of right, and duty, and truth? Was not the struggle withone's self the greatest fight of all, greater, far greater, than hadbeen the conflict between Bennett's will and her own?

Within the hour she found herself once again on her way to Medford. Howmuch had happened, through what changes had she passed since theoccasion of her first journey; and Bennett, how he, too, changed; howdifferent he had come to stand in her estimation! Once the thought thathe was in danger had been a constant terror to her, and haunted her daysand lurked at her side through many a waking night. Was it possible thatnow his life or death was no more to her than that of any of her formerpatients? She could not say; she avoided answering the question. Certainly her heart beat no faster at this moment to know that he was inthe grip of a perilous disease. She told herself that her Bennett wasdead already; that she was coming back to Medford not to care for andwatch over the individual, but to combat the disease. 

When she arrived at the doctor's house in Medford, a strange-looking manopened the door for her, and asked immediately if she was the nurse. 

"Yes, " said Lloyd, "I am. Is Dr. Pitts here?"

"Upstairs in his room, " answered the other in a whisper, closing thefront door with infinite softness. "He won't let me go in, the doctorwon't; I--I ain't seen him in four days. Ask the doctor if I can't justhave a blink at him--just a little blink through the crack of the door. Just think, Miss, I ain't seen him in four days! Just think of that! Andlook here, they ain't giving him enough to eat--nothing but milk andchicken soup with rice in it. He never did like rice; that's no kind ofrations for a sick man. I fixed him up a bit of duff yesterday, what heused to like so much aboard ship, and Pitts wouldn't let him have it. Heregularly laughed in my face. "

Lloyd sent word to the doctor by the housekeeper that she had arrived, and on going up found Pitts waiting for her at the door of thesick-room, not that which had been occupied by Ferriss, but another--theguest-chamber of the house, situated toward the rear of the building. 

"Why, I expected Miss Douglass!" exclaimed the doctor in a low voice assoon as his eye fell upon Lloyd. "Any one of them but you!"

"I had to come, " Lloyd answered quietly, flushing hotly for all that. "It was my turn, and it was not right for me to stay away. "

The doctor hesitated an instant, and then dismissed the subject, puttinghis chin in the air as if to say that, after all, it was not his affair. 

"Well, " he said, "it's queer to see how things will tangle themselvessometimes. I don't know whether he took this thing from Ferriss or not. Both of them were exposed to the same conditions when their expeditionwent to pieces and they were taken off by the whaling ships--bad water, weakened constitution, not much power of resistance; in prime conditionfor the bacillus, and the same cause might have produced the sameeffect; at any rate, he's in a bad way. "

"Is he--very bad?" asked Lloyd. 

"Well, he's not the hang-on sort that Mr. Ferriss was; nothing undecidedabout Captain Ward Bennett; when he's sick, he's sick; rushes right atit like a blind bull. He's as bad now as Mr. Ferriss was in his thirdweek. "

"Do you think he will recognise me?"

The doctor shook his head. "No; delirious most of the time--ofcourse--regulation thing. If we don't keep the fever down he'll go outsure. That's the danger in his case. Look at him yourself; here he is. The devil! The animal is sitting up again. "

As Lloyd entered the room she saw Bennett sitting bolt upright in hisbed, staring straight before him, his small eyes, with their deformingcast, open to their fullest extent, the fingers of his shrunken, bonyhands dancing nervously on the coverlet. A week's growth of stubbleblackened the lower part of his face. Without a moment's pause hemumbled and muttered with astonishing rapidity, but for the most partthe words were undistinguishable. It was, indeed, not the same Bennett, Lloyd had last seen. The great body was collapsed upon itself; the skinof the face was like dry, brown parchment, and behind it the big, massive bones stood out in great knobs and ridges. It needed but aglance to know that here was a man dangerously near to his death. WhileLloyd was removing her hat and preparing herself for her work the doctorgot Bennett upon his back again and replenished the ice-pack about hishead. 

"Not much strength left in our friend now, " he murmured. 

"How long has he been like this?" asked Lloyd as she arranged thecontents of her nurse's bag on a table near the window. 

"Pretty close to eight hours now. He was conscious yesterday morning, however, for a little while, and wanted to know what his chances were. "

They were neither good nor many; the strength once so formidable wasebbing away like a refluent tide, and that with ominous swiftness. Stimulate the life as the doctor would, strive against the enemy'sadvance as Lloyd might, Bennett continued to sink. 

"The devil of it is, " muttered the doctor, "that he don't seem to care. He had as soon give up as not. It's hard to save a patient that don'twant to save himself. If he'd fight for his life as he did in thearctic, we could pull him through yet. Otherwise--" he shrugged hisshoulders almost helplessly. 

The next night toward nine o'clock Lloyd took the doctor's place attheir patient's bedside, and Pitts, without taking off his clothes, stretched himself out upon the sofa in one of the rooms on the lowerfloor of the house, with the understanding that the nurse was to callhim in case of any change. 

But as the doctor was groping his way down the darkened stairway hestumbled against Adler and Kamiska. Adler was sitting on one of thesteps, and the dog was on her haunches close at his side; the two werehuddled together there in the dark, broad awake, shoulder to shoulder, waiting, watching, and listening for the faint sounds that came at longintervals from the direction of the room where Bennett lay. 

As the physician passed him Adler stood up and saluted:

"Is he doing any better now, sir?" he whispered. 

"Nothing new, " returned the other brusquely. "He may get well in threeweeks' time or he may die before midnight; so there you are. You know asmuch about it as I do. Damn that dog!"

He trod upon Kamiska, who forbore heroically to yelp, and went on hisway. Adler resumed his place on the stairs, sitting down gingerly, sothat the boards should not creak under his weight. He took Kamiska'shead between his hands and rocked himself gently to and fro. 

"What are we going to do, little dog?" he whispered. "What are we goingto do if--if our captain should--if he shouldn't--" he had no words tofinish. Kamiska took her place again by his side, and the two resumedtheir vigil. 

Meanwhile, not fifty feet away, a low voice, monotonous and rapid, waskeeping up a continuous, murmuring flow of words. 

"That's well your number two sledge. All hands on the McClintocknow. You've got to do it, men. Forward, get forward, get forward;get on to the south, always to the south--south, south, south!. .. There, there's the ice again. That's the biggest ridge yet. At itnow! Smash through; I'll break you yet; believe me, I will! There, we broke it! I knew you could, men. I'll pull you through. Now, then, h'up your other sledge. Forward! There will be double rationsto-night all round--no--half-rations, quarter-rations. .. . No, three-fifths of an ounce of dog-meat and a spoonful of alcohol--that'sall; that's all, men. Pretty cold night, this--minus thirty-eight. Only a quarter of a mile covered to-day. Everybody suffering in theirfeet, and so weak--and starving--and freezing. " All at once the voicebecame a wail. "My God! is it never going to end?. .. Sh--h, steady, what was that? Who whimpered? Was that Ward Bennett? No whimpering, whatever comes. Stick it out like men, anyway. Fight it out till wedrop, but no whimpering. .. . Who said there were steam whalers offthe floe? That's a lie! Forward, forward, get forward to thesouth--no, not the south; to the _north_, to the north! We'll reachit, we'll succeed; we're most there, men; come on, come on! I tellyou this time we'll reach it; one more effort, men! We're mostthere! What's the latitude? Eighty-five-twenty--eighty-six. " Thevoice began to grow louder: "Come on, men; we're most there!Eighty-seven--eighty-eight--eighty-nine-twenty-five!" He rose to asitting position. "Eighty-nine-thirty--eighty-nine-forty-five. " Suddenlythe voice rose to a shout. "Ninety degrees! _By God, it's the Pole!_"

The voice died away to indistinct mutterings. 

Lloyd was at the bedside by now, and quietly pressed Bennett down uponhis back. But as she did so a thrill of infinite pity and compassionquivered through her. She had forced him down so easily. He was sopitifully weak. Woman though she was, she could, with one small handupon his breast, control this man who at one time had been of suchcolossal strength--such vast physical force. 

Suddenly Bennett began again. "Where's Ferriss? Where's Richard Ferriss?Where's the chief engineer of the Freja Arctic Exploring Expedition?"

He fell silent again, and but for the twitching, dancing hands, layquiet. Then he cried:

"Attention to the roll-call!"

Rapidly and in a low voice he began calling off the muster of theFreja's men and officers, giving the answers himself. 

"Adler--here; Blair--here; Dahl--here; Fishbaugh--here; Hawes--here;McPherson--here; Muck Tu--here; Woodward--here; Captain WardBennett--here; Dr. Sheridan Dennison--here; Chief Engineer RichardFerriss--" no answer. Bennett waited for a moment, then repeated thename, "Chief Engineer Richard Ferriss--" Again he was silent; but aftera few seconds he called aloud in agony of anxiety, "Chief EngineerRichard Ferriss, answer to the roll-call!"

Then once more he began; his disordered wits calling to mind a differentorder of things:

"Adler--here; Blair--died from exhaustion at Point Kane; Dahl--here;Fishbaugh--starved to death on the march to Kolyuchin Bay; Hawes--diedof arctic fever at Cape Kammeni; McPherson--unable to keep up, andabandoned at ninth camp; Muck Tu--here; Woodward--died from starvationat twelfth camp; Dr. Sheridan Dennison--frozen to death at KolyuchinBay; Chief Engineer Richard Ferriss--died by the act of his best friend, Captain Ward Bennett!" Again and again Bennett repeated this phrase, calling: "Richard Ferriss! Richard Ferriss!" and immediately adding in abroken voice: "Died by the act of his best friend, Captain WardBennett. " Or at times it was only the absence of Ferriss that seemed totorture him. He would call the roll, answering "here" to each name untilhe reached Ferriss; then he would not respond, but instead would cryaloud over and over again, in accents of the bitterest grief, "RichardFerriss, answer to the roll-call; Richard Ferriss, answer to theroll-call--" Then suddenly, with a feeble, quavering cry, "For God'ssake, Dick, answer to the roll-call!"

The hours passed. Ten o'clock struck, then eleven. At midnight Lloydtook the temperature (which had decreased considerably) and the pulse, and refilled the ice-pack about the head. Bennett was still muttering inthe throes of delirium, still calling for Ferriss, imploring him toanswer to the roll-call; or repeating the words: "Dick Ferriss, chiefengineer--died at the hands of his best friend, Ward Bennett, " in tonesso pitiful, so heart-broken that more than once Lloyd felt the tearsrunning down her cheeks. 

"Richard Ferriss, Richard Ferriss, answer to the roll-call; Dick, oldman, won't you answer, won't you answer, old chap, when I call you?Won't you come back and say 'It's all right?' Ferriss, Ferriss, answerto my roll-call. . .. Died at the hands of his best friend. . .. AtKolyuchin Bay. . .. Killed, and I did it. . .. Forward, men; you've got todo it; snowing to-day and all the ice in motion. . .. H'up y'r othersledge. Come on with y'r number four; more pressure-ridges, I'll breakyou yet! Come on with y'r number four! . .. Lloyd Searight, what are youdoing in this room?"

On the instant the voice had changed from confused mutterings todistinct, clear-cut words. The transition was so sudden that Lloyd, atthe moment busy at her nurse's bag, her back to the bed, wheeled sharplyabout to find Bennett sitting bolt upright, looking straight at her withintelligent, wide-open eyes. Lloyd's heart for an instant stood still, almost in terror. This sudden leap back from the darkness of deliriuminto the daylight of consciousness was almost like a rising from thedead, ghost-like, appalling. She caught her breath, trembling in spiteof her best efforts, and for an instant leaned a hand upon the tablebehind her. 

But on Bennett's face, ghastly, ravaged by disease, with its vast, protruding jaw, its narrow contracted forehead and unkempt growth ofbeard, the dawning of intelligence and surprise swiftly gave place to anexpression of terrible anxiety and apprehension. 

"What are you doing here, Lloyd?" he cried. 

"Hush!" she answered quickly as she came forward; "above all things youmust not sit up; lie down again and don't talk. You are very sick. "

"I know, I know, " he answered feebly. "I know what it is. But you mustleave here. It's a terrible risk every moment you stay in this room. Iwant you to go. You understand--at once! Call the doctor. Don't comenear the bed, " he went on excitedly, struggling to keep himself fromsinking back upon the pillows. His breath was coming quick; his eyeswere flashing. All the poor, shattered senses were aroused and quiveringwith excitement and dread. 

"It will kill you to stay here, " he continued, almost breathless. "Outof this room!" he commanded. "Out of this house! It is mine now; I'm themaster here--do you understand? Don't!" he exclaimed as Lloyd put herhands upon his shoulders to force him to lie down again. 

"Don't, don't touch me! Stand away from me!"

He tried to draw back from her in the bed. Then suddenly he made a greateffort to rise, resisting her efforts. 

"I shall put you out, then, " he declared, struggling against Lloyd'sclasp upon his shoulders, catching at her wrists. His excitement was sointense, his fervour so great that it could almost be said he touchedthe edge of his delirium again. 

"Do you hear, do you hear? Out of this room!"

"No, " said Lloyd calmly; "you must be quiet; you must try to go tosleep. This time you cannot make me leave. "

He caught her by one arm, and, bracing himself with the other againstthe headboard of the bed, thrust her back from him with all his might. 

"Keep away from me, I tell you; keep back! You shall do as I say! I havealways carried my point, and I shall not fail now. Believe me, I shallnot. You--you--" he panted as he struggled with her, ashamed of hisweakness, humiliated beyond words that she should know it. "I--youshall--you will compel me to use force. Don't let it come to that. "

Calmly Lloyd took both his wrists in the strong, quiet clasp of onepalm, and while she supported his shoulders with her other arm, laid himdown among the pillows again as though he had been a child. 

"I'm--I'm a bit weak and trembly just now, " he admitted, panting withhis exertion; "but, Lloyd, listen. I know how you must dislike me now, but will you please go--go, go at once!"

"No. "

What a strange spinning of the wheel of fate was here! In so short atime had their mutual positions been reversed. Now it was she who wasstrong and he who was weak. It was she who conquered and he who wassubdued. It was she who triumphed and he who was humiliated. It was hewho implored and she who denied. It was her will and no longer his thatmust issue victorious from the struggle. 

And how complete now was Bennett's defeat! The very contingency he hadfought so desperately to avert and for which he had sacrificedFerriss--Lloyd's care of so perilous a disease--behold! the mysteriousturn of the wheel had brought it about, and now he was powerless toresist. 

"Oh!" he cried, "have I not enough upon my mind already--Ferriss and hisdeath? Are you going to make me imperil your life too, and after I havetried so hard? You must not stay here. "

"I shall stay, " she answered. 

"I order you to go. This is my house. Send the doctor here. Where'sAdler?" Suddenly he fainted. 

An hour or two later, in the gray of the morning, at a time when Bennettwas sleeping quietly under the influence of opiates, Lloyd found herselfsitting at the window in front of the small table there, her headresting on her hand, thoughtful, absorbed, and watching with buthalf-seeing eyes the dawn growing pink over the tops of the apple-treesin the orchard near by. 

The window was open just wide enough for the proper ventilation of theroom. For a long time she sat thus without moving, only from time totime smoothing back the heavy, bronze-red hair from her temples andears. By degrees the thinking faculties of her brain, as it were, amyriad of delicate interlacing wheels, slowly decreased in the rapidityand intensity of their functions. She began to feel instead of to think. As the activity of her mind lapsed to a certain pleasant numbness, avague, formless, nameless emotion seemed to be welling to the surface. It was no longer a question of the brain. What then? Was it the heart?She gave no name to this new emotion; it was too confused as yet, tooundefinable. A certain great sweetness seemed to be coming upon her, butshe could not say whether she was infinitely sad or supremely happy; asmile was on her lips, and yet the tears began to brim in her dull-blueeyes. 

She felt as if some long, fierce struggle, or series of struggles, wereat last accomplished; as if for a long period of time she had beeninvolved in the maze and tortuous passages of some gloomy cavern, but atlength, thence issuing, had again beheld the stars. A great tenderness, a certain tremulous joy in all things that were true and good and right, grew big and strong within her; the delight in living returned to her. The dawn was brightening and flushing over all the world, and colour, light, and warmth were coming back into her life. The night had beenstill and mild, but now the first breath of the morning breeze stirredin the trees, in the grass, in the flowers, and the thick, dew-drenchedbushes along the roadside, and a delicious aroma of fields and woods andgardens came to her. The sweetness of life and the sweetness of thosethings better than life and more enduring, the things that do not fail, nor cease, nor vanish away, suddenly entered into that room anddescended upon her almost in the sense of a benediction, a visitation, something mystic and miraculous. It was a moment to hope all things, tobelieve all things, to endure all things. 

She caught her breath, listening--for what she did not know. Once again, just as it had been in that other dawn, in that other room where theEnemy had been conquered, the sense of some great happiness was in theair, was coming to her swiftly. But now the greater Enemy had beenoutfought, the morning of a greater day was breaking and spreading, andthe greatest happiness in the world was preparing for her. How it hadhappened she did not know. Now was not the moment to think, to reason, to reflect. It seemed as though the rushing of wings was all about her, as though a light brighter than the day was just about to break upon hersight, as though a music divinely beautiful was just about to burst uponher ear. But the light was not for her eye; the music was not for herear. The radiance and the harmony came from herself, from within her. The intellect was numb. Only the heart was alive on this wonderfulmidsummer's morning, and it was in her heart that the radiance shone andthe harmony vibrated. Back in his place once more, high on his throne, the love that she believed had forever departed from her sat exalted andtriumphant, singing to the cadence of that unheard music, shining andmagnificent in the glory of that new-dawned light. 

Would Bennett live? Suddenly that question leaped up in her mind andstood in the eye of her imagination, terrible, menacing--a hideous, grimspectre, before which Lloyd quailed with failing heart and breath. Thelight, the almost divine radiance that had burst upon her, neverthelessthrew a dreadful shadow before it. Beneath the music she heard the growlof the thunder. Her new-found happiness was not without its accompanyingdismay. Love had not returned to her heart alone. With it had returnedthe old Enemy she had once believed had left her forever. Now it hadcome back. As before, it lurked and leered at her from dark corners. Itcrept to her side, to her back, ready to leap, ready to strike, toclutch at her throat with cold fingers and bear her to the earth, rending her heart with a grief she told herself she could not endure andlive. She loved him now with all her mind and might; how could it everhave been otherwise? He belonged to her--and she? Why, she only livedwith his life; she seemed so bound to him as to be part of his veryself. Literally, she could not understand how it would be possible forher to live if he should die. It seemed to her that with his death somemysterious element of her life, something vital and fundamental, forwhich there was no name, would disintegrate upon the instant and leaveher without the strength necessary for further existence. But thiswould, however, be a relief. The prospect of the years after his death, the fearful loneliness of life without him, was a horror before whichshe veritably believed her reason itself must collapse. 

"Lloyd. "

Bennett was awake again and watching her with feverish anxiety fromwhere he lay among the pillows. "Lloyd, " he repeated, the voice once sodeep and powerful quavering pitifully. "I was wrong. I don't want you togo. Don't leave me. "

In an instant Lloyd was at his side, kneeling by the bed. She caught oneof the great, gnarled hands, seamed and corded and burning with thefever. "Never, never, dearest; never so long as I shall live. "

IX. 

When Adler heard Bennett's uncertain steps upon the stairs and the soundof Lloyd's voice speaking to him and urging that there was no hurry, andthat he was to take but one step at a time, he wheeled swiftly aboutfrom the windows of the glass-room, where he had been watching theOctober breeze stirring the crimson and yellow leaves in the orchard, and drew back his master's chair from the breakfast table and stoodbehind it expectantly, his eyes watching the door. 

Lloyd held back the door, and Bennett came in, leaning heavily on Dr. Pitts's shoulder. Adler stiffened upon the instant as if in answer tosome unheard bugle-call, and when Bennett had taken his seat, pushed hischair gently to the table and unfolded his napkin with a flourish asthough giving a banner to the wind. Pitts almost immediately left theroom, but Lloyd remained supervising Bennett's breakfast, pouring hismilk, buttering his toast, and opening his eggs. 

"Coffee?" suddenly inquired Bennett. Lloyd shook her head. 

"Not for another week. "

Bennett looked with grim disfavour upon the glass of milk that Lloyd hadplaced at his elbow. 

"Such slop!" he growled. "Why not a little sugar and warm water, and bedone with it? Lloyd, I can't drink this stuff any more. Why, it's warmyet!" he exclaimed aggrievedly and with deep disgust, abruptly settingdown the glass. 

"Why, of course it is, " she answered; "we brought the cow hereespecially for you, and the boy has just done milking her--and it's notslop. "

"Slop! slop!" declared Bennett. He picked up the glass again and lookedat her over the rim. 

"I'll drink this stuff this one more time to please you, " he said. "ButI promise you this will be the last time. You needn't ask me again. Ihave drunk enough milk the past three weeks to support a foundlinghospital for a year. "

Invariably, since the period of his convalescence began, Bennett madethis scene over his hourly glass of milk, and invariably it ended by hisgulping it down at nearly a single swallow. 

Adler brought in the mail and the morning paper. Three letters had comefor Lloyd, and for Bennett a small volume on "Recent Arctic Research andExploration, " sent by his publisher with a note to the effect that, asthe latest authority on the subject, Bennett was sure to find it ofgreat interest. In an appendix, inserted after the body of the book hadbeen made up, the Freja expedition and his own work were brieflydescribed. Lloyd put her letters aside, and, unfolding the paper, said, "I'll read it while you eat your breakfast. Have you everything youwant? Did you drink your milk--all of it?" But out of the corner of hereye she noted that Adler was chuckling behind the tray that he held tohis face, and with growing suspicion she leaned forward and peered aboutamong the breakfast things. Bennett had hidden his glass behind thetoast-rack. 

"And it's only two-thirds empty, " she declared. "Ward, why will you besuch a boy?"

"Oh, well, " he grumbled, and without more ado drank off the balance. 

"Now I'll read to you if you have everything you want. Adler, I thinkyou can open one of those windows; it's so warm out of doors. "

While he ate his breakfast of toast, milk, and eggs Lloyd skimmedthrough the paper, reading aloud everything she thought would be ofinterest to him. Then, after a moment, her eye was caught and held by ahalf-column article expanded from an Associated Press despatch. 

"Oh!" she cried, "listen to this!" and continued: "'Word has beenreceived at this place of the safe arrival of the arctic steamshipCurlew at Tasiusak, on the Greenland coast, bearing eighteen members ofthe Duane-Parsons expedition. Captain Duane reports all well and anuneventful voyage. It is his intention to pass the winter at Tasiusak, collecting dogs and also Esquimau sledges, which he believes superior toEuropean manufacture for work in rubble-ice, and to push on with theCurlew in the spring as soon as Smith Sound shall be navigable. This maybe later than Captain Duane supposes, as the whalers who have beenworking in the sound during the past months bring back news of anunusually early winter and extraordinary quantities of pack-ice both inthe sound itself and in Kane Basin. This means a proportionately lateopen season next year, and the Curlew's departure from Tasiusak may beconsiderably later than anticipated. It is considered by the best arcticexperts an unfortunate circumstance that Captain Duane elected to wintersouth of Cape Sabine, as the condition of the ice in Smith Sound cannever be relied upon nor foretold. Should the entrance to the soundstill be encumbered with ice as late as July, which is by no meansimpossible, Captain Duane will be obliged to spend another winter atTasiusak or Upernvick, consuming alike his store of provisions and thepatience of his men. '"

There was a silence when Lloyd finished reading. Bennett chipped at theend of his second egg. 

"Well?" she said at length. 

"Well, " returned Bennett, "what's all that to me?"

"It's your work, " she answered almost vehemently. 

"No, indeed. It's Duane's work. "

"What do you mean?"

"Let him try now. "

"And you?" exclaimed Lloyd, looking intently at him. 

"My dear girl, I had my chance and failed. Now--" he raised a shoulderindifferently--"now, I don't care much about it. I've lost interest. "

"I don't believe you, " she cried energetically; "you of all men. " BehindBennett's chair she had a momentary glimpse of Adler, who had tucked histray under his arm and was silently applauding in elaborate pantomime. She saw his lips form the words "That's it; that's right. Go rightahead. "

"Besides, I have my book to do, and, besides that, I'm an invalid--aninvalid who drinks slop. "

"And you intend to give it all up--your career?"

"Well--if I should, what then?" Suddenly he turned to her abruptly. "Ishould not think _you_ would want me to go again. Do _you_ urge me togo?"

Lloyd made a sudden little gasp, and her hand involuntarily closed uponhis as it rested near her on the table. 

"Oh, no!" she cried. "Oh, no, I don't! You are right. It's not your worknow. "

"Well, then, " muttered Bennett as though the question was foreversettled. 

Lloyd turned to her mail, and one after another slit the envelopes, woman fashion, with a shell hairpin. But while she was glancing over thecontents of her letters Bennett began to stir uneasily in his place. From time to time he stopped eating and shot a glance at Lloyd fromunder his frown, noting the crisp, white texture of her gown and waist, the white scarf with its high, tight bands about the neck, the tiny, golden buttons in her cuffs, the sombre, ruddy glow of her cheeks, herdull-blue eyes, and the piles and coils of her bronze-red hair. Then, abruptly, he said:

"Adler, you can go. "

Adler saluted and withdrew. 

"Whom are your letters from?" Bennett demanded by way of a beginning. 

Lloyd replaced the hairpin in her hair, answering:

"From Dr. Street, from Louise Douglass, and from--Mr. Campbell. "

"Hum! well, what do they say? Dr. Street and--Louise Douglass?"

"Dr. Street asks me to take a very important surgical case as soon as Iget through here, 'one of the most important and delicate, as well asone of the most interesting, operations in his professional experience. 'Those are his words. Louise writes four pages, but she says nothing;just chatters. "

"And Campbell?" Bennett indicated with his chin the third rathervoluminous letter at Lloyd's elbow. "He seems to have written rathermore than four pages. What does he say? Does he 'chatter' too?"

Lloyd smoothed back her hair from one temple. 

"H'm--no. He says--something. But never mind what he says. Ward, I mustbe going back to the City. You don't need a nurse any more. "

"What's that?" Bennett's frown gathered on the instant, and with a sharpmovement of the head that was habitual to him he brought his one goodeye to bear upon her. 

Lloyd repeated her statement, answering his remonstrance andexpostulation with:

"You are almost perfectly well, and it would not be at all--discreet forme to stay here an hour longer than absolutely necessary. I shall goback to-morrow or next day. "

"But, I tell you, I am still very sick. I'm a poor, miserable, shatteredwreck. "

He made a great show of coughing in hollow, lamentable tones. 

"Listen to that, and last night I had a high fever, and this morning Ihad a queer sort of pain about here--" he vaguely indicated the regionof his chest. "I think I am about to have a relapse. "

"Nonsense! You can't frighten me at all. "

"Oh, well, " he answered easily, "I shall go with you--that is all. Isuppose you want to see me venture out in such raw, bleak weather asthis--with my weak lungs. "

"Your weak lungs? How long since?"

"Well, I--I've sometimes thought my lungs were not very strong. "

"Why, dear me, you poor thing; I suppose the climate at Kolyuchin Bay_was_ a trifle too bracing--"

"What does Campbell say?"

"--and the diet too rich for your blood--"

"What does Campbell say?"

"--and perhaps you did overexert--"

"Lloyd Searight, what does Mr. Campbell say in that--"

"He asks me to marry him. "

"To mum--mar--marry him? Well, damn his impudence!"

"Mr. Campbell is an eminently respectable and worthy gentleman. "

"Oh, well, I don't care. Go! Go, marry Mr. Campbell. Be happy. I forgiveyou both. Go, leave me to die alone. "

"Sir, I will go. Forget that you ever knew an unhappy wom--female, whoseonly fault was that she loved you. "

"Go! and sometimes think of me far away on the billow and drop a silenttear--I say, how are you going to answer Campbell's letter?"

"Just one word--'_Come_. '"

"Lloyd, be serious. This is no joke. "

"Joke!" she repeated hollowly. "It is, indeed, a sorry joke. Ah! had Ibut loved with a girlish love, it would have been better for me. "

Then suddenly she caught him about the neck with both her arms, andkissed him on the cheek and on the lips, a little quiver running throughher to her finger-tips, her mood changing abruptly to a deep, sweetearnestness. 

"Oh, Ward, Ward!" she cried, "all our unhappiness and all our sorrow andtrials and anxiety and cruel suspense are over now, and now we reallyhave each other and love each other, dear, and all the years to come areonly going to bring happiness to us, and draw us closer and nearer toeach other. "

"But here's a point, Lloyd, " said Bennett after a few moments and whenthey had returned to coherent speech; "how about your work? You talkabout my career; what about yours? We are to be married, but I know justhow you have loved your work. It will be a hard wrench for you if yougive that up. I am not sure that I should ask it of you. This letter ofStreet's, now. I know just how eager you must be to take charge of suchoperations--such important cases as he mentions. It would be veryselfish of me to ask you to give up your work. It's your life-work, yourprofession, your career. "

Lloyd took up Dr. Street's letter, and, holding it delicately at arm'slength, tore it in two and let the pieces flutter to the floor. 

"That, for my life-work, " said Lloyd Searight. 

As she drew back from him an instant later Bennett all at once and veryearnestly demanded:

"Lloyd, do you love me?"

"With all my heart, Ward. "

"And you will be my wife?"

"You know that I will. "

"Then"--Bennett picked up the little volume of "Arctic Research" whichhe had received that morning, and tossed it from him upon thefloor--"that, for my career, " he answered. 

For a moment they were silent, looking gladly into each other's eyes. Then Bennett drew her to him again and held her close to him, and oncemore she put her arms around his neck and nestled her head down upon hisshoulder with a little comfortable sigh of contentment and relief andquiet joy, for that the long, fierce trial was over; that there were nomore fights to be fought, no more grim, hard situations to face, no morerelentless duties to be done. She had endured and she had prevailed; nowher reward was come. Now for the long, calm years of happiness. 

Later in the day, about an hour after noon, Bennett took his daily nap, carefully wrapped in shawls and stretched out in a wicker steamer-chairin the glass-room. Lloyd, in the meantime, was busy in the garden at theside of the house, gathering flowers which she intended to put in a hugechina bowl in Bennett's room. While she was thus occupied Adler, followed by Kamiska, came up. Adler pulled off his cap. 

"I beg pardon, Miss, " he began, turning his cap about between hisfingers. "I don't want to seem to intrude, and if I do I just guessyou'd better tell me so first off. But what did he say--or did he sayanything--the captain, I mean--this morning about going up again? Iheard you talking to him at breakfast. That's it, that's the kind oftalk he needs. I can't talk that talk to him. I'm so main scared of him. I wouldn't 'a' believed the captain would ever say he'd give up, wouldever say he was beaten. But, Miss, I'm thinking as there's somethingwrong, main wrong with the captain these days besides fever. He'sgetting soft--that's what he is. If you'd only know the man that hewas--before--while we was up there in the Ice! That's his work, that'swhat he's cut out for. There ain't nobody can do it but him, and to seehim quit, to see him chuck up his chance to a third-rate ice-pilot likeDuane--a coastwise college professor that don't know no more about Icethan--than you do--it regularly makes me sick. Why, what will become ofthe captain now if he quits? He'll just settle down to an ordinarystay-at-home, write-in-a-book professor, and write articles for thepapers and magazines, and bye-and-bye, maybe, he'll get down tolecturing! Just fancy, Miss, him, the captain, lecturing! And while hestays at home and writes, and--oh, Lord!--lectures, somebody else, without a fifth of his ability, will do the _work_. It'll just naturallybreak my heart, it will!" exclaimed Adler, "if the captain chucks. Iwouldn't be so main sorry that he won't reach the Pole as that he quittrying--as that a man like the captain--or like what I thought hewas--gave up and chucked when he could win. "

"But, Adler, " returned Lloyd, "the captain--Mr. Bennett, it seems to me, has done his share. Think what he's been through. You can't haveforgotten the march to Kolyuchin Bay?"

But Adler made an impatient gesture with the hand that held the cap. "The danger don't figure; what he'd have to go through with don'tfigure; the chances of life or death don't figure; nothing in the worlddon't figure. _It's his work_; God A'mighty cut him out for that, andhe's got to do it. Ain't you got any influence with him, Miss? Won't youtalk good talk to him? Don't let him chuck; don't let him get soft. Makehim be a Man and not a professor. "

When Adler had left her Lloyd sank into a little seat at the edge of thegarden walk, and let the flowers drop into her lap, and leaned back inher place, wide-eyed and thoughtful, reviewing in her imagination theevents of the past few months. What a change that summer had brought toboth of them; how they had been shaped anew in the mould ofcircumstance!

Suddenly and without warning, they two, high-spirited, strong, determined, had clashed together, the man's force against the woman'sstrength; and the woman, inherently weaker, had been crushed andhumbled. For a time it seemed to her that she had been broken beyondhope; so humbled that she could never rise again; as though a greatcrisis had developed in her life, and that, having failed once, she mustfail again, and again, and again--as if her whole subsequent life mustbe one long failure. But a greater crisis had followed hard upon theheels of the first--the struggle with self, the greatest struggle ofall. Against the abstract principle of evil the woman who had failed inthe material conflict with a masculine, masterful will, had succeeded, had conquered self, had been true when it was easy to be false, haddared the judgment of her peers so only that she might not deceive. 

Her momentary, perhaps fancied, hatred of Bennett, who had so cruellymisunderstood and humiliated her, had apparently, of its own accord, departed from her heart. Then had come the hour when the strange hazardof fortune had reversed their former positions, when she could bemasterful while he was weak; when it was the man's turn to be broken, tobe prevailed against. Her own discomfiture had been offset by his. Sheno longer need look to him as her conqueror, her master. And when shehad seen him so weak, so pathetically unable to resist the lightestpressure of her hand; when it was given her not only to witness but torelieve his suffering, the great love for him that could not die hadreturned. With the mastery of self had come the forgetfulness of self;and her profession, her life-work, of which she had been so proud, hadseemed to her of small concern. Now she was his, and his life was hers. She should--so she told herself--be henceforward happy in his happiness, and her only pride would be the pride in his achievements. 

But now the unexpected had happened, and Bennett had given up hiscareer. During the period of Bennett's convalescence Lloyd had oftentalked long and earnestly with him, and partly from what he had told herand partly from much that she inferred she had at last been able totrace out and follow the mental processes and changes through whichBennett had passed. He, too, had been proved by fire; he, too, had hadhis ordeal, his trial. 

By nature, by training, and by virtue of the life he lived Bennett hadbeen a man, harsh, somewhat brutal, inordinately selfish, and at alltimes magnificently arrogant. He had neither patience nor toleration fornatural human weakness. While selfish, he was not self-conscious, and itnever occurred to him, it was impossible for him to see that he was agiant among men. His heart was callous; his whole nature and characterhard and flinty from the buffetings he gave rather than received. 

Then had come misfortune. Ferriss had died, and Bennett's recognitionand acknowledgment of the fact that he, Ward Bennett, who never failed, who never blundered, had made at last the great and terrible error ofhis life, had shaken his character to its very foundations. This wasonly the beginning; the breach once made, Humanity entered into thegloomy, waste places of his soul; remorse crowded hard upon his wontedarrogance; generosity and the impulse to make amends took the place ofselfishness; kindness thrust out the native brutality; the old-timeharshness and imperiousness gave way to a certain spirit of toleration. 

It was the influence of these new emotions that had moved Bennett tomake the statement to Adler that had so astonished and perplexed hisold-time subordinate. He, Bennett, too, like Lloyd, was at that timeendeavouring to free himself from a false position, and through themedium of confession stand in his true colours in the eyes of hisassociates. Unconsciously they were both working out their salvationalong the same lines. 

Then had come Bennett's resolve to give Ferriss the conspicuous andprominent place in his book, the account of the expedition. The moreBennett dwelt upon Ferriss's heroism, intelligence, and ability the morehis task became a labour of love, and the more the idea of self droppedaway from his thought and imagination. Then--and perhaps this was notthe least important factor in Bennett's transformation--sickness hadbefallen; the strong and self-reliant man had been brought to theweakness of a child, whom the pressure of a finger could control. Hesuddenly changed places with the woman he believed he had, at suchfearful cost, broken and subdued. His physical strength, once soenormous, was as a reed in the woman's hand; his will, so indomitable, was as powerless as an infant's before the woman's calm resolve, risingup there before him and overmastering him at a time he believed it to beforever weakened. 

Bennett had come forth from the ordeal chastened, softened, and humbled. But he was shattered, broken, brought to the earth with sorrow and theload of unavailing regret. Ambition was numb and lifeless within him. Reaction from his former attitude of aggression and defiance had carriedhim far beyond the normal. 

Here widened the difference between the man and the woman. Lloyd'sdiscontinuance of her life-work had been in the nature of heroicsubjugation of self. Bennett's abandonment of his career was hardlybetter than weakness. In the one it had been renunciation; in the othersurrender. In the end, and after all was over, it was the woman whoremained the stronger. 

But for her, the woman, was it true that all was over? Had the lastconflict been fought? Was it not rather to be believed that life was onelong conflict? Was it not for her, Lloyd, to rouse that sluggardambition? Was not this her career, after all, to be his inspiration, hisincentive, to urge him to the accomplishment of a great work? Now, ofthe two, she was the stronger. In these new conditions what was herduty? Adler's clumsy phrases persisted in her mind. "That's his work, "Adler had said. "God Almighty cut him out for that, and he's got to doit. Don't let him chuck, don't let him get soft; make him be a man andnot a professor. "

Had she so much influence over Bennett? Could she rouse the restless, daring spirit again? Perhaps; but what would it mean for her--for her, who must be left behind to wait, and wait, and wait--for three years, for five years, for ten years--perhaps forever? And now, at this moment, when she believed that at last happiness had come to her; when the dutyhad been done, the grim problems solved; when sickness had beenovercome; when love had come back, and the calm, untroubled days seemedlengthening out ahead, there came to her recollection the hideous lapseof time that had intervened between the departure of the Freja and theexpedition's return; what sleepless nights, what days of unspeakablesuspense, what dreadful alternations between hope and despair, whatsilent, repressed suffering, what haunting, ever-present dread of athing she dared not name! Was the Fear to come into her life again; theEnemy that lurked and leered and forebore to strike, that hung upon herheels at every hour of the day, that sat down with her to her everyoccupation, that followed after when she stirred abroad, that came closeto her in the still watches of the night, creeping, creeping to herbedside, looming over her in the darkness; the cold fingers reachingcloser and closer, the awful face growing ever more distinct, till thesuspense of waiting for the blow to fall, for the fingers to grip, became more than she could bear, and she sprang from her bed with astifled sob of anguish, driven from her rest with quivering lips andstreaming eyes?

Abruptly Lloyd rose to her feet, the flowers falling unheeded from herlap, her arms rigid at her side, her hands shut tight. 

"No, " she murmured, "I cannot. This, at last, is more than I can do. "

Instantly Adler's halting words went ringing through her brain: "Thedanger don't figure; nothing in the world don't figure. It's his work. "

Adler's words were the words of the world. She alone of the thousandswhose eyes were turned toward Bennett was blinded. She was wrong. Shebelonged to him, but he did not belong to her. The world demanded him;the world called him from her side to do the terrible work that God hadmade him for. Was she, because she loved him, because of her own singleanguish, to stand between him and the clamour of the world, between himand his work, between him and God?

A work there was for him to do. He must play the man's part. The battlemust be fought again. That horrible, grisly Enemy far up there to thenorth, upon the high curve of the globe, the shoulder of the world, huge, remorseless, terrible in its vast, Titanic strength, guarding itssecret through all the centuries in the innermost of a thousand gleamingcoils, must be defied again. The monster that defended the great prize, the object of so many fruitless quests must be once more attacked. 

His was the work, for him the shock of battle, the rigour of the fight, the fierce assault, the ceaseless onset, the unfailing and unflinchingcourage. 

Hers was the woman's part. Already she had assumed it; steadfastunselfishness, renunciation, patience, the heroism greater than allothers, that sits with folded hands, quiet, unshaken, and under fearfulstress, endures, and endures, and endures. To be the inspiration ofgreat deeds, high hopes, and firm resolves, and then, while the fightwas dared, to wait in calmness for its issue--that was her duty, that, the woman's part in the world's great work. 

Lloyd was dimly conscious of a certain sweet and subtle element in herlove for Bennett that only of late she had begun to recognise and beaware of. This was a certain vague protective, almost maternal, instinct. Perhaps it was because of his present weakness both of bodyand character, or perhaps it was an element always to be found in thedeep and earnest love of any noble-hearted woman. She felt that she, notas herself individually, but as a woman, was not only stronger thanBennett, but in a manner older, more mature. She was conscious of depthsin her nature far greater than in his, and also that she was capable ofattaining heights of heroism, devotion, and sacrifice which he, for allhis masculine force, could not only never reach, but could not evenconceive of. It was this consciousness of her larger, better nature thatmade her feel for Bennett somewhat as a mother feels for a son, a sisterfor her younger brother. A great tenderness mingled with her affection, a vast and almost divine magnanimity, a broad, womanly pity for hisshortcomings, his errors, his faults. It was to her he must look forencouragement. It was for her to bind up and reshape the great energythat had been so rudely checked, and not only to call back his strength, but to guide it and direct into its appointed channels. 

Lloyd returned toward the glass-enclosed veranda to find Bennett justarousing from his nap. She drew the shawls closer about him andrearranged the pillows under his head, and then sat down on the stepsnear at hand. 

"Tell me about this Captain Duane, " she began. "Where is he now?"

Bennett yawned and passed his hand across his face, rubbing the sleepfrom his eyes. 

"What time is it? I must have slept over an hour. Duane? Why, you sawwhat the paper said. I presume he is at Tasiusak. "

"Do you think he will succeed? Do you think he will reach the Pole?Adler thinks he won't. "

"Oh, perhaps, if he has luck and an open season. "

"But tell me, why does he take so many men? Isn't that contrary to thecustom? I know a great deal about arctic work. While you were away Iread every book I could get upon the subject. The best work has beendone with small expeditions. If you should go again--when you go again, will you take so many? I saw you quoted somewhere as being in favour ofonly six or eight men. "

"Ten should be the limit--but some one else will make the attempt now. I'm out of it. I tried and failed. "

"Failed--you! The idea of you ever failing, of you ever giving up! Ofcourse it was all very well to joke this morning about giving up yourcareer; but I know you will be up and away again only too soon. I amtrying to school myself to expect that. "

"Lloyd, I tell you that I am out of it. I don't believe the Pole evercan be reached, and I don't much care whether it is reached or not. "

Suddenly Lloyd turned to him, the unwonted light flashing in her eyes. "_I_ do, though, " she cried vehemently. "It can be done, andwe--America--ought to do it. "

Bennett stared at her, startled by her outburst. 

"This English expedition, " Lloyd continued, the colour flushing in hercheeks, "this Duane-Parsons expedition, they will have the start ofeverybody next year. Nearly every attempt that is made now establishes anew record for a high latitude. One nation after another is creepingnearer and nearer almost every year, and each expedition is profiting bythe experiences and observations made by the one that preceded it. Someday, and not very long now, some nation is going to succeed and plantits flag there at last. Why should it not be us? Why shouldn't _our_flag be first at the Pole? We who have had so many heroes, such greatsailors, such splendid leaders, such explorers--our Stanleys, ourFarraguts, our Decaturs, our De Longs, our Lockwoods--how we would standashamed before the world if some other nation should succeed where wehave all but succeeded--Norway, or France, or Russia, orEngland--profiting by our experiences, following where we have made theway!"

"That is very fine, " admitted Bennett. "It would be a great honour, thegreatest perhaps; and once--I--well, I had my ambitions, too. But it'sall different now. Something in me died when--Dick--when--I--oh, letDuane try. Let him do his best. I know it can't be done, and if heshould win, I would be the first to wire congratulations. Lloyd, I don'tcare. I've lost interest. I suppose it is my punishment. I'm out of therace. I'm a back number. I'm down. "

Lloyd shook her head. 

"I don't--I can't believe you. "

"Do you want to see me go, " demanded Bennett, "after this lastexperience? Do you urge me to it?"

Lloyd turned her head away, leaning it against one of the verandapillars. A sudden dimness swam in her eyes, the choking ache she knew sowell came to her throat. Ah, life was hard for her. The very greatnessof her nature drove from her the happiness so constantly attained bylittle minds, by commonplace souls. When was it to end, this continualsacrifice of inclination to duty, this eternal abnegation, this yieldingup of herself, her dearest, most cherished wishes to the demands of dutyand the great world?

"I don't know what I want, " she said faintly. "It don't seem as if one_could_ be happy--very long. "

All at once she moved close to him and laid her cheek upon the arm ofhis chair and clasped his hand in both her own, murmuring: "But I haveyou now, I have you now, no matter what is coming to us. "

A sense of weakness overcame her. What did she care that Bennett shouldfulfil his destiny, should round out his career, should continue to bethe Great Man? It was he, Bennett, that she loved--not his greatness, not his career. Let it all go, let ambition die, let others less worthysucceed in the mighty task. What were fame and honour and glory and thesense of a divinely appointed duty done at last to the clasp of his handand the sound of his voice?

In November of that year Lloyd and Bennett were married. Two guests onlyassisted at the ceremony. These were Campbell and his little daughterHattie. 

X. 

The months passed; Christmas came and went. Until then the winter hadbeen unusually mild, but January set in with a succession of viciouscold snaps and great blustering winds out of the northeast. Lloyd andBennett had elected to remain quietly in their new home at Medford. Theyhad no desire to travel, and Bennett's forthcoming book demanded hisattention. Adler stayed on about the house. He and the dog Kamiska werecompanions inseparable. At long intervals visitors presentedthemselves--Dr. Street, or Pitts, or certain friends of Bennett's. Butthe great rush of interviewers, editors, and projectors of marvellousschemes that had crowded Bennett's anterooms during the spring and earlysummer was conspicuously dwindling. The press ceased to speak of him;even his mail had fallen away. Now, whenever the journals of the daydevoted space to arctic exploration, it was invariably in reference tothe English expedition wintering on the Greenland coast. That world thathad clamoured so loudly upon Bennett's return, while, perhaps, not yetforgetting him, was already ignoring him, was looking in otherdirections. Another man was in the public eye. 

But in every sense these two--Lloyd and Bennett--were out of the world. They had freed themselves from the current of affairs. They stood asidewhile the great tide went careering past swift and turbulent, and one ofthem at least lacked even the interest to look on and watch itsprogress. 

For a time Lloyd was supremely happy. Their life was unbroken, uneventful. The calm, monotonous days of undisturbed happiness to whichshe had looked forward were come at last. Thus it was always to be. Isolated and apart, she could shut her ears to the thunder of theworld's great tide that somewhere, off beyond the hills in the directionof the City, went swirling through its channels. Hardly an hour went bythat she and Bennett were not together. Lloyd had transferred her stableto her new home; Lewis was added to the number of their servants, anduntil Bennett's old-time vigour completely returned to him she drove outalmost daily with her husband, covering the country for miles around. 

Much of their time, however, they spent in Bennett's study. This was agreat apartment in the rear of the house, scantily, almost meanly, furnished. Papers littered the floor; bundles of manuscripts, lists, charts, and observations, the worn and battered tin box of records, note-books, journals, tables of logarithms were piled upon Bennett'sdesk. A bookcase crammed with volumes of reference, statisticalpamphlets, and the like stood between the windows, while one of thewalls was nearly entirely occupied by a vast map of the arctic circle, upon which the course of the Freja, her drift in the pack, and the routeof the expedition's southerly march were accurately plotted. 

The room was bare of ornament; the desk and a couple of chairs were itsonly furniture. Pictures there were none. Their places were taken byphotographs and a great blue print of the shipbuilder's plans andspecifications of the Freja. 

The photographs were some of those that Dennison had made of theexpedition--the Freja nipped in the ice, a group of the officers andcrew upon the forward deck, the coast of Wrangel Island, Cape Kammeni, peculiar ice formations, views of the pack under different conditionsand temperatures, pressure-ridges and scenes of the expedition's dailylife in the arctic, bear-hunts, the manufacture of sledges, dog-teams, Bennett taking soundings and reading the wind-gauge, and one, the lastview of the Freja, taken just as the ship--her ice-sheathed drippingbows heaved high in the air, the flag still at the peak--sank fromsight. 

However, on the wall over the blue-print plans of the Freja, one of theboat's flags, that had been used by the expedition throughout all thetime of its stay in the ice, hung suspended--a faded, tattered square ofstars and bars. 

As the new life settled quietly and evenly to its grooves a routinebegan to develop. About an hour after breakfast Lloyd and Bennett shutthemselves in Bennett's "workroom, " as he called it, Lloyd taking herplace at the desk. She had become his amanuensis, had insisted uponwriting to his dictation. 

"Look at that manuscript, " she had exclaimed one day, turning the sheetsthat Bennett had written; "literally the very worst handwriting I haveever seen. What do you suppose a printer would make out of your 'thes'and 'ands'? It's hieroglyphics, you know, " she informed him gravely, nodding her head at him. 

It was quite true. Bennett wrote with amazing rapidity and with ragged, vigorous strokes of the pen, not unfrequently driving the point throughthe paper itself; his script was pothooks, clumsy, slanting in alldirections, all but illegible. In the end Lloyd had almost pushed himfrom his place at the desk, taking the pen from between his fingers, exclaiming:

"Get up! Give me your chair--and that pen. Handwriting like that isnothing else but a sin. "

Bennett allowed her to bully him, protesting merely for the enjoyment ofsquabbling with her. 

"Come, I like this. What are you doing in my workroom anyhow, Mrs. Bennett? I think you had better go to your housework. "

"Don't talk, " she answered. "Here are your notes and journal. Now tellme what to write. "

In the end matters adjusted themselves. Daily Lloyd took her place atthe desk, pen in hand, the sleeve of her right arm rolled back to theelbow (a habit of hers whenever writing, and which Bennett found to becharming beyond words), her pen travelling steadily from line to line. He on his part paced the floor, a cigar between his teeth, his notes andnote-books in his hand, dictating comments of his own, or quoting fromthe pages, stained, frayed, and crumpled, written by the light of theauroras, the midnight suns, or the unsteady, flickering of train-oillanterns and blubber-lamps. 

What long, delicious hours they spent thus, as the winter drew on, inthe absolute quiet of that country house, ignored and lost in the brown, bare fields and leafless orchards of the open country! No one troubledthem. No one came near them. They asked nothing better than that theworld wherein they once had lived, whose hurtling activity and febrileunrest they both had known so well, should leave them alone. 

Only one jarring note, and that none too resonant, broke the longharmony of Lloyd's happiness during these days. Bennett was deaf to it;but for Lloyd it vibrated continuously and, as time passed, withincreasing insistence and distinctness. But for one person in the worldLloyd could have told herself that her life was without a single elementof discontent. 

This was Adler. It was not that his presence about the house was areproach to Bennett's wife, for the man was scrupulously unobtrusive. Hehad the instinctive delicacy that one sometimes discovers in simple, undeveloped natures--seafaring folk especially--and though he could notbring himself to leave his former chief, he had withdrawn himself morethan ever from notice since the time of Bennett's marriage. He rarelyeven waited on the table these days, for Lloyd and Bennett often choseto breakfast and dine quite to themselves. 

But, for all that, Lloyd saw Adler from time to time, Kamiska invariablyat his heels. She came upon him polishing the brasses upon the door ofthe house, or binding strips of burlaps and sacking about therose-bushes in the garden, or returning from the village post-officewith the mail, invariably wearing the same woollen cap, the oldpea-jacket, and the jersey with the name "Freja" upon the breast. Herarely spoke to her unless she first addressed him, and then always witha precise salute, bringing his heels sharply together, standing stifflyat attention. 

But the man, though all unwittingly, radiated gloom. Lloyd readily sawthat Adler was labouring under a certain cloud of disappointment anddeferred hope. Naturally she understood the cause. Lloyd was toolarge-hearted to feel any irritation at the sight of Adler. But shecould not regard him with indifference. To her mind he stood for allthat Bennett had given up, for the great career that had stoppedhalf-way, for the work half done, the task only half completed. In a waywas not Adler now superior to Bennett? His one thought and aim and hopewas to "try again. " His ambition was yet alive and alight; the soldierwas willing where the chief lost heart. Never again had Adler addressedhimself to Lloyd on the subject of Bennett's inactivity. Now he seemedto understand--to realise that once married--and to Lloyd--he must nolonger expect Bennett to continue the work. All this Lloyd interpretedfrom Adler's attitude, and again and again told herself that she couldread the man's thoughts aright. She even fancied she caught a muteappeal in his eyes upon those rare occasions when they met, as though helooked to her as the only hope, the only means to wake Bennett from hislethargy. She imagined that she heard him say:

"Ain't you got any influence with him, Miss? Won't you talk good talk tohim? Don't let him chuck. Make him be a man, and not a professor. Nothing else in the world don't figure. It's his work. God A'mighty cuthim out for that, and he's got to do it. "

His work, his work, God made him for that; appointed the task, made theman, and now she came between. God, Man, and the Work, --the three vastelements of an entire system, the whole universe epitomised in thetremendous trinity. Again and again such thoughts assailed her. Dutyonce more stirred and awoke. It seemed to her as if some great engineordained of Heaven to run its appointed course had come to a standstill, was rusting to its ruin, and that she alone of all the world had powerto grasp its lever, to send it on its way; whither, she did not know;why, she could not tell. She knew only that it was right that she shouldact. By degrees her resolution hardened. Bennett must try again. But atfirst it seemed to her as though her heart would break, and more thanonce she wavered. 

As Bennett continued to dictate to her the story of the expedition hearrived at the account of the march toward Kolyuchin Bay, and, finally, at the description of the last week, with its terrors, its sufferings, its starvation, its despair, when, one by one, the men died in theirsleeping-bags, to be buried under slabs of ice. When this point in thenarrative was reached Bennett inserted no comment of his own; but whileLloyd wrote, read simply and with grim directness from the entries inhis journal precisely as they had been written. 

Lloyd had known in a vague way that the expedition had sufferedabominably, but hitherto Bennett had never consented to tell her thestory in detail. "It was a hard week, " he informed her, "a rather badgrind. "

Now, for the first time, she was to know just what had happened, justwhat he had endured. 

As usual, Bennett paced the floor from wall to wall, his cigar in histeeth, his tattered, grimy ice-journal in his hand. At the desk Lloyd'sround, bare arm, the sleeve turned up to the elbow, moved evenly backand forth as she wrote. In the intervals of Bennett's dictation thescratching of Lloyd's pen made itself heard. A little fire snapped andcrackled on the hearth. The morning's sun came flooding in at thewindows. 

". .. Gale of wind from the northeast, " prompted Lloyd, raising her headfrom her writing. Bennett continued:

"Impossible to march against it in our weakened condition. "

He paused for her to complete the sentence. 

". .. Must camp here till it abates. .. . "

"Have you got that?" Lloyd nodded. 

". .. Made soup of the last of the dog-meat this afternoon. .. . Ourlast pemmican gone. "

There was a pause; then Bennett resumed:

"December 1st, Wednesday--Everybody getting weaker. .. . Metz breakingdown. .. . Sent Adler to the shore to gather shrimps . .. We had abouta mouthful apiece at noon . .. Supper, a spoonful of glycerine andhot water. "

Lloyd put her hand to her temple, smoothing back her hair, her faceturned away. As before, in the park, on that warm and glowing summerafternoon, a swift, clear vision of the Ice was vouchsafed to her. Shesaw the coast of Kolyuchin Bay--primordial desolation, whirlingdust-like snow, the unleashed wind yelling like a sabbath of witches, leaping and somersaulting from rock to rock, folly-stricken andinsensate in its hideous dance of death. Bennett continued. His voiceinsensibly lowered itself, a certain gravity of manner came upon him. Attimes he looked at the written pages in his hand with vague, unseeingeyes. No doubt he, too, was remembering. 

He resumed:

"December 2d, Thursday--Metz died during the night. .. . Hansen dying. Still blowing a gale from the northeast. .. . A hard night. "

Lloyd's pen moved slower and slower as she wrote. The lines of themanuscript began to blur and swim before her eyes. 

And it was to this that she must send him. To this inhuman, horribleregion; to this life of prolonged suffering, where death came slowlythrough days of starvation, exhaustion, and agony hourly renewed. Hemust dare it all again. She must force him to it. Her decision had beentaken; her duty was plain to her. Now it was irrevocable. 

". .. Hansen died during early morning. .. . Dennison breaking down. .. . 

". .. December 5th--Sunday--Dennison found dead this morning betweenAdler and myself. .. . "

The vision became plainer, more distinct. She fancied she saw theinterior of the tent and the dwindling number of the Freja's survivorsmoving about on their hands and knees in its gloomy half-light. Theirhair and beards were long, their faces black with dirt, monstrouslydistended and fat with the bloated irony of starvation. They were nolonger men. After that unspeakable stress of misery nothing but theanimal remained. 

". .. Too weak to bury him, or even carry him out of the tent. .. . Hemust lie where he is. .. . Last spoonful of glycerine and hotwater. .. . Divine service at 5:30 P. M. .. . "

Once more Lloyd faltered in her writing; her hand moved slower. Shut herteeth though she might, the sobs would come; swiftly the tears brimmedher eyes, but she tried to wink them back, lest Bennett should see. Heroically she wrote to the end of the sentence. A pause followed:

"Yes--' divine services at'--I--I--"

The pen dropped from her fingers and she sank down upon her desk, herhead bowed in the hollow of her bare arm, shaken from head to foot withthe violence of the crudest grief she had ever known. Bennett threw hisjournal from him, and came to her, taking her in his arms, putting herhead upon his shoulder. 

"Why, Lloyd, what is it--why, old chap, what the devil! I was a beast toread that to you. It wasn't really as bad as that, you know, andbesides, look here, look at me. It all happened three years ago. It'sall over with now. "

Without raising her head, and clinging to him all the closer, Lloydanswered brokenly:

"No, no; it's not all over. It never, never will be. "

"Pshaw, nonsense!" Bennett blustered, "you must not take it to heartlike this. We're going to forget all about it now. Here, damn the book, anyhow! We've had enough of it to-day. Put your hat on. We'll have theponies out and drive somewhere. And to-night we'll go into town and seea show at a theatre. "

"No, " protested Lloyd, pushing back from him, drying her eyes. "Youshall not think I'm so weak. We will go on with what we have to do--withour work. I'm all right now. "

Bennett marched her out of the room without more ado, and, followingher, closed and locked the door behind them. "We'll not write anotherword of that stuff to-day. Get your hat and things. I'm going out totell Lewis to put the ponies in. "

But that day marked a beginning. From that time on Lloyd never faltered, and if there were moments when the iron bit deeper than usual into herheart, Bennett never knew her pain. By degrees a course of actionplanned itself for her. A direct appeal to Bennett she believed wouldnot only be useless, but beyond even her heroic courage. She mustinfluence him indirectly. The initiative must appear to come from him. It must seem to him that he, of his own accord, roused his dormantresolution. It was a situation that called for all her feminine tact, all her delicacy, all her instinctive diplomacy. 

The round of their daily life was renewed, but now there was a change. It was subtle, illusive, a vague, indefinite trouble in the air. Lloydhad addressed herself to her task, and from day to day, from hour tohour, she held to it, unseen, unnoticed. Now it was a remark dropped asif by chance in the course of conversation; now an extract cut from anewspaper or scientific journal, and left where Bennett would find it;now merely a look in her eyes, an instant's significant glance when hergaze met her husband's, or a moment's enthusiasm over the news of somediscovery. Insensibly and with infinite caution she directed hisattention to the world he believed he had abjured; she called into beinghis interest in his own field of action, reading to him by the hour fromthe writings of other men, or advancing and championing theories whichshe knew to be false and ridiculous, but which she goaded him to denyand refute. 

One morning she even feigned an exclamation of unbounded astonishment asshe opened the newspaper while the two were at breakfast, pretending toread from imaginary headlines. 

"Ward, listen! 'The Pole at Last. A Norwegian Expedition Solves theMystery of the Arctic. The Goal Reached After--'"

"What!" cried Bennett sharply, his frown lowering. 

"'--After Centuries of Failure. '" Lloyd put down the paper with a noteof laughter. 

"Suppose you should read it some day. "

Bennett subsided with a good-humoured growl. 

"You did scare me for a moment. I thought--I thought--"

"I did scare you? Why were you scared? What did you think?" She leanedtoward him eagerly. 

"I thought--well--oh--that some other chap, Duane, perhaps--"

"He's still at Tasiusak. But he will succeed, I do believe. I've read agreat deal about him. He has energy and determination. If anybodysucceeds it will be Duane. "

"He? Never!"

"Somebody, then. "

"You said once that if your husband couldn't nobody could. "

"Yes, yes, I know, " she answered cheerfully. "But you--you are out ofit now. "

"Huh!" he grumbled. "It's not because I don't think I could if I wantedto. "

"No, you could not, Ward. Nobody can. "

"But you just said you thought somebody would some day. "

"Did I? Oh, suppose you really should one of these days!"

"And suppose I never came back?"

"Nonsense! Of course you would come back. They all do nowadays. "

"De Long didn't. "

"But you are not De Long. "

And for the rest of the day Lloyd noted with a sinking heart thatBennett was unusually thoughtful and preoccupied. She said nothing, andwas studious to avoid breaking in upon his reflections, whatever theymight be. She kept out of his way as much as possible, but left upon hisdesk, as if by accident, a copy of a pamphlet issued by a geographicalsociety, open at an article upon the future of exploration within thearctic circle. At supper that night Bennett suddenly broke in upon arather prolonged silence with:

"It's all in the ship. Build a ship strong enough to withstand lateralpressure of the ice and the whole thing becomes easy. "

Lloyd yawned and stirred her tea indifferently as she answered:

"Yes, but you know that can't be done. "

Bennett frowned thoughtfully, drumming upon the table. 

"I'll wager _I_ could build one. "

"But it's not the ship alone. It's the man. Whom would you get tocommand your ship?"

Bennett stared. 

"Why, I would take her, of course. "

"You? You have had your share--your chance. Now you can afford to stayhome and finish your book--and--well, you might deliver lectures. "

"What rot, Lloyd! Can you see me posing on a lecture platform?"

"I would rather see you doing that than trying to beat Duane, thangetting into the ice again. I would rather see you doing that than toknow that you were away up there--in the north, in the ice, at your workagain, fighting your way toward the Pole, leading your men andovercoming every obstacle that stood in your way, never giving up, neverlosing heart, trying to do the great, splendid, impossible thing;risking your life to reach merely a point on a chart. Yes, I wouldrather see you on a lecture platform than on the deck of an arcticsteamship. You know that, Ward. "

He shot a glance at her. 

"I would like to know what you mean, " he muttered. 

The winter went by, then the spring, and by June all the country aroundMedford was royal with summer. During the last days of May, Bennettpractically had completed the body of his book and now occupied himselfwith its appendix. There was little variation in their daily life. Adlerbecame more and more of a fixture about the place. In the first week ofJune, Lloyd and Bennett had a visitor, a guest; this was HattieCampbell. Mr. Campbell was away upon a business trip, and Lloyd hadarranged to have the little girl spend the fortnight of his absencewith her at Medford. 

The summer was delightful. A vast, pervading warmth lay close over allthe world. The trees, the orchards, the rose-bushes in the garden aboutthe house, all the teeming life of trees and plants hung motionless andpoised in the still, tideless ocean of the air. It was very quiet; alldistant noises, the crowing of cocks, the persistent calling of robinsand jays, the sound of wheels upon the road, the rumble of the trainspassing the station down in the town, seemed muffled and subdued. Thelong, calm summer days succeeded one another in an unbroken, glimmeringprocession. From dawn to twilight one heard the faint, innumerablemurmurs of the summer, the dull bourdon of bees in the rose and lilacbushes, the prolonged, strident buzzing of blue-bottle-flies, the harsh, dry scrape of grasshoppers, the stridulating of an occasional cricket. In the twilight and all through the night itself the frogs shrilled fromthe hedgerows and in the damp, north corners of the fields, while fromthe direction of the hills toward the east the whippoorwills calledincessantly. During the day the air was full of odours, distilled as itwere by the heat of high noon--the sweet smell of ripening apples, thefragrance of warm sap and leaves and growing grass, the smell of cowsfrom the nearby pastures, the pungent, ammoniacal suggestion of thestable back of the house, and the odour of scorching paint blistering onthe southern walls. 

July was very hot. No breath of wind stirred the vast, invisible sea ofair, quivering and oily under the vertical sun. The landscape wasdeserted of animated life; there was little stirring abroad. In thehouse one kept within the cool, darkened rooms with matting on thefloors and comfortable, deep wicker chairs, the windows wide to theleast stirring of the breeze. Adler dozed in his canvas hammock slungbetween a hitching-post and a crab-apple tree in the shade behind thestable. Kamiska sprawled at full length underneath the water-trough, hertongue lolling, panting incessantly. An immeasurable Sunday stillnessseemed to hang suspended in the atmosphere--a drowsy, numbing hush. There was no thought of the passing of time. The day of the week wasalways a matter of conjecture. It seemed as though this life of heat andquiet and unbroken silence was to last forever. 

Then suddenly there was an _alerte_. One morning, a day or so afterHattie Campbell had returned to the City, just as Lloyd and Bennett werefinishing their breakfast in the now heavily awninged glass-room, theywere surprised to see Adler running down the road toward the house, Kamiska racing on ahead, barking excitedly. Adler had gone into the townfor the mail and morning's paper. This latter he held wide open in hishand, and as soon as he caught sight of Lloyd and Bennett waved it abouthim, shouting as he ran. 

Lloyd's heart began to beat. There was only one thing that could exciteAdler to this degree--the English expedition; Adler had news of it; itwas in the paper. Duane had succeeded; had been working steadilynorthward during all these past months, while Bennett--

"Stuck in the ice! stuck in the ice!" shouted Adler as he swung wide thefront gate and came hastening toward the veranda across the lawn. "Whatdid we say! Hooray! He's stuck. I knew it; any galoot might 'a' knownit. Duane's stuck tighter'n a wedge off Bache Island, in Kane Basin. Here it all is; read it for yourself. "

Bennett took the paper from him and read aloud to the effect that theCurlew, accompanied by her collier, which was to follow her to thesoutherly limit of Kane Basin, had attempted the passage of Smith Soundlate in June. But the season, as had been feared, was late. The enormousquantities of ice reported by the whalers the previous year had notdebouched from the narrow channel, and on the last day of June theCurlew had found her further progress effectually blocked. In essayingto force her way into a lead the ice had closed in behind her, and, while not as yet nipped, the vessel was immobilised. There was no hopethat she would advance northward until the following summer. Thecollier, which had not been beset, had returned to Tasiusak with thenews of the failure. 

"What a galoot! What a--a professor!" exclaimed Adler with a vastdisdain. "Him loafing at Tasiusak waiting for open water, when the Alertwintered in eighty-two-twenty-four! Well, he's shelved for another year, anyhow. "

Later on, after breakfast, Lloyd and Bennett shut themselves inBennett's workroom, and for upward of three hours addressed themselvesto the unfinished work of the previous day, compiling from Bennett'snotes a table of temperatures of the sea-water taken at differentsoundings. Alternating with the scratching of Lloyd's pen, Bennett'svoice continued monotonously:

"August 15th--2, 000 meters or 1, 093 fathoms--minus . 66 degreescentigrade or 30. 81 Fahrenheit. "

"Fahrenheit, " repeated Lloyd as she wrote the last word. 

"August 16th--1, 600 meters or 874 fathoms--"

"Eight hundred and seventy-four fathoms, " repeated Lloyd as Bennettpaused abstractedly. 

"Or . .. He's in a bad way, you know. "

"What do you mean?"

"It's a bad bit of navigation along there. The Proteus was nipped andcrushed to kindling in about that same latitude . .. H'm" . .. Bennetttugged at his mustache. Then, suddenly, as if coming to himself:"Well--these temperatures now. Where were we? 'Eight hundred andseventy-four fathoms, minus forty-six hundredths degrees centigrade. '"

On the afternoon of the next day, just as they were finishing thistable, there was a knock at the door. It was Adler, and as Bennettopened the door he saluted and handed him three calling-cards. Bennettuttered an exclamation of surprise, and Lloyd turned about from thedesk, her pen poised in the air over the half-written sheet. 

"They might have let me know they were coming, " she heard Bennettmutter. "What do they want?"

"Guess they came on that noon train, sir, " hazarded Adler. "They didn'tsay what they wanted, just inquired for you. "

"Who is it?" asked Lloyd, coming forward. 

Bennett read off the names on the cards. 

"Well, it's Tremlidge--that's the Tremlidge of the Times; he's theeditor and proprietor--and Hamilton Garlock--has something to do withthat new geographical society--president, I believe--and this one"--hehanded her the third card--"is a friend of yours, Craig V. Campbell, ofthe Hercules Wrought Steel Company. "

Lloyd stared. "What can they want?" she murmured, looking up to him fromthe card in some perplexity. Bennett shook his head. 

"Tell them to come up here, " he said to Adler. 

Lloyd hastily drew down her sleeve over her bare arm. 

"Why up here, Ward?" she inquired abruptly. 

"Should we have seen them downstairs?" he demanded with a frown. "Isuppose so; I didn't think. Don't go, " he added, putting a hand on herarm as she started for the door. "You might as well hear what they haveto say. "

The visitors entered, Adler holding open the door--Campbell, wellgroomed, clean-shaven, and gloved even in that warm weather; Tremlidge, the editor of one of the greater daily papers of the City (and of thecountry for the matter of that), who wore a monocle and carried a strawhat under his arm; and Garlock, the vice-president of an internationalgeographical society, an old man, with beautiful white hair curlingabout his ears, a great bow of black silk knotted about hisold-fashioned collar. The group presented, all unconsciously, threegreat and highly developed phases of nineteenth-centuryintelligence--science, manufactures, and journalism--each man of them amaster in his calling. 

When the introductions and preliminaries were over, Bennett took up hisposition again in front of the fireplace, leaning against the mantle, his hands in his pockets. Lloyd sat opposite to him at the desk, restingher elbow on the edge. Hanging against the wall behind her was the vastchart of the arctic circle. Tremlidge, the editor, sat on the bamboosofa near the end of the room, his elbows on his knees, gently tappingthe floor with the ferrule of his slim walking-stick; Garlock, thescientist, had dropped into the depths of a huge leather chair andleaned back in it comfortably, his legs crossed, one boot swinginggently; Campbell stood behind this chair, drumming on the backoccasionally with the fingers of one hand, speaking to Bennett overGarlock's shoulder, and from time to time turning to Tremlidge forcorroboration and support of what he was saying. 

Abruptly the conference began. 

"Well, Mr. Bennett, you got our wire?" Campbell said by way ofcommencement. 

Bennett shook his head. 

"No, " he returned in some surprise; "no, I got no wire. "

"That's strange, " said Tremlidge. "I wired three days ago asking forthis interview. The address was right, I think. I wired: 'Care of Dr. Pitts. ' Isn't that right?"

"That probably accounts for it, " answered Bennett. "This is Pitts'shouse, but he does not live here now. Your despatch, no doubt, went tohis office in the City, and was forwarded to him. He's away just now, travelling, I believe. But--you're here. That's the essential. "

"Yes, " murmured Garlock, looking to Campbell. "We're here, and we wantto have a talk with you. "

Campbell, who had evidently been chosen spokesman, cleared his throat. 

"Well, Mr. Bennett, I don't know just how to begin, so supposeI begin at the beginning. Tremlidge and I belong to the same club inthe City, and in some way or other we have managed to see a good dealof each other during the last half-dozen years. We find that we havea good deal in common. I don't think his editorial columns are forsale, and he doesn't believe there are blow-holes in my steel plates. I really do believe we have certain convictions. Tremlidge seems tohave an idea that journalism can be clean and yet enterprising, andtries to run his sheet accordingly, and I am afraid that I would notmake a bid for bridge girders below what it would cost to manufacturethem honestly. Tremlidge and I differ in politics; we hold conflictingviews as to municipal government; we attend different churches; we areat variance in the matter of public education, of the tariff, ofemigration, and, heaven save the mark! of capital and labour, but wetell ourselves that we are public-spirited and are a little proud thatGod allowed us to be born in the United States; also it appears that wehave more money than Henry George believes to be right. Now, " continuedMr. Campbell, straightening himself as though he were about to touchupon the real subject of his talk, "when the news of your return, Mr. Bennett, was received, it was, as of course you understand, the onetopic of conversation in the streets, the clubs, the newspaperoffices--everywhere. Tremlidge and I met at our club at luncheon thenext week, and I remember perfectly well how long and how very earnestlywe talked of your work and of arctic exploration in general. 

"We found out all of a sudden that here at last was a subject we wereagreed upon, a subject in which we took an extraordinary mutualinterest. We discovered that we had read almost every explorer's bookfrom Sir John Franklin down. We knew all about the different theoriesand plans of reaching the Pole. We knew how and why they had all failed;but, for all that, we were both of the opinion" (Campbell leanedforward, speaking with considerable energy) "that it can be done, andthat America ought to do it. That would be something better than even aWorld's Fair. 

"We give out a good deal of money, Tremlidge and I, every year to publicworks and one thing or another. We buy pictures by Americanartists--pictures that we don't want; we found a scholarship now andthen; we contribute money to build groups of statuary in the park; wegive checks to the finance committees of libraries and museums and allthe rest of it, but, for the lives of us, we can feel only a mildinterest in the pictures and statues, and museums and colleges, thoughwe go on buying the one and supporting the other, because we think thatsomehow it is right for us to do it. I'm afraid we are men more ofaction than of art, literature, and the like. Tremlidge is, I know. Hewants facts, accomplished results. When he gives out his money he wantsto see the concrete, substantial return--and I'm not sure that I am notof the same way of thinking. 

"Well, with this and with that, and after talking it all over a dozentimes--twenty times--we came to the conclusion that what we would mostlike to aid financially would be a successful attempt by anAmerican-built ship, manned by American seamen, led by an Americancommander, to reach the North Pole. We came to be very enthusiasticabout our idea; but we want it American from start to finish. We willstart the subscription, and want to head the list with our checks; butwe want every bolt in that ship forged in American foundries from metaldug out of American soil. We want every plank in her hull shaped fromAmerican trees, every sail of her woven by American looms, every man ofher born of American parents, and we want it this way because we believein American manufactures, because we believe in American shipbuilding, because we believe in American sailmakers, and because we believe in theintelligence and pluck and endurance and courage of the American sailor. 

"Well, " Campbell continued, changing his position and speaking in aquieter voice, "we did not say much to anybody, and, in fact, we neverreally planned any expedition at all. We merely talked about itspractical nature and the desirability of having it distinctivelyAmerican. This was all last summer. What we wanted to do was to make thescheme a popular one. It would not be hard to raise a hundred thousanddollars from among a dozen or so men whom we both know, and we foundthat we could count upon the financial support of Mr. Garlock's society. That was all very well, but we wanted the _people_ to back thisenterprise. We would rather get a thousand five-dollar subscriptionsthan five of a thousand dollars each. When our ship went out we wantedher commander to feel, not that there were merely a few millionaires, who had paid for his equipment and his vessel, behind him, but that hehad seventy millions of people, a whole nation, at his back. 

"So Tremlidge went to work and telegraphed instructions to theWashington correspondents of his paper to sound quietly the temper of asmany Congressmen as possible in the matter of making an appropriationtoward such an expedition. It was not so much the money we wanted as thesanction of the United States. Anything that has to do with the Navy ispopular just at present. We had got a Congressman to introduce andfather an appropriation bill, and we could count upon the support ofenough members of both houses to put it through. We wanted Congress toappropriate twenty thousand dollars. We hoped to raise another tenthousand dollars by popular subscription. Mr. Garlock could assure ustwo thousand dollars; Tremlidge would contribute twenty thousand dollarsin the name of the Times, and I pledged myself to ten thousand dollars, and promised to build the ship's engines and fittings. We kept ourintentions to ourselves, as Tremlidge did not want the other papers toget hold of the story before the Times printed it. But we continued tolay our wires at Washington. Everything was going as smooth as oil; weseemed sure of the success of our appropriation bill, and it was even tobe introduced next week, when the news came of the collapse of theEnglish expedition--the Duane-Parsons affair. 

"You would have expected precisely an opposite effect, but it hasknocked our chances with Congress into a cocked hat. Our member, who wasto father the bill, declared to us that so sure as it was brought up nowit would be killed in committee. I went to Washington at once; it wasthis, and not, as you supposed, private business that has taken me away. I saw our member and Tremlidge's head correspondent. It was absolutelyno use. These men who have their finger upon the Congressional pulsewere all of the same opinion. It would be useless to try to put throughour bill at present. Our member said 'Wait;' all Tremlidge's men said'Wait--wait for another year, until this English expedition and itsfailure are forgotten, and then try again. ' But we don't want to wait. Suppose Duane _is_ blocked for the present. He has a tremendous start. He's on the ground. By next summer the chances are the ice will have sobroken up as to permit him to push ahead, and by the time our bill getsthrough and our ship built and launched he may be--heaven knows where, right up to the Pole, perhaps. No, we can't afford to give England suchlong odds. We want to lay the keel of our ship as soon as we can--nextweek, if possible; we've got the balance of the summer and all thewinter to prepare in, and a year from this month we want our Americanexpedition to be inside the polar circle, to be up with Duane, and atleast to break even with England. If we can do that we're not afraid ofthe result, provided, " continued Mr. Campbell, "provided _you_, Mr. Bennett, are in command. If you consent to make the attempt, only onepoint remains to be settled. Congress has failed us. We will give up theidea of an appropriation. Now, then, and this is particularly what wewant to consult you about, how are we going to raise the twenty thousanddollars?"

Lloyd rose to her feet. 

"You may draw on me for the amount, " she said quietly. 

Garlock uncrossed his legs and sat up abruptly in the deep-seated chair. Tremlidge screwed his monocle into his eye and stared, while Campbellturned about sharply at the sound of Lloyd's voice with a murmur ofastonishment. Bennett alone did not move. As before, he leaned heavilyagainst the mantelpiece, his hands in his pockets, his head and his hugeshoulders a little bent. Only from under his thick, knotted frown heshot a swift glance toward his wife. Lloyd paid no attention to theothers. After that one quiet movement that had brought her to her feetshe remained motionless and erect, her hands hanging straight at hersides, the colour slowly mounting to her cheeks. She met Bennett'sglance and held it steadily, calmly, looking straight into his eyes. Shesaid no word, but all her love for him, all her hopes of him, all thefine, strong resolve that, come what would, his career should not bebroken, his ambition should not faint through any weakness of hers, allher eager sympathy for his great work, all her strong, womanlyencouragement for him to accomplish his destiny spoke to him, and calledto him in that long, earnest look of her dull-blue eyes. Now she was nolonger weak; now she could face the dreary consequences that, for her, must follow the rousing of his dormant energy; now was no longer thetime for indirect appeal; the screen was down between them. Moreeloquent than any spoken words was the calm, steady gaze in which sheheld his own. 

There was a long silence while husband and wife stood looking deep intoeach other's eyes. And then, as a certain slow kindling took place inhis look, Lloyd saw that at last Bennett _understood_. 

After that the conference broke up rapidly. Campbell, as the head andspokesman of the committee, noted the long, significant glance that hadpassed between Bennett and Lloyd, and, perhaps, vaguely divined that hehad touched upon a matter of a particularly delicate and intimatenature. Something was in the air, something was passing between husbandand wife in which the outside world had no concern--something not meantfor him to see. He brought the interview to an end as quickly aspossible. He begged of Bennett to consider this talk as a merepreliminary--a breaking of the ground. He would give Bennett time tothink it over. Speaking for himself and the others, he was deeplyimpressed with that generous offer to meet the unexpected deficiency, but it had been made upon the spur of the moment. No doubt Mr. Bennettand his wife would wish to talk it over between themselves, to considerthe whole matter. The committee temporarily had its headquarters in his(Campbell's) offices. He left Bennett the address. He would await hisdecision and answer there. 

When the conference ended Bennett accompanied the members of thecommittee downstairs and to the front door of the house. The three had, with thanks and excuses, declined all invitations to dine at Medfordwith Bennett and his wife. They could conveniently catch the next trainback to the City; Campbell and Tremlidge were in a hurry to return totheir respective businesses. 

The front gate closed. Bennett was left alone. He shut the front door ofthe house, and for an instant stood leaning against it, his small eyestwinkling under his frown, his glance straying aimlessly about amid thefamiliar objects of the hallway and adjoining rooms. He was thoughtful, perturbed, tugging slowly at the ends of his mustache. Slowly heascended the stairs, gaining the landing on the second floor and goingon toward the half-open door of the "workroom" he had just quitted. Lloyd was uppermost in his mind. He wanted her, his wife, and that atonce. He was conscious that a great thing had suddenly transpired; thatall the calm and infinitely happy life of the last year was ruthlesslybroken up; but in his mind there was nothing more definite, nothingstronger than the thought of his wife and the desire for hercompanionship and advice. 

He came into the "workroom, " closing the door behind him with his heel, his hands deep in his pockets. Lloyd was still there, standing oppositehim as he entered. She hardly seemed to have moved while he had beengone. They did not immediately speak. Once more their eyes met. Then atlength:

"Well, Lloyd?"

"Well, my husband?"

Bennett was about to answer--what, he hardly knew; but at that momentthere was a diversion. 

The old boat's flag, the tattered little square of faded stars and barsthat had been used to mark the line of many a weary march, had beenhanging, as usual, over the blue-print plans of the Freja on the wailopposite the window. Inadequately fixed in its place, the jar of theclosing door as Bennett shut it behind him dislodged it, and it fell tothe floor close beside him. 

He stooped and picked it up, and, holding it in his hand, turned towardthe spot whence it had fallen. He cast a glance at the wall above theplans of the Freja, about to replace it, willing for the instant todefer the momentous words he felt must soon be spoken, willing to putoff the inevitable a few seconds longer. 

"I don't know, " he muttered, looking from the flag to the emptywall-spaces about the room; "I don't know just where to put this. Doyou--"

"Don't you know?" interrupted Lloyd suddenly, her blue eyes all alight. 

"No, " said Bennett; "I--"

Lloyd caught the flag from his hands and, with one great sweep of herarm, drove its steel-shod shaft full into the centre of the great chartof the polar region, into the innermost concentric circle where the Polewas marked. 

"Put that flag there!" she cried. 

XI. 

That particular day in the last week in April was sombre and somewhatchilly, but there was little wind. The water of the harbour lay smoothas a sheet of tightly stretched gray silk. Overhead the sea-fog driftedgradually landward, descending, as it drifted, till the outlines of theCity grew blurred and indistinct, resolving to a dim, vast mass, ruggedwith high-shouldered office buildings and bulging, balloon-like domes, confused and mysterious under the cloak of the fog. In the nearerforeground, along the lines of the wharves and docks, a wilderness ofmasts and spars of a tone just darker than the gray of the mist stoodaway from the blur of the background with the distinctness and delicacyof frost-work. 

But amid all this grayness of sky and water and fog one distinguishedcertain black and shifting masses. They outlined every wharf, theybanked every dock, every quay. Every small and inconsequent jetty hadits fringe of black. Even the roofs of the buildings along thewater-front were crested with the same dull-coloured mass. 

It was the People, the crowd, rank upon rank, close-packed, expectant, thronging there upon the City's edge, swelling in size with the lapse ofevery minute, vast, conglomerate, restless, and throwing off into thestillness of the quiet gray air a prolonged, indefinite murmur, amonotonous minor note. 

The surface of the bay was dotted over with all manner of craft blackwith people. Rowboats, perilously overcrowded, were everywhere. Ferryboats and excursion steamers, chartered for that day, heeled overalmost to the water's edge with the unsteady weight of their passengers. Tugboats passed up and down similarly crowded and displaying the flagsof various journals and news organisations--the News, the Press, theTimes, and the Associated Press. Private yachts, trim and very gracefuland gleaming with brass and varnish, slipped by with scarcely a rippleto mark their progress, while full in the centre of the bay, gigantic, solid, formidable, her grim, silent guns thrusting their snouts from herturrets, a great, white battleship rode motionless to her anchor. 

An hour passed; noon came. At long intervals a faint seaward breezecompressed the fog, and high, sad-coloured clouds and a fine andpenetrating rain came drizzling down. The crowds along the wharves grewdenser and blacker. The numbers of yachts, boats, and steamersincreased; even the yards and masts of the merchant-ships were dottedover with watchers. 

Then, at length, from far up the bay there came a faint, a barelyperceptible, droning sound, the sound of distant shouting. Instantly thecrowds were alert, and a quick, surging movement rippled from end to endof the throng along the water-front. Its subdued murmur rose in pitchupon the second. Like a flock of agitated gulls, the boats in theharbour stirred nimbly from place to place; a belated newspaper tug toreby, headed for the upper bay, smoking fiercely, the water boiling fromher bows. From the battleship came the tap of a drum. The excursionsteamers and chartered ferryboats moved to points of vantage and tookposition, occasionally feeling the water with their paddles. 

The distant, droning sound drew gradually nearer, swelling in volume, and by degrees splitting into innumerable component parts. One began todistinguish the various notes that contributed to its volume--a sharp, quick volley of inarticulate shouts or a cadenced cheer or a hoarsesalvo of steam whistles. Bells began to ring in different quarters ofthe City. 

Then all at once the advancing wave of sound swept down like the rush ofa great storm. A roar as of the unchained wind leaped upward from thosebanked and crowding masses. It swelled louder and louder, deafening, inarticulate. A vast bellow of exultation split the gray, low-hangingheavens. Erect plumes of steam shot upward from the ferry and excursionboats, but the noise of their whistles was lost and drowned in thereverberation of that mighty and prolonged clamour. But suddenly theindeterminate thunder was pierced and dominated by a sharp anddeep-toned report, and a jet of white smoke shot out from the flanks ofthe battleship. Her guns had spoken. Instantly and from another quarterof her hull came another jet of white smoke, stabbed through with itsthin, yellow flash, and another abrupt clap of thunder shook the windowsof the City. 

The boats that all the morning had been moving toward the upper bay werereturning. They came slowly, a veritable fleet, steaming down the bay, headed for the open sea, beyond the entrance of the harbour, eachcrowded and careening to the very gunwales, each whistling with mightand main. 

And in their midst--the storm-centre round which this tempest ofacclamation surged, the object on which so many eyes were focussed, thehope of an entire nation--one ship. 

She was small and seemingly pitifully inadequate for the great adventureon which she was bound; her lines were short and ungraceful. From herclumsy iron-shod bow to her high, round stern, from her bulging sides tothe summit of her short, powerful masts there was scant beauty in her. She was broad, blunt, evidently slow in her movements, and in the smoothwaters of the bay seemed out of her element. But, for all that, sheimparted an impression of compactness, the compactness of things dwarfedand stunted. Vast, indeed, would be the force that would crush thosebulging flanks, so cunningly built, moreover, that the ship must slipand rise to any too great lateral pressure. Far above her waist rose hersmokestack. Overhead upon the mainmast was affixed the crow's nest. Whaleboats and cutters swung from her davits, while all her decks werecumbered with barrels, with crates, with boxes and strangely shapedbales and cases. 

She drew nearer, continuing that slow, proud progress down the bay, honoured as no visiting sovereign had ever been. The great whiteman-of-war dressed ship as she passed, and the ensign at herfighting-top dipped and rose again. At once there was a movement aboardthe little outbound ship; one of her crew ran aft and hauled sharply atthe halyards, and then at her peak there was broken out not thebrilliant tri-coloured banner, gay and brave and clean, but a littlelength of bunting, tattered and soiled, a faded breadth of stars andbars, a veritable battle-flag, eloquent of strenuous endeavour, offighting without quarter, and of hardship borne without flinching andwithout complaining. 

The ship with her crowding escorts held onward. By degrees the City waspassed; the bay narrowed oceanwards little by little. The throng ofpeople, the boom of cannon, and the noise of shouting dropped astern. One by one the boats of the escorting squadron halted, drew off, and, turning with a parting blast of their whistles, headed back to the City. Only the larger, heavier steamers and the sea-going tugs still kept ontheir way. On either shore of the bay the houses began to dwindle, giving place to open fields, brown and sear under the scudding sea-fog, for now a wind was building up from out the east, and the surface of thebay had begun to ruffle. 

Half a mile farther on the slow, huge, groundswells began to come in; alighthouse was passed. Full in view, on ahead, stretched the open, emptywaste of ocean. Another steamer turned back, then another, then another, then the last of the newspaper tugs. The fleet, reduced now to half adozen craft, ploughed on through and over the groundswells, the shipthey were escorting leading the way, her ragged little ensign strainingstiff in the ocean wind. At the entrance of the bay, where the enclosingshores drew together and trailed off to surf-beaten sand-spits, threemore of the escort halted, and, unwilling to face the tumbling expanseof the ocean, bleak and gray, turned homeward. Then just beyond the bartwo more of the remaining boats fell off and headed Cityward; a thirdimmediately did likewise. The outbound ship was left with only onecompanion. 

But that one, a sturdy little sea-going tug, held close, close to theflank of the departing vessel, keeping even pace with her and lyingalongside as nearly as she dared, for the fog had begun to thicken, anddistant objects were shut from sight by occasional drifting patches. 

On board the tug there was but one passenger--a woman. She stood uponthe forward deck, holding to a stanchion with one strong, white hand, the strands of her bronze-red hair whipping across her face, the saltspray damp upon her cheeks. She was dressed in a long, brown ulster, itscape flying from her shoulders as the wind lifted it. Small as was theoutgoing ship, the tug was still smaller, and its single passenger hadto raise her eyes above her to see the figure of a man upon the bridgeof the ship, a tall, heavily built figure, buttoned from heel to chin ina greatcoat, who stood there gripping the rail of the bridge with onehand, and from time to time giving an order to his sailing-master, whostood in the centre of the bridge before the compass and electricindicator. 

Between the man upon the bridge and the woman on the forward deck of thetug there was from time to time a little conversation. They called toone another above the throbbing of the engines and the wash of the seaalongside, and in the sound of their voices there was a note ofattempted cheerfulness. Practically they were alone, with the exceptionof the sailing-master on the bridge. The crew of the ship were nowherein sight. On the tug no one but the woman was to be seen. All aroundthem stretched the fog-ridden sea. 

Then at last, in answer to a question from the man on the bridge, thewoman said:

"Yes--I think I had better. "

An order was given. The tug's bell rang in her engine-room, and theengine slowed and stopped. For some time the tug continued her headway, ranging alongside the ship as before. Then she began to fall behind, atfirst slowly, then with increasing swiftness. The outbound shipcontinued on her way, and between the two the water widened and widened. But the fog was thick; in another moment the two would be shut out fromeach other's sight. The moment of separation was come. 

Then Lloyd, standing alone on that heaving deck, drew herself up to herfull height, her head a little back, her blue eyes all alight, a smileupon her lips. She spoke no word. She made no gesture, but stood there, the smile yet upon her lips, erect, firm, motionless; looking steadily, calmly, proudly into Bennett's eyes as his ship carried him farther andfarther away. 

Suddenly the fog shut down. The two vessels were shut from each other'ssight. 

As Bennett stood leaning upon the rail of the bridge behind him, hishands deep in the pockets of his greatcoat, his eyes fixed on thevisible strip of water just ahead of his ship's prow, thesailing-master, Adler, approached and saluted. 

"Beg pardon, sir, " he said, "we're just clear of the last buoy; what'sour course now, sir?"

Bennett glanced at the chart that Adler held and then at the compassaffixed to the rail of the bridge close at hand. Quietly he answered:

"Due north. "