His blazing eyes looked over her bowed head at the little heap among the blackened stones. “Here!” he whispered. “What’s this?” “A wind-match. Careful! there’s only one more.” She rose unsteadily, with a sense of the utter uselessness of any help now for this man who had been Jack Galbraith. But as she struck the match, and the fire caught among the sticks, once more the life leaped up in the man. He sat erect, exultant, horrible to look upon, tearing the leaves of a book, holding them up in sheaves, and crying out: “Here, take the rest! I keep my word. I give the Kingdom back to the oldest of the gods!” And with that he fell together and lay with eyes hidden, breathing hoarsely. When she saw that the last pages, not even smoldering any more, lay charred among the stones, she turned again to the bedside. Was he dead? A long time she stood there. What sound was that above the surf? Again the long shrilling note. She went to the door. Again! Of course; the steam whistle of the _Beluga_, calling the travelers back. And this other traveler, had he heard a call? Was he, too, gone home? With trembling knees she made her way back to the low bed. Again the strident sound. It set the nerves a-shake. Painfully the gaunt figure moved. It lifted up its face. It sent little-seeing eyes to the stony altar. They seemed to search among the ashes. Again the wind bore over the water that harsh summons to be gone. “Everything is burned,” said the girl, and with a little strangled cry of “Bella! Bella!” Hildegarde buried her face in her hands, sobbing: “Oh, I think I was mad to help you. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.” “I’m glad.” She dropped her hands. “Glad ... haven’t spoiled ... finest game in the world ... the men who come after. Don’t know—what they’ll do—when they’ve found it—but—hunting the Pole—will last them ... good while yet. Ky—won’t tell!” Again the _Beluga’s_ piercing call. It carried Hildegarde to the door. Where was any counsel? Where was Cheviot? Ah, yes! From the heights behind the hut, he must have made the signal agreed on before leaving the _Beluga_. Hildegarde could see the small boat putting off now from the whaler. What was she to do? If, after Cheviot’s promise, there were delay, who could doubt the choleric captain would not scruple to leave his undesired passengers behind. Or if there were only threat of that—her father’s bewilderment and misery. What to do! As she turned her eyes away from the shining world without the door, her dazzled vision found only shadows in the hut. She had dreamed it all! No; that voice again: “—Still heels four degrees to starboard! One point? No; only a motion of the floe in azimuth. I tell you we’re locked fast.” “Please listen. I’m Bella’s friend. I—oh, come back a moment.” “Tell Borisoff—can’t hear with this infernal shrieking of the boulders. By the Lord!”—he raised himself on an elbow—“ten yards of this living, moving ice would hold Goliath back. And it’s sixty miles to the sea!”