The number tried and rendered on this particular occasion was Tristan's song from Der Erl-Kœnig, the immortal lyric beginning: "Childe Hassam to a dark tower came," and ending with that pathetic musical fiasco "Placing the slughorn to his lips,-- He blew!" The hitherto-unheard and unheard-of sound of a B flat slughorn, reaching into these frozen fastnesses, stirred the very depths of the Eskimo auditor, while the white strangers, unconscious of the emotional tumult they had aroused, assisted by Messrs. Adams and Smeed, laughed uproariously at the scene. Dr. Traprock's demeanor, especially, is positively mephistophelian. Can it be that he thinks of playing the satanic rôle to Triplett's Faust? Dr. Traprock assures us that we are too imaginative. "It was a glorious performance"; he says: "Long may its frozen echoes hover 'round the Pole, to thaw out in successive Springs as the years roll on. I shall not be there to hear them but I shall be happy to think that they persist." [Illustration: A Moment Musical] "No, no!" she wailed. "I found them. I was putting your brief-case in order, and then my curiosity got the better of me and I opened them. But read, read!" Obeying her injunction I unfolded the papers, and sat back, thunderstruck. The orders were brevity itself. They said simply. "Sail south, at once." My face must have expressed my bewilderment for she continued. "You see! You see! the moment I read them I knew these orders were a plot, a plot to make you turn back, a plot to discredit ... the man ... I love." Her voice sank to a low moan and her shoulders were again racked by sobs. I saw it all now. Consumed by jealousy, knowing the contents of the papers, she had withheld them until her woman's nature could stand no more. In the dim light of the cabin, her face transfigured with tenderness, she was actually beautiful. I raised her gently from the floor. "That will do," I said. "I am sorry ... sorry," she moaned. I pointed to the companion-way and she went out silently. In the quarter hour which followed I wrestled with a temptation more terrible than any trial of the flesh, the trial of my honor. Once, my hand, holding the orders, stretched toward the cabin lamp; a few ashes, and all would be solved. Then I hastily drew back as if the flame had scorched my soul. When I finally arose, spent and trembling, I could proclaim myself the victor. "Traprock must be true," I muttered. Then striding to the hatchway I threw it open and stepped on deck. "All hands aboard to receive orders," I bellowed. Amid confused murmurs the company assembled. "Sick?" asked Captain Triplett peering at my white face. "No; well," I answered. "Men, stow your dunnage at once. We leave in four hours for New York."