Crayford touched his friend on the shoulder to rouse him. Wardourlooked up, impatiently, with a frown.

"I was just asleep," he said. "Why do you wake me?"

"Look round you, Richard. We are alone."

"Well--and what of that?"

"I wish to speak to you privately; and this is my opportunity.You have disappointed and surprised me to-day. Why did you say itwas all one to you whether you went or stayed? Why are you theonly man among us who seems to be perfectly indifferent whetherwe are rescued or not?"

"Can a man always give a reason for what is strange in his manneror his words?" Wardour retorted.

"He can try," said Crayford, quietly--"when his friend asks him."

Wardour's manner softened.

"That's true," he said. "I _will_ try. Do you remember the firstnight at sea when we sailed from England in the _Wanderer_?"

"As well as if it was yesterday."

"A calm, still night," the other went on, thoughtfully. "Noclouds, no stars. Nothing in the sky but the broad moon, andhardly a ripple to break the path of light she made in the quietwater. Mine was the middle watch that night. You cam e on deck,and found me alone--"

He stopped. Crayford took his hand, and finished the sentence forhim.

"Alone--and in tears."

"The last I shall ever shed," Wardour added, bitterly.

"Don't say that! There are times when a man is to be pitiedindeed, if he can shed no tears. Go on, Richard."

Wardour proceeded--still following the old recollections, stillpreserving his gentler tones.

"I should have quarreled with any other man who had surprised meat that moment," he said. "There was something, I suppose, inyour voice when you asked my pardon for disturbing me, thatsoftened my heart. I told you I had met with a disappointmentwhich had broken me for life. There was no need to explainfurther. The only hopeless wretchedness in this world is thewretchedness that women cause."

"And the only unalloyed happiness," said Crayford, "the happinessthat women bring."

"That may be your experience of them," Wardour answered; "mine isdifferent. All the devotion, the patience, the humility, theworship that there is in man, I laid at the feet of a woman. Sheaccepted the offering as women do--accepted it, easily,gracefully, unfeelingly--accepted it as a matter of course. Ileft England to win a high place in my profession, before I daredto win _her_. I braved danger, and faced death. I staked my lifein the fever swamps of Africa, to gain the promotion that I onlydesired for her sake--and gained it. I came back to give her all,and to ask nothing in return, but to rest my weary heart in thesunshine of her smile. And her own lips--the lips I had kissed atparting--told me that another man had robbed me of her. I spokebut few words when I heard that confession, and left her forever.'The time may come,' I told her, 'when I shall forgive _you_. Butthe man who has robbed me of you shall rue the day when you andhe first met.' Don't ask me who he was! I have yet to discoverhim. The treachery had been kept secret; nobody could tell mewhere to find him; nobody could tell me who he was. What did itmatter? When I had lived out the first agony, I could rely onmyself--I could be patient, and bide my time."

"Your time? What time?"

"The time when I and that man shall meet face to face. I knew itthen; I know it now--it was written on my heart then, it iswritten on my heart now--we two shall meet and know each other!With that conviction strong within me, I volunteered for thisservice, as I would have volunteered for anything that set workand hardship and danger, like ramparts, between my misery and me.With that conviction strong within me still, I tell you it is nomatter whether I stay here with the sick, or go hence with thestrong. I shall live till I have met that man! There is a day ofreckoning appointed between us. Here in the freezing cold, oraway in the deadly heat; in battle or in shipwreck; in the faceof starvation; under the shadow of pestilence--I, though hundredsare falling round me, I shall live! live for the coming of oneday! live for the meeting with one man!"

He stopped, trembling, body and soul, under the hold that his ownterrible superstition had fastened on him. Crayford drew back insilent horror. Wardour noticed the action--he resented it--heappealed, in defense of his one cherished conviction, toCrayford's own experience of him.

"Look at me!" he cried. "Look how I have lived and thriven, withthe heart-ache gnawing at me at home, and the winds of the icynorth whistling round me here! I am the strongest man among you.Why? I have fought through hardships that have laid thebest-seasoned men of all our party on their backs. Why? What have_I_ done, that my life should throb as bravely through every veinin my body at this minute, and in this deadly place, as ever itdid in the wholesome breezes of home? What am I preserved for? Itell you again, for the coming of one day--for the meeting withone man."

He paused once more. This time Crayford spoke.

"Richard!" he said, "since we first met, I have believed in yourbetter nature, against all outward appearance. I have believed inyou, firmly, truly, as your brother might. You are putting thatbelief to a hard test. If your enemy had told me that you hadever talked as you talk now, that you had ever looked as you looknow, I would have turned my back on him as the utterer of a vilecalumny against a just, a brave, an upright man. Oh! my friend,my friend, if ever I have deserved well of you, put away thesethoughts from your heart! Face me again, with the stainless lookof a man who has trampled under his feet the bloody superstitionsof revenge, and knows them no more! Never, never, let the timecome when I cannot offer you my hand as I offer it now, to theman I can still admire--to the brother I can still love!"

The heart that no other voice could touch felt that appeal. Thefierce eyes, the hard voice, softened under Crayford's influence.Richard Wardour's head sank on his breast.

"You are kinder to me than I deserve," he said. "Be kinder still,and forget what I have been talking about. No! no more about me;I am not worth it. We'll change the subject, and never go back toit again. Let's do something. Work, Crayford--that's the trueelixir of our life! Work, that stretches the muscles and sets theblood a-glowing. Work, that tires the body and rests the mind. Isthere nothing in hand that I can do? Nothing to cut? nothing tocarry?"

The door opened as he put the question. Bateson--appointed tochop Frank's bed-place into firing--appeared punctually with hisax. Wardour, without a word of warning, snatched the ax out ofthe man's hand.

"What was this wanted for?" he asked.

"To cut up Mr. Aldersley's berth there into firing, sir."

"I'll do it for you! I'll have it down in no time!" He turned toCrayford. "You needn't be afraid about me, old friend. I am goingto do the right thing. I am going to tire my body and rest mymind."

The evil spirit in him was plainly subdued--for the time, atleast. Crayford took his hand in silence; and then (followed byBateson) left him to his work.