"Still at work!" Crayford exclaimed, looking at thehalf-demolished bed-place. "Give yourself a little rest, Richard.The exploring party is ready to start. If you wish to take leaveof your brother officers before they go, you have no time tolose."

He checked himself there, looking Wardour full in the face.

"Good Heavens!" he cried, "how pale you are! Has anythinghappened?"

Frank--searching in his locker for articles of clothing which hemight require on the journey--looked round. He was startled, asCrayford had been startled, by the sudden change in Wardour sincethey had last seen him.

"Are you ill?" he asked. "I hear you have been doing Bateson'swork for him. Have you hurt yourself?"

Wardour suddenly moved his head, so as to hide his face from bothCrayford and Frank. He took out his handkerchief, and wound itclumsily round his left hand.

"Yes," he said; "I hurt myself with the ax. It's nothing. Nevermind. Pain always has a curious effect on me. I tell you it'snothing! Don't notice it!"

He turned his face toward them again as suddenly as he had turnedit away. He advanced a few steps, and addressed himself with anuneasy familiarity to Frank.

"I didn't answer you civilly when you spoke to me some littletime since. I mean when I first came in here along with the restof them. I apologize. Shake hands! How are you? Ready for themarch?"

Frank met the oddly abrupt advance which had been made to himwith perfect good humor.

"I am glad to be friends with you, Mr. Wardour. I wish I was aswell seasoned to fatigue as you are."

Wardour burst into a hard, joyless, unnatural laugh.

"Not strong, eh? You don't look it. The dice had better have sentme away, and kept you here. I never felt in better condition inmy life." He paused and added, with his eye on Frank and with astrong emphasis on the words: "We men of Kent are made of toughmaterial."

Frank advanced a step on his side, with a new interest in RichardWardour.

"You come from Kent?" he said.

"Yes. From East Kent." He waited a little once more, and lookedhard at Frank. "Do you know that part of the country?" he asked.

"I ought to know something about East Kent," Frank answered."Some dear friends of mine once lived there."

"Friends of yours?" Wardour repeated. "One of the countyfamilies, I suppose?"

As he put the question, he abruptly looked over his shoulder. Hewas standing between Crayford and Frank. Crayford, taking no partin the conversation, had been watching him, and listening to himmore and more attentively as that conversation went on. Withinthe last moment or two Wardour had become instinctively consciousof this. He resented Crayford's conduct with needlessirritability.

"Why are you staring at me?" he asked.

"Why are you looking unlike yourself?" Crayford answered,quietly.

Wardour made no reply. He renewed the conversation with Frank.

"One of the county families?" he resumed. "The Winterbys of YewGrange, I dare say?"

"No," said Frank; "but friends of the Witherbys, very likely. TheBurnhams."

Desperately as he struggled to maintain it, Wardour'sself-control failed him. He started violently. The clumsily-woundhandkerchief fell off his hand. Still looking at him attentively,Crayford picked it up.

"There is your handkerchief, Richard," he said. "Strange!"

"What is strange?"

"You told us you had hurt yourself with the ax--"

"Well?"

"There is no blood on your handkerchief."

Wardour snatched the handkerchief out of Crayford's hand, and,turning away, approached the outer door of the hut. "No blood onthe handkerchief," he said to himself. "There may be a stain ortwo when Crayford sees it again." He stopped within a few pacesof the door, and spoke to Crayford. "You recommended me to takeleave of my brother officers before it was too late," he said. "Iam going to follow your advice."

The door was opened from the outer side as he laid his hand onthe lock.

One of the quartermasters of the _Wanderer_ entered the hut.

"Is Captain Helding here, sir?" he asked, addressing himself toWardour.

Wardour pointed to Crayford.

"The lieutenant will tell you," he said.

Crayford advanced and questioned the quartermaster. "What do youwant with Captain Helding?" he asked.

"I have a report to make, sir. There has been an accident on theice."

"To one of your men?"

"No, sir. To one of our officers."

Wardour, on the point of going out, paused when the quartermastermade that reply. For a moment he considered with himself. Then hewalked slowly back to the part of the room in which Frank wasstanding. Crayford, directing the quartermaster, pointed to thearched door way in the side of the hut.

"I am sorry to hear of the accident," he said. "You will findCaptain Helding in that room."

For the second time, with singular persistency, Wardour renewedthe conversation with Frank.

"So you knew the Burnhams?" he said. "What became of Clara whenher father died?"

Frank's face flushed angrily on the instant.

"Clara!" he repeated. "What authorizes you to speak of MissBurnham in that familiar manner?"

Wardour seized the opportunity of quarreling with him.

"What right have you to ask?" he retorted, coarsely.

Frank's blood was up. He forgot his promise to Clara to keeptheir engagement secret--he forgot everything but the unbridledinsolence of Wardour's language and manner.

"A right which I insist on your respecting," he answered. "Theright of being engaged to marry her."

Crayford's steady eyes were still on the watch, and Wardour feltthem on him. A little more and Crayford might openly interfere.Even Wardour recognized for once the necessity of controlling histemper, cost him what it might. He made his apologies, withoverstrained politeness, to Frank.

"Impos sible to dispute such a right as yours," he said. "Perhapsyou will excuse me when you know that I am one of Miss Burnham'sold friends. My father and her father were neighbors. We havealways met like brother and sister--"

Frank generously stopped the apology there.

"Say no more," he interposed. "I was in the wrong--I lost mytemper. Pray forgive me."

Wardour looked at him with a strange, reluctant interest while hewas speaking. Wardour asked an extraordinary question when he haddone.

"Is she very fond of you?"

Frank burst out laughing.

"My dear fellow," he said, "come to our wedding, and judge foryourself."

"Come to your wedding?" As he repeated the words Wardour stoleone glance at Frank which Frank (employed in buckling hisknapsack) failed to see. Crayford noticed it, and Crayford'sblood ran cold. Comparing the words which Wardour had spoken tohim while they were alone together with the words that had justpassed in his presence, he could draw but one conclusion. Thewoman whom Wardour had loved and lost was--Clara Burnham. The manwho had robbed him of her was Frank Aldersley. And Wardour haddiscovered it in the interval since they had last met. "ThankGod!" thought Crayford, "the dice have parted them! Frank goeswith the expedition, and Wardour stays behind with me."

The reflection had barely occurred to him--Frank's thoughtlessinvitation to Wardour had just passed his lips--when the canvasscreen over the doorway was drawn aside. Captain Helding and theofficers who were to leave with the exploring party returned tothe main room on their way out. Seeing Crayford, Captain Heldingstopped to speak to him.

"I have a casualty to report," said the captain, "whichdiminishes our numbers by one. My second lieutenant, who was tohave joined the exploring party, has had a fall on the ice.Judging by what the quartermaster tells me, I am afraid the poorfellow has broken his leg."

"I will supply his place," cried a voice at the other end of thehut.

Everybody looked round. The man who had spoken was RichardWardour.

Crayford instantly interfered--so vehemently as to astonish allwho knew him.

"No!" he said. "Not you, Richard! not you!"

"Why not?" Wardour asked, sternly.

"Why not, indeed?" added Captain Helding. "Wardour is the veryman to be useful on a long march. He is in perfect health, and heis the best shot among us. I was on the point of proposing himmyself."

Crayford failed to show his customary respect for his superiorofficer. He openly disputed the captain's conclusion.

"Wardour has no right to volunteer," he rejoined. "It has beensettled, Captain Helding, that chance shall decide who is to goand who is to stay."

"And chance _has_ decided it," cried Wardour. "Do you think weare going to cast the dice again, and give an officer of the_Sea-mew_ a chance of replacing an officer of the _Wanderer_?There is a vacancy in our party, not in yours; and we claim theright of filling it as we please. I volunteer, and my captainbacks me. Whose authority is to keep me here after that?"

"Gently, Wardour," said Captain Helding. "A man who is in theright can afford to speak with moderation." He turned toCrayford. "You must admit yourself," he continued, "that Wardouris right this time. The missing man belongs to my command, and incommon justice one of my officers ought to supply his place."

It was impossible to dispute the matter further. The dullest manpresent could see that the captain's reply was unanswerable. Insheer despair, Crayford took Frank's arm and led him aside a fewsteps. The last chance left of parting the two men was the chanceof appealing to Frank.

"My dear boy," he began, "I want to say one friendly word to youon the subject of your health. I have already, if you remember,expressed my doubts whether you are strong enough to make one ofan exploring party. I feel those doubts more strongly than everat this moment. Will you take the advice of a friend who wishesyou well?"

Wardour had followed Crayford. Wardour roughly interposed beforeFrank could reply.

"Let him alone!"

Crayford paid no heed to the interruption. He was too earnestlybent on withdrawing Frank from the expedition to notice anythingthat was said or done by the persons about him.

"Don't, pray don't, risk hardships which you are unfit to bear!"he went on, entreatingly. "Your place can be easily filled.Change your mind, Frank. Stay here with me."

Again Wardour interfered. Again he called out, "Leave him alone!"more roughly than ever. Still deaf and blind to everyconsideration but one, Crayford pressed his entreaties on Frank.

"You owned yourself just now that you were not well seasoned tofatigue," he persisted. "You feel (you _must_ feel) how weak thatlast illness has left you? You know (I am sure you know) howunfit you are to brave exposure to cold, and long marches overthe snow."

Irritated beyond endurance by Crayford's obstinacy; seeing, orthinking he saw, signs of yielding in Frank's face, Wardour sofar forgot himself as to seize Crayford by the arm and attempt todrag him away from Frank. Crayford turned and looked at him.

"Richard," he said, very quietly, "you are not yourself. I pityyou. Drop your hand."

Wardour relaxed his hold, with something of the sullen submissionof a wild animal to its keeper. The momentary silence whichfollowed gave Frank an opportunity of speaking at last.

"I am gratefully sensible, Crayford," he began, "of the interestwhich you take in me--"

"And you will follow my advice?" Crayford interposed, eagerly.

"My mind is made up, old friend," Frank answered, firmly andsadly. "Forgive me for disappointing you. I am appointed to theexpedition. With the expedition I go." He moved nearer toWardour. In his innocence of all suspicion he clapped Wardourheartily on the shoulder. "When I feel the fatigue," said poorsimple Frank, "you will help me, comrade--won't you? Come along!"

Wardour snatched his gun out of the hands of the sailor who wascarrying it for him. His dark face became suddenly irradiatedwith a terrible joy.

"Come!" he cried. "Over the snow and over the ice! Come! where nohuman footsteps have ever trodden, and where no human trace isever left."

Blindly, instinctively, Crayford made an effort to part them. Hisbrother officers, standing near, pulled him back. They looked ateach other anxiously. The merciless cold, striking its victims invarious ways, had struck in some instances at their reason first.Everybody loved Crayford. Was he, too, going on the dark way thatothers had taken before him? They forced him to seat himself onone of the lockers. "Steady, old fellow!" they saidkindly--"steady!" Crayford yielded, writhing inwardly under thesense of his own helplessness. What in God's name could he do?Could he denounce Wardour to Captain Helding on baresuspicion--without so much as the shadow of a proof to justifywhat he said? The captain would decline to insult one of hisofficers by even mentioning the monstrous accusation to him. Thecaptain would conclude, as others had already concluded, thatCrayford's mind was giving way under stress of cold andprivation. No hope--literally, no hope now, but in the numbers ofthe expedition. Officers and men, they all liked Frank. As longas they could stir hand or foot, they would help him on theway--they would see that no harm came to him.

The word of command was given; the door was thrown open; the hutemptied rapidly. Over the merciless white snow--under themerciless black sky--the exploring party began to move. The sickand helpless men, whose last hope of rescue centered in theirdeparting messmates, cheered faintly. Some few whose days werenumbered sobbed and cried like women. Frank's voice faltered ashe turned back at the door to say his last words to the friendwho had been a father to him.

"God bless you, Crayford!"

Crayford broke away from the officers near him; and, hurryingforward, seized Frank by both hands. Crayford held him as if hewould never let him go.

"God preserve you, Frank! I would give all I have in the world tobe with you. Good-by! Good-by!"

Frank waved his hand--das hed away the tears that were gatheringin his eyes--and hurried out. Crayford called after him, thelast, the only warning that he could give:

"While you can stand, keep with the main body, Frank!"

Wardour, waiting till the last--Wardour, following Frank throughthe snow-drift--stopped, stepped back, and answered Crayford atthe door:

"While he can stand, he keeps with Me."

Third Scene

The Iceberg.