The man was a sinister and terrible object to look at. His eyesglared like the eyes of a wild animal; his head was bare; hislong gray hair was torn and tangled; his miserable garments hungabout him in rags. He stood in the doorway, a speechless figureof misery and want, staring at the well-spread table like ahungry dog.

Steventon spoke to him.

"Who are you?"

He answered, in a hoarse, hollow voice,

"A starving man."

He advanced a few steps, slowly and painfully, as if he weresinking under fatigue.

"Throw me some bones from the table," he said. "Give me my sharealong with the dogs."

There was madness as well as hunger in his eyes while he spokethose words. Steventon placed Mrs. Crayford behind him, so thathe might be easily able to protect her in case of need, andbeckoned to two sailors who were passing the door of theboat-house at the time.

"Give the man some bread and meat," he said, "and wait near him."

The outcast seized on the bread and meat with lean, long-nailedhands that looked like claws. After his first mouthful of thefood, he stopped, considered vacantly with himself, and broke thebread and meat into two portions. One portion he put into an oldcanvas wallet that hung over his shoulder; the other he devouredvoraciously. Steventon questioned him.

"Where do you come from?"

"From the sea."

"Wrecked?"

"Yes."

Steventon turned to Mrs. Crayford.

"There may be some truth in the poor wretch's story," he said. "Iheard something of a strange boat having been cast on the beachthirty or forty miles higher up the coast. When were you wrecked,my man?"

The starving creature looked up from his food, and made an effortto collect his thoughts--to exert his memory. It was not to bedone. He gave up the attempt in despair. His language, when hespoke, was as wild as his looks.

"I can't tell you," he said. "I can't get the wash of the sea outof my ears. I can't get the shining stars all night, and theburning sun all day, out of my brain. When was I wrecked? Whenwas I first adrift in the boat? When did I get the tiller in myhand and fight against hunger and sleep? When did the gnawi ng inmy breast, and the burning in my head, first begin? I have lostall reckoning of it. I can't think; I can't sleep; I can't getthe wash of the sea out of my ears. What are you baiting me withquestions for? Let me eat!"

Even the sailors pitied him. The sailors asked leave of theirofficer to add a little drink to his meal.

"We've got a drop of grog with us, sir, in a bottle. May we giveit to him?"

"Certainly!"

He took the bottle fiercely, as he had taken the food, drank alittle, stopped, and considered with himself again. He held upthe bottle to the light, and, marking how much liquor itcontained, carefully drank half of it only. This done, he put thebottle in his wallet along with the food.

"Are you saving it up for another time?" said Steventon.

"I'm saving it up," the man answered. "Never mind what for.That's my secret."

He looked round the boat-house as he made that reply, and noticedMrs. Crayford for the first time.

"A woman among you!" he said. "Is she English? Is she young? Letme look closer at her."

He advanced a few steps toward the table.

"Don't be afraid, Mrs. Crayford," said Steventon.

"I am not afraid," Mrs. Crayford replied. "He frightened me atfirst--he interests me now. Let him speak to me if he wishes it!"

He never spoke. He stood, in dead silence, looking long andanxiously at the beautiful Englishwoman.

"Well?" said Steventon.

He shook his head sadly, and drew back again with a heavy sigh.

"No!" he said to himself, "that's not _her_ face. No! not foundyet."

Mrs. Crayford's interest was strongly excited. She ventured tospeak to him.

"Who is it you want to find?" she asked. "Your wife?"

He shook his head again.

"Who, then? What is she like?"

He answered that question in words. His hoarse, hollow voicesoftened, little by little, into sorrowful and gentle tones.

"Young," he said; "with a fair, sad face--with kind, tendereyes--with a soft, clear voice. Young and loving and merciful. Ikeep her face in my mind, though I can keep nothing else. I mustwander, wander, wander--restless, sleepless, homeless--till Ifind _her!_ Over the ice and over the snow; tossing on the sea,tramping over the land; awake all night, awake all day; wander,wander, wander, till I find _her!_"

He waved his hand with a gesture of farewell, and turned wearilyto go out.

At the same moment Crayford opened the yard door.

"I think you had better come to Clara," he began, and checkedhimself, noticing the stranger. "Who is that?"

The shipwrecked man, hearing another voice in the room, lookedround slowly over his shoulder. Struck by his appearance,Crayford advanced a little nearer to him. Mrs. Crayford spoke toher husband as he passed her.

"It's only a poor, mad creature, William," shewhispered--"shipwrecked and starving."

"Mad?" Crayford repeated, approaching nearer and nearer to theman. "Am _I_ in my right senses?" He suddenly sprang on theoutcast, and seized him by the throat. "Richard Wardour!" hecried, in a voice of fury. "Alive!--alive, to answer for Frank!"

The man struggled. Crayford held him.

"Where is Frank?" he said. "You villain, where is Frank?"

The man resisted no longer. He repeated vacantly,

"Villain? and where is Frank?"

As the name escaped his lips, Clara appeared at the open yarddoor, and hurried into the room.

"I heard Richard's name!" she said. "I heard Frank's name! Whatdoes it mean?"

At the sound of her voice the outcast renewed the struggle tofree himself, with a sudden frenzy of strength which Crayford wasnot able to resist. He broke away before the sailors could cometo their officer's assistance. Half-way down the length of theroom he and Clara met one another face to face. A new lightsparkled in the poor wretch's eyes; a cry of recognition burstfrom his lips. He flung one hand up wildly in the air. "Found!"he shouted, and rushed out to the beach before any of the menpresent could stop him.

Mrs. Crayford put her arms round Clara and held her up. She hadnot made a movement: she had not spoken a word. The sight ofWardour's face had petrified her.

The minutes passed, and there rose a sudden burst of cheeringfrom the sailors on the beach, near the spot where thefishermen's boats were drawn up. Every man left his work. Everyman waved his cap in the air. The passengers, near at hand,caught the infection of enthusiasm, and joined the crew. A momentmore, and Richard Wardour appeared again in the doorway, carryinga man in his arms. He staggered, breathless with the effort thathe was making, to the place where Clara stood, held up in Mrs.Crayford's arms.

"Saved, Clara!" he cried. "Saved for _you!_"

He released the man, and placed him in Clara's arms.

Frank! foot-sore and weary--but living--saved; saved for _her!_

"Now, Clara!" cried Mrs. Crayford, "which of us is right? I whobelieved in the mercy of God? or you who believed in a dream?"

She never answered; she clung to Frank in speechless ecstasy. Shenever even looked at the man who had preserved him, in the firstabsorbing joy of seeing Frank alive. Step by step, slower andslower, Richard Wardour drew back, and left them by themselves.

"I may rest now," he said, faintly. "I may sleep at last. Thetask is done. The struggle is over."

His last reserves of strength had been given to Frank. Hestopped--he staggered--his hands waved feebly in search ofsupport. But for one faithful friend he would have fallen.Crayford caught him. Crayford laid his old comrade gently on somesails strewn in a corner, and pillowed Wardour's weary head onhis own bosom. The tears streamed over his face. "Richard! dearRichard!" he said. "Remember--and forgive me."

Richard neither heeded nor heard him. His dim eyes still lookedacross the room at Clara and Frank.

"I have made _her_ happy!" he murmured. "I may lay down my wearyhead now on the mother earth that hushes all her children to restat last. Sink, heart! sink, sink to rest! Oh, look at them!" hesaid to Crayford, with a burst of grief. "They have forgotten_me_ already."

It was true! The interest was all with the two lovers. Frank wasyoung and handsome and popular. Officers, passengers, andsailors, they all crowded round Frank. They all forgot themartyred man who had saved him--the man who was dying inCrayford's arms.

Crayford tried once more to attract his attention--to win hisrecognition while there was yet time. "Richard, speak to me!Speak to your old friend!"

He look round; he vacantly repeated Crayford's last word.

"Friend?" he said. "My eyes are dim, friend--my mind is dull. Ihave lost all memories but the memory of _her_. Deadthoughts--all dead thoughts but that one! And yet you look at mekindly! Why has your face gone down with the wreck of all therest?"

He paused; his face changed; his thoughts drifted back frompresent to past; he looked at Crayford vacantly, lost in theterrible remembrances that were rising in him, as the shadowsrise with the coming night.

"Hark ye, friend," he whispered. "Never let Frank know it. Therewas a time when the fiend within me hungered for his life. I hadmy hands on the boat. I heard the voice of the Tempter speakingto me: Launch it, and leave him to die! I waited with my hands onthe boat, and my eyes on the place where he slept. 'Leave him!leave him!' the voice whispered. 'Love him!' the lad's voiceanswered, moaning and murmuring in his sleep. 'Love him, Clara,for helping _me!_' I heard the morning wind come up in thesilence over the great deep. Far and near, I heard the groaningof the floating ice; floating, floating to the clear water andthe balmy air. And the wicked Voice floated away with it--away,away, away forever! 'Love him! love him, Clara, for helping_me!_' No wind could float that away! 'Love him, Clara--'"

His voice sank into silence; his head dropped on Crayford'sbreast. Frank saw it. Frank struggled up on his bleeding feet andparted the friendly throng round him. Frank had not forgotten theman who had saved him.

"Let me go to him!" he cried. "I must and will go to him! Clara,come with me."

Clara and Steventon supported him between them. He fell on hisknees at Wardour's s ide; he put his hand on Wardour's bosom.

"Richard!"

The weary eyes opened again. The sinking voice was heard feeblyonce more.

"Ah! poor Frank. I didn't forget you, Frank, when I came here tobeg. I remembered you lying down outside in the shadow of theboats. I saved you your share of the food and drink. Too weak toget at it now! A little rest, Frank! I shall soon be strongenough to carry you down to the ship."

The end was near. They all saw it now. The men reverentlyuncovered their heads in the presence of Death. In an agony ofdespair, Frank appealed to the friends round him.

"Get something to strengthen him, for God's sake! Oh, men! men! Ishould never have been here but for him! He has given all hisstrength to my weakness; and now, see how strong I am, and howweak _he_ is! Clara, I held by his arm all over the ice and snow._He_ kept watch when I was senseless in the open boat. _His_ handdragged me out of the waves when we were wrecked. Speak to him,Clara! speak to him!" His voice failed him, and his head droppedon Wardour's breast.

She spoke, as well as her tears would let her.

"Richard, have you forgotten me?"

He rallied at the sound of that beloved voice. He looked up ather as she knelt at his head.

"Forgotten you?" Still looking at her, he lifted his hand with aneffort, and laid it on Frank. "Should I have been strong enoughto save him, if I could have forgotten you?" He waited a momentand turned his face feebly toward Crayford. "Stay!" he said."Someone was here and spoke to me." A faint light of recognitionglimmered in his eyes. "Ah, Crayford! I recollect now. DearCrayford! come nearer! My mind clears, but my eyes grow dim. Youwill remember me kindly for Frank's sake? Poor Frank! why does hehide his face? Is he crying? Nearer, Clara--I want to look mylast at _you_. My sister, Clara! Kiss me, sister, kiss me beforeI die!"

She stooped and kissed his forehead. A faint smile trembled onhis lips. It passed away; and stillness possessed the face--thestillness of Death.

Crayford's voice was heard in the silence.

"The loss is ours," he said. "The gain is his. He has won thegreatest of all conquests--the conquest of himself. And he hasdied in the moment of victory. Not one of us here but may live toenvy _his_ glorious death."

The distant report of a gun came from the ship in the offing, andsignaled the return to England and to home.

End of Project Gutenberg Etext of The Frozen Deep, by Wilkie Collins*