in his heart, for she turned to Hawtrey
imperiously.

"Then you'll write your broker to buy in right away," she said.

There was an awkward silence, during which the two men looked at each
other until Edmonds spoke.

"Are you wise in suggesting this, Miss Creighton?" he asked.

Sally laughed harshly. "Oh, yes," she replied, "it's a sure thing. And I
don't suggest. I tell him to get it done."

She turned again to Hawtrey, who sat very still looking at her with a
flush in his face. "Take your pen and give him that letter to the broker
now."

There was this in her favor that Hawtrey was to some extent relieved by
her persistence. He had not the courage to make a successful speculator,
and he had already felt uneasy about the hazard that he would incur by
waiting. Besides, although prices had slightly advanced, he could still
secure a reasonable margin if he covered his sales. In any case, he did
as she bade him, and in another minute or two he handed Edmonds an
envelope.

The broker took it from him without protest, for he was one who could
face defeat.

"Well," he said, with a gesture of resignation, "I'll send the thing on.
If Miss Creighton will excuse me, I'll tell your man to get out my
wagon."

He went out, and Sally turned to Hawtrey with the color in her cheeks
and a flash in her eyes.

"It's Harry Wyllard's money!" she commented, as she met his glance with
flashing eyes.

CHAPTER XXVII

IN THE WILDERNESS

A bitter wind was blowing when Wyllard stood outside the little tent the
morning after he had made a landing on the ice. He was to leeward of the
straining canvas which partly sheltered him, but the raw cold struck
through him to the bone, and he was stiff and sore from his exertions
during the previous day. His joints ached unpleasantly, and his clothing
had not quite dried upon him. He was conscious of a strong desire to
crawl back into the tent and go to sleep again, but that was one it
would clearly not be wise to indulge in, since they were, he believed,
still some distance off the beach, and the ice might begin to break up
at any moment. It stretched away before him, seamed by fissures and
serrated ridges here and there, for a few hundred yards, and then was
lost in the snow. As he gazed at it he shrank from the prospect of the
journey through the frozen desolation.

With a shiver he crawled back into the tent where his two companions
were crouching beside the cooking-lamp. The