ike that of
a buffalo yearning for its mate. "It will be too late."

Andrew took me in his strong arms. I should not have let him, but I
could not help it.

"Listen," he said, "I will start back from the Pole a day before my
shipmates, and save you from that d-sh-d beast. And then I will marry
you, Nell."

There was a roaring in my ears like the roaring of the bath when the tap
is left on; many waters seemed to rush upon me; my hat fell off, and
then deep oblivion came over me and I swooned.

. . . . .

To go through my emotions in detail during the next two months would be
but to harrow you needlessly. Suffice it to say that seventeen times I
flung myself face downwards on my bed and bit a piece out of the pillow,
on twenty-nine occasions the blood ebbed slowly from my face, and my
heart fluttered like a captured bird, while in a hundred and forty
instances a wave of emotion surged slowly over my whole body, leaving
me trembling like an aspen leaf. Otherwise my health remained good.

It was the night before the wedding. The bad Lord Wurzel had just left
me with words of love upon his lying lips. To-morrow, unless Andrew
Spinnaker saved me, I should be Lady Wurzel.

"A marconigram for you, miss," said our faithful old gardener, William,
entering the drawing-room noiselessly by the chimney. "I brought it
myself to be sure you got it."

With trembling fingers I tore it open. How my heart leapt and the hot
colour flooded my neck and brow when I recognised the dear schoolboy
writing of my beloved Andrew! I have the message still. It went like
this:

"_Wireless--South Pole._
Arrived safe. Found Pole. Weather charming. Blue sky. Not a breath
of wind. Am wearing my thick socks. Sun never going down.
Constellations revolving without dipping. Moon going sideways. Am
starting for England to-morrow. Arrive Victoria twelve o'clock,
Wednesday.--ANDREW."

Back on Wednesday! And to-morrow was Tuesday--my wedding day! There was
no hope. I felt like a shipwrecked voyager. For the thirty-fifth time
since the beginning of the month deep oblivion came over me, and I
swooned.

[_Hall Caine. I think you might go on now. I have put a little life into
the story. It is, perhaps, not quite so vivid as my last work, "The
Woman Thou Gavest Me," of which more than a million copies----_

_Mrs. Barclay. In the two hundredth edition of "The