ruck it, and with a growl it seized its
breast with its teeth, as if trying to pull out the thing that had
smitten it. The next instant it was at the very door, and its huge form
shut out the light, as it was about to pounce upon its prey. But Claude
had seized a second arquebuse, and, when the bear was within two yards,
fired point-blank into its hairy breast. The bullet entered its heart,
and it fell dead at their feet. The cub, which had followed close at its
heels, with a pitiful cry threw itself upon its mother's body, and
seeing the warm blood flowing in a great stream, began lapping it up
with greedy tongue.

"Bravely done, my queen!" said Claude, as the bear fell dead in the
hut. "I would La Pommeraye could have seen your nerve! What a buzz this
adventure would cause in Paris!"

"O Claude, it is horrible! See that unhappy little creature drink its
mother's life! Dear God, why is life created only to be destroyed?"

As she uttered the prayer, which has gone up a myriad times from a
myriad hearts, she turned with a pitying hand to the motherless cub, but
at her touch the terrified little creature rushed with ungainly shuffle
away, and skulked among the rocks on the beach.

The dead bear was lying almost at the feet of Claude, a ghastly
spectacle, and Marguerite felt that she must get it outside the hut. She
seized its huge hairy paws, with their black, curved claws, and
attempted to drag it to the door. But, gaunt and starved as it was, it
was too heavy for her strength, and resisted all her efforts. Claude was
in no condition to assist her, and she was compelled all day to move
about, caring for him, with the shadow of death in her presence.

Night came, and still the bear lay stretched, cold and stiff, in the
doorway. Again she struggled with it, but again her efforts were futile,
and there was nothing for it but to let it remain there all night. But
in its ghastly presence she could not sleep; and she lay awake listening
to the crashing and roaring of the berg, as the waves rose about it, and
hearing beside her the quiet breathing of Claude. Worn out by illness
and the excitement of the day, he was sleeping like a tired child.
Several times, as she looked out on the darkness, she saw a white form
moving stealthily back and forth. She knew it was the little cub, and
her heart was moved with pity for its loneliness. She heard its step
draw nearer and nearer to where she lay, and at last she saw it standing
i