along the
shore.

"That is Cape Siretoko," said Browne. "It is the most southerly point
of Saghalien."

CHAPTER XXV

Three weeks had elapsed since that memorable afternoon, when the party
on board the yacht, had obtained their first glimpse of the island of
Saghalien. In pursuance of the plan MacAndrew had revealed to him in
Hong-kong, Browne had left his companions upon the vessel, and for
upwards of forty-eight hours had domiciled himself in a small log-hut
on the northern side of the Bay of Kroptskoi, awaiting news of the man
whom they had come so far, and undertaken so much, to rescue. It was
the night of full moon, and the scene which Browne had before him, as
he stood, wrapped up in his furs, outside the door of the hut, was as
miserable as a man could well desire to become acquainted with. The
settlement, as I have said, was located at the northern end of a small
bay, and had once consisted of upwards of six huts, built upon a slight
eminence, having at its foot a river still ice-bound. At the back rose
a still more precipitous hill, densely clothed with _taiga_, or forest.
So impenetrable, indeed, was it, that even the wolf and bear found a
difficulty in making their way through it. To the right, and almost
unobservable from the huts, was a track that once connected with the
coal-mines of Dui, but was now overgrown and scarcely to be
distinguished from the virgin forest on either side.

On this particular evening, Browne was the reverse of easy in his mind.
He had left the yacht buoyed up by the knowledge that in so doing he
was best serving the woman he loved. It had been arranged with
MacAndrew that they should meet at this hut, not later than the
thirteenth day of that particular month. This, however, was the
evening of the fifteenth, and still neither MacAndrew, nor the man they
were endeavouring to rescue, had put in an appearance. Apart from
every consideration of danger, it was far from being the sort of place
a man would choose in which to spend his leisure. The hut was draughty
and bitterly cold; the scenery was entirely uninviting; he had no one
to speak to; he had to do everything--even his cooking--for himself;
while, away out in the bay, the ice chinked and rattled together
continually, as if to remind him of his miserable position. It was
nearly nine o'clock, and he could very well guess what they were doing
on board the yacht. His guests would be in the drawing-room.
Katha