still burned
strongly in hearts which he had never known to fail, but he dared not
risk the chance of a prolonged inactivity with its opportunity for
contemplation of the hell through which they were all passing. He knew.
Oh yes. He knew from his understanding of his own feelings and emotions.

He lived in the daily hope of discovering something with which to dazzle
imagination already dulling. His faith was pinned to the summit of a
great, grey headland towering amongst its fellows ahead. He had
discovered its presence long since, and, from the moment of discovery,
he had sought its elusive slopes. Instinct, that had no great reason to
support it, warned him that the view from its summit would tell them the
things they desired to know. And they were the things they all must
learn quickly if failure were not to rob them of the fruits of their
great adventure.

Yes. He desired that dull grey summit just now as he desired nothing
else in the world.

Every emotion was stirring when, at length, Steve found himself climbing
the last of the upward slopes of the "Hill of Promise," as he had named
it. He had laughed as he coined the name. But there had been no laughter
in his heart. If the promise were not fulfilled----?

But it would be fulfilled. It must be fulfilled. These were the things
Steve told himself in that fever of straining which only mental
extremity knows.

He topped the last rugged lift to the summit. His men were somewhere
below, floundering in his wake. He had no heed for them just now. Hope,
a fever of hope alone sustained his weary limbs over the inhospitable
ice.

A great shout echoed down the slope. It came with all the power of a
strong man's lungs.

"Ho, you! Quick!"

Steve had reached the rugged crest. A second shout came back to the
floundering Indians.

"God! It's a--wonder!"

* * * * *

The moment was profound. Eyes that were prepared for well-nigh anything
monstrous gazed out spellbound. Tongues had no words, and hearts were
stirred to their depths. The whole world ahead was afire. It was a
conflagration of incalculable immensity.

The horizon was one blaze of transcendent light. It was rendered a
hundred-fold more amazing by its contrast against the grey of the Arctic
night. At a given point, in the centre of all, a well of fire was
belching skywards. It was churning the overhanging clouds of smoke, and
lighting them with the myriad hues that belong t