alled, "is you hurt?"

"Where is you, Bessie?"

"Here, dear," she answered, softly. "The doctor has me safe."

Guided by her sweet voice, I crept to them; and then we sat close
together, silent all in the silent night, waiting for the dawn....

* * * * *

We traversed a mile or more of rugged, blinding ice--the sky blue in
every part, the sun shining warm, the wind blowing light and balmy from
the south. What with the heat, the glare, the uneven, treacherous
path--with many a pitfall to engulf us--'twas a toilsome way we
travelled. The coast lay white and forsaken beyond--desolate,
inhospitable, unfamiliar: an unkindly refuge for such castaways as we.
But we came gratefully to the rocks, at last, and fell exhausted in the
snow, there to die, as we thought, of hunger and sheer weariness. And
presently the doctor rose, and, bidding us lie where we were, set out to
discover our whereabouts, that he might by chance yet succour us: which
seemed to me a hopeless venture, for the man was then near snow-blind,
as I knew....

* * * * *

Meantime, at our harbour, where the world went very well, the eye of
Skipper Tommy Lovejoy chanced in aimless roving to alight upon the
letter from Wolf Cove, still securely fastened to the wall, ever visible
warning to that happy household against the wiles o' women. I fancy that
(the twins being gone to Trader's Cove to enquire for us) the mild blue
eye wickedly twinkled--that it found the tender missive for the moment
irresistible in fascination--that the old man approached, stepping in
awe, and gazed with gnawing curiosity at the pale, sprawling
superscription, his very name--that he touched the envelope with his
thick forefinger, just to make sure that 'twas tight in its place,
beyond all peradventure of catastrophe--that, merely to provide against
its defilement by dust, he removed and fondled it--that then he wondered
concerning its contents, until, despite his crying qualms of conscience
(the twins being gone to Trader's Cove and Davy Roth off to Heart's
Delight to help the doctor heal the young son of Agatha Rundle), this
fateful dreaming altogether got the better of him. At any rate, off he
hied through the wind and snow to Tom Tot's cottage: where, as fortune
had it, Tom Tot was mending a caplin seine.

"Tom Tot," said he, quite shamelessly, "I'm fair achin' t' know what's
in this letter."

The harbour was cogniza