After a moment another voice joined hers--a deep voice, the Reverend
Mother's.

All else was quiet. Not a sound on earth or in the air. A hush had
fallen on the sea itself, which seemed to be listening for my precious
darling's last breath. The sun was going down, very red in its setting,
and the sky was full of glory.

When the singing came to an end baby was babbling in my mother's
arms--"Bo-loo-la-la-ma-ma." I took her and held her up to the open
window, crying:

"Look, darling! Here's Girlie!"

There was no answer, but after another moment the Reverend Mother came
to the window. Her pale face was even paler than usual, and her lips
trembled. She did not speak, but she made the sign of the Cross.

And by that . . . I knew.

"Out of the depths I cry unto thee, O Lord, Lord, hear my cry."

THE AUTHOR TO THE READER

I saw him off at Tilbury when he left England on his last Expedition.
Already he was his own man once more. After the blinding, stunning
effect of the great event there had been a quick recuperation. His
spirit had risen to a wonderful strength and even a certain
cheerfulness.

I did not find it hard to read the secret of this change. It was not
merely that Time, the great assuager, had begun to do its work with him,
but that he had brought himself to accept without qualm or question Mary
O'Neill's beautiful belief (the old, old belief) in the immortality of
personal love, and was firmly convinced that, freed from the
imprisonment of the flesh, she was with him every day and hour, and that
as long as he lived she always would be.

There was nothing vague, nothing fantastic, nothing mawkish, nothing
unmanly about this belief, but only the simple faith of a steady soul
and a perfectly clear brain. It was good to see how it braced a strong
man for life to face Death in that way.

As for his work I found him quite hopeful. His mission apart, I thought
he was looking forward to his third trip to the Antarctic, in
expectation of the silence and solitude of that strengthening region.

As I watched the big liner that was taking him away disappear down the
Thames I had no more doubt that he would get down to the South Pole, and
finish his task there, than that the sun would rise the following
morning.

Whatever happens this time he will "march breast forward."

MARTIN CONRAD TO THE AUTHOR

WIRELESS--ANTARCTIC CONTINENT (_via_ MACQUARIE ISLAND AND RADIO HOBART
16).

Arrived safe