tation the
scratching of Lloyd's pen made itself heard. A little fire snapped and
crackled on the hearth. The morning's sun came flooding in at the
windows.

"... Gale of wind from the northeast," prompted Lloyd, raising her head
from her writing. Bennett continued:

"Impossible to march against it in our weakened condition."

He paused for her to complete the sentence.

"... Must camp here till it abates...."

"Have you got that?" Lloyd nodded.

"... Made soup of the last of the dog-meat this afternoon.... Our
last pemmican gone."

There was a pause; then Bennett resumed:

"December 1st, Wednesday--Everybody getting weaker.... Metz breaking
down.... Sent Adler to the shore to gather shrimps ... we had about
a mouthful apiece at noon ... supper, a spoonful of glycerine and
hot water."

Lloyd put her hand to her temple, smoothing back her hair, her face
turned away. As before, in the park, on that warm and glowing summer
afternoon, a swift, clear vision of the Ice was vouchsafed to her. She
saw the coast of Kolyuchin Bay--primordial desolation, whirling
dust-like snow, the unleashed wind yelling like a sabbath of witches,
leaping and somersaulting from rock to rock, folly-stricken and
insensate in its hideous dance of death. Bennett continued. His voice
insensibly lowered itself, a certain gravity of manner came upon him. At
times he looked at the written pages in his hand with vague, unseeing
eyes. No doubt he, too, was remembering.

He resumed:

"December 2d, Thursday--Metz died during the night.... Hansen dying.
Still blowing a gale from the northeast.... A hard night."

Lloyd's pen moved slower and slower as she wrote. The lines of the
manuscript began to blur and swim before her eyes.

And it was to this that she must send him. To this inhuman, horrible
region; to this life of prolonged suffering, where death came slowly
through days of starvation, exhaustion, and agony hourly renewed. He
must dare it all again. She must force him to it. Her decision had been
taken; her duty was plain to her. Now it was irrevocable.

"... Hansen died during early morning.... Dennison breaking down....

"... December 5th--Sunday--Dennison found dead this morning between
Adler and myself...."

The vision became plainer, more distinct. She fancied she saw the
interior of the tent and the dwindling number of the Freja's survivors
moving about on their hands and knees in its gloomy half-light. Their
hair and beards