dons, monsieur, but I have a good reason for asking the
lady's name."

"Pauline H. Randall, as you may see for yourself," was the quiet reply.

"One more question, sir. Do you know her middle name?"

"I did, but cannot exactly recall it, as she never uses it in full, and
I have forgotten whether it is Hobel or Hubel; that it is one of the
two, I am pretty certain."

A glance of mingled expression shot from the eyes of Orloff, but he
restrained himself with a visible effort, and he became again the
somewhat phlegmatic pilot of the Gulf shore.

"Thank you, M. La Salle. You shall know more at a fitting season."

Taking one of Waring's cartridge cases, La Salle forced the record into
its narrow chamber, and selecting a small strip of pine,--a part of the
thin side of his crushed float,--he stopped the cartridge with a
tightly-fitting wad, and fastened it to the board with a piece of stout
cord. On the white board he printed, in large letters, "Read the
contents of the case;" and going out, he placed it firmly upright on the
summit of the berg.

At twelve that night the rain fell fast, the wind blew steadily from the
southward, and the undulations of the ice, from time to time, told that,
although safe in the very heart of the pack, yet still the field had
already resolved itself into its component parts. Towards midnight all
fell asleep, being satisfied that no immediate danger threatened them;
but at about half an hour before daybreak, Waring awoke, and placed a
few blocks on the smoldering embers. As he waited for them to burst into
a flame, he heard the air filled with confused murmurings, unlike any
sounds that he had previously experienced. Gradually they appeared to
draw nearer, to sound from all sides, to fill the air overhead, and even
at last to ascend from the depths below. Strangely sweet, yet sadly
plaintive, they at once charmed and terrified the poor boy, weak from
his recent illness, and worn with the anxieties of his situation.

At last Regnar awoke, and to him Waring applied for an explanation of
the strange sounds. Orloff listened attentively, and answered with
paling cheeks,--

"Such are the melodies which my people say that the sad Necker sings by
the lonely river, when he bemoans his lot, in that Christ died not for
him. Doubtless the sea has its water spirits, and they now surround our
island of ice."

Waring, unskilled in the folk-lore of Dane, Swede, and German,
answered,--

"It can't b