Chapter IX: Part 9

She tried to wrench herself free; she struck him full in the face. But Piers Minor only smiled grimly and held on the tighter. And then, to his astonishment, this tiger-cat became suddenly metamorphosed into a dove. Her breast heaved, and she turned her head away; he knew that she was weeping just like any other woman. Whereat Piers Minor smiled again, but not grimly, and held her a little closer.

"Listen," he said, and forced her gently to look at him. "It is impossible to reach Arcadia House; even now the fire is there before you. You must believe that Constans received the message and was able to get there in time. Believe it, because it is I who tell you."

She did believe, but, being a woman, she hesitated again--at the very brink of surrender.

"Let me go," she said, in a low tone, and Piers Minor was so astonished that he immediately complied, and stood looking at her helplessly. But when, coloring like a rose and with downcast eyes, she would have passed him, the masculine instinct of possession awoke again; he barred the way determinedly.

A little distance away an enormous brick storehouse was burning fiercely. A tremendous explosion threw a roof bodily into the air; a shower of incandescent particles descended and drove directly at the fugitives. Nanna felt herself lifted bodily off her feet and swept with a rush down the wharf. One little gulp of regret for her lost independence and she yielded--deliciously. The boat rocked from side to side, then it shot out upon the open river.

Piers Minor had stopped rowing, for the sparks no longer fell about them. The spectacle of the burning city was a magnificent one. The inverted bowl of the sky shone as though it were made of copper, and the gale had flattened out the flames horizontally so that they resembled the flying masses of a woman's unbound hair.

Nanna's eyes filled with tears.

"It was my world," she said, softly, "the only one I knew."

"Nanna!" said Piers Minor. She let her hand rest in his, and the boat floated on.

XXVIII

IN THE FULNESS OF TIME

The streets were as light as noonday, and Constans found no difficulty in keeping the dying figure in sight. But, run as he would, he could not gain a yard.

"Arcadia House," muttered Constans, under his breath, as he noticed the direction taken by the runner. What more natural than that a man should seek his own home at such a time? But Constans's brow was clouded as he followed in Quinton Edge's footsteps.

Arcadia House, and why? There could be but one answer to that question after Nanna's message, conveyed to him through Ulick's dying lips. Esmay had disappeared, and yet had remained in Arcadia House. He, who knew Quinton Edge, would understand.

Constans told himself grimly that he did understand. This insolent wanted the girl, just as he had desired many another thing in life, and it had always been his way to take what he coveted. But this time--Constans set his teeth hard, and now, at last, Arcadia House was in sight.

During this last quarter of an hour the progress of the conflagration had been perceptibly slower, and the great sheaf of flame in the western sky had almost disappeared. It was like the lull that so often takes place in a storm, a period of sudden quiet in the element strife that should warn the prudent that the worst is still to come. To Constans it was the most fortunate of happenings, the comparative darkness enabling him to keep close upon Quinton Edge without risk of discovery.

As though satisfied that he had arrived in time, Quinton Edge now slackened his pace, making for the gateway on the side street. Whereupon Constans determined to scale the wall at the rear and take the short cut through the garden, so as to intercept the Doomsman at the entrance. Once over the wall, the way was clear. Disdaining caution, he crashed recklessly through the shrubbery, the wet and tangled grass wrapping itself exasperatingly about his ankles as he ran. At the carriage-drive he stopped, flinging himself full length on the ground and close against the wall that marked the sunken way. The run had winded him, and he was thankful for the moment's breathing-space.

From where Constans lay he could command sight of the north terrace that connected the porticos of the river and western fronts. Suddenly it seemed to him that the terrace was occupied by some living thing. A moment before he had noticed a darker blur in the shadows at the river corner; it had appeared to move. He heard a soft padding on the flag-stones as of an animal moving cautiously. He strained his eyes, striving to resolve that dusky blotch into shape intelligible; then a new burst of flame lit up the western sky and he saw clearly--it was Fangs, the hound.

The dog stood motionless, her head thrown upward as though listening. She could not possibly see Constans where he lay, but the smallest noise must betray him.

His revolver was in a side pocket, and he drew it forth with infinite care. Then he discovered that it was unloaded and that he had no more cartridges. His knife also had disappeared from its sheath; he realized that he was absolutely unarmed and helpless.

The hound leaped lightly from the terrace and began ranging in great half-circles. Constans looked on with fascinated eyes. It could be a matter of seconds only when she must cross his scent, and he knew that she would remember it--there was a blood-feud between them--the death of Blazer, who had been her mate.

The pass-key rattled in the lock of the postern-door, and Quinton Edge entered the sunken way. Fangs heard the noise, hesitated a moment, then tossed her black muzzle in the air and bounded forward to meet her master. Constans wiped away the sweat that was blinding his eyes and waited. Quinton Edge, with the hound by his side, went up the steps leading to the terrace.

Some one came forward to meet him--a slim, womanish figure dressed in white. Constans's heart gave a great bound, for who but Esmay carried her small head with so irresistible a grace. She held out her hands as Quinton Edge reached her side, but he crushed her into his arms and kissed her on the lips. They walked slowly along the terrace, turned the corner of the eastern portico, and disappeared. Constans, running up, was just an instant too late; he heard Quinton Edge calling the dog inside, then the sound of the closing door.

By a supreme exercise of will Constans stopped short of the insanity that impelled him to thunder on the barrier and demand admittance. Yet he must gain instant entrance to the house, and he ran around the terrace to the river portico. As he had expected, the hall-door was fastened, but he had no difficulty in forcing one of the long windows of the drawing-room; he stepped into the dark and empty room and stood listening.

There was perfect silence everywhere, but he could not trust to it--eyes and ears might be in waiting at every turn, and, above all, there was the dog. He wondered that the hound had not already detected his presence in the house, and his pulse thumped at the thought; he fancied that he could hear deep breathing and the oncoming of padded feet.

The minutes passed, and the silence remained unbroken. Then the sense of his cowardice smote him; the jaws of the brute would be preferable to this intolerable inaction, and he went forward through the half-opened door and into the main hall.

This, too, was empty, and, having windows that faced the west, it was sufficiently well lighted by the conflagration to make the fact of its desertion certain. And Constans owed it to the friendly flames that he was once more provided with a weapon. There was a rapier hanging upon the wall, slender and yet strong, of very ancient make; in an instant he had it down and was trying the temper of its blade upon the hearthstone.

The touch of the cold steel was like a tonic; heart and blood responded immediately. Its discovery had been a fortunate chance, for again the illumination in the west died down the final pianissimo before the full crash of the orchestra--and the darkness returned deeper than before.

Constans, with the rapier held shortened in his hand, found his way to the staircase and began the ascent. At the turn of the second landing he stopped, feeling instinctively that there was something in the way. When he could bear no longer to wait and listen, he put his hand down and felt beneath it the smooth, hairy coat of the hound's body. The dog was quite dead, and lying in a pool of her own blood; there was a warm, sickly smell of salt in the air, and Constans's hand was wet when he fetched it away. Who had done this thing, and why?

He went on, with every sense on edge. He could hardly have mistaken his way now, for the door before him stood partly ajar, and there was a light in the room; Constans guessed that it must be the first of the private apartments belonging to Quinton Edge.

He looked in. The room was a large one and luxuriously furnished. An ancient hanging-lamp of brass hung from the ceiling, diffusing a soft radiance; the curtains that concealed the deep window-seat were closely drawn, and, had Constans made his observations with more care, he might have noticed that something moved behind them, an unwieldy bulk that gathered itself as though for a spring.

But he took no account of these smaller things, his eyes being full of Esmay only, and surely that was she who stood there in the shelter of Quinton Edge's arms; now she half turned her head, the better to look into her lord's face, and Constans could trace the outline of her profile--the upper lip, so deliciously short, and the exquisite curve of her throat. His breath came quick as he watched them, and his grasp tightened upon the rapier hilt. So she had deceived him, after all; she had played the traitress from the very beginning. Twice, now, she had smiled into his eyes and sold him for some piece of trumpery--a bracelet of carbuncles or a kiss from Quinton Edge's lips. Well, he could kill them both, and almost at a single stroke, since they stood with their backs to the doorway and were quite unconscious of his presence. But, upon further thought, he determined to wreak positive vengeance on Quinton Edge alone. It was shame to strike a woman, and unnecessary--it would be her punishment to live.

Dispassionately he reviewed his decision and reaffirmed it; it was now the time for action. But he had delayed just a moment too long. Before he could take that first forward step the one who waited behind the window-curtains had passed before him, an ungainly figure of a man, who limped upon one knee and whose black beard fell like a curtain before his cruel mouth and lips--Kurt, whom men called the "Knacker." A knife was in his hand, and he struck once and twice at Quinton Edge.

"This for the thirty lashes at Middenmass!" he shouted; "and this----"

But here Constans's rapier passed through his throat, and he fell back, gurgling horribly and tearing at his windpipe.

It had all happened so quickly that the two living men could only stare alternately at each other and at the burden that lay in Quinton Edge's arms. A slim, white figure, with that red stain upon her breast--spreading, spreading.

Constans gathered himself with a mighty effort. "Let me help you," he said, and between them they carried her over to the couch and laid her down. On a near-by table stood a ewer of water; Constans fetched it and began moistening the bloodless lips. They parted with a little sigh, and then the eyes of his sister Issa opened upon him. "Little brother," she whispered, and smiled.

Constans looked over at Quinton Edge, but he shook his head and stood back among the shadows.

"Little brother," said Issa again, and put out a wavering hand.

XXIX

DEATH AND LIFE

It had been very quiet in the room for a long time. Constans had tried to make the dying woman more comfortable, but every attempt to move her had only resulted in the wound breaking out afresh. It was cruelty to persist, and so he gave it over, waiting for what must come.

Now it seemed that Issa slept, for her eyes were closed and the lines of pain had wholly disappeared from the smooth, white brow. Quinton Edge kept his place at the back, where he could see and not be seen; a statue could not have been more immobile. Constans, kneeling by the couch, still held his sister's hand in his, keeping watch upon the pulse that fluttered so delicately. Once or twice the heavy eyes had opened and she had smiled up at him--contentedly as a child resting after the long day's play.

Constans had not attempted to speak; his mind was still seeking its wonted bearings, and he was afraid. His sister Issa!--the little Issa with whom he had played at fox-chase and grace-hoops. Issa!--the maiden who had gathered her May-bloom in the long ago, and who had given herself and all for love of the stranger within her father's gates; yes, and who had died within that self-same hour upon her lord's breast.

And yet if this miracle were indeed the truth it accounted for more than one thing that had troubled him. He remembered now the white-robed figure that had appeared to him in the gardens of Arcadia House and the superstitious terror with which he had watched it following upon the unconscious footsteps of the girl Esmay. Then, again, the fair-haired woman who only a few minutes ago had come to meet Quinton Edge on the north terrace, an apparition so ravishing that Constans must needs confound it with the flesh-and-blood presentment of his own dear lady.

She was speaking now, almost fretfully. "Is the night never to be gone? The hangings at the window are so heavy. And where is my father?"

Constans rose and went to the window, intent on flinging it wide open. But Quinton Edge was there before him and stayed his hand.

"No," he said, and Constans obeyed, being greatly troubled in mind and uncertain of himself, even as one who wanders in a maze. This Quinton Edge must have perceived, for he spoke gently, making it plain to him that this was, indeed, the maid whom they had both loved and not some disembodied shadow from the underworld. And having come finally to believe this, Constans was comforted and desired to hear the matter in full. "Tell me," he said, and Quinton Edge went on:

"It was weeks and weeks that she lay weak and speechless upon a pallet of dried fern, her only shelter the thatch of a mountain sheepfold.

"There was no one among us who had any knowledge of surgery, and so I had to be content with simples--cold-water compresses for the wound and a tea made from the blossoms of the camomile flower to subdue the fever in the blood. So the days dragged by until the turn for the better came. Little by little I nursed her back to life again, and in time we came safely to Doom.

"Arcadia House was a secure hiding-place for my treasure, and during all these years no one has even guessed at the secret. I had no need to trust my servants, for they knew nothing; the walls had neither eyes nor ears, and I kept my own counsel. Until to-day no man's eye but mine has looked upon her face.

"But even yet you do not wholly understand. Have you forgotten, then, that the body may be in health and yet the soul be darkened? She had come back to life, indeed, but it was the life of a butterfly in the sun, unconscious of aught else than the light and warmth that surrounds it. For her the past had been sealed; to me the future. Do you understand now? A woman grown and yet as a new-born babe in heart and mind. What was there for me to do but to bear my punishment as patiently as I might, the cup of love ever at my lips, but never to be tasted."

Constans kept silence for a little space. When he spoke it was haltingly.

"Then you think--you think----"

"She recognized you. Could you not see it--that note in her voice as of one who wakes from a long sleep? That was why I stopped you from throwing aside the window-curtains. The light of the burning city--it might have brought back the memory of that night at the keep."

"And for the same reason you have kept yourself out of sight," said Constans, coldly.

The man trembled. "Yes; I am afraid," he answered, and Constans, for all his bitterness of heart, was fain to pity him.

A series of muffled explosions startled them. Quinton Edge moved softly towards the outer door. "The fire must be coming nearer," he whispered. "I will make sure of our position and return within a few minutes. Hush! she is sleeping again."

But when Constans went and stood by the couch, Issa was looking at him with wide-opened eyes.

"Constans--little brother," she said, weakly, and yet with an infinite content. He dropped to his knees beside her and tried to answer, but could not.

"Surely it must be close to morning now," she went on, slowly. "I can hear the doves cooing on the tiles, the wind is blowing over the water-meadows, and the lark is in the blue--ah, God! how beautiful this dear world of ours! It is the May-time, little brother, and the arbutus will be in bloom--the shy, pink blossoms that nestle on the sunny slopes of the rocks and at the roots of the birch-trees. We will gather them--you and I--and bring them home to deck our lady mother's chamber. The May-bloom--it is in the air. How sweet--how sweet!"

Constans, following the look in her eyes, saw a low table standing against the opposite wall. Upon it was a bowl filled with the delicate arbutus--fresh and fragrant as though but lately gathered. He went softly across the room and despoiled the bowl of a spray. She took it from him eagerly. Then the violet eyes clouded.

"I cannot remember--it must be that I am still so tired--it is strange. The morning--it cannot be far distant--now----"

Quinton Edge at the threshold held up a beckoning finger, and Constans went to him.

"It is upon us," said the Doomsman. "The out-buildings are smoking already, and the lumber-yard on the north will become a furnace the instant that the first spark falls there. There is but one chance--the river. You will find a boat at the dock. The girl Esmay--ah, you could think that, too, of me. Yet it was natural enough."

Constans would have spoken, but the words tripped on his tongue. Quinton Edge interrupted him imperiously.

"She is there," he said, and pointed to a door leading to the interior apartments of the suite. "I could not leave Issa entirely alone on this last night. So I brought the girl here--for once, she trusted me. For once, you can do likewise."

Constans bowed his head. "But Issa," he said, thickly.

"She would be dead in our arms before we reached the stairs," returned the other. "Can you not leave her to me for just this little while longer?" His voice hardened savagely. "She is mine, do you hear--mine, mine. I have paid the price, double and treble, and now I take what is my own."

His voice rang like a trumpet in the narrow room. And yet, straight through its clamor, pierced the sound of a stifled cry. Constans turned instantly, but Quinton Edge, trembling, kept his eyes fixed on the floor.

Sitting upright upon the couch, Issa looked at the two men steadfastly, and then only at the one. The violet depths in her eyes had darkened to pools of midnight, and her lips were like a thread of scarlet against the ivory of her face. A miracle! but Constans would not look again, knowing that for him this hour had passed forever.

Constans went to the inner door and opened it. Esmay was kneeling at the window; he went over and touched her on the shoulder. "Come," he said. She looked up at him, and he saw that her face whitened for all of the glare from the flaming sky that fell upon it. Yet she let him lead her, unresisting, into the other room, where Quinton Edge still stood motionless and looked upon the floor. Constans plucked at his sleeve, drawing him out into the full circle of the lamp-light. Face to face for the last time, and, though no word was said, each knew that there was peace between them.

"Go to her," whispered Constans, and pushed him gently towards the couch.

* * * * *

Now the room had fallen into semi-darkness, for the oil had failed in the lamp, and there was only that dull-red line along the edge of the window-curtains. And there was silence, too, for all that words could say had been said already.

* * * * *

The minutes passed, but the man had ceased to count them. The hand that lay in his was growing cold, but the knowledge had ceased to concern him; the brain no longer registered the messages sent by the nerves, and he was conscious only of an immense weariness, of an overwhelming desire to sleep. The maiden Issa's hair lay within the hollow of his arm, a pool of rippled gold; it was like looking down into an enchanted well; the waters seem to rise and meet him. The glow at the curtain-edge grew stronger; now it was a lake of liquid fire into which he gazed.

* * * * *

The threshold of the door had warped and sprung, and through the crack crept a thin line of smoke; it raised itself sinuously, as does a snake; it darted its head from side to side, preparing to strike.

* * * * *

Descending the staircase, Constans saw that the time was growing perilously short. On three sides of them the buildings were burning, and Arcadia House itself was on fire at the southern wing. The hurricane, shifting back to the northwest, was at its wildest, and the air was full of ashes and incandescent sparks. As Constans and Esmay emerged from the shelter of the house, it seemed as though the universe itself was on fire. Could they ever hope to reach the river? His heart sank as he looked at that fiery rain through which they must pass. He turned to Esmay.

"It is the only way," he began, and then stopped, wondering that she should look so strangely upon him.

"I thought you dead," she answered, humbly. "It was the last thing I heard--the silver whistle and Nanna misunderstood my question."

"Oh," said Constans, enlightened, and at the same time subtly warned that he must not press her too far. "So you feared that it might have been my spirit that came to fetch you?"

"No; not feared," she answered, and with such sweet confidence that Constans's heart thrilled to new courage. By God's splendor! this woman trusted him and he would save her.

Half way to the boat-stage they were caught in a whirlwind of choking vapor; they struggled onward for a few steps, and then the girl fell. With infinite difficulty Constans half carried, half dragged her down the last slope to the landing. The boat, a small canoe or dugout, was there, but he could find only one broken paddle. It was a mad thing to venture out upon the wind-lashed river with equipment so imperfect, but there could be no choice of another way.

The tide was running out strongly and Constans could do nothing more than keep the craft on a straight course and out of the trough of the heavier seas. He looked longingly at the opposite shore, so near to the eye and so impossible to attain against that wind and tide; he realized that they were drifting down into the open bay, and that would be the end. Yet he would fight for it, and now that the fresh air had aroused Esmay from her swoon, she crept to his side and sat there comforting him.

Four hours later the keel grated on a pebbly shingle, and Constans, looking about him with weary eyes, recognized the little bay, with its fringing semicircle of trees. Here was the very log upon which he had sat and dreamed of unutterable things that bright May morning in the long ago, a dream from which he had awakened to make first acquaintance with Quinton Edge.

A little way up the grassy glade a fire was burning, and there was the savory odor of roasted meat in the air. Constans helped Esmay out of the boat, and with stiffened limbs they dragged themselves up the forest way. There was a little shriek, a rush of feet, and swishing skirts, and Nanna's arms were about her sister, while Constans was looking into Piers Minor's honest eyes.

Far in the north, a smoke as of a furnace ascended, and the sky was darkened. But here the sun shone brightly, the grass was green underfoot, the birds sang in the branches above their heads, and the smell of the spring-tide was in the air. Truly, life and light are sweet to him who has once walked in the shadow.

XXX

THE STAR IN THE EAST

It was in October of the same year that Constans and Esmay stood one day in the court-yard of the Greenwood Keep, now restored and rebuilt.

His father's blood friends had helped generously in the rehabilitation of his fortunes, and Constans had worked hard with his own hands. Now the task was finished, and he had persuaded Esmay to ride over from the River Barony and pronounce in person upon its merits. For let it be known that Piers Minor had lost no time in bringing home his bride, and both he and Nanna had insisted that Esmay must live with them. And Esmay had accepted gratefully, for all that she was an heiress in her own right, through inheritance of her uncle Hugolin's estate, and could have bought and sold Piers Minor and Nanna, and all their holdings, ten times over. But all of her red gold could not buy love, and Esmay was wise enough to know this. Moreover, the River Barony was but twenty miles distant from the Greenwood Keep, and at least twice every week Constans rode over and spent the night. It was pleasant to hear him tell proudly of the progress of the work; how yesterday the roofing of the guard-house had been started, and how to-day they had turned for the first time the waters of the Ochre brook into the moat. Esmay always listened attentively, and it pleased her to think that Constans looked at her when he talked, even though his actual words might be addressed to Piers Minor or to Nanna. Listening always, but speaking seldom, for she felt that he was waiting purposely until some milestone of achievement had been passed, and she feared that he might consider her unwomanly. So the summer had gone, the great work was accomplished, and now they were viewing it together. They had seen everything, going in turn from lighting platform to calving-barn; from forge and smithy to my lady's bower. And Esmay had duly admired all and pronounced it good.

Now they were standing in the great hall watching the martins as they circled around the red-capped gatehouse, and the white doves cooing in the eaves. A silence had fallen between them, and Constans, leaning against the window-casement, seemed to have forgotten of Esmay's very existence. Quietly she drew aside and left him, impelled by an irresistible desire to know if he would notice her absence and would follow her. Hardly had she stolen five steps away than she heard him start, and then turn to seek her. A sheer delight coursed through her veins, and she began to run.

"Esmay!" he called, but she would not stop, gathering up her skirts in both her hands, and trying not to look behind her. But he was quickly at her heels, and an inexplicable terror seemed to seize her; she looked about for a hiding-place; a door presented itself, and she clutched the handle desperately, but it refused to turn. Seeing her discomfiture, Constans believed that he was entitled to enjoy his triumph. He walked up with leisurely deliberation. "You are a goose," he said, and took her hands in his, as one who reproves a wilful child.

She assented meekly.

"To run away like that--so foolish, when I had something serious to say to you. Why do you suppose I brought you here? Why should I want you to see the house? why did I build it at all? Be good enough to answer me."

She looked up at him with the most innocent expression in the world. "Why?" she echoed, as though mightily puzzled, and immediately the male creature became miserably bewildered, and lost his confident bearing in the twinkling of an eye. Had she really misunderstood him? had he been deceiving himself from the very beginning? He turned pale and dropped her hands, and she, misinterpreting this relinquishment of ownership, felt the blood receding from her own checks. Two utterly foolish creatures, and yet their folly is not to be argued away by the wise men. For while it is the accepted theory that a woman always knows when she is loved (with which men please themselves), and _per contra_ that a man is never unconscious of the favor in which he stands (with which women torment themselves), yet the truth is that neither man nor woman is ever certain of the fact until it is finally proclaimed in actual speech. So this is why lovers are always being asked to repeat and repeat again the magic words upon which all their happiness depends.

"The reason--you know--the reason why," he stammered, and then she came to his aid.

"Yes, I know, but _tell_ me."

And thereupon he did tell her.

A year later, and Constans and his wife sat on a high point of land that overlooked the waters of the Lower bay and the broad, salt sea beyond the dunes. Several of Constans's neat-cattle had strayed, and he had determined to ride to the fishermen's village below the Narrows to inquire if the estrays had been seen in that direction. Esmay had accompanied him, and they had been all day in the saddle and were weary. Nevertheless, they were satisfied, for the lost cattle had been recovered, and in the morning the herdsmen would be sent over to drive them home.

They had shared a frugal supper of bread and cheese and dried grapes, and now they were waiting until the horses should have cropped their fill. There was no hurry, the moon not rising for an hour yet, and it was useless to arrive at the Kills before the time of slack water. Constans had his back against a pine-stump, and Esmay's head rested on her husband's shoulder. They sat in silence, gazing out upon the gray sea, content in their present happiness and looking forward to a yet greater one in the near future. For to Constans Esmay had just made a wife's final confession, the secret being whispered into his inmost ear, though there was only the land and the sea to overhear.

Suddenly, on the darkened eastern sky-line, a bright light flashed out, in color like to a star, and yet incomparably more brilliant. And the light was not fixed, but continually changed its base, as was shown by the broad band of rays that now swept the surface of the sea and then traced their luminous way on the overhanging clouds. Another shift and the shining pathway reached to their very feet, illuminating with its radiance every object within its focus, down to the tiniest shell upon the beach. Esmay, startled, clung to her husband's arm.

"What is it?" she asked, but he could not answer her.

Yet as they gazed upon the new star, insensibly they became comforted. Whatever this prodigy foretold, it could not be an omen of lasting evil. Had they not seen for themselves that, even in the worst of worlds, righteousness and justice and truth had been something more than names. Doom had fallen; for more than a twelvemonth the ruins had smouldered, and to-day they were but the harmless haunt of bat and badger. And the world relieved of that intolerable incubus, and recovered of its purging and cleansing sickness, had started once more upon its appointed path--slowly, indeed, at the first, but ever onward and upward.

"It is only one more of the things that we cannot understand," said Constans at the last. "But we who love need not fear."

He drew his wife's face to his own, and there, full in the radiance of the unknown star, he kissed her on the lips.

* * * * *

Early that same evening Sub-Lieutenant Jarvison, watch-officer of the electric cruiser _Erebus_, reported to his commander that a landfall had been made six points away on the port bow. Captain Laws immediately hastened to the bridge of the vessel and ordered that the engines be stopped and the customary signals shown. But no reply was received to the rockets displaying the red, green, and white colors of the Antarctic Republican Navy; apparently the country was not inhabited. Yet to make sure, the search-light was put in requisition. Up and down, from side to side, swept the giant beam, and now they could see that the land on the left rose gradually into a considerable headland. Beyond opened the wide waters of what must be a great bay. Captain Laws reflected for a moment, and then gave another order to his executive.

Under half speed, and with a leadsman in the chains, the _Erebus_ moved steadily towards the unknown coast.

THE END

* * * * *

TYPOGRAPHICAL ERRORS CORRECTED

The following typographical errors in the text were corrected as detailed here.

In the text: "It was only necessary to dampen these sponges to ensure a perfect discharge of the electrical current passing through the head-rest ..." the word "ensue" was corrected to "ensure."

Some hypenation was inconsistently used in the original. These have been retained as they appear in the original text.

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