Alone! alone on the Frozen Deep!

The Arctic sun is rising dimly in the dreary sky. The beams ofthe cold northern moon, mingling strangely with the dawninglight, clothe the snowy plains in hues of livid gray. Anice-field on the far horizon is moving slowly southward in thespectral light. Nearer, a stream of open water rolls its slowblack waves past the edges of the ice. Nearer still, followingthe drift, an iceberg rears its crags and pinnacles to the sky;here, glittering in the moonbeams; there, looming dim andghost-like in the ashy light.

Midway on the long sweep of the lower slope of the iceberg, whatobjects rise, and break the desolate monotony of the scene? Inthis awful solitude, can signs appear which tell of human Life?Yes! The black outline of a boat just shows itself, hauled up onthe berg. In an ice-cavern behind the boat the last red embers ofa dying fire flicker from time to time over the figures of twomen. One is seated, resting his back against the side of thecavern. The other lies prostrate, with his head on his comrade'sknee. The first of these men is awake, and thinking. The secondreclines, with his still white face turned up to thesky--sleeping or dead. Days and days since, these two have fallenbehind on the march of the expedition of relief. Days and dayssince, these two have been given up by their weary and failingcompanions as doomed and lost. He who sits thinking is RichardWardour. He who lies sleeping or dead is Frank Aldersley.

The iceberg drifts slowly, over the black water, through the ashylight. Minute by minute the lying fire sinks. Minute by minutethe deathly cold creeps nearer and nearer to the lost men.

Richard Wardour rouses himself from his thoughts--looks at thestill white face beneath him--and places his hand on Frank'sheart. It still beats feebly. Give him his share of the food andfuel still stored in the boat, and Frank may live through it.Leave him neglected where he lies, and his death is a question ofhours--perhaps minutes; who knows?

Richard Wardour lifts the sleeper's head and rests it against thecavern side. He goes to the boat, and returns with a billet ofwood. He stoops to place the wood on the fire--and stops. Frankis dreaming, and murmuring in his dream. A woman's name passeshis lips. Frank is in England again--at the ball--whispering toClara the confession of his love.

Over Richard Wardour's face there passes the shadow of a deadlythought. He rises from the fire; he takes the wood back to theboat. His iron strength is shaken, but it still holds out. Theyare drifting nearer and nearer to the open sea. He can launch theboat without help; he can take the food and the fuel with him.The sleeper on the iceberg is the man who has robbed him ofClara--who has wrecked the hope and the happiness of his life.Leave the man in his sleep, and let him die!

So the tempter whispers. Richard Wardour tries his strength onthe boat. It moves: he has got it under control. He stops, andlooks round. Beyond him is the open sea. Beneath him is the manwho has robbed him of Clara. The shadow of the deadly thoughtgrows and darkens over his face. He waits with his hands on theboat--waits and thinks.

The iceberg drifts slowly--over the black water; through the ashylight. Minute by minute, the dying fire sinks. Minute by minute,the deathly cold creeps nearer to the sleeping man. And stillRichard Wardour waits--waits and thinks.

Fourth Scene.

The Garden.