Every ship’s company cheered vociferously, and the yacht tore on amid clamour that might have scared timid folk.

“Why, the good fellows, they’re giving us an illumination,” said Fullerton.

“Hah! very modest, I’m sure.  I should just think they were giving us an illumination, sir.  I should venture to say that they possibly were doing a little in that way, sir.  Yes, sir.  Hah!  Oh!  No-o-oble, sir.  Picturesque, sir, in extreme!  I’ll write a poem descriptive of this, sir.  And, thank God,” said Tom at last, with real feeling, “thank God there are some people in the world who know what gratitude is like.  Hah!  I’m glad I lived to see this day.”

The last cheer rattled over the waves.  “That’s the grandest thing I ever saw, Miss Dearsley,” whispered Lewis.

“I was about to say those very words.”  Still the schooner tore on; still the light failed more and more; and then once again, with stars and sea-winds in her raiment, Night sank on the sea.  The yacht was bound for home, and every one on board had a touch of that sweet fever that attacks even the most callous of sailors when the vessel’s head is the right way.  We shall see what came of the trip which I have described with dogged care.

END OF BOOK I.

BOOK II.

CHAPTER I.

JANUARY IN THE NORTH SEA!

A bitter morning, with light, powdery snow spotting here and there a livid background; grey seas travelling fast, and a looming snow-cloud gradually drooping down.  The gulls are mad with hunger, and a cloud of them skirl harshly over the taffrail of a stout smack that forges fast through the bleak sea.  The smack is coated with ice from the mast-head to the water’s edge; there is not much of a sea, but when a wave does throw a jet of water over the craft it freezes like magic, and adds yet another layer to a heap which is making the deck resemble a miniature glacier.

The smack has a flag hoisted, but alas! the signal that should float bravely is twisted into a shabby icicle, and it would be lowered but for the fact that the halliards will not run through the lump of ice that gathers from the truck to the mast-head.  All round to the near horizon a scattered fleet of snow-white smacks are lingering, and they look like a weird squadron from a land of chilly death.  On the deck of the smack that has the flag a powerful young man is standing, and by his side—­by all that is astounding—­is an enormous man with an enormous beard and a voice that booms through the Arctic stillness.  That is our new scene.

* * * * *

I am not going to play at mystery, for you know as well as I do that the young man named in that gloomy overture was Lewis Ferrier, and that his companion was good Tom Lennard;—­though what brought the giant out into the frozen desolation I shall not say just yet.