"Naturally there can be no absolute certainty that the ‘Scotia’ may not be still afloat, or that the members of the expedition may not have reached a place of safety, but the presence of large pieces of ice attached to some of the fragments seem to the best authorities to favour the theory that the unfortunate vessel was struck by one of the huge icebergs which have lately been floating up from the direction of the Admiralty Mountains, and in that case her fate will probably remain one of the many insoluble mysteries of the ocean."

“Now that’s what one might call the irony of fate,” said the old clergyman, “seeing that the object of the expedition . . .”

“Hush!”

"While the sympathy of the public will be extended to the families of all the explorers who have apparently perished in a brave effort to protect mankind from one of the worst dangers of the great deep, the entire world will mourn the loss (as we fear it may be) of the heroic young Commander, Doctor Martin Conrad, who certainly belonged to the ever-diminishing race of dauntless and intrepid souls who seem to be born will that sacred courage which leads men to render up their lives at the lure of the Unknown and the call of a great idea."

I felt as if I were drowning.  At one moment there was the shrieking of waves about my face; at the next the rolling of billows over my head.

"Though it seems only too certain . . . this sacred courage quenched . . . let us not think such lives as his are wasted . . . only wasted lives . . . lives given up . . . inglorious ease . . . pursuit of idle amusements. . . .  Therefore let loved ones left behind . . . take comfort . . . inspiring thought . . . if lost . . . not died in vain . . .  Never pleasure but Death . . . the lure that draws true hearts. . . ."

I heard no more.  The old colonel’s voice, which had been beating on my brain like a hammer, seemed to die away in the distance.

“How hard you are breathing.  What is amiss?” said our landlady.

I made no reply.  Rising to my feet I became giddy and held on to the table cloth to prevent myself from falling.

The landlady jumped up to protect her crockery and at the same moment the old actress led me from the room.  I excused myself on the ground of faintness, and the heat of the house after my quick walk home from the theatre.

Back in my bedroom my limbs gave way and I sank to the floor with my head on the chair.  There was no uncertainty for me now.  It was all over.  The great love which had engrossed my life had gone.

In the overwhelming shock of that moment I could not think of the world’s loss.  I could not even think of Martin’s.  I could only think of my own, and once more I felt as if something of myself had been torn out of my breast.

“Why?  Why?” I was crying in the depths of my heart—­why, when I was so utterly alone, so helpless and so friendless, had the light by which I lived been quenched.