Wardour prepared to cast, without shaking the dice.

“Shake the box, man!” cried Crayford.  “Give yourself a chance of luck!”

Wardour persisted in letting the dice fall out carelessly, just as they lay in the box.

“Not I!” he muttered to himself.  “I’ve done with luck.”  Saying those words, he threw down the empty box, and seated himself on the nearest chest, without looking to see how the dice had fallen.

Crayford examined them.  “Six!” he exclaimed.  “There! you have a second chance, in spite of yourself.  You are neither under nor over—­you throw again.”

“Bah!” growled the Bear.  “It’s not worth the trouble of getting up for.  Somebody else throw for me.”  He suddenly looked at Frank.  “You! you have got what the women call a lucky face.”

Frank appealed to Crayford.  “Shall I?”

“Yes, if he wishes it,” said Crayford.

Frank cast the dice.  “Two!  He stays!  Wardour, I am sorry I have thrown against you.”

“Go or stay,” reiterated Wardour, “it’s all one to me.  You will be luckier, young one, when you cast for yourself.”

Frank cast for himself.

“Eight.  Hurrah!  I go!”

“What did I tell you?” said Wardour.  “The chance was yours.  You have thriven on my ill luck.”

He rose, as he spoke, to leave the hut.  Crayford stopped him.

“Have you anything particular to do, Richard?”

“What has anybody to do here?”

“Wait a little, then.  I want to speak to you when this business is over.”

“Are you going to give me any more good advice?”

“Don’t look at me in that sour way, Richard.  I am going to ask you a question about something which concerns yourself.”

Wardour yielded without a word more.  He returned to his chest, and cynically composed himself to slumber.  The casting of the lots went on rapidly among the officers and men.  In another half-hour chance had decided the question of “Go” or “Stay” for all alike.  The men left the hut.  The officers entered the inner apartment for a last conference with the bed-ridden captain of the Sea-mew.  Wardour and Crayford were left together, alone.

Chapter 9.

Crayford touched his friend on the shoulder to rouse him.  Wardour looked up, impatiently, with a frown.

“I was just asleep,” he said.  “Why do you wake me?”

“Look round you, Richard.  We are alone.”

“Well—­and what of that?”

“I wish to speak to you privately; and this is my opportunity.  You have disappointed and surprised me to-day.  Why did you say it was all one to you whether you went or stayed?  Why are you the only man among us who seems to be perfectly indifferent whether we are rescued or not?”

“Can a man always give a reason for what is strange in his manner or his words?” Wardour retorted.