“When the tempest overtook us the yacht sunk,” he explained.  “Some of the crew had time to throw themselves into the boats, the rest perished.  At the first moment of peril Mr. Jones made a sign for me to go with him into a life-boat, which was suspended in the stern of the yacht and that every one else disdained on account of its small dimensions, but which proved to be safe, as it was impossible to sink it.  It is the only one which reached the ice island—­all the others were upset before they reached it.  We were terribly wounded by the drift ice which the waves threw into our boat, but at length we were able to draw ourselves beyond their reach and wait for the dawn of day.  This morning Mr. Jones left me to go and see if he could kill a walrus, or some sea-bird, in order that we might have something to eat.  I have not seen him since!”

“Is Mr. Jones one of the officers of the ’Albatross’?” asked Erik.

“He is the owner and captain of her!” answered O’Donoghan, in a tone which seemed to express surprise at the question.

“Then Mr. Tudor Brown is not the captain of the ’Albatross’?”

“I don’t know,” said the wounded man, hesitatingly, seeming to ask himself whether he had been too confidential in speaking as freely as he had done.

Erik did not think it wise to insist on this point.  He had too many other questions to ask.

“You see,” he said to the Irishman, as he seated himself on the snow beside him, “you refused the other day to come on board of my ship and talk with me, and your refusal has occasioned many disasters.  But now that we have met again, let us profit by this opportunity to talk seriously and like rational men.  You see you are here on a floating ice-bank, without food, and seriously wounded, incapable by your own efforts of escaping the most cruel death.  My adopted father and myself have all that you need, food, fire-arms, and brandy.  We will share with you, and take care of you until you are well again.  In return for our care, we only ask you to treat us with a little confidence!”

The Irishman gave Erik an irresolute look in which gratitude seemed to mingle with fear—­a look of fearful indecision.

“That depends on the kind of confidence that you ask for?” he said, evasively.

“Oh, you know very well,” answered Erik, making an effort to smile, and taking in his hands those of the wounded man.  “I told you the other day; you know what I want to find out and what I have come so far to discover.  Now, Patrick O’Donoghan, make a little effort and disclose to me this secret which is of so much importance to me, tell me what you know about the infant tied to the buoy.  Give me the faintest indication of who I am, so that I may find my family.  What do you fear?  What danger do you run in satisfying me?”

O’Donoghan did not answer, but seemed to be turning over in his obtuse brain the arguments that Erik had used.