L. The Ruins of the Abbey of St. John the Baptist
LI.  The Calvary
LII.  The Council
LIII.  Happiness
LIV.  Duty
LV.  The Improvised Hospital
LVI.  Hydrophobia
LVII.  The Guardian Angel
LVIII.  Ruin
LIX.  Memories
LX.  The Ordeal
LXI.  Ambition
LXII.  To a Socius, a Socius and a Half
LXIII.  Faringhea’s Affection
LXIV.  An Evening at St. Colombe’s
LXV.  The Nuptial Bed
LXVI.  A Duel to the Death
LXVII.  A Message
LXVIII.  The First of June

Epilogue.

I. Four Years After
ii.  The Redemption

The Wandering Jew.

First Part.—­The Transgression.

Prologue.

The Land’s End of Two Worlds.

The Arctic Ocean encircles with a belt of eternal ice the desert confines of Siberia and North America—­the uttermost limits of the Old and New worlds, separated by the narrow, channel, known as Behring’s Straits.

The last days of September have arrived.

The equinox has brought with it darkness and Northern storms, and night will quickly close the short and dismal polar day.  The sky of a dull and leaden blue is faintly lighted by a sun without warmth, whose white disk, scarcely seen above the horizon, pales before the dazzling, brilliancy of the snow that covers, as far as the eyes can reach, the boundless steppes.

To the North, this desert is bounded by a ragged coast, bristling with huge black rocks.

At the base of this Titanic mass lied enchained the petrified ocean, whose spell-bound waves appear fired as vast ranges of ice mountains, their blue peaks fading away in the far-off frost smoke, or snow vapor.

Between the twin-peaks of Cape East, the termination of Siberia, the sullen sea is seen to drive tall icebergs across a streak of dead green.  There lies Behring’s Straits.

Opposite, and towering over the channel, rise the granite masses of Cape Prince of Wales, the headland of North America.

These lonely latitudes do not belong to the habitable world; for the piercing cold shivers the stones, splits the trees, and causes the earth to burst asunder, which, throwing forth showers of icy spangles seems capable of enduring this solitude of frost and tempest, of famine and death.

And yet, strange to say, footprints may be traced on the snow, covering these headlands on either side of Behring’s Straits.

On the American shore, the footprints are small and light, thus betraying the passage of a woman.

She has been hastening up the rocky peak, whence the drifts of Siberia are visible.

On the latter ground, footprints larger and deeper betoken the passing of a man.  He also was on his way to the Straits.

It would seem that this man and woman had arrived here from opposite directions, in hope of catching a glimpse of one another, across the arm of the sea dividing the two worlds—­the Old and the New.