hout the other, dear old man, and we shall not be separated. Whoever
you are, you are a gentleman, and you might have been my father or
hers--or hers."

He stopped suddenly. A thought had flashed through his mind, a thought
which stunned him, which passed like some powerful current through his
veins, shocked him, then gave him a palpitating life. It was a wild
thought, but yet why not?--why not? There was the chance, the faint,
far-off chance. He caught the old man by the shoulders and looked him in
the eyes, scanned his features, pushed back the hair from the rugged
forehead.

"Dear old man," he said, his voice shaking, "do you know what I'm
thinking? I'm thinking that you may be of those who went out to the Arctic
Sea with Sir John Franklin--with Sir John Franklin, you understand. Did
you know Sir John Franklin?--is it true, dear old boy?--is it true? Are
you one that has lived to tell the tale? Did you know Sir John
Franklin?--is it--tell me, is it true?"

He let go the old man's shoulders, for over the face of the other there
had passed a change. It was strained and tense. The hands were
outstretched, the eyes were staring straight into the west and the coming
night.

"It is--it is--that's it!" cried Bickersteth. "That's it--oh, love o' God,
that's it! Sir John Franklin--Sir John Franklin, and all the brave lads
that died up there! You remember the ship--the Arctic Sea--the ice-fields,
and Franklin--you remember him? Dear old man, say you remember Franklin?"

The thing had seized him. Conviction was upon him, and he watched the
other's anguished face with anguish and excitement in his own. But--but it
might be, it might be her father--the eyes, the forehead are like hers;
the hands, the long hands, the pointed fingers. "Dear old man, did you
have a wife and child, and were they both called Alice--do you remember?
Franklin!--Alice! Do you remember?"

The old man got slowly to his feet, his arms outstretched, the look in his
face changing, understanding, struggling for its place, memory fighting
for its own, the soul contending for its mastery.

"Franklin--Alice--the snow," he said, confusedly, and sank down.

"God have mercy!" cried Bickersteth, as he caught the swaying body and
laid it upon the ground. "He was there--almost."

He settled the old man against the great pine stump and chafed his hands.
"Man, dear man, if you belong to her--if you do, can't you see what it
will mean to me? She can't say no to