tories that the far north hoards in its fastnesses, wondering what
singular fate had driven the host of this secluded tavern--farthest from
the pleasant south country, nearest to the Pole--to stand, as it were,
a sentinel at the raw outposts of the world. He looked down at the trail
where he was walking with a kind of awe, which even his cheerful common
sense could not dismiss.

He came to the top of a ridge on which were a handful of meagre trees.
Leaning on his gun, he looked straight away into the farthest distance.
On the left was a blurred edge of pines, with tops like ungainly
tendrils feeling for the sky. On the right was a long bare stretch of
hills veiled in the thin smoke of the evening, and between, straight
before him, was a wide lane of unknown country, billowing away to where
it froze into the vast archipelago that closes with the summit of the
world. He experienced now that weird charm which has drawn so many into
Arctic wilds and gathered the eyes of millions longingly. Wife, child,
London, civilisation, were forgotten for the moment. He was under a
spell which, once felt, lingers in your veins always.

At length his look drew away from the glimmering distance, and he
suddenly became conscious of human presence. Here, almost at his feet,
was a man, also looking out along that slumbering waste. He was dressed
in skins, his arms were folded across his breast, his chin bent low, and
he gazed up and out from deep eyes shadowed by strong brows. Lawless saw
the shoulders of the watcher heave and shake once or twice, and then
a voice with a deep aching trouble in it spoke; but at first he could
catch no words. Presently, however, he heard distinctly, for the man
raised his hands high above his head, and the words fell painfully: "Am
I my brother's keeper?"

Then a low harsh laugh came from him, and he was silent again. Lawless
did not move. At last the man turned round, and, seeing him standing
motionless, his gun in his hands, he gave a hoarse cry. Then he stood
still. "If you have come to kill, do not wait," he said; "I am ready."

At the sound of Lawless's reassuring voice he recovered, and began, in
stumbling words, to excuse himself. His face was as Jacques Parfaite
had described it: trouble of some terrible kind was furrowed in it, and,
though his body was stalwart, he looked as if he had lived a century.
His eyes dwelt on Sir Duke Lawless for a moment, and then, coming
nearer, he said, "You are an Eng