t free; then another year began.... Four of us set
out for the south. Two died. My brother and I were left--"

Lawless exclaimed. He now remembered how general sympathy went out to a
well-known county family when it was announced that two of its members
were lost in the Arctic regions.

Detmold continued: "I was the stronger. He grew weaker and weaker. It
was awful to live those days: the endless snow and cold, the long nights
when you could only hear the whirring of meteors, the bright sun which
did not warm you, nor even when many suns, the reflections of itself,
followed it--the mocking sun dogs, no more the sun than I am what my
mother brought into the world.... We walked like dumb men, for the
dreadful cold fills the heart with bitterness. I think I grew to hate
him because he could not travel faster, that days were lost, and death
crept on so pitilessly. Sometimes I had a mad wish to kill him. May you
never know suffering that begets such things! I laughed as I sat beside
him, and saw him sink to sleep and die.... I think I could have saved
him. When he was gone I--what do men do sometimes when starvation is
on them, and they have a hunger of hell to live? I did that shameless
thing--and he was my brother!... I lived, and was saved."

Lawless shrank away from the man, but words of horror got no farther
than his throat. And he was glad afterwards that it was so; for when
he looked again at this woful relic of humanity before him he felt a
strange pity.

"God's hand is on me to punish," said the man. "It will never be lifted.
Death were easy: I bear the infamy of living."

Lawless reached out and caught him gently by the shoulders. "Poor
fellow! poor Detmold!" he said. For an instant the sorrowful face
lighted, the square chin trembled, and the hands thrust out towards
Lawless, but suddenly dropped.

"Go," he said humbly, "and leave me here. We must not meet again... I
have had one moment of respite.... Go."

Without a word, Lawless turned and made his way to the Fort. In the
morning the three comrades started on their journey again; but no one
sped them on their way or watched them as they went.

THE PILOT OF BELLE AMOUR

He lived in a hut on a jutting crag of the Cliff of the King. You could
get to it by a hard climb up a precipitous pathway, or by a ladder
of ropes which swung from his cottage door down the cliff-side to the
sands. The bay that washed the sands was called Belle Amour. The cliff
w