n a twinkling, was lost to
view.

The two girls, placing their burdens of food and Marian's sketches on
an up-ended ice-cake, sat down to wait. They were growing weary. The
strain of the adventure into this puzzling, unknown ice-field was
telling on their nerves.

"I wish we were safe at Cape Prince of Wales," sighed Marian.

"Yes, or even East Cape," said Lucile. "I think I'd be content to stay
there and chance the year with the natives."

"Anyway, Phi's doing his best," said Marian. "Isn't he a strange one,
though? Do you think he has the blue envelope?"

"I don't know."

"Well, I think he has."

"I don't know," Lucile said sleepily. Fatigue and the keen Arctic air
were making her drowsy.

Presently, she leaned back against an ice-cake and fell asleep.

"I'll let her sleep," Marian mused. "It'll give her strength for what
comes next, whatever that is."

An hour passed, but no call echoed across the silent white expanse.
Marian, now pacing back and forth across a narrow ice-pan, now pausing
to listen, felt her anxiety redoubled by every succeeding moment. What
could have happened to Phi? Had some mishap befallen him? Had a slip
thrown him into some dangerous crevice? Had thin ice dropped him to
sure death in the surging undercurrent? Or had he merely wandered too
far and lost his way?

Whatever may have happened, he did not return.

At length, with patience exhausted, she climbed the highest ice-pile
and gazed away to the north. The first glance brought forth a cry of
dismay. A narrow lane of dark water, stretching from east to west,
extended as far as eye could see in each direction. It lay not a
quarter of a mile from the spot where she stood.

"He's across and can never recross to us," she moaned in despair. "No
creature could brave that undercurrent and live. And there is no other
way."

Then, as the full terror of their situation flashed upon her, she sank
down in a heap and buried her face in her hands.

They were two lone girls ten miles from any land, on the bosom of a
vast ice-floe, which was slowly but surely creeping toward the unknown
northern sea. They had no chart, no compass, no trail to follow and no
guide. To move seemed futile, yet to remain where they were meant sure
disaster.

As if to complete the tragedy of the whole situation, a snow-fog
drifted down upon them. Blotting out the black ribbon of water and
every ice-pile that was more than a stone's throw fr