Mal Moulée: A Novel

CHAPTER X.

A DISCOURSE ON SUICIDE.

NE day Mrs. Butler, Dolores, Percy, and several of their friends went to visit the Latin Quarter—the ancient homes of the Grisettes—a race rapidly becoming extinct.

"I have always wanted to visit this locality," Dolores said on her way thither. "It is a phase of Parisian life which has possessed a curious fascination for me."

"No doubt you have surrounded the Grisettes with a halo of romance," answered Percy. "If so, it will vanish utterly as you approach. What sort of beings do you fancy they are?"

"Physically, lovely sirens: mentally frivolous; morally lax, owing to their education, no doubt. Just the style of woman to fascinate a romantic student."

Percy laughed. "That is the prevailing idea," he said; "but it is wholly unlike the reality, as you will see."

What Dolores saw, were groups of contented looking mothers, tidy housewives, and comfortable young matrons. Women whose lives were devoted to their homes and families. Universally neat, and modest in appearance, but in no case strikingly attractive or beautiful.

"There is every indication here of happy domestic life," Percy said. "These women make good true consorts, and contented companions. They exchange their culinary and housekeeping accomplishments, and their loyalty, for a little affection, protection and support. On the whole, they lead a very pleasant sort of existence—while it lasts."

"Their position is far more enviable than that of the average wife," Dolores responded, "for if they are unhappy in their relations, they can at least get away; and I have no doubt they receive more devotion and loyalty than the majority of married women do. The position of the latter seems to me the more humiliating of the two."

Percy regarded Dolores with a grave expression.

"You are a strange girl," he said. "Yet extreme as you are in your ideas, there is much truth in what you say. I have very little respect for the husbands of my acquaintance. And still I believe God meant each man to possess one mate, and to be true to her in life and death. That is my ideal of perfect manhood—though an ideal I never expect to attain. There was a time when I imagined it possible—but now I live for the pleasure of the hour, and waste no time in theories or in moralizing. Life is too short. But of one thing I am sure, Miss King—positively sure." He paused, and she looked up expecting some serious remark. "And that is—that you are the most charming companion in the world."

On their way back to the Avenue Josephine, they saw a beautiful girl who had just shot herself in the breast, being conveyed to the hospital. Her lovely features were distorted with pain, and her agonizing groans, as they lifted her from the street where she had fallen, were heartrending to hear. Later, as they sat in Dolores' parlors, they all fell to discussing suicide.

"Terrible as it may seem," Dolores said, "I really cannot think it so great a crime as many do. We are never consulted in regard to coming into this world. Life is thrust upon us, and if, as in the case of that poor girl, perhaps, it becomes an insupportable burden, I cannot help thinking God will forgive the suffering soul that lays the burden down. I have always felt the greatest sympathy for suicides. It is a cowardly act, I own, yet it is a cowardice I can comprehend and condone. And I think God will surely be as sympathetic as a mortal."

"You know Dante's description of the Seventh Circle," suggested Percy, "and the horrors which await the rash soul of a suicide:

"But that was merely the poetic utterance of a visionary mind," Dolores answered. "No one in these days believes in a God who could be guilty of such atrocious punishments for sin or error, as Dante describes; and then I contend that in many instances suicide is not a crime, it is merely a cowardly act."

"But laying aside the crime of the act, think what an uncomfortable position the poor soul may find itself in!" suggested Percy. "To go where we are not wanted or invited, in this world, is a very embarrassing situation, you know. And to suddenly thrust yourself, without an invitation, upon the exclusive society of angels—I must say I would not have the courage to do it."

"Well, of all things," said Madam Volkenburg, "if any of you ever do commit suicide, never shoot yourselves, or resort to any disgusting or painful process. I can tell you of a very swift and painless method."

"What is it?" they all asked, in chorus, fascinated, as most of us always are, by a discussion of the horrible.

All but Dolores. She already knew.

"Oh, it is a swift poison," Madam Volkenburg explained. "My husband, who was a great experimenter in the chemical world, as you perhaps know, left a package of it among his possessions. It is a white, brilliant, crystallized substance, and the smallest particle of it, the moment it mixes with the saliva of the mouth, and is swallowed, produces instant death, and there is nothing to indicate poison afterward. It cannot be detected, and it leaves the body quietly composed as if sudden sleep had overtaken it."

"Why is it not better known?" some one asked.

"Perhaps it is well known; perhaps many of the sudden deaths by 'heart disease,' of which we read so often, occur in this way."

"And it will produce, as Madame Volkenburg says, swift and painless death, at least upon an animal," added Dolores. "When my little dog was run over by a carriage wheel, and lay crying in terrible pain, and I knew he must die, I tested the efficacy of this poison upon him. It ended his agonies instantly."

"And by the way," spoke Madame laughingly, turning to Dolores, "I gave you enough of the poison to kill ten dogs, or human beings, either; and you never returned it to me. Since I have heard your views upon suicide I think I had better take the dangerous drug out of your possession."

"If I were anxious to die, I fancy the absence of that drug would not prevent me from finding the means of self-destruction," Dolores answered, lightly. And at that moment refreshments were served, and the conversation turned upon more agreeable subjects.

At the expiration of a month—the swiftest month of his life, it seemed to Percy,—he was obliged to cut loose from this pleasant circle, and visit London and Berlin, on the business which had really brought him abroad.

He felt a curious depression of spirits as he entered the parlors on the Avenue Josephine the evening preceding his departure—a depression which he was hardly able to explain to himself. Only this might be his last interview with his charming friends, and "last times" are always sad.

Dolores seemed grave, as she welcomed him, and a little later she said, with a winning frankness, "I never remember to have felt so lonely at the thought of any other person's departure in my life, Mr. Durand, as I feel at yours. You have been such an addition to our circle; you are such a bon comrade; just what a brother would be, I fancy. How I shall miss you!"

"But I am not your brother, you know," Percy said, and he wanted to add, "And therefore the association has its dangers." He left it unsaid, however, thinking she would understand his simple assertion.

But she did not. She was a woman with a hobby, which precluded the thought of marriage. And she was a cold woman by nature. Knowing that Mr. Durand fully understood and respected her views, she could see no danger in his companionship. She was very lonely at the thought of his departure. He was her ideal friend, lost as soon as found.

"It has been a charming month in Bohemia," Percy continued. "I have thoroughly enjoyed it—it is unlike anything I have ever experienced before. I have had my fill of conventional society, and I have drained the cup of reckless pleasures; but this charming mixture of refinement, esprit and abandon, has been a new element to me."

"Apropos to your reference to a month in Bohemia," said Dolores, "I believe Mr. Orton has written a poem on Bohemia, which he has kindly promised to deliver this evening. Mr. Orton, will you favor us now?"

"I was not aware that you were a poet, Mr. Orton," Percy remarked, as the young man arose, and began to affect the bashful-school-girl air.

"Sir," said the journalist, turning a stern look upon Percy, and speaking in a sepulchral tone, "I am all that is bad: a newspaper man, a poet, and—" pointing toward the piano, "the worst remains to be told; I am a pianist." And then, quickly changing his expression and voice, he recited in the most admirable manner the following verses:

"That is just the fear which disturbs my heart, as I am about to cross the border-line and go back to the common-place world," sighed Percy, when the applause which succeeded the recitation died away. "I doubt my ability to enjoy anything, after this delightful experience."

"Well, now," said Homer Orton, "in response to the encore I ought to have received, I will give you a few verses appropriate to that situation, my dear fellow. If you commit them to memory, they may serve to help you in those dark hours of mental and spiritual pain which come to every man—the morning after the club supper. They are called—

"Speaking of Bohemia," Dolores said, "with all its charms, I do not believe I am a Bohemian by nature. I am really fond of ceremonies and imposing forms. I enjoy the most impressive services in divine worship. Had I been reared in the Roman Church, I would have made one of its most devout members. I like conventional life, but I do not like the people I meet in those circles."

"And yet," Percy answered, "it is generally supposed that in exclusive circles one finds all that is choice."

"But it is a great mistake," continued Dolores. "It may be true that whatever is choice is always exclusive; but whatever is exclusive is not always choice. One finds so little variety in the people one meets in the so-called best society anywhere. They are all after one pattern, and society does not tolerate individual tastes and ideas, you know. So you see I am obliged to select my congenial friends as I may, and create a Bohemia of my own."

"Which immediately becomes a Paradise," her listener answered gallantly.

"Don't," ejaculated Dolores with a pained expression, "it sounds so like—well, so like other men."

"And am I not like other men?" Percy asked, smiling and secretly pleased. Nothing flatters a man's vanity more than being told he is not like other men. "I never imagined myself to be a distinct type."

"But you are; or at least you have seemed so to me. And that is why I have liked you so well."

"Then you do like me?"

Dolores met his gaze without a blush or tremor, frankly, sweetly.

"I do not think I ever met any man before, whom I so thoroughly liked and respected," she said. "You are my ideal friend."

"Then, perhaps you will consent to correspond with me occasionally," Percy suggested. "I should have gone away not daring to ask the favor, believing myself only one of the many on whom you bestowed your hospitality, but for your kind speech."

As he sat in his room that night, Percy puzzled his brains, trying to analyze Dolores King's manner and words, and state of mind toward him.

"She is either the most perfect actress, or the coldest and most passionless woman on earth," he said, "incapable of any strong emotion. Or else—or else—she likes me better than she knows. At all events, it is fortunate for both, that I am going away."

CHAPTER XI.

A FREAK OF FATE.

ERCY, who had long believed himself to be a perfect cosmopolitan, quite as much at home in one part of the globe as in another, was surprised to find that he was actually homesick after leaving Paris.

With an impatience he could hardly understand, he awaited Dolores' response to his first letter. When it came, full of bright humor and sparkling cynicism, pleasant gossip and sincere expressions of regret at his absence, Percy sat and smoked, and dreamed over it for more than an hour.

He was trying to analyze his own feelings. When a woman does this, ten to one she is in love. When a man does it, ten to one he is not.

Percy did not believe himself to be in love.

"At least," he mused, "I could never, even were I a marrying man, contemplate marriage with Dolores King. She is too cold, too caustic, too skeptical. In fact, she understands human nature too well. I should want a wife who would idolize me, who would set me up as a hero, to worship. I think many a man becomes a hero, through having some woman over-estimate his worth. Rather than disillusion her, he acquires the qualities with which her loving imagination has invested him. Many a man has been saved from yielding to temptation at the last moment, because he could not shatter the perfect faith of some trusting heart. Dolores would not surround a man with any halo. She sees us all as we are—perhaps exaggerating our defects somewhat. She would suspect a man of evil on the slightest provocation, and that is the surest way to drive a human being into wrongdoing.

"But she is a delightful comrade, and so exquisitely beautiful that the plainest room would seem elegantly furnished if she occupied it.

"She understands the art of entertaining. And time hangs heavy on a fellow's hands, after he has lost her society. After all, life is too short to relinquish any pleasure within our grasp, for fear of consequences." And, rising and tossing aside his cigar, he added aloud:

"With the Persian poet I can say,

A few weeks later, Percy received letters from New York, requesting him to visit London, there to complete business arrangements with a large export house, and then to proceed to Copenhagen, where it would be necessary for him to remain several months in the interest of the firm.

When the letter arrived, he had just dispatched one to Dolores, which closed as follows:

"I expect to return to America next month. I go with regret, and yet no doubt it is for the best. It will cut short our delightful yet dangerous companionship, but I trust you will permit me to call upon you and say farewell before I go. In your last, you mentioned the possibility of leaving Paris soon, but you did not tell me what your plans were. Wherever you are, I shall, with your permission, find you, before I sail for America."

What was his astonishment to receive in reply to his letter, the information that Dolores, accompanied by Mrs. Butler and Madame Volkenburg were about to start on a journey to the Land of the Midnight Sun.

"We go direct to Moscow first," wrote Dolores, "stopping there long enough to drop a tear on the tombs of the Czars; then on to St. Petersburg; then by steamer down the Gulf of Finland and across the Baltic to Stockholm; thence by rail to Christiania, where we may linger some time, as Madame Volkenburg has dear friends there. From Christiania we go direct to the North Cape. It is our intention to return via Copenhagen and the Channels, as late in the season as we can safely make the trip. We do not leave Paris under three weeks; I hope you will call upon us before your return to America, as you have promised."

When Percy read this he laughed aloud.

"It is fate," he said. "We are destined to be thrown together. I shall proceed at once to Copenhagen, and when my charming friends arrive in Christiania, I shall join them there and make the journey with them to the North Cape."

It needed this bright prospect to keep Percy's heart cheerful after he arrived in Copenhagen. Not a person in the city had hung out a sign of furnished rooms to let; so finally he decided to advertise. After waiting two days for the advertisement to appear, he rushed off to the printing office to demand an explanation. The clerk remarked calmly, that it had been lost, and as the next day was Sunday, he would be obliged to wait until Monday. On Monday the notice appeared, badly printed, in a column headed "Servant Girls Wanted."

During that day Percy found a room to his liking, on the Tordenskjoldsgade, but as he feared an attack of lockjaw if he attempted to direct any one to his lodgings, he chose apartments on the Hovedvagtsgade instead. His breakfast, when served, consisted of a cup of coffee and a cold roll. His dinner, for which he had a ravenous appetite, was better enjoyed in anticipation than participation. The soup was devoid of any extract of flesh, fish, or fowl, but contained quantities of ginger, citron, lemon, and sugar. This was followed by boiled fish, tasteless and watery, and cauliflower swimming in sauce composed of milk and black pepper. There were no side-dishes, and the eagerly-expected dessert brought only disappointment and bread and cheese.

The next day, Percy was so curious concerning a mysterious plate of soup which was served, that he made inquiries and learned the actual ingredients. They consisted of carrots, potatoes, cabbage, sugar, eels, cinnamon, cherries, plums, and small pieces of pork. Another soup was made from the first milk of a cow; and what was known as "beer soup," flavored with various ingredients, was frequently served.

On inquiry, Percy found that other boarding-houses and hotels furnished the same mênu, and he could only better his condition by boarding at the largest hotel at an exorbitant price. Finally he became reconciled to the fare: esteemed Limburger cheese as a delicacy, and hailed the advent of every new kind of soup, as he wrote home to his cousin, "with all the enthusiasm of a scientific explorer."

His next achievement was learning how to sleep in a Danish bed. The cot was so narrow, and so rounded in the middle, that if he forgot himself and fell asleep, the covers were sure to slide off one side or the other; and any effort to detain them resulted in his own downfall. Finally, he concluded to lie under the feather bed, instead of over it; and thus, braced by the wall on one side and two chairs on the other, and the huge tick settling down over him, he succeeded in wooing slumber.

After two months devoted to business in Copenhagen, he took passage one autumn afternoon, in the steamship "Aarhus," for Christiania, where he was to join Dolores and her party. Passing through the "Kattegat," a severe wind rendered most of his companions seasick, and Percy was almost the only one who escaped the infliction. The next morning, one of the passengers asked the captain if the storm had been a severe one. For answer he simply pointed to the smoke-stack, which was encrusted to its very summit with the salt from the waves which had dashed over it in the night.

Percy stopped at the beautiful city of Gottenburg for a day, and made a journey into the Northwest some fifty miles to visit the famous falls of Trollhatton, which are unsurpassed in all Europe. In a letter to his cousin that night he wrote as follows:

"On the little cluster of houses, which constitute the village of Trollhatton, I was surprised to see in bold letters the name of a New York sewing-machine company. I had seen the sign in France and Germany, but I hardly expected to find it in this wild, unsettled portion of Sweden. The same day, in traversing the vast, dreary, rocky plateau which stretches from Lake Venern to the Skagerak, a large, freshly-painted sign of 'Fairbank Scales' met my eye. But in fact, where you find anything good over here in the way of machinery, you may be sure it is from America.

"In all my travels through Germany I have never seen a reaper, a mower, or a steel plow. Most of the grain seemed to be cut with a sickle. In a very few instances I saw men using an awkward sort of cradle; but they always threw their swath into the standing grain instead of away from it, and had women follow behind with sickles to pick it out and lay it in shape, so I did not see that they gained much.

"It may be true that the American is somewhat given to bragging; but when he comes to see the clumsy old-fashioned way of doing things in Europe, and compares it with the methods at home, he begins to feel that he has a foundation for his boasting. The best fire-arms, the best cutlery, the best furniture, and the best tools, all come from America. Even American cheese has found its way all over Europe, and our various brands of tobacco are as familiar to the European smoker, as to the Yankee himself."

Two days later found Percy enjoying a delightful interview with his friends in Christiania; and the next day the happy quartette started on their journey to the Land of the Midnight Sun.

CHAPTER XII.

AN EXCITING ICE-BOAT ADVENTURE.

URING six delightful weeks of travel and sightseeing through the wonderfully picturesque scenery of Sweden and Norway, Percy was again the comrade and escort of Dolores.

Day by day a thousand nameless acts of kindness and respectful unobtrusive attentions, as thoughtful as they were delicate, endeared him to the heart, at whose portal love, clothed in his most ancient and most successful disguise of friendship, was effecting an entrance.

It was late in November when the party returned to Copenhagen.

"My business matters will detain me here a week, possibly ten days," Percy said. "You will need that time to thoroughly enjoy the Thorvaldsen and the Ethnological Museums—which are in their way the finest in the world. Then I shall be ready to escort you to Paris, before I report myself at London."

Madame Volkenburg returned to Christiania the day previous to the intended departure of her friends. But at the expiration of the week, just as Percy was planning to make an exit from the cold bleak Island, Dolores sprained her ankle, and was unable to leave her room during four weeks. Percy found business enough to employ a few hours of each day in the interest of the London and American houses, and the remainder of the time he passed agreeably in entertaining the ladies. He read aloud, told interesting stories of adventure and travel, and made himself so thoroughly charming that Dolores forgot her misfortune in view of the happy hours it brought her.

When she at length declared herself able to proceed upon her journey another obstacle presented itself. The weather became unusually cold; and the Sounds, surrounding the island on which Copenhagen is situated, were packed with jagged blocks of ice, too thick to be broken by a steamer, but not sufficiently connected to make it safe for men or teams to venture on them. Our friends were prisoners, consequently, upon an almost inaccessible island.

"The blockade cannot last forever," Percy said, when he had informed the ladies of the condition of matters. "That is all the consolation I can give you at present. It may last a week, or a month, I am led to understand. In the meantime, we must enjoy ourselves as best we can. I am very sorry Madame Volkenburg did not remain with us, to share a little jaunt to Kaskilde—the ancient Capital of Denmark, which we will make to-morrow."

"What is there to see at Kaskilde?" inquired Dolores.

"A cathedral, of course," Percy answered. "No doubt you are tired of cathedrals, but this is a famous one: a relic of the ancient grandeur of the city when it numbered 100,000 souls. Its population is less than 5,000 now. You will find much to interest you there, as this building has been the burial-place of nearly all the Danish kings."

Kaskilde was not more than twenty miles from Copenhagen, and accessible by rail.

Dolores was surprised to find many of the tombs exquisitely carved with marble and alabaster. One of the most interesting bore the life-sized figure of Queen Margaret, who died in 1412. The beautifully-portrayed features, full of expression, were declared to be a correct likeness of the fair queen.

In the centre of the church upon a large iron slab set into the floor, it was recorded that "This spot is purchased by Nils Jurgersen, of the Church, as a resting place for his posterity for all time to come: in order that his family need not change their burial-place every twenty years, as other people do." But in spite of this sarcastic reference to other people, the royal mandate went forth, that no more people not of royal blood should be buried in the church. And Nils Jurgersen's descendants are obliged to sleep out of doors, like "other people," after all.

High up in the nave of the church stood a huge clock. Before it two half-sized figures carved in wood. At the end of each hour, the man struck the time with a hammer upon the face of the clock: while the quarter-hours were struck by the woman against a small bell.

"This little old couple have been faithful to each other during four hundred years," said Percy, as he stood beside Dolores watching the figures. "Is not that a wonderful illustration of constancy?"

"Yes," Dolores answered, laughing. "Such illustrations are readily found, in wood. But how presumptive of man—to produce such an example, when the Creator gave him no human precedent!"

"I must tell you about the clock," continued Percy. "Originally, there were figures of St. George upon a horse, fighting the Dragon. Every time the clock struck, the Dragon sprang upon the horse, and the latter gave a wild scream. But there was an old priest who complained that the noise of this battle disturbed him in his preaching: so the Knight and the Dragon—wonderful pieces of mechanism—were destroyed to please one conceited old egotist. And, furthermore, he commanded that the faithful old couple should be compelled to keep the Sabbath like other people. The machinery of the clock was so arranged, in accordance with his wishes, that no hours have been struck on the Sabbath since that time."

Hanging in a prominent part of the church, Mrs. Butler discovered a painting which amused her greatly. It represented the devil, well horned and hoofed, gazing sharply at the pews, in his hand a pencil and a scroll. On the latter was inscribed: "I make a note of all those who come late or go around and tattle."

"I wish I were able to purchase this painting and send it over to America," Mrs. Butler remarked. "We need it there, I am sure."

At the expiration of two weeks, the blockade still continued. The whole Baltic, as well as the North Sea, was one mass of floating ice, which the powerful currents and tides in the connecting channels kept in motion.

If the reader has not visited this portion of Europe, by glancing at any map he will see that the Northwestern part of Denmark consists of two islands. The Western is known as Funem, the Eastern as Zealand.

The "Great Belt," as the channel between them is called, is from fifteen to twenty miles wide in the narrowest portion, and is so called to distinguish it from the channel between Funem and the mainland, known as the "Little Belt."

In ordinary years, these straits remain sufficiently open, so that steamers can cross regularly; or else they freeze solidly, allowing sleighs to transfer freight and passengers.

But now, Copenhagen was entirely cut off from all communication with the outside world.

Percy was told, however, that an effort was being made to carry the mails across the Sound in a sort of ice-boat.

On investigation, he discovered that these ice-boats were in fact large, strongly-built fishing-smacks, with iron runners on the bottom. Each boat carried a crew of eight or ten weather-beaten old fishermen.

"If you can convey the mails across the Channel in those boats, why can't you carry passengers?" Percy asked as he stood inspecting the smacks the day before their intended venture.

The men laughed, and gave him to understand in broken German—the language he had used—that any man could go who had the courage to make the attempt.

As he related this to Mrs. Butler and Dolores a little later, he said: "If I had the least idea when navigation would open and permit you to make your escape, I would go on the ice-boat to-morrow. Business cares begin to weigh upon me heavily. But I do not like to leave you imprisoned here for an indefinite time."

"Why could not we, too, go by the ice-boat?" suggested Dolores.

"Impossible!" cried Percy, aghast.

"By no means. We are experienced travelers, and the adventure would be exhilarating after our long imprisonment here. If the crew are opposed, I will go myself and talk them into consenting."

"Although they could not understand a word you speak, I know you would win their consent to anything," laughed Percy. "But I will see if the plan is practicable."

An hour later, he returned from a second interview with the ice-boat crew.

"You can go," he said, "if your courage will sustain you. Reduce your hand luggage to the smallest possible compass, and be prepared to start for Korsör this P. M. at five o'clock. We remain there over night. We take passage in the boat early in the morning. Two other gentlemen are to accompany us, so we shall not die alone."

In the chilly dawn of the following morning our little party stood wondering where they were to be stored in those queer-looking smacks—one loaded with the heavier baggage, the other half-filled with mail bags. The ladies were soon told to take seats in the rear boat, among the mail bags; while the men were instructed to run alongside, and to be prepared to spring into it at a moment's notice. The crew pulled on a long rope attached to the prow of the boat, and it gave a lurch forward.

For thirty or forty rods from shore, the ice was solid, and slanted down toward the water. The boats glided along easily and rapidly. The ladies laughed gleefully and enjoyed the novel mode of locomotion.

All the crew, and the three gentlemen passengers, were provided with huge straw overshoes, the soles fully two inches thick. These served to protect their feet from the cold, and prevented slipping on the ice.

"What rare good sport!" cried Dolores, looking like a Russian princess in her furs, as she smiled up into Percy's face, while he ran lightly along beside her.

"It is like the coasting days of childhood on a large scale."

Just then there came an ominous cracking sound, and suddenly the forward boat crashed through the ice, which gave way for rods in every direction. The rear boat went shooting down an inclined plane into the water. The ladies shrieked, the crew shouted, the boat turned over on its side, but was speedily righted.

Percy succeeded in springing into the boat before it reached the open sea, but the other two passengers clung to its side, their legs dangling in the icy water.

The forward crew threw out a long rope and a plank, and, getting out on the ice, pulled the boat along a few lengths. The rear boat was pushed along in its wake through the broken ice. As they proceeded farther from the shore, the ice became more uneven. Where it was strong, the crew propelled the boats by means of the ropes; but where it was shaky or broken, the oars and boards were brought into requisition. The old seamen found constant amusement in the terrified screams of Mrs. Butler, every time they crashed through the ice, while Dolores seemed to enjoy the excitement with an almost childish delight.

Upon a sort of sand-bar in one place, which marked the boundary between the fixed or land-ice, and the loose cakes floating in the Sound, immense blocks had been crowded into all sorts of fantastic shapes, forming an irregular rampart thirty or forty feet high.

Beyond this, the crew was able to keep the boat in the water most of the time, winding in and out among the islands of ice.

Once, they were caught in a narrow strip of water between two ice-floes.

Then the crew became excited, and hurriedly ran the boat up on the ice out of harm's way. A few minutes later, the edges of the ice-floes began to grind together and double up, impelled by the tremendous currents underneath.

Dolores, who had grown very pale, while they were in this perilous situation, shivered slightly, as she heard the grinding of the ice-floes, and suddenly swayed back unconscious.

Percy reached out his arm just in time to receive her inanimate form.

The swoon lasted but a moment: yet during that moment Percy experienced the delicious pleasure of holding her fair head upon his shoulder, of clasping her lovely shape against his heart. All his well-controlled emotions seemed to cry out against their long constraint; and a sudden desire to seize her in his arms and cover her beautiful face with kisses might have overruled his reason, his sense of propriety and his good breeding, had she not opened her eyes and drawn herself out of his arms.

"How foolish I am," she said. "But I really thought we were to be crushed between those great ice jaws. I will not be so weak again."

"Please do," whispered Percy. "It was the happiest moment of my life." His warm audible breath fanned her cheek; his eyes were full of a fire she had never before seen in them; her blood tingled through her veins, producing a slight intoxication. Her lids drooped, her cheek crimsoned, but she did not rebuke him for his speech or his glance.

A strange, sweet languor filled her heart, and rendered any commonplace remark impossible. For the first time in her life she was conscious of a vague pleasure in the close proximity of a human being.

Out in the middle of the Sound they could see the black smoke of the steamer "Absolem" awaiting them in a long strip of open sea. By noon they were within a mile of her: and here the crew stopped their boats in the middle of an ice-floe, and served a sort of Arctic dinner.

An hour later, they reached the steamer; the mails and passengers were transferred and the ice-boats returned to Korsör.

The "Absolem" had been two days and two nights in the ice, and had narrowly escaped destruction among the sunken rocks, whither it had been carried by the powerful ice currents.

But now, with an open sea before them, they approached the western shore. As they neared Nyborg, Percy called the attention of the ladies to the remarkable thickness of the land ice. And to their surprise a few moments later, they saw the ship make fast to this clearly-defined and solid ice pier, and unload its freight and passengers as readily as if it had been in harbor.

Here they were huddled into Russian sleighs, and driven rapidly to the station at Nyborg, where they took the train for Hamburg.

CHAPTER XIII.

A STAR FALLS.

ERCY found letters in London, which gave him the opportunity of remaining in Europe permanently, if he chose to accept it. The business outlook was fine, and the position most desirable for him. Yet he decided to refuse it; to return to America at once, and send some one else to fill the vacancy. A farewell letter he wrote to Dolores will explain his reasons. It read as follows:

He sealed and addressed the letter, and rang for a boy to post it. But at that moment a rap sounded at his door, and a telegram was placed in his hands. He tore it open and read: