After the awful disappointment Claude and Marguerite experienced when
they saw the vessel of their hopes sink out of sight, they could only
turn to each other for silent comfort. Unconscious of whither they went,
their feet led them to the top of the high cliff from which Marie had
fallen. Trembling on the dizzy verge, each seemed to read what was in
the other's mind. A leap, sudden darkness, and all would end. The next
world--what of that? Could there be another world as cruel as this?
"Come away!" they exclaimed together, clutching each other's hands.
"Come away! Not yet!" And in these words each knew that the other
realised that death--the death which for a moment they had courted--was
all they could hope for. The ship which had passed was but a chance
vessel; the fishermen never came so far north. Their provisions were
beginning to run low; and the rigorous climate which had killed poor old
Bastienne must in time sap their young strength. Claude was feeling its
influence the more keenly. His wounds had left him less robust than of
old, and the harsh treatment he had received at De Roberval's hands had
helped to shatter his iron constitution. His cheek, once ruddy with
health, had grown thin and pale; his limbs were shrunken, and his hands,
once so strong and sinewy, had become cold and nerveless. When
Marguerite rested hers in them, she could not but feel that for him
death was not very far off; but she dared not speak. She saw he did not
realise it, and his eye was ever filled with pity for her suffering.
With her it was otherwise. Her will bore her nobly up. Instead of losing
strength, she grew more robust. Her step became as light and wiry as
that of the fleet-footed fox which stole silently about the island. Her
arms, which had never exerted themselves beyond bending a bow in sport,
could now wield the axe as skilfully as Claude's. She had lost none of
her beauty, but in her rough garb, browned by the sun and wind and sea,
she seemed, in Claude's eyes, queenlier than ever. On this night, as she
leaned upon Claude's arm, each felt that the strength to endure must
come from her, though neither allowed the thought to form itself into
words.
When they reached their hut, the terrible loneliness, the blank left by
the death of their devoted old companion, so weighed upon them that they
once more sought the beach, where the long waves rolled in and broke at
their feet, keeping time, in their melancholy rush and retreat, with the
ever-recurring wave of sorrow in their young hearts.
"Marguerite," Claude said, pressing her tenderly to him, "this is more
than I can bear. You do not blame me, but I know that I am to blame. I
knew your uncle, and I should never have allowed myself to bring you to
this."
"Hush, dear, you are mad to speak so! Neither of us is to blame. No one
could have foretold the lengths to which my uncle's stubborn will would
carry him. But, my own, even at this time, each of us can say that we
have known happiness. I would have had it otherwise; but had I to live
my life over again, I could not have acted but as I did."
"Dear, I know it. But I cannot forget that Bastienne and Marie owe their
deaths to me."
"You are gloomy to-night, love! Neither died with a complaining word on
her lips. It was not you, nor my uncle, who cut them off, but fate.
Dearest, the night wind cuts you keenly," she added, as Claude gave way
to a sudden fit of coughing. "Let us return to the house."
"I dread the loneliness," said Claude. "Ah, Marguerite, I am weak
to-night, unmanly to-night! I felt at every step I took to the beach
that the spirits of those two murdered women were walking beside me, and
yet I welcomed them not. I trembled."
"You are indeed weak, my love. But be strong. We have yet a hard fight
to fight. We must not give in till we see France."
"See France! I shall never see it! It is hard, when life promised so
fair, to have to lay it down away from the camp and the court. I had
hoped yet to win myself a name; not for my own sake, but that you, my
queen, might be the proudest woman in France."
"I am the proudest woman in the world," she said. "This year of trial
has proved my love a king. I have watched you toil and suffer for us in
uncomplaining silence, and the hopeful words which were ever on your
lips told how nobly you were fighting. O Claude, I need you! I need you
now more than ever! We each must help the other!" She clung trembling to
her lover's arm.
Claude braced himself.
"I must not let my gloomy spirit make my love's as heavy as its own. It
has passed, sweetheart I feel strong again; and to-morrow I shall be
ready to fight the battle anew."
As they walked back in the darkness Claude stumbled, and would have
fallen, but that Marguerite's arm held him up.
"How strong you are become, my darling!" he said tenderly. "Had I a
sword on shore I would teach you to wield it; and truly, I think, when
we get home again another Joan of Arc would be ready to lead the hosts
of France."
"'Tis good to see the old spirit return. We shall indeed get home; and
it will be sufficient for me to know that my hero is the first in the
field, with my glove borne honourably into the thick of the fight."
But though she spoke thus cheerfully her heart was heavy within her; and
when, in the night, she woke to hear Claude coughing as he had done on
the beach, she knew that the end must be near. In the morning, a greater
sorrow awaited her. She found him weak, worn, and feverish, having spent
a sleepless night. When he attempted to build the fire, which had gone
out during the night, as he was placing a heavy log upon the dry
branches, he fell forward on his face, and would have been burnt by the
fire he had just kindled but that Marguerite, springing to his side,
bore him bodily to the hut. As she laid him down, she saw that her arm
was dyed with blood.
Could the end have come already? He was bleeding at the mouth, and she
knew that his lungs were affected. She had little experience or
knowledge about sickness of any kind, and at first she thought he was
dead. But she bravely did what she could to restore him, and was soon
rewarded by seeing the languid eyes open with a half-dreamy stare. The
minutes seemed like hours before he showed any further signs of
regaining consciousness, and it was to her as the voice of God when his
lips parted, and he murmured her name. His hand pressed hers tenderly,
lovingly, despairingly. He had had a glimpse of death, and, as he awoke
from his swoon, his first thought was of the horrors she would endure
till she should follow him. His strength slowly returned, and by noon he
was able to sit propped up in the door of the hut, through which the
warm sunshine streamed brightly.
"How cold it has become," he said suddenly, with a shiver.
"Let me wrap this blanket about you, dearest. You are weak still, but a
little rest will make you strong."
"Your words would drive away any chill breath," he said tenderly, as she
arranged the covering about him. "But surely it is strange, with that
warm sun streaming down, that the gentle wind should so soon have cooled
the air. A moment ago it was as warm as the summer breezes of France.
But what means that shouting?"
"I can hear naught," said Marguerite, her heart sinking within her as
she became convinced that Claude's attack had left him delirious.
But suddenly she, too, held up her warm hand in the wind. It had indeed
grown colder, although the restless ocean seemed to wear a calmer smile
than it had done in the early morning. Her ear, too, caught an unwonted
sound; it was the screaming of innumerable sea-birds; and as they drew
nearer, the loud flapping of their wings resounded through the island.
What could their strange appearance mean? While she thus questioned, a
sudden coughing told her that the keen blast which had swept across them
had left Claude weakened. She went to him, drew him within doors, and
wrapped him warmly in the thickest coverings they had; then she sat
anxiously by his side. The wind grew colder, and the screaming of birds
louder. Both feared some dire calamity--they knew not what. At last a
dull rumbling was heard, and then a roaring, a bellowing, a grinding, a
crashing, and the sudden falling of a mighty burden, as if a mountain
peak had toppled over on their island, which shook and vibrated as with
an earthquake.
The two held each other's hands and waited.
"Could it be a ship?" exclaimed Marguerite, suddenly.
"God help the ship that struck with such a fearful crash! But listen!"
The grinding, crashing sound continued to re-echo through the island,
while the warm sun gleamed brightly down on the two terrified
inhabitants of the hut; the cowering animals slunk trembling to their
holes; and the timorous birds plunged into the sea, or circled far out
over the peaceful waters.
Marguerite, seeing that sudden destruction had not come to them, nerved
herself, and went out to discover the cause of the unearthly din. As she
turned her eyes to the northern side of the island, she was almost
blinded by the resplendent glare. A huge iceberg, stretching far out to
sea, lay hard against the high cliffs, whose base was a hundred fathoms
beneath. A myriad birds circled above it, and flew over the island,
wondering at the green stretches and the spreading trees, and the
strange being who stood alone amidst it all.
The berg was like a series of mountain peaks, which scintillated in the
sunshine. Its green base, eaten and worn by the seas, sparkled like
emerald, and its innumerable caves and grottos, giving a variety of
light and shade, made it seem a veritable fairy realm. The base, worn
with many hollows, kept up a continuous roaring as the sea swept about
it, and the crashing fragments, which fell ever and anon with loud
resounding splash, added to the din. On the cliff lay piled a huge mass
which had fallen thundering down when the berg struck the shore.
"All is well, Claude," cried Marguerite. "It is but a berg which has
come to visit us in our loneliness. And what a troop of companions it
has brought us! The air is thick with feathered friends! Make haste and
get strong, dear," she added, as she re-entered the hut, "and to-morrow
you will be able to come out and look upon it. A fairer sight I never
beheld. Odin and Thor could not have had a grander palace."
"Sweet, that is like you to turn our terror into a jest," said Claude
smiling tenderly at her. "But hark!" and as he spoke a low, savage growl
reached their ears.
"Give me the arquebuse, quick!" cried Claude, and stretched out his hand
for the weapon.
But Marguerite had already seized it. She had learned to take aim and
fire as well as any man, and she stood with the gun firmly held in her
strong young arms, and pointed towards the door. For one breathless
moment--which seemed a year--they waited. The growl sounded nearer, and
a swift shuffling of clumsy feet told them that some ponderous animal
was approaching. The next instant the object of their dread appeared.
It was an animal such as they had never seen before, or heard of. A
she-bear, full six feet in length--gaunt and fierce. It had doubtless
been prowling about in its Greenland home in search of food, when it
found itself, and the cub which followed it, adrift on this vast berg.
The birds, the only other occupants of its habitation, were able to
elude it, and so it spent hungry weeks on its slow, southern journey.
Scarcely had the berg come in sight of the island when the starving
brute, followed by its cub, sprang into the ocean and swam for the
shore. As it prowled about in search of seals or fish, it had caught
sight of Marguerite. It scented food, and with a fierce growl came
shuffling with the speed of a galloping horse towards her.
As she now looked upon it her heart never flinched. She waited calmly
till it should be within sure range.
It was a beautiful creature, with a mantle of silvery white, tinged with
yellow. As it drew nearer, its long, strong neck, its flattened,
elongated head, and small ears and mouth gave it a cruel appearance,
while its tongue, lolling out, seemed to be lapping in anticipation the
blood of its victims. When it was but twenty yards away Marguerite's
arquebuse was raised, and with unflinching nerve she fired at the
advancing brute. The bullet struck it, and with a growl it seized its
breast with its teeth, as if trying to pull out the thing that had
smitten it. The next instant it was at the very door, and its huge form
shut out the light, as it was about to pounce upon its prey. But Claude
had seized a second arquebuse, and, when the bear was within two yards,
fired point-blank into its hairy breast. The bullet entered its heart,
and it fell dead at their feet. The cub, which had followed close at its
heels, with a pitiful cry threw itself upon its mother's body, and
seeing the warm blood flowing in a great stream, began lapping it up
with greedy tongue.
"Bravely done, my queen!" said Claude, as the bear fell dead in the
hut. "I would La Pommeraye could have seen your nerve! What a buzz this
adventure would cause in Paris!"
"O Claude, it is horrible! See that unhappy little creature drink its
mother's life! Dear God, why is life created only to be destroyed?"
As she uttered the prayer, which has gone up a myriad times from a
myriad hearts, she turned with a pitying hand to the motherless cub, but
at her touch the terrified little creature rushed with ungainly shuffle
away, and skulked among the rocks on the beach.
The dead bear was lying almost at the feet of Claude, a ghastly
spectacle, and Marguerite felt that she must get it outside the hut. She
seized its huge hairy paws, with their black, curved claws, and
attempted to drag it to the door. But, gaunt and starved as it was, it
was too heavy for her strength, and resisted all her efforts. Claude was
in no condition to assist her, and she was compelled all day to move
about, caring for him, with the shadow of death in her presence.
Night came, and still the bear lay stretched, cold and stiff, in the
doorway. Again she struggled with it, but again her efforts were futile,
and there was nothing for it but to let it remain there all night. But
in its ghastly presence she could not sleep; and she lay awake listening
to the crashing and roaring of the berg, as the waves rose about it, and
hearing beside her the quiet breathing of Claude. Worn out by illness
and the excitement of the day, he was sleeping like a tired child.
Several times, as she looked out on the darkness, she saw a white form
moving stealthily back and forth. She knew it was the little cub, and
her heart was moved with pity for its loneliness. She heard its step
draw nearer and nearer to where she lay, and at last she saw it standing
in the door. She moved not a muscle for fear of alarming it, or
disturbing Claude; but when she heard it with an almost human wail throw
itself against its mother, she could have risen and fondled it. All
night it lay there, wondering, no doubt, why that once warm breast was
now as cold as the icy home it had left.
When morning broke, Marguerite made a movement to rise, and the cub, in
terror, sprang up, lumbered down to the beach, and plunged into the
water.
"Poor beast!" she said, "we must try to win its confidence. It will
dispel something of our own loneliness."
She left the hut to stir up the embers of the fire, and pondered how she
might lure the little bear to her. But it would not come near her, and
at her approach dived into the ocean, or skulked behind rocks.
The gentle sleep of the night had worked wonders for Claude. In the
morning, when the crackle of the fire told him that Marguerite was up
before him, he rose, and to his surprise found his limbs strong and his
brain clear. He looked upon the dead bear, and all that had passed came
back to him. He stepped over its gaunt form, and stood before
Marguerite.
"Oh, you wicked boy!" she exclaimed, when she saw him. "To get up
without my permission! You will kill yourself."
"My darling, I am strong again! I never felt better in my life."
"You must obey me, dear," she said firmly. "You are indeed weak, and if
you overtax your strength--think what will become of me! To please me,
go back and rest till I have prepared your breakfast, and then, if you
still feel strong, we will think about letting you stay up."
As she spoke, she laid her hand lovingly in his, and led him back as a
mother would her child. He would not disobey; and when he was once more
wrapped in his blankets, she kissed him on the lips and eyes, laughingly
bade him be good, and went about her work with a lighter heart, feeling
that he was indeed stronger, and hoping that the warm summer weather
would restore him to perfect health.
By noon he was almost his old self, and even Marguerite's persuasion
could not keep him within doors. His strength had not fully returned,
but he was able, by resting frequently, and leaning on her arm, to go to
the central part of the island, and get a good view of the wonderful
berg.
As they looked upon it, the grinding ceased. A warm south wind had come
up, and the great mass, catching its breath, slid from the shore, and
almost imperceptibly began to move away. They watched it with a feeling
akin to sorrow, as the blue water widened between it and their island.
It had been something to break the monotony of their existence; and even
its loud roaring was a relief from the dreary sameness of their days.
For hours they sat there, watching it make its slow way northward; nor
did they take their eyes from it till it was but a dim, misty fog-bank
on the blue horizon.
They had not been alone. Beneath them, on the shore, squatted the cub,
watching its northern home drift slowly away; once it made as if it
would have plunged into the waves and followed it, but, seeming to
change its mind, paused at the water's edge.
When Claude and Marguerite went back to their hut, they put forth their
united strength, and succeeded in dragging the ponderous form of the
bear out into the open air. Claude had watched the Indians skin wild
beasts with no better implements than their rude flint knives, and had
learned the process by which they cured the skins. On the following day
he set to work to remove the strong white hide. It took him the whole
day, but at night he and Marguerite had the satisfaction of seeing it
spread to dry on the roof of their hut. All through that night they
heard the piteous cries of the young bear, as it prowled helplessly
about. Their own suffering made them sympathetic, and next day both made
every effort to coax it to them.
At last the bear-skin was spread, broad, and white, and soft, on their
floor. To their delight they found that their new comrade would steal in
at night and rest upon the soft rug, creeping away in the early morning,
just as the first robin announced that day was beginning to break.
Gradually it grew accustomed to them, and ere a month had passed it
would take food from their hands, although it would not allow them to
touch it. But before the summer had passed, and the September leaves
began to turn, it would crouch at Marguerite's feet, and rest its snout
in her lap as she petted and fondled it.
All through the summer Claude grew stronger and stronger. The gods were
good to him, for a time was coming when all his man's strength would be
needed.