Hearing this, Greeba fluttered on the verge of discovering herself.

"If only I could be sure," she thought, but she could not; and the

more closely for the chance that had so nearly revealed her, she hid

herself henceforward in the solitude of an Iceland servant.

Two years passed and then Greeba had to share her secret with

another. That other was her own child. The little man was nearly

three years old by this time, walking a little and talking a great

deal, and not to be withheld by any care from going over every corner

of the house. He found Michael Sunlocks sitting alone in his

darkness, and the two struck up a fast friendship. They talked in

baby fashion, and played on the floor for hours. With a wild thrill

of the heart, Greeba saw those twain together, and it cost her all

she had of patience and self-command not to break in upon them with a

shower of rapturous kisses. But she held back her heart like a dog on

the leash and listened, while her eyes rained tears and her lips

smiled, to the words that passed between them.

"And what's your name, my sweet one?" said Sunlocks in English.

"Michael," lisped the little man.

"So? And an Englishman, too. That's brave."

"Ot's the name of _your_ 'ickle boy?"

"Ah, I've got none, sweetheart."

"Oh."

"But if I had one perhaps his name would be Michael also."

"Oh."

The little eyes looked up into the blind face, and the little lip

began to fall. Then, by a sudden impulse, the little legs clambered

up to the knee of Sunlocks, and the little head nestled close against

his breast.

"_I'll_ be your 'ickle boy."

"So you shall, my sweet one, and you shall come again and sit with

me, and sing to me, for I am very lonely sometimes, and your dear

voice will cheer me."

But the little man had forgotten his trouble by this time, and

scrambled back to the floor. There he sat on his haunches like a

frog, and cried, "Look! look! look!" as he held up a white pebble in

his dumpy hand.

"I cannot look, little one, for I am blind."

"Ot's blind?"

"Having eyes that cannot see, sweetheart."

"Oh."

"But _your_ eyes _can_ see, and if you are to be _my_ little boy, my

little Michael, your eyes shall see for my eyes also, and you shall

come to me every day, and tell me when the sun is shining, and the

sky is blue, and then we will go out together and listen for the

birds that will be singing."

"Dat's nice," said the little fellow, looking down at the pebble in

his palm, and just then the priest came into the house out of the

snow.

"How comes it that this sweet little man and I have never met

before?" said Sunlocks.

"You might live ten years in an Iceland house and never see the

children of its servants," said the priest.

"I've heard his silvery voice, though," said Sunlocks. "What is the

color of his eyes?"

"Blue," said the priest.

"Then his hair--this long curly hair--it must be of the color of the

sun?" said Sunlocks.

"Flaxen," said the priest.

"Run along to your mother, sweetheart, run," said Sunlocks, and,

dropping back in his seat, he murmured, "How easily he might have

been my son indeed."

Kneeling on both knees, her hot face turned down and her parted lips

quivering, Greeba had listened to all this with the old delicious

trembling at both sides her heart. And going back to her own room,

she caught sight of herself in the glass, and saw that her eyes were

dancing like diamonds and all her cheeks a rosy red. Life, and a

gleam of sunshine, seemed to have shot into her face in an instant,

and while she looked there came over her a creeping thrill of

delight, for she knew that she was beautiful. And because _he_ loved

beauty whose love was everything to her, she cried for joy, and

picked up her boy, where he stood tugging at her gown, and kissed him

rapturously.

The little man, with proper manly indifference to such endearments,

wriggled back to the ground, and then Greeba remembered, with a flash

that fell on her brain like a sword, that her husband was blind now,

and all the beauty of the world was nothing to him. Smitten by this

thought, she stood a moment, while the sunshine died out of her eyes

and the rosy red out of her cheeks. But presently it came to her to

ask herself if Sunlocks was blind forever, and if nothing could be

done for him. This brought back, with pangs of remorse for such long

forgetfulness, the memory of some man, an apothecary in Husavik, who

had the credit of curing many of blindness after accidents in the

northern mines where free men worked for wage. So, thinking of this

apothecary throughout that day and the next, she found at last a

crooked way to send money to him, out of the store that still

remained to her, and to ask him to come to Grimsey.

But, waiting for the coming of the apothecary, a new dread, that was

also a new hope, stole over her.

Since that first day on which her boy and her husband talked

together, and every day thereafter when Sunlocks had called out

"Little Michael! little Michael!" and she had sent the child in, with

his little flaxen curls combed out, his little chubby face rubbed to

a shiny red, and all his little body smelling sweet with the soft

odors of childhood, she had noticed--she could not help it--that

Sunlocks listened for the sound of her own footstep whenever by

chance (which might have been rare) she passed his way.

And at first this was a cause of fear to her, lest he should discover

her before her time came to reveal herself; and then of hope that he

might even do so, and save her against her will from the sickening

pains of hungry waiting; and finally of horror, that perhaps after

all he was thinking of her as another woman. This last thought sent

all the blood of her body tingling into her face, and on the day it

flashed upon her, do what she would she could not but hate him for it

as for an infidelity that might not be forgiven.

"He never speaks of me," she thought, "never thinks of me; I am dead

to him; quite, quite dead and swept out of his mind."

It was a cruel conflict of love and hate, and if it had come to a man

he would have said within himself, "By this token I know that she

whom I love has forgotten me, and may be happy with another some day.

Well, I am nothing--let me go my ways." But that is not the gospel of

a woman's love, with all its sweet, delicious selfishness. So after

Greeba had told herself once or twice that her husband had forgotten

her, she told herself a score of times that do what he would he

should yet be hers, hers only, and no other woman's in all the wide

world. Then she thought, "How foolish! Who is there to take him from

me? Why, no one."

About the same time she heard Sunlocks question the priest concerning

her, asking what the mother of little Michael was like to look upon.

And the priest answered that if the eyes of an old curmudgeon like

himself could see straight, she was comely beyond her grade in life,

and young, too, though her brown hair had sometimes a shade of gray,

and gentle and silent, and of a soft and touching voice.

"I've heard her voice once," said Sunlocks. "And her husband was an

Icelander, and he is dead, you say?"

"Yes," said the priest; "and she's like myself in one thing."

"And what is that?" said Sunlocks.

"That she has never been able to look at anybody else," said the

priest. "And that's why she is here, you must know, burying herself

alive on old Grimsey."

"Oh," said Sunlocks, in the low murmur of the blind, "if God had but

given me this woman, so sweet, so true, so simple, instead of her--of

her--and yet--and yet----"

"Gracious heavens!" thought Greeba, "he is falling in love with me."

At that, the hot flush overspread her cheeks again, and her dark eyes

danced, and all her loveliness flowed back upon her in an instant.

And then a subtle fancy, a daring scheme, a wild adventure broke on

her heart and head, and made every nerve in her body quiver. She

would let him go on; he should think she was the other woman; she

would draw him on to love her, and one day when she held him fast and

sure, and he was hers, hers, hers only forever and ever, she would

open her arms and cry, "Sunlocks, Sunlocks, I am Greeba, Greeba!"

It was while she was in the first hot flush of this wild thought,

never doubting but the frantic thing was possible, for love knows no

impediments, that the apothecary came from Husavik, saying he was

sent by some unknown correspondent named Adam Fairbrother, who had

written from London. He examined the eyes of Michael Sunlocks by the

daylight first, but the season being the winter season, and the

daylight heavy with fog from off the sea, he asked for a candle, and

Greeba was called to hold it while he examined the eyes again. Never

before had she been so near to her husband throughout the two years

that she had lived under the same roof with him, and now that she

stood face to face with him, within sound of his very breathing, with

nothing between them but the thin gray film that lay over his dear

eyes, she could not persuade herself but that he was looking at her

and seeing her. Then she began to tremble, and presently a voice

said,

"Steadily, young woman, steadily, or your candle may fall on the good

master's face."

She tried to compose herself, but could not, and when she had

recovered from her first foolish dread, there came a fear that was

not foolish--a fear of the verdict of the apothecary. Waiting for

this in those minutes that seemed to be hours, she knew that she was

on the verge of betraying herself, and however she held her breath

she could see that her bosom was heaving.

"Yes," said the apothecary, calmly, "yes, I see no reason why you

should not recover your sight."

"Thank God!" said Michael Sunlocks.

"Thank God again," said the priest.

And Greeba, who had dropped the candle to the floor at length, had to

run from the room on the instant, lest the cry of her heart should

straightway be the cry of her lips as well, "Thank God, again and

again, forever and forever."

And, being back in her own apartment, she plucked up her child into

her arms, and cried over him, and laughed over him, and whispered

strange words of delight into his ear, mad words of love, wild words

of hope.

"Yes, yes," she whispered, "he will recover his sight, and see his

little son, and know him for his own, his own, his own. Oh, yes, yes,

yes, he will know him, he will know him, for he will see his own

face, his own dear face, in little Michael's."

But next day, when the apothecary had gone, leaving lotions and drops

for use throughout a month, and promising to return at the end of it,

Greeba's new joy made way for a new terror, as she reflected that

just as Sunlocks would see little Michael if he recovered his sight,

so he would see herself. At that thought all her heart was in her

mouth again, for she told herself that if Sunlocks saw her he would

also see what deception she had practiced in that house, and would

hate her for it, and tell her, as he had told her once before, that

it came of the leaven of her old lightness that had led her on from

false-dealing to false-dealing, and so he would turn his back upon

her or drive her from him.

Then in the cruel war of her feelings she hardly knew whether to hope

that Sunlocks should recover his sight, or remain as he was. Her pity

cried out for the one, and her love for the other. If he recovered,

at least there would be light for him in his dungeon, though she

might not be near to share it. But if he remained as he was, she

would be beside him always, his second sight, his silent guardian

spirit, eating her heart out with hungry love, but content and

thanking God.

"Why couldn't I leave things as they were?" she asked herself, but

she was startled out of the selfishness of her love by a great crisis

that came soon afterwards.

Now Michael Sunlocks had been allowed but little intercourse with the

world during the two and a half years of his imprisonment since the

day of his recapture at the Mount of Laws. While in the prison at

Reykjavik he had heard the pitiful story of that day; who his old

yoke-fellow had been, what he had done and said, and how at last,

when his brave scheme had tottered to ruin, he had gone out of the

ken and knowledge of all men. Since Sunlocks came to Grimsey he had

written once to Adam Fairbrother, asking tenderly after the old man's

own condition, earnestly after Greeba's material welfare, and with

deep affectionate solicitude for the last tidings of Jason. His

letter never reached its destination, for the Governor of Iceland was

the postmaster as well. And Adam on his part had written twice to

Michael Sunlocks, once from Copenhagen where (when Greeba had left

for Grimsey) he had gone by help of her money from Reykjavik,

thinking to see the King of Denmark in his own person; and once from

London, whereto he had followed on when that bold design had failed

him. But Adam's letters shared the fate of the letter of Sunlocks,

and thus through two long years no news of the world without had

broken the silence of that lonely home on the rock of the Arctic

seas.

But during that time there had been three unwritten communications

from Jorgen Jorgensen. The first came after some six months in the

shape of a Danish sloop of war, which took up its moorings in the

roadstead outside; the second after a year, in the shape of a

flagstaff and flag which were to be used twice a day for signalling

to the ship that the prisoner was still in safe custody; the third

after two years, in the shape of a huge lock and key, to be placed on

some room in which the prisoner was henceforward to be confined.

These three communications, marking in their contrary way the

progress of old Adam's persistent suit, first in Denmark and then in

England, were followed after a while by a fourth. This was a message

from the Governor at Reykjavik to the old priest at Grimsey, that, as

he valued his livelihood and life he was to keep close guard and

watch over his prisoner, and, if need be, to warn him that a worse

fate might come to him at any time.

Now, the evil hour when this final message came was just upon the

good time when the apothecary from Husavik brought the joyful tidings

that Sunlocks might recover his sight, and the blow was the heavier

for the hope that had gone before it. All Grimsey shared both, for

the fisherfolk had grown to like the pale stranger who, though so

simple in speech and manner, had been a great man in some way that

they scarcely knew--having no one to tell them, being so far out of

the world--but had fallen upon humiliation and deep dishonor. Michael

Sunlocks himself took the blow with composure, saying it was plainly

his destiny and of a piece with the rest of his fate, wherein no

good thing had ever come to him without an evil one coming on the back

of it. The tender heart of the old priest was thrown into wild

commotion, for Sunlocks had become, during the two years of their

life together, as a son to him, a son that was as a father

also, a stay and guardian, before whom his weakness--that of

intemperance--stood rebuked.

But the trouble of old Sir Sigfus was as nothing to that of Greeba.

In the message of the Governor she saw death, instant death, death

without word or warning, and every hour of her life thereafter was

beset with terrors. It was the month of February; and if the snow

fell from the mossy eaves in heavy thuds, she thought it was the

muffled tread of the guards who were to come for her husband; and if

the ice-floes that swept down from Greenland cracked on the coast of

Grimsey, she heard the shot that was to end his life. When Sunlocks

talked of destiny she cried, and when the priest railed at Jorgen

Jorgensen (having his own reason to hate him) she cursed the name of

the tyrant. But all the while she had to cry without tears and curse

only in the dark silence of her heart, though she was near to

betraying herself a hundred times a day.

"Oh, it is cruel," she thought, "very, very cruel. Is this what I

have waited for all this weary, weary time?"

And though so lately her love had fought with her pity to prove that

it was best for both of them that Sunlocks should remain blind, she

found it another disaster now, in the dear inconsistency of

womanhood, that he should die on the eve of regaining his sight.

"He will never see his boy," she thought, "never, never, never now."

Yet she could hardly believe it true that the cruel chance could

befall. What good would the death of Sunlocks do to anyone? What evil

did it bring to any creature that he was alive on that rock at the

farthest ends of the earth and sea? Blind, too, and helpless,

degraded from his high place, his young life wrecked, and his noble

gifts wasted! There must have been some mistake. She would go out to

the ship and ask if it was not so.

And with such wild thoughts she hurried off to the little village at

the edge of the bay. There she stood a long hour by the fisherman's

jetty, looking wistfully out to where the sloop of war lay, like a

big wooden tub, between gloomy sea and gloomy sky, and her spirit

failed her, and though she had borrowed a boat she could go no

further.

"They might laugh at me, and make a jest of me," she thought, "for I

cannot tell them that I am his wife."

With that, she went her way back as she came, crying on the good

powers above to tell her what to do next, and where to look for help.

And entering in at the porch of her own apartments, which stood aside

from the body of the house, she heard voices within, and stopped to

listen. At first she thought they were the voices of her child and

her husband; but though one of them was that of little Michael, the

other was too deep, too strong, too sad for the voice of Sunlocks.

"And so your name is Michael, my brave boy. Michael! Michael!" said

the voice, and it was strange and yet familiar. "And how like you are

to your mother, too! How like! How very like!" And the voice seemed

to break in the speaker's throat.

Greeba grew dizzy, and stumbled forward. And, as she entered the

house, a man rose from the settle, put little Michael to the ground,

and faced about to her. The man was Jason.

CHAPTER VII.

THE GOSPEL OF RENUNCIATION.

I.

What had happened in the great world during the two years in which

Michael Sunlocks had been out of it is very simple and easily told.

Old Adam Fairbrother had failed at London as he had failed at

Copenhagen, and all the good that had come of his efforts had ended

in evil. It was then that accident helped him in his despair.

The relations of England and Denmark had long been doubtful, for

France seemed to be stepping between them. Napoleon was getting

together a combination of powers against England, and in order to

coerce Denmark into using her navy--a small but efficient one--on the

side of the alliance, he threatened to send a force overland. He

counted without the resources of Nelson, who, with no more ado than

setting sail, got across to Copenhagen, took possession of every ship

of war that lay in Danish waters, and brought them home to England in

a troop.

When Adam heard of this he saw his opportunity in a moment, and

hurrying away to Nelson at Spithead he asked if among the Danish

ships that had been captured there was a sloop of war that had lain

near two years off the island of Grimsey. Nelson answered, No, but

that if there was such a vessel still at liberty he was not of a mind

to leave it to harass him. So Adam told why the sloop was there, and

Nelson, waiting for no further instructions, despatched an English

man-of-war, with Adam aboard of her, to do for the last of the Danish

fleet what had been done for the body of it, and at the same time to

recover the English prisoner whom she had been sent to watch.

Before anything was known of this final step of Nelson, his former

proceeding had made a great noise throughout Europe, where it was

loudly condemned as against the law of nations, by the rascals who

found themselves outwitted. When the report reached Reykjavik,

Jorgen Jorgensen saw nothing that could come of it but instant war

between Denmark and England, and nothing that could come of war with

England but disaster to Denmark, for he knew the English navy of old.

So to make doubly sure of his own position in a tumult wherein little

things would of a certainty be seized up with great ones, he

conceived the idea of putting Michael Sunlocks out of the way, and

thus settling one harassing complication. Then losing no time he made

ready a despatch to the officer in command of the sloop of war off

Grimsey, ordering him to send a company of men ashore immediately to

execute the prisoner lying in charge of the priest of the island.

Now this despatch, whereof the contents became known throughout

Reykjavik in less time than Jorgen took to write and seal it, had to

be carried to Grimsey by two of his bodyguard. But the men were

Danes, and as they did not know the way across the Bursting-sand

desert, an Iceland guide had to be found for them. To this end the

two taverns of the town were beaten up for a man, who at that

season--it was winter, and the snow lay thick over the lava streams

and the sand--would adventure so far from home.

And now it was just at this time, after two-and-a-half years in

which no man had seen him or heard of him, that Jason returned to

Reykjavik. Scarce anyone knew him. He was the wreck of himself, a

worn, torn, pitiful, broken ruin of a man. People lifted both hands

at sight of him, but he showed no self-pity. Day after day, night

after night, he frequented the taverns. He drank as he had never

before been known to drink; he laughed as he had never been heard to

laugh; he sang as he had never been heard to sing, and to all outward

appearance he was nothing now but a shameless, graceless, disorderly,

abandoned profligate.

Jorgen Jorgensen heard that Jason had returned, and ordered his

people to fetch him to Government House. They did so, and Jorgen and

Jason stood face to face. Jorgen looked at Jason as one who would

say, "Dare you forget the two men whose lives you have taken?" And

Jason looked back at Jorgen as one who would answer, "Dare you

remember that I spared your own life?" Then, without a word to Jason,

old Jorgen turned to his people and said, "Take him away." So Jason

went back to his dissipations, and thereafter no man said yea or nay

to him.

But when he heard of the despatch, he was sobered by it in a moment,

and when the guards came on their search for a guide to the tavern

where he was, he leapt to his feet and said, "I'll go."

"You won't pass, my lad," said one of the Danes, "for you would be

dead drunk before you crossed the Basket Slope Hill."

"Would I?" said Jason, moodily, "who knows?" And with that he

shambled out. But in his heart he cried, "The hour has come at last!

Thank God! Thank God!"

Before he was missed he had gone from Reykjavik, and made his way to

the desert with his face towards Grimsey.

The next day the guards found their guide and set out on their

journey.

The day after that a Danish captain arrived at Reykjavik from

Copenhagen, and reported to Jorgen Jorgensen that off the Westmann

Islands he had sighted a British man-of-war, making for the northern

shores of Iceland. This news put Jorgen into extreme agitation, for

he guessed at its meaning in an instant. As surely as the war ship

was afloat she was bound for Grimsey, to capture the sloop that lay

there, and as surely as England knew of the sloop, she also knew of

the prisoner whom it was sent to watch. British sea-captains, from

Drake downwards, had been a race of pirates and cut-throats, and if

the captain of this ship, on landing at Grimsey, found Michael

Sunlocks dead, he would follow on to Reykjavik and never take rest

until he had strung up the Governor and his people to the nearest

yardarm.

So thinking in the wild turmoil of his hot old head, wherein

everything he had thought before was turned topsy-turvy, Jorgen

Jorgensen decided to countermand his order for the execution of

Sunlocks. But his despatch was then a day gone on its way. Iceland

guides were a tribe of lazy vagabonds, not a man or boy about his

person was to be trusted, and so Jorgen concluded that nothing would

serve but that he should set out after the guards himself. Perhaps he

would find them at Thingvellir, perhaps he would cross them on the

desert, but at least he would overtake them before they took boat at

Husavik. Twelve hours a day he would ride, old as he was, if only

these skulking Iceland giants could be made to ride after him.

Thus were four several companies at the same time on their way to

Grimsey: the English man-of-war from Spithead to take possession of

the Danish sloop; the guards of the Governor to order the execution

of Michael Sunlocks; Jorgen Jorgensen to countermand the order; and

Red Jason on his own errand known to no man.

The first to reach was Jason.

II.

When Jason set little Michael from his knee to the floor, and rose to

his feet as Greeba entered, he was dirty, bedraggled, and unkempt;

his face was jaded and old-looking, his skin shoes were splashed with

snow, and torn, and his feet were bleeding; his neck was bare, and

his sheepskin coat was hanging to his back only by the woollen scarf

that was tied about his waist. Partly from shock at this change, and

partly from a confused memory of other scenes--the marriage festival

at Government House, the night trial in the little chamber of the

Senate, the jail, the mines, and the Mount of Laws--Greeba staggered

at sight of Jason and would have cried aloud and fallen. But he

caught her in his arms in a moment, and whispered her in a low voice

at her ear to be silent, for that he had something to say that must

be heard by no one beside herself.

She recovered herself instantly, drew back as if his touch had stung

her, and asked with a look of dread if he had known she was there.

"Yes," he answered.

"Where have you come from?"

"Reykjavik."

She glanced down at his bleeding feet, and said, "on foot?"

"On foot," he answered.

"When did you leave?"

"Five days ago."

"Then you have walked night and day across the desert?"

"Night and day."

"Alone?"

"Yes, alone."

She had become more eager at every question, and now she cried, "What

has happened? What is going to happen? Do not keep it from me. I can

bear it, for I have borne many things. Tell me why have you come?"

"To save your husband," said Jason. "Hush! Listen!"

And then he told her, with many gentle protests against her ghastly

looks of fear, of the guards that were coming with the order for the

execution of Michael Sunlocks. Hearing that, she waited for no more,

but fell to a great outburst of weeping. And until her bout was spent

he stood silent and helpless beside her, with a strong man's pains at

sight of a woman's tears.

"How she loves him!" he thought, and again and again the word rang in

the empty place of his heart.

But when she had recovered herself he smiled as well as he was able

for the great drops that still rolled down his own haggard face, and

protested once more that there was nothing to fear, for he himself

had come to forestall the danger, and things were not yet so far past

help but there was still a way to compass it.

"What way?" she asked.

"The way of escape," he answered.

"Impossible," she said. "There is a war ship outside, and every path

to the shore is watched."

He laughed at that, and said that if every goat track were guarded,

yet would he make his way to the sea. And as for the war ship

outside, there was a boat within the harbor, the same that he had

come by, a Shetland smack that had made pretence to put in for

haddock, and would sail at any moment that he gave it warning.

She listened eagerly, and, though she saw but little likelihood of

escape, she clutched at the chance of it.

"When will you make the attempt?" she asked.

"Two hours before dawn to-morrow," he answered.

"Why so late?"

"Because the nights are moonlight."

"I'll be ready," she whispered.

"Make the child ready, also," he said.

"Indeed, yes," she whispered.

"Say nothing to anyone, and if anyone questions you, answer as little

as you may. Whatever you hear, whatever you see, whatever I may do or

pretend to do, speak not a word, give not a sign, change not a

feature. Do you promise?"

"Yes," she whispered, "yes, yes."

And then suddenly a new thought smote her.

"But, Jason," she said, with her eyes aside, and her fingers running

through the hair of little Michael, "but, Jason," she faltered, "you

will not betray me?"

"Betray you?" he said, and laughed a little.

"Because," she added quietly, "though I am here, my husband does not

know me for his wife. He is blind, and cannot see me, and for my own

reasons I have never spoken to him since I came."

"You have never spoken to him?" said Jason.

"Never."

"And how long have you lived in this house?"

"Two years."

Then Jason remembered what Sunlocks had told him at the mines, and in

another moment he had read Greeba's secret by the light of his own.

"I understand," he said, sadly, "I think I understand."

She caught the look of sorrow in his eyes, and said, "But, Jason,

what of yourself?"

At that he laughed again, and tried to carry himself off with a brave

gayety.

"Where have you been?" she asked.

"At Akureyri, Husavik, Reykjavik, the desert--everywhere, nowhere,"

he answered.

"What have you been doing?"

"Drinking, gaming, going to the devil--everything, nothing."

And at that he laughed once more, loudly and noisily, forgetting his

own warning.

"Jason," said Greeba, "I wronged you once, and you have done nothing

since but heap coals of fire on my head."

"No, no; you never wronged me," he said. "I was a fool--that was all.

I made myself think that I cared for you. But it's all over now."

"Jason," she said again, "it was not altogether my fault. My husband

was everything to me; but another woman might have loved you and made

you happy."

"Ay, ay," he said, "another woman, another woman."

"Somewhere or other she waits for you," said Greeba. "Depend on

that."

"Ay, somewhere or other," he said.

"So don't lose heart, Jason," she said; "don't lose heart."

"I don't," he said, "not I;" and yet again he laughed. But, growing

serious in a moment, he said, "And did you leave home and kindred and

come out to this desolate place only that you might live under the

same roof with your husband?"

"My home was his home," said Greeba, "my kindred his kindred, and

where he was there had I to be."

"And have you waited through these two long years," he said, "for the

day and the hour when you might reveal yourself to him?"

"I could have waited for my husband," said Greeba, "through twice the

seven long years that Jacob waited for Rachel."

He paused a moment, and then said, "No, no, I don't lose heart.

Somewhere or other, somewhere or other--that's the way of it." Then

he laughed louder than ever, and every hollow note of his voice went

through Greeba like a knife. But in the empty chamber of his heart he

was crying in his despair, "My God! how she loves him! How she loves

him!"

III.

Half-an-hour later, when the winter's day was done, and the candles

had been lighted, Greeba went in to the priest, where he sat in his

room alone, to say that a stranger was asking to see him.

"Bring the stranger in," said the priest, putting down his spectacles

on his open book, and then Jason entered.

"Sir Sigfus," said Jason, "your good name has been known to me ever

since the days when my poor mother mentioned it with gratitude and

tears."

"Your mother?" said the priest; "who was she?"

"Rachel Jorgen's daughter, wife of Stephen Orry."

"Then you must be Jason."

"Yes, your reverence."

"My lad, my good lad," cried the priest, and with a look of joy he

rose and laid hold of both Jason's hands. "I have heard of you. I

hear of you every day, for your brother is with me. Come, let us go

to him. Let us go to him. Come!"

"Wait," said Jason. "First let me deliver you a message concerning

him."

The old priest's radiant face fell instantly to a deep sadness. "A

message?" he said. "You have never come from Jorgen Jorgensen?"

"No."

"From whom, then?"

"My brother's wife," said Jason.

"His wife?"

"Has he never spoken of her?"

"Yes, but as one who had injured him, and bitterly and cruelly

wronged and betrayed him."

"That may be so, your reverence," said Jason, "but who can be hard on

the penitent and the dying?"

"Is she dying?" said the priest.

Jason dropped his head. "She sends for his forgiveness," he said.

"She cannot die without it."

"Poor soul, poor soul!" said the priest.

"Whatever her faults, he cannot deny her that little mercy," said

Jason.

"God forbid it!" said the priest.

"She is alone in her misery, with none to help and none to pity her,"

said Jason.

"Where is she?" said the priest.

"At Husavik," said Jason.

"But what is her message to me?"

"That you should allow her husband to come to her."

The old priest lifted his hands in helpless bewilderment, but Jason

gave him no time to speak.

"Only for a day," said Jason, quickly, "only for one day, an hour,

one little hour. Wait, your reverence, do not say no. Think, only

think! The poor woman is alone. Let her sins be what they may, she is

penitent. She is calling for her husband. She is calling on you to

send him. It is her last request--her last prayer. Grant it, and

heaven will bless you."

The poor old priest was cruelly distressed.

"My good lad," he cried, "it is impossible. There is a ship outside

to watch us. Twice a day I have to signal with the flag that the

prisoner is safe, and twice a day the bell of the vessel answers me.

It is impossible, I say, impossible, impossible! It cannot be done.

There is no way."

"Leave it to me, and I will find a way," said Jason.

But the old priest only wrung his hands, and cried, "I dare not; I

must not; it is more than my place is worth."

"He will come back," said Jason.

"Only last week," said the priest, "I had a message from Reykjavik

which foreshadowed his death. He knows it, we all know it."

"But he will come back," said Jason, again.

"My good lad, how can you say so? Where have you lived to think it

possible? Once free of the place where the shadow of death hangs over

him, what man alive would return to it."

"He will come back," said Jason, firmly; "I know he will, I swear he

will."

"No, no," said the old man. "I'm only a simple old priest, buried

alive these thirty years, or nearly, on this lonely island of the

frozen seas, but I know better than that. It isn't in human nature,

my good lad, and no man that breathes can do it. Then think of me,

think of me!"

"I do think of you," said Jason, "and to show you how sure I am that

he will come back, I will make you an offer."

"What is it?" said the priest.

"To stand as your bondman while he is away," said Jason.

"What! Do you know what you are saying?" cried the priest.

"Yes," said Jason, "for I came to say it."

"Do you know," said the priest, "that any day, at any hour, the

sailors from yonder ship may come to execute my poor prisoner?"

"I do. But what of that?" said Jason. "Have they ever been here

before?"

"Never," said the priest.

"Do they know your prisoner from another man?"

"No."

"Then where is your risk?" said Jason.

"My risk? Mine?" cried the priest, with the great drops bursting from

his eyes, "I was thinking of yours. My lad, my good lad, you have

made me ashamed. If you dare risk your life, I dare risk my place,

and I'll do it; I'll do it."

"God bless you!" said Jason.

"And now let us go to him," said the priest. "He is in yonder room,

poor soul. When the order came from Reykjavik that I was to keep

close guard and watch on him, nothing would satisfy him but that I

should turn the key on him. That was out of fear for me. He is as

brave as a lion, and as gentle as a lamb. Come, the sooner he hears

his wife's message the better for all of us. It will be a sad blow to

him, badly as she treated him. But come!"

So saying, the old priest was fumbling his deep pockets for a key,

and shuffling along, candle in hand, towards a door at the end of a

low passage, when Jason laid hold of his arm and said in a whisper,

"Wait! It isn't fair that I should let you go farther in this matter.

You should be ignorant of what we are doing until it is done."

"As you will," said the priest.

"Can you trust me?" said Jason.

"That I can."

"Then give me the key."

The old man gave it.

"When do you make your next signal?"

"At daybreak to-morrow."

"And when does the bell on the ship answer it?"

"Immediately."

"Go to your room, your reverence," said Jason, "and never stir out of

it until you hear the ship's bell in the morning. Then come here, and

you will find me waiting on this spot to return this key to you. But

first answer me again, Do you trust me?"

"I do," said the old priest.

"You believe I will keep to my bargain, come what may?"

"I believe you will keep to it."

"And so I will, as sure as God's above me."

IV.

Jason opened the door and entered the room. It was quite dark, save

for a dull red fire of dry moss that burned on the hearth in one

corner. By this little fire Michael Sunlocks sat, with only his sad

face visible in the gloom. His long thin hands were clasped about one

knee which was half-raised; his noble head was held down, and his

flaxen hair fell across his cheeks to his shoulders.

He had heard the key turn in the lock, and said quietly, "Is that

you, Sir Sigfus?"

"No," said Jason.

"Who is it?" said Sunlocks.

"A friend," said Jason.

Sunlocks twisted about as though his blind eyes could see. "Whose

voice was that?" he said, with a tremor in his own.

"A brother's," said Jason.

Sunlocks rose to his feet. "Jason?" he cried,

"Yes, Jason."

"Come to me! Come! Where are you? Let me touch you," cried Sunlocks,

stretching out both his hands.

Then they fell into each other's arms, and laughed and wept for joy.

After a while Jason said,--

"Sunlocks, I have brought you a message."

"Not from her, Jason?--no."

"No, not from her--from dear old Adam Fairbrother," said Jason.

"Were is he?"

"At Husavik."

"Why did you not bring him with you?"

"He could not come."

"Jason, is he ill?"

"He has crossed the desert to see you, but he can go no further."

"Jason, tell me, is he dying?"

"The good old man is calling on you night and day, 'Sunlocks!' he is

crying. 'Sunlocks! my boy, my son. Sunlocks! Sunlocks!'"

"My dear father, my other father, God bless him!"

"He says he has crossed the seas to find you, and cannot die without

seeing you again. And though he knows you are here, yet in his pain

and trouble he forgets it, and cries, 'Come to me, my son, my

Sunlocks.'"

"Now, this is the hardest lot of all," said Sunlocks, and he cast

himself down on his chair. "Oh, these blind eyes! Oh, this cruel

prison! Oh, for one day of freedom! Only one day, one poor simple

day!"

And so he wept, and bemoaned his bitter fate.

Jason stood over him with many pains and misgivings at sight of the

distress he had created. And if the eye of heaven saw Jason there,

surely the suffering in his face atoned for the lie on his tongue.

"Hush, Sunlocks, hush!" he said, in a tremulous whisper. "You can

have the day you wish for; and if you cannot see, there are others to

lead you. Yes, it is true, it is true, for I have settled it. It is

all arranged, and you are to leave this place to-morrow."

Hearing this, Michael Sunlocks made first a cry of delight, and then

said after a moment, "But what of this poor old priest?"

"He is a good man, and willing to let you go," said Jason.

"But he has had warning that I may be wanted at any time," said

Sunlocks, "and though his house is a prison, he has made it a home,

and I would not do him a wrong to save my life."

"He knows that," said Jason, "and he says that you will come back to

him though death itself should be waiting to receive you."

"He is right," said Sunlocks; "and no disaster save this one could

take me from him to his peril. The good old soul! Come, let me thank

him." And with that he was making for the door.

But Jason stepped between, and said, "Nay, it isn't fair to the good

priest that we should make him a party to our enterprise. I have told

him all that he need know, and he is content. Now, let him be

ignorant of what we are doing until it is done. Then if anything

happens it will appear that you have escaped."

"But I am coming back," said Sunlocks.

"Yes, yes," said Jason, "but listen. To-morrow morning, two hours

before daybreak, you will go down to the bay. There is a small boat

lying by the little jetty, and a fishing smack at anchor about a

biscuit-throw farther out. The good woman who is housekeeper here

will lead you----"

"Why she?" interrupted Sunlocks.

Jason paused, and said, "Have you anything against her?"

"No indeed," said Sunlocks. "A good, true woman. One who lately lost

her husband, and at the same time all the cheer and hope of life.

Simple and sweet, and silent, and with a voice that recalls another

who was once very near and dear to me."

"Is she not so still?" said Jason.

"God knows. I scarce can tell. Sometimes I think she is dearer to me

than ever, and now that I am blind I seem to see her near me always.

It is only a dream, a foolish dream."

"But what if the dream came true?" said Jason.

"That cannot be," said Sunlocks. "Yet where is she? What has become

of her? Is she with her father? What is she doing?"

"You shall soon know now," said Jason. "Only ask to-morrow and this

good woman will take you to her."

"But why not you yourself, Jason?" said Sunlocks.

"Because I am to stay here until you return," said Jason.

"What?" cried Sunlocks. "You are to stay here?"

"Yes," said Jason.

"As bondman to the law instead of me? Is that it? Speak!" cried

Sunlocks.

"And why not?" said Jason, calmly.

There was silence for a moment. Sunlocks felt about with his helpless

hands until he touched Jason and then he fell sobbing upon his neck.

"Jason, Jason," he cried, "this is more than a brother's love. Ah,

you do not know the risk you would run; but I know it, and I must not

keep it from you. Any day, any hour, a despatch may come to the ship

outside to order that I should be shot. Suppose I were to go to the

dear soul who calls for me, and the despatch came in my

absence--where would you be then?"

"I should be here," said Jason, simply.

"My lad, my brave lad," cried Sunlocks, "what are you saying? If you

cannot think for yourself, then think for me. If what I have said

were to occur, should I ever know another moment's happiness? No,

never, never, though I regained my sight, as they say I may, and my

place and my friends--all save one--and lived a hundred years."

Jason started at that thought, but there was no one to look upon his

face under the force of it, and he wriggled with it and threw it off.

"But you will come back," he said. "If the despatch comes while you

are away, I will say that you are coming, and you will come."

"I may never come back," said Sunlocks. "Only think, my lad. This is

winter, and we are on the verge of the Arctic seas, with five and

thirty miles of water dividing us from the mainland. He would be a

bold man who would count for a day on whether in which a little

fishing smack could live. And a storm might come up and keep me

back."

"The same storm that would keep you back," said Jason, "would keep

back the despatch. But why hunt after these chances? Have you any

reason to fear that the despatch will come to-day, or to-morrow, or

the next day? No, you have none. Then go, and for form's sake--just

that, no more, no less--let me wait here until you return."

There was another moment's silence, and then Sunlocks said, "Is that

the condition of my going?"

"Yes," said Jason.

"Did this old priest impose it?" asked Sunlocks.

Jason hesitated a moment, and answered, "Yes."

"Then I won't go," said Sunlocks, stoutly.

"If you don't," said Jason, "you will break poor old Adam's heart,

for I myself will tell him that you might have come to him, and would

not."

"Will you tell him why I would not?" said Sunlocks.

"No," said Jason.

There was a pause, and then Jason said, very tenderly, "Will you go,

Sunlocks?"

And Sunlocks answered, "Yes."

V.

Jason slept on the form over against the narrow wooden bed of Michael

Sunlocks. He lay down at midnight, and awoke four hours later. Then

he stepped to the door and looked out. The night was calm and

beautiful; the moon was shining, and the little world of Grimsey

slept white and quiet under its coverlet of snow. Snow on the roof,

snow in the valley, snow on the mountains so clear against the sky

and the stars; no wind, no breeze, no sound on earth and in air save

the steady chime of the sea below.

It was too early yet, and Jason went back into the house. He did not

lie down again lest he should oversleep himself, but sat on his form

and waited. All was silent in the home of the priest. Jason could

hear nothing but the steady breathing of Sunlocks as he slept.

After awhile it began to snow, and then the moon went out, and the

night became very dark.

"Now is the time," thought Jason, and after hanging a sheepskin over

the little skin-covered window, he lit a candle and awakened

Sunlocks.

Sunlocks rose and dressed himself without much speaking, and

sometimes he sighed like a down-hearted man. But Jason rattled on

with idle talk, and kindled a fire and made some coffee. And when

this was done he stumbled his way through the long passages of the

Iceland house until he came upon Greeba's room, and there he knocked

softly, and she answered him.

She was ready, for she had not been to bed, and about her shoulders

and across her breast was a sling of sheepskin, wherein she meant to

carry her little Michael as he slept.

"All is ready," he whispered. "He says he may recover his sight. Can

it be true?"

"Yes, the apothecary from Husavik said so," she answered.

"Then have no fear. Tell him who you are, for he loves you still."

And, hearing that, Greeba began to cry for joy, and to thank God that

the days of her waiting were over at last.

"Two years I have lived alone," she said, "in the solitude of a

loveless life and the death of a heartless home. My love has been

silent all this weary, weary time, but it is to be silent no longer.

At last! At last! My hour has come at last! My husband will forgive

me for the deception I have practiced upon him. How can he hate me

for loving him to all lengths and ends of love? Oh, that the blessed

spirit that counts the throbbings of the heart would but count my

life from to-day--to-day, to-day, to-day--wiping out all that is

past, and leaving only the white page of what is to come."

Then from crying she fell to laughing, as softly and as gently, as if

her heart grudged her voice the joy of it. She was like a child who

is to wear a new feather on the morrow, and is counting the minutes

until that morrow comes, too impatient to rest, and afraid to sleep

lest she should awake too late. And Jason stood aside and heard both

her weeping and her laughter.

He went back to Sunlocks, and found him yet more sad than before.

"Only to think," said Sunlocks, "that you, whom I thought my worst

enemy, you that once followed me to slay me, should be the man of all

men to risk your life for me."

"Yes, life is a fine lottery, isn't it?" said Jason, and he laughed.

"How the Almighty God tears our little passions to tatters," said

Sunlocks, "and works His own ends in spite of them."

When all was ready, Jason blew out the candle, and led Sunlocks to

the porch. Greeba was there, with little Michael breathing softly

from the sling at her breast.

Jason opened the door. "It's very dark," he whispered, "and it is

still two hours before the dawn. Sunlocks, if you had your sight

already, you could not see one step before you. So give your hand to

this good woman, and whatever happens hereafter never, never let it

go."

And with that he joined their hands.

"Does she know my way?" said Sunlocks.

"She knows the way for both of you," said Jason. "And now go. Down

at the jetty you will find two men waiting for you. Stop! Have you

any money?"

"Yes," said Greeba.

"Give some to the men," said Jason. "Good-bye. I promised them a

hundred kroner. Good-bye! Tell them to drop down the bay as silently

as they can. Good-bye!"

"Good-bye!"

"Come," said Greeba, and she drew at the hand of Sunlocks.

"Good-bye! Good-bye!" said Jason.

But Sunlocks held back a moment, and then in a voice that faltered

and broke he said, "Jason--kiss me."

At the next moment they were gone into the darkness and the falling

snow--Sunlocks and Greeba, hand in hand, and their child asleep at

its mother's bosom.

Jason stood a long hour at the open door, and listened. He heard the

footsteps die away; he heard the creak of the crazy wooden jetty; he

heard the light plash of the oars as the boat moved off; he heard the

clank of the chain as the anchor was lifted; he heard the oars again

as the little smack moved down the bay, and not another sound came to

his ear through the silence of the night.

He looked across the headland to where the sloop of war lay outside,

and he saw her lights, and their two white waterways, like pillars of

silver, over the sea. All was quiet about her.

Still he stood and listened until the last faint sound of the oars

had gone. By this time a woolly light had begun to creep over the

mountain tops, and a light breeze came down from them.

"It is the dawn," thought Jason. "They are safe."

He went back into the house, pulled down the sheepskin from the

window, and lit the candle again. After a search he found paper and

pens and wax in a cupboard and sat down to write. His hand was hard,

he had never been to school, and he could barely form the letters and

spell the words. This was what he wrote:

"Whatever you hear, fear not for me. I have escaped, and am safe. But

don't expect to see me. I can never rejoin you, for I dare not be

seen. And you are going back to your beautiful island, but dear old

Iceland is the only place for me. Greeba, good-bye; I shall never

lose heart. Sunlocks, she has loved you, you only, all the days of

her life. Good-bye. I am well and happy. God bless you both."

Having written and sealed this letter, he marked it with a cross for

superscription, touched it with his lips, laid it back on the table

and put a key on top of it. Then he rested his head on his hands, and

for some minutes afterwards he was lost to himself in thought. "They

would tell him to lie down," he thought, "and now he must be asleep.

When he awakes he will be out at sea, far out, and all sail set.

Before long he will find that he has been betrayed, and demand to be

brought back. But they will not heed his anger, for she will have

talked with them. Next week or the week after they will put in at

Shetlands, and there he will get my letter. Then his face will

brighten with joy, and he will cry, 'To home! To Home!' And

then--even then--why not?--his sight will come back to him, and he

will open his eyes and find his dream come true, and her own dear

face looking up at him. At that he will cry, 'Greeba, Greeba, my

Greeba,' and she will fall into his arms and he will pluck her to his

breast. Then the wind will come sweeping down from the North Sea, and

belly out the sail until it sings and the ropes crack and the blocks

creak. And the good ship will fly along the waters like a bird to the

home of the sun. Home! Home! England! England, and the little green

island of her sea!"

"God bless them both," he said aloud, in a voice like a sob, but he

leapt to his feet, unable to bear the flow of his thoughts. He put

back the paper and pens into the cupboard, and while he was doing so

he came upon a bottle of brenni-vin. He took it out and laughed, and

drew the cork to take a draught. But he put it down on the table

untouched. "Not yet," he said to himself, and then he stepped to the

door and opened it.

The snow had ceased to fall and the day was breaking. Great shivering

waifs of vapor crept along the mountain sides, and the valley was

veiled in mist. But the sea was clear and peaceful, and the sloop of

war lay on its dark bosom as before.

"Now for the signal," thought Jason.

In less than a minute afterwards the flag was floating from the

flag-staff, and Jason stood waiting for the ship's answer. It came in

due course, a clear-toned bell that rang out over the quiet waters

and echoed across the land.

"It's done," thought Jason, and he went back into the house. Lifting

up the brenni-vin, he took a long draught of it, and laughed as he

did so. Then a longer draught, and laughed yet louder. Still another

draught, and another, and another, until the bottle was emptied, and

he flung it on the floor.

After that he picked up the key and the letter, and shambled out into

the passage, laughing as he went.

"Where are you now, old mole?" he shouted, and again he shouted,

until the little house rang with his thick voice and his peals of

wild laughter.

The old priest came out of his room in his nightshirt with a lighted

candle in his hand.

"God bless me, what's this?" said the old man.

"What's this? Why, your bondman, your bondman, and the key, the key,"

shouted Jason, and he laughed once more. "Did you think you would

never see it again? Did you think I would run away and leave you? Not

I, old mole, not I."

"Has he gone?" said the priest, glancing fearfully into the room.

"Gone? Why, yes, of course he has gone," laughed Jason. "They have

both gone."

"Both!" said the priest, looking up inquiringly, and at sight of his

face Jason laughed louder than ever.

"So you didn't see it, old mole?"

"See what?"

"That she was his wife?"

"His wife? Who?"

"Why, your housekeeper, as you called her."

"God bless my soul! And when are they coming back?"

"They are never coming back."

"Never?"

"I have taken care that they never can."

"Dear me! dear me! What does it all mean?"

"It means that the despatch is on its way from Reykjavik, and will be

here to-day. Ha! ha! ha!"

"To-day? God save us! And do you intend--no, it cannot be--and

yet--_do_ you intend to die instead of him?"

"Well, and what of that? It's nothing to you, is it? And as for

myself, there are old scores against me, and if death had not come to

me soon, I should have gone to it."

"I'll not stand by and witness it."

"You will, you shall, you must. And listen--here is a letter. It is

for him. Address it to her by the first ship to the Shetlands. The

Thora, Shetlands--that will do. And now bring me some more of your

brenni-vin, you good old soul, for I am going to take a sleep at

last--a long sleep--a long, long sleep at last."

"God pity you! God help you! God bless you!"

"Ay, ay, pray to your God. But _I'll_ not pray to him. He doesn't

make His world for wretches like me. I'm a pagan, am I? So be it!

Good-night, you dear old mole! Good-night! I'll keep to my bargain,

never fear. Good-night. Never mind your brenni-vin, I'll sleep

without it. Good-night! Good-night!"

Saying this, amid broken peals of unearthly laughter, Jason reeled

back into the room, and clashed the door after him. The old priest,

left alone in the passage, dropped the foolish candle, and wrung his

hands. Then he listened at the door a moment. The unearthly laughter

ceased and a burst of weeping followed it.

VI.

It was on the day after that the evil work was done. The despatch had

arrived, a day's warning had been given, and four sailors, armed with

muskets, had come ashore.

It was early morning, and not a soul in Grimsey who had known Michael

Sunlocks was there to see. Only Sir Sigfus knew the secret, and he

dare not speak. To save Jason from the death that waited for him

would be to put himself in Jason's place.

The sailors drew up in a line on a piece of flat ground in front of

the house whereon the snow was trodden hard. Jason came out looking

strong and content. His step was firm, and his face was defiant. Fate

had dogged him all his days. Only in one place, only in one hour,

could he meet and beat it. This was that place, and this was that

hour. He was solemn enough at last.

By his side the old priest walked, with his white head bent and his

nervous hands clasped together. He was mumbling the prayers for the

dying in a voice that trembled and broke. The morning was clear and

cold, and all the world around was white and peaceful.

Jason took up his stand, and folded his arms behind him. As he did so

the sun broke through the clouds and lit up his uplifted face and his

long red hair like blood.

The sailors fired and he fell. He took their shots into his heart,

the biggest heart for good or ill that ever beat in the breast of

man.

VII.

Within an hour there was a great commotion on that quiet spot.

Jorgen Jorgensen had come, but come too late. One glance told him

everything. His order had been executed, but Sunlocks was gone and

Jason was dead. Where were his miserable fears now? Where was his

petty hate? Both his enemies had escaped him, and his little soul

shrivelled up at sight of the wreck of their mighty passions.

"What does this mean?" he asked, looking stupidly around him.

And the old priest, transformed in one instant from the poor, timid

thing he had been, turned upon him with the courage of a lion.

"It means," he said, face to face with him, "that I am a wretched

coward and you are a damned tyrant."

While they stood together so, the report of a cannon came from the

bay. It was a loud detonation, that seemed to heave the sea and shake

the island. Jorgen knew what it meant. It meant that the English

man-of-war had come.

The Danish sloop struck her colors, and Adam Fairbrother came ashore.

He heard what had happened, and gathered with the others where Jason

lay with his calm face towards the sky. And going down on his knees

he whispered into the deaf ear, "My brave lad, your troubled life is

over, your stormy soul is in its rest. Sleep on, sleep well, sleep in

peace. God will not forget you."

Then rising to his feet he looked around and said, "If any man thinks

that this world is not founded in justice, let him come here and see:

There stands the man who is called the Governor of Iceland, and here

lies his only kinsman in all the wide wilderness of men. The one is

alive, the other is dead; the one is living in power and plenty, the

other died like a hunted beast. But which do you choose to be: The

man who has the world at his feet or the man who lies at the feet of

the world?"

Jorgen Jorgensen only dropped his head while old Adam's lash fell

over him. And turning upon him with heat of voice, old Adam cried,

"Away with you! Go back to the place of your power. There is no one

now to take it from you. But carry this word with you for your

warning: Heap up your gold like the mire of the streets, grown

mighty and powerful beyond any man living, and when all is done you

shall be an execration and a curse and a reproach, and the poorest

outcast on life's highway shall cry with me, 'Any fate, oh, merciful

heaven, but not that! not that!' Away with you, away! Take your

wicked feet away, for this is holy ground!"

And Jorgen Jorgensen turned about on the instant and went off

hurriedly, with his face to the earth, like a whipped dog.

VIII.

They buried Jason in a piece of untouched ground over against the

little wooden church. Sir Sigfus dug the grave with his own hands. It

was a bed of solid lava, and in that pit of old fire they laid that

young heart of flame. The sky was blue, and the sun shone on the snow

so white and beautiful. It had been a dark midnight when Jason came

into the world, but it was a glorious morning when he went out of it.

The good priest learning the truth from old Adam, that Jason had

loved Greeba, bethought him of a way to remember the dead man's life

secret at the last. He got twelve Iceland maidens and taught them an

English hymn. They could not understand the words of it, but they

learned to sing them to an English tune. And, clad in white, they

stood round the grave of Jason, and sang these words in the tongue he

loved the best:

Time, like an ever rolling stream

Bears all its sons away;

They fly forgotten, as a dream

Dies at the opening day.

On the island rock of old Grimsey, close to the margin of the Arctic

seas, there is a pyramid of lava blocks, now honey-combed and

moss-covered, over Jason's rest. And to this day the place of it is

called "The place of Red Jason."

THE END.

A. L. BURT'S PUBLICATIONS

For Young People

BY POPULAR WRITERS.

97-99-101 Reade Street, New York.

Bonnie Prince Charlie: A Tale of Fontenoy and Culloden. By G. A.

HENTY. With 12 full-page Illustrations by GORDON BROWNE. 12mo, cloth,

price $1.00.

The adventures of the son of a Scotch officer in French service. The

boy, brought up by a Glasgow bailie, is arrested for aiding a

Jacobite agent, escapes, is wrecked on the French coast, reaches

Paris, and serves with the French army at Dettingen. He kills his

father's foe in a duel, and escaping to the coast, shares the

adventures of Prince Charlie, but finally settles happily in

Scotland.

"Ronald, the hero, is very like the hero of 'Quentin Durward.'

The lad's journey across France, and his hairbreadth escapes,

make up as good a narrative of the kind as we have ever read. For

freshness of treatment and variety of incident Mr. Henty has

surpassed himself."--_Spectator._

With Clive in India; or, the Beginnings of an Empire. By G. A.

HENTY. With 12 full-page Illustrations by GORDON BROWNE. 12mo, cloth,

price $1.00.

The period between the landing of Clive as a young writer in India

and the close of his career was critical and eventful in the extreme.

At its commencement the English were traders existing on sufferance

of the native princes. At its close they were masters of Bengal and

of the greater part of Southern India. The author has given a full

and accurate account of the events of that stirring time, and battles

and sieges follow each other in rapid succession, while he combines

with his narrative a tale of daring and adventure, which gives a

lifelike interest to the volume.

"He has taken a period of Indian history of the most vital

importance, and he has embroidered on the historical facts a

story which of itself is deeply interesting. Young people

assuredly will be delighted with the volume."--_Scotsman._

The Lion of the North: A Tale of Gustavus Adolphus and the Wars of

Religion. By G. A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by JOHN

SCHOENBERG. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.

In this story Mr. Henty gives the history of the first part of the

Thirty Years' War. The issue had its importance, which has extended

to the present day, as it established religious freedom in Germany.

The army of the chivalrous king of Sweden was largely composed of

Scotchmen, and among these was the hero of the story.

"The tale is a clever and instructive piece of history and as

boys may be trusted to read it conscientiously, they can hardly

fail to be profited."--_Times._

The Dragon and the Raven; or, The Days of King Alfred. By G. A.

HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by C. J. STANILAND, R.I. 12mo,

cloth, price $1.00.

In this story the author gives an account of the fierce struggle

between Saxon and Dane for supremacy in England, and presents a vivid

picture of the misery and ruin to which the country was reduced by

the ravages of the sea-wolves. The hero, a young Saxon thane, takes

part in all the battles fought by King Alfred. He is driven from his

home, takes to the sea and resists the Danes on their own element,

and being pursued by them up the Seine, is present at the long and

desperate siege of Paris.

"Treated in a manner most attractive to the boyish

reader."--_Athenaeum._

The Young Carthaginian: A Story of the Times of Hannibal. By G. A.

HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by C. J. STANILAND, R.I. 12mo,

cloth, price $1.00.

Boys reading the history of the Punic Wars have seldom a keen

appreciation of the merits of the contest. That it was at first a

struggle for empire, and afterward for existence on the part of

Carthage, that Hannibal was a great and skillful general, that he

defeated the Romans at Trebia, Lake Trasimenus, and Cannae, and all

but took Rome, represents pretty nearly the sum total of their

knowledge. To let them know more about this momentous struggle for

the empire of the world Mr. Henty has written this story, which not

only gives in graphic style a brilliant description of a most

interesting period of history, but is a tale of exciting adventure

sure to secure the interest of the reader.

"Well constructed and vividly told. From first to last nothing

stays the interest of the narrative. It bears us along as on a

stream whose current varies in direction, but never loses its

force."--_Saturday Review._

In Freedom's Cause: A Story of Wallace and Bruce. By G. A. HENTY.

With full-page Illustrations by GORDON BROWNE. 12mo, cloth, price

$1.00.

In this story the author relates the stirring tale of the Scottish

War of Independence. The extraordinary valor and personal prowess of

Wallace and Bruce rival the deeds of the mythical heroes of chivalry,

and indeed at one time Wallace was ranked with these legendary

personages. The researches of modern historians have shown, however,

that he was a living, breathing man--and a valiant champion. The hero

of the tale fought under both Wallace and Bruce, and while the

strictest historical accuracy has been maintained with respect to

public events, the work is full of "hairbreadth 'scapes" and wild

adventure.

"It is written in the author's best style. Full of the wildest

and most remarkable achievements, it is a tale of great interest,

which a boy, once he has begun it, will not willingly put on one

side."--_The Schoolmaster._

With Lee in Virginia: A Story of the American Civil War. By G. A.

HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by GORDON BROWNE. 12mo, cloth,

price $1.00.

The story of a young Virginian planter, who, after bravely proving

his sympathy with the slaves of brutal masters, serves with no less

courage and enthusiasm under Lee and Jackson through the most

exciting events of the struggle. He has many hairbreadth escapes, is

several times wounded and twice taken prisoner; but his courage and

readiness and, in two cases, the devotion of a black servant and of a

runaway slave whom he had assisted, bring him safely through all

difficulties.

"One of the best stories for lads which Mr. Henty has yet

written. The picture is full of life and color, and the stirring

and romantic incidents are skillfully blended with the personal

interest and charm of the story."--_Standard._

By England's Aid; or, The Freeing of the Netherlands (1585-1604).

By G. A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by ALFRED PEARSE, and

Maps. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.

The story of two English lads who go to Holland as pages in the

service of one of "the fighting Veres." After many adventures by sea

and land, one of the lads finds himself on board a Spanish ship at

the time of the defeat of the Armada, and escapes only to fall into

the hands of the Corsairs. He is successful in getting back to Spain

under the protection of a wealthy merchant, and regains his native

country after the capture of Cadiz.

"It is an admirable book for youngsters. It overflows with

stirring incident and exciting adventure, and the color of the

era and of the scene are finely reproduced. The illustrations add

to its attractiveness."--_Boston Gazette._

By Right of Conquest; or, With Cortez in Mexico. By G. A. HENTY.

With full-page Illustrations by W. S. STACEY, and Two Maps. 12mo,

cloth, price $1.50.

The conquest of Mexico by a small band of resolute men under the

magnificent leadership of Cortez is always rightly ranked among the

most romantic and daring exploits in history. With this as the ground

work of his story Mr. Henty has interwoven the adventures of an

English youth, Roger Hawkshaw, the sole survivor of the good ship

Swan, which had sailed from a Devon port to challenge the mercantile

supremacy of the Spaniards in the New World. He is beset by many

perils among the natives, but is saved by his own judgment and

strength, and by the devotion of an Aztec princess. At last by a ruse

he obtains the protection of the Spaniards, and after the fall of

Mexico he succeeds in regaining his native shore, with a fortune and

a charming Aztec bride.

"'By Right of Conquest' is the nearest approach to a perfectly

successful historical tale that Mr. Henty has yet

published."--_Academy._

In the Reign of Terror: The Adventures of a Westminster Boy. By G.

A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by J. SCHOENBERG. 12mo, cloth,

price $1.00.

Harry Sandwith, a Westminster boy, becomes a resident at the chateau

of a French marquis, and after various adventures accompanies the

family to Paris at the crisis of the Revolution. Imprisonment and

death reduce their number, and the hero finds himself beset by perils

with the three young daughters of the house in his charge. After

hairbreadth escapes they reach Nantes. There the girls are condemned

to death in the coffin-ships, but are saved by the unfailing courage

of their boy protector.

"Harry Sandwith, the Westminster boy, may fairly be said to beat

Mr. Henty's record. His adventures will delight boys by the

audacity and peril they depict.... The story is one of Mr.

Henty's best."--_Saturday Review._

With Wolfe in Canada; or, The Winning of a Continent. By G. A.

HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by GORDON BROWNE. 12mo, cloth,

price $1.00.

In the present volume Mr. Henty gives an account of the struggle

between Britain and France for supremacy in the North American

continent. On the issue of this war depended not only the destinies

of North America, but to a large extent those of the mother countries

themselves. The fall of Quebec decided that the Anglo-Saxon race

should predominate in the New World; that Britain, and not France,

should take the lead among the nations of Europe; and that English

and American commerce, the English language, and English literature,

should spread right round the globe.

"It is not only a lesson in history as instructively as it is

graphically told, but also a deeply interesting and often

thrilling tale of adventure and peril by flood and

field."--_Illustrated London News._

True to the Old Flag: A Tale of the American War of Independence.

By G. A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by GORDON BROWNE. 12mo,

cloth, price $1.00.

In this story the author has gone to the accounts of officers who

took part in the conflict, and lads will find that in no war in which

American and British soldiers have been engaged did they behave with

greater courage and good conduct. The historical portion of the book

being accompanied with numerous thrilling adventures with the

redskins on the shores of Lake Huron, a story of exciting interest is

interwoven with the general narrative and carried through the book.

"Does justice to the pluck and determination of the British

soldiers during the unfortunate struggle against American

emancipation. The son of an American loyalist, who remains true

to our flag, falls among the hostile redskins in that very Huron

country which has been endeared to us by the exploits of Hawkeye

and Chingachgook."--_The Times._

The Lion of St. Mark: A Tale of Venice in the Fourteenth Century.

By G. A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by GORDON BROWNE. 12mo,

cloth, price $1.00.

A story of Venice at a period when her strength and splendor were put

to the severest tests. The hero displays a fine sense and manliness

which carry him safely through an atmosphere of intrigue, crime, and

bloodshed. He contributes largely to the victories of the Venetians

at Porto d'Anzo and Chioggia, and finally wins the hand of the

daughter of one of the chief men of Venice.

"Every boy should read 'The Lion of St. Mark.' Mr. Henty has

never produced a story more delightful, more wholesome, or more

vivacious."--_Saturday Review_.

A Final Reckoning: A Tale of Bush Life in Australia. By G. A.

HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by W. B. WOLLEN. 12mo, cloth,

price $1.00.

The hero, a young English lad, after rather a stormy boyhood,

emigrates to Australia, and gets employment as an officer in the

mounted police. A few years of active work on the frontier, where he

has many a brush with both natives and bushrangers, gain him

promotion to a captaincy, and he eventually settles down to the

peaceful life of a squatter.

"Mr. Henty has never published a more readable, a more carefully

constructed, or a better written story than this."--_Spectator._

Under Drake's Flag: A Tale of the Spanish Main. By G. A. HENTY.

With full-page Illustrations by GORDON BROWNE. 12mo, cloth, price

$1.00.

A story of the days when England and Spain struggled for supremacy

of the sea. The heroes sail as lads with Drake in the Pacific

expedition, and in his great voyage of circumnavigation. The

historical portion of the story is absolutely to be relied upon, but

this will perhaps be less attractive than the great variety of

exciting adventure through which the young heroes pass course of

their voyages.

"A book of adventure, where the hero meets with experience

enough, one would think, to turn his hair gray."--_Harper's

Monthly Magazine._

By Sheer Pluck: A Tale of the Ashanti War. By G. A. HENTY. With

full-page Illustrations by GORDON BROWNE. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.

The author has woven, in a tale of thrilling interest, all the

details of the Ashanti campaign, of which he was himself a witness.

His hero, after many exciting adventures in the interior, is detained

a prisoner by the king just before the outbreak of the war, but

escapes, and accompanies the English expedition on their march to

Coomassie.

"Mr. Henty keeps up his reputation as a writer of boys' stories.

'By Sheer Pluck' will be eagerly read."--_Athenaeum._

By Pike and Dyke: A Tale of the Rise of the Dutch Republic. By G.

A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by MAYNARD BROWN, and 4 Maps.

12mo, cloth, price $1.00.

In this story Mr. Henty traces the adventures and brave deeds of an

English boy in the household of the ablest man of his age--William

the Silent. Edward Martin, the son of an English sea-captain, enters

the service of the Prince as a volunteer, and is employed by him in

many dangerous and responsible missions, in the discharge of which he

passes through the great sieges of the time. He ultimately settles

down as Sir Edward Martin.

"Boys with a turn for historical research will be enchanted with

the book while the rest who only care for adventure will be

students in spite of themselves."--_St. James' Gazette._

St. George for England: A Tale of Cressy and Poitiers. By G. A.

HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by GORDON BROWNE. 12mo, cloth,

price $1.00.

No portion of English history is more crowded with great events than

that of the reign of Edward III. Cressy and Poitiers; the destruction

of the Spanish fleet; the plague of the Black Death; the Jacquerie

rising; these are treated by the author in "St. George for England."

The hero of the story, although of good family, begins life as a

London apprentice, but after countless adventures and perils becomes

by valor and good conduct the squire, and at last the trusted friend

of the Black Prince.

"Mr. Henty has developed for himself a type of historical novel

for boys which bids fair to supplement, on their behalf, the

historical labors of Sir Walter Scott in the land of

fiction."--_The Standard._

Captain Kidd's Gold: The True Story of an Adventurous Sailor Boy.

By JAMES FRANKLIN FITTS. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.

There is something fascinating to the average youth in the very idea

of buried treasure. A vision arises before his eyes of swarthy

Portuguese and Spanish rascals, with black beards and gleaming

eyes--sinister-looking fellows who once on a time haunted the Spanish

Main, sneaking out from some hidden creek in their long, low

schooner, of picaroonish rake and sheer, to attack an unsuspecting

trading craft. There were many famous sea rovers in their day, but

none more celebrated than Capt. Kidd. Perhaps the most fascinating

tale of all is Mr. Fitts' true story of an adventurous American boy,

who receives from his dying father an ancient bit of vellum, which

the latter obtained in a curious way. The document bears obscure

directions purporting to locate a certain island in the Bahama group,

and a considerable treasure buried there by two of Kidd's crew. The

hero of this book, Paul Jones Garry, is an ambitious, persevering

lad, of salt-water New England ancestry, and his efforts to reach the

island and secure the money form one of the most absorbing tales for

our youth that has come from the press.

Captain Bayley's Heir: A Tale of the Gold Fields of California. By

G. A. HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by H. M. PAGET. 12mo,

cloth, price $1.00.

A frank, manly lad and his cousin are rivals in the heirship of a

considerable property. The former falls into a trap laid by the

latter, and while under a false accusation of theft foolishly leaves

England for America. He works his passage before the mast, joins a

small band of hunters, crosses a tract of country infested with

Indians to the Californian gold diggings, and is successful both as

digger and trader.

"Mr. Henty is careful to mingle instruction with entertainment;

and the humorous touches, especially in the sketch of John Holl,

the Westminster dustman, Dickens himself could hardly have

excelled."--_Christian Leader._

For Name and Fame; or, Through Afghan Passes. By G. A. HENTY. With

full-page Illustrations by GORDON BROWNE. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.

An interesting story of the last war in Afghanistan. The hero, after

being wrecked and going through many stirring adventures among the

Malays, finds his way to Calcutta and enlists in a regiment

proceeding to join the army at the Afghan passes. He accompanies the

force under General Roberts to the Peiwar Kotal, is wounded, taken

prisoner, carried to Cabul, whence he is transferred to Candahar, and

takes part in the final defeat of the army of Ayoub Khan.

"The best feature of the book--apart from the interest of its

scenes of adventure--is its honest effort to do justice to the

patriotism of the Afghan people."--_Daily News._

Captured by Apes: The Wonderful Adventures of a Young Animal

Trainer. By HARRY PRENTICE. 12mo, cloth, $1.00.

The scene of this tale is laid on an island in the Malay Archipelago.

Philip Garland, a young animal collector and trainer, of New York,

sets sail for Eastern seas in quest of a new stock of living

curiosities. The vessel is wrecked off the coast of Borneo and young

Garland, the sole survivor of the disaster, is cast ashore on a small

island, and captured by the apes that overrun the place. The lad

discovers that the ruling spirit of the monkey tribe is a gigantic

and vicious baboon, whom he identifies as Goliah, an animal at one

time in his possession and with whose instruction he had been

especially diligent. The brute recognizes him, and with a kind of

malignant satisfaction puts his former master through the same course

of training he had himself experienced with a faithfulness of detail

which shows how astonishing is monkey recollection. Very novel indeed

is the way by which the young man escapes death. Mr. Prentice has

certainly worked a new vein on juvenile fiction, and the ability with

which he handles a difficult subject stamps him as a writer of

undoubted skill.

The Bravest of the Brave; or, With Peterborough in Spain. By G. A.

HENTY. With full-page Illustrations by H. M. PAGET. 12mo, cloth,

price $1.00.

There are few great leaders whose lives and actions have so

completely fallen into oblivion as those of the Earl of Peterborough.

This is largely due to the fact that they were overshadowed by the

glory and successes of Marlborough. His career as general extended

over little more than a year, and yet, in that time, he showed a

genius for warfare which has never been surpassed.

"Mr. Henty never loses sight of the moral purpose of his work--to

enforce the doctrine of courage and truth. Lads will read 'The

Bravest of the Brave' with pleasure and profit; of that we are

quite sure."--_Daily Telegraph._

The Cat of Bubastes: A Story of Ancient Egypt. By G. A. HENTY. With

full-page Illustrations. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.

A story which will give young readers an unsurpassed insight into the

customs of the Egyptian people. Amuba, a prince of the Rebu nation,

is carried with his charioteer Jethro into slavery. They become

inmates of the house of Ameres, the Egyptian high-priest, and are

happy in his service until the priest's son accidentally kills the

sacred cat of Bubastes. In an outburst of popular fury Ameres is

killed, and it rests with Jethro and Amuba to secure the escape of

the high-priest's son and daughter.

"The story, from the critical moment of the killing of the sacred

cat to the perilous exodus into Asia with which it closes, is

very skillfully constructed and full of exciting adventures. It

is admirably illustrated."--_Saturday Review._

With Washington at Monmouth: A Story of Three Philadelphia Boys. By

JAMES OTIS. 12mo, cloth, price $1.00.

Three Philadelphia boys, Seth Graydon "whose mother conducted a

boarding-house which was patronized by the British officers;" Enoch

Ball, "son of that Mrs. Ball whose dancing school was situated on

Letitia Street," and little Jacob, son of "Chris, the Baker," serve

as the principal characters. The story is laid during the winter when

Lord Howe held possession of the city, and the lads aid the cause by

assisting the American spies who make regular and frequent visits

from Valley Forge. One reads here of home-life in the captive city

when bread was scarce among the people of the lower classes, and a

reckless prodigality shown by the British officers, who passed the

winter in feasting and merry-making while the members of the patriot

army but a few miles away were suffering from both cold and hunger.

The story abounds with pictures of Colonial life skillfully drawn,

and the glimpses of Washington's soldiers which are given show that

the work has not been hastily done, or without considerable study.

* * * * *

Transcriber's note:

Obvious punctuation errors have been corrected without comment.

The following corrections were made:

p. 14: to her degradation[degredation], she had not murmured at the

p. 30: from the deposits of his memory. The Tynwald[Tynwalk],

the Prince,

p. 35: spinster[spinister], of the parish of Maughold, and Stephen

p. 45: over the low murmur[murmer] of the sea's gentle swell.

"Now is

p. 47: for the house of the Governor[Governer]. It was pointed out

to him,

p. 55: "Maybe so, my ven[veen], maybe so."

p. 94: of twenty hard[hards] fists on the table, the rough toast was

called

p. 95: more. Very soon they were outside[ouside] the little house in

p. 95: lay and tossed in a strong delirium[delirum]. The wet clothes

p. 96: Nary Crowe's[Browe's] cup. This she did, and more than this,

seeming

p. 97: every repetition, and the others joined[foined] him,

struggling to

p. 109: her relations with Jason she remembered[rememberd] that she

was the

p. 112: this time[sime] suffered curtailment. He was ruining himself

at

p. 113: Now the rapid impoverishment of the Governor[Govenor] was

forcing

p. 114: the cry of the poor reached the Governor[Govenor] at

Castletown. No

p. 117: The Governor was right that there would be no sale[sail] for

p. 122: his seat like one who is dumbfounded[dumfounded].

p. 140: in fury at the bare thought of either being hands[hinds] on

their

p. 141: end of it all was a trial for ejectment at Deemster's

[Deemsteer's] Court

p. 141: when the six good men of Maughold had clambered[clamered]

up to

p. 142: fasten on somebody's[someboby's] throat, or pick up something

as a dog

p. 145: better than four years have passed[pass] away since I left

the

p. 147: daughter of the Governor-General[Govenor-General]. His name

was Jorgen

p. 151: it for Hafnafiord[Hafnafjord]? Certainly it may have put in

at the

p. 151: men should have a store like the widow's curse[cruse] to

p. 164: The service came to an end, and he strode[stroke] off, turning

p. 168: given to strange outbursts[outburts] when alone, was as

simple and

p. 170: "Jorgen[Jogen] Jorgensen," said the old man, grinning.

p. 181: even to the third and fourth generation of his[His] children."

p. 188: to it and shot the heavy wooden bar[barr] that bolted it.

p. 191: The spokesman of the Court was a middle-aged[middled-aged]

man,

p. 199: While the storm lasted all Reykjavik[Reyjavik] lay asleep, and

p. 200: she spoke, lest[least] in the fervor of her plea the Bishop

should

p. 207: Thurstan[Thurston] mounted the till-board of his own cart, and

p. 208: "Ay," said Stean[Steam].

p. 212: "Ay[An], and a pretty penny it has cost us to fetch it," said

p. 222: her mouth. But he recked[wrecked] nothing of this, and only

p. 240: Then, with a sense of his wise brother's pitiable[pitable]

blunderheadedness,

p. 242: the space within that had been allotted[alloted] to the

public was

p. 244: "It is no doubt your concernment[concerment] to know what

events

p. 244: I can only claim your indulgence in withholding[witholding]

that part

p. 244: that dead stillness[stillnes] to rise to a cry.

p. 247: exalted[axalted]. Our young President has this day sat down in

p. 267: rise but she[he] could not, while its terrified eyeballs stood

out

p. 268: safe, and with its load squared and righted on her[his] back.

p. 279: And while their warders dozed[dosed] in the heat of the

noonday

p. 280: us two. You're [a] gentleman, and I'm only a rough fellow.

p. 321: plunging along in the darkness[darknes], trusting solely to

the sight

p. 323: he had been the head and centre. But when the people[peo]

p. 324: blind man?" So the end of all was that Sunlocks[Sunlock] was

put

p. 342: "At Akureyri[Akuyeri], Husavik, Reykjavik, the

desert--everywhere,

p. 342: "Jason," she said again, "it was not altogether[altogeter]

my fault.

p. 348: The good woman who is housekeeper[houskeeper] here will lead

you----"

p. 350: "All is ready," he whispered. "He says he[be] may recover

p. 357: of the Arctic[Artic] seas, there is a pyramid of lava blocks,

now

p. 6: Captain[Captain's] Kidd's Gold: The True Story of an

Adventurous Sailor