THE CAPTAIN'S VISIT.—HOMEWARD BOUND.—BROTHER AND SISTER.

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At last the expected draft arrived, and the party were to leave for Halifax the next day in the Cunard steamer. La Salle had invited Captain Randall to spend the evening in a private parlor of the hotel, and at eight o'clock he was ushered in, and found no other guest save his first mate, Mr. Blake, who was still first officer of the Mercedes.

The table was well spread with delicacies, and although some constraint existed, the wine did its work, and soon Blake and Randall were laughing and joking, as if no cause for ill-feeling existed between them. At Randall's request La Salle gave a summary of their adventures, concluding the recital as follows:—

"Thus passed the long days of our anxious drift, until your vessel steamed back to her old sealing-ground, and we left forever behind us our ice-built hut and the Deadman's Berg."

The effect was magical. The smiles faded from the faces of the guests. Randall's lips were drawn and thin, his eyes fixed and glittering, and one hand stole stealthily to his hip. Regnar, too, was pale, but not with fear, and his hand grasped the hilt of the antique dagger.

"Let me help you to some of this, captain," said La Salle; and rising, he uncovered a small dish before him, and taking from thence a pair of Derringers, presented them at the head of his astounded guest. "Up with your hands, murderer," he said, sternly, "or you die on the instant!" At the same time Blake and Regnar seized him by the arms.

"What is the meaning of all this?" asked Waring, trembling and appalled.

"Dis no good, La Salle. No Injin hurt man in his wigwam, or strike when he give 'em food," shouted Peter, angry at what he considered a breach of hospitality; but both were unheeded.

"Why am I treated thus?" faltered the prisoner, whose trembling knees could scarcely support him.

"Captain Randall, I have here a man with whom you have an account to settle. He has been known among us as Regnar Orloff. His real name is Regnar Orloff Hubel. Where is the money and other valuables which your brother, Albert Randall, stole from two orphans, and was murdered for by you, that you in turn might become the thief?"

"Mr. Blake here knows the story, for we have told him how we found the corpse of his commander, with the skull pierced with one of your murderous shells. We buried him in the berg; if you doubt it, behold the tokens."

Regnar raised his hand: on one finger glittered the golden setting of the native talisman; on the table he laid the sheathed dagger.

"Are you satisfied, George Randall?" said he.

The wretch glared around as if he would have destroyed all who surrounded him; then he seemed to realize the futility of his rage, and catching his breath with a fierce sob, he asked, hoarsely,—

"What will you have me do?"

Regnar stepped forward, and answered for himself.

"Give up the secret money-belt which you took from the person of your victim, with its contents untouched, and secure to me compensation for the sums taken by your brother. Your life I do not want, but if you hesitate I will have both."

"What security have I for your silence?" asked Randall, more boldly; for even his craven fears were unable to repress his naturally cold and grasping disposition.

"Only our oaths, and the remembrance that my half-sister has slept beneath your roof, and has borne your name, although it shall no longer be a reproach to her."

"It is hers no longer. She married last week, after losing her first beau somewhere at sea: but never mind; I must take your offer and your word, I suppose. Let go of my arms. You may take my pistols from my hip, if you are afraid of me." With these words he proceeded to unfasten his vest, and from beneath it drew a water-proof bag of thin rubber, which was tightly fastened with twine, and enclosed in a money-belt of chamois-skins. "It is all there but ten thousand dollars, and that he had a right to take," said he.

"What do you mean?" asked Regnar, with a softened look and glistening eyes.

"Open and read for yourself," said Randall, moodily.

Unfastening the belt, Hubel untied the inner bag, and poured the contents upon the table. A roll of bank bills fell upon it. There were within twenty bills of the denomination of one thousand pounds each, on the Bank of England, and a folded paper, which, on being opened, proved to be a copy of the last will and testament of Paul Hubel. By its provisions a sum amounting to about ten thousand dollars was given "to my old and tried friend, Albert Perry."

"Al, put that ten thousand into this vessel last year, and I persuaded him to put thirty thousand of your money in, too. We made money last spring, and I kept trying to get him to buy all of her. He took a dislike to your sister, and said he would hold on to the money until he found you. Last summer he secured a passage on a vessel bound to the Labrador, and only that he got sick, I believe he would have seen you then.

"This last winter we had several quarrels about the money, but I never meant to injure him until the day it happened. We were having splendid luck, when he proposed that we should climb the berg, as he feared being caught between the pack and the islands. We had to ascend on the opposite side, and when we got to the top, we saw the storm brewing to windward, and started to return.

"As we came along the ice-foot, I said, 'You're making money this trip fast. Isn't that better than giving up everything to that sullen girl and a half-breed boy?' Then he seemed sad, and said, 'George, you've made a rascal of me; but, thank God, I've made up my mind to be true to my old comrade at last.'

"'What do you mean?' said I.

"'I mean,' said he, turning to me, 'that I've sold out the shares I bought with that thirty thousand, and I've got their money safe here in this belt.'

"'But you don't mean to be such a fool as to give it up—do you?' said I; for I was angry to think that, instead of the four shares I had counted on all along, we should have but one in the division of the profits.

"And then I taunted him with a fatal quarrel long ago, and he—well, he taunted me with a crime that I thought no one knew. Says he,—

"'I'm not afraid of you. If the rope is ready for my neck, you could scarcely live out the time, between the sentence and the gallows, if the people of San Francisco once listened to your trial.'

"So one word brought on another, and at last he shook his gaff at me, and made one step; and my blood was on fire, and I fired the carbine. He never spoke.

"I don't believe I ever should have enjoyed the money, although at times I felt as if I could hug myself when I counted it over; and I laid out to go back to Baltimore, and go into business there. What am I to do with the share in the vessel, and his money in the bank?" he asked, suddenly.

Regnar rose, with his eyes red with weeping; but a sad smile wreathed his lips, as he asked,—

"He was your only brother, and unmarried—was he not?"

Randall answered, hoarsely,—

"It is true, God help me! it is true."

"To all that is his, then, you are sole heir. I lay no claim to interest or forfeit, and I wish that thrice the sum would restore him to life, since even at the last he was not wholly unworthy of my father's confidence and his children's love. Come," said he, turning to those present, and taking from his breast a Bible, "repeat after me the oath of silence and secrecy:—

"'We, who alone know of the circumstances attending the decease of Captain Albert Randall, and the suspicions attaching to the part acted therein by his brother George Randall, do solemnly swear that, except under the seal of confession, or as compelled by the power of the law, we will never divulge our knowledge or suspicions until after the decease of the brother of the dead.'"

The oath was taken with due solemnity, and Randall rose to depart. Blake, filled with anger and desire of vengeance, had preceded him. La Salle coldly did as common politeness required, but Regnar saw that sickness and mental torture had overcome the strong man, whose knees trembled beneath him, as, with the curse of Cain upon him, he turned to depart, without friends, far from home, and weary of life.

"It is not right, La Salle," said the boy. "I was unjust to him although it is better for all that no eyes but our own saw him laid in the Deadman's Berg. Let us give this man human sympathy; he is weak and sick; let us see that he does not despair of the mercy and love of God."

La Salle could not but acknowledge the righteousness of this appeal, and, followed by Regnar, hastened into the hall.

"Captain," said he, "forgive us if we have failed to treat you with Christian forbearance, and believe that our hearts will retain your memory, with sympathy for your heavy burden of remorse, if not with the esteem that might have existed between us. The night is dark and cold; let us help you to find a conveyance."

"I thank you," said he, feebly; "you are very kind—far kinder than I deserve. No man can measure the remorse that burns within me, and yet the world would say that you have let me off too easily."

La Salle rang the bell sharply, and a waiter hastened up from the lower landing.

"Did you ring, sir?"

"Yes. Call a cab at once. Regnar, get my coat and yours. Mr. Randall, we must see you safely home. Where do you board?"

"At the Albion; but you need not take that trouble. Ah, sir, I know your fears; but my head is clear, and you need not be afraid that I shall do anything rash. I shall not despair of the pardon of God, since I have found some merciful pity in man."

The carriage was announced; the tall form was again erect, and the voice, though husky with emotion, came strangely sweet and clear, as he turned to go.

"I would that we might be friends, but I know it cannot be. My blessing men would shrink from, if they knew what you do; but may God bless you for your kindness to me." And standing motionless in the dusky passage, they heard the footsteps die away in the empty corridors, and the rattle of the wheels of the vehicle which bore him away forever.

The next day they took the steamer for Halifax, and arriving there, the party separated, Peter and Waring going to St. Jean, and La Salle to the home of his father in Baltimore, where Regnar also was bound, in search of his half-sister. The parting was not pleasant, for the mutual trials and dangers of the few days spent amid the ice had done more to cement a strong and lasting friendship between the four, than years of ordinary companionship would have done.

"Look out, Peter, when you get on board the Princess, for Lund has secured such a story to tell, that he may pitch you two overboard to keep you from spoiling it by your return."

"All light," answered Peter; "Capten Lund good man; see spirit, too, sure enough. He see two men; he look 'gain, no men dere. He see you an' me on hice. Snow fall t'ick, an' he see us no more. What hurt we come back? Much better we come back for all han's; you come back soon, I s'pose, too."

"Yes, Peter," answered La Salle, kindly, "we shall come back soon, and I hope next fall to be spending the moonlight nights with you on Shepherd's Creek, and the duck-haunted reed-ponds of Battery Marsh. Good by;" and going on board, the two friends went rather disconsolately to their state-room.

Regnar still seemed ill at ease, as if he wanted to inquire about something; and at last he said, abruptly,—

"Charley, what shall I say to my sister?"

"Say to her, Regnie? Why, that you are delighted to see her, of course. You may add that you come to make her wealthy; that is not likely to hurt your reception," said La Salle, philosophically.

"Yes, of course I know that; but—but about you, Charley. You know what Randall said about—about her—"

"About her being married, do you mean? Why, my dear boy, say nothing. I am resigned, and, I may say, almost glad that it is so. Neither was it altogether an unexpected announcement, for I felt long ago that my first impressions upon her susceptible heart had faded with lapse of time and a low state of the exchequer. No, no, boy! be kind and loving to her, for she has not your firmness of soul or depth of affection. I carry you to her as my marriage gift. Is it agreed?"

"It is, Charley; and you will not let the caprice of a girl separate me from my friend—will you, La Salle?"

"Regnie," answered the other, not without a touch of tenderness in his tone, "the bonds which connect us are not the ties of passion, or the calm preferences of the selfish world. We met amid a gathering of savage and half-civilized men, and our acquaintance has ripened into friendship amid many dangers and strange experiences. A doubtful and dangerous quest still lies before you. I hope that you will not undertake it without me to accompany you."

"You, of all men, are the one I should choose, and we will set out this very summer to carry out my father's wishes;" and during the rest of their journey little was talked of but their future expedition into the interior of Newfoundland.

At Baltimore La Salle and his friend went to the home of the former, and were received as men from the dead. Of course the papers were full of sketches of their strange adventure, and wood-cuts of icebergs and seals covered the paper-stands for a week; and then a horrible murder, and a delicious bit of scandal in high life, closed the brief notoriety of the friends.

Two visits were paid during the first week of their return. Both called on the day of their arrival at Mrs. Randall's, and La Salle sent up his card. After waiting a while, that lady, who was not without misgivings as to what might be said about her matchmaking proclivities, sailed into the room very richly dressed, and rather red in the face.

"I am happy to see you, Mr. La Salle, and to know that you were not really lost, after all. Do you make a long stay in the city?"

"Don't waste unnecessary effort to appear cool and freezingly polite, Mrs. Randall," said La Salle, calmly. "I am here on a matter of business. I want Pauline's present address, as it is highly important that I should see her at once."

"Dear Pauline resides at No.—Crescent Avenue, and is now, as you are, of course, aware, the wife of Mr. Reginald Ashley, who is, as you know, closely connected with some of our first families."

"Yes, I know he is first cousin to Green, the rich broker, who sometimes invites him to dinners and parties, and makes it twice as hard for poor Ashley to make his small salary at the custom-house pay his way."

"Well, I dare say Pauline has done as well, and even better than she might have done, had not the poor girl had some one to advise her, who knew the world and—"

"Threw away an heiress worth fifty thousand dollars on a clerk with eighteen hundred dollars a year," interrupted La Salle, with a smile. "I beg leave, Mrs. Randall, to introduce to you Regnar Hubel, her half-brother, who comes to return to her her moiety of the fortune left by her father. I did not come here," continued he, more gravely, "to bandy bitter words, for you will ere long hear news from Newfoundland, which, I hope, will teach you that hidden sin is never safe from discovery, and that all injustice meets with its meed of punishment. Adieu, madam."

Later in the day they called at the hotel, where the young couple were passing the honeymoon. Slipping a douceur into the hands of the waiter, he introduced them into the suite without the usual presentation of visiting cards. As the young bride swept into the boudoir in her reception dress, La Salle stepped forward; for he knew that she had already heard of his arrival.

"Charley—Mr. La Salle! Why—that is, how do you do? I was glad to hear—"

La Salle interrupted the fair speaker, for the awkwardness and pain of the interview were but too apparent.

"I did not come, Mrs. Ashley, to give you pain, or annoy you by my presence. I come to fulfill a prophecy."

"To fulfill a prophecy? You speak in riddles, and I have never delighted much in anything of that kind since I was a child."

"I may say, then, that I come to offer my congratulations, and to bring you my bridal gift."

"A gift? and from you? Surely you do not mean to offer, and I cannot accept it."

Regnar arose, and addressing the agitated girl, ended the painful interview.

"You were the daughter of Paul Hubel, of Schleswig—were you not?"

"Yes, sir. I was adopted by the brother of Mr. Randall, who was the friend of my father."

"Then, I assure you that my friend speaks truth. He has fulfilled a prediction, and gives you a fortune, and the brother who shares it with you."

The next few moments were spent in mutual explanations, and the young girl, deprived of a mother's love in early life, sent away to learn life's duties of strangers, and yearning during all her brief existence for the affection she had never known, received the brother she had never seen with an outburst of welcome which revealed what she might have been, had her life been spent under happier auspices.

At last La Salle interrupted their mutual joy.

"I have finished my task, and the prophecy of Krasippe is accomplished."

"Yes," said Regnar, "last summer I met with an old Esquimaux who served our father well for many years, and who now claims some power of insight into the future. He heard the story of my futile efforts to find you, but uttered this prophecy which we to-day accomplish. He said, 'You will meet in a desert of ice the man who will lead you to your heart's dearest wish. He will lose, and you will gain.'"

"And yet, Regnie, although the coincidence of events may bring me within the purview of the Esquimaux oracle, I have a misgiving that we have, perhaps, overlooked the claims of one whom we met but once in a desert of ice, and who still voyages, in silence unbroken, ADRIFT IN THE ICE-FIELDS."