The companion slide opened suddenly and Helen Marr emerged from the cabin. She stood in furs and close-drawn cap as Stirling swung the wheel and looked at her. She surveyed the wild waste of dark waters with a thoughtful pucker on her brow before she came to his side. Then her eyes lifted to the faint light which streamed from the leaden vault of heaven. The sun was rimming the horizon behind the veil of mist.

For hours the two stood side by side, Stirling keeping the course with easy movements. The ship threaded in and out of small ice floes which were gathering by mutual attraction.

There was the smell of land in the air. The seals sported and dived before the dark form of the onrushing ship, and walrus and killer whales appeared within the lane of water. Birds wheeled and circled the frosted spars that moved through the mist.

Stirling sensed that they were nearing the shores of Greenland. He rose on tiptoe and peered ahead, where a darker mass, broken here and there by ice fields, came out of the haze. It was indented by fiords and inlets.

He turned to the girl. "No chance to take an observation," he said. "We're going to run a bit down the coast. I think I can make the headland at Upernivik. There should be lights there."

She nodded her head and fastened upon him the fine glance of a comrade to a comrade. "I'll steer," she suggested, holding out her hands.

Stirling shook his head slowly, leaned away from her, and bent over the binnacle, then changed the course of the Pole Star until the dark coast was over the port bow. Holding this course, he waited and strained his eyes for some sign of light.

He heard the beat of waves within the coves, a glacier separated, and the sound of the falling berg thundered far out to sea. The ship rocked and trembled in the swiftly running waves; then it steadied and crept closer to land. They glided like a dream thing in the shadow of a haven. An opal citadel took the place of the leaden vault, as the moon rose in the south and east and bathed the fast-flying clouds with a pale, unreal light. Through these clouds white stars shone and twinkled.

"We're near Upernivik!" said Stirling as midnight approached. "Keep a sharp lookout for lights, Miss Marr."

His voice troubled her, and his use of the "Miss Marr" instead of a more familiar name caused her to creep closer to the wheel.

"What are we going to do?" she asked, vaguely.

"Winter at Upernivik and go out in the spring."

"But won't that be many long months?"

"Nine or ten," said Stirling, rubbing his eyes with the back of his right hand and turning toward her. "There is nothing else to do," he added. "We can save the ship that way. The Pole Star belongs to you—now."

A flush swept over her cheeks, and she reached up her mittened hands, brushing her hair back from her ears. "Let the Russian steer," she suggested. "Let him steer and you and I can talk by the rail."

Stirling noted the course, then called forward. Ivan turned and hurried aft, coming over the break of the quarter-deck with his hand on his cap.

"Steady, as she is," said Stirling, releasing the spokes. "Watch for lights ashore. Upernivik—you understand?"

The Russian nodded. Helen Marr and the Ice Pilot moved aft and stood by the taffrail as the ship glided on with its jib boom parallel to the sombre Greenland shore.

The girl turned her face away from Stirling's and looked over the taffrail where the silver phosphorescence of the wake was broken in countless places by the reaching waves. The moon had emerged from the clouds, and it scudded along as if driven by silver sails, its rays illuminating the quarter-deck.

Stirling felt strangely troubled in the presence of the silent girl. He stepped back a foot, then came forward with the roll of the ship, as her hand reached out and rested upon the taffrail.

Through the citadel the Pole Star glided under half steam. A faint roar of running waters came from the shore, and there was the echoing of waves on the shelving beaches. The headland toward which the ship steered was rounded, and beyond, like a jewel in a locket, glistened a sapphire light.

"Upernivik!" said Stirling.

The girl nodded her head, turning away from the land and staring at the surface of Baffin Bay. Then her eyes fastened upon Stirling's and in them he read the secret of her silence. He flushed and raised his hand to his smooth-shaven chin, then lowered it and reached forward timidly.

"Look!" she said, suddenly.

Stirling stiffened his arm and turned. He saw the spire of a little church on the beach in the cove, where it showed against the snow of the hillside like a calling beacon.

"Starboard half a point," said Stirling to the wheelsman.

The Russian swung the wheel, and the girl still stared at the glistening spire, parting her lips to whisper:

"A house of worship—a church."

Stirling thrust out his hand and covered her fingers where they rested on the rail of the ship. She allowed them to remain there, and a glad warmth mingled and surged through their bodies.

The ship plowed on within the land ice which crunched under the sharp bow. Stirling glanced upward and saw the white spire against the dark clouds which had been driven across the snowy mountains of Greenland.

Then he clasped the girl's fingers as he drew her to him, and he felt her heated breath when their lips met.

THE END

BOOKS BY HENRY LEVERAGE

Ice Pilot, The

Shepherd of the Sea, The

Where Dead Men Walk

Whispering Wires

White Cipher, The

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