After the awful disappointment Claude and Marguerite experienced when they saw the vessel of their hopes sink out of sight, they could only turn to each other for silent comfort. Unconscious of whither they went, their feet led them to the top of the high cliff from which Marie had fallen. Trembling on the dizzy verge, each seemed to read what was in the other's mind. A leap, sudden darkness, and all would end. The next world—what of that? Could there be another world as cruel as this?

"Come away!" they exclaimed together, clutching each other's hands. "Come away! Not yet!" And in these words each knew that the other realised that death—the death which for a moment they had courted—was all they could hope for. The ship which had passed was but a chance vessel; the fishermen never came so far north. Their provisions were beginning to run low; and the rigorous climate which had killed poor old Bastienne must in time sap their young strength. Claude was feeling its influence the more keenly. His wounds had left him less robust than of old, and the harsh treatment he had received at De Roberval's hands had helped to shatter his iron constitution. His cheek, once ruddy with health, had grown thin and pale; his limbs were shrunken, and his hands, once so strong and sinewy, had become cold and nerveless. When Marguerite rested hers in them, she could not but feel that for him death was not very far off; but she dared not speak. She saw he did not realise it, and his eye was ever filled with pity for her suffering.

With her it was otherwise. Her will bore her nobly up. Instead of losing strength, she grew more robust. Her step became as light and wiry as that of the fleet-footed fox which stole silently about the island. Her arms, which had never exerted themselves beyond bending a bow in sport, could now wield the axe as skilfully as Claude's. She had lost none of her beauty, but in her rough garb, browned by the sun and wind and sea, she seemed, in Claude's eyes, queenlier than ever. On this night, as she leaned upon Claude's arm, each felt that the strength to endure must come from her, though neither allowed the thought to form itself into words.

When they reached their hut, the terrible loneliness, the blank left by the death of their devoted old companion, so weighed upon them that they once more sought the beach, where the long waves rolled in and broke at their feet, keeping time, in their melancholy rush and retreat, with the ever-recurring wave of sorrow in their young hearts.

"Marguerite," Claude said, pressing her tenderly to him, "this is more than I can bear. You do not blame me, but I know that I am to blame. I knew your uncle, and I should never have allowed myself to bring you to this."

"Hush, dear, you are mad to speak so! Neither of us is to blame. No one could have foretold the lengths to which my uncle's stubborn will would carry him. But, my own, even at this time, each of us can say that we have known happiness. I would have had it otherwise; but had I to live my life over again, I could not have acted but as I did."

"Dear, I know it. But I cannot forget that Bastienne and Marie owe their deaths to me."

"You are gloomy to-night, love! Neither died with a complaining word on her lips. It was not you, nor my uncle, who cut them off, but fate. Dearest, the night wind cuts you keenly," she added, as Claude gave way to a sudden fit of coughing. "Let us return to the house."

"I dread the loneliness," said Claude. "Ah, Marguerite, I am weak to-night, unmanly to-night! I felt at every step I took to the beach that the spirits of those two murdered women were walking beside me, and yet I welcomed them not. I trembled."

"You are indeed weak, my love. But be strong. We have yet a hard fight to fight. We must not give in till we see France."

"See France! I shall never see it! It is hard, when life promised so fair, to have to lay it down away from the camp and the court. I had hoped yet to win myself a name; not for my own sake, but that you, my queen, might be the proudest woman in France."

"I am the proudest woman in the world," she said. "This year of trial has proved my love a king. I have watched you toil and suffer for us in uncomplaining silence, and the hopeful words which were ever on your lips told how nobly you were fighting. O Claude, I need you! I need you now more than ever! We each must help the other!" She clung trembling to her lover's arm.

Claude braced himself.

"I must not let my gloomy spirit make my love's as heavy as its own. It has passed, sweetheart I feel strong again; and to-morrow I shall be ready to fight the battle anew."

As they walked back in the darkness Claude stumbled, and would have fallen, but that Marguerite's arm held him up.

"How strong you are become, my darling!" he said tenderly. "Had I a sword on shore I would teach you to wield it; and truly, I think, when we get home again another Joan of Arc would be ready to lead the hosts of France."

"'Tis good to see the old spirit return. We shall indeed get home; and it will be sufficient for me to know that my hero is the first in the field, with my glove borne honourably into the thick of the fight."

But though she spoke thus cheerfully her heart was heavy within her; and when, in the night, she woke to hear Claude coughing as he had done on the beach, she knew that the end must be near. In the morning, a greater sorrow awaited her. She found him weak, worn, and feverish, having spent a sleepless night. When he attempted to build the fire, which had gone out during the night, as he was placing a heavy log upon the dry branches, he fell forward on his face, and would have been burnt by the fire he had just kindled but that Marguerite, springing to his side, bore him bodily to the hut. As she laid him down, she saw that her arm was dyed with blood.

Could the end have come already? He was bleeding at the mouth, and she knew that his lungs were affected. She had little experience or knowledge about sickness of any kind, and at first she thought he was dead. But she bravely did what she could to restore him, and was soon rewarded by seeing the languid eyes open with a half-dreamy stare. The minutes seemed like hours before he showed any further signs of regaining consciousness, and it was to her as the voice of God when his lips parted, and he murmured her name. His hand pressed hers tenderly, lovingly, despairingly. He had had a glimpse of death, and, as he awoke from his swoon, his first thought was of the horrors she would endure till she should follow him. His strength slowly returned, and by noon he was able to sit propped up in the door of the hut, through which the warm sunshine streamed brightly.

"How cold it has become," he said suddenly, with a shiver.

"Let me wrap this blanket about you, dearest. You are weak still, but a little rest will make you strong."

"Your words would drive away any chill breath," he said tenderly, as she arranged the covering about him. "But surely it is strange, with that warm sun streaming down, that the gentle wind should so soon have cooled the air. A moment ago it was as warm as the summer breezes of France. But what means that shouting?"

"I can hear naught," said Marguerite, her heart sinking within her as she became convinced that Claude's attack had left him delirious.

But suddenly she, too, held up her warm hand in the wind. It had indeed grown colder, although the restless ocean seemed to wear a calmer smile than it had done in the early morning. Her ear, too, caught an unwonted sound; it was the screaming of innumerable sea-birds; and as they drew nearer, the loud flapping of their wings resounded through the island. What could their strange appearance mean? While she thus questioned, a sudden coughing told her that the keen blast which had swept across them had left Claude weakened. She went to him, drew him within doors, and wrapped him warmly in the thickest coverings they had; then she sat anxiously by his side. The wind grew colder, and the screaming of birds louder. Both feared some dire calamity—they knew not what. At last a dull rumbling was heard, and then a roaring, a bellowing, a grinding, a crashing, and the sudden falling of a mighty burden, as if a mountain peak had toppled over on their island, which shook and vibrated as with an earthquake.

The two held each other's hands and waited.

"Could it be a ship?" exclaimed Marguerite, suddenly.

"God help the ship that struck with such a fearful crash! But listen!"

The grinding, crashing sound continued to re-echo through the island, while the warm sun gleamed brightly down on the two terrified inhabitants of the hut; the cowering animals slunk trembling to their holes; and the timorous birds plunged into the sea, or circled far out over the peaceful waters.

Marguerite, seeing that sudden destruction had not come to them, nerved herself, and went out to discover the cause of the unearthly din. As she turned her eyes to the northern side of the island, she was almost blinded by the resplendent glare. A huge iceberg, stretching far out to sea, lay hard against the high cliffs, whose base was a hundred fathoms beneath. A myriad birds circled above it, and flew over the island, wondering at the green stretches and the spreading trees, and the strange being who stood alone amidst it all.

The berg was like a series of mountain peaks, which scintillated in the sunshine. Its green base, eaten and worn by the seas, sparkled like emerald, and its innumerable caves and grottos, giving a variety of light and shade, made it seem a veritable fairy realm. The base, worn with many hollows, kept up a continuous roaring as the sea swept about it, and the crashing fragments, which fell ever and anon with loud resounding splash, added to the din. On the cliff lay piled a huge mass which had fallen thundering down when the berg struck the shore.

"All is well, Claude," cried Marguerite. "It is but a berg which has come to visit us in our loneliness. And what a troop of companions it has brought us! The air is thick with feathered friends! Make haste and get strong, dear," she added, as she re-entered the hut, "and to-morrow you will be able to come out and look upon it. A fairer sight I never beheld. Odin and Thor could not have had a grander palace."

"Sweet, that is like you to turn our terror into a jest," said Claude smiling tenderly at her. "But hark!" and as he spoke a low, savage growl reached their ears.

"Give me the arquebuse, quick!" cried Claude, and stretched out his hand for the weapon.

But Marguerite had already seized it. She had learned to take aim and fire as well as any man, and she stood with the gun firmly held in her strong young arms, and pointed towards the door. For one breathless moment—which seemed a year—they waited. The growl sounded nearer, and a swift shuffling of clumsy feet told them that some ponderous animal was approaching. The next instant the object of their dread appeared.

It was an animal such as they had never seen before, or heard of. A she-bear, full six feet in length—gaunt and fierce. It had doubtless been prowling about in its Greenland home in search of food, when it found itself, and the cub which followed it, adrift on this vast berg. The birds, the only other occupants of its habitation, were able to elude it, and so it spent hungry weeks on its slow, southern journey. Scarcely had the berg come in sight of the island when the starving brute, followed by its cub, sprang into the ocean and swam for the shore. As it prowled about in search of seals or fish, it had caught sight of Marguerite. It scented food, and with a fierce growl came shuffling with the speed of a galloping horse towards her.

As she now looked upon it her heart never flinched. She waited calmly till it should be within sure range.

It was a beautiful creature, with a mantle of silvery white, tinged with yellow. As it drew nearer, its long, strong neck, its flattened, elongated head, and small ears and mouth gave it a cruel appearance, while its tongue, lolling out, seemed to be lapping in anticipation the blood of its victims. When it was but twenty yards away Marguerite's arquebuse was raised, and with unflinching nerve she fired at the advancing brute. The bullet struck it, and with a growl it seized its breast with its teeth, as if trying to pull out the thing that had smitten it. The next instant it was at the very door, and its huge form shut out the light, as it was about to pounce upon its prey. But Claude had seized a second arquebuse, and, when the bear was within two yards, fired point-blank into its hairy breast. The bullet entered its heart, and it fell dead at their feet. The cub, which had followed close at its heels, with a pitiful cry threw itself upon its mother's body, and seeing the warm blood flowing in a great stream, began lapping it up with greedy tongue.

"Bravely done, my queen!" said Claude, as the bear fell dead in the hut. "I would La Pommeraye could have seen your nerve! What a buzz this adventure would cause in Paris!"

"O Claude, it is horrible! See that unhappy little creature drink its mother's life! Dear God, why is life created only to be destroyed?"

As she uttered the prayer, which has gone up a myriad times from a myriad hearts, she turned with a pitying hand to the motherless cub, but at her touch the terrified little creature rushed with ungainly shuffle away, and skulked among the rocks on the beach.

The dead bear was lying almost at the feet of Claude, a ghastly spectacle, and Marguerite felt that she must get it outside the hut. She seized its huge hairy paws, with their black, curved claws, and attempted to drag it to the door. But, gaunt and starved as it was, it was too heavy for her strength, and resisted all her efforts. Claude was in no condition to assist her, and she was compelled all day to move about, caring for him, with the shadow of death in her presence.

Night came, and still the bear lay stretched, cold and stiff, in the doorway. Again she struggled with it, but again her efforts were futile, and there was nothing for it but to let it remain there all night. But in its ghastly presence she could not sleep; and she lay awake listening to the crashing and roaring of the berg, as the waves rose about it, and hearing beside her the quiet breathing of Claude. Worn out by illness and the excitement of the day, he was sleeping like a tired child. Several times, as she looked out on the darkness, she saw a white form moving stealthily back and forth. She knew it was the little cub, and her heart was moved with pity for its loneliness. She heard its step draw nearer and nearer to where she lay, and at last she saw it standing in the door. She moved not a muscle for fear of alarming it, or disturbing Claude; but when she heard it with an almost human wail throw itself against its mother, she could have risen and fondled it. All night it lay there, wondering, no doubt, why that once warm breast was now as cold as the icy home it had left.

When morning broke, Marguerite made a movement to rise, and the cub, in terror, sprang up, lumbered down to the beach, and plunged into the water.

"Poor beast!" she said, "we must try to win its confidence. It will dispel something of our own loneliness."

She left the hut to stir up the embers of the fire, and pondered how she might lure the little bear to her. But it would not come near her, and at her approach dived into the ocean, or skulked behind rocks.

The gentle sleep of the night had worked wonders for Claude. In the morning, when the crackle of the fire told him that Marguerite was up before him, he rose, and to his surprise found his limbs strong and his brain clear. He looked upon the dead bear, and all that had passed came back to him. He stepped over its gaunt form, and stood before Marguerite.

"Oh, you wicked boy!" she exclaimed, when she saw him. "To get up without my permission! You will kill yourself."

"My darling, I am strong again! I never felt better in my life."

"You must obey me, dear," she said firmly. "You are indeed weak, and if you overtax your strength—think what will become of me! To please me, go back and rest till I have prepared your breakfast, and then, if you still feel strong, we will think about letting you stay up."

As she spoke, she laid her hand lovingly in his, and led him back as a mother would her child. He would not disobey; and when he was once more wrapped in his blankets, she kissed him on the lips and eyes, laughingly bade him be good, and went about her work with a lighter heart, feeling that he was indeed stronger, and hoping that the warm summer weather would restore him to perfect health.

By noon he was almost his old self, and even Marguerite's persuasion could not keep him within doors. His strength had not fully returned, but he was able, by resting frequently, and leaning on her arm, to go to the central part of the island, and get a good view of the wonderful berg.

As they looked upon it, the grinding ceased. A warm south wind had come up, and the great mass, catching its breath, slid from the shore, and almost imperceptibly began to move away. They watched it with a feeling akin to sorrow, as the blue water widened between it and their island. It had been something to break the monotony of their existence; and even its loud roaring was a relief from the dreary sameness of their days. For hours they sat there, watching it make its slow way northward; nor did they take their eyes from it till it was but a dim, misty fog-bank on the blue horizon.

They had not been alone. Beneath them, on the shore, squatted the cub, watching its northern home drift slowly away; once it made as if it would have plunged into the waves and followed it, but, seeming to change its mind, paused at the water's edge.

When Claude and Marguerite went back to their hut, they put forth their united strength, and succeeded in dragging the ponderous form of the bear out into the open air. Claude had watched the Indians skin wild beasts with no better implements than their rude flint knives, and had learned the process by which they cured the skins. On the following day he set to work to remove the strong white hide. It took him the whole day, but at night he and Marguerite had the satisfaction of seeing it spread to dry on the roof of their hut. All through that night they heard the piteous cries of the young bear, as it prowled helplessly about. Their own suffering made them sympathetic, and next day both made every effort to coax it to them.

At last the bear-skin was spread, broad, and white, and soft, on their floor. To their delight they found that their new comrade would steal in at night and rest upon the soft rug, creeping away in the early morning, just as the first robin announced that day was beginning to break.

Gradually it grew accustomed to them, and ere a month had passed it would take food from their hands, although it would not allow them to touch it. But before the summer had passed, and the September leaves began to turn, it would crouch at Marguerite's feet, and rest its snout in her lap as she petted and fondled it.

All through the summer Claude grew stronger and stronger. The gods were good to him, for a time was coming when all his man's strength would be needed.