"What on earth does she mean?"

Mrs. Crayford's lively invention supplied her with an answer on
the spur of the moment.

"Do you believe in dreams, Frank? Of course you don't! Clara has
been dreaming about you; and Clara is foolish enough to believe
in dreams. That's all--it's not worth talking about. Hark! they
are calling you. Say good-by, or you will be too late for the
boat."

Frank took Clara's hand. Long afterward--in the dark Arctic days,
in the dreary Arctic nights--he remembered how coldly and how
passively that hand lay in his.

"Courage, Clara!" he said, gayly. "A sailor's sweetheart must
accustom herself to partings. The time will soon pass. Good-by,
my darling! Good-by, my wife!"

He kissed the cold hand; he looked his last--for many a long
year, perhaps!--at the pale and beautiful face. "How she loves
me!" he thought. "How the parting distresses her!" He still held
her hand; he would have lingered longer, if Mrs. Crayford had not
wisely waived all ceremony and pushed him away.

The two ladies followed him at a safe distance through the crowd,
and saw him step into the boat. The oars struck the water; Frank
waved his cap to Clara. In a moment more a vessel at anchor hid
the boat from view. They had seen the last of him on his way to
the Frozen Deep!