(The farewell warning of Crayford in the solitudes of the Frozen
Deep, repeated by Clara in the garden of her English home!)

A moment of silence follows; and, in that moment, the vision has
changed. She sees him on the iceberg now, at the mercy of the
bitterest enemy he has on earth. She sees him drifting--over the
black water, through the ashy light.

"Wake, Frank! wake and defend yourself! Richard Wardour knows
that I love you--Richard Wardour's vengeance will take your life!
Wake, Frank--wake! You are drifting to your death!" A low groan
of horror bursts from her, sinister and terrible to hear.
"Drifting! drifting!" she whispers to herself--"drifting to his
death!"

Her glassy eyes suddenly soften--then close. A long shudder runs
through her. A faint flush shows itself on the deadly pallor of
her face, and fades again. Her limbs fail her. She sinks into
Mrs. Crayford's arms.

The servants, answering the call for help, carry her into the
house. They lay her insensible on her bed. After half an hour or
more, her eyes open again--this time with the light of life in
them--open, and rest languidly on the friend sitting by the
bedside.

"I have had a dreadful dream," she murmurs faintly. "Am I ill,
Lucy? I feel so weak."

Even as she says the words, sleep, gentle, natural sleep, takes