light fell on it. The moon was dimmed in its brilliancy at the
moment by a canopy of thinnest cloud, like the coating of an
anemone.

"Coming, lass, coming," cried the skipper, in a voice of
unfathomable tenderness and compassion, like one who soothes a
beloved one by some favour long looked for, and as pleasant to
bestow as to receive.

What followed happened in an instant. I had no power to interfere.

He gave one spring to the top of the bulwarks, and another which
took him on to the ice, almost to the feet of the pale misty
figure. He held out his hands as if to clasp it, and so ran into
the darkness with outstretched arms and loving words. I still
stood rigid and motionless, straining my eyes after his retreating
form, until his voice died away in the distance. I never thought
to see him again, but at that moment the moon shone out brilliantly
through a chink in the cloudy heaven, and illuminated the great
field of ice. Then I saw his dark figure already a very long way
off, running with prodigious speed across the frozen plain. That
was the last glimpse which we caught of him--perhaps the last we
ever shall. A party was organised to follow him, and I accompanied
them, but the men's hearts were not in the work, and nothing was
found. Another will be formed within a few hours. I can hardly
believe I have not been dreaming, or suffering from some hideous
nightmare, as I write these things down.

7.30 P.M.--Just returned dead beat and utterly tired out from a
second unsuccessful search for the Captain. The floe is of