Part 9 (1/2)
CHAPTER VI
THE DREAD WHITE LINE
Three days the blizzard raged about the cabin where Lucile and Marian had found shelter. Such a storm at this season of the year had not been known on the Arctic for more than twenty years.
For three days the girls s.h.i.+vered by the galley range, husbanding their little supply of food, and hoping for something to turn up when the storm was over. Just what that something might be neither of them could have told.
The third day broke clear and cold with the wind still blowing a gale.
Lucile was the first to throw open the door. As it came back with a bang, something fell from the beam above and rattled to the floor.
She stooped to pick it up.
”Look, Marian!” she exclaimed. ”A key! A big bra.s.s key!”
Marian examined it closely.
”What can it belong to?”
”The wreck, perhaps.”
”Probably.”
”Looks like a steward's pa.s.s-key.”
”But what would they save it for? You don't think--”
”If we could get out to the wreck we'd see.”
”Yes, but we can't. There--”
”Look, Marian!” Lucile's eyes were large and wild.
”The white line!” gasped Marian, gripping her arm.
It was true. Before them lay the dark ocean still flecked with foam, but at the horizon gleaming whiter than burnished silver, straight, distinct, unmistakable, was a white line.
”And that means--”
”We're trapped!”
Lucile sank weakly into a chair. Marian began pacing the floor.
”Anyway,” she exclaimed at last, ”I can paint it. It will make a wonderful study.”
Suiting action to words, she sought out her paint-box and was soon busy with a sketch, which, developing bit by bit, or rather, seeming to evolve out of nothing, showed a native dressed in furs, shading his eyes to scan the dark, tossing ocean. And beyond, the object of his gaze, was the silvery line. When she had finished, she playfully inscribed a t.i.tle at the bottom:
”The Coming of the White Line.”
As she put her paints away, something caught her eye. It was one corner of the blue envelope with the strange address upon it.
”Ah, there you are still,” she sighed. ”And there you will remain for nine months unless I miss my guess. I wish I hadn't kept my promise to the college boy; wish I'd left you in the pigeon-hole at Cape Prince of Wales.”