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 irls shi+vered by the galley range, husbanding their little supply of food, and hoping for so to turn up when the storht 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 ca fell from the beam above and rattled to the floor
She stooped to pick it up
”Look, Marian!” she exclai brass key!”
Marian exa to?”
”The wreck, perhaps”
”Probably”
”Looks like a steward's pass-key”
”But ould 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 foa 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 willaction to words, she sought out her paint-box and was soon busy with a sketch, which, developing bit by bit, or rather, see, 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 title at the botto of the White Line”
As she put her paints away, soht 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 reuess I wish I hadn't kept eon-hole at Cape Prince of Wales”