"And I love you, Denzil," she said softly. "Oh, I am so glad that I can tell you; it seems to take away the sting of death. I would have hidden the truth from you; I would have kept my promise and married Griffith Hawke. But now--now it is different. In death we belong to each other.

You made me love you, Denzil--you were so kind, so good, so brave!"

"If we could only live, and be happy together!" I replied hoa.r.s.ely.

"Hush! G.o.d knows best," she whispered. "In life we must have been apart.

Kiss me again, Denzil, and hold me tight. The end will not be long!"

I kissed her pa.s.sionately, and drew her as close to me as I could with one arm, while with the other I took a firmer grip on the spar. I had my heart's desire, but already it was turning to ashes. I could not reconcile myself to so cruel a fate. As I looked into Flora's eyes, shining with the light of love, I felt a bitter resentment, a dull, aching stupor of despair.

We were both silent for a few moments, and then of a sudden a rising wind scattered the gray fog. From the top of the swell we had a glimpse of the low, rugged sh.o.r.e, less than half a mile distant. Monstrous waves were rolling toward it, and the angry bellowing of the surf was like continuous thunder.

"I am growing weaker," Flora whispered, "and I am so cold. Don't let me slip, Denzil."

I a.s.sured her that I would not, but I doubted if I could keep my word.

I, too, was beginning to succ.u.mb to the effects of the long struggle with the raging sea and the driving storm. I was almost exhausted, and chilled in every limb. I feared that before long we must both be washed from the spar.

But during the next minute it grew a little lighter, and I made a discovery that caused me a strange agitation. Over on the sh.o.r.e, and slightly to our right, a promontory of rock and bushes jutted out some distance. It was to leeward of the wind, which was blowing us perceptibly that way, while at the same time the waves swept us landward. I knew that if we should drift under the promontory, where doubtless the surf was less violent, there would be some faint hope of escape. I said nothing to Flora, however, for I thought it best to let her continue to believe the worst. She was much weaker now, and made no effort to speak; but the look in her half-closed eyes was more eloquent than words.

On and on we plunged, gaining speed every instant--now deep down between walls of gla.s.sy water, now tossed high on the curling swell. At intervals I sighted the sh.o.r.e--we were close upon it--and there was no longer any doubt that we should strike to leeward of the promontory.

Faster and faster! The spar spun round and round dizzily. I gripped it with all my strength, supporting Flora's half-insensible form with the other arm.

For a minute we were held in a watery trough, and then a huge wave, overtaking us from behind, lifted us high on its curling, hissing crest.

I had a brief, flashing vision of a murky strip of sand and bushes washed by milky foam. It looked to be straight below me, and on the instant I let go of the spar. I strained Flora to my breast, and made a feeble attempt to swim. There was a roaring and singing in my ears, a blur of shadows before my eyes, and the next thing I remembered was a tremendous crash that I thought had shattered every bone in my body.

The instinct of life was so strong that I must have scrambled at once to my feet. I had been flung into a hillock of wet sand and gra.s.s, and with such force that the deep imprint of my body was visible. I looked about me, dizzy and stunned, and immediately saw Flora lying huddled in a thick clump of bushes a few feet to the left. I knew not if she was dead or alive, but as I staggered toward her I discovered a great foaming wave rolling up the beach. Rallying what strength I could, I seized the girl and dragged her back as far and as quickly as I was able. The wave broke with a crash, hurling its curled spray almost to our feet. I dropped my burden, and reeled over in a deathly faint. When I came to my senses--I could not have been unconscious more than a few minutes--the chilly gray dawn had driven away the shadows of the night.

A bleak and disheartening prospect met my eyes in every direction.

Straight in front the sea rolled to the horizon, still tossing and tumbling. Behind me, and to right and left, stretched a flat, dreary, marshy coast, scarred with rocks, thickets and evergreens.

It was a familiar enough scene to me--I had often visited the sh.o.r.es of Hudson Bay--and I gave it but a glance. Flora lay close beside me, her head and shoulders pillowed on a clump of weeds, and at the first I thought she was dead. But when I had risen to my knees with some pain and difficulty--I was as weak as a cat--I found that she was breathing.

I set myself to restore her, and chafed her cold hands until the blood began to circulate freely. Then I poured a few drops of brandy between her lips--I fortunately had some in a small flask--and it was no sooner swallowed than she opened her lovely eyes. I could see that she was perfectly conscious, and that she knew me and remembered all; but when I lifted her gently in my arms she made a weak effort to draw back, and looked at me with a sort of horror.

"My darling, what is the matter?" I cried.

"Hush, Denzil, not that name," she replied faintly. "Oh, why were we spared? You must forget all that I told you, even as I shall forget your words. It was only a dream--a dream that is dead. We can be nothing to each other."

I knew in my heart that she was right, but the sight of her beauty, the memory of her confession, put me in a rebellious mood. I drank what was left of the brandy, and rose dizzily to my feet.

"I will not give you up," I said in a dogged tone. "You love me, Flora, and you are mine. Providence saved us for a purpose--to make us happy."

She shook her head sadly.

"Denzil, why will you make is so hard for me?" she replied. "I must keep my promise--you know that. Be brave, be honorable. Forget what has happened!"

The appeal shamed me, and I averted my eyes from her. In my wretchedness I felt tempted to throw myself into the sea.

"Where are the rest?" she asked in a different voice.

"I fear they are all drowned," I answered gloomily. "Fate has been less kind to us."

"Do you know where we are?" she continued.

"Not exactly," I said, looking about, "but we can't be a great distance from Fort York--and from Griffith Hawke."

I was sorry for the cutting words as soon as they were spoken, and I would have made a fitting apology. But just then I heard voices, and two voyageurs, in the blue capotes of the Hudson Bay Company, came out of the timber about twenty yards off. They saw us at once and ran toward us with eager shouts.

CHAPTER XI.

A COPY OF "THE TIMES."

I was both glad and sorry for the interruption. In our forlorn condition we needed a.s.sistance badly enough, but I would have preferred to have Flora all to myself for some time longer. However, I made the best of it, and gave the voyageurs a warm greeting. They were from Fort York, and they told me that they and half a dozen more had been on a week's hunting trip, and that they had spent the night in a sheltered spot near by. They added that when they were about starting for the fort, half an hour previously, two survivors of the wreck had straggled into their camp.

This was pleasing news, but before I could glean any further information, the rest of the party made their appearance from the timber--three more voyageurs and three of the company's Indian hunters.

And with them, to my great delight, were Captain Rudstone and Baptiste.

Both walked with difficulty and were sorely bruised. It seems they had come ash.o.r.e clinging to the jolly-boat--the rest of the crew were drowned--and had been cast on a sandy part of the coast. They knew nothing of the other boat or its occupants, and there was reason to believe the worst.

"I fear they are all lost," said Captain Rudstone. "The longboat was heavily weighted and it probably capsized soon after it left the ship.

We four have had a truly marvelous escape, Mr. Carew. I judge that Miss Hatherton owes her life to you."

"We came ash.o.r.e together," I answered.

"Mr. Carew is too modest," Flora said quietly. "But for him I should have been drowned when the boat upset. I was helpless all the time, while he held me on the spar."

The captain looked queerly from one to the other of us, and I was afraid he would say some awkward thing; but he merely shrugged his shoulders, and turned to another subject.

"We might be in a worse plight," he remarked. "We are sound of limb, and Fort York is but six miles away. And I have saved Lord Selkirk's dispatches, which is a matter to be thankful for." He patted his breast as he spoke. "A drying at a good fire is all they will need," he added.

After some discussion, it was decided that two of the voyageurs should remain behind for the present and search the coast on the chance of finding trace of the longboat and its crew. The rest of us started for the fort, but first a rude litter was constructed on which to carry Flora, who was too weak and bruised to walk so great a distance.

The captain, Baptiste, and I were not in much better condition, and we were heartily glad when, after a weary tramp of under three hours, we arrived at Fort York. This was and still is, the main trading-post of the Hudson Bay Company. It stood close to the bay and to the mouth of the Nelson River. It was larger than the other forts, but in every respect like them--a fortified palisade surrounding a huddled cl.u.s.ter of buildings, in which live a little colony of men, from the factor and his a.s.sistants down to the Indian employees.

Captain Rudstone and myself were well known at the fort--we had both been there before--and we received a cordial greeting from old friends.

We were soon provided with dry clothes and a stiff gla.s.s of liquor, and then, little the worse for our hardships, we sat down to a plentiful breakfast. Baptiste had fared worse than either of us. It turned out that one of his ribs was broken, and he went straight to the hospital.

The factor's wife took charge of Flora, and I saw her no more that day.

One thing sadly marred our spirits--we had no hope that Hiram Bunker or any of his crew had been saved, and the disaster cast a gloom on all in the fort. I may add here that the two voyageurs found the bodies of the kind-hearted American skipper and six of his men, and that they were buried the following day on a low bluff overlooking the scene of their death-struggles. Peace to their ashes!

I slept soundly until late in the afternoon, and when supper was over, and I had visited Baptiste in the hospital, Captain Rudstone and I spent a quiet evening with the factor. Over pipes and brandy we told him the story of the wreck, and of the circ.u.mstances that led to our hurried flight from Quebec. He agreed that we had acted wisely, and he had some remarks to make to the disadvantage of Cuthbert Mackenzie.

"He is a revengeful man," he added, "and he will leave no stone unturned to settle with you for that night's work. I have no doubt that the theft of Lord Selkirk's despatches was his aim."

"He did not get them," the captain laughed.

"It would have been a most unfortunate thing if he had," the factor replied gravely. "One of the letters in the packet was for him and he had already received it. Lord Selkirk is a shrewd and determined man, and I am glad to know that they understand the danger at the head office in London. My instructions are just what I have wished them to be, and I suppose the import of all the letters is about the same."

"Very likely," a.s.sented Captain Rudstone. "I am glad you are pleased.