Swaying like a drunken man, the son of the snows bent and touched the wrist of the girl with his fingers. When he felt the tides of the life-blood leaping through the warm flesh, a joy welled up within him that was akin to pain in its throbbing. Come what might, his lady lived, and once again there was light in his world. He laid his cheek against hers and he was near to tears in his weakness.
Presently he raised his head, and for the first time gave a thought to his surroundings. The room he was in was shaped like the quarter of a circle. The couch on which he had lain was along the curved side of the room, and there the wall was of steel or iron, against which he could hear the lapping of waters. At each end, where the cabin narrowed to the points of its arc, were cabinets carved of polished woods. At the side where the girl lay the wall was of wood, also, and was pierced by a small door. A number of garments hung from pegs in the paneling. Near to the door, in a golden sheath, swung a heavy, short-bladed sword.
Overhead was a crisscross of slender wooden beams, and in the midst of them was set a translucent globe of porcelain or clouded glass, through which a strong light was shed, light that was almost as clear in its quality as that of day.
At the sight of those crossed beams, Polaris's memory stirred quickly. Where had he seen such before? Ah, he had it! It was just such a lattice-work that had made a raft for the stranger when he had found him floating in the sea. What was the meaning of it?
The screaming fury of the tempest, with its menace to all that he held dearest; the terrible moments when the Minnetonka went roaring down to ruin; the struggle in the sea; the agony of resuscitation; the grim fear that had choked him when he saw his dear lady lying there so pale and still—all those transitions had shaken even the strong will and cool brain of the son of the snows. He shook his head impatiently, as though the fog through which his mind groped were a physical fact, to be dismissed so.
Here at his side was the living answer to the questions that now trooped thick and fast—the man who had promised him life on the sinking deck of the cruiser and who had made that promise good.
"Where are we, and who and what are you?" Polaris asked him.
The answer was as ready as it was surprising.
"We are under the sea in the captain's cabin of a fademe in the navy of the great king, Bel-Ar. And I"—he bowed slightly and smiled—"I am the Captain Oleric the Red, also of the navy of the great king, but at present without a fademe to command."