Scoland sat like a man in a dream.
"Yonder proofs there will show to the world my father's work. No lies have been told or written, Captain Scoland," said Polaris, speaking low. "You, too, have stood at the great pole. Your glory is just as great. You are a brave man. My father would not wish to rob you of that glory. I do not wish to stain the brightness of your achievement. What has passed between us is forgotten. You were blinded for a while. I remember naught but the kindness of your Dr. Clawson. Let us both be silent about the treatment of the 'wild man.'"
He held out his hand.
For the barest fraction of a second Scoland hesitated. He was not an entirely bad man. He was a very brave one. He gripped the hand of the son of the snows.
"And now," he said with an effort, "she's waiting; go to her." He pointed to Rose Emer.
Around the end of the table came marching Zenas Wright, his old eyes shining. He came upon a tableau—a girl and a man and a dog, all wordless, all eyes.
"H-m-m-m, Zenas, you're an old fool!" he muttered. "They have no eyes for you just now." He turned to stump back to the table, but thought better of it and came back.
"Lad," he said, "we—the members of this society—wish to examine the records of your father's discoveries. We may want to ask you some questions. Will you wait, you and the young woman—in here?"
He marched them to a small, empty room at the side, and almost thrust them into it. Marcus edged in with them. The door was shut. They were alone.