Stirling sensed that they were nearing the shores of Greenland. He rose on tiptoe and peered ahead, where a darker mass, broken here and there by ice fields, came out of the haze. It was indented by fiords and inlets.
He turned to the girl. "No chance to take an observation," he said. "We're going to run a bit down the coast. I think I can make the headland at Upernivik. There should be lights there."
She nodded her head and fastened upon him the fine glance of a comrade to a comrade. "I'll steer," she suggested, holding out her hands.
Stirling shook his head slowly, leaned away from her, and bent over the binnacle, then changed the course of the Pole Star until the dark coast was over the port bow. Holding this course, he waited and strained his eyes for some sign of light.
He heard the beat of waves within the coves, a glacier separated, and the sound of the falling berg thundered far out to sea. The ship rocked and trembled in the swiftly running waves; then it steadied and crept closer to land. They glided like a dream thing in the shadow of a haven. An opal citadel took the place of the leaden vault, as the moon rose in the south and east and bathed the fast-flying clouds with a pale, unreal light. Through these clouds white stars shone and twinkled.
"We're near Upernivik!" said Stirling as midnight approached. "Keep a sharp lookout for lights, Miss Marr."
His voice troubled her, and his use of the "Miss Marr" instead of a more familiar name caused her to creep closer to the wheel.
"What are we going to do?" she asked, vaguely.
"Winter at Upernivik and go out in the spring."
"But won't that be many long months?"