"Honest? oh, yes!" answered the surgeon, with an ominous laugh, "why should I be not honest? Does not the world teach a man to be honest? See what noble rewards it offers for honesty."
He took a crumpled letter from his pocket as he spoke, and threw it across the table to his mother.
"Read that, mother," he said; "that is my reward for ten years' honest toil in a laborious profession. Captain Halkard, the inaugurator of an Arctic expedition for scientific purposes, writes to invite me to join his ship as surgeon. He has heard of my conscientious devotion to my profession—my exceptional talents—see, those are his exact words, and he offers me the post of ship's surgeon, with a honorarium of fifty pounds. The voyage is supposed to last six months; it is much more likely to last a year; it is most likely to last for ever—for, from the place to which these men are going, the chances are against any man's return. And for unutterable hardship, for the hazard of my life, for my exceptional talents, my conscientious devotion, he offers me fifty pounds. That, mother, is the price which honesty commands in the great market of life."
"But it might lead to something, Victor," murmured the mother, as she put down the letter, pleased by the writer's praises of her son.
"Oh, yes, it might lead to a few words of commendation in a scientific journal; possibly a degree of F.R.G.S.; or very probably a grave under the ice, with a grizzly bear for sexton."
"You will not accept the offer?"
"Not unless my great scheme fails at the last moment—as it cannot fail—as it cannot!" he repeated, with the air of a man who tries to realize a possibility too horrible for imagination.
* * * * *
It was very late that night before Paulina Durski, worn out by the emotion she had undergone, could be persuaded to retire to rest. After Douglas had left her, all the firmness forsook her, all her pride was overthrown. Despair unutterable took possession of her. With him went her last hope—her one only chance of happiness. She flung herself, face downwards, on her sofa, and gave way to the wildest, most agonizing grief. Thus Miss Brewer found her, and eagerly questioned her concerning the cause of her distress. But she could obtain no explanation from Paulina, who only answered, in a voice broken by convulsive sobs, "Some other time, some other time; don't ask me now." So Miss Brewer was forced to be silent, if not content, and at length she persuaded Paulina to go to bed.
The faithful friend arranged everything with her own hands for Madame Durski's comfort, and would not consent to leave her till she had lain down to rest. The broken-hearted woman bade her friend good night calmly enough, but before Miss Brewer reached the door, she heard Paulina's sobs burst forth again, and saw that she had covered her face with her hands, and buried it in the pillow.