It was a beautiful creature, with a mantle of silvery white, tinged with yellow. As it drew nearer, its long, strong neck, its flattened, elongated head, and small ears and mouth gave it a cruel appearance, while its tongue, lolling out, seemed to be lapping in anticipation the blood of its victims. When it was but twenty yards away Marguerite's arquebuse was raised, and with unflinching nerve she fired at the advancing brute. The bullet struck it, and with a growl it seized its breast with its teeth, as if trying to pull out the thing that had smitten it. The next instant it was at the very door, and its huge form shut out the light, as it was about to pounce upon its prey. But Claude had seized a second arquebuse, and, when the bear was within two yards, fired point-blank into its hairy breast. The bullet entered its heart, and it fell dead at their feet. The cub, which had followed close at its heels, with a pitiful cry threw itself upon its mother's body, and seeing the warm blood flowing in a great stream, began lapping it up with greedy tongue.
"Bravely done, my queen!" said Claude, as the bear fell dead in the hut. "I would La Pommeraye could have seen your nerve! What a buzz this adventure would cause in Paris!"
"O Claude, it is horrible! See that unhappy little creature drink its mother's life! Dear God, why is life created only to be destroyed?"
As she uttered the prayer, which has gone up a myriad times from a myriad hearts, she turned with a pitying hand to the motherless cub, but at her touch the terrified little creature rushed with ungainly shuffle away, and skulked among the rocks on the beach.
The dead bear was lying almost at the feet of Claude, a ghastly spectacle, and Marguerite felt that she must get it outside the hut. She seized its huge hairy paws, with their black, curved claws, and attempted to drag it to the door. But, gaunt and starved as it was, it was too heavy for her strength, and resisted all her efforts. Claude was in no condition to assist her, and she was compelled all day to move about, caring for him, with the shadow of death in her presence.
Night came, and still the bear lay stretched, cold and stiff, in the doorway. Again she struggled with it, but again her efforts were futile, and there was nothing for it but to let it remain there all night. But in its ghastly presence she could not sleep; and she lay awake listening to the crashing and roaring of the berg, as the waves rose about it, and hearing beside her the quiet breathing of Claude. Worn out by illness and the excitement of the day, he was sleeping like a tired child. Several times, as she looked out on the darkness, she saw a white form moving stealthily back and forth. She knew it was the little cub, and her heart was moved with pity for its loneliness. She heard its step draw nearer and nearer to where she lay, and at last she saw it standing in the door. She moved not a muscle for fear of alarming it, or disturbing Claude; but when she heard it with an almost human wail throw itself against its mother, she could have risen and fondled it. All night it lay there, wondering, no doubt, why that once warm breast was now as cold as the icy home it had left.
When morning broke, Marguerite made a movement to rise, and the cub, in terror, sprang up, lumbered down to the beach, and plunged into the water.
"Poor beast!" she said, "we must try to win its confidence. It will dispel something of our own loneliness."
She left the hut to stir up the embers of the fire, and pondered how she might lure the little bear to her. But it would not come near her, and at her approach dived into the ocean, or skulked behind rocks.
The gentle sleep of the night had worked wonders for Claude. In the morning, when the crackle of the fire told him that Marguerite was up before him, he rose, and to his surprise found his limbs strong and his brain clear. He looked upon the dead bear, and all that had passed came back to him. He stepped over its gaunt form, and stood before Marguerite.