“'I shall not give up my brother!' she cried, with all her strength, 'for he will not give up me. But why does he not come? Why does he not come?'
“It was heart-wringing to see her—to know what was in store. But it would have been less kind of me to let this deception go on.
“'He will never come,' I said, as softly as I could; 'there is no use in the light. Let us save oil.'
“Her weary, searching eyes questioned my face for the first time in days, and then she struck a match and applied it to the wick.
“'He will come,' she said calmly, 'for God will guide him, and I am helping God.' She went out into the dusk, and I heard the futile lantern being pulled up to the masthead. I could not bear to interfere.
“So, since save fuel we must, I began practising deceit by stealing out the next evening, lowering the signal and extinguishing it, then hoisting the black lantern into place. But she guessed; and on the second night, as I had my hand upon the rope to lower it, she grasped my arm, her eyes flashing, her weak voice vibrant like the storm-wind.
“'Do you dare?' she said; 'do you dare betray me? You do not want my brother.' And with fury she grasped the rope and jerked it from my hand. A sudden anger filled me.
“'Unreasonable woman,' I cried, 'we must have the mast for firewood; we must have the oil for light in the igloo! Let me alone.'
“'Let me alone!' she screamed, struggling for the rope.
“It must have been insecurely fastened. At any rate, we had not been contending many seconds in the darkness for the control of the light above our heads when we heard a rattle and saw it coming down upon us. I pushed her away just in time. The lantern struck some metal, burst, and the spattering oil caught fire in the swiftness of a thought.