Frank generously stopped the apology there.

“Say no more,” he interposed.  “I was in the wrong—­I lost my temper.  Pray forgive me.”

Wardour looked at him with a strange, reluctant interest while he was speaking.  Wardour asked an extraordinary question when he had done.

“Is she very fond of you?”

Frank burst out laughing.

“My dear fellow,” he said, “come to our wedding, and judge for yourself.”

“Come to your wedding?” As he repeated the words Wardour stole one glance at Frank which Frank (employed in buckling his knapsack) failed to see.  Crayford noticed it, and Crayford’s blood ran cold.  Comparing the words which Wardour had spoken to him while they were alone together with the words that had just passed in his presence, he could draw but one conclusion.  The woman whom Wardour had loved and lost was—­Clara Burnham.  The man who had robbed him of her was Frank Aldersley.  And Wardour had discovered it in the interval since they had last met.  “Thank God!” thought Crayford, “the dice have parted them!  Frank goes with the expedition, and Wardour stays behind with me.”

The reflection had barely occurred to him—­Frank’s thoughtless invitation to Wardour had just passed his lips—­when the canvas screen over the doorway was drawn aside.  Captain Helding and the officers who were to leave with the exploring party returned to the main room on their way out.  Seeing Crayford, Captain Helding stopped to speak to him.

“I have a casualty to report,” said the captain, “which diminishes our numbers by one.  My second lieutenant, who was to have joined the exploring party, has had a fall on the ice.  Judging by what the quartermaster tells me, I am afraid the poor fellow has broken his leg.”

“I will supply his place,” cried a voice at the other end of the hut.

Everybody looked round.  The man who had spoken was Richard Wardour.

Crayford instantly interfered—­so vehemently as to astonish all who knew him.

“No!” he said.  “Not you, Richard! not you!”

“Why not?” Wardour asked, sternly.

“Why not, indeed?” added Captain Helding.  “Wardour is the very man to be useful on a long march.  He is in perfect health, and he is the best shot among us.  I was on the point of proposing him myself.”

Crayford failed to show his customary respect for his superior officer.  He openly disputed the captain’s conclusion.

“Wardour has no right to volunteer,” he rejoined.  “It has been settled, Captain Helding, that chance shall decide who is to go and who is to stay.”

“And chance has decided it,” cried Wardour.  “Do you think we are going to cast the dice again, and give an officer of the Sea-mew a chance of replacing an officer of the Wanderer?  There is a vacancy in our party, not in yours; and we claim the right of filling it as we please.  I volunteer, and my captain backs me.  Whose authority is to keep me here after that?”