“A hundred and fifty miles, in this country, at this time of the year, is a long distance, Mrs. Keith,” reflected Blake, looking into her eyes with a steadiness that at any other time would have been embarrassing.  “It means the McFarlane, the Lacs Delesse, and the Arctic Barren.  For a hundred miles there isn’t a stick of timber.  If a storm came—­no man or dog could live.  It is different from the coast.  Here there is shelter everywhere.”  He spoke slowly, and he was thinking swiftly.  “It would take five days at thirty miles a day.  And the chances are that your husband would not stand it.  One hundred and twenty hours at fifty degrees below zero, and no fire until the fourth day.  He would die.”

“It would be better—­for if we stay—­” she stopped, unclenching her hands slowly.

“What?” he asked.

“I shall kill Captain Rydal,” she declared.  “It is the only thing I can do.  Will you force me to do that, or will you help me?  You have sledges and many dogs, and we will pay.  And I have judged you to be—­a man.”

He rose from the table, and for a moment his face was turned from her.  “You probably do not understand my position, Mrs. Keith,” he said, pacing slowly back and forth and chuckling inwardly at the shock he was about to give her.  “You see, my livelihood depends on such men as Captain Rydal.  I have already done a big business with him in bone, oil, pelts—­and Eskimo women.”

Without looking at her he heard the horrified intake of her breath.  It gave him a pleasing sort of thrill, and he turned, smiling, to look into her dead-white face.  Her eyes had changed.  There was no longer hope or entreaty in them.  They were simply pools of blue flame.  And she, too, rose to her feet.

“Then—­I can expect—­no help—­from you.”

“I didn’t say that, Mrs. Keith.  It shocks you to know that I am responsible.  But up here, you must understand the code of ethics is a great deal different from yours.  We figure that what I have done for Rydal and his crew keeps sane men from going mad during the long months of darkness.  But that doesn’t mean I’m not going to help you—­and Peter.  I think I shall.  But you must give me a little time in which to consider the matter—­say an hour or so.  I understand that whatever is to be done must be done quickly.  If I make up my mind to take you to Fort Confidence, we shall start within two or three hours.  I shall bring you word aboard ship.  So you might return and prepare yourself and Peter for a probable emergency.”

She went out dumbly into the night, Blake seeing her to the door and closing it after her.  He was courteous in his icy way but did not offer to escort her back to the ship.  She was glad.  Her heart was choking her with hope and fear.  She had measured him differently this time.  And she was afraid.  She had caught a glimpse that had taken her beyond the man, to the monster.  It made her shudder.  And yet what did it matter, if Blake helped them?