The Blue Envelope Part 11

"By the way," he said, struggling to conceal his intense interest, "have--have you the letter?"

Marian nodded. "It is in my paint-box over in the cabin."

The boy sprang eagerly to his feet. "May we not go fetch it?"

"I can't leave my friend."

"Then may I go?" He was eager as a child.

Then after a second, "Why, by Jove! I'm selfish. Haven't given you a chance to say a thing. Perhaps your friend's in trouble. Of course she is, or she'd be out here before this. What is it? Can I help you?"

"She's only chilled and recovering from a trifling shock. The tidal wave threw her into the sea."

"Oh!" The boy stood thinking for a moment. "Do--do you intend to remain in Siberia all winter?"

"We had no such intentions when we came, but the storm and the white line caught us. No more boats now."

"The white line of ice from the north? No more boats this season?"

Then quickly, "Say, you two can keep my cabin. The shack on the beach is poor, and I dare say you haven't much food. There's a bunk below the deck where I can be quite comfortable. We'll be snug as a bug in a bushel basket."

Marian lifted a hand in feeble protest. What was the use? They were trapped in Siberia. Here was an American who seemed at least to be a friend.

"I'll go for your things. You stay here. Any dogs?"

"Three."

"Good! I'll be back quicker than you think."

He was away. Bounding from ice-cake to ice-cake he soon disappeared.

Marian turned to enter the cabin.

Lucile was still asleep. Marian sat down to think. She was not certain that their position was at all improved. They knew so little of the young stranger. She felt almost resentful at his occupation of the wireless cabin. They could have been quite cozy there alone. Then again, in quite another mood, she was glad the stranger was here; he might suggest a means of escape from the exile and might a.s.sist in carrying it out. At any rate, if they were forced to go to East Cape for food, they would not be afraid to go under his guard.

She fell to wondering if he had reached the sh.o.r.e safely. Leaving the cabin, she climbed to the highest point on the rail. There she stood for some time scanning the horizon.

"Strange he'd be way down there!" she murmured, at last. "Quarter of a mile south of the cabin. Perhaps the ice carried him south."

The distance was so great she could distinguish a figure, a mere speck, moving in and out among the ice-piles that lined the sh.o.r.e.

For a moment she rested her eyes by studying the s.h.i.+p's deck. Then again she gazed away.

"Why," she exclaimed suddenly, "he has reached the cabin! Must have run every step of the way!"

In the cabin on sh.o.r.e, the young stranger began packing the girl's possessions preparatory to putting them on the sled.

"Some careless housekeeper!" he grumbled as he gathered up articles of clothing from every corner of the room, and, having straightened out Marian's paint-box, closed its cover down with a click. He arrived at the schooner an hour later. The sled load was soon stowed away in the wireless cabin.

He brought a quant.i.ty of food, canned vegetables, bacon, hardtack, coffee and sugar from his store below. Then he stood by the door.

Marian was bustling about the cabin, putting things to rights.

"Wants to make a good impression," was the young man's mental comment.

Lucile, a trifle pale, was sitting in the corner.

Presently Marian caught sight of him standing there.

"Oh!" she exclaimed, "you are waiting for your reward?"

"Any time," he smiled.

"You shall have it right now--the blue envelope."

She seized her paint-box, and throwing back the cover lifted the paint-tray. Then from her lips escaped one word:

"Gone!"

He sprang eagerly forward.

"Can't be," Lucile breathed.

"Take a good look," the boy suggested.

Marian inspected the box thoroughly.

"No," she said with an air of finality, "it's not here."

"Your--er--the paint-box was a bit disarranged," he stammered.

"Disarranged?"

"Well, not in the best of order. Letter might have dropped out in the cabin. I dare say it's on the floor back there. Had you seen it lately?"

"Only this morning. I can't understand about the box. The wind must have blown it down, or something."

"I dare say." The boy smiled good-naturedly as he recalled the disordered room.

"I'll hop right back and look for it." He was away like a flash.

It was with a very dejected air that he returned. Marian could not tell whether it was genuine or feigned. Had he been in such haste to secure the letter that he had taken it at once from the box? Was all his later action mere stage-play?

"No," he said, bringing forth a forlorn smile, "I couldn't find it.

It's not there."

That evening, after a supper served on a small tip-down table in the wireless cabin, after the boy had gone to his bunk below, and Lucile had fallen asleep, Marian lay awake a long time puzzling over the mysteries of the past and the problems of the future. Where had the blue envelope disappeared to? Did the boy have it? She resolved to search the cabin on the beach for herself. She felt half-inclined to talk matters over frankly with him. There were mysteries which might be cleared up. She remembered with what astonis.h.i.+ng speed he had reached the cabin once he had sprung upon the sh.o.r.e. She remembered, too, how he had spoken of the disordered paint-box. She prided herself on neatness. And that paint-box, was it not her work-shop, her most prized possession? She longed to talk it over with him. But on the other hand, she could not bring herself to feel that her trust in him was fully warranted. She hated above all things to be "taken in." If she discussed all these things with him, and if, at the same time, the letter rested in his pocket, wouldn't she be taken in for fair?

Wouldn't she, though?

"No," she pressed her lips tight shut, "no, I won't."