I was beginning to feel as I used to do when I lost a comrade in a
blizzard down south, and (without a fact or a clue to guide me) sent a
score of men in a broad circle from the camp (like spokes in a wheel) to
find him or follow back on their tracks.
There were only four of us, but I mapped out our courses, where we were
to go, when we were to return, and what we were to do if any of us found
my lost one--take her to Sister's flat, which she gave the address of.
It was half-past eleven when we started on our search, and I dare say
our good old Father Dan, after his fruitless journeys, thought it a
hopeless quest. But I had found myself at last. My spirits which had
been down to zero had gone up with a bound. I had no ghost of an idea
that I had been called home from the 88th latitude for nothing. And I
had no fear that I had come too late.
Call it frenzy if you like--I don't much mind what people call it. But I
was as sure as I have ever been of anything in this life, or ever expect
to be, that the sufferings of my poor martyred darling were at an end,
and that within an hour I should be holding her in my arms.
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