When both ships had been cruising nearly a year, the one was off the coast of Greenland and the other in Behring's Strait.

The blonde had long ago been well-nigh persuaded that her lawyer had been washed overboard and lost just before the whale ships reached the raft, and now, under the pleadings of her parents and the Duke she was at last beginning to nerve herself for the doom of the covenant, and prepare for the hated marriage.
But she would not yield a day before the date set.

The weeks dragged on, the time narrowed, orders were given to deck the ship for the wedding--a wedding at sea among icebergs and walruses.

Five days more and all would be over.

So the blonde reflected, with a sigh and a tear.