But the shots which had been fired attracted a traveller who was always eager for a fray. Just at the critical moment La Pommeraye's horse turned the bend in the road. His accustomed eye took in the state of affairs at once. His sword leaped from its sheath, and with an energy which he seldom needed to exert he braced himself for the struggle. He was upon Claude's assailants in an instant; one quick thrust and a burly Spaniard fell forward on his face. The weapon seemed scarcely to have touched the man, so quickly was it withdrawn; and with the same motion that drew it forth La Pommeraye sent it crashing through the helmet of the other ruffian. De Narvaez and his two companions saw that they were foiled, and, striking fiercely at Claude, who fell beneath their united blows, they turned to flee. But they had lost a second too much. That last blow was their ruin. Charles was upon them like a whirlwind. His sword flashed like a destroying sunbeam, and two others fell lifeless on the road, while their steeds galloped wildly away. De Narvaez turned to face his foe; and his dark face blanched beneath the fierce eye of the French giant. It was but a moment. Charles crossed swords with him; once, twice—and as if he had been saying "One, two three, die!" he plunged his blade through and through the body of the spy.

"Hot work, but glorious!" he exclaimed, as the Spaniard fell heavily in the dust. "Five in as many minutes. But I must look to my friends."

Bastienne was sitting with her master's head in her lap. Marie had taken off Claude's helmet and revealed a ghastly wound on the temple. Marguerite stood beside her horse, shading her eyes with her hand, her face tense and strained as she watched the issue of the combat. It was not till the victor, flushed but triumphant, his gay riding-suit covered with blood and dust, advanced, and doffing his hat almost to the ground bowed low before her, that she recognised La Pommeraye.

"Mademoiselle is uninjured, I trust?" said Charles.

The blood had mounted to her cheek as she saw in their preserver her rude assailant of nearly a year before, but she kept the quiet dignity of her manner. Drawing off one glove she held out her hand, saying as she did so:

"Monsieur, under God we owe you all our lives. But for your timely appearance, what would have become of three defenceless women when my uncle fell?"

The delicate fingers lay for a moment in La Pommeraye's mighty grasp, as he raised them reverently to his lips, hardly believing in his own good fortune. They were instantly withdrawn, however, and Marguerite hastened to her uncle's side.

De Roberval was only stunned, and might safely be left to Bastienne's skill. It was otherwise with Claude. The wound was a severe one, as Charles instantly recognised.

"Pardon me," he said to Marie, who, less self-controlled than Marguerite, had given way, once the crisis had passed, and was weeping hysterically, "pardon me, Mademoiselle, but I must lift him out of the heat and dust."

With tender hands he raised his comrade, and carried him into the shade. He was a skilled surgeon—taught by frequent experience—and with help from the women soon had the wound bandaged. In the meantime Roberval had recovered from his swoon, and was rubbing his eyes with amazement at the strange turn events had taken.

"How came you here?" exclaimed he to La Pommeraye.

"My evil genius prompted me to come to the aid of an ungrateful nobleman," replied Charles, laughingly. "But it was just as well for you that I did. However, it was a grand fight; and could I only have one like it every day in France, you would not get me to go to Canada. But I will not equivocate, Sieur," he added in a lower voice, drawing Roberval a little aside, "I came here, as no doubt did De Pontbriand, who was, I believe, in Paris yesterday, to accompany you on your way to Picardy. Why, you know best, but we cannot speak of it now."

De Roberval scowled, and then exclaimed with enthusiasm:

"You are a noble fellow! There were five against us when I fell, and now your bloody sword tells a heroic tale. But here, Etienne," and he turned to his only surviving retainer, who had stood all this time staring stupidly at La Pommeraye as if he had been a god suddenly descended from the sky, "look to the wounded, and you, Bastienne, help him. Are all my brave fellows dead? See what can be done, and then ride like the wind to the inn, five leagues ahead of us, and fetch men to bury the dead and bear the wounded home. But what is this? De Pontbriand wounded?"

Claude was still unconscious. He was borne to the inn on a rude litter of boughs, and there La Pommeraye watched and tended him till he was out of danger. But he was still too weak to be moved, and with the wretched accommodation and attendance which the inn afforded, his recovery bade fair to be slow. Seeing this, De Roberval had him removed to his castle, which was but a few leagues distant, and there Charles, who was not included in the invitation, was reluctantly obliged to leave his friend and return to St Malo alone. He would have been much more reluctant had not the tears which Marie had shed, as he imagined, over Claude's body, convinced him still more firmly that she was the object of his affection.

And so it happened that Claude spent a large part of the winter in Picardy, watched over and waited upon, as his strength slowly returned, by the fair hands of Marguerite de Roberval and her vivacious friend and companion, Marie de Vignan.



CHAPTER VI

Winter went swiftly, and towards the spring Claude's strength came slowly back to him. The physician who waited on him, however, ordered perfect rest during the summer months; and so, when news came that Cartier had his five ships all ready for sea, stored with provisions and fully manned, he had reluctantly to consent to remain behind in France. But he was not to remain alone. De Roberval could not go to make a permanent colonisation in America without abundant firearms, artillery, and munitions of war. But the gay life of the Court had exhausted the royal treasury, and for the moment it seemed as if all his preparations had been in vain. King Francis, however, was as eager to colonise the New World as was Roberval himself, and he despatched a messenger to St Malo, commanding Cartier to start with what preparations he had made, and promising to send Roberval shortly after with three ships fully equipped with powder to store a magazine, balls to last for years, and guns sufficient and strong enough to ably protect the destined colony.

De Roberval was not in St Malo when the news arrived, but La Pommeraye was, and the chance to bear the message to Picardy himself was too good to be lost.

On reaching the castle he found, to his great disappointment, that Marguerite had been for some time in Paris, while Claude had long before returned to his own home in Rouen. De Roberval was still there, however, completing his final preparations for departure. He went into a white rage at the news of the enforced delay; but there was no help for it. So he sent Charles back to tell Cartier to start at once, and to expect him in the autumn. In the meantime he was to plant seed, build his forts, and make ready platforms for heavy pieces and a well-protected powder magazine.

It so happened that Marie was still at the castle. Marguerite had gone to an aunt in Paris, and her friend was to join her with De Roberval as soon as the latter had finally wound up his affairs and arranged for the management of his estate.

During the few days which Charles spent in Picardy he was thrown a good deal with Mdlle. de Vignan, and with an almost boyish impulse he took her into his confidence, and told her his seemingly hopeless love for Marguerite. In his enthusiasm he scarcely noticed how little encouragement she gave him, or else he interpreted her silence as a favourable sign. But when he was gone, the large-hearted and impressionable girl stood looking after him till he and his horse were a mere speck in the distance, and then she went to her own room, shut herself up, and wept bitterly.

One week later Cartier was on his way to Hochelaga, and Charles, sunk in reverie, stood by his side on the deck of La Grande Hermine, and, with eyes fixed on the shores they were leaving, heard not a word that Cartier uttered. The New World had lost its charms for him. His soul would know no content till he was once more back in France, or at least till he was once more within reach of Marguerite de Roberval.

Through May and June the vessels swept across the ocean, and without mishap entered the Gulf of St Lawrence, and sailed up the broad river of Hochelaga. The explorers landed at Cap Rouge, and began to clear the forest, sow turnip seed, and build forts. When the work was well under way, leaving Vicomte de Beaupre in charge at Cap Rouge, Cartier and La Pommeraye went on a voyage of exploration into the interior of the country, hoping on their return to find De Roberval at the fort.

All this time De Roberval was busy rushing up and down France; but the King was slow in opening the nation's purse, and winter came without any preparations having been made to follow Cartier. Roberval chafed under the disappointment, but was powerless to do anything.

During the summer he had formed the sudden and surprising resolution of taking his niece and ward to Canada with him. The announcement of this plan occasioned a good deal of astonishment, but Roberval would listen to no remonstrances. Special accommodation would have to be arranged for them on board his ship, and they must learn to put up with hardships, and to accustom themselves to the life of colonists. It might be years before his return to France, and he had fully decided not to leave them behind. Whatever his purpose may really have been, he had evidently made up his mind, and was not to be turned aside from his determination. The girls themselves asked nothing better. Full of the spirit of youth and adventure, they looked forward with delight to the prospect of a share in an expedition on which the eyes and hopes of half France were centred, and eagerly they set about making their preparations for departure.

In the meantime, however, one day in the early part of November, De Roberval was surprised by a request from Claude de Pontbriand—now fully restored to health—for permission to pay his addresses to Marguerite. His rejection of the proposal was so prompt, and couched in such emphatic terms, that Claude was utterly taken aback. He was poor, and had hesitated long to declare his love, supposing that his poverty would naturally be an objection to him in Roberval's eyes; but in respect of birth and position he was fully Marguerite's equal, and now that she was about to accompany her uncle to Canada, where, in a new sphere of life, all would be placed upon a more equal footing, he had gained courage to offer himself as her suitor. But De Roberval not only refused to listen to him, but dismissed him in such haughty terms that the young man's pride rebelled, and he demanded an explanation. High words ensued, and a quarrel was only averted by Claude's diplomacy and presence of mind in recollecting that in the event of a duel his case would indeed be hopeless. But he was at a loss for an explanation of the rude reception with which his proposal had been met.

Marguerite, however, had a key to the enigma. She had heard from her old nurse how, years before, her uncle had been madly infatuated with Claude's mother, and how that noble lady had refused his hand, and had married instead the poor but handsome young Captain Maurice de Pontbriand. The bitter grudge which Roberval owed the name had seemingly come to life again at the idea of uniting one of his family with the son of his successful rival. His temper, too, was irritated by the protracted delay in getting his expedition under way, and by the many harassments with which he was forced to contend. The discovery that Claude had already won his niece's affections added fuel to the fire of his wrath, and he forbade all further interviews or communications between the lovers.

Marguerite had so long implicitly yielded to the strong will of her uncle—whom she revered as a father, having known no other—that she never thought of attempting disobedience. She wrote to Claude, who would have persuaded her to meet him by stealth, begging him to wait, even if she had to go to America without him. For, since this quarrel with De Roberval, it would be impossible for Claude to take passage in the same ship, but he could easily follow her. In the New World all the conditions of life would be changed, and, once there, they might hope to win her uncle's consent to their union.

Claude, though ill-content with this arrangement, saw nothing for it but to bide his time. He made no further effort to see Marguerite for the present, but kept a careful watch over De Roberval's movements, that he might know to a certainty when he intended to sail.

Winter came, and still the King did nothing. De Roberval was in Paris with his household, and Claude had taken up his quarters in the same city. At length tidings came which made De Roberval's heart bound with hope once more. The King had at last roused himself; nay, he had already purchased three ships—three noble vessels—and they even now lay in the harbour of La Rochelle, ready for Roberval to equip and man. This was late in February. All through March the nobleman superintended the storing of the powder, the loading of the guns, and the procuring of the crews. This last was no easy matter. But few of the hardy French sailors would venture on the voyage, and in despair Roberval was compelled to get together his crews and colonists almost entirely from the prisons.

Early in April everything was completed; and one bright morning the three vessels stole out through the surrounding islands, caught the last glimpse of the lantern tower, and sailed away for America. Marguerite and Marie, with the faithful Bastienne, stood on the deck of De Roberval's ship, gazing back at the shores of La Belle France. A cloud seemed to hang over their departure, and it had none of the joyous excitement they had anticipated. Marguerite was torn asunder between her love for Claude and her ideas of duty to her uncle. A message from De Pontbriand had assured her that he intended to join the expedition, and she supposed him to have managed to embark on one of the other ships; but her heart was heavy within her at the thought of her uncle's vengeance when he should find it out. She could not even be certain that he had embarked at all, and she was leaving France, perhaps for ever, without a farewell word from his lips.

Marie had her own inward perplexities. In the New World for which they were bound they would be certain to encounter La Pommeraye, and the secret she had so faithfully kept for him weighed heavily on her mind. She had several times been on the point of telling Marguerite, but for some reason or other she shrank from uttering his name. Her feelings towards him had undergone a change, which had the effect of making her shun all mention of the man whose praises had once been perpetually on her lips. She foresaw that nothing but unhappiness for herself could result from meeting him again, and yet she could not restrain a throb of the heart when his stalwart form and handsome features rose before her.

The two girls stood in silence, their eyes fixed on the fast-receding shore. Old Bastienne, beside them, was dissolved in tears. She would not have deserted her young mistress; but at her age to leave her native land and face the perils of a new and unknown country was a sore trial.

As the beloved shores faded into a blue haze on the horizon, a familiar step was heard on the deck approaching the mournful little group. Marguerite turned, with a sudden thrill at her heart, and beheld De Pontbriand.

Astonishment left her no words with which to greet him. Marie recovered herself first.

"M. de Pontbriand!" she exclaimed, "how did you get here?"

"Easily enough," replied Claude. "I simply came on board last night, and kept out of sight till this moment. Now that I am here, and we are so far from land, the Sieur de Roberval can hardly refuse me accommodation. I suppose he will scarcely go the length of throwing me overboard."

"You do not know my uncle, Claude," said Marguerite, anxiously. "I tremble for your first meeting with him. He is not used to being thwarted. Pray Heaven you and he may not quarrel any further. He is a dangerous man, if once his will is opposed."

Almost as she spoke De Roberval appeared on deck and at once came towards them. Then followed a stormy scene. Claude begged for an interview in De Roberval's private cabin. Alone with the indignant nobleman, he tried to calm his wrath, but explanations and persuasions were alike in vain. At last, anxious on Marguerite's account, and fearing lest her uncle might suspect her of complicity in a plot to secure his presence on board, and wreak his vengeance on her as well, Claude resolved on a compromise.

"Hear me, Sieur," he said firmly, in a voice which commanded attention. "I love your niece, as you know, and I would follow her though you took her to the end of the world. But for her sake, and to prove to you that she is innocent of all connivance at my being here, I will avoid her society for the rest of the voyage. It will be enough to see her at a distance, and to know that she is safe. You need fear no further intrusion from me, at all events until the New World is reached. I give you my word."

De Roberval's rage had so completely mastered him that speech seemed to have almost deserted him. His words came thickly.

"Go, sir," he said at last, pointing to the door, "and take heed how you break your promise. If you dare to address my niece as a lover again on this voyage, you die. And when we reach the New World I will take excellent care that you are sent about your business. Remember what I say. If I hear that you have disobeyed me I will, despite your noble blood, hang you to the yard-arm, as the first example of the fate which will surely overtake the man who dares to thwart a De Roberval."

With great difficulty Claude restrained himself under this insulting language, which nothing but his anxiety for Marguerite could have induced him to bear. He knew that De Roberval was quite capable of executing his threats; and he was sufficiently cool to reflect that if he provoked him farther Marguerite's position would be infinitely worse, while there was no hope that anything could be accomplished by force. He therefore compelled himself to bow in silence, and took his departure.

As he left the cabin, he noticed a sleek, shiftless-looking individual, with spy stamped on every line of his face, standing by the open gangway. He had a sickly-green complexion, and, as if to match its hue, he was clad in a shabby green jerkin, rough green cap, green doublet, and hose of the same colour. It was Michel Gaillon, the first criminal to die on Canadian soil. He had so far escaped the hand of the law, but was, even as he stood there, being hunted high and low for a brutal murder. He carried no rapier. Had he possessed such a weapon he would probably have feared to draw it lest he might injure himself; but as a poisoner he was without a peer in France. A crime had been brought home to him; he saw that it would cost him his neck; and he had contrived to stow himself away on board L'Heureux, and was now on his way to explain his presence to De Roberval, trusting to luck and his sharp wits to win his way into the good graces of that nobleman.

He had heard every word which had passed, and he saw at once that he would have a field for his diabolical machinations. Could Claude have seen the leer with which the ghastly apparition followed him as he passed, he would have shuddered with a sense of approaching danger. He did not look back, however, and the Man in Green, having requested an audience with De Roberval, was admitted to the cabin.

De Roberval's hand went to his sword as he beheld the extraordinary figure and sinister countenance of his visitor.

"Who are you, and what brings you here?" said he sternly. "You are not one of my crew."

"May it please you, most noble Sieur," said the man, bowing low, "I have come to offer my services as physician to your expedition. I am well versed in drugs, and with the knife no man in France is more skilful. I have restored life to the Duc d'Orleans, when the Court physician gave him up; and——"

"Enough!" said De Roberval, who had not removed his keen gaze from the man's face for an instant. "Enough! I have heard of you. You are Gaillon, the poisoner!"

The man leaped back trembling as he heard his own name.

"I knew you the instant my eyes fell upon you," pursued De Roberval. "You have come on board to escape the fate which awaits you in France. If I did my duty I should order you to be thrown overboard this moment."

The wretch stood cowering.

"Most noble Sieur," he faltered, "I have fled from France to lead a new life in a new world."

"Silence, liar!" thundered De Roberval. "You have fled from France to escape death for the murder of Paul d'Auban. You see I know your character. But it has occurred to me," he went on, with a grim smile, "that I shall need an executioner in my colony before many months, and you would probably answer my purpose. Go!" he added, his brow contracting with sudden anger, "leave my sight, and look that you do not attempt any of your schemes while you are on board this vessel. As long as you do as I command you, you need fear nothing; but disobey me, and I will wind a devil's cravat round your neck, and be doing God a service by sending you from His blessed earth."

The astonished criminal slunk from the room. As he ascended the gangway he reflected to himself that in leaving his pursuers in La Rochelle he seemed to have leaped from the frying-pan into the fire. But he saw his way clearly before him. He would in the meantime obey Roberval's lightest whim; and when an opportunity presented itself he would so ingratiate himself into the good opinion of the nobleman as to be made his confidant. He had unlimited confidence in his own powers, and an ambition which knew no bounds. Fate seemed to favour him. Already he had overheard an interview which had put him in possession of some of Roberval's most intimate affairs. He would bide his time, and wait for a chance to make use of his knowledge.

Some days passed without event. Claude kept carefully to the letter of his promise, and avoided as much as possible the society of the two girls. He shared the quarters of an old school-friend, Paul d'Auxhillon, and rarely went on deck when it was at all probable that the women would be there.

They had been steering westward over moderately calm seas for nearly a week, when, on a glorious moonlight night, the breeze stiffened, and the little vessel began to pitch on the rising waves. The cabin was close at all times, but at night Claude nearly always spent most of his time on deck. On this particular night he had no desire for sleep, and midnight found him still pacing to and fro, watching the glitter of the moonlight on the dancing waters.

Just about twelve o'clock Marguerite, oppressed by the close air between decks, and rendered dizzy by the slight pitching of the vessel, stole softly from her cabin, without disturbing Marie, and sought the open air. She had not been long on deck before she became aware of the presence of a man who was not one of the common sailors. For a moment she thought the motionless figure with its back towards her was her uncle; but a second glance told her it was De Pontbriand. She moved noiselessly towards him, as he stood gazing out on the broad moonlit expanse, his thoughts occupied with the bitter fate that held him so near his love, and yet so far apart from her, and, gently touching his shoulder, she breathed his name.

He turned: their lips met, and so great was the revulsion of feeling that for a few moments neither could speak. But they were standing where they might have been observed either by the helmsman or the man on the lookout, and Claude presently drew her to the shadow of the forecastle. Here they were sheltered from view, and could give themselves up to the rapture of being together once more. Neither noticed a dark figure crouched on the deck behind a spar not three feet away from them. It was Gaillon. He had seen Marguerite pass up the gangway, and knowing that Claude was on deck had followed, panther-like, to watch her movements. His quick intelligence at once divined that if a meeting between the lovers had been planned, they would probably seek the shadow afforded by the forecastle; and in the few moments when their attention was wholly absorbed in each other he had noiselessly crawled across the deck, and concealed himself where he could overhear their every word.

Very little was said, but not a syllable escaped him. Marguerite, for the first time, allowed Claude to say hard things about her uncle. But even yet she tried to find excuses for him.

"O Claude," she said, "he is mad! I have watched him day by day, and would not believe it. But his violent ambition, and the thwarting to which it has been subjected, have unhinged his mind. I am hoping that the active life he must necessarily lead in Canada will restore his reason. But mad he is now, and for my sake bear with him and humour him. He has been cruel to us, unkind to me, brutal to you, but he is not the uncle I once knew and loved. Surely his old nature will return when we are settled in our new home, and he will consent to our marriage."

Claude could not help thinking that there was small ground for encouragement, but he would not damp her sweet hopefulness. They talked a little longer in a more cheerful strain, each trying to raise the spirits of the other.

"Dear," said Claude, at last, "for your sake I will be patient and wait. But you must not stay here. The watch may discover us; and your good name would become a by-word in our new colony. Say good-night to me and go."

The two held each other in a long embrace, which made up for weeks of separation.

"If ever you should want me," said Claude, "you will find me here—every night—at this hour. But do not come again unless you need me. There are men on board who would delight in making trouble for us with your uncle. The snake-like eyes of that fellow Gaillon haunt me like a nightmare."

They separated. Marguerite returned to her cabin; and Claude, with a lighter heart, resumed his pacing of the deck, all unconscious that the eyes he had just described were watching him with a fiendish glitter which boded ill for his future.

At last he went below, and Gaillon crept out of the dark corner where he had lain crouched, afraid to stir for fear of attracting Claude's attention. As he emerged from his hiding-place, a hand was laid on his shoulder, and he found himself face to face with a young sailor from Picardy, Blaise Perron by name, an honest, kindly young fellow, who had noticed the black looks and skulking ways of the green-suited scoundrel, and had determined to keep an eye upon him.

"What are you doing here?" cried he, as he saw Gaillon crawl from behind the spar.

Gaillon replied with an oath, and an admonition to mind his own affairs, and let honest men alone.

"Honest men do not skulk in corners and watch other people's doings," replied the young fellow, who, however, had only just come on deck, and was ignorant of the scene between Claude and Marguerite. "Let me catch you plotting any villainy against the Sieur de Pontbriand, and I will throw you overboard first, and report afterwards."

Gaillon, seeing that his schemes were likely to be thwarted unless he exercised some caution, condescended to explain that he had fallen asleep in his corner, had only just awakened, and was on his way below to his berth. But as he descended the gangway he cast an evil look behind him on the young sailor at his post, and vowed that in his own time and way he would revenge himself upon him.



CHAPTER VII

Another week passed, and with the change of the moon, as the old sailors on board had prophesied, came also a change in the weather. The wind rose steadily, and before long the staunch craft was creaking and groaning as she climbed the ocean billows or slid swiftly down their steep sides. By the evening of the 24th the wind had increased to a gale. All the upper sails had been hauled down, and the lower ones doubly reefed; but still an occasional wave fell with a mighty crash on the deck, swirled along the sides, and gurgled through the lee scuppers.

At midnight Claude, true to his promise, went on deck. He had, of course, no expectation of seeing Marguerite, but he had not failed to keep his word, and be at the appointed spot each night.

The storm was raging when he reached the deck. There was no rain, but the sky was covered with flying clouds, through which the waning moon burst fitfully, only to be immediately swallowed up again. The hungry waves rolled high above the little vessel, and seemed as if they would overwhelm her; but she gallantly ploughed along, feeling her way like a thing of life across the trackless waste of waters.

A sailor passed Claude with a cheery "Good-night, Monsieur. A stormy night!"

As Claude returned his salute he recognised the young Picard, Blaise Perron, whom he knew well, and who had often performed slight services for him during his stay at De Roberval's castle. So great was the loneliness in which his life was plunged just now that he was grateful for the sound of a friendly voice, and returned the greeting with much heartiness, adding a kindly word or two as he passed.

He made his way with difficulty across the slippery deck. The cordage sang a wild song about him, the spray leaped stinging against his face, and the vessel groaned in every plank and spar.

In the shelter of the forecastle there was comparative quiet and safety. A figure wrapped in a cloak was standing in the deepest shadow, and moved towards him as he came up. He could hardly believe his senses. It was Marguerite!

"My love!" he exclaimed, folding her tenderly in his arms, and drawing her farther back into the shelter. "That you should be here, and in such a storm!"

As he spoke, a wave struck the vessel amidships, sent the spray in a shower over them, and fell with a great thud at their feet.

"That was a narrow escape," Claude went on. "Had we been a foot nearer the stern we should have been dashed against the bulwarks, and the whole ship would have known of our meeting here. But what has brought you out, my darling? Is anything wrong? I shudder when I think of the risks you must have run in getting here in this wind."

"The storm is glorious, Claude, and a little salt water will not hurt me. I could not stay below. You will think me foolish, but I had a dream about you—such a dreadful dream that I felt as if I must come to see that you were safe. I thought I saw you in the toils of a monstrous serpent. It had wound itself about you, and seemed to be crushing you in its folds. I tried to tear it off, but it seized you the closer; and as I stood back and gazed at it in horror it seemed to take the form and features of that wretched creature in green who follows my uncle about all day like a whipped cur."

"Sweetheart," said her lover, "it was a blessed dream, since it brought you to me. It gives me new life to see you. But I do not wonder that the sight of that fellow should give you nightmare. The first time I saw him I could not help christening him the sea-serpent. His baleful eye seems to be always upon me. If I should meet him to-night I should be tempted to send him back to the ocean depths from whence he looks as if he had but lately come."

"Dear, do not joke about him. I am not superstitious, but I fear that man, and would have you be on your guard against him. It was to warn you about him that I risked coming to you to-night."

She was much agitated, and Claude soothed and comforted her, wrapping her cloak about her to shield her from the storm, and reassuring her with promises and tender words.

While this scene was taking place on deck, a very different one was going on below, in Roberval's cabin. Gaillon, who must have been so constituted that he could do without sleep, had seen Marguerite leave her cabin and ascend the gangway. He knew that Claude had gone on deck, and there was no doubt that the lovers were together. Now was his chance. He stole to De Roberval's cabin, opened the door by some means best known to himself, and, entering, touched the sleeping nobleman on the shoulder.

Roberval was on his feet in an instant, and a dagger flashed at Gaillon's throat. The man was prepared, however, and backed quickly towards the door, where the light from the passage shone full upon his face. Roberval uttered an oath when he saw who it was.

"Dog of an assassin!" exclaimed he, "what brings you here?"

"If your most noble highness will let me speak," said Gaillon, cringing obsequiously, "I have important tidings which will not keep till morning. Your niece is not in her room."

"Villain!" roared De Roberval, "be careful what you say, or, by Heaven, I will run you through!"

"Your niece, most noble Sieur, has left her cabin, and is now on deck with her lover. They are in the habit of meeting thus at night. I would have warned you before, but dreaded to call down your anger on my own head. Even now I would have kept silence, but the honour of your house hangs in the balance."

Roberval appeared scarcely to hear the latter part of this speech. He had turned his back on Gaillon, and was rapidly donning some clothes. In two minutes he was fully dressed, and, turning hastily round, exclaimed: "Who is the lookout to-night?"

"Blaise Perron, the Picard, Sieur. He has seen them together beyond a doubt, and is now keeping watch for them against intruders."

This was a lie, but Gaillon did not stick at trifles.

"Get rid of him for me," said Roberval shortly. "I care not how."

Gaillon chuckled to himself as he followed his master up the gangway. His schemes were turning out successful beyond his wildest hopes.

"Let us steal along to windward, Sieur," he whispered. "They are on the lee side of the forecastle, and doubtless we shall come upon them in one another's arms."

The noise of the wind and waves drowned their footsteps, and they were able to approach unnoticed till they were within a few feet of the lovers. Claude had just succeeded in persuading Marguerite to go below and try to sleep. He had taken her in his arms at parting, and she clung to him with an earnestness born of her forebodings. It was thus that Roberval surprised them.

The first intimation they had of his presence was an oath which sounded suddenly out of the darkness. Claude leaped back and drew his rapier. De Roberval stood before him with drawn sword. Unable to stand by and witness a combat between her uncle and her lover, Marguerite threw herself between them.

"Consider, I beg of you, Monsieur," said Claude, hurriedly; "your niece's honour is at stake. If we attract the attention of the watch the fair name of a De Roberval will be for ever sullied."

Roberval lowered his weapon.

"You say truly," he remarked grimly, "though the suggestion comes a trifle late, methinks. I should dishonour my sword to draw it on a liar and a coward. Handcuffs and the hold will be a more fitting fate for such as you."

At these words even Claude's endurance gave way, and disregarding Marguerite's entreaties, he threw himself upon De Roberval. The scuffle attracted the watch, and several of the sailors came running up. In the darkness and confusion it was impossible to distinguish anything clearly, but Claude was soon overpowered, and De Roberval's voice made itself heard above the roar of the elements, calling for manacles. Gaillon appeared with them as if by magic; and before the crew had time to realise anything but the fact that their commander had been assaulted, Claude's wrists were chained together, and he was powerless. As Gaillon finished adjusting the handcuffs, the young Picard before mentioned, who was the only other person to grasp the situation, threw himself upon the spy, and clutched his throat. Almost as his fingers closed they relaxed their grip again, and he fell headlong on the deck. A few moments he writhed in agony, and when he was raised it was found that he was quite dead, though no mark of violence could be found upon him.

"It is a judgment of Heaven," said Gaillon, devoutly crossing himself.

"A judgment of Hell, rather, from whence you came," muttered De Roberval. "But you have done your work well. Heave the carrion overboard," added he, giving the young sailor's body a contemptuous kick. "And now to the hold with that villain. And you," turning, to his niece, "to your cabin with you. I shall have more to say to you to-morrow."

The whole scene had passed so quickly that before the bewildered girl had time to realise what had happened, she saw her lover being marched below in chains. She would have rushed after him, but her uncle's strong hand restrained her, and she was forced to watch him disappear without being able even to bid him farewell.

After this the days and weeks passed by, and Claude remained in his prison, with no companions save the rats which swarmed about him. His feet were fortunately free, or he might have been devoured. Already his body held the marks of their sharp and hungry teeth, where they had attacked him while he slept. He grew thin and pale from the close confinement and the wretched food which was brought to him three times a day by the hands of the villain Gaillon. His heart was bitter within him, and he had almost abandoned hope. But for the knowledge that the voyage must come to an end, and that some change must then take place in his circumstances, he would have given way to despair.

He was missed from the deck by those of the rough colonists who knew him by sight; but a rumour had gone about among the crew that he had insulted De Roberval's niece, and no one ventured to express pity for his fate. The few men of gentle blood on board knew, or suspected, the true version of the story, but regard for Marguerite's good name compelled them to keep silence.

While Claude was pining in his prison Marguerite's heart was growing hard within her. She could no longer bring herself to respect her uncle. She shed no tears, nor would she listen to words of sympathy from her friend Marie, or the old bonne; but her face grew pale and set, and a resolute expression formed itself about her mouth.

The sailors revered her as a saint; and when she appeared on deck the roughest man took off his cap as she passed, and hushed the profanity on his lips. Suspicions of the true state of the case were abroad, but no one dared to show sympathy with the prisoner. The men stood in great awe of De Roberval, and still more of the terrible Gaillon, who was daily advancing in favour with his master, whose devoted attendant he had now become.

Matters were still in this state, and De Roberval showed no signs of relenting, when, early in the month of June, the rugged shores of Newfoundland loomed up before the grateful eyes of the crew. It was not their destination, but at least it was land; and although there were still dangers to be passed, in those days it was the broad stretch of the ocean which tried the seamen's nerves. They hailed with joy the first glimpse of the New World after the terrible tedium of the voyage.

The three vessels soon swept through the narrow entrance, and the sailors were delighted to see before them seventeen fishing-boats riding safely in the harbour. De Roberval cast anchor, intending to stock his vessels with fish, and procure fresh water. But he had scarcely finished his preparations when a report ran through the ships that three other vessels were entering the harbour. He knew that the Spaniards had eyed with jealousy the expedition when it was being fitted out, and believed that the attack of Pamphilo de Narvaez upon him and his party had been intended to put an end to the venture. Thinking, therefore, that it might be an enemy who was approaching, he was about to order his men to their guns, when the leading vessel unfurled the broad white flag strewn with the fleur-de-lis of France. His men, at the welcome sight, sent up a wild shout of joy which sounded through the harbour, and was re-echoed from the fleet of fishermen. Whose could the ships be? Had King Francis repented of his generosity, and sent a fleet to recall him? That could hardly be. One vessel would have been sufficient for that purpose. While he debated in his mind the probable destination of the fleet, the leading vessel swung round, her sails dropped, and as the anchor rattled down into the dark waters De Roberval recognised La Grande Hermine. Cartier deserting his post? What could be the meaning of this?

While the attention of every one on board the vessel was thus diverted, and not a soul was left below to observe her actions, Marguerite resolved to put into execution a plan she had long ago formed. She had discovered a loose board in the flooring of her cabin, and with the aid of Bastienne and Marie she now succeeded in removing it. Their united efforts disclosed a hole large enough for her to pass through. A huge rat rushed out as the plank was removed, causing the other two women to shriek aloud. Marguerite shuddered as she looked into the black depths below, and thought of the horrors Claude must have endured all these weeks. Unhesitatingly she lowered herself down on the rough barrels, boxes, and bags, and began feeling her way in the darkness, calling softly on her lover's name. For some time there was no response, but as she reached a cleared space, the light from an opening in the deck above revealed Claude pacing restlessly to and fro in his narrow prison, his ears strained to catch the meaning of the sounds from above. She was by his side in an instant.

"Marguerite!"

He uttered but the one word, and stood gazing at her, but without touching her. Coming suddenly upon him out of the darkness he took her for a vision. But her arms were about his neck, and the warm pressure of her cheek against his convinced him of the reality of her presence. He could not take her in his manacled arms; but she kissed the fettered wrists, and wept to see the terrible difference the six weeks had wrought in his once stalwart form. The strong young soldier himself, to whom the sudden shock of joy had come so unexpectedly after his long and dreary solitude, could not keep back the tears. Their words were few and broken. Marguerite told him how she had found a way to reach him, and how the other two women were keeping guard above till her return; and he showed her the narrow space where he had walked up and down in the twilight all these weary days, and the hard pallet where he had slept. Her tears flowed afresh at the sight. But the increasing noise on the deck above, the sounds of heavy feet and of men shouting, recalled them to the present.

"Where are we, dearest?" said Claude. "We cannot have reached Charlesbourg Royal?"

"No, would to Heaven that we had! It is Newfoundland, and my uncle has anchored to procure fresh water. O Claude, I shudder to think what will become of us. My uncle is surely mad. His temper has become so ungovernable that scarce a man on board dares to address him. I have thought sometimes that that wretch Gaillon, who is constantly in attendance upon him, must be keeping him under the influence of some drug or charm which is surely sapping his intelligence. I tremble when he approaches, for I know not what fresh insult he may heap upon me."

Claude ground his teeth.

"If I were but free, and had the use of my hands for five minutes!" he muttered. "Why did I submit to him for so long? But hark! there is surely something of unusual importance going on overhead."

By this time a boat had put off from La Grande Hermine, and Cartier was seen to enter it. Roberval stood on the poop, watching his approach in silence. Just at this moment some one touched his arm. It was Gaillon.

"Pardon, Sieur," he murmured in the nobleman's ear, "but some one has obtained access to the prisoner in the hold. I fear lest he may be planning an escape."

Roberval swore a fearful oath.

"Here, Bruneau, Gachet!" he exclaimed to two of the roughest and most villainous-looking of the crew, "down into the hold with you, and fetch me hither the prisoner and whoever it is who is with him. They will look well from yonder yard-arm."

He followed the men down the gangway, and stood waiting between decks while they descended into Claude's prison. Before the lovers could separate, one of the ruffians had rudely seized Marguerite by the shoulder. Claude raised his manacled arms and dealt him a blow which sent him staggering, but was himself instantly overpowered and pinioned by the other man, Gachet. Bruneau, recovering himself, and stinging from the blow he had received, turned upon Marguerite, and grasping her arm roughly, shouted: "Up with you to the deck, you hussy!"

Roberval heard the words, and it dawned upon him for the first time that it was his niece who was below. He sprang forward in time to see her, white as death, shake the man off, and ascend the ladder alone. Beside himself with rage as he was, he could not forget that she was a woman, and a De Roberval. Giving orders that Claude should be kept in his prison, with frigid politeness he took her hand and conducted her to her cabin, where Marie and the old nurse, half frantic with fear at the sounds which reached them, were still watching beside the open space in the floor.

"So, Madame," said Roberval between his set teeth, and with a steely glitter in his eyes, "so this is the ingenious means by which you contrived to visit your paramour. We shall find a way to make both of you dearly repent your stolen interviews."

He was gone before either of the women could utter a word, and they heard his stern and imperious voice addressing the man who had so rudely assaulted his niece.

"You, Pierre Bruneau, villain and cut-throat dog, shall learn what it is to insult a De Roberval. To the yard-arm with him!" exclaimed he to the men who had gathered about the gangway. "Cartier shall see what sort of discipline we keep."

No one dared to disobey. Bruneau was hurried on deck, the noose was cast about his neck, and as Cartier drew near the vessel his astonished eyes were greeted by the sight of the struggling form of the burly villain as he swung aloft.

As Cartier came on board his first words were:

"The Sieur De Roberval gives me a ghastly welcome."

"Such a welcome," returned De Roberval, "as awaits all who disobey my orders or insult my name. Why have you left Charlesbourg Royal?"

"Before I answer that question, Monsieur, I must know whether your last remark has reference to my having left my post without your orders?"

"What you will," said De Roberval, haughtily.

"Then, Sieur, I reserve the right to refuse an answer. I am my own master on the high seas; and Jacques Cartier will brook insult from no man."

His hand sought his sword as he spoke, and De Roberval's weapon flashed from its sheath.

A quarrel was imminent; but Roberval's rage seemed to subside as suddenly as it had arisen.

"Put up your sword," he said sternly. "We are the leaders, and the death of one or both of us would mean ruin to the enterprise."

"So far as I am concerned, Sieur, it is ended already. I serve under no man, least of all under one who uses such terms as you have just applied to me. I am not hasty to quarrel, but, being in, I will come out honourably, or die."

"Admirably said," replied De Roberval, "and Canada needs just such a man as yourself. I was hasty in my speech; but I had no thought that you had disobeyed orders. I merely supposed you to have left Canada because my long delay had forced you to conclude that I had given up the enterprise. You were too quick to misinterpret me. But why have you left Charlesbourg?" enquired he, as Cartier somewhat reluctantly sheathed his sword.

"Because, Sieur, we could do no more there. The natives were unfriendly, and our ammunition was well-nigh exhausted. Our men were openly mutinous; and I could do naught with the cut-throats from the prisons, half of whom deserted, and have been adopted by wandering bands of Indians."

Whatever De Roberval may have felt on hearing this news, he gave no sign.

"Be not disheartened," he said. "I have arms in plenty, and ammunition enough to conquer all the savages on the continent. Return to your vessels, and get ready to sail back with us on the morrow. All will yet be well."

But Cartier had formed a quick resolve. He would not go back. He saw the wretched crew of criminals who lined the deck about him, and he knew that Roberval's enterprise must end in failure. He determined to gain time.

"Be it so, Sieur," he replied. "To-morrow we will be ready for the return voyage. But where is our old friend, De Pontbriand? Have you not brought him with you?"

"He is on board," replied De Roberval, in an unmoved voice, "but he has been ill, and in a high fever. Perfect quiet is ordered for him. I should be disobeying the physician's orders did I allow you to see him."

Something in the metallic ring of his voice gave Cartier a cold shiver of dread, a menace of impending evil. It would have been useless to enquire further, however, and he returned to his ship to consult with La Pommeraye, his second in command, and with his other officers.



CHAPTER VIII

La Pommeraye had been left in charge of La Grande Hermine while Cartier paid his visit to Roberval's ship. He anxiously awaited the news which Cartier brought, and his first enquiries naturally were for his friend, De Pontbriand.

"Ill, and in danger?" he exclaimed, when Cartier had repeated to him De Roberval's words. "I must go to him at once."

"Have I not just told you," said Cartier, "that no one can see him? De Roberval refused me that privilege, and think you that he will grant you permission? It is at the command of the leech, and doubtless there is need for his care. But we are ordered to return to Canada," added he, sharply.

"Never!" exclaimed Charles with energy. "The last year has taught us a lesson. No success can attend the efforts of France to plant a colony on the rugged shores of the Hochelaga."

"I fear me," said Cartier, "that there will be trouble if we refuse to go back. De Roberval would not hesitate to attempt force; and our men are so disheartened and weary after the hardships they have endured, that they will resist to the death any effort to compel them to return."

"Would it not be possible to return for a short time, and leave Charlesbourg before winter sets in? Another winter I will not spend in Canada—especially not with the scoundrels we have brought with us. And, if I mistake not, we shall have henceforth to contend with the Indians, who will now be aided by our wretched deserters."

"Were we once more on shore," returned Cartier, "it would be very hard to get away again. Roberval is a determined man, and he has full two hundred armed men on his ships. We should be outnumbered, and easily overpowered. If the colonists he has brought were of a better class than our own, there might be some hope of ultimate success; but the wretched crew who line his decks are of the lowest type. See, one of them swings from yonder yard even now! I fear the gallows we erected as a warning to our fellows will bear goodly and abundant fruit as soon as he becomes established in Canada. No, Charles, we must give him the slip under cover of darkness, and make away for France. I would not desert him if there were any chance of success; but with his following of lawless outcasts, even if he should succeed in forming a colony, it would be but a plague spot on the earth."

"But," interrupted La Pommeraye, "have you forgotten that De Pontbriand is lying ill on board that vessel? I cannot be so base as to desert my friend."

"I have thought of that also. But what good can you do by remaining? There is a physician on board, and priests, I believe. If he were to die you could do nothing by your presence; but he is young and strong, and will doubtless recover. I have a plan in my mind, besides, to save our friends and the honour of France. King Francis trusts me. He ventured on this enterprise to fill the depleted treasury of France, and to spread the blessed kingdom of Christ. I will convince him that the efforts to establish a colony on the Hochelaga will only be a drain on his resources, and that he might as well try to keep a Malouin from going to sea as attempt to lead the red man into the kingdom of Heaven. Pere Grand and Pere Boisseau will bear me out in what I say; and I will then ask for a ship to go to the New World and compel Roberval and his colonists to return, if they have not in the meantime ended the existence of the colony by cutting each others' throats. There will be no other way of getting Claude back again; and, once in France, we can put all our energies into more profitable voyages to the Indies; or you may find an outlet for your ardour in using your sword against England and Spain. Francis will not long be able to keep out of war."

"But to desert one's friend, and that friend ill and helpless! I cannot do it," said La Pommeraye.

"It is no desertion. You can do no good by going on board L'Heureux, and you may do much harm. In the present mood of De Roberval I fear the only way to prevent unnecessary bloodshed is to depart before he knows of our intention. Once safely in France, it will not be long before we are back in Canada to put an end to this foolish scheme of colonisation. To get permission to return, and a vessel to return in, I shall need your assistance."

"You are right, I suppose; but it goes hard with me to turn my back on Claude. And how shall I ever break the news of his illness to Mdlle. de Vignan?"

"Mdlle. de Vignan? I thought it was the black-eyed niece of that mad tyrant yonder."

"So did I, at first; but had you seen as much as I have, you would think otherwise. But that reminds me—I thought I saw women on board De Roberval's vessel when we hove to."

"Your eyes deceived you not. There was a sprinkling of them on the deck—miserable creatures, fitting mates for the hang-dogs who are to be the backbone of New France. There are some of them on all the vessels; they, too, have been recruited from the prisons. What a breed of sinners will spring up at Charlesbourg Royal if we allow this colony to take root!"

"Remember, then, I go on the understanding that we return as soon as we can get the King to recall the expedition. I shall not know a happy moment till I grasp Claude's hand once more."

If the truth must be owned, the prospect of seeing Marguerite so soon, and without the vigilant supervision of her uncle, considerably influenced La Pommeraye in consenting to the departure. Still he was loyal to his friend; and could any means have been devised of rescuing Claude from the fate that awaited him in the new colony, he would not have gone without making the attempt. But if their plan was to succeed, it must be put into effect immediately. A day's delay might be fatal.

Cartier sent for the captains of the other ships to come on board La Grande Hermine. On their arrival he pointed to the body which still swung from the yards of De Roberval's vessel, and told them what they might expect if they were to return.

They had had enough of Canada, and eagerly concurred in Cartier's plan of flight. They returned to their vessels, to make preparations to start at once on a signal from their leader.

Night dropped down upon the harbour; and in the calm June evening the sailors, jubilant at reaching a haven after the dangers of the broad Atlantic, began to sing some of the chansons of their Old World home. The fishermen in the boats caught up the song, and a glad chorus swelled out upon the still waters; but on Cartier's vessels there was silence. The crews had learned that Roberval had commanded their return, and they also knew that Cartier had no intention of obeying. Indeed, had he attempted to do so, so disgusted had they become with the dreary and toilsome life at Charlesbourg Royal, that they would undoubtedly have mutinied. Their determined faces peered through the gathering darkness. None went to rest that night. They knew that if a breeze sprang up Cartier meant to take advantage of it, and steal out of the harbour.

One singer after another grew weary, and towards midnight only a few intermittent notes broke the stillness. Soon all was silent as the grave, save for the occasional cry of some animal prowling in search of food upon the shore.

About one in the morning a gentle breeze swept across the water from the land. A silent signal passed between Cartier's vessels, and instantly dark forms moved hither and thither about their decks. No sound was heard, but preparations were being made to sail immediately. It was impossible to raise the anchors without alarming De Roberval; so the cables were quietly slipped, the sails were as quietly hoisted, and the three vessels swung round simultaneously, swept within a hundred yards of De Roberval's ship, and bore away for the harbour mouth. The lookout saw them, but, half asleep and deeming them part of the fishing fleet, said not a word.

In the meantime Marguerite, worn out with all she had undergone during the day, had fallen into an uneasy sleep, broken by troubled dreams. After the scene with her uncle, which had ended in the hanging of the ill-fated Bruneau, she had sent for her confessor, the good Pere Lebeau, the only priest on board L'Heureux. This good man, by using his influence with De Roberval, had gained admission to Claude's prison, and had repeatedly visited him, administering comfort and consolation, and encouraging him to wait with hope and patience for the end of the voyage. It so happened that he had left the ship in one of the boats which had put off to procure fresh water; and so was not present during the stormy scene in the hold, or the interview between Cartier and Roberval which followed. On his return, however, he received from the lips of Marguerite a full account of all that had taken place. He remained with her some time, consoling and reassuring her, and left her somewhat comforted by his promises to see De Roberval, and endeavour once more to convince him of the mistaken course he was pursuing.

After dark, Marguerite, with Mdlle. De Vignan and old Bastienne, stole on deck for a breath of fresh air, and to gaze with wistful eyes on Cartier's ships. The body of Bruneau still swung from the yards, a ghastly vision in the dim twilight. They shuddered as they saw it.

"But courage, Marguerite," whispered Marie. "Cartier is close at hand, and he and La Pommeraye will surely be able to influence your uncle. I feel certain that to-morrow will bring us better things."

"I hope so," said Marguerite sadly. "It is indeed time. If Charles de la Pommeraye learns the fate of his friend, he will not rest until he has freed Claude, I am certain. But my uncle will brook no opposition; and I fear there will be more blood shed before anything can be accomplished."

She sighed as she spoke; and after a little the three women returned to their narrow, cramped quarters below, where Marie, clasping her friend in her arms, tried to comfort her with hopes of what the morrow held in store. Just as they fell asleep, cheered a little in their loneliness by this gleam of hope, La Grande Hermine stole silently past in the darkness outside, and bore away for France.

When De Roberval came on deck the next morning he swept his eye about the harbour, but looked in vain for Cartier's ships.

"Send the lookouts of last night to me at once," shouted he to his sailing-master, Jehan Alfonse. "What watch did you take?" sternly enquired he of a young Malouin who stood trembling before him.

"From eight to twelve, Sieur."

"And saw you the vessels leaving the harbour?"

"No, Sieur; no vessel passed us while I was at my post."

"And I, Sieur," said a tanned old sailor who had explored every part of the then known world, "went on at four this morning, but not a mouse stirred after that time; and indeed they could not have escaped without my knowledge, for it has been broad day since that hour."

"I fear, Sieur," timidly said a young Picard from Roberval's estate, who had stood silent in the background, "that I am to blame for not alarming the ship, if blame there be on any one. I had scarce gone on my watch when the three vessels swept by us. So noiselessly did they go that I deemed them some sleepy fishermen on their way to the banks."

"Sacre Dieu!" shouted Roberval; "you have ruined us all! Did I give you the fate you deserve, I would hang you as high as I did Bruneau yesterday! Take him below," exclaimed he to the men who stood by, "and keep him in irons for the rest of the voyage."

"Be not too hard upon the young man, Sieur," interposed Jehan Alfonse, stepping forward; "he is a faithful sailor, and a true; and we have too few reliable men on board to turn those against us on whom we can depend."

"Silence!" roared De Roberval, now in a towering passion. "Have I asked for your advice? I know on what I can depend—my own will and yonder rope. Have a care lest you find your own head in it."

"Sieur," rejoined the sailing-master, with firmness, "you may insult me—you may hang me if you will—but I must speak. I warn you that if you pursue your present course the expedition will be ruined before we reach Charlesbourg Royal, if it is not already ruined. Your hasty words to Jacques Cartier yesterday have lost us the best seaman in the world, for he has doubtless set sail for France."

"You will find, at least," exclaimed De Roberval, who was by this time in a white heat, "that I am commander in my own ship. Leave the vessel at once. Board the Francois, and take with you this villain whose carelessness has ruined our fortunes. And stay. I will be generous. You are possessed by a mad idea that by going north you will find a way to China and the Indies. Go, then, and when you have finished your fool's errand return to Charlesbourg Royal, and prepare to obey my commands."

Jehan Alfonse's heart leaped with delight. He cared not for insults now; he was free, in command of a ship, and could follow out the cherished scheme of his life! He would find what Columbus had failed to discover—the long-sought north-west passage. This great polar current which swept down from the north must come from somewhere. He would follow the coast of Labrador. This mighty continent could not go on for ever; there must be a way round it, and his name would be handed down as its discoverer. He was not long in leaving L'Heureux, and before the day closed was out of sight on his northward journey.

De Roberval had a sinister motive in sending him away. He had spent a sleepless night. The evening before Pere Lebeau had had a long interview with him, and had pleaded the cause of Marguerite and her lover, assuring De Roberval of their innocence, and begging him to persist no longer in his cruel imprisonment of Claude. But De Roberval's insensate rage was only increased. He refused to listen to arguments, and ordered the priest from his presence. The good father, seeing that his efforts were only making the situation worse, was obliged to desist from his entreaties, and left the cabin with a heavy heart. During the whole night De Roberval lay awake, brooding over some means of avenging his insulted authority; and by morning he had decided that De Pontbriand should be made an example to the crew. The form of Bruneau kept swinging back and forth before his disordered mental vision, and as he gazed upon it he resolved that De Pontbriand's should take its place. At first, as the diabolical thought took shape, he recoiled from it. Hang a gentleman of France! But a madness seized him, and crushing down his better impulses he decided to put his resolve into execution, and teach all on board that the same fate awaited every man—be he noble or peasant—who disobeyed his will.

But he feared Jehan Alfonse. He knew the staunch and courageous sailing-master would oppose his action; and he determined to get rid of him. He smiled a grim smile as he saw his vessel fleetly winging her way out to the Atlantic. He dreaded Cartier, too; and had made up his mind to delay the execution until he had sent him on his way towards Charlesbourg Royal. Now, however, he could proceed with his scheme; both the obstacles had been removed, and nothing need prevent his carrying out his plan at once. But he feared lest Paul d'Auxhillon, and the one or two friends of Claude who had accompanied him, might oppose his design; and, accordingly, he consulted with Gaillon before putting it into execution.

That villain was delighted with the turn things were taking.

"You are acting wisely, noble Sieur," he said. "I have long felt that De Pontbriand there in the hold was the gravest menace to the success of our colony. Already I have discovered several plots for his release, and I have long known that only his death could bring us safety. But do not proceed with his execution till the morrow. To-night I will sound the faithful, and have them ready to strike down any one offering the least resistance. Would it not be well to have all on board witness this meting-out of justice?"

"All," exclaimed De Roberval. "Every soul, including his paramour. Leave me now, and have everything in readiness by the morning."

When the first grey of dawn was beginning to chase away the mists of the night the bell on L'Heureux began to toll out across the water. Its warning notes sent a thrill of expectancy through the ship. The majority of those on board knew the meaning of that solemn knell; and the rest, when, after the accustomed eight strokes which marked the end of the watch, the bell continued its measured clanging, were filled with a vague alarm of they knew not what. The fishermen in the harbour were roused by the sound, and the crews of the boats lined their rigging, prepared, after the ghastly spectacle which had greeted them on the arrival of L'Heureux, to behold some new example of De Roberval's discipline.

Soon every soul on board the vessel stood on the deck, with the exception of the three women, and De Roberval, noting their absence, went below himself, and roughly ordered them to dress and come above at once.

When all were assembled, De Roberval addressed them. His face was pale and set, and his eye glittered with a cold and cruel resolve.

"You have come," said he, "to see a crime receive its just punishment, and though shame has come upon my own kindred, my hand shall not relax. Bring the prisoner on deck."

As Gaillon and two of the crew departed to fetch Claude, Pere Lebeau, who had witnessed with horror the development of events, hastened to Roberval's side, and with his hand on his arm besought him to consider.

"Your niece is guiltless, Monsieur," he cried. "Will you bring dishonour on your name, and murder an innocent man without a trial?"

De Roberval shook him angrily off, and bade him interfere no further, or he should share Claude's fate.

"I care not for myself," said the intrepid priest. "I cannot stand by and witness a murder in cold blood. Is there no brave man in all this throng who will help me to resist this tyrant?"

Paul d'Auxhillon, and the one or two other gentlemen on board, who now for the first time realised what was about to happen, sprang forward with drawn swords, and were joined by a couple of Roberval's Picard retainers. For a moment it looked as if Claude's fate might be averted.

But Gaillon had done his work well. At a signal from De Roberval, the men who were drawn up on both sides of the deck rushed forward; the half-dozen volunteers were quickly overpowered, and after a short struggle were pinioned and rendered helpless.

Just at this moment Gaillon appeared with the prisoner. The sight of his pale face and unkempt hair, his worn, almost emaciated limbs, and bruised and swollen wrists, awakened a murmur of sympathy even among the lawless wretches who composed the crew.

Marguerite, who had stood like one in a dream while these events were taking place, realised for the first time, at the sight of her lover, what Roberval's intentions were. Her proud spirit, which had so nobly sustained her throughout the voyage, gave way at last, and she threw herself at her uncle's feet, beseeching him to have mercy.

Roberval vouchsafed her no answer, but, raising her with an iron grip, he bore her half-swooning to where Marie and Bastienne were cowering together at the side of the vessel.

"Do your duty," said he to Gaillon; "and if any man raises a word of protest he shall swing from the other end of the yard."

Gaillon needed no second bidding. The noose was swiftly thrown over Claude's neck; the rope was drawn tight, and the priest, on whom no man had ventured to lay a hand, stood holding the crucifix before his eyes, and murmuring the last offices of the Church. Just as the young man was about to be swung aloft, he turned with unflinching calmness to De Roberval, and with firm, unwavering tones said:

"The son of Louise d'Artignan curses you with his dying breath! May you perish miserably by your own murderous hand!"

De Roberval's whole expression changed on the instant from cold impassiveness to wild fury. He made one step forward as if he himself would have ended Claude's life with a blow, then paused—and held up his hand.

"Stay, Gaillon," he thundered. "Take the dog down! Send him back to his kennel! Your mother's cursed eyes have saved you!" he hissed at Claude. "I shall find another way to make you suffer."

He turned on his heel, and those nearest him heard him mutter "Louise d'Artignan!" under his breath. As the words left his lips he fell headlong on the deck, foaming at the mouth.

Gaillon sent his prisoner below, drew a phial from his pocket, and forced a few drops between the nobleman's tightly clenched teeth. Then he carried him to his berth, and remained by his side, watching and tending him alone; while on deck every man drew his breath more freely, and whispered words of astonishment passed from lip to lip.



CHAPTER IX

All that day and the following night L'Heureux and her consorts lay at anchor. Towards afternoon Roberval recovered sufficiently to issue commands, which Gaillon transmitted to the crew. So subdued were the men by the strange scenes they had witnessed, and so much in awe did they stand of Roberval and the terrible Gaillon, that there was none of the disorder which might naturally have been expected. Jehan Alfonse's place had been filled by an experienced and resolute seaman named Jacques Herbert, in whom Roberval had perfect confidence. Under his direction the men returned to their occupations; the prisoners of the morning were released; and soon no trace was visible of the extraordinary events which had taken place. Claude remained in the hold, and Marguerite was too ill to leave her cabin.

The next morning, when Roberval came on deck, a strong southerly wind was sweeping across the harbour. Herbert was at once ordered to get the vessel ready for sea. Crew and sailing-master were alike eager to leave the place which had been the scene of so many horrors, and willing hands soon had the sails unfurled, the anchor on the cat-head and the helm hard down, as the vessel swung round and sped away for the broad Atlantic.

"To the north," said De Roberval, as Herbert came to him to learn which direction he should take. "It is the shorter course, if the more dangerous. We will follow in the tracks of Jehan Alfonse. And I may want to touch at the barren lands of Labrador. Gold is ever found in regions of barrenness, and gold is needed for our colony."

Herbert was a rugged sailor, who thought more of a bit of salt beef and a bottle of brandy than of ingots of gold. Gold, to him, was only good for the spending; and what use it would be in the New World, where there was nothing to buy that could not be had for a few glass beads and a leaden trinket or two, was more than his intellect could conceive. He shrugged his shoulders at the nobleman's whim, as he deemed it, but answered a cheerful "Ay, ay, Monsieur." And as the vessels stood out past the headland, and on towards the white stretch of rolling waters, his trumpet voice rang out: "Starboard your helm! 'Tend to the sheets!"

In a moment the gallant craft was sweeping on her northward way, with her sails swelling before the following breeze, riding over the summits of the chasing waves. All night she sailed, and all through the following day, and still the rugged shores of Newfoundland stood on their left. On the third day a small, misty cloud appeared on the horizon ahead. At first, the seamen thought it was another ship, but one, more keen-sighted than the others, declared it was an island.

"An island?" said a hardy fisherman who had made many voyages to the New World for fish since Columbus discovered it, "then it must be the 'Isle of Demons.' I have been on the lookout for it. The air has for some hours been hot and stifling."

"Nonsense, Laurent! It is your imagination."

"Steer away from it," insisted the sailor. "Let us hug the main shore. I know the spot; no vessel ever sails near it. Several did in early times, but the demons pounced upon them, shattered their crafts on the rocks, and carried off the crews to their haunts."

Others had heard of it too, and a thrill of superstitious awe spread among the crew. As the distant land drew nearer, lips ever polluted with profanity, hearts black with crime, called on the saints to save and protect them; and even the sceptical Herbert, as he gazed on the dark rock crowned with curling mists, fancied with the rest that he could see weird, awful shapes hovering about the shore. The horror of the place seized him. He rushed to the helm, pressed it hard down, and endeavoured to give the dreaded island as wide a berth as possible.

At this moment Roberval appeared on the scene to enquire into the cause of the disturbance.

"What means this?" exclaimed he to Herbert.

"The Isle of Demons," muttered the now thoroughly alarmed sailor. "Can you not hear their fierce voices clamouring after us?"

"The Isle of Demons! What care I for all the demons in hell? Back to your course at once; we have lost too much time already."

"But, Monsieur," said the old fisherman who had first spoken, "they have been known to utterly destroy vessels and men e'er this. Guillaume de Noue dared to defy them, and attempted to sail close to the island, but e'er his ship could reach an anchorage, she sank without a warning, bearing the entire crew down with her, excepting Guillaume, who was borne aloft by the demons, and carried to their inland abodes."

"And who," replied De Roberval, sarcastically, "can vouch for the tale, seeing all the crew perished, and the brave captain was transported to the lower world? You will have to invent some better story, good Laurent."

"Pardon, Monsieur, but I can answer for its truth. I was with Guillaume, sailing the Belle Marie. We were following hard after him when his vessel went down like lead, and I saw with mine own eyes good Master Guillaume borne aloft by the devils. There was no mistaking him; his red hose and scarlet hat were the only ones on board his ship. I would have attempted to rescue him, but my crew, who also witnessed the sight, fell upon me, seized the helm, and rested nor day nor night till we were safely in the harbour of St Malo, and not a man of them could ever again be persuaded to enter a craft bound for the New World."

"Pish!" said Roberval, scornfully. "Port your helm, Herbert, and steer for that island. I am master on this expedition, and if there be any demons on the land they must pay homage to me. But methinks we shall find neither the red hose of your friend, nor the abode of any demons, but a few redskins who have been blown ashore here from Newfoundland, and dare not return."

"But, Sieur——" began the trembling Herbert.

"But not me," said De Roberval. "Port your helm, or I run you through!" and he threateningly drew his rapier. In an instant the course of the vessel was changed, and, to the consternation of the sailors, bore down upon the haunted island. The black waters grew blacker as they drew near, and each moment they expected to find their ship sinking beneath them. The lead was thrown, but no anchorage could be found; and it was not till they were within a couple of hundred yards of the shore that the welcome sound of the rattling chain and dropping anchor was heard.

The land was indeed uninviting. Barren, sterile, brown as an autumn field; grey cliffs rose on all sides, the tops of which could not be discerned, for a heavy fog hung upon them and revealed only the dark base. Gulls and terns flew screaming overhead, and swooped about the strange vessel which had dared invade the sacred precincts of their island. The great waves, rolling in on the iron-bound shore, kept up a continuous artillery, as the mighty boulders ground along the stony beach. Dull, hollow groans issued from the many caves which time had worn in the cliffs; and the hissing of the waters, the booming of the rocks, the perpetual bellow of the waves on the shore, and the wild shrieks of the birds, all made it seem to the terrified seamen that they had indeed reached the abode of the Prince of Evil.

But two men were in no way affected by the scene or the uproar—Michel Gaillon and De Roberval. The latter had formed a sudden determination. His niece and her companions must be punished. Kill them with his own hand he could not, and to put them out of the way, without making a public example of them, would be revenge without purpose; for the man, despite his mad barbarity, was convinced that he was working for great and noble ends. Now a glorious opportunity was given him to teach a salutary lesson. He would land the women on this desolate spot, giving them provisions for a year, and before that time he could return for them and bring them to his colony. This would surely establish his authority, and be a warning to all wrong-doers for the future.

He turned to Gaillon, who stood near him, smiling at the terrors of the crew.

"Get the boat ready, and order the women to prepare to land. I am going to give them a holiday on the island."

This was a project after Gaillon's own heart. He rubbed his hands with fiendish delight, and set about giving the necessary orders. A boat was soon lowered, and filled with provisions, clothing, and ammunition in plenty. Gaillon and two or three of the desperadoes whom he had completely under his control, pulled ashore and landed their cargo. Roberval himself superintended the selection from the ship's stores, and thrice did he order the boat to return, each time with as large a load as it could carry.

All this time the rest of the crew stood gaping with astonishment, unable to imagine what Roberval's intentions might be, but ready, at the slightest addition to their superstitious fears, to fly into open mutiny.

At last the boat returned from her third trip. Roberval, in the meantime, had ordered the women to get ready to go on shore, and they now came on deck, bewildered with surprise, and uncertain what fate might be in store for them. Roberval commanded them to enter the boat, which was now alongside. A murmur of dismay and sympathy went round the vessel, as the full horror of his project dawned upon the crew; but no man dared to interfere, save Pere Lebeau. Undaunted by his rebuff of a few days before, the priest stepped up to De Roberval, and fixing his eyes full upon him, he exclaimed:

"Sieur, beware what you do! What are your intentions towards these helpless women who have no other protector but yourself? You cannot be so lost to all sense of honour and chivalry as to abandon them to perish on this desolate shore! How can you expect the blessing of God upon this enterprise if you wilfully do this great wrong? Take care lest the Church should refuse to pardon you, and should cast from her fold the man who could be guilty of so monstrous a crime."

For a moment Roberval's gaze shifted under the scathing indignation of the priest, then, drawing him hastily aside, he muttered in an undertone:

"Spare your wrath, good Father; I but mean to teach them a lesson. I will return for them in good time—I swear it. It is but a necessary discipline that I would give them, so that they may learn to obey me for the future."

"They will die of terror!" said the priest. "You have heard the legends of the demons who haunt the island; and how do you know to what perils you are subjecting them from the savages, if not indeed from evil spirits?"

"There are no signs of habitation in the island," said De Roberval, impatiently. "My men have explored it thoroughly. No Indians have ever been there, and a good fright will do them no harm. Demons," he went on, raising his voice so that all could hear, "what care I for demons? Our blessed Lord cast seven of them forth out of Mary Magdalene, and methinks that this strumpet and her companions have each seventy times seven still in their disobedient bodies. But ashore they shall go. Plead not for them; your prayers will be in vain."

The priest would have spoken further, but Marguerite, who now understood her uncle's design, came forward with the courage and dignity which seldom failed her, and, with head erect and unwavering voice, said calmly:

"Distress yourself no longer on our account, good Father. I welcome with joy any fate which will deliver me from the tender mercies of a tyrant. This, then," and she turned her clear gaze upon her uncle, "is the father's care you show an orphan child? This is the protection you extend to that other fatherless and motherless girl so lately left in your charge? Can it be that a De Roberval has sunk to so ignoble a breach of honour and faith? I pray God," she went on more softly, "that He may drive out the evil spirit which has possessed you, and restore your noble and generous nature. You are no longer the uncle I once loved."

She ceased speaking, and quietly allowed herself to be lowered into the boat. Marie, weeping bitterly, followed her, and finally old Bastienne, filling the air with sobs and lamentations, was deposited beside her mistress. The men took up their oars, and waited the signal for departure.

Roberval was gloomily pacing the deck. His niece's words had gone home, and he was on the point of relenting. But he had already allowed his weakness to turn him once from his purpose, and to fail again, in sight of his assembled crew, was too great a humiliation to be thought of. He hardened his heart, and said sternly to Gaillon:

"See them safely landed; take care that they want for nothing, and return quickly. We must be out of this before darkness falls. The wind is rising, and I should not care to be caught on this shore should a storm come up."

The boat made a hurried final trip, and the three women were put off on the desolate beach. The oarsmen needed not Gaillon's words: "Back now, with might and main," to hasten them on their return journey. They pulled for dear life; and through the overhanging mist they seemed to see the shapes of the demons dancing weirdly down to seize their prey. Once back in the vessel the anchor was hurriedly raised, and all hands eagerly assisted in the work of getting under way once more.

But while this was taking place Roberval's heart had devised a yet more cruel vengeance.

"Bring the prisoner on deck," he exclaimed, "and let him see the results of his disobedience."

When Claude stood beside him on the high poop, he ordered him to look at the island, where the three women stood together on the beach. The long confinement in the semi-darkness of the hold had affected Claude's eyesight, and for a moment, as he gazed across the lines of the gleaming waves, he could see nothing. But just as the returning boat reached the ship's side, and the men hastily came on board, he caught sight of the group upon the shore.

"O just God!" he cried, "can this be permitted?"

"Thus," replied De Roberval, "a just God has made me the instrument to chastise vice. Behold, young man, the work of your hands!"

"Were my hands free," said De Pontbriand, fiercely, "I would become an instrument of God to rid the world of the basest liar and tyrant who ever served his master, the Devil."