Claude was not a hypocrite. He had begun to speak of the spiritual side of the enterprise with the special purpose of buttressing Cartier'sargument; but he was a devout Catholic, and his lips only echoed what was in his heart.
"Pontbriand," replied Roberval, "you plead like a holy father. We shall have to shave your head and give you a black robe. But there is something in what you say; though to propagate Christianity effectively in such a land would require enormous wealth."
"True, most noble Sieur," said Cartier hastily, "and if the forest and the stream do not yield sufficient we must dig it out of the earth."
"What mean you? Have you further information about the mineral wealth of the New World? The last you gave me was of little value. Your precious metal has proved to be less valuable than lead, and your diamonds but quartz. See," he said, rising, "how this acid affects your gold."
He took from a shelf a piece of metal which Cartier had sent to him.
"La Pommeraye," he said, "you will have to be a right hand for me, and uncork this vial."
A drop of the liquid was allowed to fall upon the metal, which at once became discoloured.
"No, no!" exclaimed Roberval. "You will have to try some other bait. I will not go to Canada hoping for gold."
"I do not wish to contradict you, Sieur, but test this lump;" and Cartier, as he spoke, handed him a nugget the size of an egg.
Nervously Roberval seized it. It stood the test.
"Where!" he exclaimed in an excited voice, "did you get this?"
"From Donnacona, of whom you have heard, and whom indeed you have seen for yourself."
"And where did Donnacona get it?"
"Far west of his home at Stadacona, and of Hochelaga, too."
"I must see him at once," said Roberval.
"That will be difficult, Sieur," replied Cartier. "He is in Heaven."
"Dead, is he? Well, what good will that nugget do us?" said Roberval, in disgust and disappointment. "We might search for centuries before we could find its mate."
"True, Sieur, but where one was found there are likely to be others. Besides, I have here something that may help us in our search."
As he spoke he unrolled a precious chart, scratched on birch bark with some rude weapon, such as a flint arrow-head.
"I got this from Donnacona five years ago, and I have kept it from the world till this moment, fearing that calamity might befall it."
He spread it on the table, and on one corner rested the tempting nugget.
It was a marvellous map; the map of an unknown world of wonders.
"I can swear to the truth of this part at least," said Cartier. "This is Hochelaga, and here are marked the difficult rapids above it. These five inland seas are without doubt in existence. Many Indians have told me of them; and see, Sieur, this one is incomplete. Donnacona told me that no Indian had ever reached its end; and yet there are tales among the Indians of richly-robed men of another race and colour who live beyond these vast western waters. I do not like to conjecture in so great an undertaking, but does it not seemprobable that we have at last before us the road to the East, and to the Kingdom of the Grand Khan?"
"Enough, enough, Cartier!" said Roberval, laughing. "You are too enthusiastic. What next will you have to offer? Already we have had furs, fish, timber, gold, silver, precious stones, and Indian souls. You must think I need great temptation to be lured into this enterprise. But what have we here, to the north of this ocean?"
"I am glad you have noticed that," replied Cartier. "Those rude marks are the mines. They are of great antiquity; and Donnacona, who had no idea of the value of the precious metals, spoke of the men of old who dug for metal such as we wore on our fingers, and about our necks. He had a fine scorn for such baubles; and, as if to impress us with their worthlessness, stood on the heights of Stadacona, and pointed with pride to the wigwams of his tribe clustering at the foot of the cliff: 'But,' he said, 'the men who wrought the metal are no more. Mighty oaks grow from the earth in which they toiled.'"
Roberval seemed scarcely to heed this long harangue. He gazed intently at the map, and did not raise his eyes till the voice of La Pommeraye, who had hitherto been silent, broke upon his ear.
"What Cartier has told you, Sieur, is true. I too have heard the same tales from very different sources. But, to my mind, Cartier and De Pontbriand, in advocating their expedition, have left out the most important consideration. Spain is already in the New World. Cortez has brought shiploads of gold from Mexico; Ponce de Leon,Garay, Vasquez de Ayllon, and Hernando de Soto have all brought home tales of treasure and wonder; and if France does not make haste she will find herself one of the least among European Powers. Besides, let us build up a nation in the New World, and we may have some more fighting. The rumours of war that flit up and down in France are mere woman's talk. My blade is rusting in the scabbard, and now that the Emperor and King Francis are complimenting each other like two schoolgirls, it is long likely to remain so. But in the New World there will be a glorious opportunity for a struggle with Spain. The Spaniard already claims the whole of America, and will fight for every inch of it. A strong man could found a mighty empire on the banks of the Hochelaga, and have all the fighting his heart could desire. I should like to be lieutenant to such a man."
"And you shall be," said De Roberval, firmly. "Gentlemen, I have decided. To-morrow I depart to hold an interview with King Francis. Meet me here in three weeks, and I will report my success. He owes me a heavy debt, and will, I have no doubt, fit out and man a fleet for us, and give me full power over Canada."
The three men rose. Cartier and De Pontbriand made their adieus and left the room; but before La Pommeraye could follow them, the touch of Roberval's hand on his shoulder arrested him. The door closed on the other two, and Roberval, without resuming his seat, remarked, in a not unkindly tone:
"You are a brave youth! I admire your courage, and shall be glad to have you join me in thisexpedition. But one thing I must have distinctly understood: This romantic attachment you fancy you have conceived for my niece—I must hear no more of it. You have seen her but once, and under circumstances which make it unlikely that you will ever meet her again. Your time will be fully occupied in preparations for our departure; as for her, I shall see that she leaves St Malo at once. Go, now, and prove yourself indeed a man of honour by attempting to see no more of her. I warn you, you will rue the day you cross my will."
The young soldier merely bowed in silence and left the room. As he stepped into the long hall he noticed two figures standing close to each other in the dim light at the farther end. They seemed to be engaged in close conversation. He recognised Claude, and his heart sank within him, for he thought the second figure was Marguerite. De Roberval was following close behind him, and, with a generous impulse to shield his friend, Charles placed his giant proportions immediately in front of the little nobleman. But when they reached the street door he was rejoiced to find Marie standing there, apparently bidding good-bye to Claude.
"Where is Marguerite?" said De Roberval sternly.
"In her room, Sieur."
"I thought I saw her here a moment ago."
"You must have mistaken me for her, Sieur," replied Marie, unhesitatingly, "as I but this moment left her."
"Strange," thought La Pommeraye, as the two young men left the house together, "that weshould both have made the same mistake; but doubtless we were both thinking of her. But that fair damsel in the hall is not the style of beauty by which I should have thought Claude would be attracted. However, so much the better for me. The coast is now clear, I hope."
"Claude," he said, after they had walked a little distance in silence, "I saw you as I came out into the hall. You seemed to be holding a very absorbing conversation with that fair lady—a friend of Mdlle de Roberval's, I conclude. May I be permitted to ask her name?"
Claude did not answer for a few moments, and La Pommeraye noticed that his face wore an expression of anxiety and doubt. At length he said:
"That is Mdlle de Vignan—the Sieur de Roberval's ward. She lives with him, and is the constant companion of his niece."
"Marie de Vignan?" exclaimed Charles. "The daughter of Aubrey de Vignan who was killed in action five years ago?"
"The same."
"I would I had known it was she! Yet how could I recognise her?—I have not seen her since I held her in my arms, a mischievous little elf of five years old, when I used to be a constant visitor at her father's house. It was a second home to me—indeed, more of a home than I have ever known elsewhere, before or since. And that is my little friend and playmate! I congratulate you, Claude. If she has inherited anything of her father's nature and her mother's sweetness she will be indeed a jewel."
To his surprise Claude made no reply; and the two friends walked on in silence. La Pommeraye asked no more questions, and his friend was evidently not desirous of volunteering any further information. They shortly overtook Cartier, who was waiting for them, and the incident was forgotten for the present in the discussion of their plans for the proposed voyage.
Three weary weeks dragged themselves along. Cartier was all impatience for definite information about the King's attitude towards the Canadian expedition, while Charles and Claude were both eager, for reasons of their own, for the return of De Roberval's niece and his ward, whom he had taken to Fontainebleau with him. The three weeks lengthened into a fourth, the fourth into a fifth, and the adventurers were beginning to despair, when the faithful Jean appeared at the inn where Charles and his friend were lodged, bearing a note from his master.
De Roberval had returned, and success had crowned his efforts. The King had given him full power to make preparations—but they must come to him at once to receive instructions, and hear from his own lips the generosity of their noble monarch.
Eagerly the two young men hurried to tell Cartier the good news; and the three proceeded to Roberval's house, where they found him in high spirits. He had received more than he had asked. Anne de Montmorency had been with the King, and a friendship which had been begun at "The Field of the Cloth of Gold" had made himan ardent supporter of the little nobleman from Picardy.
The King was won to the glorious cause of extending French territory, and of winning souls. He bade Roberval return to St Malo, hurry on his preparations, collect his crews, and await his official commission, which would follow him as soon as the necessary legal proceedings could be gone through. In the meantime a letter signed by the King's own hand gave him all the power he needed.
"You are about to settle a new world for France," he had said to Roberval; "our right of colonisation is firmly established there, and the sword and the cross will make us strong. To keep you bold in arms, and firm in the faith, I present you with this sword which the saintly Bayard laid upon my shoulders with the words: 'He who has been crowned, consecrated, and anointed with oil sent down from Heaven, he who is the eldest son of the Church, is knight over all other knights'—and with this golden cross, which encases a fragment of the true cross—these dints on it are from Spanish blows; thrice did it save my life on the field of Pavia of unhappy memories—with this talisman you may hope to succeed in the great land of Norembega."
The three enthusiastic listeners congratulated him on his success, but without heeding them he went on: "That is not all. Hear the substance of this letter, signed with his royal hand. A fleet is to be fitted out at once; the governors of all the provinces are to aid in securing arms; and I"—the little nobleman seemed to grow several inches as he uttered the words—"I am created Lord ofNorembega, Viceroy and Lieutenant-General in Canada, Hochelaga, Saguenay, Newfoundland, Belle Isle, Carpunt, Labrador, the Great Bay, and Baccalaos."
As he rolled off this imposing list of titles La Pommeraye's sense of humour got the better of him. The rugged, uninviting land which he knew so well rose vividly before him; and the high-sounding terms which were heaped upon it in no way lessened its ruggedness. He turned to Roberval, and with a merry twinkle in his blue eye exclaimed: "King Francis is truly generous, most noble Sieur de Nor—you must pardon a soldier's tongue and memory; I shall have to shorten your titles—Sieur of the Universe; but there are difficulties in the way. I have sounded the fishermen and sailors of St Malo, and none seem willing to cross the stormy Atlantic as settlers. If we could lure them across for fish, or furs, or gold, it would be well; but all dread the fierce cold and the scurvy to which so many of their companions have already succumbed."
"It matters not," said Roberval; "I have full power to raise men, and the sturdy beggars—and, if all other resources fail, the denizens of our prisons—shall be forced on board my vessels."
"Sieur, that will be a dangerous experiment," interrupted Cartier. "I had three criminals with me on my last voyage, and they poisoned the minds of nearly every other man on the ship."
"You forget," said Roberval, "that I am commander in this expedition. An iron hand falls upon the man who disobeys my slightest wish. Criminals are but men; and they will find that noordinary turnkey watches over them. But why borrow troubles? Let us to work and build our ships, get the stores on board, and man them, and the other difficulties can then be faced. We have three ships now, Master Cartier. Set your carpenters to work on two others at once, and build them with particular reference to the Atlantic passage and the dangers from the ice. You had better consult with Jehan Alfonse. You are both skilled seamen, and what one overlooks the other will be sure to provide for."
He then proceeded to intrust to Claude the task of superintending the purchase of supplies. Enough provision would be needed for three hundred men for a year at least; and it would be necessary to see that everything could be hurried into St Malo at a moment's notice.
"And you, M. de la Pommeraye," he added, turning to Charles, "as you seem to have already taken it upon yourself to seek men for this expedition, have my authority to go into every vessel in the harbour, or in any harbour in France, and offer the men double their present wage; and if that will not induce them, go to the prisons and select such men as you think fit. You know a man when you see him; and this letter with the King's seal will open the prison gates before you. For myself, I must away to Picardy to set my estate in order. I shall return with all possible speed; meantime spare no efforts to hasten our preparations."
So the three men were dismissed, and as Claude and Charles were about to leave the house they looked stealthily round the hall. But no flutter of skirts nor any trace of woman's occupationrewarded them. Roberval noticed their glances, and as he bade them farewell he said, somewhat roughly: "St Malo is a dangerous place for women. I have left my niece at Court. If our great undertaking is to succeed, nothing must be allowed to distract our attention from our plans. No other cares must be allowed to interfere with our sole object in view—to increase the glory and renown of our beloved country."
The three men passed into the narrow streets, each absorbed in his own reflections. Cartier saw in imagination his name on the pages of history, next to that of Columbus. Claude had but one immediate end in view—to plan how he might extend his expeditions for supplies as far as Fontainebleau, while as for Charles, since the only way to reach Marguerite appeared to be by winning the good opinion of her uncle, he resolved, as a first step in that direction, to devote his whole energies to the task he had in hand.
Winter swiftly passed, spring lengthened to summer; summer was on the wane, and still the New World seemed no nearer. The ships were completed, and the empty hulls rode in the harbour of St Malo awaiting supplies and arms. But the money promised by the King was not forthcoming; and Cartier reluctantly prepared to spend another winter in old France. The prisons of St Malo were crowded to overflowing with criminals for the voyage; for only a few hardy adventurers had been secured by La Pommeraye. In August Roberval paid a flying visit to his fleet, inspected the vessels and men, and expressed himself strongly on the slowness of the King inkeeping his promise. It would be useless to start for America during the autumn months; so he made up his mind to pay a second visit to Fontainebleau, see what could be done in view of the following spring, and take his niece and ward back to Picardy with him for the winter.
While he was in St Malo his steps were dogged, unknown to him, by a swarthy young mariner who had been engaged for the voyage. He had a French name, but a Spanish face; and Cartier, meeting him one day in the street, exclaimed: "Pamphilo de Narvaez, or his ghost!"
"I have been twice mistaken for that Spaniard, whose name I never heard till I came to this place," said the young man. "My name is Narcisse Belleau. Narvaez' bones lie at the bottom of the Gulf of Mexico—at least so M. de la Pommeraye told me when he engaged me for this voyage."
"A most remarkable resemblance!" returned Cartier. "I would as soon have the Devil on boardLa Grande Hermineas De Narvaez. Be sure, young man, you join one of the other vessels. Belleau is your name, you say? A good name, but a Narvaez face!"
As he turned away the young Spaniard, for such he was, chuckled to himself: "A good name, indeed! And you and your fellows will rue the day you ever looked upon this face."
He was in very truth Pamphilo de Narvaez, a son of the famous sailor of that name, and had been sent as a spy from the Spanish Court to discover if the rumours of a mighty expedition being fitted out to occupy the New World—Spain's peculiar property—were true. Seeing that Roberval was the soul of the undertaking, he determined to bide his time, strike him down, and save Spain a bloody war in America. He learned that Roberval meant to visit Fontainebleau, and from there to set out with his niece for Picardy. A meeting on the road, with a few dare-devils to aid him, would end the expedition and win him honours and prosperity on his return to Spain.
So he planned; and when he had succeeded he would go to America and finish the work of exploration begun by his illustrious father.
In the meantime Claude and Charles, committing their stores and prisoners to the charge of Cartier, left St Malo, neither telling the other whither he was bound. By different roads, and almost simultaneously, they turned their horses' heads towards Paris; both hoping to meet Roberval and his party as they passed through that city on their way to their northern home. They reached their destination without encountering each other, took lodgings in adjoining streets, and, each unconscious of the other's presence, set out to make enquiries as to when the nobleman might be expected. Had they had long to wait they must have met; but one November day, very shortly after their arrival, a gay crowd of riders came galloping through the streets of the city. Their fluttering pennants, their nodding plumes, their gorgeous doublets and richly-ornamented cloaks, their finely damascened arms, studded with jewels, and their horses, as richly caparisoned as themselves, all told that they had come from the fashionable world of the Court at Fontainebleau.
Such was indeed the case; they had come to escort De Roberval and his household thus far on their northward way. The two young men learned where Roberval was to pass the night, and also that he intended to depart early the following morning, and each returned to his rooms, determined to be up with the lark in order to obtain at least a glimpse of the fair lady who had drawn him to Paris.
But Roberval was up before them; and armed from head to heel, and with a bodyguard of a few sturdy Picards, had already left the city. Claude was the first to reach the nobleman's headquarters, and, on learning of Roberval's departure only a few moments before, set spurs to his horse, hoping to overtake him before he could get clear of the walls. On arriving at the gate, however, he learned that the party had already passed through. There were three roads which would lead them to the ancient and renowned castle which frowned down upon the fruitful plains between the Bresle and the Somme. The nobleman had selected the longest route, but the safest in those troublous times. Claude paused for a few moments to consider this information. He, too, was fully armed, and wore a breastplate of steel beneath his riding cloak. His splendid figure, and the magnificent manner in which he sat his horse, caused some remark among the guards at the gate, of whom he made his enquiries. His resolution was soon taken. He decided to follow by the western and rougher road, which merged into the other at a distance of some miles. He would thus gain a point in advance of Roberval, after a few hours' hard riding,then he would at least have the satisfaction of forming one of the escort as far as the castle.
He set out accordingly; and scarcely was he out of sight when a second rider came up to the gates. When he found that he was too late even for a sight of his goddess, Charles had impulsively started in pursuit, though what he hoped to gain even if he did succeed in overtaking her, guarded as she was, he had no definite idea. The sentinel whom he questioned told him the direction Roberval had taken, and added the further information that a single horseman had but just ridden in hot haste after him, by a different route. A suspicion instantly flashed through Charles' mind, and the description of Claude furnished by the man left no doubt as to the rider's identity. Without stopping to consider the wisdom of his course—thinking only of Marguerite, whom he could not hope to see once she was behind those battlemented walls—Charles turned his horse, and galloped off by the third of the three roads mentioned. It was a shorter cut than either of the other two, but one which few travellers ever took, as every mile had witnessed some deed of violence from the bands of robbers who haunted it.
Roberval and his party made their way leisurely along the dusty road they had chosen, while the two young men rode with fevered haste along their less frequented paths. Towards noon the three were rapidly converging towards the same point, at which they would arrive almost simultaneously.
Claude, who was mounted on a swift charger, which had more than once carried him to victoryin a tournament, was the first to reach this point. Scanning the ground he noted that no cavalcade had as yet passed that way. As he sat his horse and waited, the measured galloping of hoofs coming towards Paris fell upon his ears. He did not wish to meet strangers, so withdrew into a thick grove at one side of the road. Scarcely was he concealed when half a dozen hard riders, well horsed and armed at every point, drew rein at the very spot where he had first checked his steed. They surveyed the road hurriedly, and at a word from their leader plunged into a thicket at the opposite side.
"There is trouble in store for some one," said Claude to himself. "If I am not much mistaken, the leader of that gang of cut-throats is none other than Narcisse Belleau, whom, despite his good French and vehement protestations, I believe to be a Spanish spy. And now to my dagger and sword; I may need them. I would La Pommeraye were only here to lend his eye and arm to the coming struggle."
Scarcely had he finished examining his weapons when a cloud of dust slowly advancing in the distance told him that a party of considerable size was on its way towards the ambuscade. He anxiously awaited their approach, and soon recognised Roberval's Picard escort, and the fluttering skirts of the women. If the men in ambush were waiting for them they were doomed, unless he could warn them. To pass from his hiding meant almost instant death, but it must be risked; so he began slowly to make his way towards the road, and was soon at the very edge of the grove. WhenDe Roberval was within a hundred yards he put spurs to his horse, which, seeming to scent danger, made a dash forward past the lurking-place of the assassins. The Spaniard and his comrades were so taken by surprise that for a moment they did not realise his intentions; but De Narvaez, with an oath, exclaimed: "It is De Pontbriand; shoot the dog down!" Their petronels rang out, but the clumsy weapons shot wide of the mark, and in a trice Claude was with his friends, who, alarmed by the firing, and the wild rush of the approaching rider, had come to a sudden standstill. Before they had time to question De Pontbriand the Spaniards were upon them, and with fierce shouts and drawn swords dashed into the group which now formed a protecting body about Marguerite, Marie, and Bastienne. There was a sudden checking of careering steeds, a clashing of weapons, a heavy falling of wounded men, and three of De Roberval's party and one of the foe lay in the dust. As De Narvaez shot past he placed his petronel against his breast and fired point blank at De Roberval, but quick-witted Bastienne, who saw his intention, struck her master's horse on the nose, and the animal, careering wildly, received the contents of the charge in the heart. The Spaniards rapidly returned to the attack. There were now but five of them opposed to the three Picards who remained with Claude and Roberval, and they expected an easy victory. Two of the Picards fell before their attack, and De Roberval himself was struck down by a fierce sabre blow which dinted his helmet. Claude found himself hard pressed by two of the ruffians at once. It must end in a moment.
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, andcarried 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 bearthe 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.
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 tobear 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 ofLa 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 Beaupré 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 hispurpose 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 DeRoberval'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 herat 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 hestood 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 boardL'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 aninstant. "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 goodopinion 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 asecond 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 believeit. 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 ofthe 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.
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 therisks 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, avery 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. Ifwe 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 havedone 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 menof 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 oldbonne; 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 freshwater. 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 thefleur-de-lisof 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 recognisedLa 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 asthe 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.