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. PÈre Grand and PÈre 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 PÈre 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."

"SacrÉ 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 FranÇois, 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 PÈre 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, PÈre 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.