ildered 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 oce