imate 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 noisel