essly crawled across the deck, and
concealed himself where he could overhear their every word.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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