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long ramble through the woods, where they had gathered a profusion of wild flowers, Claude and Marguerite found the old servant stretched lifeless on the slope before the door of the hut. She had fallen forward on her face from her accustomed seat near the fire, and was quite dead. There were no marks of suffering upon her features; her end had seemingly been as peaceful as it was sudden, and her spirit had, doubtless, wandered back to the sunny slopes of the Somme, and the broad fields and blooming orchards of her beloved Picardy. They laid her body to rest beside Marie's, and the faithful old peasant and the daughter of a noble slept side by side--equal in death. The task completed, the two who were left wandered hand in hand in silence about their lonely island, while on every side the birds fluted joyously, and all Nature rejoiced in the beauty of the spring--unheeding the presence of death. As Claude gazed longingly over the wide, green waters, far off he noticed a tiny speck, which, at first, seemed like the top of an iceberg. Nearer it came, till it grew definite, and he saw, clearly outlined against the sky, a vessel under full sail, steering towards the straits of Belle Isle. It was the first ship they had seen, and they rushed to their fire, and heaped it high with loads of dry boughs until the flames shot into the air, and the smoke curled upwards in a mighty column, and then spread over the ocean. They hoped to see the vessel change her course and bear down upon their island. But their hopes were in vain. She kept steadily on her way, and before night fell she had vanished from their sight on the horizon. On the high poop of the ship La Pommeraye paced with rapid, nervous step. Land was in sight at last; he would soon be in the St Lawrence, and with Marguerite. So he thought; while they prayed that the unknown vessel might come a little nearer so that they might hail it. As the ship passed away, Claude, in his despair, called on God to curse the tyrant who had brought this suffering upon them; and, while he prayed far away in Charlesbourg Royal, Roberval, on the eve of departure, had six of his men stripped to the waist, lined up in the square, and flogged till the blood streamed down their backs. The next morning his ships were bearing away for the Old World, his hopes broken, and his heart within him more savage than ever. CHAPTER XIV After the awful disappointment Claude and Margue
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