Alaine drew herself up. “He is not, then, but he is no sailor, rather a husbandman. Lead the way. I follow.” She spoke with a haughty air, and the man started on ahead, but cast frequent glances over his shoulder to see if she were yet behind him. She came on with a light tread and stepped without hesitation into the little boat, which quickly took her out to the larger vessel anchored beyond. She was then helped on board and conducted to a cabin, seeing no one on her way but a few sailors lounging on deck.
“I will tell monsieur that you have arrived,” said her conductor, “and myself will assist him hither.” He then withdrew.
“It is strange,” thought Alaine, “that Pierre was not on deck to meet me. He is perhaps badly hurt; he is unfortunate, poor Pierre. Only for my father would I have consented to come. Why does he not arrive, that Pierre?” She grew impatient as the moments passed, and at last determined to go herself and seek her friend. She tried the door of the little room; it was fast. “Pierre! Pierre!” she called. There was no response. Overhead she could hear the tread of the sailors or the dragging of ropes across the deck. “Pierre! Pierre!” Outside the sea-gulls dipped their free wings in the dancing waves. She could see their white breasts as they swept past the open port-hole. “He cannot have forgotten me,” she murmured. “What does this mean?”
Suddenly she raised her hands above her head with a great cry. This was a plot, and who had designed it? She sank moaning to the floor, and sat there, her hands tightly clasped, till the glory of the golden sky paled to gray, then the soft twilight descended; night came on. The girl did not move except once in a while to ease her position. The sound of sailors singing, the shuffle of feet, the rattle of chains, the splash of the water against the sides of the vessel, these were what reached her ears strained to catch the least sound. Darkness had settled down, when, by the tossing of the ship and the increased movement overhead, she discovered that the vessel was moving. She started up with a great cry and then a fury of despair seized her. She beat on the door, shrieking, “Poltroons! Knaves! Thieves! Thieves! Is there no one here to listen? I go mad! I kill myself, you there, who will not rescue me!”
The door opened at last; a lantern swung before her; its rays flashed on the face of the man she feared; François Dupont stood before her. She gave one wild cry of fear and horror, but the next moment bravely faced him. “You!” she said, in such scorn that he made a step back. In a moment he drew nearer, and she saw his face wore its usual smile of assurance and audacity.
“It is I in truth, Mademoiselle Alaine. You remember I vowed that we should not be separated long. ‘Whither thou goest,’ I said. I am forced to travel, behold you are here to accompany me. Since you would not have come by invitation from me, I was obliged to consider myself the proxy of M. Boutillier, for all is fair in a case of this kind. I am not ungenerous, fair Alaine, as you will see; I give you the key to your cabin; you shall not be disturbed. I regret the voyage is not to your liking, but that is all I regret. I desire to take you to Canada with me as my wife. We have a good priest aboard who can unite us. You refuse?”
“I refuse,” Alaine replied, curtly, but with trembling lips.
“I feared that you would not accept me at once, nor even upon two or three urgings. We go to Canada, as I said; if by the time we reach that place you still consider my suit unfavorably, we can extend the voyage; we can go to France, to Rouen; there you have the opportunity of choosing between your cousin Étienne and myself. I am generous, yes? They would say, our friends there in our beloved France, how he has worked for the good of this obstinate little lady! How he has suffered, that poor François, that he might bring her back to her own, to those to whom she rightly belongs, the perverse little one! But they will forgive, yes, they will forgive; the good Father Bisset says so.”
“Father Bisset?” The words came in whispered surprise.
“The same; it is he of whom I spoke a moment ago. He is here. If you would like to see him, he awaits us. We will have a little supper together. Permit me to escort you, mademoiselle.” He held the lantern high and looked questioningly at the girl’s pale face. She refused his proffered hand, but mechanically walked with him to the larger cabin, where the kindly face of her old friend met her vision.