It was not until spring that the _Marie_, for so the little craft was called, was ready for sea, fully manned once more. Just when the March showers were beginning to rejuvenate the earth she drew away from the town; and Cartier, who stood on the wall watching her go forth, wondered what the end would be. It could only be tragic. No company could live through two dreary winters on a lonely island without losing some of their number, and he doubted not that all were dead. He half regretted, as he watched his friend's sail drop down beneath the horizon, that he had not gone with him. But the three disappointments the New World had already given him made him dread its shores, and he shuddered as he thought of the gruesome tidings which must await La Pommeraye on that lonely northern isle. He shuddered, too, as he thought of De Roberval. Fate is sometimes slow-footed, but he felt certain that it must at last rush with unerring speed to the destruction of the man who had wrecked so many lives. La Pommeraye kept on every stitch of canvas his little ship would carry, and after four weeks' sailing, before a favouring breeze, the southern coast of Newfoundland was reached. So far, they had had no trying weather, and their hearts beat high with hope that their journey would end without mishap. They ran into the harbour of St John, replenished their almost empty water-casks, and then started on their final trip towards the Isle of Demons. But April is a treacherous month. It had been up to this time summer-like, with a hot sun and gentle southern breezes. Now the wind shifted to the north; the clouds crept across the sky leaden and low; a heavy snowfall descended upon them; and it seemed that winter was returning. Charles was only the more anxious to reach the island, and crowded on canvas. But the bending masts and crashing seas finally made him reef his sails, and his little ship for several days beat her difficult way northward. La Pommeraye himself spent most of his time in the crosstrees, keeping an anxious lookout for his destination. It seemed to him that he would never reach it; and the storm, which had increased instead of diminishing as the days went on, threatened to swamp his vessel. The sailing-master besought him to turn about and run for the harbour of St John. He saw that he would be compelled to do so; but before giving the command, he once more went aloft and scanned the broken, misty horizon. His keen eye soon discerned a dark spot, which appeared and disappeared as the _Marie_ rose and fell on the waves. Nearer it drew, and to his unutterable joy he saw a pillar of smoke rise from it, and, growing in volume, spread in a mighty cloud over the waters. "It is they! They live!" shouted La Pommeraye, and sliding down a backstay, seized his sailing-master's arm, and pointed to the hopeful signal.