CHAPTER II.
DISAPPOINTMENT.
SOON after we left the shore, the captain, whom I had previously seen, appeared to recognize me. He came up and inquired if I was not the daughter of my mother, mentioning her name. I had long been taught and accustomed to deceive; and it may be supposed that in such a case I did not hesitate to deny the truth, hoping that I might avoid being known, and fearing to be defeated in my object. He, however, persisted that he knew me, and said that he must insist on my returning with him to Montreal, adding that I must not leave his boat to land at Quebec. I said but little to him, but intended to go on shore if possible, at the end of our journey — a thing I had no doubt I might effect.
When we reached Quebec, however, I found, to my chagrin, that the ladies' maid carefully locked the cabin door while I was in, after the ladies had left it, who were six or eight in number.
I said little, and made no attempts to resist the restriction put upon me, but secretly cherished the hope of being able, by watching an opportunity, to slip on shore at tea-time, and lose myself among the streets of the city. Although a total stranger to Quebec, I longed to be at liberty there, as I thought I could soon place myself among persons who would secure me from the Catholics, each of whom I now looked upon as an enemy.
But I soon found that my last hopes were blighted; the maid, having received, as I presumed, strict orders from the captain, kept me closely confined, so that escape was impossible. I was distressed, it is true, to find myself in this condition; but I had already become accustomed to disappointments, and therefore perhaps sunk less under this new one, than I might otherwise have done. When the hour for departure arrived, I
