"Evangeline, sad-eyed with longing pain."

To Marie Gotro the last few weeks had been filled with events which would influence her whole existence. Every tendency of her life, every inherent impulse of her nature, every impression made upon her heart by the character of her growth and training, had been affected by something which gave new direction to her soul, and tinged her whole personality. An unknown force had developed in her life. Her existence gave her new lights and shadows and feelings as if she had entered suddenly into a new world. Hitherto no thought had ever come to her as to her future. Her young womanhood was yet pervaded with the glow and with the happy ease of an unrestrained childhood. She had lived under the influence of conditions which had made no especial demand upon her, and she had followed the direction of other wills than her own, and knew no force within herself which ruled her but for the moment. She loved her father, and lived in the life he had made for her, uninfluenced by the secret care and solicitude he often found troubling his soul for her future. She had not yet fully come out of childhood to indulge in dreams of fresh youth, or to feel the melancholy pinings of a more mature intellect and a more highly developed physical being. Of late a slight melancholy had come upon her at times, the inheritance of all her race, and the natural tendency of a nature such as hers. Yet there was nothing defined in her feelings. An exquisite emotion during such periods, without any play of intellect, gave her a vague and yet powerful feeling beyond expression in words, and potent in its influence upon her. Unknown to herself, these forces of her young soul were at the sanction of her heart and eyes ready to fix themselves upon some object which all her nature could not resist, and which henceforth would make the purpose which was lacking and which would mould her whole life. This purpose was now outlined in her soul. The strong light of desire had come to her, and gave a different value to life, and made a hope which thrilled with expectation, and created a future as if a new existence had suddenly been realized. In an object outside herself were centred all the forces of her being. She realized herself no longer as the individuality of a few days previous. She reached out to something beyond her, and at the same time out of her reach, with all the passion her heart was capable of, suddenly strengthened into the full maturity of womanhood and conscious of the whole and single desire of her life.

Unfortunately for Marie, she was not made happy by the sudden birth of love. Her nature's rapid development she was not prepared for. She found herself with feelings that were new to her. The pain was as unfamiliar as the love that caused it. She was, however, all youth, ready to be moulded, easy of influence, immature in experiences, and in the peculiar strength of her life capable of much suffering and of much happiness. The change of her life came quickly. There was no doubt of its reality, there was no hesitation in meeting it or resistance on her part to the influence that ruled her. She loved with all the strength of her being.

With her love, Marie came to the realization of a great helplessness. Greater than all the dreams and hopes are the doubts of young love. In her self-abasement she made a house of grief for herself. In silence and in secret she dwelt with her new life. Neither her father nor old Suzanne knew of the change in her life.

The presence of Winslow at Bluff Castle placed no restraint upon the members of the household, for his quiet and natural manner and unconventional mode of life soon made him intimate with Suzanne as well as with Pierre. Marie laughed less than was her wont. Pierre and Winslow were thrown more and more into each other's society as the days passed and as the young man found his strength again. The old Acadian woman was more occupied with the duties of the house. Marie wandered alone much of the time, sometimes on the beach about the island, or watched from the summit the passing of the ships coming and going with the tide. The change in Marie did not arouse attention. She seldom addressed Winslow, and at those times with a modesty and color of cheek which left on his mind the impression that Marie was extremely shy and without experience. Yet at times he saw in her eyes a depth of expression and warmth of color which left him uncertain as to what meaning they conveyed.

Pierre and Winslow in their conversation talked of the Acadians often. One evening their conversation turned to Longfellow, who had never seen Nova Scotia, and yet in his poem, "Evangeline," has described Grand-PrÉ so accurately. Winslow quoted some lines and was suddenly attracted by the pensive face of Marie, who, lost in thought, was following the words, her large brown eyes fixed upon him.

"It is a beautiful poem," continued Winslow, "and a sad story. What theory do you hold in regard to the origin of the story? I have known that it is a common belief that it came to Longfellow through Hawthorne, who got it from a priest. Longfellow asked the novelist for the privilege of using the story for a poem, as he did not care to make anything of it. The priest got the story from a relative of the historian Haliburton, who knew many of the returned Acadians."

"The story of a young Acadian woman," said Pierre, "who was sent away on one ship and her husband on another, and of their having wandered over the country in search of each other for years, was told among our people in the early part of this century. It was only one of the many sad tales they made current, and many homes to-day preserve traditions of the sufferings of their forefathers in those awful days."

"Then there was a kernel of fact about which the incidents of the poem, 'Evangeline,' were formed."

"The name 'Evangeline' was chosen by Longfellow in preference to 'Celestine' and 'Gabrielle.'"

"The privilege of the poet for the purpose of the poem," smiled Winslow. "It might just as well have been 'Marie,'" looking at the young woman as he spoke.

"That was indeed her name," Pierre added. "Marie Landry and Jacque Hebert. The story has been told to many generations of Acadians."

Marie blushed violently, and dropped her eyes, which until then had been fixed upon him and Pierre in turn, oblivious of herself till addressed.

"Your daughter much resembles that famous picture of Evangeline by an English painter, Thomas Faed. Indeed, I believe that the picture, while very beautiful in the suggestion of strength of character and of a high type of loving womanhood, is but the idealization of your Acadian women."

Pierre did not reply to this, but looked at his daughter intently for some time. He probably saw in her some resemblance to his dead wife.

In the silence that followed Winslow still looked at the young woman, studying her face and much struck with the wonderful beauty of it. His thoughts drifted on under the influence of her young, fresh loveliness, and he experienced an undefined and pleasant sense of something swaying him for the moment.

So, while Winslow was recovering the use of his shoulder and arm, the old man was his frequent companion, and they were being drawn into closer relationship. It was as if the house of Pierre had found a son. But in finding the son the young life of the daughter was lost, and in its place was the new life of the woman, with her days made up of the feelings and impulses, the doubts and desires of the heart.

Another fact in the changed conditions of her life was her sudden aversion to Len Lawson. Previous to the coming of Winslow she had simply felt amused or annoyed at him, according to her humor or his behaviour. The young fellow had seen with what favor his employer had been received by the inhabitants of Bluff Castle. This fact drove him to acts of attention, more or less eager, which Marie did not like. He persisted often in appearing before her when she preferred to be alone. What she had formerly received with indifference or slight vexation she now saw with fear, and she felt a consciousness of herself which was new to her, so that she shunned Len in a way that aroused in him fits of anger and upbraidings.

When Winslow was not out in Len's boat examining the shores and studying the tides and their changes, Len was often at the island to accompany him on some excursion or to receive his instructions. Winslow knew of Len's attachment for Marie, and often had opportunity to observe them both. He noted particularly the effect his presence had upon her, and to free her from his rude attentions he often sent Len off upon long trips, or took him away for days when his strength finally permitted him to undergo the exertion. Often his errands did not seem to Len to have any other purpose than to rid Marie of him. As this feeling grew, his manner changed towards his employer. There was soon in his mind another cause for this change. He began to believe that Winslow's fancy for Marie had altered her treatment of himself. At last, he began to use Winslow's name in the manner of an accusation against the young woman, and the bitter tone he indulged in often brought a flash of anger to her eyes. In this way he became more and more offensive to her, and in the end her agitation overcame her anger when she thought that by some chance Winslow should learn that he was the cause, on the part of both Len and herself, of the present difficulty.

"Why will you not sail with me, Marie?" Len would sometimes ask her.

"You are in the employ of Mr. Winslow now," she would perhaps reply.

"If you think I should do so, I will tell him you want to go sailing. He will not refuse it."

"No, no! Don't ask him," Marie would exclaim; "it is not necessary."

"Then you will go?"

"Perhaps, some time," Marie would say, glad of a chance to escape.

After a few such scenes Len's anger would break forth, and she would abruptly leave him, while he would cry after her that she was afraid of Winslow.

It was really the case after awhile. Marie feared both Len and Winslow.

In this way Marie was driven to the extremity of disliking Len and avoiding him as much as she could possibly do so.

All this made it more difficult for her to assume an easy and natural manner in the presence of Winslow. The restraint it put upon her made it impossible for her to receive him into her daily life as she might otherwise have done. It also affected her position with regard to him, and left him without a true estimate of her character, attractive as she was in feature and in the charm of her fresh youth. He was to a certain extent influenced by the halo of romance surrounding her as the daughter of his venerable friend Pierre. He was, moreover, bound to her by the bond of duty voluntarily accepted, which he was anxious to perform. As yet no woman had entered his life. His studies had been his passion both from choice and favorable opportunity.

In this way the young love of Marie began for her self-appointed guardian and the friend of her father.