d at the boats and at
the anchored ships beyond. A light of sudden intelligence flashed into
his feeble eyes. He turned half round and looked back upon the ruined
village, while his son and daughter paused respectfully.

"Hurry along there now," exclaimed one of the guards, impatiently; and
the Acadian couple, understanding the tone and gesture, pulled at their
father's arms to lead him into the boat. The old man's eyes flamed
wildly, and crying, "_J'ne veux pas! j'ne veux pas!_" he broke from them
and struggled back toward the dike. Instantly his son overtook him,
picked him up in his arms, and carried him, now sobbing feebly, down to
the boat, where he laid him on a pile of blankets. As the laden craft
moved slowly toward the ship the old man's complainings ceased. When
they went to hoist him over the ship's side they discovered that he was
dead.

And now the very last boatload was well-nigh ready to start. The parish
priest, who was staying behind to sail with the next and final ship, was
bidding his sad farewells. A young woman drew near the boat, but hardly
seemed to see the priest's kind face of greeting, so anxiously was she
fumbling in the depths of a small bag which she carried on her arm.

The bag was of yellow caribou-skin, worked by Indian fingers in
many-colored designs of dyed porcupine quills.

"What's the matter, Marie, my child?" inquired the priest, gently. "Hast
thou lost something more, besides thy country and thy father's house?"

As he spoke the girl, whose name was Marie Beaugrand, looked up with a
sigh of relief, and turned to him affectionately.

"I have found it, Father! _V'la!_" she exclaimed, holding up a gigantic
amethyst of marvellous brilliancy. "Pierrot gave it to me to keep for
him, you know," she added timidly, "because of the bad luck that goes
with it when a _man_ has it!"

This was no time to chide the girl for her belief in the superstition
which he knew was connected with the wondrous jewel. The priest merely
smiled and said: "Well, well, guard it carefully, my little one; and may
the Holy Saints enable it to mend the fortunes of thee and thy Pierrot!
Farewell; and God have thee ever in his keeping, my dear child!"

Hardly were the words well past his lips when the girl gave a scream of
dismay, and sprang forward down the slippery red incline. She had
dropped the amethyst, by some incomprehensible mischance. The priest
beheld the purple gleam as it flashed from between the