at at length reduced the windrows to a condition
of flavorless gray straw. Dugald McIntyre set his jaws grimly together,
took good hay from another meadow to mix with the ruined crop, and by a
discreet construction of his bundles succeeded in selling the whole lot
at a good price to his most gracious Majesty's government at Halifax.
This bold stroke seemed to daunt the Fates for a time, and while they
were recovering from their confusion affairs went bravely with Dugald.
When haying season came round again the weather kept favorable, and the
hay was all harvested in perfect shape. Dugald was much too prudent to
boast; but in his innermost heart he indulged a smile of triumph. That
night his barns and outbuildings were burned to the ground, and two fine
horses with them; and his house was saved hardly. This was too much even
for him. Refusing to play longer a losing game, he sold the "New Marsh"
at some sacrifice to a settler who laughed at superstition. This
sceptical philosopher, however, proved open to conviction. A twelvemonth
later he was ready almost to give the land away, and the "Eye of
Gluskap" with it. For a mere song the rich and smiling tract, carrying a
heavy crop just ready for the scythe, was purchased by a young New
Englander with an admirable instinct for business. This young man went
to Halifax and mortgaged the land and crop to their full value; and with
the cash he left to seek his fortune. Thus the "Eye of Gluskap," and the
Marsh with it, came into the possession of a widow of great wealth, on
whom the spell, it seemed, was of none effect. Her heirs were in
England, and it came to pass, in the course of a generation, that Grand
Pre knew not the owners of the fated Marsh, and could not tell what
troubles, if any, were falling upon the possessors of "The Star."
Nevertheless the star kept up its gleaming, a steady eye of violet under
the sunsets, a ray of icy pallor when the large moon neared her setting;
and at length it was discovered that the enchanted jewel had yet other
periods of manifestation. Belated wayfarers, on stormy December nights,
had caught the unearthly eye-beam when no other light could be seen in
earth or sky. When this took place the tide was always near about the
full, and beating hoarsely all along the outer dykes. Then would be
heard, between the pauses of the wind, the rattle of oars at the mouth
of the creek, and the creaking of ships' cordage, and anon the sound of
children cryin