Remi Corveau. They told me he died
and was buried when the ships sailed away from Grand Pre.

"There comes a great ship heading for Long Island shoal. Cannot the
captain see how the waves break furiously before him? No ship will live
a moment that strikes the shoal to-night. She strikes! God have--No! she
sails straight through the breakers!--and not three feet of water on the
shoal!

"Two ships have reached the creek," continued Desbra, speaking more
rapidly. "How the violet light shines through their sails! How crowded
the decks are! All the faces are turned toward shore, with laughter and
with streaming eyes, and hands outstretched to the fields of Grand Pre.
I know the faces. There is Evangeline, and there is Jaques Le May,--but
why don't they drop anchor? They will ground if they come any nearer
shore! And in this sea--Merciful Heaven, they are on the dikes! They
strike--and the dike goes down before them! The great white waves throng
in behind them--the Marsh is buried--and the light goes out!"

The young man started back and put his hand to his eyes, as if awaking
from a dream. He caught the sound of his wife's sobbing, and, throwing
both arms about her, he stooped to kiss her hair, which gleamed in the
dark.

"What's the matter, darling?" he whispered, anxiously. "And what has
become of our fire?"

"Oh, Jack, you have frightened me so!" replied the girl. "You have been
dreaming or in a trance, and seeing dreadful things that I could not see
at all! I could see nothing but that hateful 'Eye,' which has been
shining as if all the fires of hell were in it. Come away! we will sell
the Marsh to-morrow at _any_ price!"

"But, dear," said Desbra, "the Star has gone out! There is not a sign of
it to be seen. All outside is black as Egypt. Look!"

Reluctantly the girl turned toward the window. She gave a little cry.
"That's just what you said a minute ago!" she exclaimed. "You said 'the
light goes out,' and then you came to yourself. I believe the dike is
washed away!"

"Well," said Desbra, "we'll see to-morrow." And they drew the curtains
and lit the lamps and stirred the fire to a blaze; and between the
shriekings of the wind they heard the roar of the breakers, trampling
the low and naked coast.

When morning broke over the Gaspereau hills, and men looked out of their
windows, every vestige of the dike that had inclosed the New Marsh was
gone. The site of the Marsh was much eaten away, and a bank of sand wa