CHAPTER III.

"Il y a longtemps qui je t'aime,
Jamais je ne t'oublierai."

French Canadian Song.


It is a beautiful evening. The tide is rushing in over the crisp yellow
sands of the beach at Father Point. The sun is setting slowly, as if
loath to leave this part of the world, and, as he departs, touches with
his rays the gold and crimson tops of the maple and sumach trees, which
border the road leading into the churchyard of the Good St. Anne.

The clouds are scudding over the sky in great masses of copper color
and gold, parting every here and there, and showing glimpses of clear
translucent blue beyond.

And how quickly the whole panorama changes as the sun sinks to his bed in
the sea. Anon everything was golden and amethystine, like a foreshadowing
of the splendor of the New Jerusalem. A moment later and all is a deep
vivid crimson, flooding the scene with its rich radiance and casting into
shade even the tints of yon tall sumach tree in the prime of its early
autumn coloring. The old grey slate boulders on the beach are illumined
by it, and stand out in prominence from the yellow sands.

All is still to-night, save for the beating of the waves against the
rocks, or ever and anon the sound of a gun fired from the distant
light-house.