The wedding was now decided upon without further delay, and one bright spring morning the ceremony took place in the little church that had been decorated with ferns and wild-flowers.
Under a bower of leafy branches and fragrant bloom the happy pair stood. Dozens of canoes lined the shore, and the wedding festivities were well underway. The low sobbing heard from the assembled tribe as Belle Marie stood at the altar by the side of the man of her choice told how much the darling of her tribe would be missed.
Scarce was the ceremony ended, and the two turned away from the altar, when with a cry that resounded far and near—a cry that pierced the hearts of all who heard it—and one that sent a thrill of terror to all, Marie threw herself before her husband, shielding him from view, but not before an arrow, sped with the sure aim that hatred and revenge could prompt, had found its resting place in her heart instead of his.
He caught her as she fell, clasped her close to him with a moan of agony, and in all a strong man’s anguish, called her every endearing name that love could bring to mind.
But she looked up at him with those eyes that had always contained such an unutterable love in their depths, and said slowly as the life-blood ebbed over altar steps and floor:—“I ...... saved ...... you. I ..... saw ..... it ...... coming. My ...... own ...... love.”
Returning east to Summerside, and passing Kensington, with its pretty, stone station-building, the quiet village of Bradalbane is reached. This makes a good centre from which to visit the districts of New London, Mill River, Stanley Bridge, Trout River, New Glasgow, Hunter River outlet and Rustico. This whole district is about as pleasant and picturesque as could well be imagined, and days spent in driving and walking will bring much enjoyment.
From New London harbor in the bay to the north the fishing boats may be seen putting out to sea:
“The wind is blowing freshly up from far-off ocean caves,
And sending sparkling kisses o’er the brows of virgin waves,