Unfortunately for Marie, she was not made happy by the sudden birth of love. Her nature's rapid development she was not prepared for. She found herself with feelings that were new to her. The pain was as unfamiliar as the love that caused it. She was, however, all youth, ready to be moulded, easy of influence, immature in experiences, and in the peculiar strength of her life capable of much suffering and of much happiness. The change of her life came quickly. There was no doubt of its reality, there was no hesitation in meeting it or resistance on her part to the influence that ruled her. She loved with all the strength of her being.
With her love, Marie came to the realization of a great helplessness. Greater than all the dreams and hopes are the doubts of young love. In her self-abasement she made a house of grief for herself. In silence and in secret she dwelt with her new life. Neither her father nor old Suzanne knew of the change in her life.
The presence of Winslow at Bluff Castle placed no restraint upon the members of the household, for his quiet and natural manner and unconventional mode of life soon made him intimate with Suzanne as well as with Pierre. Marie laughed less than was her wont. Pierre and Winslow were thrown more and more into each other's society as the days passed and as the young man found his strength again. The old Acadian woman was more occupied with the duties of the house. Marie wandered alone much of the time, sometimes on the beach about the island, or watched from the summit the passing of the ships coming and going with the tide. The change in Marie did not arouse attention. She seldom addressed Winslow, and at those times with a modesty and color of cheek which left on his mind the impression that Marie was extremely shy and without experience. Yet at times he saw in her eyes a depth of expression and warmth of color which left him uncertain as to what meaning they conveyed.
Pierre and Winslow in their conversation talked of the Acadians often. One evening their conversation turned to Longfellow, who had never seen Nova Scotia, and yet in his poem, "Evangeline," has described Grand-Pré so accurately. Winslow quoted some lines and was suddenly attracted by the pensive face of Marie, who, lost in thought, was following the words, her large brown eyes fixed upon him.
"Sat by some nameless grave
And thought that perhaps in its bosom he was already at rest,
And she longed to slumber beside him."
"It is a beautiful poem," continued Winslow, "and a sad story. What theory do you hold in regard to the origin of the story? I have known that it is a common belief that it came to Longfellow through Hawthorne, who got it from a priest. Longfellow asked the novelist for the privilege of using the story for a poem, as he did not care to make anything of it. The priest got the story from a relative of the historian Haliburton, who knew many of the returned Acadians."
"The story of a young Acadian woman," said Pierre, "who was sent away on one ship and her husband on another, and of their having wandered over the country in search of each other for years, was told among our people in the early part of this century. It was only one of the many sad tales they made current, and many homes to-day preserve traditions of the sufferings of their forefathers in those awful days."
"Then there was a kernel of fact about which the incidents of the poem, 'Evangeline,' were formed."
"The name 'Evangeline' was chosen by Longfellow in preference to 'Celestine' and 'Gabrielle.'"