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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/14018-0.txt b/14018-0.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..24893a2 --- /dev/null +++ b/14018-0.txt @@ -0,0 +1,1992 @@ +*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14018 *** + +MARIE + +BY + +LAURA E. RICHARDS + + + +AUTHOR OF "CAPTAIN JANUARY," "MELODY," "QUEEN +HILDEGARDE," "NARCISSA," ETC. + + + + +1894 + + + + +TO + +E. T. T. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + CHAPTER + + I. MARIE + II. "D'ARTHENAY, TENEZ FOI!" + III. ABBY ROCK + IV. POSSESSION + V. COURTSHIP + VI. WEDLOCK + VII. LOOKING BACK + VIII. A FLOWER IN THE SNOW + IX. MADAME + X. DE ARTHENAY'S VIGIL + XI. VITA NUOVA + + + + +MARIE. + + +CHAPTER I. + +MARIE. + +Marie was tired. She had been walking nearly the whole day, and now +the sun was low in the west, and long level rays of yellow light were +spreading over the country, striking the windows of a farmhouse here +and there into sudden flame, or resting more softly on tree-tops and +hanging slopes. They were like fiddle-bows, Marie thought; and at the +thought she held closer something that she carried in her arms, and +murmured over it a little, as a mother coos over her baby. It seemed a +long time since she had run away from the _troupe_: she would forget +all about them soon, she thought, and their ugly faces. She shivered +slightly as she recalled the face of "Le Boss" as it was last bent upon +her, frowning and dark, and as ugly as a hundred devils, she was quite +sure. Ah, he would take away her violin--Le Boss! he would give it to +his own girl, whom she, Marie, had taught till she could play a very +little, enough to keep the birds from flying away when they saw her, as +they otherwise might; she was to have the violin, the Lady, one's own +heart and life, and Marie was to have a fiddle that he had picked up +anywhere, found on an ash-heap, most likely! Ah, and now he had lost +the Lady and Marie too, and who would play for him this evening, and +draw the children out of the houses? _he_! let some one tell Marie +that! It had not been hard, the running away, for no one would ever +have thought of Marie's daring to do such a thing. She belonged to Le +Boss, as much as the tent or the ponies, or his own ugly girl: so they +all thought in the _troupe_, and so Marie herself had thought till that +day; that is, she had not thought at all. While she could play all the +time, and had often quite enough to eat, and always something, a piece +of bread in the hand if no more,--and La Patronne, Le Boss's wife, +never too unkind, and sometimes even giving her a bit of ribbon for the +Lady's neck when there was to be a special performance,--why, who would +have thought of running away? she had been with them so long, those +others, and that time in France was so long ago,--hundreds of years ago! + +So no one had thought of noticing when she dropped behind to tune her +violin and practise by herself; it was a thing she did every day, they +all knew, for she could not practise when the children pulled her gown +all the time, and wanted to dance. She had chosen the place well, +having been on the lookout for it all day, ever since Le Boss told her +what he meant to do,--that infamy which the good God would never have +allowed, if He had not been perhaps tired with the many infamies of Le +Boss, and forgotten to notice this one. She had chosen the place well! +A little wood dipped down to the right, with a brook running beyond, +and across the brook a sudden sharp rise, crowned with a thick growth +of birches. She had played steadily as she passed through the wood and +over the stream, and only ceased when she gained the brow of the hill +and sprang like a deer down the opposite slope. No one had seen her +go, she was sure of that; and now they could never tell which way she +had turned, and would be far more likely to run back along the road. +How they would shout and scream, and how Le Boss would swear! Ah, no +more would he swear at Marie because people did not always give money, +being perhaps poor themselves, or unwilling to give to so ugly a face +as his girl's, who carried round the dish. No more! And La Patronne +would be sorry perhaps a little,--she had the good heart, La Patronne, +under all the fat,--and Old Billy, he would be too sorry, she was sure. +Poor Old Billy! it was cruel to leave him, when he had such joy of her +playing, the good old man, and a hard life taking care of the beasts, +and bearing all the blame if any of them died through hunger. But it +would have been sadder for Old Billy to see her die, Marie, and she +would have died, of course she would! To live without the Lady, a +pretty life that would be! far sooner would one go at once to the good +God, where the angels played all day, even if one were not allowed to +play oneself just at first. Afterward, of course, when they found out +how she had played down here, it would be otherwise. + +Meanwhile, all these thoughts did not keep Marie from being tired, and +hungry too; and she was glad enough to see some brown roofs clustered +together at a little distance, as she turned a corner of the road. A +village! good! Here would be children, without doubt; and where there +were children, Marie was among friends. She stopped for a moment, to +push back her hair, which had fallen down in the course of her night, +and to tie the blue handkerchief neatly over it, and shake the dust +from her bare feet. They were pretty feet, so brown and slender! She +had shoes, but they were in the wagon; La Patronne took care of all the +Sunday clothes, and there had been no chance to get at anything, even +if she could have been hampered by such things as shoes, with the Lady +to carry. It did not in the least matter about shoes, when it was +summer: when the road was hot, one walked in the cool grass at the +side; when there was no grass--eh, one waited till one came to some. +They were only for state, these shoes. They were stiff and hard, and +the heel-places hurt: it was different for La Patronne, who wore +stockings under hers. But here were the houses, and it was time to +play. They were pleasant-looking houses, Marie thought, they looked as +if persons lived in them who stayed at home and spun, as the women did +in Brittany. Ah, that it was far away, Brittany! she had almost +forgotten it, and now it all seemed to come back to her, as she gazed +about her at the houses, some white, some brown, all with an air of +thrift and comfort, as becomes a New England village. That white house +there, with the bright green blinds! That pleased her eye. And see! +there was a child's toy lying on the step, a child's face peeping out +of the window. Decidedly, she had arrived. + +Marie took out her violin, and tuned it softly, with little rustling, +whispering notes, speaking of perfect accord between owner and +instrument; then she looked up at the child and smiled, and began to +play "En revenant d'Auvergne." It was a tune that the little people +always loved, and when one heard it, the feet began to dance before the +head. Sure enough, the door opened in another moment, and the child +came slipping out: not with flying steps, as a city child would come, +to whom wandering musicians were a thing of every day; but shyly, with +sidelong movements, clinging to the wall as it advanced, and only +daring by stealth to lift its eyes to the strange woman with the +fiddle, a sight never seen before in its little life. But Marie knew +all about the things that children think. What was she but a child +herself? she had little knowledge of grown persons, and regarded them +all as ogres, more or less, except Old Billy, and La Patronne, who +really meant to be kind. + +"Come, lit' girl!" she said in her clear soft voice. "Come and dance! +for you I play, for you I sing too, if you will. Ah, the pretty song, +'En revenant d'Auvergne!'" And she began to sing as she played: + + "Eh, gai, Coco! + Eh, gai, Coco! + Eh, venez voir la danse + Du petit marmot! + Eh, venez voir la danse + Du petit marmot!" + +The little girl pressed closer against the wall, her eyes wide open, +her finger in her mouth, yet came nearer and nearer, drawn by the smile +as well as the music. Presently another came running up, and another; +then the boys, who had just brought their cows home and were playing +marbles on the sly, behind the brown barn, heard the sound of the +fiddle and came running, stuffing their gains into their pockets as +they ran. Then Mrs. Piper, who was always foolish about music, her +neighbors said, came to her door, and Mrs. Post opposite, who was as +deaf as her namesake, came to see what Susan Piper was after, loitering +round the door when the men-folks were coming in to their supper: and +so with one thing and another, Marie had quite a little crowd around +her, and was feeling happy and pleased, and sure that when she stopped +playing and carried round her handkerchief knotted at the four corners +so as to form a bag, the pennies would drop into it as fast, yes, and +maybe a good deal faster, than if Le Boss's ugly daughter was carrying +it, with her nose turned up and one eye looking round the corner to see +where her hair was gone to. Ah, Le Boss, what was he doing this +evening for his music, with no Marie and no Lady! + +And it was just at this triumphant moment that Jacques De Arthenay came +round the corner and into the village street. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +"D'ARTHENAY, TENEZ FOI!" + +There had been De Arthenays in the village ever since it became a +village: never many of them, one or two at most in a generation; not a +prolific stock, but a hardy and persistent one. No one knew when the +name had dropped its soft French sound, and taken the harsh Anglo-Saxon +accent. It had been so with all the old French names, the +L'Homme-Dieus and Des Isles and Beaulieus; the air, or the granite, or +one knows not what, caused an ossification of the consonants, a drying +up of the vowels, till these names, once soft and melodious, became +more angular, more rasping in utterance, than ever Smith or Jones could +be. + +They were Huguenots, the d'Arthenays. A friend from childhood of St. +Castin, Jacques d'Arthenay had followed his old companion to America at +the time when the revocation of the Edict of Nantes rendered France no +safe dwelling-place for those who had no hinges to their knees. A +stern, silent man, this d'Arthenay, like most of his race: holding in +scorn the things of earthly life, brooding over grievances, given to +dwelling much on heaven and hell, as became his time and class. +Leaving castle and lands and all earthly ties behind them, he and his +wife came out of Sodom, as they expressed it, and turned not their +faces, looking steadfastly forward to the wilderness where they were to +worship God in His own temple, the virgin forest. It had been a +terrible shock to find the Baron de St. Castin fallen away from +religion and civilisation, living in savage pomp with his savage wives, +the daughters of the great chief Modocawando. There could be no such +companionship as this for the Sieur d'Arthenay and his noble wife; the +friendship of half a lifetime was sternly repudiated, and d'Arthenay +cast in his lot with the little band of Huguenot settlers who were +striving to win their livelihood from the rugged soil of eastern Maine. + +It was bitter bread that they ate, those French settlers. We read the +story again and again, each time with a fresh pang of pity and regret; +but it is not of them that this tale is told. Jacques d'Arthenay died +in his wilderness, and his wife followed him quickly, leaving a son to +carry on the name. The gravestone of these first d'Arthenays was still +to be seen in the old burying-ground: they had been the first to be +buried there. The old stone was sunk half-way in the earth, and was +gray with moss and lichens; but the inscription was still legible, if +one looked close, and had patience to decipher the crabbed text. + + "Jacques St. George, Sieur d'Arthenay et de Vivonne. + Mort en foi et en esperance, 28me Decembre, 1694." + +Then a pair of mailed hands, clasped as in sign of friendship or +loyalty, and beneath them again, the words, + + "D'Arthenay, tenez foi!" + +The story was that the son of this first Sieur d'Arthenay had been +exposed to some dire temptation, whether of love or of ambition was not +clearly known, and had been in danger of turning from the faith of his +people and embracing that of Rome. He came one day to meditate beside +his father's grave, hoping perhaps to draw some strength, some +inspiration, from the memories of that stern and righteous Huguenot; +and as he sat beside the stone, lo! a mailed hand appeared, holding a +sword, and graved with the point of the sword on the stone, the old +motto of his father's house,-- + + "D'Arthenay, tenez foi!" + +And he had been strengthened, and lived and died in the faith of his +father. Many people in the village scouted this story, and called it +child's foolishness, but there were some who liked to believe it, and +who pointed out that these words were not carved deeply and regularly, +like the rest of the inscription, but roughly scratched, as if with a +sharp point. And that although merely so scratched, they had never +been effaced, but were even more easily read than the carven script. + +Among those who held it for foolishness was the present Jacques De +Arthenay. He was perhaps the fifth in descent from the old Huguenot, +but he might have been his own son or brother. The Huguenot doctrines +had only grown a little colder, a little harder, turned into New +England Orthodoxy as it was understood fifty years ago. He thought +little of his French descent or his noble blood. He pronounced his +name Jakes, as all his neighbors did; he lived on his farm, as they +lived on theirs. If it was a better farm, the land in better +condition, the buildings and fences trimmer and better cared for, that +was in the man, not in his circumstances. He was easily leader among +the few men whose scattered dwellings made up the village of Sea +Meadows (commonly pronounced Semedders.) His house did not lie on the +little "street," as that part of the road was called where some +half-dozen houses were clustered together, with their farms spreading +out behind them, and the post-office for the king-pin; yet no important +step would be taken by the villagers without the advice and approval of +Jacques De Arthenay. Briefly, he was a born leader; a masterful man, +with a habit of thinking before he spoke; and when he said a thing must +be done, people were apt to do it. He was now thirty years old, +without kith or kin that any one knew of; living by himself in a good +house, and keeping it clean and decent, almost as a woman might; not +likely ever to change his condition, it was supposed. + +This was the man who happened to come into the street on some errand, +that soft summer evening, at the very moment when Marie was feeling +lifted up by the light of joy in the children's faces, and was telling +herself how good it was that she had come this way. Hearing the sound +of the fiddle, De Arthenay stopped for a moment, and his face grew dark +as night. He was a religious man, as sternly so as his Huguenot +ancestor, but wearing his religion with a difference. He knew all +music, except psalm-tunes, to be directly from the devil. Even as to +the psalm-tunes themselves, it seemed to him a dreadful thing that +worship could not be conducted without this compromise with evil, this +snare to catch the ear; and he harboured in the depth of his soul +thoughts about the probable frivolity of David, which he hardly voiced +even to himself. The fiddle, in particular, he held to be positively +devilish, both in its origin and influence; those who played this +unholy instrument were bound to no good place, and were sure to gain +their port, in his opinion. Being thus minded, it was with a shock of +horror that he heard the sound of a fiddle in the street of his own +village, not fifty yards from the meeting-house itself. After a +moment's pause, he came wrathfully down the street; his height raised +him a head and shoulders above the people who were ringed around the +little musician, and he looked over their heads, with his arm raised to +command, and his lips opened to forbid the shameful thing. Then--he +saw Marie's face; and straightway his arm dropped to his side, and he +stood without speaking. The children looked up at him, and moved away, +for they were always afraid of him, and at this moment his face was +dreadful to see. + +Yet it was nothing dreadful that he looked upon. Marie was standing +with her head bent down over her violin, in a pretty way she had. A +light, slight figure, not short, yet with a look that spoke all of +youth and morning grace. She wore a little blue gown, patched and +faded, and dusty enough after her day's walk; her feet were dusty too, +but slender and delicately shaped. Her face was like nothing that had +been seen in those parts before, and the beauty of it seemed to strike +cold to the man's heart, as he stood and gazed with unwilling eyes, +hating the feeling that constrained him, yet unable for the moment to +restrain it or to turn his eyes away. She had that clear, bright +whiteness of skin that is seen only in Frenchwomen, and only here and +there among these; whiteness as of fire behind alabaster. Her hair was +black and soft, and the lashes lay like jet on her cheek, as she stood +looking down, smiling a little, feeling so happy, so pleased that she +was pleasing others. And now, when she raised her eyes, they were seen +to be dark and soft, too; but with what fire in their depths, what +sunny light of joy,--the joy of a child among children! De Arthenay +started, and his hands clenched themselves unconsciously. Marie +started, too, as she met the stern gaze fixed upon her, and the joyous +light faded from her eyes. Rudely it broke in upon her pleasant +thoughts,--this vision of a set, bearded face, with cold blue eyes that +yet had a flame in them, like a spark struck from steel. The little +song died on her lips, and unconsciously she lowered her bow, and stood +silent, returning helplessly the look bent so sternly upon her. + +When Jacques de Arthenay found himself able to speak at last, he +started at the sound of his own voice. + +"Who are you?" he asked. "How did you come here, young woman?" + +Marie held out her fiddle with a pretty, appealing gesture. "I +come--from away!" she said, in her broken English, that sounded soft +and strange to his ears. "I do no harm. I play, to make happy the +children, to get bread for me." + +"Who came with you?" De Arthenay continued. "Who are your folks?" + +Marie shook her head, and a light crept into her eyes as she thought of +Le Boss. "I have nobodies'" she said. "I am with myself, _sauf le +violon_; I mean, wiz my fiddle. Monsieur likes not music, no?" + +She looked wistfully at him, and something seemed to rise up in the +man's throat and choke him. He made a violent motion, as if to free +himself from something. What had happened to him,--was he suddenly +possessed, or was he losing his wits? He tried to force his voice back +into its usual tone, tried even to speak gently, though his heart was +beating so wildly at the way she looked, at the sweet notes of her +voice, like a flute in its lower notes, that he could hardly hear his +own words. "No, no music!" he said. "There must be no music here, +among Christian folks. Put away that thing, young woman. It is an +evil thing, bringing sin, and death, which is the wages of sin, with +it. How came you here, if you have no one belonging to you?" + +Falteringly, her sweet eyes dropped on the ground, with only now and +then a timid, appealing glance at this terrible person, this awful +judge who had suddenly dropped from the skies, Marie told her little +story, or as much of it as she thought needful. She had been with bad +people, playing for them, a long time, she did not know how long. And +then they would take away her violin, and she would not stay, and she +ran away from them, and had walked all day, and--and that was all. A +little sob shook her voice at the last words; she had not realised +before how utterly alone she was. The delight of freedom, of getting +away from her tyrants, had been enough at first, and she had been as it +were on wings all day, like a bird let loose from its cage; now the +little bird was weary, and the wings drooped, and there was no nest, +not even a friendly cage where one would find food and drink, + +A sudden passion of pity--he supposed it was pity--shook the strong +man. He felt a wild impulse to catch the little shrinking creature in +his arms and bear her away to his own home, to warm and cheer and +comfort her. Was there ever before anything in the world so sweet, so +helpless, so forlorn? He looked around. The children were all gone; +he stood alone in the street with the foreign woman, and night was +falling. It was at this moment that Abby Rock, who had been watching +from her window for the past few minutes, opened her door and came out, +stepping quietly toward them, as if they were just the people she had +expected to see. De Arthenay hailed her as an angel from Heaven; and +yet Abby did not look like an angel. + +"Abby!" he cried. "Come here a minute, will you?" + +"Good evening, Jacques!" said Abby, in her quiet voice. "Good evening +to you!" she added, speaking kindly to the little stranger. "I was +coming to see if you wouldn't like to step into my house and rest you a +spell. Why, my heart!" she cried, as Marie raised her head at the +sound of the friendly voice, "you're nothing but a child. Come right +along with me, my dear. Alone, are ye, and night coming on!" + +"That's right, Abby!" cried De Arthenay, with feverish eagerness. +"Yes, yes, take her home with you and make her comfortable. She is a +stranger, and has no friends, so she says. I--I'll see you in the +morning about her. Take her! take her in where she will be +comfortable, and I'll--" + +"I'll pay you well for it," was what he was going to say, but Abby's +quiet look stopped the words on his lips. Why should he pay her for +taking care of a stranger, of whom he knew no more than she did; whom +he had never seen till this moment?--why, indeed! and she was as well +able to pay for the young woman's keep as he was to say the least. All +this De Arthenay saw, or fancied he saw, in Abby Rock's glance. He +turned away, muttering something about seeing them in the morning; +then, with an abrupt bow, which yet was not without grace, he strode +swiftly down the street and took his way home. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +ABBY ROCK. + +If Abby Rock's kitchen was not heaven, it seemed very near it to Marie +that evening. She found herself suddenly in an atmosphere of peace and +comfort of which her life had heretofore known nothing. The evening +had fallen chill outside, but here all was warm and light and cheerful, +and the warmth and cheer seemed to be embodied in the person of the +woman who moved quickly to and fro, stirring the fire, putting the +kettle on the hob (for those were the days of the open fire, of crane +and kettle, and picturesque, if not convenient, housekeeping), drawing +a chair up near the cheerful blaze. Marie felt herself enfolded with +comfort. A shawl was thrown over her shoulders; she was lifted like a +child, and placed in the chair by the fireside; and now, as she sat in +a dream, fearing every moment to wake and find herself back in the old +life again, a cup of tea, hot and fragrant, was set before her, and the +handkerchief tenderly loosened from her neck, while a kind voice bade +her drink, for it would do her good. + +"You look beat out, and that's the fact," said Abby Rock. "To-morrow +you shall tell me all about it, but you no need to say a single word +to-night, only just set still and rest ye. I'm a lone woman here. I +buried my mother last June, and I'm right glad to have company once in +a while. Abby Rock, my name is; and perhaps if you'd tell me yours, we +should feel more comfortable like, when we come to sit down to supper. +What do you say?" + +Her glance was so kind, her voice so cordial and hearty, that Marie +could have knelt down to thank her. "I am Marie," she said, smiling +back into the kind eyes. "Only Marie, nossing else." + +"Maree!" repeated Abby Rock. "Well, it's a pretty name, sure enough; +has a sound of 'Mary' in it, too, and that was my mother's name. But +what was your father's name, or your mother's, if so be your father +ain't living now?" + +Marie shook her head. "I never know!" she said. "All the days I lived +with Mere Jeanne in the village, far away, oh, far, over the sea." + +"Over the sea?" said Abby. "You mean the bay, don't you,--some of +those French settlements down along the shore?" + +But Marie meant the sea, it appeared; for her village was in France, in +Eretagne, and there she had lived till the day when Mere Jeanne died, +and she was left alone, with no-one belonging to her. Mere Jeanne was +not her mother, no! nor yet her grandmother,--only her mother's aunt, +but good, Abby must understand, good as an angel, good as Abby herself. +And when she was dead, there was only her son, Jeannot, and he had +married a devil,--but yes!--as Abby exclaimed, and held up her hands in +reproof,--truly a devil of the worst kind; and one day, when Jeannot +was away, this wife had sold her, Marie, to another devil, Le Boss, who +made the tours in the country for to sing and to play. And he had +brought her away to this country, over very dreadful seas, where one +went down into the grave at every instant, and then up again to the +clouds, but leaving one's stomach behind one--ah, but terrible! Others +were with them, oh, yes!--This in response to Abby's question, for in +spite of her good resolutions, curiosity was taking possession of her, +and it was evidently a relief to Marie to pour out her little tale in a +sympathetic ear,--many others. La Patronne, the wife of Le Boss, who +was like a barrel, but not bad, when she could see through the fat, not +bad in every way; and there was Old Billy, who took care of the horses +and dogs, and he was her friend, and she loved him, and he had always +the good word for her even when he was very drunk, too drunk to speak +to any one else. And then there was the daughter of Le Boss, who would +in all probability never die, for she was so ugly that she would not be +admitted into the other world, where, Mere Jeanne said, even Monsieur +the Great Devil himself was good-looking, save for his expression. +Also there were the boys who tumbled and rode on the ponies, +and--and--and ozer people. And with this Mane's head dropped forward, +and she was asleep. + +It seemed a pity to wake her when supper was ready, but Abby knew just +how good her rolls were, and knew that the child must be famished; and +sure enough, after a little nap, Marie was ready to wake and sit up at +the little round table, and be fed like a baby with everything good +that Abby could think of. The fare had not been dainty in the +travelling troupe of Le Boss. The fine white bread, the golden butter, +the bit of broiled fish, smoking hot, seemed viands of paradise to the +hungry girl. She laughed for pleasure, and her eyes shone like stars. +It was like the chateau, she said, where everything was gold and +silver,--the chateau where Madame la Comtesse lived. As for Abby +herself, Marie gravely informed her that she was an angel. Abby +laughed, not ill pleased. "I don't look special like angels," she +said; "that is, if the pictures I've seen are correct. Not much wings +and curls and white robes about me, Maree. And who ever heard of an +angel in a check apurn, I want to know?" + +But Marie was not to be turned aside. It was well known, she said, +that angels could not come to earth undisguised in these days. It had +something to do with the Jews, she did not know exactly what. Mere +Jeanne had told her, but she forgot just how it was. But as to their +not coming at all, that would be out of the question, for how would the +good God know what was going on down here, or know who was behaving +well and meriting a crown of glory, and who should go down into the +pit? Did not Abby see that? + +Abby privately thought that here was strange heathen talk to be going +on in her kitchen; but she said nothing, only gave her guest more jam, +and said she was eating nothing,--the proper formula for a good +hostess, no matter how much the guest may have devoured. + +It was true, as has been said before, that Abby Rock was not fair to +outward view. Nature had been in a crabbed mood when she fashioned +this gaunt, angular form, these gnarled, unlovely features. An +uncharitable neighbour, in describing Abby, once said that she looked +as if she had swallowed an old cedar fence-rail and shrunk to it; and +the description was apt enough so far as the body went. Her skin, +eyes, and hair were of different shades (yet not so very different) of +greyish brown; her nose was long and knotty, her mouth and chin +apparently taken at random from a box of misfits. Yes, the cedar +fence-rail came as near to it as anything could. Yet somehow, no one +who had seen the light of kindness in those faded eyes, and heard the +sweet, cordial tones of that quiet voice, thought much about their +owner's looks. People said it was a pity Abby wasn't better favoured, +and then they thought no more about it, but were simply thankful that +she existed. + +She had led the life that many an ugly saint leads, here in New +England, and the world over. Nurse and drudge for the pretty younger +sister, the pride and joy of her heart, till she married and went away +to live in a distant State; then drudge and nurse for the invalid +mother, broken down by unremitting toil. No toil would ever break Abby +down, for she was a strong woman; she had never worked too hard that +she was aware of; but--she had always worked, and never done anything +else. No lover had ever looked into her eyes or taken her hand +tenderly. Not likely! she would say to herself with a scornful sniff, +eyeing her homely face in the glass. Men weren't such fools as they +looked. + +One or two had wanted to marry her house, as she expressed it, and had +asked for herself into the bargain, not seeing how they could manage it +otherwise. They were not to blame for wanting the house, she thought +with some complacency, as she glanced round her sitting-room. +Everything in the room shone and twinkled. The rugs were beautifully +made, and the floor under them in the usual dining-table condition +ascribed ever since books were written to the model housewife. The +corner cupboards held treasures of blue and white that it makes one +ache to think of to-day, and some pieces of India china besides, +brought over seas by some sea-going Rock of a former generation: and +there were silver spoons in the iron box under Abby's bed, and the +dragon tea-pot on the high narrow mantel-piece was always full, but not +with tea-leaves. Yes, and there was no better cow in the village than +Abby's, save those two fancy heifers that Jacques de Arthenay had +lately bought. Altogether, she did not wonder that some of the weaker +brethren, who found their own farms "hard sledding," should think +enough of her pleasant home to be willing to take her along with it, +since they could do no better; but they did not get it. Abby found +life very pleasant, now that grief was softened down into tender +recollection. To be alone, and able to do things just when she wanted +to do them, and in her own way; to consider what she herself liked to +eat, and to wear, and to do; to feel that she could come and go, rise +up and lie down, at her own will,--was strange but pleasant to her. +How long the pleasure would have lasted is another question, for the +woman's nature was to love and to serve; but just now there was no +doubt that she was enjoying her freedom. + +And now she had taken in this little stranger, just because she felt +like it; it was a new luxury, a new amusement, that was all. Such a +pretty little creature, so soft and young, and with that brightness in +her face! Sister Lizzie was light-complected, and this child didn't +favour her, not the least mite; yet it was some like the same feeling, +as if it were a kitten or a pretty bird to take care of, and feed and +pet. So thought Abby, as she tucked up Marie in Sister Lizzie's little +white bed, in the pink ribbon chamber, as she had named it in sport, +after she had let Lizzie furnish it to her taste, that last year before +she was married. The child looked about her as if it were a palace, +instead of a lean-to chamber with a sloping roof. She had never seen +anything like this in her life, since those days when she went to the +chateau. She touched the white walls softly, and passed her hand over +the pink mats on the bureau with wondering awe. And then she curled up +in the white bed when Abby bade her, as like a kitten as anything could +be. "Oh, you are good, good!" cried the child, whom the warmth and +comfort and kindness seemed to have lifted into another world from the +cold, sordid one in which she had lived so long. She caught the kind +hard knotted hand, and kissed it; but Abby snatched it away, and +blushed to her eyebrows, feeling that something improper had occurred. +"There! there!" she said, half confused, half reproving. "You don't +want to do such things as that! I've done no more than was right, and +you alone and friendless, and night coming on. Go to sleep now, like a +good girl, and we'll see in the morning." So Marie went to sleep in +Sister Lizzie's bed, with her fiddle lying across her feet, since she +could not sleep a wink otherwise, she said; and when Abby went +downstairs the room seemed cold, and she thought how she missed Lizzie, +and wondered if it wouldn't be pleasant to keep this pretty creature +for a spell, and do for her a little, and make her up some portion of +clothing. There was a real good dress of Lizzie's, hanging this minute +in the press upstairs: she had a good mind to take it out at once and +see what could be done to it; perhaps--and Abby did not go to bed very +early herself that night. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +POSSESSION. + +Jacques De Arthenay went home that night like a man possessed. He was +furious with himself, with the strange woman who had thus set his sober +thoughts in a whirl, with the very children in the street who had +laughed and danced and encouraged her in her sinful music, to her own +peril and theirs. He thought it was only anger that so held his mind; +yet once in his house, seated on the little stool before his fire, he +found himself still in the street, still looking down into that lovely +childish face that lifted itself so innocently to his, still smitten to +the heart by the beauty of it, and by the fear that he saw in it of his +own stern aspect. He had never looked upon any woman before. He had +been proud of it,--proud of his strength and cleverness, that needed no +meddlesome female creature coming in between him and his business, +between him and his religion. He had not let his hair and beard grow, +knowing nothing of such practices, but in heart he had been a Nazarite +from his youth up,--serving God in his harsh, unloving way; loving God, +as he thought; certainly loving nothing else, if it were not the dumb +creatures, to whom he was always kind and just. And now--what had +happened to him? He asked himself the question sternly, sitting there +before the cheerful blaze, yet neither seeing nor feeling it. The +answer seemed to cry itself in his ears, to write itself before his +eyes in letters of fire. The thing had happened that happens in the +story books, that really comes to pass once in a hundred years, they +say. He had seen the one woman in the world that he wanted for his +own, to have and to hold, to love and to cherish. She was a stranger, +a vagabond, trading in iniquity, and gaining her bread by the +corruption of souls of men and children; and he loved her, he longed +for her, and the world meant nothing to him henceforth unless he could +have her. He put the thought away from him like a snake, but it came +back and curled round his heart, and made him cold and then hot and +then cold again. Was he not a professing Christian, bound by the +strictest ties? Yes! How she looked, standing there with the children +about her, the little slender figure swaying to and fro to the music, +the pretty head bent down so lovingly, the dark eyes looking here and +there, bright and shy, like those of a wild creature so gentle in its +nature that it knew no fear. But he had taught her fear! yes, he saw +it grow under his eyes, just as the love grew in his own heart at the +same moment. + +Love! what sort of word was that for him to be using, even in his mind? +To-morrow she would be gone, this wandering fiddler, and all this would +be forgotten in a day, for he had the new cattle to see to, and a +hundred things of importance. + +But was anything else of importance save just this one girl? and if he +should let her go on her way, out into the world again, to certain +perdition, would not the guilt be partly his? He, who saw and knew the +perils and pitfalls, might he not snatch this child from the fire and +save her soul alive?--No! he would begone, as soon as morning came, and +take this sinful body of his away from temptation. + +How soon would Abby get through her morning work, so that he might with +some fair pretext go to the house to see how the stranger had slept, +and how she had fared? It would be cowardly to drop the burden on +Abby's shoulders, she only a woman like the rest of them, even if she +had somewhat more sense. + +So Jacques De Arthenay sat by his fire till it was cold and dead, a +miserable and a wrathful man; and he too slept little that night. + +But Marie slept long and peacefully in Sister Lizzie's bed, and looked +so pretty in her sleep that Abby came three times to wake her, and +three times went away again, unable to spoil so perfect a picture. At +last, however, the dark eyes opened of their own accord, and Marie +began to chirp and twitter, like a bird at daybreak in its nest; only +instead of daybreak, it was eight o'clock in the morning, a most +shocking hour for anybody to be getting up. But Abby had been in the +habit of spoiling her sister, who had a theory that she was never able +to do anything early in the morning, and so it was much more +considerate for her to stay in bed and keep out of Abby's way. This is +a comfortable theory. + +"I suppose you've been an early riser, though?" said Abby, as she +poured the coffee, looking meanwhile approvingly at the figure of her +guest, neatly attired in a pink and white print gown, which fitted her +in a truly astonishing manner, proving, Abby thought in her simple way, +that it had really been a "leading,"--her bringing the stranger home +last night. + +"Oh, but yes," Marie answered. "I help always Old Billy wiz the dogs +first, they must be exercise, and do their tricks, and then they are +feed. So hungry they are, the dogs! It make very hard not first to +feed them, _hein_?" + +"Is--William--feeble?" Abby inquired, with some hesitation. + +"Feeble, no!" said Marie, with a little laugh. "But old, you know, and +when he is too much drunk it take away his mind; so then I help him, +that Le Boss does not find out that and beat him. For he is good, you +see, Old Billy, and we make comrades togezzer always." + +"Dear me!" said Abby, doubtfully. "It don't seem as if you ought to be +going with--with that kind of person, Maree. We don't associate with +drinking men, here in these parts. I don't know how it is where you +come from." + +Oh, there, Marie said, it was different. There the drink did not make +men crazy. This was a country where the devil had so much power, you +see, that it made it hard for poor folks like Old Billy, who would do +well enough in her country, and at the worst take a little too much at +a feast or a wedding. But in those cases, the saints took very good +care that nothing should happen to them. She did not know what the +saints did in this country, or indeed, if there were any. + +"Oh, Maree!" cried Abby, scandalised. "I guess I wouldn't talk like +that, if I was you. You--you, ain't a papist, are you,--a Catholic?" + +Oh, no! Mere Jeanne was of the Reformed religion, and had brought +Marie up so. It was a misfortune, Madame the Countess always said; but +Marie preferred to be as Mere Jeanne had been. The Catholic girls in +the village said that Mere Jeanne had gone straight to the pit, but +that proved that they were ignorant entirely of the things of religion. +Why, Le Boss was a Catholic, he; and everybody knew that he had the +evil eye, and that it was not safe to come near him without making the +horns. + +"For the land's sake!" cried Abby Rock, dropping her dish-cloth into +the sink, "what are you talking about, child?" + +"But, the horns!" Marie answered innocently. "When a person has the +evil eye, you not make at him the horns, so way?" and she held out the +index and little finger of her right hand, bending the other fingers +down. "So!" she said; "when they so are held, the evil eye has no +power. What you do here to stop him?" + +"We don't believe in any such a thing!" Abby replied, with, some +severity. "Why, Maree, them's all the same as heathen notions, like +witchcraft and such. We don't hold by none of those things in this +country at all, and I guess you'd better not talk about 'em." + +Marie's eyes opened wide. "But," she said, "_c'est une chose_,--it is +a thing that all know. As for Le Boss, you know--listen!" she came +nearer to Abby, and lowered her voice. "One night Old Billy forgot to +do, I know not what, but somesing. So when Le Boss found it out, he +look at him, so,"--drawing her brows down and frowning horribly, with +the effect of looking like an enraged kitten,--"and say noasing at all. +You see?" + +"Well," replied Abby. "I suppose mebbe he thought it was an accident, +and might have happened to any one." + +"Not--at--all!" cried Marie, with dramatic emphasis, throwing out her +hand with a solemn gesture. "What happen that same night? Old Billy +fall down the bank and break his leg!" She paused, and nodded like a +little mandarin, to point the moral of her tale. + +"Maree!" remonstrated Abby Rock, "don't tell me you believe such +foolishness as that! He'd have fallen down all the same if nobody had +looked anigh him. Why, good land! I never heard of such notions." + +"So it is!" Marie insisted. "Le Boss look at him, and he break his +leg. I see the break! Anozer day," she continued, "Coco, he is a boy +that makes tumble, and he was hungry, and he took a don't from the +table to eat it--" + +"Took a what?" asked Abby. + +"A don't, what you call. Round, wiz a hole to put your finger!" +explained Marie. "Only in America they make zem. Not of such things +in Bretagne, never. Coco took the don't, and Le Boss catch him, and +look at him again, so! Well, yes! in two hour he is sick, that boy, +and after zat for a week. A-a-a-h! yes, Le Boss! only at me he not +dare to look, for I have the charm, and he know that, and he is afraid. +Aha, yes, he is afraid of Marie too, when he wish to make devil work. + +"And here," she cried, turning suddenly upon Abby, "you say you have no +such thing, Abiroc,"--this was the name she had given her +hostess,--"and here, too, is the evil eye, first what I see in this +place, except the dear little children. A man yesterday came while I +played, and looked--but, frightful! Ah!" she started from her seat by +the window, and retreated hastily to the corner. "He comes, the same +man! Put me away, Abiroc! put me away! He is bad, he is wicked! I +die if he look at me!" and she ran hastily out of the room, just as +Jacques De Arthenay entered it. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +COURTSHIP. + +Marie could hardly be persuaded to come back into the sitting-room; and +when she did at length come, it was only to sit silent in the corner, +with one hand held behind her, and her eyes fixed steadfastly on the +floor. In vain Abby Rock tried to draw her into the conversation, +telling her how she, Abby, and Mr. De Arthenay had been talking about +her, and how they thought she'd better stay right on where she was for +a spell, till she was all rested up, and knew what she wanted to do. +Mr. De Arthenay would be a friend to her, and no one could be a better +one, as she'd find. But Marie only said that Monsieur was very kind, +and never raised her eyes to his. De Arthenay, on his part, was no +more at ease. He could not take his eyes from the slender figure, so +shrinking and modest, or the lovely downcast face. He had no words to +tell her all that was in his heart, nor would he have told it if he +could. It was still a thing of horror to him,--a thing that would +surely be cast out as soon as he came to himself; and how better could +he bring himself to his senses than by facing this dream, this +possession of the night, and crushing it down, putting it out of +existence? So he sat still, and gazed at the dream, and felt its +reality in every fibre of his being; and poor good Abby sat and talked +for all three, and wondered what to goodness was coming of all this. + +She wondered more and more as the days went on. It became evident to +her that De Arthenay, her stern, silent neighbour, who had never so +much as looked at a woman before, was "possessed" about her little +guest. Marie, on the other hand, continued to regard him with terror, +and never failed to make the horns secretly when he appeared; yet day +after day he came, and sat silent in the sitting-room, and gazed at +Marie, and wrestled with the devil within him. He never doubted that +it was the devil. There was no awkwardness to him in sitting thus +silent; it was the habit of his life: he spoke when he had occasion to +say anything; for the rest, he considered over-much speech as one of +the curses of our fallen state. But Abby "felt as if she should fly," +as she expressed it to herself, while he sat there. A pall of silence +seemed to descend upon the room, generally so cheerful: the French girl +cowered under it, and seemed to shrink visibly, like a dumb creature in +fright. And when he was gone, she would spring up and run like a deer +to her own little room, and seize her violin, and play passionately, +the instrument crying under her hands, like a living creature, +protesting against grief, against silence and darkness, and the fear of +something unknown, which seemed to be growing out of the silence. +Sometimes Abby thought the best thing to do would be to open the door +of the cage, and let the little stray bird flutter out, as she had +fluttered in those few days ago, by chance--was it by chance? + +But the bird was so willing to stay; was so happy, except when that +silent shadow fell upon the cheerful house; so sweet, so grateful for +little kindnesses (and who would not be kind to her, Abby thought!); +such a singing, light, pretty creature to look at and listen to! and +the house had been so quiet since mother died; and after all, it was +pleasant to have some one to do for and "putter round." The neighbours +said, There! now Abby Rock was safe to live, for she had got another +baby to take care of; she'd ha' withered up and blown away if she had +gone on living alone, with no one to make of. + +And what talks they had, Abby and Marie! The latter told all about her +early childhood with the good old woman whom she called Mere Jeanne, +and explained how she came to have the Lady, and to play as she did. +The Countess, it appeared, lived up at the castle; a great lady, oh, +but very great, and beautiful as the angels. She was alone there, for +the Count was away on a foreign mission, and she had no child, the +Countess. So one day she saw Marie, when the latter was bringing +flowers to the gardener's wife, who was good to her; and the Countess +called the child to her, and took her on her knee, and talked with her. +Ah, she was good, the Countess, and lovely! After that Marie was +brought to the castle every day, and the Countess played to her of the +violin, and Marie knew all at once that this was the best thing in the +world, and the dearest, and the one to die for, you understand. (But +Abby did not understand in the least.) So when Madame the Countess saw +how it was, she taught Marie, and got her the Lady, the violin which +was Marie's life and soul; and she let come down from Paris a great +teacher, and they all played together, the Countess his friend, for +many years his pupil, and the great violinist, and Marie, the little +peasant girl in her blue gown and cap. He said she was a born +musician, Marie: of course, he was able to see things, being of the +same nature; but Mere Jeanne was unhappy, and said no good would come +of it. Yes, well, what is to be, you know, that will be, and nossing +else. The great teacher died, and there was an end of him. And after +a while Monsieur the Count came home, and carried away the Countess to +live in Paris, and so--and--so--that was all! + +"But not all!" cried the child, springing from her seat, and raising +her head, which had drooped for a moment. "Not all! for I have the +music, see, Abiroc! All days of my life I can make music, make happy, +make joy of myself and ozerbodies. When I take her; Madame, so, in my +hand, I can do what I will, no? People have glad thinks, sorry thinks; +what Marie tells them to have, that have they. _Ah! la tonne aventure, +oh gai_!" and she would throw her head back and begin to play, and play +till the chairs almost danced on their four legs. + +De Arthenay never heard the fiddle. Abby managed it somehow, she +hardly knew how or why. He had never spoken about the Evil Thing, as +he would have called it, since that first day; perhaps he thought that +Abby had taken it away, as a pious church member should, and destroyed +it from the face of the earth. At all events there was no mention of +it, and the only sound he heard when he approached the house was the +whir of Abby's wheel (for women still spun then, in that part of the +country), or the one voice he cared to hear in the world, uplifted in +some light godless song. + +So things went on for a while; and then came a change. One day Marie +came into the sitting-room, hearing Abby call her. It was the hour of +De Arthenay's daily visit, and he sat silent in the corner, as usual; +but Abby had an open letter in her hand, and was crying softly, with +her apron hiding her good homely face. "Maree," said the good woman, +"I've got bad news. My sister Lizzie that I've told you so much about, +she's dreadful sick, and I've got to go right out and take care of her. +Thank you, dear!" (as she felt Marie's arms round her on the instant, +and the soft voice murmured little French sympathies in her ear), +"you're real good, I'm sure, and I know you feel for me. I've got to +go right off to-morrow or next day, soon as I can get things to rights +and see to the stock and things. But what is troubling me is you, +Maree. I don't see what is to become of you, poor child, unless--Well, +now, you come here and sit down by me, and listen to what Mr. De +Arthenay has to say to you. You know he's ben your friend, Maree, ever +sence you come; so you listen to him, like a good girl." + +Abby was in great trouble: indeed, she was the most agitated of the +three, for it was with outward calm, at least, that De Arthenay spoke; +and Marie listened quietly, too, plaiting her apron, between her +fingers, and forgetting for the moment to make the horns with her left +hand. Briefly, he asked her to be his wife; to come home with him, and +keep his house, and share good and evil with him. He would take care +of her, he said, and--and--he trusted the Lord would bless the union. +If his voice shook now and then, if he kept his eyes lowered, that +neither woman should see the light and the struggle in them, that was +his own affair; he spoke quietly to the end, and then drew a long +breath, feeling that he had come through better than he had expected. + +Abby looked for an outburst of some kind from Marie, whether of tears +or of sudden childish fear or anger; but neither came. Marie thanked +Monsieur, and said he was very kind, very kind indeed. She would like +to think about it a little, if they pleased; she would do all she could +to please them, but she was very young, and she would like to take +time, if Monsieur thought it not wrong: and so rising from her seat, +she made a little courtesy, with her eyes still on the ground, and +slipped away out of the room, and was gone. + +The others sat looking at each other, neither ready to speak first. +Finally Abby reflected that Jacques would not speak, at all unless she +began, so she said, with a sigh between the words; "I guess it'll be +all right, Jacques. It's only proper that she should have time to +think it over, and she such a child. Not but what it's a great chance +for her," she added hastily. "My! to get a good home, and a good +provider, as I make no doubt you would be, after the life she's led, +traipsin' here and there, and livin' with darkened heathens, or as bad. +But--but--you'll be kind to her, won't you, Jacques? She--she's not a +woman yet, in her feelin's, as you might say. She ain't nothin' but a +baby to our girls about here, that's brought up to see with their eyes +and talk with their mouths. You'll have patience with her, if her ways +are a good deal different from what you were used to; along back in +your mother's time?" + +But here good Abby paused, for she saw that De Arthenay heard not a +word of her well-meant discourse. He sat brooding in the corner, as +was his wont, but with a light in his eyes and a color in his cheek +that Abby had never seen before. + +"Jacques De Arthenay, you are fairly possessed!" she said, in rather an +awestruck voice, as he rose abruptly to bid her good-day. "I don't +believe you can think of anything except that child." + +"So more I can!" said the man, looking at her with bright, hard eyes. +"Nothing else! She is my life!" and with that he turned hastily to the +door and was gone. + +"His life!" repeated Abby, gazing after him as he strode away down the +street. "Much like his life she is, the pretty creetur! And she +saying that fiddle was her life, only yesterday! How are all these +lives going to work together? that's what I want to know!" And she +shook her head, and went back to her spinning. There was no doubt in +Abby's mind about Marie's answer, when she grew a little used to the +new idea. Her silent suitor was many years older than she, it was +true, but as she said to him, what a chance for the friendless +wanderer! And if he loved her now, how much more he would love her +when he came to know her well, and see all her pretty ways about the +house, like a kitten or a bird. And she would respect and admire him, +that was certain, Abby thought. He was a pictur' of a man, when he got +his store clothes on, and nobody had ever had a word to say against +him. He was no talker, but some thought that was no drawback in the +married state. Abby remembered how Sister Lizzie's young husband had +tormented her with foolish questions during the week he bad spent with +them at the time of the marriage: a spruce young clerk from a city +store, not knowing one end of a hoe from the other, and asking +questions all the time, and not remembering anything you told him long +enough for it to get inside his head; though there was room enough +inside for consid'able many ideas, Abby thought. Yes, certainly, if so +be one had to be portioned with a husband, the one that said least +would be the least vexation in the end. So she was content, on the +whole, and glad that Marie took it all so quietly and sensibly, and +made no doubt the girl was turning it over in her mind, and making +ready a real pretty answer for Jacques when he called the next day. + +Yes, Marie was turning it over in her mind, but not just in the way her +good hostess supposed. Only one thought came to her, but that thought +filled her whole mind; she must get away,--away at once from this +place, from the stern man with the evil eye, who wanted to take her and +kill her slowly, that he might have the pleasure of seeing her die. +Ah, she knew, Marie! had she not seen wicked people before? But she +would not tell Abiroc, for it would only grieve her, and she would +talk, talk, and Marie wanted no talking. She only wanted to get away, +out into the open fields once more, where nobody would look at her or +want to marry her, and where roads might be found leading away to +golden cities, full of children who liked to hear play the violin, and +who danced when one played it well. + +Early next morning, while Abby was out milking the cows, Marie stole +away. She put on her little blue gown again; ah! how old and faded it +looked beside the fresh, pretty-prints that Abby would always have her +wear! But it was her own, and when she had it on, and the old +handkerchief tied under her chin once more, and Madame in her box, +ready to go with her the world over, why, then she felt that she was +Marie once more; that this had all been a mistake, this sojourn among +the strange, kind people who spoke so loud and through such long noses; +that now her life was to begin, as she had really meant it to begin +when she ran away from Le Boss and his hateful tyranny. + +Out she slipped, in the sweet, fresh morning. No-one saw her go, for +the village was a busy place at all times, and at this early hour every +man and woman was busy in barn or kitchen. At one house a child +knocked at the window, a child for whom she had played and sung many +times. He stood there in his little red nightgown, and nodded and +laughed; and Marie nodded back, smiling, and wondered if he would ever +run away, and ever know how good, how good it was, to be alone, with no +one else in the world to say, "Do this!" or "Do that!" Just as she +came out, the sun rose over the hill, and looking at the fiery ball +Marie perceived that it danced in the sky. Yes, assuredly, so it was! +There was the same wavering motion that she had seen on every fair +Easter Day that she could remember. She thought how Mere Jeanne had +first called her attention, to it, when she was little, little, just +able to toddle, and had told her that the sun danced so on Easter +Morning, for joy that the Good Lord had risen from the dead; and so it +was a lesson for us all, and we must dance on Easter Day, if we never +danced all the rest of the year. Ah, how they danced at home there in +the village! But now, it was not Easter at all, and yet the sun +danced; what should it mean? And it came to Marie's mind that perhaps +the Good Lord had told it to dance, for a sign to her that all would go +well, and that she was doing quite right to run away from persons with +the evil eye. When you came to think of it, what was more probable? +They always said, those girls in the village, that the saints did the +things they asked them to do. When Barbe lost her gold earring, did +not Saint Joseph find it for her, and tell her to look among the +potato-parings that had been thrown out the day before? and there, sure +enough, it was, and the pigs never touching it, because they had been +told not to touch! Well, and if the saints could do that, it would be +a pity indeed if the Good Lord could not make the sun dance when he +felt like doing a kind thing for a poor girl. + +With the dazzle of that dancing sun still in her eyes, with happy +thoughts filling her mind, Marie turned the corner of the straggling +road that was called a street by the people who lived along it,--turned +the corner, and almost fell into the arms of a man, who was coming in +the opposite direction. Both uttered a cry at the same moment: Marie +first giving a little startled shriek, but her voice dying away in +terrified silence as she saw the man's face; the latter uttering a +shout of delight, of fierce and cruel triumph, that rang out strangely +in the quiet morning air. For this was Le Boss! + +A man with a bloated, cruel face, sodden with drink and inflamed with +all fierce and inhuman passions; a strong man, who held the trembling +girl by the shoulder as if she were a reed, and gazed into her face +with eyes of fiendish triumph; an angry man, who poured out a torrent +of furious words, reproaching, threatening, by turns, as he found his +victim once more within his grasp, just when he had given up all hope +of finding her again. Ah, but he had her now, though! let her try it +again, to run away! she would find even this time that she had enough, +but another time--and on and on, as a coarse and brutal man can go on +to a helpless creature that is wholly in his power. + +Marie was silent, cowering in his grasp, looking about with hunted, +despairing eyes. There was nothing to do, no word to say that would +help. It had all been a mistake,--the sun dancing, the heavens bending +down to aid and cheer her,--all had been a mistake, a lie. There was +nothing now for the rest of her life but this,--this brutality that +clutched and shook her slender figure, this hatred that hissed venomous +words in her ear. This was the end, forever, till death should come to +set her free. + +But what was this? what was happening? For the hateful voice faltered, +the grasp on her shoulder weakened, the blaze of the fierce eyes turned +from her. A cry was heard, a wild, inarticulate cry of rage, of +defiance; the next moment something rushed past her like a flash; there +was a brief struggle, a shout, an oath, then a heavy fall. When the +bewildered child could clear her eyes from the mist of fright that +clouded them, Le Boss was lying on the ground; and towering over him +like an avenging spirit, his blue eyes aflame, his strong hands +clenched for another blow, stood Jacques De Arthenay. + +Just what happened next, Marie never quite knew. Words were said as in +a dream. Was it a real voice that was saying: "This is my wife, you +dog! take yourself out of my sight, before worse comes to you!" Was it +real? and did Le Boss, gathering himself up from the grass with foul +curses, too horrible to think of--did he make reply that she was his +property, that he had bought her, paid for her, and would have his own! +And then the other voice again, saying, "I tell you she is my wife, the +wife of a free man. Speak, Mary, and tell him you are my wife!" And +did she--with those blue eyes on her, which she had never met before, +but which now caught and chained her gaze, so that she could not look +away, try as she might--did she of her own free will answer, "Yes, +Monsieur, I am your wife, if you say it; if you will keep me from him, +Monsieur!" Then--Marie did not know what came then. There were more +words between the two men, loud and fierce on one side, low and fierce +on the other; and then Le Boss was gone, and she was walking back to +the house with the man who had saved her, the man to whom she belonged +now; the strong man, whose hand, holding hers as they walked, trembled +far more than her own. But Marie did not feel as if she should ever +tremble again. For that one must be alive, must have strength in one's +limbs; and was she dead, she wondered, or only asleep? and would she +wake up some happy moment, and find herself in the little white bed at +Abiroc's house, or better still, out in the blessed fields, alone with +the birds under the free sky? + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +WEDLOCK. + +They were married that very day. Abby begged piteously for a little +delay, that she might make clothes, and give her pretty pet a "good +send-off;" but De Arthenay would not hear of it. Mary was his wife in +the sight of God; let her become so in the sight of man! So a white +gown was found and put on the little passive creature, and good Abby, +crying with excitement, twined some flowers in the soft dark hair, and +thought that even Sister Lizzie, in her blue silk dress and chip +bonnet, had not made so lovely a bride as this stranger, this wandering +child from no one knew where. The wedding took place in Abby's parlor, +with only Abby herself and a single neighbour for witnesses. A little +crowd gathered round the door, however, to see how Jacques De Arthenay +looked when he'd made a fool of himself, as they expressed it. They +were in a merry mood, the friendly neighbours, and had sundry jests +ready to crack upon the bridegroom when he should appear; but when he +finally stood in the doorway, with the little pale bride on his arm, it +became apparent that jests were not in order. People calc'lated that +Jacques was in one of his moods, and was best not to be spoke with just +that moment; besides, 't was no time for them to be l'iterin' round +staring, with all there was to be done. So the crowd melted away, and +only Abby followed the new-married couple to their own home. She, +walking behind in much perturbation of spirit, noticed that on the +threshold Marie stumbled, and seemed about to fall, and that Jacques +lifted her in his arms as if she were a baby, and carried her into the +room. He had not seemed to notice till that moment that the child was +carrying her violin-case, though to be sure it was plain enough to see, +but as he lifted her, it struck against the door-jamb, and he glanced +down and saw it. When Abby came in (for this was to be her good-by to +them, as she was to leave that afternoon for her sister's home), De +Arthenay had the case in his hand, and was speaking in low, earnest +tones. + +"You cannot have this thing, Mary! It is a thing of evil, and may not +be in a Christian household. You are going to leave all those things +behind you now, and there must be nothing to recall that life with +those bad people. I will burn the evil thing now, and it shall be a +sweet savour to the Lord, even a marriage sacrifice." As he spoke he +opened the case, and taking out the violin, laid it across his knee, +intending to break it into pieces; but at this Marie broke out into a +cry, so wild, so piercing, that he paused, and Abby ran to her and took +her in, her arms, and pressed her to her kind breast, and comforted her +as one comforts a little child. Then she turned to the stern-eyed +bridegroom. + +"Jacques," she pleaded, "don't do it! don't do such a thing on your +wedding-day, if you have a heart in you. Don't you see how she feels +it? Put the fiddle away, if you don't want it round; put it up garret, +and let it lay there, till she's wonted a little to doing without it. +Take it now out of her sight and your own, Jacques De Arthenay, or +you'll be sorry for it when you have done a mischief you can't undo." + +Abby wondered afterward what power had spoken in her voice; it must +have had some unusual force, for De Arthenay, after a moment's +hesitation, did as she bade him,--turned slowly and left the room, and +the next moment was heard mounting the garret stairs. While he was +gone, she still held Marie in her arms, and begged her not to tremble +so, and told her that her husband was a good man, a kind man, that he +had never hurt any one in his life except evil-doers, and had been a +good son and a good brother to his own people while they lived. Then +she bade the child look around at her new home, and see how neat and +good everything was, and how tastefully Jacques had arranged it all for +her. "Why, he vallies the ground you step on, child!" she cried. "You +don't want to be afraid of him, dear. You can do anything you're a +mind to with him, I tell you. See them flowers there, in the chaney +bowl! Now he never looked at a flower in his life, Jacques didn't; but +knowing you set by them, he went out and picked them pretty ones o' +purpose. Now I call that real thoughtful, don't you, Maree?" + +So the good soul talked on, soothing the girl, who said no word, only +trembled, and gazed at her with wide, frightened eyes; but Abby's heart +was heavy within her, and she hardly heard her own cheery words. What +kind of union was this likely to be, with such a beginning! Why had +she not realised, before it was too late, how set Jacques was in his +ways, and how he never would give in to the heathen notions and +fiddling ways of the foreign child? + +Sadly the good woman bade farewell to the bridal couple, and left them +alone in their new home. On the threshold she turned back for a +moment, and had a moment's comfort; for Jacques had taken Marie's hands +in his own, and was gazing at her with such love in his eyes that it +must have melted a stone, Abby thought; and perhaps Marie thought so +too, for she forgot to make the horns, and smiled back, a little faint +piteous smile, into her husband's face. + +So Abby went away to the West, to tend her sister, and Jacques and +Marie De Arthenay began their life together. + +It was not so very terrible, Marie found after a while. Of course a +person could not always help it, to have the evil eye; it had happened +that even the best of persons had it, and sometimes without knowing it. +The Catholic girls at home in the village had a saint who always +carried her eyes about in a plate because they were evil, and she was +afraid of hurting some one with them. (Poor Saint Lucia! this is a new +rendering of thy martyrdom!) Yes, indeed! Marie was no Catholic, but +she had seen the picture, and knew that it was so. And oh, he did mean +to be kind, her husband! that saw itself more and more plainly every +day. + +Then, there was great pleasure in the housekeeping. Marie was a born +housewife, with delicate French hands, and an inborn skill in cookery, +the discovery of which gave her great delight. Everything in the +kitchen was fresh and clean and sweet, and in the garden were fruits, +currants and blackberries and raspberries, and every kind of vegetable +that grew in the village at home, with many more that were strange to +her. She found never-ending pleasure in concocting new dishes, little +triumphs of taste and daintiness, and trying them on her silent +husband. Sometimes he did not notice them at all, but ate straight on, +not knowing a delicate fricassee from a junk of salt beef; that was +very trying. But again he would take notice, and smile at her with the +rare sweet smile for which she was beginning to watch, and praise the +prettiness and the flavor of what was set before him. But sometimes, +too, dreadful things happened. One day Marie had tried her very best, +and had produced a dish for supper of which she was justly proud,--a +little _friture_ of lamb, delicate golden-brown, with crimson beets and +golden carrots, cut in flower-shapes, neatly ranged around. Such a +pretty dish was never seen, she thought; and she had put it on the best +platter, the blue platter with the cow and the strawberries on it; and +when she set it before her husband, her dark eyes were actually shining +with pleasure, and she was thinking that if he were very pleased, but +very, very, she might possibly have courage to call him "Mon ami," +which she had thought several times of doing. It had such a friendly +sound, "Mon ami!" + +But alas! when De Arthenay came to the table he was in one of his dark +moods; and when his eyes fell on the festal dish, he started up, crying +out that the devil was tempting him, and that he and his house should +be lost through the wiles of the flesh; and so caught up the dish and +flung it on the fire, and bade his trembling wife bring him a crust of +dry bread. Poor Marie! she was too frightened to cry, though all her +woman's soul was in arms at the destruction of good food, to say +nothing of the wound to her house-wifely pride. She sat silent, eating +nothing, only making believe, when her husband looked her way, to +crumble a bit of bread. And when that wretched meal was over, Jacques +called her to his side, and took out the great black Bible, and read +three chapters of denunciation from Jeremiah, that made Marie's blood +chill in her veins, and sent her shivering to her bed. The next day he +would eat nothing but Indian meal porridge, and the next; and it was a +week before Marie ventured to try any more experiments in cookery. + +Marie had a great dread of the black Bible. She was sure it was a +different Bible from the one which Mere Jeanne used to read at home, +for that was full of lovely things, while this was terrible. Sometimes +Jacques would call her to him and question her, and that was really too +frightful for anything. Perhaps he had been reading aloud, as he was +fond of doing in the evenings, some denunciatory passage from the +psalms or the prophets. "Mary," he would say, turning to her, as she +sat with her knitting in the corner, "what do you think of that +passage?" + +"I think him horreebl'," Marie would answer. "Why do you read of such +things, Jacques! Why you not have the good Bible, as we have him in +France, why?" + +"There is but one Bible, Mary, but one in the world; and it is all good +and beautiful, only our sinful eyes cannot always see the glory of it." + +"Ah, but no!" Marie would persist, shaking her head gravely. "Mere +Jeanne's Bible was all ozer, so I tell you. Not black and horreebl', +no! but red, all red, wiz gold on him, and in his side pictures, all +bright and preetty, and good words, good ones, what make the good feel +in my side. Yes, that is the Bible I have liked." + +"Mary, I tell you it was no Bible, unless it was this very one. They +bind it in any colour they like, don't you see, child? It isn't the +cover that makes the book. I fear you weren't brought up a Christian, +Mary. It is a terrible thing to think of, my poor little wife. You +must let me teach you; you must talk with Elder Beach on Sunday +afternoons. Assuredly he will help you, if I am found unworthy." + +But Marie would have none of this. She was a Christian, she maintained +as stoutly as her great fear of her husband would permit. She had been +baptized, and taught all that one should be taught. But it was all +different. Her Bible told that we must love people, but love +everybody, always, all times; and this black book said that we must +kill them with swords, and dash them against stones, and pray bad +things to happen to them. It stood to reason that it was not the same +Bible, _hein_? At this Jacques De Arthenay started, and took himself +by the hair with both hands, as he did when something moved him +strongly. "Those were bad people, Mary!" he cried. "Don't you see? +they withstood the Elect, and they were slain. And we must think about +these things, and think of our sins, and the sins of others as a +warning to ourselves. Sin is awful, black, horrible! and its wages is +death,--death, do you hear?" + +When he cried out in this way, like a wild creature, Marie did not dare +to speak again; but she would murmur under her breath in French, as she +bent lower over her knitting, "Nevertheless, Mere Jeanne's good Lord +was good, and yours--"; and then she would quietly turn a hairpin +upside down in her hair, for it was quite certain that if she caught +Jacques's eye when he was in this mood, her hand would wither, or her +hair fall out, or at the very least the cream all sour in the pans; and +when one's hands were righteously busy, as with knitting, one might +make the horns with other things, and a hairpin was very useful. She +wished she had a little coral hand, such as she had once seen at a +fair, with the fingers making the horns in the proper manner; it would +be a great convenience, she thought with a sigh. + +But he was always sorry after these dark times; and when he sat and +held her hand, as he did sometimes, silent for the most part, but +gazing at her with eyes of absolute, unspeakable love, Marie was +pleased, almost content: as nearly content as one could be with the +half of one's life taken away. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +LOOKING BACK. + +The half of a life! for so Marie counted the loss of her violin. She +never spoke of this--to whom should she speak? In her husband's eyes +it was a thing accursed, she knew. She almost hoped he had forgotten +about the precious treasure that lay so quietly in some dark nook in +the lonely garret; for as long as he did not think of it, it was safe +there, and she should not feel that terrible anguish that had seemed to +rend body and soul when she saw him lay the violin across his knee to +break it. And Abby came not, and gave no sign; and there was no one +else. + +She saw little of the neighbours at first. The women looked rather +askance at her, and thought her little better than a fool, even if she +had contrived to make one of Jacques De Arthenay. She never seemed to +understand their talk, and had a way of looking past them, as if +unaware of their presence, that was disconcerting, when one thought +well of oneself. But Marie was not a fool, only a child; and she did +not look at the women simply because she was not thinking of them. +With the children, however, it was different Marie felt that she would +have a great deal to say to the children, if only she had the half of +her that could talk to them. Ah, how she would speak, with Madame on +her arm! What wonders she could tell them, of fairies and witches, of +flowers that sang and birds that danced! But this other part of her +was shy, and she did not feel that she had anything worth saying to the +little ones, who looked at her with half-frightened, half-inviting eyes +when they passed her door. By-and-by, however, she mustered up +courage, and called one or two of them to her, and gave them flowers +from her little garden. Also a pot of jam with a spoon in it proved an +eloquent argument in favour of friendship; and after a while the +children fell into a way of sauntering past with backward glances, and +were always glad to come in when Marie knocked on the window, or came +smiling to the door, with her handkerchief tied under her chin and her +knitting in her hand. It was only when her husband was away that this +happened; Marie would not for worlds have called a child to meet her +husband's eyes, those blue eyes of which, she stood in such terror, +even when she grew to love them. + +One little boy in particular came often, when the first shyness had +worn away. He was an orphan, like Marie herself: a pretty, dark-eyed +little fellow, who looked, she fancied, like the children at home in +France. He did not expect her to talk and answer questions, but was +content to sit, as she loved to do, gazing at the trees or the clouds +that went sailing by, only now and then uttering a few quiet words that +seemed in harmony with the stillness all around. I have said that +Jacques De Arthenay's house lay somewhat apart from the village street. +It was a pleasant house, long and low, painted white, with vines +trained over the lower part. Directly opposite was a pine grove, and +here Marie and her little friend loved to sit, listening to the murmur +of the wind in the dark feathery branches. It was the sound of the +sea, Marie told little Petie. As to how it got there, that was another +matter; but it was undoubtedly the sound of the sea, for she had been +at sea, and recognised it at once. + +"What does it say?" asked the child one day. + +"Of words," said Marie, "I hear not any, Petie. But it wants always +somesing, do you hear? It is hongry always, and makes moans for the +sorry thinks it has in its heart." + +"I am hungry in my stomach, not in my heart," objected Petie. + +But Marie nodded her head sagely. "Yes," she said. "It is that you +know not the deeference, Petie, bit-ween those. To be hongry at the +stomach, that is made better when you eat cakes, do you see, or +_pot_atoes. But when the heart is hongry, then--ah, yes, that is ozer +thing." And she nodded again, and glanced up at the attic window, and +sighed. + +It was a long time before she spoke of her past life; but when she +found that Petie had no sharp-eyed mother at home, only a deaf +great-aunt who asked no questions, she began to give him little +glimpses of the circus world, which filled him with awe and rapture. +It was hardly a real circus, only a little strolling _troupe_, with +some performing dogs, and a few trained horses and ponies, and two +tight-rope dancers; then there were two other musicians, and Marie +herself, besides Le Boss and his family, and Old Billy, who took care +of the horses and did the dirty work. It was about the dogs that Petie +liked best to hear; of the wonderful feats of Monsieur George, the +great brindled greyhound, and the astonishing sagacity of Coquelicot, +the poodle. + +"Monsieur George, he could jump over anything, yes! He was always +jump, jump, all day long, to practise himself. Over our heads all, +that was nothing, yet he did it always when we come in the tent, _pour +saluer_, to say the how you do. But one day come in a man to see Le +Boss, very tall, oh, like mountains, and on him a tall hat. And +Monsieur George, he not stopped to measure with his eye, for fear he be +too late with the _politesse_, and he jump, and carry away the man's +hat, and knock him down and come plomp, down on him. Yes, very funny! +The man got a bottle in his hat, and that break, and run all over him, +and he say, oh, he say all things what you think of. But Monsieur +George was so 'shamed, he go away and hide, and not for a week we see +him again. Le Boss think that man poison him, and he goes to beat him; +but that same day Monsieur George come back, and stop outside the tent +and call us all to come out. And when we come, he run back, and say, +'Look here, what I do!' and he jump, and go clean over the tent, and +not touch him wiz his foot. Yes, I saw it: very fine dog, Monsieur +George! But Coquelicot, he have more thinking than Monsieur George. +He very claiver, Coquelicot! Some of zem think him a witch, but I +think not that. He have minds, that was all. But his legs so short, +and that make him hate Monsieur George." + +"My legs are short," objected Petie, stretching out a pair of plump +calves, "but that doesn't make me hate people." + +"Ah, but if you see a little boy what can walk over the roof of the +house, you want the same to do it, _n'est-ce-pas_?" cried Marie. "You +try, and try, and when you cannot jump, you think that not a so nize +little boy as when his legs were short. So boy, so dog. Coquelicot, +all his life he want to jump like Monsieur George, and all his life he +cannot jump at all. You say to him, 'Coquelicot, are you foolishness? +you can do feefty things and George not one of zem: you can read the +letters, and find the things in the pocket, and play the ins_tru_ment, +and sing the tune to make die people of laughing, yet you are not +_con_tent. Let him have in peace his legs, Monsieur George, then!' +But no! and every time Monsieur George come down from the great jump, +Coquelicot is ready, and bite his legs so hard what he can." + +Petie laughed outright. "I think that's awful funny!" he said. "I +say, Mis' De Arthenay, I'd like to seen him bite his legs. Did he +holler?" + +"Monsieur George? He cry, and go to his bed. All the dogs, they +afraid of Coquelicot, because he have the minds. And he, Coquelicot, +he fear nossing, except Madame when she is angry." + +"Who was she?" asked Petie,--"a big dog?" + +"Ah, dog, no!" cried Marie, her face flushing. "Madame my violon, my +life, my pleasure, my friend. Ah, _mon Dieu_, what friend have I?" +Her breast heaved, and she broke into a wild fit of crying, forgetting +the child by her side, forgetting everything in the world save the +hunger at her heart for the one creature to whom she could speak, and +who could speak in turn to her. + +Petie sat silent, frightened at the sudden storm of sobs and tears. +What had he done, he wondered? At length he mustered courage to touch +his friend's arm softly with his little hand. + +"I didn't go to do it!" he said. "Don't ye cry, Mis' De Arthenay! I +don't know what I did, but I didn't go to do it, nohow." + +Marie turned and looked at him, and smiled through her tears. "Dear +little Petie!" she said, stroking the curly head, "you done nossing, +little Petie. It was the honger, no more! Oh, no more!" she caught +her breath, but choked the sob back bravely, and smiled again. +Something woke in her child heart, and bade her not sadden the heart of +the younger child with a grief which was not his. It is one of the +lessons of life, and it was well with Marie that she learned it early. + +"Madame, my violon," she resumed after a pause, speaking cheerfully, +and wiping her eyes with her apron, "she have many voices, Petie; +tousand voices, like all birds, all winds, all song in the world; and +she have an angry voice, too, deep down, what make you tr-remble in +your heart, if you are bad. _Bien_! Sometime Coquelicot, he been bad, +very bad. He know so much, that make him able for the bad, see, like +for the good. Yes! Sometime, he steal the sugar; sometime he come in +when we make music, and make wiz us yells, and spoil the music; +sometime he make the horreebl' faces at the poppies and make scream +them with fear." + +"Kin poppies scream?" asked Petie, opening great eyes of wonder. "My! +ourn can't. We've got big red ones, biggest ever you see, but I never +heerd a sound out of 'em." + +Explanations ensued, and a digression in favour of the six puppies, +whose noses were softer and whose tails were funnier than anything else +in the known, world; and then-- + +"So Coquelicot, he come and he sit down before the poppies, and he open +his mouth, so!" here Marie opened her pretty mouth, and tried to look +like a malicious poodle,--with singular lack of success; but Petie was +delighted, and clapped his hands and laughed. + +"And then," Marie went on, "Lisette, she is the poppies' mother, and +she hear them, and she come wiz yells, too, and try to drive +Coquelicot, but he take her wiz his teeth and shake her, and throw her +away, and go on to make faces, and all is horreebl' noise, to wake +deads. So Old Billy call me, and I come, and I go softly behind +Coquelicot, and down I put me, and Madame speak in her angry voice +justly in Coquelicot's ear. 'La la! tra la li la!' deep down like so, +full wiz angryness, terreebl', yes! And Coquelicot he jump, oh my! oh +my! never he could jump so of all his life. And the tail bit-ween his +legs, and there that he run, run, as if all devils run after him. Yes, +funny, Petie, vairy funny!" She laughed, and Petie laughed in violent, +noisy peals, as children love to do, each gust of merriment fanning the +fire for another, till all control is lost, and the little one drops +into an irrepressible fit of the "giggles." So they sat under the +pine-trees, the two children, and laughed, and Marie forgot the hunger +at her heart; till suddenly she looked and saw her husband standing +near, leaning on his rake and gazing at her with grave, uncomprehending +eyes. Then the laugh froze on her lips, and she rose hastily, with the +little timid smile which was all she had for Jacques (yet he was hungry +too, so hungry! and knew not what ailed him!) and went to meet him; +while Petie ran away through the grove, as fast as his little legs +would carry him. + +CHAPTER VIII. + +A FLOWER IN THE SNOW. + +The winter, when it came, was hard for Marie. She had never known +severe weather before, and this season it was bitter cold. People +shook their heads, and said that old times had come again, and no +mistake. There was eager pride in the lowest mercury, and the man +whose thermometer registered thirty degrees below zero was happier than +he who could boast but of twenty-five. There was not so much snow as +in milder seasons, but the cold held without breaking, week after week: +clear weather; no wind, but the air taking the breath from the dryness +of it, and in the evening the haze hanging blue and low that tells of +intensest cold. As the snow fell, it remained. The drifts and hollows +never changed their shape, as in a soft or a windy season, but seemed +fixed as they were for all time. Across the road from Jacques De +Arthenay's house, a huge drift had been piled by the first snowstorm of +the winter. Nearly as high as the house it was, and its top combed +forward, like a wave ready to break; and in the blue hollow beneath the +curling crest was the likeness of a great face. A rock cropped out, +and ice had formed upon its surface, so that the snow fell away from +it. The explanation was simple enough; Jacques De Arthenay, coming and +going at his work, never so much as looked at it; but to Marie it was a +strange and a dreadful thing to see. Night and morning, in the cold +blue light of the winter moon and the bright hard glitter of the winter +sun, the face was always there, gazing in at her through the window, +seeing everything she did, perhaps--who could tell?--seeing everything +she thought. She changed her seat, and drew down the blind that faced +the drift; yet it had a strange fascination for her none the less, and +many times in the day she would go and peep through the blind, and +shiver, and then come away moaning in a little way that she had when +she was alone. It was pitiful to see how she shrank from the +cold,--the tender creature who seemed born to live and bloom with the +flowers, perhaps to wither with them. Sometimes it seemed to her as if +she could not bear it, as if she must run away and find the birds, and +the green and joyous things that she loved. The pines were always +green, it is true, in the little grove across the way; but it was a +solemn and gloomy green, to her child's mind,--she had not yet learned +to love the steadfast pines. Sometimes she would open the door with a +wild thought of flying out, of flying far away, as the birds did, and +rejoining them in southern countries where the sun was warm, and not a +fire that froze while it lighted one. So cold! so cold! But when she +stood thus, the little wild heart beating fiercely in her, the icy +blast would come and chill her into quiet again, and turn the blood +thick, so that it ran slower in her veins; and she would think of the +leagues and leagues of pitiless snow and ice that lay between her and +the birds, and would close the door again, and go back to her work with +that little weary moan. + +Her husband was very kind in these days; oh, very kind and gentle. He +kept the dark moods to himself, if they came upon him, and tried even +to be gay, though he did not know how to set about it. If he had ever +known or looked at a child, this poor man, he would have done better; +but it was not a thing that he had ever thought of, and he did not yet +know that Marie was a child. Sometimes when she saw him looking at her +with the grave, loving, uncomprehending look that so often followed her +as she moved about, she would come to him and lay her head against his +shoulder, and remain quiet so for many minutes; but when he moved to +stroke her dark head, and say, "What is it, Mary? what troubles you?" +she could only say that it was cold, very cold, and then go away again +about her work. + +Sometimes an anguish would seize him, when he saw how pale and thin she +grew, and he would send for the village doctor, and beg him to give her +some "stuff" that would make her plump and rosy again; but the good man +shook his head, and said she needed nothing, only care and +kindness,--kindness, he repeated, with some emphasis, after a glance at +De Arthenay's face, and good food. "Cheerfulness," he said, buttoning +up his fur coat under his chin,--"cheerfulness, Mr. De Arthenay, and +plenty of good things to eat. That's all she needs." And he went away +wondering whether the little creature would pull through the winter or +not. + +And Jacques did not throw the food into the fire any more; he even +tried to think about it, and care about it. And he got out the +Farmer's Almanac,--yes, he did,--and tried reading the jokes aloud, to +see if they would amuse Mary; but they did not amuse her in the least, +or him either, so that was given up. And so the winter wore on. + +It had to end sometime; even that winter could not last forever. The +iron grasp relaxed: fitfully at first, with grim clutches and snatches +at its prey, gripping it the closer because it knew the time was near +when all power would go, drop off like a garment, melt away like a +stream. The unchanging snow-forms began to shift, the keen outlines +wavered, grew indistinct, fell into ruin, as the sun grew warm again, +and sent down rays that were no longer like lances of diamond. The +glittering face in the hollow of the great drift lost its watchful +look, softened, grew dim and blurred; one morning it was gone. That +day Marie sang a little song, the first she had sung through all the +long, cruel season. She drew up the blind and gazed out; she wrapped a +shawl round her head and went and stood at the door, afraid of nothing +now, not even thinking of making those tiresome horns. She was aware +of something new in the air she breathed. It was still cold, but with +a difference; there was a breathing as of life, where all had been dry, +cold death. There was a sense of awakening everywhere; whispers seemed +to come and go in the tops of the pine-trees, telling of coming things, +of songs that would be sung in their branches, as they had been sung +before; of blossoms that would spring at their feet, brightening the +world with gold and white and crimson. + +Life! life stirring and waking everywhere, in sky and earth; soft +clouds sweeping across the blue, softening its cold brightness, +dropping rain as they go; sap creeping through the ice-bound stems, +slowly at first, then running freely, bidding the tree awake and be at +its work, push out the velvet pouch that holds the yellow catkin, swell +and polish the pointed leaf-buds: life working silently under the +ground, brown seeds opening their leaves to make way for the tender +shoot that shall draw nourishment from them and push its way on and up +while they die content, their work being done; roots creeping here and +there, threading their way through the earth, softening, loosening, +sucking up moisture and sending it aloft to carry on the great +work,--life everywhere, pulsing in silent throbs, the heart-beats of +Nature; till at last the time is ripe, the miracle is prepared, and + + "In green underwood and cover + Blossom by blossom the spring begins." + +Marie too, the child-woman, standing in her doorway, felt the thrill of +new life; heard whispers of joy, but knew not what they meant; saw a +radiance in the air that was not all sunlight; was conscious of a +warmth at her heart which she had never known in her merriest days. +What did it all mean? Nay, she could not tell, she was not yet awake. +She thought of her friend, of the silent voice that had spoken so often +and so sweetly to her, and the desire grew strong upon her. If she +died for it, she must play once more on her violin. + +There came a day in spring when the desire mastered the fear that was +in her. It was a perfect afternoon, the air a-lilt with bird-songs, +and full of the perfume of early flowers. Her husband was ploughing in +a distant field, and surely would not return for an hour or two; what +might one not do in an hour? She called her little friend, Petie, who +was hovering about the door, watching for her. Quickly, with +fluttering breath, she told him what she meant to do, bade him be brave +and fear nothing; locked the door, drew down the blinds, and closed the +heavy wooden shutters; turned to the four corners of the room, bowing +to each corner, as she muttered some words under her breath; and then, +catching the child's hand in hers, began swiftly and lightly to mount +the attic stairs. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +DE AKTHENAY'S VIGIL. + +Was it a _loup-garou_ in the attic? was it a _loup-garou_ that drew +that long, sighing breath, as of a soul in pain; was it a _loup-garou_ +that now groped its way to the other staircase, that which led up from +the woodshed, pausing now and then, and going blindly, and breathing +still heavily and slow? + +De Arthenay had come up to the attic in search of something, tools, +maybe, or seeds, or the like, for many odd things were stowed away +under the over-hanging rafters. He heard steps, and stood still, +knowing that it must be his wife who was coming up, and thinking to +have pleasure just by watching her as she went on some little household +errand, such as brought himself. She would know nothing of his +presence, and so she would be free, unrestrained by any shyness or--or +fear; if it was fear. So he had stood in his dark corner, and had seen +little, indeed, but heard all; and it was a wild and a miserable man +that crept down the narrow stairway and out into the fresh air. + +He did not know where he was going. He wandered on and on, hearing +always that sound in his ears, the soft, sweet tones of the accursed +instrument that was wiling his wife, his own, his beloved, to her +destruction. The child, too, how would it be for him? But the child +was a smaller matter. Perhaps,--who knows? a child can live down sin. +But Mary, whom he fancied saved, cured, the evil thing rooted out of +her heart and remembrance! + +Mary; Mary! He kept saying her name over and over to himself, +sometimes aloud, in a passion of reproach, sometimes softly, +broodingly, with love and pathos unutterable. What power there was in +that wicked voice! He had never rightly heard it before, never, save +that instant when she stood playing in the village street, and he saw +her for a moment and loved her forever. Oh, he had heard, to be sure, +this or that strolling fiddler,--godless, tippling wretches, who rarely +came to the village, and never set foot there twice, he thought with +pride. But this, this was different! What power! what sweetness, +filling his heart with rapture even while his spirit cried out against +it! What voices, entreating, commanding, uplifting! + +Nay, what was he saying? and who did not know that Satan could put on +an angel's look when it pleased him? and if a look, why not a voice? +When had a fiddle played godly tunes, chant or psalm? when did it do +aught else but tempt the foolish to their folly, the wicked to their +iniquity? + +Mary! Mary! How lovely she was, in the faint gleams of light that +fell about her, there in the dim old attic! He felt her beauty, +almost, more than he saw it. And all this year, while he had thought +her growing in grace, silently, indeed, but he hoped truly, she had +been hankering for the forbidden thing, had been planning deceit in her +heart, and had led away the innocent child to follow unrighteousness +with her. He would go back, and do what he should have done a year +ago,--what he would have done, had he not yielded to the foolish talk +of a foolish woman. He would go back, and burn the fiddle, and silence +forever that sweet, insidious music, with its wicked murmurs that stole +into a man's heart--even a man's, and one who knew the evil, and +abhorred it. The smoke of it once gone up to heaven, there would be an +end. He should have his wife again, his own, and nothing should come +between them more. Yes, he would go back, in a little while, as soon +as those sounds had died away from his ears. What was the song she +sung there? + + "'Tis long and long I have loved thee! + I'll ne'er forget thee more." + +She would forget it, though, surely, surely, when it was gone, breathed +out in flame and ashes: when he could say to her, "There is no more any +such thing in my house and yours, Mary, Mary." + +How tenderly he would tell her, though! It would hurt, yes! but not so +much as her look would hurt him when he told her. Ah, she loved the +wooden thing best! He was dumb, and it spoke to her in a thousand +tones! Even he had understood some of them. There was one note that +was like his mother's voice when she lifted it up in the hymn she loved +best,--his gentle mother, dead so long, so long ago. She--why, she +loved music; he had forgotten that. But only psalms, only godly hymns, +never anything else. + +What devil whispered in his ear, "She never heard anything else. She +would have loved this too, this too, if she had had the chance, if she +had heard Mary play!" He put his hands to his ears, and almost ran on. +Where was he going? He did not ask, did not think. He only knew that +it was a relief to be walking, to get farther and farther away from +what he loved and fain would cherish, from what he hated and would fain +destroy. + +The grass grew long and rank under his feet; he stumbled, and paused +for a moment, out of breath, to look about him. He was in the old +burying-ground, the grey stones rearing their heads to peer at him as +he hurried on. Ah, there was one stone here that belonged to him. He +had not been in the place since he was a child; he cared nothing about +the dead of long ago: but now the memory of it all came back upon him, +and he sought and found the grey sunken stone, and pulled away the +grass from it, and read the legend with eyes that scarcely saw what +they looked at. + + "D'Arthenay, tenez foi!" + +And the place was free from moss, as they always said; the rude +scratch, as of a sharp-pointed instrument. Did it mean anything? He +dropped beside it for a minute, and studied the stone; then rose and +went his way again, still wandering on and on, he knew not whither. + +Darkness came, and he was in the woods, stumbling here and there, +driven as by a strong wind, scorched as by a flame. At last he sank +down at the foot of a great oak-tree, in a place he knew well, even in +the dark: he could go no farther. + + "D'Arthenay, tenez foi!" + +It whispered in his ears, and seemed for a little to drown the haunting +notes of the violin. He, the Calvinist, the practical man, who +believed in two things outside the visible world, a great hell and a +small heaven, now felt spirits about him, saw visions that were not of +this life. His ancestor, the Huguenot, stood before him, in cloak and +band; in one hand a Bible, in the other a drawn dagger. His dark eyes +pierced like a sword-thrust; his lips moved; and though no sound came, +Jacques knew the words they framed. + +"Tenez foi! Keep the faith that I brought across the sea, leaving for +it fair fields and vineyards, castle and tower and town. Keep the +faith for which I bled, for which I died here in the wilderness, +leaving only these barren acres, and the stone that bears my last word, +my message to those who should come after me. Keep the faith for which +my fair wife faded and died, far away from home and friends! Let no +piping or jigging or profane sound be in thy house, but let it be the +house of fasting and of prayer, even as my house was. Keep faith! If +thy right hand offend thee, cut it off and cast it from thee!" + +Who else was there,--what gentle, pallid ghost, with sad, faint eyes? +The face was dim and shadowy, for he had been a little child when his +mother died. She was speaking too, but what were these words she was +saying? "Keep faith, my son! ay! but keep it with your wife too, the +child you wedded whether she would or no, and from whom you are taking +the joy of childhood, the light of youth. Keep faith as the sun keeps +it, as the summer keeps it, not as winter and the night." + +What did that mean? keep faith with her, with his wife? how else should +he do it but by saving her from the wrath to come, by plucking her as a +flower out of the mire? + +"What shall I save but her soul, yea, though her body perish?" + +He spoke out in his trouble, and the vision seemed to shrink and waver +under his gaze; but the faint voice sighed again,--or was it only the +wind in the pine-trees?--"Care thou for her earthly life, her earthly +joy, for God is mindful of her soul." + +But then the deeper note struck in again,--or was it only a stronger +gust, that bowed the branches, and murmured through all the airy depths +above him? + +"Keep the faith! Thou art a man, and wilt thou be drawn away by women, +of whom the best are a stumbling-block and a snare for the feet? +Destroy the evil thing! root it out from thy house! What are joys of +this world, that we should think of them? Do they not lead to +destruction, even the flowery path of it, going down to the mouth of +the pit, and with no way leading thence? Who is the woman for whose +sake thou wilt lose thine own soul? If thy right eye offend thee, +pluck it out!" + +So the night went on, and the voices, or the wind, or his own soul, +cried, and answered, and cried again: and no peace came. + +The night passed. As it drew to a close, all sound, all motion, died +away; the darkness folded him close, like a mantle; the silence pressed +upon him like hands that held him down. Like a log the man lay at the +foot of the great tree, and his soul lay dead within him. + +At last a change came; or did he sleep, and dream of a change? A faint +trembling in the air, a faint rustling that lost itself almost before +it reached the ear. It was gone, and all was still once more; yet with +a difference. The darkness lay less heavily: one felt that it hid many +things, instead of filling the world with itself alone. + +Hark! the murmur again, not lost this time, but coming and going, +lightly, softly, brushing here and there, soft dark wings fanning the +air, making it ever lighter, thinner. Gradually the veil lifted; +things stood out, black against black, then black against grey; +straight majesty of tree-trunks, bending lines of bough and spray, +tender grace of ferns. + +And now, what is this? A sound from the trees themselves,--no +multitudinous murmur this time, but a single note, small and clear and +sweet, breaking like a golden arrow of sound through the cloudy depths. + +Chirp, twitter! and again from the next tree, and the next, and now +from all the trees, short triads, broken snatches, and at last the full +chorus of song, choir answering to choir, the morning hymn of the +forest. + +Now, in the very tree beneath which the man lay, Chrysostom, the +thrush, took up his parable, and preached his morning sermon; and if it +had been set to words, they might have been something like these:-- + +"Sing! sing, brothers, sisters, little tender ones in the nest! Sing, +for the morning is come, and God has made us another day. Sing! for +praise is sweet, and our sweetest notes must show it forth. Song is +the voice that God has given us to tell forth His goodness, to speak +gladly of the wondrous things He hath made. Sing, brothers and +sisters! be joyful, be joyful in the Lord! all sorrow and darkness is +gone away, away, and light is here, and morning, and the world wakes +with us to gladness and the new day. Sing, and let your songs be all +of joy, joy, lest there be in the wood any sorrowing creature, who +might go sadly through the day for want of a voice of cheer, to tell +him that God is love, is love. Wake from thy dream, sad heart, if the +friendly wood hold such an one! Sorrow is night, and night is good, +for rest, and for seeing of many stars, and for coolness and sweet +odours; but now awake, awake, for the day is here, and the sun arises +in his might,--the sun, whose name is joy, is joy, and, whose voice is +praise. Sing, sing, and praise the Lord!" + +So the bird sang, praising God, and the other birds, from tree and +shrub, answered as best they might, each with his song of praise; and +the man, lying motionless beneath the great tree, heard, and listened, +and understood. + +Still he lay there, with wide open eyes, while the golden morning broke +over him, and the light came sifting down, through the leaves, +checkering all the ground with gold. The wood now glowed with colour, +russet and green and brown, wine-like red of the tree-trunks where the +sun struck aslant on them, soft yellow greens where the young ferns +uncurled their downy heads. The air was sweet, sweet, with the smell +of morning; was the whole world new since last night? + +Suddenly from the road near by (for he had gone round in a circle, and +the wooded hollow where he lay was out of sight but not out of hearing +of the country road which skirted the woods for many miles), from the +road near by came the sound of voices,--men's voices, which fell +strange and harsh on his ears, open for the first time to the music of +the world, and still ringing with the morning hymn of joy. What were +these harsh voices saying? + +"They think she'll live now?" + +"Yes, she'll pull through, unless she frets herself bad again about +Jacques. Nobody'd heerd a word of him when I come away." + +"Been out all night, has he?" + +"Yes! went away without saying anything to her or anybody, far as I can +make out. Been gone since yesterday afternoon, and some say--" The +voices died away, and then the footsteps, and silence fell once more. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +VITA NUOVA. + +De Arthenay never knew how he reached home that day. The spot where he +had been lying was several miles from the white cottage, yet he was +conscious of no time, no distance. It seemed one burning moment, a +moment never to be forgotten while he lived, till he found himself at +the foot of the outer stairway, the stair that led to the attic. She +might still be living, and he would not go to her without the thing she +craved, the thing which could speak to her in the voice she understood. + +Again a moment of half-consciousness, and he was standing in the +doorway of her bedroom, looking in with blind eyes of dread. What +should he see? what still form might break the outline of that white +bed which she always kept so smooth and trim? + +The silence cried out to him with a thousand voices, threatening, +condemning, blasting; but the next moment it was broken. + +"Mon ami!" said Marie. The words were faint, but there was a tone in +them that had never been there before. "Jacques, mon ami, you are +here! You did not go to leave me?" + +The mist cleared from the man's eyes. He did not see Abby Rock, +sitting by the bed, crying with joyful indignation; if he had seen her, +it would not have been in the least strange for her to be there. He +saw nothing--the world held nothing--but the face that looked at him +from the pillow, the pale face, all soft and worn, yet full of light, +full--was it true, or was he dreaming in the wood?--of love, of joy. + +"Come in, Jacques!" said Abby, wondering at the look of the man. +"Don't make a noise, but come in and sit down!" + +De Arthenay did not move, but held out the violin in both hands with a +strange gesture of submission. + +"I have brought it, Mary!" he said. "You shall always have it now. +I--I have learned a little--I know a little, now, of what it means. I +hadn't understanding before, Mary. I meant no unkindness to you." + +Abby laughed softly. "Jacques De Arthenay, come here!" she said. +"What do you suppose Maree's thinking of fiddles now? Come here, man +alive, and see your boy!" + +But Marie laid one hand softly on the violin, as it lay on the bed +beside her,--the hand that was not patting the baby; then she laid it, +still softly, shyly, on her husband's head as he knelt beside her. +"Jacques, mon ami," she whispered, "you are good! I too have learned. +I was a child always, I knew nothing. See now, I love always Madame, +my friend, and she is mine; but this, this is yours too, and mine too, +our life, our own. Jacques, now we both know, and God, He tell us! +See, the same God, only we did not know the first times. Now, always +we know, and not forget! not forget!" + +The baby woke and stirred. The tiny hand was outstretched and touched +its father's hand, and a thrill ran through him from head to foot, +softening the hard grain, melting, changing the fibre of his being. +The husk that in those lonely hours in the forest had been loosened, +broken, now fell away from him, and a new man knelt by the white bed, +silent, gazing from child to wife with eyes more eloquent than any +words could be. The baby's hand rested in his, and Marie laid her own +over it; and Abby Rock rose and went away, closing the door softly +after her. + + +THE END. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Marie, by Laura E. Richards + +*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 14018 *** diff --git a/LICENSE.txt b/LICENSE.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6312041 --- /dev/null +++ b/LICENSE.txt @@ -0,0 +1,11 @@ +This eBook, including all associated images, markup, improvements, +metadata, and any other content or labor, has been confirmed to be +in the PUBLIC DOMAIN IN THE UNITED STATES. + +Procedures for determining public domain status are described in +the "Copyright How-To" at https://www.gutenberg.org. + +No investigation has been made concerning possible copyrights in +jurisdictions other than the United States. Anyone seeking to utilize +this eBook outside of the United States should confirm copyright +status under the laws that apply to them. diff --git a/README.md b/README.md new file mode 100644 index 0000000..8bdae52 --- /dev/null +++ b/README.md @@ -0,0 +1,2 @@ +Project Gutenberg (https://www.gutenberg.org) public repository for +eBook #14018 (https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/14018) diff --git a/old/14018.txt b/old/14018.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..ad47089 --- /dev/null +++ b/old/14018.txt @@ -0,0 +1,2377 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Marie, by Laura E. Richards + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Marie + +Author: Laura E. Richards + +Release Date: November 11, 2004 [EBook #14018] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK MARIE *** + + + + +Produced by Al Haines + + + + + +MARIE + +BY + +LAURA E. RICHARDS + + + +AUTHOR OF "CAPTAIN JANUARY," "MELODY," "QUEEN +HILDEGARDE," "NARCISSA," ETC. + + + + +1894 + + + + +TO + +E. T. T. + + + + +CONTENTS. + + CHAPTER + + I. MARIE + II. "D'ARTHENAY, TENEZ FOI!" + III. ABBY ROCK + IV. POSSESSION + V. COURTSHIP + VI. WEDLOCK + VII. LOOKING BACK + VIII. A FLOWER IN THE SNOW + IX. MADAME + X. DE ARTHENAY'S VIGIL + XI. VITA NUOVA + + + + +MARIE. + + +CHAPTER I. + +MARIE. + +Marie was tired. She had been walking nearly the whole day, and now +the sun was low in the west, and long level rays of yellow light were +spreading over the country, striking the windows of a farmhouse here +and there into sudden flame, or resting more softly on tree-tops and +hanging slopes. They were like fiddle-bows, Marie thought; and at the +thought she held closer something that she carried in her arms, and +murmured over it a little, as a mother coos over her baby. It seemed a +long time since she had run away from the _troupe_: she would forget +all about them soon, she thought, and their ugly faces. She shivered +slightly as she recalled the face of "Le Boss" as it was last bent upon +her, frowning and dark, and as ugly as a hundred devils, she was quite +sure. Ah, he would take away her violin--Le Boss! he would give it to +his own girl, whom she, Marie, had taught till she could play a very +little, enough to keep the birds from flying away when they saw her, as +they otherwise might; she was to have the violin, the Lady, one's own +heart and life, and Marie was to have a fiddle that he had picked up +anywhere, found on an ash-heap, most likely! Ah, and now he had lost +the Lady and Marie too, and who would play for him this evening, and +draw the children out of the houses? _he_! let some one tell Marie +that! It had not been hard, the running away, for no one would ever +have thought of Marie's daring to do such a thing. She belonged to Le +Boss, as much as the tent or the ponies, or his own ugly girl: so they +all thought in the _troupe_, and so Marie herself had thought till that +day; that is, she had not thought at all. While she could play all the +time, and had often quite enough to eat, and always something, a piece +of bread in the hand if no more,--and La Patronne, Le Boss's wife, +never too unkind, and sometimes even giving her a bit of ribbon for the +Lady's neck when there was to be a special performance,--why, who would +have thought of running away? she had been with them so long, those +others, and that time in France was so long ago,--hundreds of years ago! + +So no one had thought of noticing when she dropped behind to tune her +violin and practise by herself; it was a thing she did every day, they +all knew, for she could not practise when the children pulled her gown +all the time, and wanted to dance. She had chosen the place well, +having been on the lookout for it all day, ever since Le Boss told her +what he meant to do,--that infamy which the good God would never have +allowed, if He had not been perhaps tired with the many infamies of Le +Boss, and forgotten to notice this one. She had chosen the place well! +A little wood dipped down to the right, with a brook running beyond, +and across the brook a sudden sharp rise, crowned with a thick growth +of birches. She had played steadily as she passed through the wood and +over the stream, and only ceased when she gained the brow of the hill +and sprang like a deer down the opposite slope. No one had seen her +go, she was sure of that; and now they could never tell which way she +had turned, and would be far more likely to run back along the road. +How they would shout and scream, and how Le Boss would swear! Ah, no +more would he swear at Marie because people did not always give money, +being perhaps poor themselves, or unwilling to give to so ugly a face +as his girl's, who carried round the dish. No more! And La Patronne +would be sorry perhaps a little,--she had the good heart, La Patronne, +under all the fat,--and Old Billy, he would be too sorry, she was sure. +Poor Old Billy! it was cruel to leave him, when he had such joy of her +playing, the good old man, and a hard life taking care of the beasts, +and bearing all the blame if any of them died through hunger. But it +would have been sadder for Old Billy to see her die, Marie, and she +would have died, of course she would! To live without the Lady, a +pretty life that would be! far sooner would one go at once to the good +God, where the angels played all day, even if one were not allowed to +play oneself just at first. Afterward, of course, when they found out +how she had played down here, it would be otherwise. + +Meanwhile, all these thoughts did not keep Marie from being tired, and +hungry too; and she was glad enough to see some brown roofs clustered +together at a little distance, as she turned a corner of the road. A +village! good! Here would be children, without doubt; and where there +were children, Marie was among friends. She stopped for a moment, to +push back her hair, which had fallen down in the course of her night, +and to tie the blue handkerchief neatly over it, and shake the dust +from her bare feet. They were pretty feet, so brown and slender! She +had shoes, but they were in the wagon; La Patronne took care of all the +Sunday clothes, and there had been no chance to get at anything, even +if she could have been hampered by such things as shoes, with the Lady +to carry. It did not in the least matter about shoes, when it was +summer: when the road was hot, one walked in the cool grass at the +side; when there was no grass--eh, one waited till one came to some. +They were only for state, these shoes. They were stiff and hard, and +the heel-places hurt: it was different for La Patronne, who wore +stockings under hers. But here were the houses, and it was time to +play. They were pleasant-looking houses, Marie thought, they looked as +if persons lived in them who stayed at home and spun, as the women did +in Brittany. Ah, that it was far away, Brittany! she had almost +forgotten it, and now it all seemed to come back to her, as she gazed +about her at the houses, some white, some brown, all with an air of +thrift and comfort, as becomes a New England village. That white house +there, with the bright green blinds! That pleased her eye. And see! +there was a child's toy lying on the step, a child's face peeping out +of the window. Decidedly, she had arrived. + +Marie took out her violin, and tuned it softly, with little rustling, +whispering notes, speaking of perfect accord between owner and +instrument; then she looked up at the child and smiled, and began to +play "En revenant d'Auvergne." It was a tune that the little people +always loved, and when one heard it, the feet began to dance before the +head. Sure enough, the door opened in another moment, and the child +came slipping out: not with flying steps, as a city child would come, +to whom wandering musicians were a thing of every day; but shyly, with +sidelong movements, clinging to the wall as it advanced, and only +daring by stealth to lift its eyes to the strange woman with the +fiddle, a sight never seen before in its little life. But Marie knew +all about the things that children think. What was she but a child +herself? she had little knowledge of grown persons, and regarded them +all as ogres, more or less, except Old Billy, and La Patronne, who +really meant to be kind. + +"Come, lit' girl!" she said in her clear soft voice. "Come and dance! +for you I play, for you I sing too, if you will. Ah, the pretty song, +'En revenant d'Auvergne!'" And she began to sing as she played: + + "Eh, gai, Coco! + Eh, gai, Coco! + Eh, venez voir la danse + Du petit marmot! + Eh, venez voir la danse + Du petit marmot!" + +The little girl pressed closer against the wall, her eyes wide open, +her finger in her mouth, yet came nearer and nearer, drawn by the smile +as well as the music. Presently another came running up, and another; +then the boys, who had just brought their cows home and were playing +marbles on the sly, behind the brown barn, heard the sound of the +fiddle and came running, stuffing their gains into their pockets as +they ran. Then Mrs. Piper, who was always foolish about music, her +neighbors said, came to her door, and Mrs. Post opposite, who was as +deaf as her namesake, came to see what Susan Piper was after, loitering +round the door when the men-folks were coming in to their supper: and +so with one thing and another, Marie had quite a little crowd around +her, and was feeling happy and pleased, and sure that when she stopped +playing and carried round her handkerchief knotted at the four corners +so as to form a bag, the pennies would drop into it as fast, yes, and +maybe a good deal faster, than if Le Boss's ugly daughter was carrying +it, with her nose turned up and one eye looking round the corner to see +where her hair was gone to. Ah, Le Boss, what was he doing this +evening for his music, with no Marie and no Lady! + +And it was just at this triumphant moment that Jacques De Arthenay came +round the corner and into the village street. + + + + +CHAPTER II. + +"D'ARTHENAY, TENEZ FOI!" + +There had been De Arthenays in the village ever since it became a +village: never many of them, one or two at most in a generation; not a +prolific stock, but a hardy and persistent one. No one knew when the +name had dropped its soft French sound, and taken the harsh Anglo-Saxon +accent. It had been so with all the old French names, the +L'Homme-Dieus and Des Isles and Beaulieus; the air, or the granite, or +one knows not what, caused an ossification of the consonants, a drying +up of the vowels, till these names, once soft and melodious, became +more angular, more rasping in utterance, than ever Smith or Jones could +be. + +They were Huguenots, the d'Arthenays. A friend from childhood of St. +Castin, Jacques d'Arthenay had followed his old companion to America at +the time when the revocation of the Edict of Nantes rendered France no +safe dwelling-place for those who had no hinges to their knees. A +stern, silent man, this d'Arthenay, like most of his race: holding in +scorn the things of earthly life, brooding over grievances, given to +dwelling much on heaven and hell, as became his time and class. +Leaving castle and lands and all earthly ties behind them, he and his +wife came out of Sodom, as they expressed it, and turned not their +faces, looking steadfastly forward to the wilderness where they were to +worship God in His own temple, the virgin forest. It had been a +terrible shock to find the Baron de St. Castin fallen away from +religion and civilisation, living in savage pomp with his savage wives, +the daughters of the great chief Modocawando. There could be no such +companionship as this for the Sieur d'Arthenay and his noble wife; the +friendship of half a lifetime was sternly repudiated, and d'Arthenay +cast in his lot with the little band of Huguenot settlers who were +striving to win their livelihood from the rugged soil of eastern Maine. + +It was bitter bread that they ate, those French settlers. We read the +story again and again, each time with a fresh pang of pity and regret; +but it is not of them that this tale is told. Jacques d'Arthenay died +in his wilderness, and his wife followed him quickly, leaving a son to +carry on the name. The gravestone of these first d'Arthenays was still +to be seen in the old burying-ground: they had been the first to be +buried there. The old stone was sunk half-way in the earth, and was +gray with moss and lichens; but the inscription was still legible, if +one looked close, and had patience to decipher the crabbed text. + + "Jacques St. George, Sieur d'Arthenay et de Vivonne. + Mort en foi et en esperance, 28me Decembre, 1694." + +Then a pair of mailed hands, clasped as in sign of friendship or +loyalty, and beneath them again, the words, + + "D'Arthenay, tenez foi!" + +The story was that the son of this first Sieur d'Arthenay had been +exposed to some dire temptation, whether of love or of ambition was not +clearly known, and had been in danger of turning from the faith of his +people and embracing that of Rome. He came one day to meditate beside +his father's grave, hoping perhaps to draw some strength, some +inspiration, from the memories of that stern and righteous Huguenot; +and as he sat beside the stone, lo! a mailed hand appeared, holding a +sword, and graved with the point of the sword on the stone, the old +motto of his father's house,-- + + "D'Arthenay, tenez foi!" + +And he had been strengthened, and lived and died in the faith of his +father. Many people in the village scouted this story, and called it +child's foolishness, but there were some who liked to believe it, and +who pointed out that these words were not carved deeply and regularly, +like the rest of the inscription, but roughly scratched, as if with a +sharp point. And that although merely so scratched, they had never +been effaced, but were even more easily read than the carven script. + +Among those who held it for foolishness was the present Jacques De +Arthenay. He was perhaps the fifth in descent from the old Huguenot, +but he might have been his own son or brother. The Huguenot doctrines +had only grown a little colder, a little harder, turned into New +England Orthodoxy as it was understood fifty years ago. He thought +little of his French descent or his noble blood. He pronounced his +name Jakes, as all his neighbors did; he lived on his farm, as they +lived on theirs. If it was a better farm, the land in better +condition, the buildings and fences trimmer and better cared for, that +was in the man, not in his circumstances. He was easily leader among +the few men whose scattered dwellings made up the village of Sea +Meadows (commonly pronounced Semedders.) His house did not lie on the +little "street," as that part of the road was called where some +half-dozen houses were clustered together, with their farms spreading +out behind them, and the post-office for the king-pin; yet no important +step would be taken by the villagers without the advice and approval of +Jacques De Arthenay. Briefly, he was a born leader; a masterful man, +with a habit of thinking before he spoke; and when he said a thing must +be done, people were apt to do it. He was now thirty years old, +without kith or kin that any one knew of; living by himself in a good +house, and keeping it clean and decent, almost as a woman might; not +likely ever to change his condition, it was supposed. + +This was the man who happened to come into the street on some errand, +that soft summer evening, at the very moment when Marie was feeling +lifted up by the light of joy in the children's faces, and was telling +herself how good it was that she had come this way. Hearing the sound +of the fiddle, De Arthenay stopped for a moment, and his face grew dark +as night. He was a religious man, as sternly so as his Huguenot +ancestor, but wearing his religion with a difference. He knew all +music, except psalm-tunes, to be directly from the devil. Even as to +the psalm-tunes themselves, it seemed to him a dreadful thing that +worship could not be conducted without this compromise with evil, this +snare to catch the ear; and he harboured in the depth of his soul +thoughts about the probable frivolity of David, which he hardly voiced +even to himself. The fiddle, in particular, he held to be positively +devilish, both in its origin and influence; those who played this +unholy instrument were bound to no good place, and were sure to gain +their port, in his opinion. Being thus minded, it was with a shock of +horror that he heard the sound of a fiddle in the street of his own +village, not fifty yards from the meeting-house itself. After a +moment's pause, he came wrathfully down the street; his height raised +him a head and shoulders above the people who were ringed around the +little musician, and he looked over their heads, with his arm raised to +command, and his lips opened to forbid the shameful thing. Then--he +saw Marie's face; and straightway his arm dropped to his side, and he +stood without speaking. The children looked up at him, and moved away, +for they were always afraid of him, and at this moment his face was +dreadful to see. + +Yet it was nothing dreadful that he looked upon. Marie was standing +with her head bent down over her violin, in a pretty way she had. A +light, slight figure, not short, yet with a look that spoke all of +youth and morning grace. She wore a little blue gown, patched and +faded, and dusty enough after her day's walk; her feet were dusty too, +but slender and delicately shaped. Her face was like nothing that had +been seen in those parts before, and the beauty of it seemed to strike +cold to the man's heart, as he stood and gazed with unwilling eyes, +hating the feeling that constrained him, yet unable for the moment to +restrain it or to turn his eyes away. She had that clear, bright +whiteness of skin that is seen only in Frenchwomen, and only here and +there among these; whiteness as of fire behind alabaster. Her hair was +black and soft, and the lashes lay like jet on her cheek, as she stood +looking down, smiling a little, feeling so happy, so pleased that she +was pleasing others. And now, when she raised her eyes, they were seen +to be dark and soft, too; but with what fire in their depths, what +sunny light of joy,--the joy of a child among children! De Arthenay +started, and his hands clenched themselves unconsciously. Marie +started, too, as she met the stern gaze fixed upon her, and the joyous +light faded from her eyes. Rudely it broke in upon her pleasant +thoughts,--this vision of a set, bearded face, with cold blue eyes that +yet had a flame in them, like a spark struck from steel. The little +song died on her lips, and unconsciously she lowered her bow, and stood +silent, returning helplessly the look bent so sternly upon her. + +When Jacques de Arthenay found himself able to speak at last, he +started at the sound of his own voice. + +"Who are you?" he asked. "How did you come here, young woman?" + +Marie held out her fiddle with a pretty, appealing gesture. "I +come--from away!" she said, in her broken English, that sounded soft +and strange to his ears. "I do no harm. I play, to make happy the +children, to get bread for me." + +"Who came with you?" De Arthenay continued. "Who are your folks?" + +Marie shook her head, and a light crept into her eyes as she thought of +Le Boss. "I have nobodies'" she said. "I am with myself, _sauf le +violon_; I mean, wiz my fiddle. Monsieur likes not music, no?" + +She looked wistfully at him, and something seemed to rise up in the +man's throat and choke him. He made a violent motion, as if to free +himself from something. What had happened to him,--was he suddenly +possessed, or was he losing his wits? He tried to force his voice back +into its usual tone, tried even to speak gently, though his heart was +beating so wildly at the way she looked, at the sweet notes of her +voice, like a flute in its lower notes, that he could hardly hear his +own words. "No, no music!" he said. "There must be no music here, +among Christian folks. Put away that thing, young woman. It is an +evil thing, bringing sin, and death, which is the wages of sin, with +it. How came you here, if you have no one belonging to you?" + +Falteringly, her sweet eyes dropped on the ground, with only now and +then a timid, appealing glance at this terrible person, this awful +judge who had suddenly dropped from the skies, Marie told her little +story, or as much of it as she thought needful. She had been with bad +people, playing for them, a long time, she did not know how long. And +then they would take away her violin, and she would not stay, and she +ran away from them, and had walked all day, and--and that was all. A +little sob shook her voice at the last words; she had not realised +before how utterly alone she was. The delight of freedom, of getting +away from her tyrants, had been enough at first, and she had been as it +were on wings all day, like a bird let loose from its cage; now the +little bird was weary, and the wings drooped, and there was no nest, +not even a friendly cage where one would find food and drink, + +A sudden passion of pity--he supposed it was pity--shook the strong +man. He felt a wild impulse to catch the little shrinking creature in +his arms and bear her away to his own home, to warm and cheer and +comfort her. Was there ever before anything in the world so sweet, so +helpless, so forlorn? He looked around. The children were all gone; +he stood alone in the street with the foreign woman, and night was +falling. It was at this moment that Abby Rock, who had been watching +from her window for the past few minutes, opened her door and came out, +stepping quietly toward them, as if they were just the people she had +expected to see. De Arthenay hailed her as an angel from Heaven; and +yet Abby did not look like an angel. + +"Abby!" he cried. "Come here a minute, will you?" + +"Good evening, Jacques!" said Abby, in her quiet voice. "Good evening +to you!" she added, speaking kindly to the little stranger. "I was +coming to see if you wouldn't like to step into my house and rest you a +spell. Why, my heart!" she cried, as Marie raised her head at the +sound of the friendly voice, "you're nothing but a child. Come right +along with me, my dear. Alone, are ye, and night coming on!" + +"That's right, Abby!" cried De Arthenay, with feverish eagerness. +"Yes, yes, take her home with you and make her comfortable. She is a +stranger, and has no friends, so she says. I--I'll see you in the +morning about her. Take her! take her in where she will be +comfortable, and I'll--" + +"I'll pay you well for it," was what he was going to say, but Abby's +quiet look stopped the words on his lips. Why should he pay her for +taking care of a stranger, of whom he knew no more than she did; whom +he had never seen till this moment?--why, indeed! and she was as well +able to pay for the young woman's keep as he was to say the least. All +this De Arthenay saw, or fancied he saw, in Abby Rock's glance. He +turned away, muttering something about seeing them in the morning; +then, with an abrupt bow, which yet was not without grace, he strode +swiftly down the street and took his way home. + + + + +CHAPTER III. + +ABBY ROCK. + +If Abby Rock's kitchen was not heaven, it seemed very near it to Marie +that evening. She found herself suddenly in an atmosphere of peace and +comfort of which her life had heretofore known nothing. The evening +had fallen chill outside, but here all was warm and light and cheerful, +and the warmth and cheer seemed to be embodied in the person of the +woman who moved quickly to and fro, stirring the fire, putting the +kettle on the hob (for those were the days of the open fire, of crane +and kettle, and picturesque, if not convenient, housekeeping), drawing +a chair up near the cheerful blaze. Marie felt herself enfolded with +comfort. A shawl was thrown over her shoulders; she was lifted like a +child, and placed in the chair by the fireside; and now, as she sat in +a dream, fearing every moment to wake and find herself back in the old +life again, a cup of tea, hot and fragrant, was set before her, and the +handkerchief tenderly loosened from her neck, while a kind voice bade +her drink, for it would do her good. + +"You look beat out, and that's the fact," said Abby Rock. "To-morrow +you shall tell me all about it, but you no need to say a single word +to-night, only just set still and rest ye. I'm a lone woman here. I +buried my mother last June, and I'm right glad to have company once in +a while. Abby Rock, my name is; and perhaps if you'd tell me yours, we +should feel more comfortable like, when we come to sit down to supper. +What do you say?" + +Her glance was so kind, her voice so cordial and hearty, that Marie +could have knelt down to thank her. "I am Marie," she said, smiling +back into the kind eyes. "Only Marie, nossing else." + +"Maree!" repeated Abby Rock. "Well, it's a pretty name, sure enough; +has a sound of 'Mary' in it, too, and that was my mother's name. But +what was your father's name, or your mother's, if so be your father +ain't living now?" + +Marie shook her head. "I never know!" she said. "All the days I lived +with Mere Jeanne in the village, far away, oh, far, over the sea." + +"Over the sea?" said Abby. "You mean the bay, don't you,--some of +those French settlements down along the shore?" + +But Marie meant the sea, it appeared; for her village was in France, in +Eretagne, and there she had lived till the day when Mere Jeanne died, +and she was left alone, with no-one belonging to her. Mere Jeanne was +not her mother, no! nor yet her grandmother,--only her mother's aunt, +but good, Abby must understand, good as an angel, good as Abby herself. +And when she was dead, there was only her son, Jeannot, and he had +married a devil,--but yes!--as Abby exclaimed, and held up her hands in +reproof,--truly a devil of the worst kind; and one day, when Jeannot +was away, this wife had sold her, Marie, to another devil, Le Boss, who +made the tours in the country for to sing and to play. And he had +brought her away to this country, over very dreadful seas, where one +went down into the grave at every instant, and then up again to the +clouds, but leaving one's stomach behind one--ah, but terrible! Others +were with them, oh, yes!--This in response to Abby's question, for in +spite of her good resolutions, curiosity was taking possession of her, +and it was evidently a relief to Marie to pour out her little tale in a +sympathetic ear,--many others. La Patronne, the wife of Le Boss, who +was like a barrel, but not bad, when she could see through the fat, not +bad in every way; and there was Old Billy, who took care of the horses +and dogs, and he was her friend, and she loved him, and he had always +the good word for her even when he was very drunk, too drunk to speak +to any one else. And then there was the daughter of Le Boss, who would +in all probability never die, for she was so ugly that she would not be +admitted into the other world, where, Mere Jeanne said, even Monsieur +the Great Devil himself was good-looking, save for his expression. +Also there were the boys who tumbled and rode on the ponies, +and--and--and ozer people. And with this Mane's head dropped forward, +and she was asleep. + +It seemed a pity to wake her when supper was ready, but Abby knew just +how good her rolls were, and knew that the child must be famished; and +sure enough, after a little nap, Marie was ready to wake and sit up at +the little round table, and be fed like a baby with everything good +that Abby could think of. The fare had not been dainty in the +travelling troupe of Le Boss. The fine white bread, the golden butter, +the bit of broiled fish, smoking hot, seemed viands of paradise to the +hungry girl. She laughed for pleasure, and her eyes shone like stars. +It was like the chateau, she said, where everything was gold and +silver,--the chateau where Madame la Comtesse lived. As for Abby +herself, Marie gravely informed her that she was an angel. Abby +laughed, not ill pleased. "I don't look special like angels," she +said; "that is, if the pictures I've seen are correct. Not much wings +and curls and white robes about me, Maree. And who ever heard of an +angel in a check apurn, I want to know?" + +But Marie was not to be turned aside. It was well known, she said, +that angels could not come to earth undisguised in these days. It had +something to do with the Jews, she did not know exactly what. Mere +Jeanne had told her, but she forgot just how it was. But as to their +not coming at all, that would be out of the question, for how would the +good God know what was going on down here, or know who was behaving +well and meriting a crown of glory, and who should go down into the +pit? Did not Abby see that? + +Abby privately thought that here was strange heathen talk to be going +on in her kitchen; but she said nothing, only gave her guest more jam, +and said she was eating nothing,--the proper formula for a good +hostess, no matter how much the guest may have devoured. + +It was true, as has been said before, that Abby Rock was not fair to +outward view. Nature had been in a crabbed mood when she fashioned +this gaunt, angular form, these gnarled, unlovely features. An +uncharitable neighbour, in describing Abby, once said that she looked +as if she had swallowed an old cedar fence-rail and shrunk to it; and +the description was apt enough so far as the body went. Her skin, +eyes, and hair were of different shades (yet not so very different) of +greyish brown; her nose was long and knotty, her mouth and chin +apparently taken at random from a box of misfits. Yes, the cedar +fence-rail came as near to it as anything could. Yet somehow, no one +who had seen the light of kindness in those faded eyes, and heard the +sweet, cordial tones of that quiet voice, thought much about their +owner's looks. People said it was a pity Abby wasn't better favoured, +and then they thought no more about it, but were simply thankful that +she existed. + +She had led the life that many an ugly saint leads, here in New +England, and the world over. Nurse and drudge for the pretty younger +sister, the pride and joy of her heart, till she married and went away +to live in a distant State; then drudge and nurse for the invalid +mother, broken down by unremitting toil. No toil would ever break Abby +down, for she was a strong woman; she had never worked too hard that +she was aware of; but--she had always worked, and never done anything +else. No lover had ever looked into her eyes or taken her hand +tenderly. Not likely! she would say to herself with a scornful sniff, +eyeing her homely face in the glass. Men weren't such fools as they +looked. + +One or two had wanted to marry her house, as she expressed it, and had +asked for herself into the bargain, not seeing how they could manage it +otherwise. They were not to blame for wanting the house, she thought +with some complacency, as she glanced round her sitting-room. +Everything in the room shone and twinkled. The rugs were beautifully +made, and the floor under them in the usual dining-table condition +ascribed ever since books were written to the model housewife. The +corner cupboards held treasures of blue and white that it makes one +ache to think of to-day, and some pieces of India china besides, +brought over seas by some sea-going Rock of a former generation: and +there were silver spoons in the iron box under Abby's bed, and the +dragon tea-pot on the high narrow mantel-piece was always full, but not +with tea-leaves. Yes, and there was no better cow in the village than +Abby's, save those two fancy heifers that Jacques de Arthenay had +lately bought. Altogether, she did not wonder that some of the weaker +brethren, who found their own farms "hard sledding," should think +enough of her pleasant home to be willing to take her along with it, +since they could do no better; but they did not get it. Abby found +life very pleasant, now that grief was softened down into tender +recollection. To be alone, and able to do things just when she wanted +to do them, and in her own way; to consider what she herself liked to +eat, and to wear, and to do; to feel that she could come and go, rise +up and lie down, at her own will,--was strange but pleasant to her. +How long the pleasure would have lasted is another question, for the +woman's nature was to love and to serve; but just now there was no +doubt that she was enjoying her freedom. + +And now she had taken in this little stranger, just because she felt +like it; it was a new luxury, a new amusement, that was all. Such a +pretty little creature, so soft and young, and with that brightness in +her face! Sister Lizzie was light-complected, and this child didn't +favour her, not the least mite; yet it was some like the same feeling, +as if it were a kitten or a pretty bird to take care of, and feed and +pet. So thought Abby, as she tucked up Marie in Sister Lizzie's little +white bed, in the pink ribbon chamber, as she had named it in sport, +after she had let Lizzie furnish it to her taste, that last year before +she was married. The child looked about her as if it were a palace, +instead of a lean-to chamber with a sloping roof. She had never seen +anything like this in her life, since those days when she went to the +chateau. She touched the white walls softly, and passed her hand over +the pink mats on the bureau with wondering awe. And then she curled up +in the white bed when Abby bade her, as like a kitten as anything could +be. "Oh, you are good, good!" cried the child, whom the warmth and +comfort and kindness seemed to have lifted into another world from the +cold, sordid one in which she had lived so long. She caught the kind +hard knotted hand, and kissed it; but Abby snatched it away, and +blushed to her eyebrows, feeling that something improper had occurred. +"There! there!" she said, half confused, half reproving. "You don't +want to do such things as that! I've done no more than was right, and +you alone and friendless, and night coming on. Go to sleep now, like a +good girl, and we'll see in the morning." So Marie went to sleep in +Sister Lizzie's bed, with her fiddle lying across her feet, since she +could not sleep a wink otherwise, she said; and when Abby went +downstairs the room seemed cold, and she thought how she missed Lizzie, +and wondered if it wouldn't be pleasant to keep this pretty creature +for a spell, and do for her a little, and make her up some portion of +clothing. There was a real good dress of Lizzie's, hanging this minute +in the press upstairs: she had a good mind to take it out at once and +see what could be done to it; perhaps--and Abby did not go to bed very +early herself that night. + + + + +CHAPTER IV. + +POSSESSION. + +Jacques De Arthenay went home that night like a man possessed. He was +furious with himself, with the strange woman who had thus set his sober +thoughts in a whirl, with the very children in the street who had +laughed and danced and encouraged her in her sinful music, to her own +peril and theirs. He thought it was only anger that so held his mind; +yet once in his house, seated on the little stool before his fire, he +found himself still in the street, still looking down into that lovely +childish face that lifted itself so innocently to his, still smitten to +the heart by the beauty of it, and by the fear that he saw in it of his +own stern aspect. He had never looked upon any woman before. He had +been proud of it,--proud of his strength and cleverness, that needed no +meddlesome female creature coming in between him and his business, +between him and his religion. He had not let his hair and beard grow, +knowing nothing of such practices, but in heart he had been a Nazarite +from his youth up,--serving God in his harsh, unloving way; loving God, +as he thought; certainly loving nothing else, if it were not the dumb +creatures, to whom he was always kind and just. And now--what had +happened to him? He asked himself the question sternly, sitting there +before the cheerful blaze, yet neither seeing nor feeling it. The +answer seemed to cry itself in his ears, to write itself before his +eyes in letters of fire. The thing had happened that happens in the +story books, that really comes to pass once in a hundred years, they +say. He had seen the one woman in the world that he wanted for his +own, to have and to hold, to love and to cherish. She was a stranger, +a vagabond, trading in iniquity, and gaining her bread by the +corruption of souls of men and children; and he loved her, he longed +for her, and the world meant nothing to him henceforth unless he could +have her. He put the thought away from him like a snake, but it came +back and curled round his heart, and made him cold and then hot and +then cold again. Was he not a professing Christian, bound by the +strictest ties? Yes! How she looked, standing there with the children +about her, the little slender figure swaying to and fro to the music, +the pretty head bent down so lovingly, the dark eyes looking here and +there, bright and shy, like those of a wild creature so gentle in its +nature that it knew no fear. But he had taught her fear! yes, he saw +it grow under his eyes, just as the love grew in his own heart at the +same moment. + +Love! what sort of word was that for him to be using, even in his mind? +To-morrow she would be gone, this wandering fiddler, and all this would +be forgotten in a day, for he had the new cattle to see to, and a +hundred things of importance. + +But was anything else of importance save just this one girl? and if he +should let her go on her way, out into the world again, to certain +perdition, would not the guilt be partly his? He, who saw and knew the +perils and pitfalls, might he not snatch this child from the fire and +save her soul alive?--No! he would begone, as soon as morning came, and +take this sinful body of his away from temptation. + +How soon would Abby get through her morning work, so that he might with +some fair pretext go to the house to see how the stranger had slept, +and how she had fared? It would be cowardly to drop the burden on +Abby's shoulders, she only a woman like the rest of them, even if she +had somewhat more sense. + +So Jacques De Arthenay sat by his fire till it was cold and dead, a +miserable and a wrathful man; and he too slept little that night. + +But Marie slept long and peacefully in Sister Lizzie's bed, and looked +so pretty in her sleep that Abby came three times to wake her, and +three times went away again, unable to spoil so perfect a picture. At +last, however, the dark eyes opened of their own accord, and Marie +began to chirp and twitter, like a bird at daybreak in its nest; only +instead of daybreak, it was eight o'clock in the morning, a most +shocking hour for anybody to be getting up. But Abby had been in the +habit of spoiling her sister, who had a theory that she was never able +to do anything early in the morning, and so it was much more +considerate for her to stay in bed and keep out of Abby's way. This is +a comfortable theory. + +"I suppose you've been an early riser, though?" said Abby, as she +poured the coffee, looking meanwhile approvingly at the figure of her +guest, neatly attired in a pink and white print gown, which fitted her +in a truly astonishing manner, proving, Abby thought in her simple way, +that it had really been a "leading,"--her bringing the stranger home +last night. + +"Oh, but yes," Marie answered. "I help always Old Billy wiz the dogs +first, they must be exercise, and do their tricks, and then they are +feed. So hungry they are, the dogs! It make very hard not first to +feed them, _hein_?" + +"Is--William--feeble?" Abby inquired, with some hesitation. + +"Feeble, no!" said Marie, with a little laugh. "But old, you know, and +when he is too much drunk it take away his mind; so then I help him, +that Le Boss does not find out that and beat him. For he is good, you +see, Old Billy, and we make comrades togezzer always." + +"Dear me!" said Abby, doubtfully. "It don't seem as if you ought to be +going with--with that kind of person, Maree. We don't associate with +drinking men, here in these parts. I don't know how it is where you +come from." + +Oh, there, Marie said, it was different. There the drink did not make +men crazy. This was a country where the devil had so much power, you +see, that it made it hard for poor folks like Old Billy, who would do +well enough in her country, and at the worst take a little too much at +a feast or a wedding. But in those cases, the saints took very good +care that nothing should happen to them. She did not know what the +saints did in this country, or indeed, if there were any. + +"Oh, Maree!" cried Abby, scandalised. "I guess I wouldn't talk like +that, if I was you. You--you, ain't a papist, are you,--a Catholic?" + +Oh, no! Mere Jeanne was of the Reformed religion, and had brought +Marie up so. It was a misfortune, Madame the Countess always said; but +Marie preferred to be as Mere Jeanne had been. The Catholic girls in +the village said that Mere Jeanne had gone straight to the pit, but +that proved that they were ignorant entirely of the things of religion. +Why, Le Boss was a Catholic, he; and everybody knew that he had the +evil eye, and that it was not safe to come near him without making the +horns. + +"For the land's sake!" cried Abby Rock, dropping her dish-cloth into +the sink, "what are you talking about, child?" + +"But, the horns!" Marie answered innocently. "When a person has the +evil eye, you not make at him the horns, so way?" and she held out the +index and little finger of her right hand, bending the other fingers +down. "So!" she said; "when they so are held, the evil eye has no +power. What you do here to stop him?" + +"We don't believe in any such a thing!" Abby replied, with, some +severity. "Why, Maree, them's all the same as heathen notions, like +witchcraft and such. We don't hold by none of those things in this +country at all, and I guess you'd better not talk about 'em." + +Marie's eyes opened wide. "But," she said, "_c'est une chose_,--it is +a thing that all know. As for Le Boss, you know--listen!" she came +nearer to Abby, and lowered her voice. "One night Old Billy forgot to +do, I know not what, but somesing. So when Le Boss found it out, he +look at him, so,"--drawing her brows down and frowning horribly, with +the effect of looking like an enraged kitten,--"and say noasing at all. +You see?" + +"Well," replied Abby. "I suppose mebbe he thought it was an accident, +and might have happened to any one." + +"Not--at--all!" cried Marie, with dramatic emphasis, throwing out her +hand with a solemn gesture. "What happen that same night? Old Billy +fall down the bank and break his leg!" She paused, and nodded like a +little mandarin, to point the moral of her tale. + +"Maree!" remonstrated Abby Rock, "don't tell me you believe such +foolishness as that! He'd have fallen down all the same if nobody had +looked anigh him. Why, good land! I never heard of such notions." + +"So it is!" Marie insisted. "Le Boss look at him, and he break his +leg. I see the break! Anozer day," she continued, "Coco, he is a boy +that makes tumble, and he was hungry, and he took a don't from the +table to eat it--" + +"Took a what?" asked Abby. + +"A don't, what you call. Round, wiz a hole to put your finger!" +explained Marie. "Only in America they make zem. Not of such things +in Bretagne, never. Coco took the don't, and Le Boss catch him, and +look at him again, so! Well, yes! in two hour he is sick, that boy, +and after zat for a week. A-a-a-h! yes, Le Boss! only at me he not +dare to look, for I have the charm, and he know that, and he is afraid. +Aha, yes, he is afraid of Marie too, when he wish to make devil work. + +"And here," she cried, turning suddenly upon Abby, "you say you have no +such thing, Abiroc,"--this was the name she had given her +hostess,--"and here, too, is the evil eye, first what I see in this +place, except the dear little children. A man yesterday came while I +played, and looked--but, frightful! Ah!" she started from her seat by +the window, and retreated hastily to the corner. "He comes, the same +man! Put me away, Abiroc! put me away! He is bad, he is wicked! I +die if he look at me!" and she ran hastily out of the room, just as +Jacques De Arthenay entered it. + + + + +CHAPTER V. + +COURTSHIP. + +Marie could hardly be persuaded to come back into the sitting-room; and +when she did at length come, it was only to sit silent in the corner, +with one hand held behind her, and her eyes fixed steadfastly on the +floor. In vain Abby Rock tried to draw her into the conversation, +telling her how she, Abby, and Mr. De Arthenay had been talking about +her, and how they thought she'd better stay right on where she was for +a spell, till she was all rested up, and knew what she wanted to do. +Mr. De Arthenay would be a friend to her, and no one could be a better +one, as she'd find. But Marie only said that Monsieur was very kind, +and never raised her eyes to his. De Arthenay, on his part, was no +more at ease. He could not take his eyes from the slender figure, so +shrinking and modest, or the lovely downcast face. He had no words to +tell her all that was in his heart, nor would he have told it if he +could. It was still a thing of horror to him,--a thing that would +surely be cast out as soon as he came to himself; and how better could +he bring himself to his senses than by facing this dream, this +possession of the night, and crushing it down, putting it out of +existence? So he sat still, and gazed at the dream, and felt its +reality in every fibre of his being; and poor good Abby sat and talked +for all three, and wondered what to goodness was coming of all this. + +She wondered more and more as the days went on. It became evident to +her that De Arthenay, her stern, silent neighbour, who had never so +much as looked at a woman before, was "possessed" about her little +guest. Marie, on the other hand, continued to regard him with terror, +and never failed to make the horns secretly when he appeared; yet day +after day he came, and sat silent in the sitting-room, and gazed at +Marie, and wrestled with the devil within him. He never doubted that +it was the devil. There was no awkwardness to him in sitting thus +silent; it was the habit of his life: he spoke when he had occasion to +say anything; for the rest, he considered over-much speech as one of +the curses of our fallen state. But Abby "felt as if she should fly," +as she expressed it to herself, while he sat there. A pall of silence +seemed to descend upon the room, generally so cheerful: the French girl +cowered under it, and seemed to shrink visibly, like a dumb creature in +fright. And when he was gone, she would spring up and run like a deer +to her own little room, and seize her violin, and play passionately, +the instrument crying under her hands, like a living creature, +protesting against grief, against silence and darkness, and the fear of +something unknown, which seemed to be growing out of the silence. +Sometimes Abby thought the best thing to do would be to open the door +of the cage, and let the little stray bird flutter out, as she had +fluttered in those few days ago, by chance--was it by chance? + +But the bird was so willing to stay; was so happy, except when that +silent shadow fell upon the cheerful house; so sweet, so grateful for +little kindnesses (and who would not be kind to her, Abby thought!); +such a singing, light, pretty creature to look at and listen to! and +the house had been so quiet since mother died; and after all, it was +pleasant to have some one to do for and "putter round." The neighbours +said, There! now Abby Rock was safe to live, for she had got another +baby to take care of; she'd ha' withered up and blown away if she had +gone on living alone, with no one to make of. + +And what talks they had, Abby and Marie! The latter told all about her +early childhood with the good old woman whom she called Mere Jeanne, +and explained how she came to have the Lady, and to play as she did. +The Countess, it appeared, lived up at the castle; a great lady, oh, +but very great, and beautiful as the angels. She was alone there, for +the Count was away on a foreign mission, and she had no child, the +Countess. So one day she saw Marie, when the latter was bringing +flowers to the gardener's wife, who was good to her; and the Countess +called the child to her, and took her on her knee, and talked with her. +Ah, she was good, the Countess, and lovely! After that Marie was +brought to the castle every day, and the Countess played to her of the +violin, and Marie knew all at once that this was the best thing in the +world, and the dearest, and the one to die for, you understand. (But +Abby did not understand in the least.) So when Madame the Countess saw +how it was, she taught Marie, and got her the Lady, the violin which +was Marie's life and soul; and she let come down from Paris a great +teacher, and they all played together, the Countess his friend, for +many years his pupil, and the great violinist, and Marie, the little +peasant girl in her blue gown and cap. He said she was a born +musician, Marie: of course, he was able to see things, being of the +same nature; but Mere Jeanne was unhappy, and said no good would come +of it. Yes, well, what is to be, you know, that will be, and nossing +else. The great teacher died, and there was an end of him. And after +a while Monsieur the Count came home, and carried away the Countess to +live in Paris, and so--and--so--that was all! + +"But not all!" cried the child, springing from her seat, and raising +her head, which had drooped for a moment. "Not all! for I have the +music, see, Abiroc! All days of my life I can make music, make happy, +make joy of myself and ozerbodies. When I take her; Madame, so, in my +hand, I can do what I will, no? People have glad thinks, sorry thinks; +what Marie tells them to have, that have they. _Ah! la tonne aventure, +oh gai_!" and she would throw her head back and begin to play, and play +till the chairs almost danced on their four legs. + +De Arthenay never heard the fiddle. Abby managed it somehow, she +hardly knew how or why. He had never spoken about the Evil Thing, as +he would have called it, since that first day; perhaps he thought that +Abby had taken it away, as a pious church member should, and destroyed +it from the face of the earth. At all events there was no mention of +it, and the only sound he heard when he approached the house was the +whir of Abby's wheel (for women still spun then, in that part of the +country), or the one voice he cared to hear in the world, uplifted in +some light godless song. + +So things went on for a while; and then came a change. One day Marie +came into the sitting-room, hearing Abby call her. It was the hour of +De Arthenay's daily visit, and he sat silent in the corner, as usual; +but Abby had an open letter in her hand, and was crying softly, with +her apron hiding her good homely face. "Maree," said the good woman, +"I've got bad news. My sister Lizzie that I've told you so much about, +she's dreadful sick, and I've got to go right out and take care of her. +Thank you, dear!" (as she felt Marie's arms round her on the instant, +and the soft voice murmured little French sympathies in her ear), +"you're real good, I'm sure, and I know you feel for me. I've got to +go right off to-morrow or next day, soon as I can get things to rights +and see to the stock and things. But what is troubling me is you, +Maree. I don't see what is to become of you, poor child, unless--Well, +now, you come here and sit down by me, and listen to what Mr. De +Arthenay has to say to you. You know he's ben your friend, Maree, ever +sence you come; so you listen to him, like a good girl." + +Abby was in great trouble: indeed, she was the most agitated of the +three, for it was with outward calm, at least, that De Arthenay spoke; +and Marie listened quietly, too, plaiting her apron, between her +fingers, and forgetting for the moment to make the horns with her left +hand. Briefly, he asked her to be his wife; to come home with him, and +keep his house, and share good and evil with him. He would take care +of her, he said, and--and--he trusted the Lord would bless the union. +If his voice shook now and then, if he kept his eyes lowered, that +neither woman should see the light and the struggle in them, that was +his own affair; he spoke quietly to the end, and then drew a long +breath, feeling that he had come through better than he had expected. + +Abby looked for an outburst of some kind from Marie, whether of tears +or of sudden childish fear or anger; but neither came. Marie thanked +Monsieur, and said he was very kind, very kind indeed. She would like +to think about it a little, if they pleased; she would do all she could +to please them, but she was very young, and she would like to take +time, if Monsieur thought it not wrong: and so rising from her seat, +she made a little courtesy, with her eyes still on the ground, and +slipped away out of the room, and was gone. + +The others sat looking at each other, neither ready to speak first. +Finally Abby reflected that Jacques would not speak, at all unless she +began, so she said, with a sigh between the words; "I guess it'll be +all right, Jacques. It's only proper that she should have time to +think it over, and she such a child. Not but what it's a great chance +for her," she added hastily. "My! to get a good home, and a good +provider, as I make no doubt you would be, after the life she's led, +traipsin' here and there, and livin' with darkened heathens, or as bad. +But--but--you'll be kind to her, won't you, Jacques? She--she's not a +woman yet, in her feelin's, as you might say. She ain't nothin' but a +baby to our girls about here, that's brought up to see with their eyes +and talk with their mouths. You'll have patience with her, if her ways +are a good deal different from what you were used to; along back in +your mother's time?" + +But here good Abby paused, for she saw that De Arthenay heard not a +word of her well-meant discourse. He sat brooding in the corner, as +was his wont, but with a light in his eyes and a color in his cheek +that Abby had never seen before. + +"Jacques De Arthenay, you are fairly possessed!" she said, in rather an +awestruck voice, as he rose abruptly to bid her good-day. "I don't +believe you can think of anything except that child." + +"So more I can!" said the man, looking at her with bright, hard eyes. +"Nothing else! She is my life!" and with that he turned hastily to the +door and was gone. + +"His life!" repeated Abby, gazing after him as he strode away down the +street. "Much like his life she is, the pretty creetur! And she +saying that fiddle was her life, only yesterday! How are all these +lives going to work together? that's what I want to know!" And she +shook her head, and went back to her spinning. There was no doubt in +Abby's mind about Marie's answer, when she grew a little used to the +new idea. Her silent suitor was many years older than she, it was +true, but as she said to him, what a chance for the friendless +wanderer! And if he loved her now, how much more he would love her +when he came to know her well, and see all her pretty ways about the +house, like a kitten or a bird. And she would respect and admire him, +that was certain, Abby thought. He was a pictur' of a man, when he got +his store clothes on, and nobody had ever had a word to say against +him. He was no talker, but some thought that was no drawback in the +married state. Abby remembered how Sister Lizzie's young husband had +tormented her with foolish questions during the week he bad spent with +them at the time of the marriage: a spruce young clerk from a city +store, not knowing one end of a hoe from the other, and asking +questions all the time, and not remembering anything you told him long +enough for it to get inside his head; though there was room enough +inside for consid'able many ideas, Abby thought. Yes, certainly, if so +be one had to be portioned with a husband, the one that said least +would be the least vexation in the end. So she was content, on the +whole, and glad that Marie took it all so quietly and sensibly, and +made no doubt the girl was turning it over in her mind, and making +ready a real pretty answer for Jacques when he called the next day. + +Yes, Marie was turning it over in her mind, but not just in the way her +good hostess supposed. Only one thought came to her, but that thought +filled her whole mind; she must get away,--away at once from this +place, from the stern man with the evil eye, who wanted to take her and +kill her slowly, that he might have the pleasure of seeing her die. +Ah, she knew, Marie! had she not seen wicked people before? But she +would not tell Abiroc, for it would only grieve her, and she would +talk, talk, and Marie wanted no talking. She only wanted to get away, +out into the open fields once more, where nobody would look at her or +want to marry her, and where roads might be found leading away to +golden cities, full of children who liked to hear play the violin, and +who danced when one played it well. + +Early next morning, while Abby was out milking the cows, Marie stole +away. She put on her little blue gown again; ah! how old and faded it +looked beside the fresh, pretty-prints that Abby would always have her +wear! But it was her own, and when she had it on, and the old +handkerchief tied under her chin once more, and Madame in her box, +ready to go with her the world over, why, then she felt that she was +Marie once more; that this had all been a mistake, this sojourn among +the strange, kind people who spoke so loud and through such long noses; +that now her life was to begin, as she had really meant it to begin +when she ran away from Le Boss and his hateful tyranny. + +Out she slipped, in the sweet, fresh morning. No-one saw her go, for +the village was a busy place at all times, and at this early hour every +man and woman was busy in barn or kitchen. At one house a child +knocked at the window, a child for whom she had played and sung many +times. He stood there in his little red nightgown, and nodded and +laughed; and Marie nodded back, smiling, and wondered if he would ever +run away, and ever know how good, how good it was, to be alone, with no +one else in the world to say, "Do this!" or "Do that!" Just as she +came out, the sun rose over the hill, and looking at the fiery ball +Marie perceived that it danced in the sky. Yes, assuredly, so it was! +There was the same wavering motion that she had seen on every fair +Easter Day that she could remember. She thought how Mere Jeanne had +first called her attention, to it, when she was little, little, just +able to toddle, and had told her that the sun danced so on Easter +Morning, for joy that the Good Lord had risen from the dead; and so it +was a lesson for us all, and we must dance on Easter Day, if we never +danced all the rest of the year. Ah, how they danced at home there in +the village! But now, it was not Easter at all, and yet the sun +danced; what should it mean? And it came to Marie's mind that perhaps +the Good Lord had told it to dance, for a sign to her that all would go +well, and that she was doing quite right to run away from persons with +the evil eye. When you came to think of it, what was more probable? +They always said, those girls in the village, that the saints did the +things they asked them to do. When Barbe lost her gold earring, did +not Saint Joseph find it for her, and tell her to look among the +potato-parings that had been thrown out the day before? and there, sure +enough, it was, and the pigs never touching it, because they had been +told not to touch! Well, and if the saints could do that, it would be +a pity indeed if the Good Lord could not make the sun dance when he +felt like doing a kind thing for a poor girl. + +With the dazzle of that dancing sun still in her eyes, with happy +thoughts filling her mind, Marie turned the corner of the straggling +road that was called a street by the people who lived along it,--turned +the corner, and almost fell into the arms of a man, who was coming in +the opposite direction. Both uttered a cry at the same moment: Marie +first giving a little startled shriek, but her voice dying away in +terrified silence as she saw the man's face; the latter uttering a +shout of delight, of fierce and cruel triumph, that rang out strangely +in the quiet morning air. For this was Le Boss! + +A man with a bloated, cruel face, sodden with drink and inflamed with +all fierce and inhuman passions; a strong man, who held the trembling +girl by the shoulder as if she were a reed, and gazed into her face +with eyes of fiendish triumph; an angry man, who poured out a torrent +of furious words, reproaching, threatening, by turns, as he found his +victim once more within his grasp, just when he had given up all hope +of finding her again. Ah, but he had her now, though! let her try it +again, to run away! she would find even this time that she had enough, +but another time--and on and on, as a coarse and brutal man can go on +to a helpless creature that is wholly in his power. + +Marie was silent, cowering in his grasp, looking about with hunted, +despairing eyes. There was nothing to do, no word to say that would +help. It had all been a mistake,--the sun dancing, the heavens bending +down to aid and cheer her,--all had been a mistake, a lie. There was +nothing now for the rest of her life but this,--this brutality that +clutched and shook her slender figure, this hatred that hissed venomous +words in her ear. This was the end, forever, till death should come to +set her free. + +But what was this? what was happening? For the hateful voice faltered, +the grasp on her shoulder weakened, the blaze of the fierce eyes turned +from her. A cry was heard, a wild, inarticulate cry of rage, of +defiance; the next moment something rushed past her like a flash; there +was a brief struggle, a shout, an oath, then a heavy fall. When the +bewildered child could clear her eyes from the mist of fright that +clouded them, Le Boss was lying on the ground; and towering over him +like an avenging spirit, his blue eyes aflame, his strong hands +clenched for another blow, stood Jacques De Arthenay. + +Just what happened next, Marie never quite knew. Words were said as in +a dream. Was it a real voice that was saying: "This is my wife, you +dog! take yourself out of my sight, before worse comes to you!" Was it +real? and did Le Boss, gathering himself up from the grass with foul +curses, too horrible to think of--did he make reply that she was his +property, that he had bought her, paid for her, and would have his own! +And then the other voice again, saying, "I tell you she is my wife, the +wife of a free man. Speak, Mary, and tell him you are my wife!" And +did she--with those blue eyes on her, which she had never met before, +but which now caught and chained her gaze, so that she could not look +away, try as she might--did she of her own free will answer, "Yes, +Monsieur, I am your wife, if you say it; if you will keep me from him, +Monsieur!" Then--Marie did not know what came then. There were more +words between the two men, loud and fierce on one side, low and fierce +on the other; and then Le Boss was gone, and she was walking back to +the house with the man who had saved her, the man to whom she belonged +now; the strong man, whose hand, holding hers as they walked, trembled +far more than her own. But Marie did not feel as if she should ever +tremble again. For that one must be alive, must have strength in one's +limbs; and was she dead, she wondered, or only asleep? and would she +wake up some happy moment, and find herself in the little white bed at +Abiroc's house, or better still, out in the blessed fields, alone with +the birds under the free sky? + + + + +CHAPTER VI. + +WEDLOCK. + +They were married that very day. Abby begged piteously for a little +delay, that she might make clothes, and give her pretty pet a "good +send-off;" but De Arthenay would not hear of it. Mary was his wife in +the sight of God; let her become so in the sight of man! So a white +gown was found and put on the little passive creature, and good Abby, +crying with excitement, twined some flowers in the soft dark hair, and +thought that even Sister Lizzie, in her blue silk dress and chip +bonnet, had not made so lovely a bride as this stranger, this wandering +child from no one knew where. The wedding took place in Abby's parlor, +with only Abby herself and a single neighbour for witnesses. A little +crowd gathered round the door, however, to see how Jacques De Arthenay +looked when he'd made a fool of himself, as they expressed it. They +were in a merry mood, the friendly neighbours, and had sundry jests +ready to crack upon the bridegroom when he should appear; but when he +finally stood in the doorway, with the little pale bride on his arm, it +became apparent that jests were not in order. People calc'lated that +Jacques was in one of his moods, and was best not to be spoke with just +that moment; besides, 't was no time for them to be l'iterin' round +staring, with all there was to be done. So the crowd melted away, and +only Abby followed the new-married couple to their own home. She, +walking behind in much perturbation of spirit, noticed that on the +threshold Marie stumbled, and seemed about to fall, and that Jacques +lifted her in his arms as if she were a baby, and carried her into the +room. He had not seemed to notice till that moment that the child was +carrying her violin-case, though to be sure it was plain enough to see, +but as he lifted her, it struck against the door-jamb, and he glanced +down and saw it. When Abby came in (for this was to be her good-by to +them, as she was to leave that afternoon for her sister's home), De +Arthenay had the case in his hand, and was speaking in low, earnest +tones. + +"You cannot have this thing, Mary! It is a thing of evil, and may not +be in a Christian household. You are going to leave all those things +behind you now, and there must be nothing to recall that life with +those bad people. I will burn the evil thing now, and it shall be a +sweet savour to the Lord, even a marriage sacrifice." As he spoke he +opened the case, and taking out the violin, laid it across his knee, +intending to break it into pieces; but at this Marie broke out into a +cry, so wild, so piercing, that he paused, and Abby ran to her and took +her in, her arms, and pressed her to her kind breast, and comforted her +as one comforts a little child. Then she turned to the stern-eyed +bridegroom. + +"Jacques," she pleaded, "don't do it! don't do such a thing on your +wedding-day, if you have a heart in you. Don't you see how she feels +it? Put the fiddle away, if you don't want it round; put it up garret, +and let it lay there, till she's wonted a little to doing without it. +Take it now out of her sight and your own, Jacques De Arthenay, or +you'll be sorry for it when you have done a mischief you can't undo." + +Abby wondered afterward what power had spoken in her voice; it must +have had some unusual force, for De Arthenay, after a moment's +hesitation, did as she bade him,--turned slowly and left the room, and +the next moment was heard mounting the garret stairs. While he was +gone, she still held Marie in her arms, and begged her not to tremble +so, and told her that her husband was a good man, a kind man, that he +had never hurt any one in his life except evil-doers, and had been a +good son and a good brother to his own people while they lived. Then +she bade the child look around at her new home, and see how neat and +good everything was, and how tastefully Jacques had arranged it all for +her. "Why, he vallies the ground you step on, child!" she cried. "You +don't want to be afraid of him, dear. You can do anything you're a +mind to with him, I tell you. See them flowers there, in the chaney +bowl! Now he never looked at a flower in his life, Jacques didn't; but +knowing you set by them, he went out and picked them pretty ones o' +purpose. Now I call that real thoughtful, don't you, Maree?" + +So the good soul talked on, soothing the girl, who said no word, only +trembled, and gazed at her with wide, frightened eyes; but Abby's heart +was heavy within her, and she hardly heard her own cheery words. What +kind of union was this likely to be, with such a beginning! Why had +she not realised, before it was too late, how set Jacques was in his +ways, and how he never would give in to the heathen notions and +fiddling ways of the foreign child? + +Sadly the good woman bade farewell to the bridal couple, and left them +alone in their new home. On the threshold she turned back for a +moment, and had a moment's comfort; for Jacques had taken Marie's hands +in his own, and was gazing at her with such love in his eyes that it +must have melted a stone, Abby thought; and perhaps Marie thought so +too, for she forgot to make the horns, and smiled back, a little faint +piteous smile, into her husband's face. + +So Abby went away to the West, to tend her sister, and Jacques and +Marie De Arthenay began their life together. + +It was not so very terrible, Marie found after a while. Of course a +person could not always help it, to have the evil eye; it had happened +that even the best of persons had it, and sometimes without knowing it. +The Catholic girls at home in the village had a saint who always +carried her eyes about in a plate because they were evil, and she was +afraid of hurting some one with them. (Poor Saint Lucia! this is a new +rendering of thy martyrdom!) Yes, indeed! Marie was no Catholic, but +she had seen the picture, and knew that it was so. And oh, he did mean +to be kind, her husband! that saw itself more and more plainly every +day. + +Then, there was great pleasure in the housekeeping. Marie was a born +housewife, with delicate French hands, and an inborn skill in cookery, +the discovery of which gave her great delight. Everything in the +kitchen was fresh and clean and sweet, and in the garden were fruits, +currants and blackberries and raspberries, and every kind of vegetable +that grew in the village at home, with many more that were strange to +her. She found never-ending pleasure in concocting new dishes, little +triumphs of taste and daintiness, and trying them on her silent +husband. Sometimes he did not notice them at all, but ate straight on, +not knowing a delicate fricassee from a junk of salt beef; that was +very trying. But again he would take notice, and smile at her with the +rare sweet smile for which she was beginning to watch, and praise the +prettiness and the flavor of what was set before him. But sometimes, +too, dreadful things happened. One day Marie had tried her very best, +and had produced a dish for supper of which she was justly proud,--a +little _friture_ of lamb, delicate golden-brown, with crimson beets and +golden carrots, cut in flower-shapes, neatly ranged around. Such a +pretty dish was never seen, she thought; and she had put it on the best +platter, the blue platter with the cow and the strawberries on it; and +when she set it before her husband, her dark eyes were actually shining +with pleasure, and she was thinking that if he were very pleased, but +very, very, she might possibly have courage to call him "Mon ami," +which she had thought several times of doing. It had such a friendly +sound, "Mon ami!" + +But alas! when De Arthenay came to the table he was in one of his dark +moods; and when his eyes fell on the festal dish, he started up, crying +out that the devil was tempting him, and that he and his house should +be lost through the wiles of the flesh; and so caught up the dish and +flung it on the fire, and bade his trembling wife bring him a crust of +dry bread. Poor Marie! she was too frightened to cry, though all her +woman's soul was in arms at the destruction of good food, to say +nothing of the wound to her house-wifely pride. She sat silent, eating +nothing, only making believe, when her husband looked her way, to +crumble a bit of bread. And when that wretched meal was over, Jacques +called her to his side, and took out the great black Bible, and read +three chapters of denunciation from Jeremiah, that made Marie's blood +chill in her veins, and sent her shivering to her bed. The next day he +would eat nothing but Indian meal porridge, and the next; and it was a +week before Marie ventured to try any more experiments in cookery. + +Marie had a great dread of the black Bible. She was sure it was a +different Bible from the one which Mere Jeanne used to read at home, +for that was full of lovely things, while this was terrible. Sometimes +Jacques would call her to him and question her, and that was really too +frightful for anything. Perhaps he had been reading aloud, as he was +fond of doing in the evenings, some denunciatory passage from the +psalms or the prophets. "Mary," he would say, turning to her, as she +sat with her knitting in the corner, "what do you think of that +passage?" + +"I think him horreebl'," Marie would answer. "Why do you read of such +things, Jacques! Why you not have the good Bible, as we have him in +France, why?" + +"There is but one Bible, Mary, but one in the world; and it is all good +and beautiful, only our sinful eyes cannot always see the glory of it." + +"Ah, but no!" Marie would persist, shaking her head gravely. "Mere +Jeanne's Bible was all ozer, so I tell you. Not black and horreebl', +no! but red, all red, wiz gold on him, and in his side pictures, all +bright and preetty, and good words, good ones, what make the good feel +in my side. Yes, that is the Bible I have liked." + +"Mary, I tell you it was no Bible, unless it was this very one. They +bind it in any colour they like, don't you see, child? It isn't the +cover that makes the book. I fear you weren't brought up a Christian, +Mary. It is a terrible thing to think of, my poor little wife. You +must let me teach you; you must talk with Elder Beach on Sunday +afternoons. Assuredly he will help you, if I am found unworthy." + +But Marie would have none of this. She was a Christian, she maintained +as stoutly as her great fear of her husband would permit. She had been +baptized, and taught all that one should be taught. But it was all +different. Her Bible told that we must love people, but love +everybody, always, all times; and this black book said that we must +kill them with swords, and dash them against stones, and pray bad +things to happen to them. It stood to reason that it was not the same +Bible, _hein_? At this Jacques De Arthenay started, and took himself +by the hair with both hands, as he did when something moved him +strongly. "Those were bad people, Mary!" he cried. "Don't you see? +they withstood the Elect, and they were slain. And we must think about +these things, and think of our sins, and the sins of others as a +warning to ourselves. Sin is awful, black, horrible! and its wages is +death,--death, do you hear?" + +When he cried out in this way, like a wild creature, Marie did not dare +to speak again; but she would murmur under her breath in French, as she +bent lower over her knitting, "Nevertheless, Mere Jeanne's good Lord +was good, and yours--"; and then she would quietly turn a hairpin +upside down in her hair, for it was quite certain that if she caught +Jacques's eye when he was in this mood, her hand would wither, or her +hair fall out, or at the very least the cream all sour in the pans; and +when one's hands were righteously busy, as with knitting, one might +make the horns with other things, and a hairpin was very useful. She +wished she had a little coral hand, such as she had once seen at a +fair, with the fingers making the horns in the proper manner; it would +be a great convenience, she thought with a sigh. + +But he was always sorry after these dark times; and when he sat and +held her hand, as he did sometimes, silent for the most part, but +gazing at her with eyes of absolute, unspeakable love, Marie was +pleased, almost content: as nearly content as one could be with the +half of one's life taken away. + + + + +CHAPTER VII. + +LOOKING BACK. + +The half of a life! for so Marie counted the loss of her violin. She +never spoke of this--to whom should she speak? In her husband's eyes +it was a thing accursed, she knew. She almost hoped he had forgotten +about the precious treasure that lay so quietly in some dark nook in +the lonely garret; for as long as he did not think of it, it was safe +there, and she should not feel that terrible anguish that had seemed to +rend body and soul when she saw him lay the violin across his knee to +break it. And Abby came not, and gave no sign; and there was no one +else. + +She saw little of the neighbours at first. The women looked rather +askance at her, and thought her little better than a fool, even if she +had contrived to make one of Jacques De Arthenay. She never seemed to +understand their talk, and had a way of looking past them, as if +unaware of their presence, that was disconcerting, when one thought +well of oneself. But Marie was not a fool, only a child; and she did +not look at the women simply because she was not thinking of them. +With the children, however, it was different Marie felt that she would +have a great deal to say to the children, if only she had the half of +her that could talk to them. Ah, how she would speak, with Madame on +her arm! What wonders she could tell them, of fairies and witches, of +flowers that sang and birds that danced! But this other part of her +was shy, and she did not feel that she had anything worth saying to the +little ones, who looked at her with half-frightened, half-inviting eyes +when they passed her door. By-and-by, however, she mustered up +courage, and called one or two of them to her, and gave them flowers +from her little garden. Also a pot of jam with a spoon in it proved an +eloquent argument in favour of friendship; and after a while the +children fell into a way of sauntering past with backward glances, and +were always glad to come in when Marie knocked on the window, or came +smiling to the door, with her handkerchief tied under her chin and her +knitting in her hand. It was only when her husband was away that this +happened; Marie would not for worlds have called a child to meet her +husband's eyes, those blue eyes of which, she stood in such terror, +even when she grew to love them. + +One little boy in particular came often, when the first shyness had +worn away. He was an orphan, like Marie herself: a pretty, dark-eyed +little fellow, who looked, she fancied, like the children at home in +France. He did not expect her to talk and answer questions, but was +content to sit, as she loved to do, gazing at the trees or the clouds +that went sailing by, only now and then uttering a few quiet words that +seemed in harmony with the stillness all around. I have said that +Jacques De Arthenay's house lay somewhat apart from the village street. +It was a pleasant house, long and low, painted white, with vines +trained over the lower part. Directly opposite was a pine grove, and +here Marie and her little friend loved to sit, listening to the murmur +of the wind in the dark feathery branches. It was the sound of the +sea, Marie told little Petie. As to how it got there, that was another +matter; but it was undoubtedly the sound of the sea, for she had been +at sea, and recognised it at once. + +"What does it say?" asked the child one day. + +"Of words," said Marie, "I hear not any, Petie. But it wants always +somesing, do you hear? It is hongry always, and makes moans for the +sorry thinks it has in its heart." + +"I am hungry in my stomach, not in my heart," objected Petie. + +But Marie nodded her head sagely. "Yes," she said. "It is that you +know not the deeference, Petie, bit-ween those. To be hongry at the +stomach, that is made better when you eat cakes, do you see, or +_pot_atoes. But when the heart is hongry, then--ah, yes, that is ozer +thing." And she nodded again, and glanced up at the attic window, and +sighed. + +It was a long time before she spoke of her past life; but when she +found that Petie had no sharp-eyed mother at home, only a deaf +great-aunt who asked no questions, she began to give him little +glimpses of the circus world, which filled him with awe and rapture. +It was hardly a real circus, only a little strolling _troupe_, with +some performing dogs, and a few trained horses and ponies, and two +tight-rope dancers; then there were two other musicians, and Marie +herself, besides Le Boss and his family, and Old Billy, who took care +of the horses and did the dirty work. It was about the dogs that Petie +liked best to hear; of the wonderful feats of Monsieur George, the +great brindled greyhound, and the astonishing sagacity of Coquelicot, +the poodle. + +"Monsieur George, he could jump over anything, yes! He was always +jump, jump, all day long, to practise himself. Over our heads all, +that was nothing, yet he did it always when we come in the tent, _pour +saluer_, to say the how you do. But one day come in a man to see Le +Boss, very tall, oh, like mountains, and on him a tall hat. And +Monsieur George, he not stopped to measure with his eye, for fear he be +too late with the _politesse_, and he jump, and carry away the man's +hat, and knock him down and come plomp, down on him. Yes, very funny! +The man got a bottle in his hat, and that break, and run all over him, +and he say, oh, he say all things what you think of. But Monsieur +George was so 'shamed, he go away and hide, and not for a week we see +him again. Le Boss think that man poison him, and he goes to beat him; +but that same day Monsieur George come back, and stop outside the tent +and call us all to come out. And when we come, he run back, and say, +'Look here, what I do!' and he jump, and go clean over the tent, and +not touch him wiz his foot. Yes, I saw it: very fine dog, Monsieur +George! But Coquelicot, he have more thinking than Monsieur George. +He very claiver, Coquelicot! Some of zem think him a witch, but I +think not that. He have minds, that was all. But his legs so short, +and that make him hate Monsieur George." + +"My legs are short," objected Petie, stretching out a pair of plump +calves, "but that doesn't make me hate people." + +"Ah, but if you see a little boy what can walk over the roof of the +house, you want the same to do it, _n'est-ce-pas_?" cried Marie. "You +try, and try, and when you cannot jump, you think that not a so nize +little boy as when his legs were short. So boy, so dog. Coquelicot, +all his life he want to jump like Monsieur George, and all his life he +cannot jump at all. You say to him, 'Coquelicot, are you foolishness? +you can do feefty things and George not one of zem: you can read the +letters, and find the things in the pocket, and play the ins_tru_ment, +and sing the tune to make die people of laughing, yet you are not +_con_tent. Let him have in peace his legs, Monsieur George, then!' +But no! and every time Monsieur George come down from the great jump, +Coquelicot is ready, and bite his legs so hard what he can." + +Petie laughed outright. "I think that's awful funny!" he said. "I +say, Mis' De Arthenay, I'd like to seen him bite his legs. Did he +holler?" + +"Monsieur George? He cry, and go to his bed. All the dogs, they +afraid of Coquelicot, because he have the minds. And he, Coquelicot, +he fear nossing, except Madame when she is angry." + +"Who was she?" asked Petie,--"a big dog?" + +"Ah, dog, no!" cried Marie, her face flushing. "Madame my violon, my +life, my pleasure, my friend. Ah, _mon Dieu_, what friend have I?" +Her breast heaved, and she broke into a wild fit of crying, forgetting +the child by her side, forgetting everything in the world save the +hunger at her heart for the one creature to whom she could speak, and +who could speak in turn to her. + +Petie sat silent, frightened at the sudden storm of sobs and tears. +What had he done, he wondered? At length he mustered courage to touch +his friend's arm softly with his little hand. + +"I didn't go to do it!" he said. "Don't ye cry, Mis' De Arthenay! I +don't know what I did, but I didn't go to do it, nohow." + +Marie turned and looked at him, and smiled through her tears. "Dear +little Petie!" she said, stroking the curly head, "you done nossing, +little Petie. It was the honger, no more! Oh, no more!" she caught +her breath, but choked the sob back bravely, and smiled again. +Something woke in her child heart, and bade her not sadden the heart of +the younger child with a grief which was not his. It is one of the +lessons of life, and it was well with Marie that she learned it early. + +"Madame, my violon," she resumed after a pause, speaking cheerfully, +and wiping her eyes with her apron, "she have many voices, Petie; +tousand voices, like all birds, all winds, all song in the world; and +she have an angry voice, too, deep down, what make you tr-remble in +your heart, if you are bad. _Bien_! Sometime Coquelicot, he been bad, +very bad. He know so much, that make him able for the bad, see, like +for the good. Yes! Sometime, he steal the sugar; sometime he come in +when we make music, and make wiz us yells, and spoil the music; +sometime he make the horreebl' faces at the poppies and make scream +them with fear." + +"Kin poppies scream?" asked Petie, opening great eyes of wonder. "My! +ourn can't. We've got big red ones, biggest ever you see, but I never +heerd a sound out of 'em." + +Explanations ensued, and a digression in favour of the six puppies, +whose noses were softer and whose tails were funnier than anything else +in the known, world; and then-- + +"So Coquelicot, he come and he sit down before the poppies, and he open +his mouth, so!" here Marie opened her pretty mouth, and tried to look +like a malicious poodle,--with singular lack of success; but Petie was +delighted, and clapped his hands and laughed. + +"And then," Marie went on, "Lisette, she is the poppies' mother, and +she hear them, and she come wiz yells, too, and try to drive +Coquelicot, but he take her wiz his teeth and shake her, and throw her +away, and go on to make faces, and all is horreebl' noise, to wake +deads. So Old Billy call me, and I come, and I go softly behind +Coquelicot, and down I put me, and Madame speak in her angry voice +justly in Coquelicot's ear. 'La la! tra la li la!' deep down like so, +full wiz angryness, terreebl', yes! And Coquelicot he jump, oh my! oh +my! never he could jump so of all his life. And the tail bit-ween his +legs, and there that he run, run, as if all devils run after him. Yes, +funny, Petie, vairy funny!" She laughed, and Petie laughed in violent, +noisy peals, as children love to do, each gust of merriment fanning the +fire for another, till all control is lost, and the little one drops +into an irrepressible fit of the "giggles." So they sat under the +pine-trees, the two children, and laughed, and Marie forgot the hunger +at her heart; till suddenly she looked and saw her husband standing +near, leaning on his rake and gazing at her with grave, uncomprehending +eyes. Then the laugh froze on her lips, and she rose hastily, with the +little timid smile which was all she had for Jacques (yet he was hungry +too, so hungry! and knew not what ailed him!) and went to meet him; +while Petie ran away through the grove, as fast as his little legs +would carry him. + +CHAPTER VIII. + +A FLOWER IN THE SNOW. + +The winter, when it came, was hard for Marie. She had never known +severe weather before, and this season it was bitter cold. People +shook their heads, and said that old times had come again, and no +mistake. There was eager pride in the lowest mercury, and the man +whose thermometer registered thirty degrees below zero was happier than +he who could boast but of twenty-five. There was not so much snow as +in milder seasons, but the cold held without breaking, week after week: +clear weather; no wind, but the air taking the breath from the dryness +of it, and in the evening the haze hanging blue and low that tells of +intensest cold. As the snow fell, it remained. The drifts and hollows +never changed their shape, as in a soft or a windy season, but seemed +fixed as they were for all time. Across the road from Jacques De +Arthenay's house, a huge drift had been piled by the first snowstorm of +the winter. Nearly as high as the house it was, and its top combed +forward, like a wave ready to break; and in the blue hollow beneath the +curling crest was the likeness of a great face. A rock cropped out, +and ice had formed upon its surface, so that the snow fell away from +it. The explanation was simple enough; Jacques De Arthenay, coming and +going at his work, never so much as looked at it; but to Marie it was a +strange and a dreadful thing to see. Night and morning, in the cold +blue light of the winter moon and the bright hard glitter of the winter +sun, the face was always there, gazing in at her through the window, +seeing everything she did, perhaps--who could tell?--seeing everything +she thought. She changed her seat, and drew down the blind that faced +the drift; yet it had a strange fascination for her none the less, and +many times in the day she would go and peep through the blind, and +shiver, and then come away moaning in a little way that she had when +she was alone. It was pitiful to see how she shrank from the +cold,--the tender creature who seemed born to live and bloom with the +flowers, perhaps to wither with them. Sometimes it seemed to her as if +she could not bear it, as if she must run away and find the birds, and +the green and joyous things that she loved. The pines were always +green, it is true, in the little grove across the way; but it was a +solemn and gloomy green, to her child's mind,--she had not yet learned +to love the steadfast pines. Sometimes she would open the door with a +wild thought of flying out, of flying far away, as the birds did, and +rejoining them in southern countries where the sun was warm, and not a +fire that froze while it lighted one. So cold! so cold! But when she +stood thus, the little wild heart beating fiercely in her, the icy +blast would come and chill her into quiet again, and turn the blood +thick, so that it ran slower in her veins; and she would think of the +leagues and leagues of pitiless snow and ice that lay between her and +the birds, and would close the door again, and go back to her work with +that little weary moan. + +Her husband was very kind in these days; oh, very kind and gentle. He +kept the dark moods to himself, if they came upon him, and tried even +to be gay, though he did not know how to set about it. If he had ever +known or looked at a child, this poor man, he would have done better; +but it was not a thing that he had ever thought of, and he did not yet +know that Marie was a child. Sometimes when she saw him looking at her +with the grave, loving, uncomprehending look that so often followed her +as she moved about, she would come to him and lay her head against his +shoulder, and remain quiet so for many minutes; but when he moved to +stroke her dark head, and say, "What is it, Mary? what troubles you?" +she could only say that it was cold, very cold, and then go away again +about her work. + +Sometimes an anguish would seize him, when he saw how pale and thin she +grew, and he would send for the village doctor, and beg him to give her +some "stuff" that would make her plump and rosy again; but the good man +shook his head, and said she needed nothing, only care and +kindness,--kindness, he repeated, with some emphasis, after a glance at +De Arthenay's face, and good food. "Cheerfulness," he said, buttoning +up his fur coat under his chin,--"cheerfulness, Mr. De Arthenay, and +plenty of good things to eat. That's all she needs." And he went away +wondering whether the little creature would pull through the winter or +not. + +And Jacques did not throw the food into the fire any more; he even +tried to think about it, and care about it. And he got out the +Farmer's Almanac,--yes, he did,--and tried reading the jokes aloud, to +see if they would amuse Mary; but they did not amuse her in the least, +or him either, so that was given up. And so the winter wore on. + +It had to end sometime; even that winter could not last forever. The +iron grasp relaxed: fitfully at first, with grim clutches and snatches +at its prey, gripping it the closer because it knew the time was near +when all power would go, drop off like a garment, melt away like a +stream. The unchanging snow-forms began to shift, the keen outlines +wavered, grew indistinct, fell into ruin, as the sun grew warm again, +and sent down rays that were no longer like lances of diamond. The +glittering face in the hollow of the great drift lost its watchful +look, softened, grew dim and blurred; one morning it was gone. That +day Marie sang a little song, the first she had sung through all the +long, cruel season. She drew up the blind and gazed out; she wrapped a +shawl round her head and went and stood at the door, afraid of nothing +now, not even thinking of making those tiresome horns. She was aware +of something new in the air she breathed. It was still cold, but with +a difference; there was a breathing as of life, where all had been dry, +cold death. There was a sense of awakening everywhere; whispers seemed +to come and go in the tops of the pine-trees, telling of coming things, +of songs that would be sung in their branches, as they had been sung +before; of blossoms that would spring at their feet, brightening the +world with gold and white and crimson. + +Life! life stirring and waking everywhere, in sky and earth; soft +clouds sweeping across the blue, softening its cold brightness, +dropping rain as they go; sap creeping through the ice-bound stems, +slowly at first, then running freely, bidding the tree awake and be at +its work, push out the velvet pouch that holds the yellow catkin, swell +and polish the pointed leaf-buds: life working silently under the +ground, brown seeds opening their leaves to make way for the tender +shoot that shall draw nourishment from them and push its way on and up +while they die content, their work being done; roots creeping here and +there, threading their way through the earth, softening, loosening, +sucking up moisture and sending it aloft to carry on the great +work,--life everywhere, pulsing in silent throbs, the heart-beats of +Nature; till at last the time is ripe, the miracle is prepared, and + + "In green underwood and cover + Blossom by blossom the spring begins." + +Marie too, the child-woman, standing in her doorway, felt the thrill of +new life; heard whispers of joy, but knew not what they meant; saw a +radiance in the air that was not all sunlight; was conscious of a +warmth at her heart which she had never known in her merriest days. +What did it all mean? Nay, she could not tell, she was not yet awake. +She thought of her friend, of the silent voice that had spoken so often +and so sweetly to her, and the desire grew strong upon her. If she +died for it, she must play once more on her violin. + +There came a day in spring when the desire mastered the fear that was +in her. It was a perfect afternoon, the air a-lilt with bird-songs, +and full of the perfume of early flowers. Her husband was ploughing in +a distant field, and surely would not return for an hour or two; what +might one not do in an hour? She called her little friend, Petie, who +was hovering about the door, watching for her. Quickly, with +fluttering breath, she told him what she meant to do, bade him be brave +and fear nothing; locked the door, drew down the blinds, and closed the +heavy wooden shutters; turned to the four corners of the room, bowing +to each corner, as she muttered some words under her breath; and then, +catching the child's hand in hers, began swiftly and lightly to mount +the attic stairs. + + + + +CHAPTER X. + +DE AKTHENAY'S VIGIL. + +Was it a _loup-garou_ in the attic? was it a _loup-garou_ that drew +that long, sighing breath, as of a soul in pain; was it a _loup-garou_ +that now groped its way to the other staircase, that which led up from +the woodshed, pausing now and then, and going blindly, and breathing +still heavily and slow? + +De Arthenay had come up to the attic in search of something, tools, +maybe, or seeds, or the like, for many odd things were stowed away +under the over-hanging rafters. He heard steps, and stood still, +knowing that it must be his wife who was coming up, and thinking to +have pleasure just by watching her as she went on some little household +errand, such as brought himself. She would know nothing of his +presence, and so she would be free, unrestrained by any shyness or--or +fear; if it was fear. So he had stood in his dark corner, and had seen +little, indeed, but heard all; and it was a wild and a miserable man +that crept down the narrow stairway and out into the fresh air. + +He did not know where he was going. He wandered on and on, hearing +always that sound in his ears, the soft, sweet tones of the accursed +instrument that was wiling his wife, his own, his beloved, to her +destruction. The child, too, how would it be for him? But the child +was a smaller matter. Perhaps,--who knows? a child can live down sin. +But Mary, whom he fancied saved, cured, the evil thing rooted out of +her heart and remembrance! + +Mary; Mary! He kept saying her name over and over to himself, +sometimes aloud, in a passion of reproach, sometimes softly, +broodingly, with love and pathos unutterable. What power there was in +that wicked voice! He had never rightly heard it before, never, save +that instant when she stood playing in the village street, and he saw +her for a moment and loved her forever. Oh, he had heard, to be sure, +this or that strolling fiddler,--godless, tippling wretches, who rarely +came to the village, and never set foot there twice, he thought with +pride. But this, this was different! What power! what sweetness, +filling his heart with rapture even while his spirit cried out against +it! What voices, entreating, commanding, uplifting! + +Nay, what was he saying? and who did not know that Satan could put on +an angel's look when it pleased him? and if a look, why not a voice? +When had a fiddle played godly tunes, chant or psalm? when did it do +aught else but tempt the foolish to their folly, the wicked to their +iniquity? + +Mary! Mary! How lovely she was, in the faint gleams of light that +fell about her, there in the dim old attic! He felt her beauty, +almost, more than he saw it. And all this year, while he had thought +her growing in grace, silently, indeed, but he hoped truly, she had +been hankering for the forbidden thing, had been planning deceit in her +heart, and had led away the innocent child to follow unrighteousness +with her. He would go back, and do what he should have done a year +ago,--what he would have done, had he not yielded to the foolish talk +of a foolish woman. He would go back, and burn the fiddle, and silence +forever that sweet, insidious music, with its wicked murmurs that stole +into a man's heart--even a man's, and one who knew the evil, and +abhorred it. The smoke of it once gone up to heaven, there would be an +end. He should have his wife again, his own, and nothing should come +between them more. Yes, he would go back, in a little while, as soon +as those sounds had died away from his ears. What was the song she +sung there? + + "'Tis long and long I have loved thee! + I'll ne'er forget thee more." + +She would forget it, though, surely, surely, when it was gone, breathed +out in flame and ashes: when he could say to her, "There is no more any +such thing in my house and yours, Mary, Mary." + +How tenderly he would tell her, though! It would hurt, yes! but not so +much as her look would hurt him when he told her. Ah, she loved the +wooden thing best! He was dumb, and it spoke to her in a thousand +tones! Even he had understood some of them. There was one note that +was like his mother's voice when she lifted it up in the hymn she loved +best,--his gentle mother, dead so long, so long ago. She--why, she +loved music; he had forgotten that. But only psalms, only godly hymns, +never anything else. + +What devil whispered in his ear, "She never heard anything else. She +would have loved this too, this too, if she had had the chance, if she +had heard Mary play!" He put his hands to his ears, and almost ran on. +Where was he going? He did not ask, did not think. He only knew that +it was a relief to be walking, to get farther and farther away from +what he loved and fain would cherish, from what he hated and would fain +destroy. + +The grass grew long and rank under his feet; he stumbled, and paused +for a moment, out of breath, to look about him. He was in the old +burying-ground, the grey stones rearing their heads to peer at him as +he hurried on. Ah, there was one stone here that belonged to him. He +had not been in the place since he was a child; he cared nothing about +the dead of long ago: but now the memory of it all came back upon him, +and he sought and found the grey sunken stone, and pulled away the +grass from it, and read the legend with eyes that scarcely saw what +they looked at. + + "D'Arthenay, tenez foi!" + +And the place was free from moss, as they always said; the rude +scratch, as of a sharp-pointed instrument. Did it mean anything? He +dropped beside it for a minute, and studied the stone; then rose and +went his way again, still wandering on and on, he knew not whither. + +Darkness came, and he was in the woods, stumbling here and there, +driven as by a strong wind, scorched as by a flame. At last he sank +down at the foot of a great oak-tree, in a place he knew well, even in +the dark: he could go no farther. + + "D'Arthenay, tenez foi!" + +It whispered in his ears, and seemed for a little to drown the haunting +notes of the violin. He, the Calvinist, the practical man, who +believed in two things outside the visible world, a great hell and a +small heaven, now felt spirits about him, saw visions that were not of +this life. His ancestor, the Huguenot, stood before him, in cloak and +band; in one hand a Bible, in the other a drawn dagger. His dark eyes +pierced like a sword-thrust; his lips moved; and though no sound came, +Jacques knew the words they framed. + +"Tenez foi! Keep the faith that I brought across the sea, leaving for +it fair fields and vineyards, castle and tower and town. Keep the +faith for which I bled, for which I died here in the wilderness, +leaving only these barren acres, and the stone that bears my last word, +my message to those who should come after me. Keep the faith for which +my fair wife faded and died, far away from home and friends! Let no +piping or jigging or profane sound be in thy house, but let it be the +house of fasting and of prayer, even as my house was. Keep faith! If +thy right hand offend thee, cut it off and cast it from thee!" + +Who else was there,--what gentle, pallid ghost, with sad, faint eyes? +The face was dim and shadowy, for he had been a little child when his +mother died. She was speaking too, but what were these words she was +saying? "Keep faith, my son! ay! but keep it with your wife too, the +child you wedded whether she would or no, and from whom you are taking +the joy of childhood, the light of youth. Keep faith as the sun keeps +it, as the summer keeps it, not as winter and the night." + +What did that mean? keep faith with her, with his wife? how else should +he do it but by saving her from the wrath to come, by plucking her as a +flower out of the mire? + +"What shall I save but her soul, yea, though her body perish?" + +He spoke out in his trouble, and the vision seemed to shrink and waver +under his gaze; but the faint voice sighed again,--or was it only the +wind in the pine-trees?--"Care thou for her earthly life, her earthly +joy, for God is mindful of her soul." + +But then the deeper note struck in again,--or was it only a stronger +gust, that bowed the branches, and murmured through all the airy depths +above him? + +"Keep the faith! Thou art a man, and wilt thou be drawn away by women, +of whom the best are a stumbling-block and a snare for the feet? +Destroy the evil thing! root it out from thy house! What are joys of +this world, that we should think of them? Do they not lead to +destruction, even the flowery path of it, going down to the mouth of +the pit, and with no way leading thence? Who is the woman for whose +sake thou wilt lose thine own soul? If thy right eye offend thee, +pluck it out!" + +So the night went on, and the voices, or the wind, or his own soul, +cried, and answered, and cried again: and no peace came. + +The night passed. As it drew to a close, all sound, all motion, died +away; the darkness folded him close, like a mantle; the silence pressed +upon him like hands that held him down. Like a log the man lay at the +foot of the great tree, and his soul lay dead within him. + +At last a change came; or did he sleep, and dream of a change? A faint +trembling in the air, a faint rustling that lost itself almost before +it reached the ear. It was gone, and all was still once more; yet with +a difference. The darkness lay less heavily: one felt that it hid many +things, instead of filling the world with itself alone. + +Hark! the murmur again, not lost this time, but coming and going, +lightly, softly, brushing here and there, soft dark wings fanning the +air, making it ever lighter, thinner. Gradually the veil lifted; +things stood out, black against black, then black against grey; +straight majesty of tree-trunks, bending lines of bough and spray, +tender grace of ferns. + +And now, what is this? A sound from the trees themselves,--no +multitudinous murmur this time, but a single note, small and clear and +sweet, breaking like a golden arrow of sound through the cloudy depths. + +Chirp, twitter! and again from the next tree, and the next, and now +from all the trees, short triads, broken snatches, and at last the full +chorus of song, choir answering to choir, the morning hymn of the +forest. + +Now, in the very tree beneath which the man lay, Chrysostom, the +thrush, took up his parable, and preached his morning sermon; and if it +had been set to words, they might have been something like these:-- + +"Sing! sing, brothers, sisters, little tender ones in the nest! Sing, +for the morning is come, and God has made us another day. Sing! for +praise is sweet, and our sweetest notes must show it forth. Song is +the voice that God has given us to tell forth His goodness, to speak +gladly of the wondrous things He hath made. Sing, brothers and +sisters! be joyful, be joyful in the Lord! all sorrow and darkness is +gone away, away, and light is here, and morning, and the world wakes +with us to gladness and the new day. Sing, and let your songs be all +of joy, joy, lest there be in the wood any sorrowing creature, who +might go sadly through the day for want of a voice of cheer, to tell +him that God is love, is love. Wake from thy dream, sad heart, if the +friendly wood hold such an one! Sorrow is night, and night is good, +for rest, and for seeing of many stars, and for coolness and sweet +odours; but now awake, awake, for the day is here, and the sun arises +in his might,--the sun, whose name is joy, is joy, and, whose voice is +praise. Sing, sing, and praise the Lord!" + +So the bird sang, praising God, and the other birds, from tree and +shrub, answered as best they might, each with his song of praise; and +the man, lying motionless beneath the great tree, heard, and listened, +and understood. + +Still he lay there, with wide open eyes, while the golden morning broke +over him, and the light came sifting down, through the leaves, +checkering all the ground with gold. The wood now glowed with colour, +russet and green and brown, wine-like red of the tree-trunks where the +sun struck aslant on them, soft yellow greens where the young ferns +uncurled their downy heads. The air was sweet, sweet, with the smell +of morning; was the whole world new since last night? + +Suddenly from the road near by (for he had gone round in a circle, and +the wooded hollow where he lay was out of sight but not out of hearing +of the country road which skirted the woods for many miles), from the +road near by came the sound of voices,--men's voices, which fell +strange and harsh on his ears, open for the first time to the music of +the world, and still ringing with the morning hymn of joy. What were +these harsh voices saying? + +"They think she'll live now?" + +"Yes, she'll pull through, unless she frets herself bad again about +Jacques. Nobody'd heerd a word of him when I come away." + +"Been out all night, has he?" + +"Yes! went away without saying anything to her or anybody, far as I can +make out. Been gone since yesterday afternoon, and some say--" The +voices died away, and then the footsteps, and silence fell once more. + + + + +CHAPTER XI. + +VITA NUOVA. + +De Arthenay never knew how he reached home that day. The spot where he +had been lying was several miles from the white cottage, yet he was +conscious of no time, no distance. It seemed one burning moment, a +moment never to be forgotten while he lived, till he found himself at +the foot of the outer stairway, the stair that led to the attic. She +might still be living, and he would not go to her without the thing she +craved, the thing which could speak to her in the voice she understood. + +Again a moment of half-consciousness, and he was standing in the +doorway of her bedroom, looking in with blind eyes of dread. What +should he see? what still form might break the outline of that white +bed which she always kept so smooth and trim? + +The silence cried out to him with a thousand voices, threatening, +condemning, blasting; but the next moment it was broken. + +"Mon ami!" said Marie. The words were faint, but there was a tone in +them that had never been there before. "Jacques, mon ami, you are +here! You did not go to leave me?" + +The mist cleared from the man's eyes. He did not see Abby Rock, +sitting by the bed, crying with joyful indignation; if he had seen her, +it would not have been in the least strange for her to be there. He +saw nothing--the world held nothing--but the face that looked at him +from the pillow, the pale face, all soft and worn, yet full of light, +full--was it true, or was he dreaming in the wood?--of love, of joy. + +"Come in, Jacques!" said Abby, wondering at the look of the man. +"Don't make a noise, but come in and sit down!" + +De Arthenay did not move, but held out the violin in both hands with a +strange gesture of submission. + +"I have brought it, Mary!" he said. "You shall always have it now. +I--I have learned a little--I know a little, now, of what it means. I +hadn't understanding before, Mary. I meant no unkindness to you." + +Abby laughed softly. "Jacques De Arthenay, come here!" she said. +"What do you suppose Maree's thinking of fiddles now? Come here, man +alive, and see your boy!" + +But Marie laid one hand softly on the violin, as it lay on the bed +beside her,--the hand that was not patting the baby; then she laid it, +still softly, shyly, on her husband's head as he knelt beside her. +"Jacques, mon ami," she whispered, "you are good! I too have learned. +I was a child always, I knew nothing. See now, I love always Madame, +my friend, and she is mine; but this, this is yours too, and mine too, +our life, our own. Jacques, now we both know, and God, He tell us! +See, the same God, only we did not know the first times. Now, always +we know, and not forget! not forget!" + +The baby woke and stirred. The tiny hand was outstretched and touched +its father's hand, and a thrill ran through him from head to foot, +softening the hard grain, melting, changing the fibre of his being. +The husk that in those lonely hours in the forest had been loosened, +broken, now fell away from him, and a new man knelt by the white bed, +silent, gazing from child to wife with eyes more eloquent than any +words could be. The baby's hand rested in his, and Marie laid her own +over it; and Abby Rock rose and went away, closing the door softly +after her. + + +THE END. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Marie, by Laura E. 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