Marie

soul in pain; was it a loup-garou that now groped its way to the other staircase, that which led

is 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, unrestraine

nt 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 matt

efore, 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 v

leased him? and if a look, why not a voice? When had a fiddle played godly tunes, chant or psal

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

nd long I ha

r forget

breathed out in flame and ashes: when he could say to her, "The

mb, 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

d 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 w

o 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 t

nay, ten

inted instrument. Did it mean anything? He dropped beside it for a minute, and studied th

a strong wind, scorched as by a flame. At last he sank down at the foot of a gr

nay, ten

ible 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 b

ving 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

s 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 n

how else should he do it but by saving her from the wr

ut her soul, yea, th

aze; but the faint voice sighed again,-or was it only the wind in the pine-trees?-

t only a stronger gust, that bowed the branches, a

oot 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 wind, or his own soul, cried, and ans

olded him close, like a mantle; the silence pressed upon him like hands that held him dow

at lost itself almost before it reached the ear. It was gone, and all was still once more; yet with a difference

wings fanning the air, making it ever lighter, thinner. Gradually the veil lifted; things stood out, black against bla

udinous murmur this time, but a single note, small and clear and sw

m all the trees, short triads, broken snatches, and at last the full ch

rush, took up his parable, and preached his morning sermon; and if

, 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.

answered as best they might, each with his song of praise; and the man, ly

round 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 ye

e 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

nk she'll

ugh, unless she frets

heerd a word of hi

all nigh

an make out. Been gone since yesterday afternoon, and some say-" The