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Updated: May 31, 2025
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.
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.
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. So things went on for a while; and then came a change.
"It is a pity that you did not get your pass direct from Arthenay," he said. "You say that your sister wants to make inquiries about a husband there, and that you are taking her down, and you also say that you are a sailor." "Yes." "Then, I should think that the best thing for you would be to dress yourself as a sailor again. It will seem more natural than for you to be in that civilian dress.
I do get out of patience with Rejoice sometimes, takin' the Lord quite so much for granted as she doos; for, after all, the child was stole, you can't get over that, and seems's though if there'd ben such a good lookout as she thinks, well, there! I don't want to be profane; but I will say 'twas a providence, Mr. De Arthenay happenin' along.
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.
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.
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."
An old man, tall and slender, with snowy hair falling in a single curl over his forehead; with brown eyes which glance birdlike here and there, seeing everything, taking in every face, every shadow of a vanishing form that hurries along and away from him; with fiddle-bow in hand, and fiddle held close and tenderly against his shoulder. De Arthenay, looking for his little girl!
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.
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