Imagine a crack of the string at the bow's deep stress.

Or imagine the bow paralyzed at the moment of the deepest sounding.

And yet the voice did not waver.

She had now the richness of tone carrying on a music through silence.
Well, then, at least, he had not been the utterly duped fool he thought himself since the consent was pledged to wed her.
More, she had beauty--of its kind.

Or splendour or grandeur, was the term for it.