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.