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.