The words were faint, but there was a tone in them that had never been there before.

"Jacques, mon ami, you are here! You did not go to leave me ?" The mist cleared from the man's eyes.

He did not see Abby Rock, sitting by the bed, crying with joyful indignation; if he had seen her, it would not have been in the least strange for her to be there.

He saw nothing--the world held nothing--but the face that looked at him from the pillow, the pale face, all soft and worn, yet full of light, full--was it true, or was he dreaming in the wood ?--of love, of joy.
"Come in, Jacques!" said Abby, wondering at the look of the man.
"Don't make a noise, but come in and sit down!" De Arthenay did not move, but held out the violin in both hands with a strange gesture of submission.
"I have brought it, Mary!" he said.

"You shall always have it now.
I--I have learned a little--I know a little, now, of what it means.