even to himself. The fiddle, in particular, he held to be positively
devilish, both in its origin and influence; those who played this
unholy instrument were bound to no good place, and were sure to gain
their port, in his opinion. Being thus minded, it was with a shock of
horror that he heard the sound of a fiddle in the street of his own
village, not fifty yards from the meeting-house itself. After a
moment's pause, he came wrathfully down the street; his height raised
him a head and shoulders above the people who were ringed around the
little musician, and he looked over their heads, with his arm raised to
command, and his lips opened to forbid the shameful thing. Then--he
saw Marie's face; and straightway his arm dropped to his side, and he
stood without speaking. The children looked up at him, and moved away,
for they were always afraid of him, and at this moment his face was
dreadful to see.

Yet it was nothing dreadful that he looked upon. Marie was standing
with her head bent down over her violin, in a pretty way she had. A
light, slight figure, not short, yet with a look that spoke all of
youth and morning grace. She wore a little blue gown, patched and
faded, and dusty enough after her day's walk; her feet were dusty too,
but slender and delicately shaped. Her face was like nothing that had
been seen in those parts before, and the beauty of it seemed to strike
cold to the man's heart, as he stood and gazed with unwilling eyes,
hating the feeling that constrained him, yet unable for the moment to
restrain it or to turn his eyes away. She had that clear, bright
whiteness of skin that is seen only in Frenchwomen, and only here and
there among these; whiteness as of fire behind alabaster. Her hair was
black and soft, and the lashes lay like jet on her cheek, as she stood
looking down, smiling a little, feeling so happy, so pleased that she
was pleasing others. And now, when she raised her eyes, they were seen