They were married that very day.  Abby begged piteously for a little delay, that she might make clothes, and give her pretty pet a “good send-off;” but De Arthenay would not hear of it.  Mary was his wife in the sight of God; let her become so in the sight of man!  So a white gown was found and put on the little passive creature, and good Abby, crying with excitement, twined some flowers in the soft dark hair, and thought that even Sister Lizzie, in her blue silk dress and chip bonnet, had not made so lovely a bride as this stranger, this wandering child from no one knew where.  The wedding took place in Abby’s parlor, with only Abby herself and a single neighbour for witnesses.  A little crowd gathered round the door, however, to see how Jacques De Arthenay looked when he’d made a fool of himself, as they expressed it.  They were in a merry mood, the friendly neighbours, and had sundry jests ready to crack upon the bridegroom when he should appear; but when he finally stood in the doorway, with the little pale bride on his arm, it became apparent that jests were not in order.  People calc’lated that Jacques was in one of his moods, and was best not to be spoke with just that moment; besides, ‘t was no time for them to be l’iterin’ round staring, with all there was to be done.  So the crowd melted away, and only Abby followed the new-married couple to their own home.  She, walking behind in much perturbation of spirit, noticed that on the threshold Marie stumbled, and seemed about to fall, and that Jacques lifted her in his arms as if she were a baby, and carried her into the room.  He had not seemed to notice till that moment that the child was carrying her violin-case, though to be sure it was plain enough to see, but as he lifted her, it struck against the door-jamb, and he glanced down and saw it.  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.”