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.  While he was gone, she still held Marie in her arms, and begged her not to tremble so, and told her that her husband was a good man, a kind man, that he had never hurt any one in his life except evil-doers, and had been a good son and a good brother to his own people while they lived.  Then she bade the child look around at her new home, and see how neat and good everything was, and how tastefully Jacques had arranged it all for her.  “Why, he vallies the ground you step on, child!” she cried.  “You don’t want to be afraid of him, dear.  You can do anything you’re a mind to with him, I tell you.  See them flowers there, in the chaney bowl!  Now he never looked at a flower in his life, Jacques didn’t; but knowing you set by them, he went out and picked them pretty ones o’ purpose.  Now I call that real thoughtful, don’t you, Maree?”

So the good soul talked on, soothing the girl, who said no word, only trembled, and gazed at her with wide, frightened eyes; but Abby’s heart was heavy within her, and she hardly heard her own cheery words.  What kind of union was this likely to be, with such a beginning!  Why had she not realised, before it was too late, how set Jacques was in his ways, and how he never would give in to the heathen notions and fiddling ways of the foreign child?

Sadly the good woman bade farewell to the bridal couple, and left them alone in their new home.  On the threshold she turned back for a moment, and had a moment’s comfort; for Jacques had taken Marie’s hands in his own, and was gazing at her with such love in his eyes that it must have melted a stone, Abby thought; and perhaps Marie thought so too, for she forgot to make the horns, and smiled back, a little faint piteous smile, into her husband’s face.

So Abby went away to the West, to tend her sister, and Jacques and Marie De Arthenay began their life together.

It was not so very terrible, Marie found after a while.  Of course a person could not always help it, to have the evil eye; it had happened that even the best of persons had it, and sometimes without knowing it.  The Catholic girls at home in the village had a saint who always carried her eyes about in a plate because they were evil, and she was afraid of hurting some one with them. (Poor Saint Lucia! this is a new rendering of thy martyrdom!) Yes, indeed!  Marie was no Catholic, but she had seen the picture, and knew that it was so.  And oh, he did mean to be kind, her husband! that saw itself more and more plainly every day.