Ah! welladay,
Brightest hopes are fleetest!
As he played the air he hummed the words.
For one so rough, so big, so burly, the execution was marvellously tender and graceful.
He was right. With such a hand on the bow, such melody as this, the trouble of the girl's mind was allayed, as when oil is poured over chafed water. He continued playing, always softly, dreaming himself over this exquisite musical theme, wandering away into changes, as his mind reverted to the one soft and sweet episode of his rude career—the courtship of the woman who had become his wife. And as he played the May sun came out, and the oak was bursting; he saw meadows in which the purple orchis grew and the delicate 'milk maids' fluttered, watercourses over which the marsh-marigolds hung their golden chalices, heard the doves coo and the cuckoo call, and looked into the blue heavens of his Mary's eyes—and the man's face changed, and his eyes filled—'Now I say—Ah! welladay, Brightest hopes are fleetest!'
Mrs. Marley came out of the inner chamber.
She was vastly changed in appearance. She had washed her face and smoothed her hair, and in a good stuff gown wore a stately appearance. She was certainly a handsome woman still, though tanned by exposure and lined by care. Job winced when he saw a stranger in a dress that had once been worn by his wife, the thought of whom was still playing over him like a breath of violets.
He laid aside his violin.
'That has not kept the girl awake, I warrant.'
'No, she has fallen asleep, and there is a smile on her lips.'