'Will you have a stuff or a silken gown?' he asked, and looked at her. He fumbled dubiously among the garments. 'But see――suit yourself――there be of all kinds there. They belonged to my wife. She is gone aloft where they dress in gossamer and swansdown. I keep these for Jack's wife, when he is pleased to marry. But the moth plays the deuce with them. Go either where the maiden sleeps or under the stair, where is a berth. Pass me out your streaming rags, and I'll hang them up to dry. By the Lord, you will be crippled with rheumatics if you do not shift at once. There is your child crying out again! I'll take my fiddle. Give a look in on her, and put on dry things. I'll play her a tune.' 'That will rouse her.' 'No, it will soothe her. I'll give her no hornpipes, but something soft and slumbrous.' Then he began to hum, 'Once I loved a maiden fair.' He stood in the midst of the floor, balancing his arms, and dancing his hands to the rhythm of the air. 'That will send her to the Land of Dreams. I would play a lullaby, but I know none.' Thereupon he went to a nail to which was suspended a green baize bag, and from the bag he drew a violin. He seated himself at the fire and began to play: 'Once I loved a maiden fair, But she did deceive me; She with Venus might compare, If you will believe me. She was young, And among All the maids the sweetest, Now I say, 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.'