ping across the blue, softening its cold brightness,
dropping rain as they go; sap creeping through the ice-bound stems,
slowly at first, then running freely, bidding the tree awake and be at
its work, push out the velvet pouch that holds the yellow catkin, swell
and polish the pointed leaf-buds: life working silently under the
ground, brown seeds opening their leaves to make way for the tender
shoot that shall draw nourishment from them and push its way on and up
while they die content, their work being done; roots creeping here and
there, threading their way through the earth, softening, loosening,
sucking up moisture and sending it aloft to carry on the great
work,--life everywhere, pulsing in silent throbs, the heart-beats of
Nature; till at last the time is ripe, the miracle is prepared, and

"In green underwood and cover
Blossom by blossom the spring begins."

Marie too, the child-woman, standing in her doorway, felt the thrill of
new life; heard whispers of joy, but knew not what they meant; saw a
radiance in the air that was not all sunlight; was conscious of a
warmth at her heart which she had never known in her merriest days.
What did it all mean? Nay, she could not tell, she was not yet awake.
She thought of her friend, of the silent voice that had spoken so often
and so sweetly to her, and the desire grew strong upon her. If she
died for it, she must play once more on her violin.

There came a day in spring when the desire mastered the fear that was
in her. It was a perfect afternoon, the air a-lilt with bird-songs,
and full of the perfume of early flowers. Her husband was ploughing in
a distant field, and surely would not return for an hour or two; what
might one not do in an hour? She called her little friend, Petie, who
was hovering about the door, watching for her. Quickly, with
fluttering breath, she told him what she meant to do, bade him be brave
and fear nothing; locked the door, drew down the blinds, and closed the
heavy wooden shutters; turned to the four corners of the room, bowing
to each corner, as she muttered some words under her breath; and then,
catching the child's hand in hers, began swiftly and lightly to mount
the attic stairs.

CHAPTER X.

DE AKTHENAY'S VIGIL.

Was it a _loup-garou_ in the attic? was it a _loup-garou_ that drew
that long, sighing breath, as of a soul in pain; was it a _loup-garou_
that now groped its way to the other staircase, that which led up f