ation of spirit might indeed survive fleshly exhaustion and
perhaps in a measure overcome it, but it could not prevent it
altogether. When she reached the fifth house below the white
meeting-house, the house set close to the road, with three
poplar-trees in front, she had just strength enough to stagger to the
door and raise the knocker. Then she leaned against the door-post,
and it was only with a fierce effort that she kept her grasp upon her
consciousness. She did not seem to feel her body at all.

Chapter XI

Presently a bolt was shot and the door pushed open with an effort. It
was little used, and there was ice against it. Then a man's face
peered out irresolutely into the dusk. A knock upon the front door,
upon a night like this, seemed so unlikely that he doubted if he had
heard rightly.

"Anybody here?" he said. Then he saw the woman's figure propped
stiffly against the door-post. "Who is it?" he asked, in a startled
voice. "Is it you, Mrs. Lane?"

Madelon aroused herself. "I want to see Mr. Otis's son a minute if I
can," she said, with a great effort. Then she raised her piteous eyes
to the face before her, and realized dimly that it was the face of
the young man who had taken her place at the ball, and sent her
homeward to work all this misery on that dreadful night.

"I am Mr. Otis's son," returned the young man, wonderingly.
"What"--then he gave a cry--"why, it is you!"

"I want--to--see you--a minute," said Madelon, and her voice sounded
far away in her own ears.

The young man started. "Why, you're half frozen," he cried out, "and
here I am keeping you standing out here! Come in."

Madelon shrank back. "No," she faltered, "I--only want to ask--"

But Jim Otis took her by the arm with gentle force, and she was so
spent that she could but let him have his way, and lead her into the
house and the warm living-room, staggering under his supporting
clasp.

"Mother," called Jim Otis--"mother, come here, quick!" He placed
Madelon tenderly on the settle, and his mother came hurriedly out of
the pantry.

"What is it?" she asked. "What is the matter, Jim? Who was it
knocked? Why, who's that?"

Madelon leaned back helplessly in the corner of the settle, her head
hanging half unconsciously. The young man stooped over her and
unfastened her cloak and hood. "Come here, quick, mother!" he cried,
and his voice was as sweet with pity as a woman's. "This poor girl is
half dead with the cold."

Mrs