. Otis, large and fair-faced, with her soft, massive curves
swathed in purple thibet, stared for a second in speechless wonder.
"Who is it? How did she get here?" she whispered.

"Hush--I don't know. She's from Ware Centre. Her name's Hautville."

"Seems to me I've heard of her. What has she come here for, Jim?"

"Hush--I don't know. She'll hear you. Go and get something hot for
her to drink. I saw her at the ball the other night. Go quick,
mother."

"I'll get her some brandy cordial," said Mrs. Otis, with sudden
alacrity. She needed time always to get her mental bearing thoroughly
in any emergency, but action was prompt afterwards. She made a quick
motion towards the cupboard, but Madelon aroused herself suddenly.
Her senses had lapsed for a few minutes upon coming into the warm
room. "Where am I?" she asked, in a bewildered way.

"In our house," replied Mrs. Otis, promptly. "Jim just brought you
in, and it's lucky you come just as you did, for I don't know but
you'd froze to death if you'd been out much longer. Now, I'll get you
some of my brandy cordial, and that'll warm you right up. Did you
come way over from Ware Centre this dreadful night?"

"Yes, ma'am," replied Madelon, with the dazed look still in her eyes.
Mrs. Otis looked back on her way to the cupboard.

"Rode way over from Ware Centre in an open sleigh?" she said.

"No, ma'am; I walked."

Mrs. Otis stopped and looked at Madelon with a gasp, then at her son.
"She's out of her head, I'm afraid," said she.

"You didn't really walk over from Ware Centre?" questioned Jim.

"Yes, I did," replied Madelon. She stood up with sudden decision. "I
want to see you a minute," she said to Jim. Then she turned to Mrs.
Otis. "I don't need anything to take," said she. "I was only a little
dizzy for a minute when I came into this warm room. I feel better
now. I only want to ask your son a question, then I must go home--"

Before Mrs. Otis could speak she asked the question with no preface.

"Didn't you see him give me the knife?" she cried out, with fiercely
imploring eyes upon Jim Otis's face.

The young man turned deadly white. He looked at her and did not
answer.

"Didn't you?" she repeated.

"What knife?" asked Jim Otis, slowly.

"You know what knife! The knife that my brother handed me when I
started home from the ball--the knife that I stabbed Lot Gordon with.
Tell me that you saw it, that you saw me take it, here before your
mother, and then you m