n as he spoke, but he felt her turn
and fasten her eyes upon his face, and somehow they compelled his. He
raised them and saw her beautiful face full of a scorn of passion
which he might die and never know in himself.

"What do you think that is to me," said she, "when I've got to save
his life? If you do not wish to carry me farther, go back. I will
walk."

"I will take you wherever you wish," returned Jim Otis, and touched
up the mare, and neither spoke again until they reached Burr Gordon's
house, high on its three terraces, with Lot Gordon's opposite. Then
Jim halted his mare in the road before it, and would have alighted to
assist Madelon, but she sprang out before him. "I am much obliged to
you and your mother for what you have done for me," said she, and
turned with a swing of her red cloak, and was skimming up the
terraces like a red-winged bird.

As for Jim Otis, he slewed his sleigh about recklessly, and shook the
whip over the little mare, and drove up the road. When he reached the
turn which he knew led to the Hautville house he drew rein, and sat
pondering in his sleigh for a few minutes. He was in doubt whether he
should inform Eugene Hautville of his sister's whereabouts or not.
Finally he spoke to the mare, and continued on his way to Kingston.

The terraces which Madelon mounted were all covered with the
gathering snow. When she reached the last the door was opened, and
Burr Gordon's mother, Elvira, stood there. "I am sorry there's so
much snow for you to wade through," said she, in a sweet, quiet
voice.

"I don't mind it, thank you," replied Madelon, harshly. She felt
incensed with this mother of Burr's, who came to the door and greeted
her as if she were an ordinary caller, and her son were not in
prison.

"You had better shake it off your skirts or you'll take cold," said
Mrs. Gordon.

"I am not afraid," returned Madelon. She gave her skirts a careless
flirt and entered the door with the snow still clinging to her.

"If you will wait a moment," said Mrs. Gordon, "I will get a broom
and brush the snow from you before it melts. Then you won't take
cold."

"I don't care to have you, thank you," said Madelon. Mrs. Gordon said
no more, but led the way to the sitting-room. She was a tall, slender
woman with the face of a saint, long and pale, and full of gentle
melancholy, with large, meek-lidded blue eyes and patiently
compressed lips. She had a habit of folding her long hands always
before