test in the world, and makes indeed a world of its own across
eternal spaces, knew nothing and thought nothing of outside
observers. He was half minded for a minute to enter Parson Fair's
house. Had Dorothy appeared outside, the impulse to seize her and
bear her away with him and fight for her possession against all odds,
like any male of his old savage tribe when love stirred his veins,
would have been strong within him. But she did not come, nor appear
again in the window. She stood well around the curtain and peeped;
but he did not know that, and presently he went away.

When he passed the tavern Dexter Beers hailed him. "Say, anythin'
wrong to the parson's?"

"No," returned Eugene, sharply, and strode on.

"Didn't know but you see smoke, you were lookin' up at the house so
stiddy," called Beers, conciliatingly; but Eugene swung down the road
without another look. All his grace of manner was forgot in the stir
of passion within him. What had Dorothy Fair meant by that look? Was
she betrothed to Burr Gordon? Was she playing with him for her own
amusement? And what was he to do, what could he do, for the sake of
his love, with honor?

Eugene left the road after he had cleared the village, and struck off
across the fields for a long tramp through snowy solitudes as well
known to him as, and better suited to him for perplexed thoughts
than, any place in his home. In a way, out-doors was the truest home
of all these Hautvilles, with the strain of wild nomadic blood in
their veins.

The sight of the little fireless dwellings of woodland things, the
empty nests revealed on the naked trees, the scattered berries on
leafless bushes, the winter larders of birds, the tiny track of a
wild hare or a partridge in the snow, disturbed less the current of
their inmost life, as being more the wonted surroundings of their
existence, than all the sounds and sights and savors within four
domestic walls.

Eugene tramped on for miles over paths well known to him, which were
hidden now beneath the snow, pondering upon himself and Dorothy Fair,
and never gave his sister, whose guardian he had been, another
thought.

Chapter XVI

Madelon, half an hour after Eugene had left, put on her cloak and
hood, and went down the road to Lot Gordon's. "I want to see him a
minute," she said to Margaret Bean when the woman answered her knock,
and went in with no more ado. Her face was white and stern in the
shadow of her hood.

Margar