d surmise can never be quite laid at rest--her
brain had not been turned, and she had struck the blow, as she said.
But, in that case, why had Lot taken her guilt upon himself? Why had
he cleared Burr at his own expense, and saved her? If he had done it
for love of Madelon, he had also set his rival free to woo her, and
had established her innocence in his eyes.

Lot still lived. Would he die, finally, of his wound or of his
disease? Would he recover and come out of his house alive again? Time
went on, and the people knew no more than they knew at first; but
they continued to watch, crossing the gleams of all the neighboring
window-panes with sharp lines of attention, hushing conversation in
the store if a Hautville or a Gordon entered, and rolling keen eyes
over shoulders after meeting one of them upon the country roads. But
especially they were alert in the meeting-house upon Sabbath days.
Their eyes were slyly keen upon Dorothy Fair, softly wrapped in her
blue wadded silk and swan's-down, holding up her head with gentle
state in the parson's pew; upon Burr Gordon, somewhat pale and moody
in his smart Sunday coat; and Madelon, up in the singing-seats. They
never, in those days, saw Madelon elsewhere. She went to meeting
every Sabbath day and sang as usual, but between the hymns she sat
with her beautiful face as irresponsive to all around her as a
painted portrait, and more so, for the eyes of a portrait will often
seem to follow an ardent gazer. Madelon's father and brothers, except
Richard and Louis, who kept their own counsel, were much bewildered
among themselves at her strange mood, and were inclined to hold the
opinion that her wits were a little shaken, and, moreover, to keep it
quiet and secret from everybody until she should be quite restored.
They said little to her, treating her with a kind of forbearing
compassion; but the indignation of them all was fierce, although held
well in check, against Burr Gordon. Him they held accountable for
all.

Burr Gordon might well have been quit of any charge of cowardice had
he shrunk from facing the male Hautvilles on those days. They passed
him in the road with the looks of surly dogs in leash. None of them
except Eugene gave him a nod of recognition. Eugene bowed always,
with his unfailing grace of courtesy, but he hated him more than all
the others, for he was jealous on his own account as well as his
sister's. It was said that Burr Gordon, since his acquittal, was