r to the settle and sat down there and
bent over, leaning his head on his hands. He knew no more at that
moment of Madelon's mind than an utter stranger.

It well might be, he thought, that she no longer cared for him. It
was not long since she had seemed to, but women, he had always heard,
were fickle, and he had so treated her that it might have turned any
woman's heart cold. And his cousin Lot had the family wealth, and if
she married him she would inherit it, and not he. What could he say
to her, sewing so calmly upon her wedding-dress, seemingly in utter
acquiescence and content with her fate? Could he take another step
without going deeper into the slough of shame and distress where it
seemed to him he already stood? And there was Dorothy.

Madelon never glanced at him as she sewed. Presently he arose and
went over to her again. "Madelon," he said, hesitatingly, coloring
red, "tell me you do not have any hard feelings towards me? I know I
deserve it."

"You deserve nothing; it is I," she said, in a low voice.

"_You!_"

"I know what you did to save my life," she said. Her voice gave out a
rich thrill, like a musical tone, as she spoke. She bent lower over
her work.

"That was nothing. Madelon"--he paused a moment; she was
silent--"Madelon, tell me. Are you--are you satisfied--with this step
you are going to take?"

"Yes."

"There is nothing I can do? You know I would do--anything to-- You
know if you wished--I would do whatever you said."

"You will marry Dorothy Fair," Madelon said, in such a tone of calm
assertion that he quailed before it.

"Then you--are satisfied to--marry Lot-- It is your wish?"

"Yes."

"Oh, my God!" said Burr, and went out, while Madelon took another
stitch in her wedding-gown.

Chapter XVII

However the tale of Madelon's and Lot's engagement had found
mouth--whether Margaret Bean had vented her knowledge when it grew
too big for her or not--it was scarce one day before the whole
village was agape with it. With that tendency of the human mind born
of involuntary self-knowledge which leads it to suspect a selfish
motive in all untoward actions, many gave unhesitatingly a reason for
Madelon's choice.

The women nodded astutely at each other, and the men exchanged shrewd
affirmative grunts. "She's goin' to marry Lot to pay off Burr," they
all agreed. "She'll get all the money."

Madelon herself had never thought of that. She had never considered
the fact that h