er marriage with Lot would rob Burr of his prospective
wealth; and, if she had, she would have dismissed the thought as of
no moment. Capacity for revenge of that sort was not in her; even the
imagination of it was lacking. She would simply have resolved to give
the property to Burr if she should outlive Lot, and she would have
carried out her resolution. Consciously, perhaps, this consideration
was no more evident to her father and her brothers than to herself.
The Hautvilles were not mercenary, and retaliation, involving
personal profit at the expense of an enemy, was not of their code.
They did have, however, a consideration no less selfish, in a way,
and no less acute when they heard the news. One and all thought, "Now
Madelon will be cleared of all suspicion that she may have brought
upon herself. Nobody will believe that Lot Gordon would marry a girl
who attempted his life. Every hint of disgrace will be removed from
her and us all by this marriage."

Louis, when he heard the news, gave an involuntary glance at his own
hands at the thought of Madelon's crimsoned ones, to which he had
tried to blind his memory. "Well, maybe it's the best thing that
could happen," he said, grimly, but his wonder over it was great. He
knew well enough, however he tried to hide the knowledge from
himself, that Madelon's story had been true. He looked at his brother
Richard, and Richard looked back at him; and one's knowledge for once
faced the other's boldly in their utter astonishment. Then they
nodded at each other in a stern understanding of assent. It was best
their sister should cover her crime and avert the disgrace, which she
had seemed to hang over all of them, in that way.

When the male Hautvilles came home to dinner, on the noon of the day
after Burr called, Madelon knew at once that they had all heard. They
sat down to the table and ate in silence. None of them spoke a word
to Madelon on the subject, but she knew they had heard. After dinner
they all went out again except her father. He stood on the hearth,
filling his pipe moodily, with an automatic motion of his fingers,
his eyes aloof. Madelon moved about with quick, decided motions,
clearing the dinner-table. David, when the tobacco was well packed in
his pipe-bowl, turned his eyes mechanically upon the glowing coals on
the hearth, but made no motion to light it. He looked slowly and
furtively about presently at Madelon's wedding-silk, which lay heaped
in a chair wit