ented by anxiety lest Lot
Gordon had resolved to stand by their sister no longer, and let
disgrace fall upon her head; but neither would speak.

The candles flashed athwart the dark window-spaces of the Hautville
chambers, and one by one went out. The house was dark and still, with
all the sweet voices and stringed instruments at rest. Yet so full of
sonorous harmony had it been not long since that one might well fancy
that it would still, to an attentive ear, reverberate with sweet
sounds in all its hollows, like a shell.

Madelon slept soundly that night, and when she woke on the morning of
what was to have been her wedding-day felt as if she had a glimpse of
her own self again, after a long dream in which she had been changed
and lost. Richard went early to tell the woman who had been engaged
to do the housework that she need not come for a month. After
breakfast her father and brothers all went away, and she was alone in
the house. She went about her work singing for the first time for
weeks. She raised her voice high in a gay ditty which was then in
vogue, entitled "The Knight Errant":

"It was Dennis the young and brave
Was bound for Palestine;
But first he made his orisons
Before Saint Mary's shrine.

"'And grant, immortal Queen of Heaven,'
Was still the soldier's prayer,
'That I may prove the bravest knight
And love the fairest fair.'"

So sang Madelon, loud and sweet, as she tidied the kitchen. There
were four verses, and she was on the last when the door opened
stealthily and her granduncle, old Luke Basset, entered. Her back was
towards him, and she did not see or hear him.

He waited, his old face fixed in a sly grin, standing unsteadily on
his shaking old legs, and holding to the back of a chair for support,
until Madelon sang at the close of the song,

"And honored be the bravest brave,
Beloved the fairest fair,"

and stopped. Then he spoke. "'Tain't so, then, I s'pose," said he,
and his voice seemed to crack with sly suggestiveness.

Madelon faced around on him. "What isn't so?" she asked, coldly. "I
didn't hear you come in."

Old Luke Basset shuffled stiffly to the hearth and settled into
David's chair. "Well," said he, "I heerd in the store just now that
your weddin' was put off, but I s'pose it ain't so, 'cause you seem
to be in sech good sperits. A gal wouldn't be singin' if her weddin'
was put off."

"Look here, Uncle Luke," said Madelon.

"Well?"