wedding, not
knowing the lateness of the hour; for her brother Richard had played
a trick upon her, and set back the clock two hours, when to his great
wrath she would not stay at home. The others were half in favor of
her going, thinking that it showed her pride; but Richard was sorely
set against it, and watched his chance, and slipped back the hands of
the clock that she should be too late to see the wedding of the man
who had forsaken her.

Madelon looked at Burr, and he at her, and neither spoke. Then, when
she saw surely who it was, she cried out half in wonder and half
chidingly, as if she had been his mother reproaching him for his
tardiness: "What are you doing here, Burr Gordon? Do you know 'tis
nearly eight o'clock, and time for your wedding?"

"'Tis nearly ten," said Burr, "and there is no wedding."

"Nearly ten?"

"Yes."

"But 'twas not eight by our clock."

Burr took out the great gold timepiece which had belonged to his
father, and held it towards her, and she saw the face plainly in the
moonlight.

"What does this mean?" she said; and then she cried, half shrinking
away from him, "Are you married then? Where is she?"

"Dorothy Fair is at home in her chamber, and I am not married, and
never shall be."

"Why--what does this mean, Burr Gordon?"

"She will not have me, and--no blame to her."

"Will not have you, and the people there, and the hour set! Will not
have you? Burr, she shall have you! I promise you she shall. I will
go talk to her. She is a child, and she does not know--I can make her
listen. She shall have you, Burr. I will go this minute, and talk to
her, and do you come after me."

Madelon gave a forward bound, like a deer, but Burr sprang up and
caught her by the arm. "Why do you stop me, Burr Gordon?" she cried,
trying to wrest her arm away.

"Do you think I have no manhood left, Madelon Hautville, that I will
let you, _you_ beg a woman who does not love me to marry me?"

"She does love you, she shall love you!"

"I tell you she does not!" Burr spoke with a bitterness which might
well have come from slighted love, and, indeed, so complex and
contradictory are the workings of the mind of a man, and so strong is
the bent when once set in one direction, that not loving Dorothy
Fair, and loving this other woman with his whole heart, he yet felt
for the moment that he would rather his marriage had taken place and
he were not free. His freedom, which he knew was a shame to wel