pposite corner, flinging out gayly towards
her, when suddenly, with no warning whatever, a great dark woman sped
after her through the dance, like a wild animal of her native woods.
She reached out her black hand and caught Dorothy by the white,
lace-draped arm, and she whispered loud in her ear.

The people near, finding it hard to understand the African woman's
thick tongue, could not exactly vouch for the words, but the purport
of her hurried speech they did not mistake. Parson Fair had
discovered Mistress Dorothy's absence, and home she must hasten at
once. It was evident enough to everybody that staid and decorous
Dorothy had run away to the ball with Burr Gordon, and a smothered
titter ran down the files of the Virginia reel.

Burr Gordon cast a fierce glance around; then he sprang to Dorothy's
side, and she looked palely and piteously up at him.

He pulled her hand through his arm and led her out of the ball-room,
with the black woman following sulkily, muttering to herself. Burr
bent closely down over Dorothy's drooping head as they passed out of
the door. "Don't be frightened, sweetheart," whispered he. Madelon
saw him as she lilted, and it seemed to her that she heard what he
said.

It was not long after when she felt a touch on her shoulder as she
sat resting between the dances, gazing with her proud, bright eyes
down at the merry, chattering throng below. She turned, and her
brother Richard stood there with a strange young man, and Richard
held Louis's fiddle on his shoulder.

"This is Mr. Otis, Madelon," said Richard, "and he came up from
Kingston to the ball, and he can fiddle as well as Louis, and he said
'twas a shame you should lilt all night and not have a chance to
dance yourself; and so I ran home and got Louis's fiddle, and there
are plenty down there to jump at the chance of you for a
partner--and--" the boy leaned forward and whispered in his sister's
ear: "Burr Gordon's gone--and Dorothy Fair."

Madelon turned her beautiful, proud face towards the stranger, and
did not notice Richard at all. "Thank you, sir," said she, inclining
her long neck; "but I care not to dance--I'd as lief lilt."

"But," said the strange young man, pressing forward impetuously and
gazing into her black eyes, "you look tired; 'tis a shame to work you
so."

"I rest between the dances, and I am not tired," said Madelon,
coldly.

"I beg you to let me fiddle for the rest of the ball," pleaded the
young man. "Let m