ng?" he asked, sternly.

"I am going to get my hood and cloak, and then I am going to Lot
Gordon's." Her father stood aside, and she went out and up-stairs to
her chamber. She took up the red cloak which lay on her bed, and
examined it eagerly to see if by chance there was a blood stain
thereon to prove her guilt and Burr Gordon's innocence, but she could
find none. She had flung it back when she struck. She looked also
carefully at her pretty ball gown, but the black fabric showed no
stain.

When she went down-stairs with her cloak and hood on old Luke Basset
was gone, and so were her brothers. Her father stood waiting for her,
and he had on his fur cap and his heavy cloak. He came forward and
took her firmly by the arm. "I'm going with you to Lot Gordon's,"
said he. And they went out together and up the road, he still keeping
a firm hand on his daughter's arm, and neither spoke all the way to
Lot Gordon's house.

When they reached it David Hautville opened the door without touching
the knocker, and strode in with Madelon following. Old Margaret Bean
was just passing through the entry with a great roll of linen cloths
in her arms, and she stopped when she saw them.

"How is he?" whispered David, hoarsely.

"He's pretty low," returned Margaret Bean, at the same time nodding
her head cautiously towards the door on her right. Long, smooth loops
of sallow hair fell from Margaret Bean's clean white cap over her
cheeks, which looked as if they had been scrubbed and rasped red with
tears. Her own gray hair was strained back out of sight--not to be
discovered, even when there was a murder in the house.

"Does he know anybody?" queried David Hautville.

"Just as well as ever he did." Margaret Bean rubbed a tear dry on
her cheek with her starched apron.

"We've got to see him, then."

"I dunno as you can--the doctor--"

"I don't care anything about the doctor! We've _got_ to _see him!"_
David's voice rang out quite loud in the hush of murder and death
which seemed to fill the house. Margaret Bean stood aside with a
scared look. David Hautville threw open the door on the right, and he
and Madelon went in.

Lot Gordon's eyes turned towards them, but not his head. He lay as
still in bed as if he were already dead, and his long body raised the
gay patchwork quilt in a stiff ridge like a grave.

Madelon went close to him and bent over him. "Tell who stabbed you,"
said she, in a sharp voice.

Lot looked up at her,