Madelon turned sharply to Louis. "You saw the blood on my hand when I was rubbing your arm last night," she said. He made no reply, but stared gloomily at the fire. "Louis, you saw Lot Gordon's blood on my hand?" Louis sprang up with an oath, and pushed past her out of the room. "Louis," Madelon cried, "tell them!" "She is trying to shield Burr Gordon!" Louis called back, fiercely, and the closing door shook the house like a cannon-shot. "Where is Burr?" Madelon demanded of old Luke Basset. "The sheriff took him to New Salem to jail this morning," he replied, grinning. Madelon gave a great cry and started to rush out of the room, but her father stood in her way. "Where are you going?" 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.