Eugene laughed. The roan mare was pawing in her stall. Now and then she pounded the floor with a clattering thud like an iron flail. "How far do you suppose that mare would go if you tried to send her anywhere?" he asked. "Maybe Madelon wouldn't go." "You'd have to halter the mare," said Eugene, "and drag her half the way and stand from under, or she'd trample you down the other." Eugene, although his words were strong, spoke quite softly, lowering his sweet tenor. From where they stood they could see Madelon moving to and fro behind the kitchen windows preparing supper. "I don't know what to do," said David, after a pause. "Watch her," returned Eugene, quietly. "Watch her?" "Yes. I've been under cover days before now watching for a pretty white fox or a deer I wanted." Eugene laughed pleasantly. "Will you?" "I'll stay by the house to-morrow. She sha'n't go about accusing herself of murder to save the man that's jilted her if I can help it." As he spoke Eugene's handsome face darkened again vindictively. He hated Burr Gordon for another reason of his own that nobody suspected. Suddenly Abner Hautville came running into the yard. "Who is it there?" he called out. "Is that you, father? That you, Eugene? Hello!" "Hello!" Eugene called back. "What's the matter?" Abner come panting alongside. He had run from the village, and, vigorous as he was, breath came hard in the thin air. It was a very cold night. "Where have they gone?" he demanded. "Who?" "Louis and Richard. Where have they gone?" There was a ghastly look in Abner's face, in spite of the glowing red which the cold wind had brought to it. The other man seemed to catch it and reflect it in their own faces as they stared at him. Eugene turned quickly to his father. "Aren't they in the house?" he asked. "No, they ain't," returned David, with his eyes still on Abner's face. "Sure they ain't up chamber?" "No; I was home a good half-hour before Madelon came. There wasn't a soul in the house, and nobody could have come home since without my knowing it." "They didn't come home this noon either," said Eugene. "Thought you said they'd gone to see to their traps on West Mountain?" David rejoined. "Thought they had when they didn't come." Eugene turned impatiently on Abner. "Where do you think they've gone--what do you mean by looking so?" he cried. Abner dug his heel into the snow. "Don't know," he returned, in a surly voice. "What do you suspect, then? Good God! can't you speak out?" Abner's features were heavier than his brother's--his speech and manner slower. He paused a second, even then; then he turned towards the house, and spoke, with his face away from them, with a curious directness and taciturnity. "Didn't go to the traps on West Mountain," he said, then; "went there myself. They hadn't been there--no tracks; was home before father was to-night. Louis and Richard hadn't come. Went down to the village; hadn't been there."