"What did you say to him?" she demanded.

"I--begged him--if he--did not kill Lot to--say so," replied Dorothy,
faintly; then she shrank and quivered before the other girl, who
started wrathfully, half as if she would fling her from the sleigh.

"_If_ he did not kill Lot to say so!" repeated Madelon. "_If_ he did
not! You know he did not."

"He would not tell me so," said Dorothy, with her stubbornness of
meekness, and her blue eyes met Madelon's, although there were tears
welling up in them.

"Tell you so!" cried Madelon. "What are you made of, Dorothy Fair?"

"He would not," repeated Dorothy. "If he _was_ innocent, why should
he not have told me if he loved me?"

Madelon looked at her. "You don't love him!" she cried out, sharply.
"You don't love him, and that's why. You don't love him, Dorothy
Fair!"

Dorothy flushed red and drew herself up with gentle stiffness. "You
cannot expect me to unveil my heart to you," said she.

"You have betrayed it," persisted Madelon. "You don't love him,
Dorothy Fair! Shame on you, after all!"

"What right have you to say that?" demanded Dorothy, and this time
with some show of anger.