gutturals. Poor Dorothy Fair shook like a white flower in a wind, for
beside the rigor of the cold, which seemed to pierce her very soul,
the chill of fever was still upon her. She chattered helplessly when
she tried to speak, and there were sobs in her throat. The black
woman half carried her into the house, and up-stairs to her own
chamber, where the hearth-fire was blazing bright. She covered her up
warm in bed, with a hot brick at her feet, and dosed her with warm
herb drinks, and coddled her, until, after some piteous weeping, she
fell asleep.

But for Madelon Hautville there was no rest and no sleep. She felt
not the cold, and if she had fever in her veins the fierce disregard
of her straining spirit was beyond it. No knowledge of her body at
all had Madelon Hautville, no knowledge of anything on earth except
her one aim--to save her lover's life. She was nothing but a purpose
concentrated upon one end; there was in her that great impetus of the
human will which is above all the swift forces of the world when once
it is aroused.

She unharnessed the horse quickly from the parson's sleigh, and led
him, restive again at the near prospect of his stall and feed, back
to the tavern stable, paid for him, and struck out on the homeward
road, straight and swift as one of her Indian ancestors. A group of
men in the stable door stood aside with curious alacrity to let her
pass; they stared after her, then at each other.

"I swan!" said one.

"Wouldn't like to be in the way when that gal was headed anywheres,"
said another.