Presently a bolt was shot and the door pushed open with an effort. It
was little used, and there was ice against it. Then a man's face
peered out irresolutely into the dusk. A knock upon the front door,
upon a night like this, seemed so unlikely that he doubted if he had
heard rightly.

"Anybody here?" he said. Then he saw the woman's figure propped
stiffly against the door-post. "Who is it?" he asked, in a startled
voice. "Is it you, Mrs. Lane?"

Madelon aroused herself. "I want to see Mr. Otis's son a minute if I
can," she said, with a great effort. Then she raised her piteous eyes
to the face before her, and realized dimly that it was the face of
the young man who had taken her place at the ball, and sent her
homeward to work all this misery on that dreadful night.

"I am Mr. Otis's son," returned the young man, wonderingly.
"What"--then he gave a cry--"why, it is you!"

"I want--to--see you--a minute," said Madelon, and her voice sounded
far away in her own ears.

The young man started. "Why, you're half frozen," he cried out, "and
here I am keeping you standing out here! Come in."

Madelon shrank back. "No," she faltered, "I--only want to ask--"

But Jim Otis took her by the arm with gentle force, and she was so