spent that she could but let him have his way, and lead her into the
house and the warm living-room, staggering under his supporting
clasp.

"Mother," called Jim Otis--"mother, come here, quick!" He placed
Madelon tenderly on the settle, and his mother came hurriedly out of
the pantry.

"What is it?" she asked. "What is the matter, Jim? Who was it
knocked? Why, who's that?"

Madelon leaned back helplessly in the corner of the settle, her head
hanging half unconsciously. The young man stooped over her and
unfastened her cloak and hood. "Come here, quick, mother!" he cried,
and his voice was as sweet with pity as a woman's. "This poor girl is
half dead with the cold."

Mrs. Otis, large and fair-faced, with her soft, massive curves
swathed in purple thibet, stared for a second in speechless wonder.
"Who is it? How did she get here?" she whispered.

"Hush--I don't know. She's from Ware Centre. Her name's Hautville."

"Seems to me I've heard of her. What has she come here for, Jim?"

"Hush--I don't know. She'll hear you. Go and get something hot for
her to drink. I saw her at the ball the other night. Go quick,
mother."

"I'll get her some brandy cordial," said Mrs. Otis, with sudden