"I tell you I did not."

Madelon looked at him as if she would penetrate his soul, and he met
her eyes fully.

"I did not see your brother give you the knife," he replied, with a
steady, unflinching look at her; but a long shudder went over him as
he spoke. The first deliberate lie of his whole life was Jim Otis
telling, for he had seen Richard Hautville give his sister the knife.

Madelon believed his lie at last, and turned away. What with her sore
exhaustion of body and this last disappointment her heart almost
failed her. She went back to the settle for her cloak and her hood,
and tied them on, while the others stood watching her, seemingly in a
maze. She made for the door, but Jim Otis stopped her.

"You cannot go back to Ware Centre to-night," he said.

Madelon looked at him with proud determination, although she could
scarce stand. "I must go," said she, and would have pressed past him,
but he took hold of her arm.

"Mother," he said, "tell her she cannot go. There has been no such
night as this for forty years, and it is dark now. To-morrow morning
I will carry her home; but to-night, as she is, it is out of the
question. Tell her so, mother."

Mrs. Otis gathered herself together then, and came forward and laid
hold of Madelon's arm, and strove to pull her back towards the
settle. "Come," said she, as if Madelon were a child--"come, that's a