"You have hid them away!" shrieked Madelon. "You have hid them away
lest Louis own that he saw blood on my hand, and Richard that he gave
me his knife! What have you done with them?"

Not one of the three men spoke. They swallowed their pudding.

"Father! Abner! Eugene!" said Madelon, "tell me what you have done
with my brothers, who can testify that I killed Lot Gordon, and save
Burr?"

David Hautville wiped his mouth on his sleeve, rose up, and took his
daughter firmly by the arm.

"We know no more what has become of your brothers than you do," said
he. "If they have gone away for the reason you say, your old father
would be the first to bring them back, if you were guilty as you say,
daughter of mine though you be. But we know well enough, wherever
your brothers have gone, and for whatever cause they have gone, that
you have done nothing worse then go daft, as women will, to shield a
fellow that's used you ill. You shall put us to no more shame while I
am your father and you under my roof. Abner, fill up a bowl with the
pudding."

Madelon's face was deathly white and full of rebellion as she looked
up in her father's, but she held herself still with a stern dignity
and did not struggle. David Hautville's will was up. His hand on her
soft arm was like a vise of steel. The memories of her childhood were
strong upon her. She knew of old that there was no appeal, and was
too proud to contend where she must yield.