different from you. I don't wonder he liked you better. It's no blame
to him. I know you care about him. You don't believe he did it."

"I don't know," sobbed Dorothy. The door opened a crack, and the
black woman's watchful eyes appeared.

"Oh, you do know, you do know! I tell you, I did it--I! Can't you
believe me? I'm a wicked woman, and I love anybody I love in a
different way from any that a woman as good as you are can. I did it,
Dorothy, and not Burr! He mustn't suffer for it. We must see him, you
and I together! Don't you believe me?"

"I don't--know," sobbed Dorothy. The dark face appeared quite fully
in the door. Madelon cast a quick glance about the room. Dorothy's
pretty Bible, with a blue-silk-ribbon marker hanging from it, lay on
her dimity dressing-table. Madelon sprang across and got it. The
black woman stood in the doorway, muttering to herself. She looked
all ready to spring to Dorothy's defence. Madelon did not notice her
at all. She went close to Dorothy, put the Bible on the bed, and laid
her right hand upon it.

"I swear upon this Holy Book," said she, "that this hand of mine is
the one that stabbed Lot Gordon. I swear, and I call God to witness,
and may I be struck dead as I speak if what I say is not true. Now do
you believe what I say, Dorothy Fair?"

Dorothy looked at her and the Bible in bewildered terror. She nodded.