Eugene Hautville, on the roan, was coming at a mad run across the
open field on the right towards the turn of the road. It seemed for a
second as if Madelon would reach it before he did; but they met
there, and the roan reared to a stop in the narrow road directly in
front of the old white, who plunged furiously.

"Look out there!" shouted Eugene, as the sleigh tilted on the
snow-crust. The old white's temper was up at this sudden check, but
the woman behind him had a stronger will than he. She brought him to
a straining halt, and then she spoke to her brother.

"You let us pass!" she said, sternly.

"Where are you going?" he demanded. He looked uneasily at Dorothy as
he spoke. It was easy enough to see that she was a restraint upon
him, and that fair, timid face in its blue hood held his indignation
well in check.

"We are going to New Salem," replied Madelon. "Let us pass."

"I want to know what you are going for," said Eugene; and he tried to
speak with fire, but he still looked furtively at Dorothy.

Nobody had ever suspected how that lovely face of hers had been in
his dreams, unless it had been for a time Dorothy herself. Nobody had
noticed in meeting, of a Sabbath day long since, when Dorothy had
first returned from her Boston school, sundry glances which had
passed between a pair of soft blue eyes in the parson's pew and a
pair of fiery black ones in the singing-seats.