“Heard the news?” queried Uncle Luke basset, his eyes, like black sparks, twinkling rapidly at all their faces.

Madelon set the cups and saucers on the dresser.

“We don’t have any time for anybody’s business but our own,” quoth David Hautville, gruffly.  He did not like his wife’s uncle.  He was tightening a string in his bass-viol; he pulled it as he spoke, and it gave out a fierce twang.  Louis sat moodily over the fire with his painful arm in wet bandages.  Richard was whittling kindling-wood, with nervous speed, beside him.  Eugene and Abner were cleaning their guns.  They all looked at the eager old man except Richard and Louis and Madelon.

“Burr Gordon has killed Lot so’s to get his property,” proclaimed the old man, and his voice broke with eager delight and importance.

Madelon gave a cry and sprang forward in front of him.  “It’s a lie!” she shouted.

The old man laughed in her face.  “No, ’tain’t, Madelon.  You’re showin’ a Christian sperrit to stan’ up for him when he’s jilted ye for another gal, but ’tain’t a lie.  His knife, with his name on to it, was a-stickin’ out of Lot’s side.”

“It’s a lie! I killed him with my brother Richard’s knife!”

The old man shrank back before her in incredulous horror.  The great bass-viol fell to the ground like a woman as David strode forward and Abner and Eugene turned their shocked, white faces from their guns.

“I killed him with Richard’s knife,” repeated Madelon.

Richard got up and came around before her, thrusting his hand in his pocket.  He pulled out his own clasp-knife, and brandished it in her face.  “Here is my knife,” he cried, fiercely—­“my knife, with my name cut in the handle.  Say you killed Lot Gordon with it again!”

Madelon snatched the knife out of her brother’s hand and looked at it with straining eyes.  There, indeed, was a rude “R.  H.” cut in the horn handle.  She gasped.  “What does this mean?” she cried out.

“It means you have lost your wits,” answered Richard, contemptuously; but his eyes on his sister’s face were full of pleading agony.

“What knife did you give me when I started home last night?”

“I gave you no knife.”

Old Luke Basset asserted himself again.  “The gal’s lost her balance,” he said.  “It was Burr Gordon’s knife, with his name cut into it, that was stickin’ out of Lot Gordon’s side.”

“Is Lot Gordon dead?” Louis demanded, hoarsely.

“No, he ain’t dead, but the doctor thinks he can’t live long.  Ephraim Steele and Eleazer Hooper were a-goin’ home from the ball when they come right on Lot layin’ side of the road and Burr a-tryin’ to draw his knife out, so it shouldn’t testify against him.”

“It’s a lie!” Madelon groaned.  “Burr Gordon did not kill him.  It was I!  He met me, and tried to—­kiss me, and—­the knife was in my hand—­Richard made me take it because I was coming home alone, and there had been rumors of a bear.”