Eugene moved his axe suddenly; the lantern-light struck it, and there was a bright flash of sharp steel in their eyes.  “Shield her!” he cried out, with an oath.  “I wish I could meet him in the path once.  I’d give him a taste before they put the rope ’round his neck, the lying murderer!”

David nodded his head in savage assent.

“What’s going to be done with Madelon?” cried Eugene, fiercely.

“I’ve been thinking—­” said his father, slowly.

“No sister of mine shall go about rolling herself in the dust at that fellow’s feet if I can help it.”

“I’ve been thinking—­would you lock her in her chamber a spell?”

“Lock Madelon in her chamber!  She’d get out or she’d beat her brains out against the wall.”

“I don’t know but she would,” assented David, perplexedly.  “You can’t count on a woman when they rise up.  She might go away a spell.”

“Where?”

“We might send her somewhere.”

Eugene laughed.  The roan mare was pawing in her stall.  Now and then she pounded the floor with a clattering thud like an iron flail.

“How far do you suppose that mare would go if you tried to send her anywhere?” he asked.

“Maybe Madelon wouldn’t go.”

“You’d have to halter the mare,” said Eugene, “and drag her half the way and stand from under, or she’d trample you down the other.”  Eugene, although his words were strong, spoke quite softly, lowering his sweet tenor.  From where they stood they could see Madelon moving to and fro behind the kitchen windows preparing supper.

“I don’t know what to do,” said David, after a pause.

“Watch her,” returned Eugene, quietly.

“Watch her?”

“Yes.  I’ve been under cover days before now watching for a pretty white fox or a deer I wanted.”  Eugene laughed pleasantly.

“Will you?”

“I’ll stay by the house to-morrow.  She sha’n’t go about accusing herself of murder to save the man that’s jilted her if I can help it.”  As he spoke Eugene’s handsome face darkened again vindictively.  He hated Burr Gordon for another reason of his own that nobody suspected.

Suddenly Abner Hautville came running into the yard.  “Who is it there?” he called out.  “Is that you, father?  That you, Eugene?  Hello!”

“Hello!” Eugene called back.  “What’s the matter?”

Abner come panting alongside.  He had run from the village, and, vigorous as he was, breath came hard in the thin air.  It was a very cold night.

“Where have they gone?” he demanded.

“Who?”

“Louis and Richard.  Where have they gone?”

There was a ghastly look in Abner’s face, in spite of the glowing red which the cold wind had brought to it.  The other man seemed to catch it and reflect it in their own faces as they stared at him.

Eugene turned quickly to his father.  “Aren’t they in the house?” he asked.