“I am Mr. Otis’s son,” returned the young man, wonderingly.  “What”—­then he gave a cry—­“why, it is you!”

“I want—­to—­see you—­a minute,” said Madelon, and her voice sounded far away in her own ears.

The young man started.  “Why, you’re half frozen,” he cried out, “and here I am keeping you standing out here!  Come in.”

Madelon shrank back.  “No,” she faltered, “I—­only want to ask—­”

But Jim Otis took her by the arm with gentle force, and she was so spent that she could but let him have his way, and lead her into the house and the warm living-room, staggering under his supporting clasp.

“Mother,” called Jim Otis—­“mother, come here, quick!” He placed Madelon tenderly on the settle, and his mother came hurriedly out of the pantry.

“What is it?” she asked.  “What is the matter, Jim?  Who was it knocked?  Why, who’s that?”

Madelon leaned back helplessly in the corner of the settle, her head hanging half unconsciously.  The young man stooped over her and unfastened her cloak and hood.  “Come here, quick, mother!” he cried, and his voice was as sweet with pity as a woman’s.  “This poor girl is half dead with the cold.”

Mrs. Otis, large and fair-faced, with her soft, massive curves swathed in purple thibet, stared for a second in speechless wonder.  “Who is it?  How did she get here?” she whispered.

“Hush—­I don’t know.  She’s from Ware Centre.  Her name’s Hautville.”

“Seems to me I’ve heard of her.  What has she come here for, Jim?”

“Hush—­I don’t know.  She’ll hear you.  Go and get something hot for her to drink.  I saw her at the ball the other night.  Go quick, mother.”

“I’ll get her some brandy cordial,” said Mrs. Otis, with sudden alacrity.  She needed time always to get her mental bearing thoroughly in any emergency, but action was prompt afterwards.  She made a quick motion towards the cupboard, but Madelon aroused herself suddenly.  Her senses had lapsed for a few minutes upon coming into the warm room.  “Where am I?” she asked, in a bewildered way.

“In our house,” replied Mrs. Otis, promptly.  “Jim just brought you in, and it’s lucky you come just as you did, for I don’t know but you’d froze to death if you’d been out much longer.  Now, I’ll get you some of my brandy cordial, and that’ll warm you right up.  Did you come way over from Ware Centre this dreadful night?”

“Yes, ma’am,” replied Madelon, with the dazed look still in her eyes.  Mrs. Otis looked back on her way to the cupboard.

“Rode way over from Ware Centre in an open sleigh?” she said.

“No, ma’am; I walked.”

Mrs. Otis stopped and looked at Madelon with a gasp, then at her son.  “She’s out of her head, I’m afraid,” said she.

“You didn’t really walk over from Ware Centre?” questioned Jim.

“Yes, I did,” replied Madelon.  She stood up with sudden decision.  “I want to see you a minute,” she said to Jim.  Then she turned to Mrs. Otis.  “I don’t need anything to take,” said she.  “I was only a little dizzy for a minute when I came into this warm room.  I feel better now.  I only want to ask your son a question, then I must go home—­”