“Has she been here?”

“Yes, she’s been here.”  Margaret made as though to shut the door, but David Hautville stopped her.

“Did she start for home?”

“You’d better ask somebody that knows more about it.”

“Where did she go?”

“You’d better ask somebody that knows about it!” repeated Margaret Bean, in her malicious meekness.  Then she shut the door.

David Hautville, with a great “whoa!” leaped out of the sleigh.  He led up the roan with a fierce pull to the fence, and tied her there.  Then he strode into the house, and through the entry to Lot’s room, with no ceremony.

“Where is my daughter?” he demanded, standing at Lot’s bedside in his great fur coat, all bristling with points of snow.

“She’ll be back presently,” answered Lot.  His voice was a little stronger; there were two red spots on his cheeks.

“Where’s she gone?”

“For the doctor.”

All at once David Hautville gave a great start.  “Why, you’re talking!” he cried out.  “You couldn’t speak.”

Lot nodded vaguely.

“You’re better, then?” cried the other, with a sharp look at him.

Lot nodded again.

“When did she come here?”

“Just now.”

“Same damned nonsense, I suppose.  She’s gone mad.  If the law don’t finish that fellow, I will!”

Lot motioned towards a chair.  “Sit down,” he whispered.

“She coming back with the doctor?”

“Yes,” Lot coughed.

David Hautville settled into a chair with a surly grunt.  He watched Lot cough, holding to his straining chest, and thought that he must be worse, else he would not have sent for the doctor.  He resolved to wait and take his daughter home with him, by force if necessary, but with no more disturbance of this man, who might be sick unto death.  Seeing Lot cast his eyes about as if looking for something, and make a motion towards the table at his side, he rose up quickly and got him a spoonful of the cough mixture in a bottle thereon, and administered it to him gently.

“Don’t you touch my wet coat,” said David Hautville, “or yo’ll get a chill,” and he held himself carefully away from the sick man.

When Lot lay back, panting, he returned to his chair and did not speak again.  The two remained in silence until there came the jingle of bells, the tramp of horses’ feet, and the voice of men out in the yard.

Lot lay still, with his eyes closed.  David Hautville raised his head and looked at the window, thick with frost.  Presently the door was opened softly, and the doctor came in, with Parson Fair and Jonas Hapgood.  Madelon, in her snow-powdered red cloak, came last.  David started up fiercely when he saw her; then he stood back and waited.  The doctor bent over Lot and began counting his pulse.  He eyed him sharply.

“The pendulum still swings,” said Lot.

The doctor started.  “You can speak, then!” he cried out, brusquely.