She had found Lot sitting as usual before the fire with a leather-covered volume on his knees.  “I have come,” she said, standing just inside the door; then she started at the look he gave her.  There was a significance in it which she could not understand.

He did not say a word for full five minutes while she waited.  He did not even ask her to be seated.  “Do you know the date?” he asked then, harshly.  There was no hint of roses and honey in his speech and manner to offend her like his letter.

“Yes, I do.”

“You know the month is up on Monday?”

“I am not likely to forget.”

“True,” said Lot; “it is the last thing a girl will forget—­the day set for her happy marriage.”  He laughed.

Madelon’s face contracted.  She set her mouth harder, and looked straight at Lot.  “When you have done laughing,” said she, “will you tell me what you want of me?  I have to go home and get dinner.”

Lot still looked at her with his mocking smile.  “I wished to inquire if you are ready to become my bride on Monday,” said he.

“Yes, I am ready.  Is that all?”

“I wished also to inquire if you have any plans concerning the ceremony which you would like carried out.”

“I have none.”

“Then will it suit you to come here on Monday at two o’clock in the afternoon, since the doctor tells me I shall scarcely be able to go out myself, and be united to me by Parson Fair?”

“I am ready to carry out any plans you may make.”

“Your father and your brothers and my cousin Burr and his mother will, of course, be present at our wedding,” said Lot, with wary eyes upon her face.

Madelon looked at him as proudly as ever.  “Very well,” said she.  She waited a minute longer; then she laid her hand on the doorlatch.

“Wait a minute!” Lot cried.  He looked at her hesitatingly.  A flush crept over his white face.  “Madelon,” he began; then his cough interrupted him.  He tried to force it back with fierce swallowings, but had to yield.  He bent over double, and shook with rattling volleys.  Madelon waited, her eyes averted, without a sign of pity.  The near approach of her wedding-day caused a revolt of her whole maiden soul towards him so intense that it was as a contraction of the muscles.  She was utterly hard to his suffering.  At last he raised himself, panting, and cast a pale look around at her.

“Well, what do you want?” she said.

He motioned feebly towards is desk on the other side of the room.  “Top drawer,” he whispered, hoarsely; “left-hand corner—­find—­leather case—­bring to me.”

Madelon crossed the room to the desk, opened the drawer, found the leather case, and carried it to Lot.  “Here,” said she.

“Open it,” Lot whispered.

Madelon pressed the spring in the case, and held it out open towards Lot without a glance at its contents.

“Look,” he said.