Then Madelon had gone home and told her father and
brothers, and thought their strange reception of the
news due to anything but the truth. She had told
them that she was guilty of wounding Lot Gordon almost
to death. That they should now be rendered uneasy
by suspicions, when she had given them actual knowledge,
was something beyond her imagination. She fancied
rather that they considered Lot had treated her badly,
or else that she had a longing love for Burr, and,
perhaps, had herself broken off her match with his
cousin on that account. She strove hard to bear
herself in such a manner that they should not think
that. She put on as gay a face as she could muster,
and even took, beside the dress, a little blue-silk
mantle to embroider for Dorothy Fair’s wedding
outfit, and sang over it as she worked.
Still, in a way, although her pride led her to it,
her singing and her gayety were no pretence, for Madelon,
through much suffering, had reached that growth in
love which enabled her to see over her own self and
her own needs. That knife-thrust she had meant
for her lover had stilled forever the jealous temper
in her own heart, and she fairly dreamed as she embroidered
Dorothy’s bridal mantle some dreams of happiness
that might have been Burr’s; so filled was she
with purest love for him that his imagination possessed
her own.
Chapter XXIII
It was told on good authority in the village that
Parson Fair had paid all Burr Gordon’s back
interest money on his mortgage, and so released him
from the danger of foreclosure; and then on equally
good authority it was denied. There was much
discussion over it, but one day the loafers in the
store arrived at the truth. Parson Fair had indeed
offered to pay the interest, and Burr had declined.
He had also refused to live with his bride in his
father-in-law’s house, and when Parson Fair
had, with his gracefully austere manner, intimated
that he should be unwilling to place his daughter in
such uncertain shelter, had replied harshly that Dorothy
should have a roof over her head of his own providing
while he lived; when he was dead it would be time
to talk about her father’s.
When Burr had gone to Lot Gordon and offered to part
with a small wood-lot of his, with a quantity of half-grown
wood thereon, at two-thirds of its real value to pay
the interest, Margaret Bean had listened at the door,
and thus the story.
“It is a sacrifice of a full third of its value,
you know well enough,” Burr had said, standing
moodily before his cousin. “If I could
wait for the growth of the wood, ’twould bring
much more, but I’ll call it even on the interest
I owe you, if you will. This is the last foot
of land I own clear.”
For answer Lot had bidden Burr open his desk and bring
him a certain paper from a certain corner. Then
Margaret Bean had opened the door a crack, and had
with her two peering eyes seen Lot Gordon take his
pen in hand and write upon the paper, and show it
to his cousin Burr.
