Madelon | Page 9

and when she opened the
door he stood there. He looked curiously embarrassed, but she did not
notice that. His mere presence for the moment seemed to fill all her
comprehension. She had no eye for shades of expression.
"Come in," said she, all blushing and trembling before him, and yet
with a certain dignity which never quite deserted her.
"Can I see you a minute?" Burr said, awkwardly.
"Come this way."
Madelon led the way into the best room, where there was no fire. It had
not been warmed all winter, except on nights when Burr had come
courting her. In the midst of it the great curtained bedstead reared itself,
holding its feather-bed like a drift of snow. The floor was sanded in a
fine, small pattern, there were white tasselled curtains at the windows,
and there was a tall chest of drawers that reached the ceiling. The room
was just as Madelon's mother, who had been one of the village girls,
had left it.
Madelon glanced at the hearth, where she had laid the wood
symmetrically--all ready to be kindled at a moment's notice should Burr
come. "I'll light the fire," said she, in a trembling voice.
"No, I can't stop," returned the young man. "I've got to go right up to

the tavern. Look here, Madelon--"
"Well?" she murmured, trembling.
"I want to know if--look here, won't you lilt for the dancing to-night,
Madelon?"
Madelon's face changed. "That's all he came for," she thought. She
turned away from him. "You'd better get Luke Corliss to fiddle," she
said, coldly.
"We can't. I started to go over there, and I met a man that lives next
door to him, and he said it was no use, for Luke had gone down to
Winfield to fiddle at a ball there."
"I don't feel like lilting to-night," said Madelon.
The young man colored. "Well," said he, in a stiff, embarrassed voice,
and he turned towards the door, "we won't have any ball to-night, that's
all," he added.
"Well, you can go visiting instead," returned Madelon, suddenly.
"I'd rather go a-visiting--here!" cried Burr, with a quick fervor, and he
turned back and came close to her.
Madelon looked at him sharply, steeling her heart against his tender
tone, but he met her gaze with passionate eyes.
"Oh, Madelon, you look so beautiful to-night!" he whispered, hoarsely.
Her eyes fell before his. She made, whether she would or not, a motion
towards him, and he put his arms around her. They kissed again and
again, lingering upon each kiss as if it were a foothold in heaven. A
great rapture of faith in her lover and his love came over Madelon. She
said to herself that they had lied--they had all lied! Burr had never
courted Dorothy Fair. She believed, with her whole heart and soul, that
he loved her and her alone. And, indeed, she was at that time, at that
minute, right and not deceived; for Burr Gordon was one of those who

can encompass love in one tense only, and that the present; and they
who love only in the present, hampered by no memories and no dreams,
yield out love's sweetness fully. All Burr Gordon's soul was in his
kisses and his fond eyes, and her own crept out to meet it with perfect
faith.
"I will lilt for the dancing," she whispered.
The Hautvilles were going to the ball on their wood-sled, drawn by
oxen. David was to drive them, and take the team home. It was already
before the door when Burr came out, and Madelon asked him to ride
with them, but he refused. "I've got to go home first," he said, and
plunged off quickly down the old road, the short-cut to his house.
Madelon Hautville, in her red cloak and her great silk hood, stood in
the midst of her brothers on the wood-sled, and the oxen drew them
ponderously to the ball. The tavern was all alight. Many other sleds
were drawn up before the door; indeed, certain of the young men who
had not their especial sweethearts took their ox-sleds and went from
door to door collecting the young women. Many a jingling load slipped
along the snowy road to the tavern that night, and the ball-room filled
rapidly.
At eight o'clock the ball opened. Madelon stood up in the little gallery
allotted to the violins and lilted, and the march began. Two and two, the
young men and the girls swung around the room. Madelon lilted with
her eyes upon the moving throng, gay as a garden in a wind; and
suddenly her heart stood still, although she lilted on. Down on the floor
below Burr Gordon led the march, with Dorothy Fair on his arm.
Dorothy Fair, waving a great