"Don't be frightened, sweetheart," whispered he.

Madelon saw him as she lilted, and it seemed to her that she heard what he said.
It was not long after when she felt a touch on her shoulder as she sat resting between the dances, gazing with her proud, bright eyes down at the merry, chattering throng below.

She turned, and her brother Richard stood there with a strange young man, and Richard held Louis's fiddle on his shoulder.
"This is Mr.Otis, Madelon," said Richard, "and he came up from Kingston to the ball, and he can fiddle as well as Louis, and he said 'twas a shame you should lilt all night and not have a chance to dance yourself; and so I ran home and got Louis's fiddle, and there are plenty down there to jump at the chance of you for a partner--and--" the boy leaned forward and whispered in his sister's ear: "Burr Gordon's gone--and Dorothy Fair." Madelon turned her beautiful, proud face towards the stranger, and did not notice Richard at all.

"Thank you, sir," said she, inclining her long neck; "but I care not to dance--I'd as lief lilt." "But," said the strange young man, pressing forward impetuously and gazing into her black eyes, "you look tired; 'tis a shame to work you so." "I rest between the dances, and I am not tired," said Madelon, coldly.
"I beg you to let me fiddle for the rest of the ball," pleaded the young man.

"Let me fiddle while you dance; you may be sure I'll fiddle my best for you." A tender note came into his voice, and, curiously enough, Madelon did not resent it, although she had never seen him before and he had no right.