And then it was not the sheriff to hale her to prison on a charge of murder, but an old man from the village big with news.
He was a relative of the Hautvilles, an uncle on the mother's side, old and broken, scarcely able to find his feeble way on his shrunken legs through the snow; but, with the instinct of gossip, the sharp nose for his neighbors' affairs, still alert in him, he had arisen at dawn to canvass the village, and had come thither at first, since he anticipated that he might possibly have the delight of bringing the intelligence before any of the family had heard it elsewhere.

He came in, dragging his old, snow-laden feet, tapping heavily with his stout stick, and settled, cackling, into a chair.
"Heard the news ?" queried Uncle Luke basset, his eyes, like black sparks, twinkling rapidly at all their faces.
Madelon set the cups and saucers on the dresser.
"We don't have any time for anybody's business but our own," quoth David Hautville, gruffly.

He did not like his wife's uncle.

He was tightening a string in his bass-viol; he pulled it as he spoke, and it gave out a fierce twang.

Louis sat moodily over the fire with his painful arm in wet bandages.