When they reached the county buildings, the court-house and the jail, in New Salem, the old race-horse was still not nearly spent, although he breathed somewhat hard.

When Madelon sprang out to blanket and tie him he seemed to vibrate to her touch like electric steel, and showed that the old fire had not yet died out of his nerves and muscles.
Poor Dorothy Fair's knees were weak under her as she got out of the sleigh.

Her pretty face was pitiful, her sweet mouth drooping at the corners like a troubled child's.
Madelon looked at her sharply when they stood before the jail door waiting for admittance.

"I have seen you wear a curl each side of your face outside your hood," said she.
"I didn't think of it to-day," Dorothy replied, with forlorn surprise.
Madelon went close to the other girl peremptorily, as if she had been her mother, pulled forward two soft curls from under her hood, and arranged them becomingly against the pale cheeks; and Dorothy submitted.
Alvin Mead opened the jail door, and his great face took on a forbidding scowl when he saw Madelon Hautville.
"Can't let ye in," he said, gruffly.

"Ain't a visitin' day." He would have shut the door in their faces had not Madelon made a quick spring against it.
"I don't want to come in!" she cried.