As they do grow with it, and its force,
One day with busy speed that thing shall come,
Recoiling on the heart that was its home.”
It was late in the afternoon when Alma Elverton, returning from the prison, reached Edenlawn.
Not daring to present herself unsummoned before her stern mother, she went direct to her own chamber, threw off her bonnet and mantle, and then rang for her attendant.
Old Madelon, in her hight French bonne’s cap made her appearance.
“Will you go to my mamma, Madelon, and tell her that I have returned from my ride, and ask her to say whether I shall come to her?” said Alma.
“I vill go, Meess Elverton, but miladie is—is more—vat sall I say?” said the bonne, hesitating.
“Disturbed, sorrowful?” suggested Alma.
“No, severe. Miladie is more severe to-day as ever. I no like to go to her, but I vill go.”