“No, mamma.”
“Did she speak of her approaching trial? Is she frightened? Has she hopes? Speak; tell me more about her.”
In reply to this adjuration, Alma related in detail the full account of her visit to Eudora. And while Alma described the anguish to which the poor imprisoned girl was a prey, the lady, long past shedding tears of sympathy, could only drop her head upon her hands, and groan as one suffering under some heavy burthen of remorse.
As Alma, forgetting her own embarrassment in the deep sorrows of Eudora, was still engaged in describing the prison interview, the clock struck seven.
She started, clasped her hands, and gazed appealingly towards her mother.
“Well, it is too late now, Alma, to keep your appointment. Even if Captain Montrose has waited a whole hour over his time, it is not likely that he will wait half an hour longer, which is the length of time it would take you to reach the trysting-ground,” said the lady, coldly.
“Mamma!” exclaimed the dismayed girl, distressed at this discovery of her interview with her lover, and frightened lest that discovery should have also extended to her meeting with her father. Upon this latter point, however, the next words of Mrs. Elverton reassured her.
“Yes, poor child, I know all about it; you went to the wood yesterday to meet Norham Montrose.”
“But, mamma—”
“Nay, poor girl, I do not blame you for the past, but I give you leave to blame me, both for the past and the future, if ever you meet your lover again.”