“Clear’d verily!” her sister cried, “Long live
These household pet-gods of our modern homes,
Like sprites to fright the stranger off! Now own
The fear you felt. It would appease her so!”
XVIII.
To this rose no reply to Edith’s lips.
I mark’d, instead, a gentle trembling there,
Like ripples roused upon a tranquil sea
That rise from deep, unseen disturbances.
“They fail to read her rightly,” thought I, then—