“Madeline! Answer me, or I will punish you severely.”
The mother had raised her hand to strike a blow, when Mr. Fleetwood, who remained near the library-door, came in hastily, and with a look and gesture warned her against that extremity.
“Uncle John!” exclaimed the excited woman, losing all patience, “I wish you would mind your own business, and not interfere with me. You only encourage this self-willed child in her spirit of disobedience!”
And before Mr. Fleetwood had time to reply she caught Madeline by the arm, and dragged her from the library, and through the passages to her own apartment, the door of which she closed and locked.
“You’ll find that I’m in earnest!” she exclaimed, in a husky but determined voice, as she hurried Madeline across the room. Seating herself, she drew the child close in front of her, and, looking steadily into her face, said,—
“Speak! What do you mean by this conduct?”
The aspect of Madeline’s face, as it now appeared in the eyes of Mrs. Dainty, was so strange that alarm took the place of anger. All life seemed to have receded therefrom. The blue lips stood apart, the eyes were wide open, almost staring, the skin was of an ashen hue. Lifting her quickly from the floor, the mother laid her child upon a bed, and, after bending over her a few moments anxiously, went to the door and called Mr. Fleetwood.
“I warned you,” said the old gentleman, in a reproving voice, as he saw the child’s condition. “I told you that you were dealing with a diseased mind!”
“What can ail her? Oh, Uncle John, send at once for the doctor!” Mrs. Dainty wrung her hands, and stood glancing from Madeline to Mr. Fleetwood, her countenance pale with fear.
The old gentleman bent down over the child, laying his hand upon her forehead and breast, and then searching along her wrists with his fingers. Her flesh was cold, and damp with perspiration, and there was so feeble a motion in the heart that scarcely a wave of life could be felt along the arteries.