Again she seems labouring under excitement.
"Franconia!" exclaims one, taking her by the hand, "is not the time
approaching?"
"Time always approaches," she speaks: her mind has been wandering,
picturing the gloomy spectacle that presents itself in Clotilda's
cell. She moves her right hand slowly across her brow, casts an
enquiring glance around the room, then at those beside her, and
changes her position in the chair. "The time to have your toilet
prepared-the servants await you," is the reply. Franconia gathers
strength, sits erect in her chair, seems to have just resolved upon
something. A servant hastens into her presence bearing a
delicately-enveloped note. She breaks the seal, reads it and
re-reads it, holds it carelessly in her hand for a minute, then puts
it in her bosom. There is something important in the contents,
something she must keep secret. It is from Maxwell. Her friend
evinced some surprise, while waiting a reply as she read the letter.
"No! not yet," she says, rising from her chair and sallying across
the room. "That which is forced upon me-ah! I cannot love him. To me
there is no loving wealth. Money may shelter; but it never moves
hearts to love truly. How I have struggled against it!" Again she
resumes her chair, weeps. Her tears gush from the parent
fountain-woman's heart. "My noble uncle in trouble, my dear brother
gone; yes! to where, and for what, I dare not think; and yet it has
preyed upon me through the struggle of pride against love.
Pages:
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254