"
Curious sounds greeted her, as of some one in hysterical pain. On the
bed, clasped to his mother in nervous agony, was the wondering child,
little Lord Elster: words of distress, nay, of despair, breaking from
her. It seemed, the little boy, who was rather self-willed and rebellious
on occasion, had escaped from the nursery, and stolen to his mother's
room. The dowager halted at the door, and looked out from her astonished
eyes.
"Oh, Edward, if we were but dead! Oh, my darling, if it would only please
Heaven to take us both! I couldn't send for you, child; I couldn't see
you; the sight of you kills me. You don't know; my babies, you don't
know!"
"What on earth does all this mean?" interrupted the dowager, stepping
forward. And Lady Hartledon dropped the boy, and fell back on the bed,
exhausted.
"What have you done to your mamma, sir?"
The child, conscious that he had not done anything, but frightened on the
whole, repented of his disobedience, and escaped from the chamber more
quickly than he had entered it. The dowager hated to be puzzled, and went
wrathfully up to her daughter.
"Perhaps you'll tell me what's the matter, Maude."
Lady Hartledon grew calm. The countess-dowager pressed the question.
"There's nothing the matter," came the tardy and rather sullen reply.
"Why do you wish yourself dead, then?"
"Because I do."
"How dare you answer me so?"
"It's the truth.
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