," said Elvira Gordon. "You
will be ill. Pray be seated."

Madelon bent towards her with a sudden motion, as if she would seize
her by the shoulders.

"Are you his mother," she cried--"his mother--and sit here, like
this, and speak like this? Why do you not move? Why do you not start
this instant for New Salem--this instant?"

"I beg you to calm yourself," replied Elvira Gordon. "I have been to
New Salem to visit my son. I have prayed with him in his prison."

"Prayed with him! Don't you know that he is innocent, and in prison
for murder--your own son? You stop to pray with him; why don't you
act to save him?"

"You will make yourself ill, my dear."

"Don't you believe that your son is innocent?" demanded Madelon.
"Don't you believe it?"

Her eyes blazed; she clinched her hands. She felt as if she could
spring at this other woman with her gentle murmurings and soft
foldings, and shake her into her own meaning of life. If her impulse
had had the power of deed, Elvira Gordon's little cap of fine
needle-work would have been a fiercely crumpled rag upon her decorous
head, her sober bands of gray hair would have streamed like the locks
of a fury, the quiet clasp of her long fingers would have been
stirred with some response of indignant defence if nothing else.
Madelon, with her, realized that worst balk in the world--the balk of
a passive nature in the path of an active one--and all her fiery zeal
seemed to flow back into herself and fairly madden her.

"I hope," said Elvira Gordon, "that my son will be proved innocent
and set free."

"_Proved_ innocent! Don't you know your own son is innocent?"

"I pray without ceasing that he may be acquitted of the crime for
which he is imprisoned," replied Elvira Gordon, over her folded
hands.

Madelon looked at her. "You are a good woman," said she, with fierce
scorn. "You are a member of Parson Fair's church, and you keep to the
commandments and all the creed. You are a good woman, and you believe
in the eternal wrath of God and the guilt of your own son. You
believe in that, in spite of what I tell you. But I tell you again
that I, and not your son, am guilty, and I will save him yet!"

Madelon Hautville gathered her red cloak about her, and Mrs. Gordon
arose as she would have done when any caller was about to take leave.
It would scarcely have seemed out of keeping with her manner had she
politely invited Madelon to call again. However, her quiet voice was
somewhat