He is not guilty. I, myself, stabbed Lot
Gordon!"
"Please be seated," said Elvira Gordon, and her folded hands in her
lap never stirred.
"Seated!" cried Madelon, "seated! How can _you_ be seated, how can
you rest a moment--you, his mother? Why do you not set out to New
Salem now--now? Why do you not walk there, every step, in the snow?
Why do you not crawl there on your hands and knees, if your feet fail
you, and plead with him to confess that I speak the truth, and tell
them to set him free?"
"I beg of you not to so agitate yourself," 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.
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