Her cheeks
turned white in an instant; her eyes stared in horror; her hands dropped
helplessly at her sides. She staggered back, and fell into the arms of my
aunt, standing behind her. It was no swoon--she kept her senses. Her eyes
turned slowly from Alicia to me. "Francis," she said, "does that woman's
face remind you of nothing?".
Before I could answer, she pointed to her writing-desk on the table at the
fireside. "Bring it!" she cried, "bring it!".
At the same moment I felt Alicia's hand on my shoulder, and saw Alicia's
face red with anger--and no wonder!
"What does this mean?" she asked. "Does your mother want to insult me?".
I said a few words to quiet her; what they were I don't remember--I was so
confused and astonished at the time. Before I had done, I heard my mother
behind me.
My aunt had fetched her desk. She had opened it; she had taken a paper
from it. Step by step, helping herself along by the wall, she came nearer
and nearer, with the paper in her hand. She looked at the paper--she
looked in Alicia's face--she lifted the long, loose sleeve of her gown,
and examined her hand and arm. I saw fear suddenly take the place of anger
in Alicia's eyes. She shook herself free of my mother's grasp. "Mad!" she
said to herself, "and Francis never told me!" With those words she ran out
of the room.
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