tart,    I    too    is t of my mistakes.

        I imagiable, sliuc. t, I t runs, like ink. I to save t do migaggered beating of clocks. Beyond t e oter cries: tics, ts and scolds of nurses. For table raps upon it to keep o trap separates o prevent ting of ongue; anot    I migraps remain: tear me in t me upon    . I suck, and the

        about me. till, t falling blood— drip drop! drip, drop!—t telling off t fees of my life, t of hen sinks for ever.

        I feel it, and suck    me.

        I pass my first ten years a daugo tabby cat upon t cat, a to pet and dress e-grey go like t ure keys upon it, and call me little nurse. I sleep urn, in ties upon to me, I suppose—and divided in tics, one side for male. I see only t me, as toucers. Otroublesome, and to stand before and strike    to my il thing so droll.

        ts of discipline and order; and ially appretitudes of insanity. ter.

        o reason I am given a g said to be my fatrait of a lady called my motand I am an orp, never s love—reatly troubled by t, in t cy. I    singing void an eye for letters. I I suppose I s all my days a nurse, tentedly teasing lunatitil I die.

        So    nine and ten. Some time in my elevento tron of to make me some treat. I am ead, she

        greets me strangely, and    meet my eye. tleman, s ttle to me. It ime. Step closer, tron says. tleman c of black, and a pair of black silk gloves. ter to study me. ending to il I stand before s o pass ongue across tongue is dark at tip.

        S makes enoug, for all t. hows her voice?

        remulous, plaining, like the shadow of a shivering man.

        Say a o tleman, says tron quietly. Say how you are.

        I am very ly. tleman winces.

        t will do, hen: I hope you    whisper? I hope you od?

        I nod. Oh yes.

        I ?

        I .

        Be silent, ts better. urns to tron. I see s o keep . I dont care at all for    is too plump. It , and slouc of     a t? Did I ask for t?

        tron colours. It    of to keep ume of the house.

        o provide sport for nurses?

        ick upon turns again to me, but speaks to her. he says, how well does she read?

        ext a rate.

        tron , and again tleman ly! il I speak it in a murmur. te t while he looks on.

        A girls    heless.

        I am also pleased. I uand from    I er I ed ters are my undoing. tleman leans id tilts acles, the bloodless rims of his eyes.

        ell, miss, o e and live in my    pus lip at me, mind! o e to me, and learers?

        ruck me. I s not at all, I say at once.

        tron says, For shame, Maud!

        tleman snorts. Peremper after all. Sy foot, at least. So you like to stamp, miss? ell, my o stamp in, far ao fits ttle o feed you, and t—hmm?

        s do    upon it. ru to tron and does not look at me again. ake up t to the floor.

        I    go! I cry.    make me!

        tron drao ake a ious lunatics, but noure is to be, in the house of my uncle.

        Some men o

        take me . All at once, I must give up my little mad of cloto dress me to s, o tiffened from to t ig my plaints, pulls tiges time for o take me, ts a pair of scissors to my o take a curl of o keep inside a locket; and, t, take up knives and scissors of t me until my ears at t. tresses like gulls— ti t e ss hard behind us.

        a place to raise a girl in! she says, passing a handkerchief across her lip.

        I    speak to rait gos me and makes my breats c my ankles. My    last I tear tplatly. Got a temper,    of knitting and a parcel of food. t of salt and te eggs, boiled , to break t of it. t eat it, but let it jerk til it falls upon tut tut, s t. Sakes out ting, t beside iff, in a miserable rage. times rees. the window-glass, dark as blood.

        I    to grimness and solitude, tered    is tillness of my uncles    be day. tops at a door, split dohe middle

        into to tremble. t I take to be a pos Mr ay, your ue    make some gesture s teps do I    let ake my    to tease—for I imes seen nurses curtsey, laugo lady lunatics.    o a dark seems to lap at my buff goer or    is t my uncle cultivates in her men grow vines and fl creepers.

        takes me up a staircase    quite even, and times torn: my nes make me clumsy, and once I fall. e up, d no stay to me—t like ted    filled raits, sing blades, creatures in frames and cases. taircase turns upon itself, to make a gallery about t every turning tant grubs, in tand servants, e to see me make my progress the house.

        I do not knos,     lunatics.

        co the woman.

        o see your face, so see if you turned out her.

        I y mot t; and am hem.

        topped before a door. handsome is as hand-

        some does, s died. to be yours.

        Sakes me into to t joins it. ttle as if battered by fists. t is er noo ttle fire—I am too small to see my fa tand and shiver.

        S your mittens, says ter sakes my cloak from me, t ug all you like, s s you, it s    a busio see you , after t say. Notle girl lift up s and piddle?

        Scs a cloter and washes my fad hands.

        I sa. Sefuller t teac house of yours?

        I long for my little oo, and knle and limp. At lengteps from me and wipes her hands.

        Lord, hink hell make a lady of you.

        I dont    to be a lady! I say. My uncle ake me.

        I s e youve made us.

        tifled ringing of a bell, times. It is a clock; I uand it, o to t told tics to rise, to dress, to say to take think,

        No as before. Even tcs ired. Again my boots catcs. alk softly! says the woman in a whisper, ping my arm. heres your uncles room, look.

        Sakes me in.    put on ter sun striking t strangely. t t is t suitable for ted; and t is pink. I suppose all printed o be true ones.

        ts me very ands at my back, s surface is    cap assel on a fraying ther, paler, pair of classes.

        So, miss, epping toiles? he asks her.

        Rather ill, sir.

        I    see it, in her eye. here are her gloves?

        t hem.

        My uncle es close. An unhappy beginning. Give me your hand, Maud.

        I    give it. tc t and lifts it. My    to . My uncle . he shakes his head.

        No a set of coarse fingers upon my books, iles bring me a nurse. I s o make ter. Your , , t are kept out of ts o t of , and uncoils from it—one of things,

        t bookmen use—a line of metal beads, bound tig, seeming to    smartly doiless assistance, akes my oto t.

        ting like a    t bloiles releasing my s, I put my fio my mouto weep.

        My uurns to    aowards his ears.

        Keep silence, girl! . Mrs Stiles pinc makes me cry    last I groill.

        ell, ly. You s fet ture, hmm?

        I s smiles.    Mrs Stiles. Youll keep my niece mindful of ies? I    e tame. I t orms and tantrums,    stray too far, mind! You must be in reach of her, should she grow wild.

        Mrs Stiles makes a curtsey and—under cover of plug my trembling so keep it from falling into a slouc, t again, as the sun.

        Now, says my uncle, w, w you here.

        I put my crimson fio my face, to wipe my nose.

        to make a lady of me.

        he gives a quick, dry laugh.

        to make a secretary of you.    do you see    these walls?

        ood, sir.

        Books, girl, s plad turns it. t as a Bible. t er all,

        mig ing different qualities of madness. I feel t advan t.

        My uncle keeps to , and taps its spine.

        Do you see title, girl?—Dont take a step! I asked you to read, not to prance.

        But too far from me. I sears return.

        ress. I s! Look do t     t my er sultation —an eye-doctor. t for ordinary gazes. Let me see you step once past t pointing finger, and I s of t doing til t    you sime; but at my word, and wand me, hmm?

        I do not.    I am already groious, and nod as if I do. s ts place, lingering a moment over the shelf.

        t ime—a favourite of itle is—

        But notle w.

        After my uncle et me. I stand for anoter-s e, and ruggle a moment    t, Mrs Stiles darts from to lead me back upstairs. I suppose youre tle girls always are. I seful for a we egg now.

        I am     admit to it. But so e, and t and a glass of s red o

        bear, some I sears , and tiles stand togetce alole cloak over myself, tle iles at terrible fear, and a sense of many ly tolled. I believe it is seven ht oclock.

        I say, I so be taken home now.

        Mrs Stiles laugo t    a plaqe to call your home!

        I shey miss me.

        I so be rid of you—ty, pale-faced little t you are. e s your bed-time. So unlace my goug a.

        I say, Youve no    me! Youre noto me! I    my mot love me!

        trait at my t. ts all teful you , to knoeady. You must o give you the figure of a lady.

        Saken tiff buff dress from me, and all tig t grips me s a nigo my e skin gloves, c ts. Only my feet remain bare. I fall upon tcill.

        See e, tle daug died. Semper like a lambs. le-tempered co die, and peeviso t say. hy

        your motune, surned out tras live to keep your fingers smooto a lady, is a puzzle. eep all tful tears you like. You s ter.

        Scakes me to to t, y bed, ts doains. t: sells me it leads to anotempered girl sleeps ten in t, and if I am anyt still and good and quiet, she will hear; and her hand is very hard.

        Say your prayers, sive you.

        takes up the lamp and leaves, and I am plunged in an awful darkness.

        I t a terrible to do to a c terrible, even noraining my ears against ting blay oer. My corset . My knuckles, tugged into tiff skin gloves, are starting out in bruises. No clock ss its gears, and fort I    from my idea t someco s of tics lice to aking it for anotempered girl t sleeps    door is ed, and tle me o , close by—unnaturally close, to me to be: I imagi tain, a to cry. t I ears e strangely. I long to lie still, so t guess t I am t tiller I try to be, tcly, a spider or a mottling    last, and jerk in a vulsion and, I suppose, shriek.

        t bethe

        seams of tain. A face appears, close to my o tic, but t of t my little tea of biscuits and s wine. Sgown, and    down.

        Noly.    s it to my rokes my face, and I groears flourally I say I ics, and she laughs.

        tics    ot you glad, to    t is only strange for you o it.

        Sakes up . I see , and begin at once again to cry.—! she says.

        I say I do not like teo lie alone. Sates, tiles. But I dare say my bed is softer t is er, and fearfully cold. S last t sil I sleep. She darkness.

        Sells me s me rest my     t you like it here?

        I say I t a little, if s; and at t stles ably upon ttress.

        S once, and    face-cream. , at t, and I find t    for sleep to e—as if I am tumbling into t darkness and t will save me.

        I am telling you t you mige t work upon me, making me w I am.

        day, I am kept to my to se my terrors of t, t do it! I cry,

        tearing tiles beats me. My go being so stiff, ss riking of my back. I take tle solation I mig.

        I am beaten often, I believe, in my first days t be ots, tings of ty y of my uncles o fits and foaming tempers. I am an amiable t. I dasable to til ts fly from my il my t bleeds. My passions are met s, eac. I am bound about ts and mout into lonely rooms, or into cupboards. Oime—urned a dle a til taken by Mr ay into to t remember, noal—t ti try silence, like so many clocks. tick for tiles es to release me I    and ot be uncurled, and am as hey had drugged me.

        I t frigly, by ts stairs, and ss.

        If sers for ever!

        It is someto see er t, and cter; t myself, and pinc, srong one, and soon punishes me again.

        to my c seems longer. My uncle s, all t time, as     for tiles duct me to ions o my progress.

        iles?

        Still badly, sir.

        Still fierce?

        Fierce, and snappish.

        Youve tried your hand?

        Semper, mes and tears. At night, Barbara shakes her head.

        a dot of a girl, to be so naugiles says stle tartar as you.    you be good?

        I     m I upturn my d tread to t. Mrs Stiles trikes my face. to my uncles door.

        of us. Good God, ?

        Oful thing, sir!

        Not more of    break out, among the books?

        But s ime at me. I stand very stiff,    my    face, my pale    my shoulders.

        At lengtakes off acles and closes o me, and very soft at to the bridge of his nose, and pinches.

        ell, Maud, , tiles, and aff, all ing on yood manners. I ter to find you biddable. os    s only to examine your c is , I tiless        is cool, hmm?

        -edged, for cutting pages. oops and puts t against my face. ens me.    as a girls. o see you , Maud. Indeed I am. Do you suppose I    you    t? It is you    it, since you provoke it so. I t like to be struck.—t is cooler, is it not? urhe blade. I shiver. My bare arms

        creep ing, s, on yood manners. ell,    t, at Briar. e    , and , and    again. Mrs Stiles and my staff are paid to do it; I am a sco it by nature. Look about you    my colle. Do you suppose tient man? My books e to me sloedly passed many tedious ation of poorer volumes t mig; moves t of to a spot beilts up my fad looks it over. ts tucks tacles behind his ears.

        I advise you to wiles, roublesome again.

        Perer all, and may be broken. My uurns to o my se is not t of a    is y of patieience so terrible as t of tics labour at easks—veying sand from one leaking cup into anoting titces in a sunbeam; filling invisible ledgers ing sums. lemen, and ricead of affs.—I ot say. And of course, ts t e to me later,    day, in my cs surface. But I see t it is dark, and kno it is silent—indeed, its substance is tance of ter or like wax.

        Sruggle, it o itself, and I will drown.

        I do not .

        I cease struggling at all, and surrender myself to its viscid, circular currents.

        t is t day, perion. But    day, at

        eigutors me    a desk and a stool for me close to ting finger on ool is    and t of my single and finally groience er all; and to be free of a desire to ty often.

        Still, t o o e, to se moves silently upon paper, and a green-so save my eyes.

        t s, of smouldering dust: a curious smell—I so e it!—th.

        My self is of t tedious kind, and sists cext, from antique volumes, into a leat is filled my job is to re blank again ask, more tter I am made to copy: for tion, groo tear; and t of a smudge on a leaf of text, or tearing paper, is more ts of t I fear most as a cres of past lessons, imperfectly erased.

        I call t I am not taugo recite, softly and clearly; I am augo sing. I never learn t am scead in tcley, silk. I learn inks; tting of pens; tyles and sizes of founts: sans-serif, antique, Egyptian, pica, brevier, emerald, ruby, Pearl. . . t is a c. For te.

        But I learn quickly. turns. I am made small re-soled slippers, a goiff as t, but of velvet. I am alloo take my supper in t one end of a great oak table, set s at t if I so let fall a fork, or to jar my knife against my plate, terrible eye.    t obliges you to grind your silver in t way?

        toe and too fully once.

        take s, and s, and calves feet, my kid-skin gloves groing to tae leaves me. I care most for t in a crystal glass engraved    arnisial. to keep me mindful, not of my name, but of t of my mother; which was Marianne.

        S spot of all t lonely park—ary grey stone among so many aken to see it, and made to keep tomb .

        Be grateful t you may, says Mrs Stiles, crim tery grass, end my grave? I s fotten.

        aken all tle daugo make ors    cut    to , I groful meek, receiving t s provokes o tless enougo scolds, o tain to sigtone. In time—so ing

        am I!—I find out ter; tc giving birto a litter of kittens, I take one for a pet, and    for o call it loudest ty child you are! how fine your black fur is! e, kiss your mama.

        Do you see, ances make of me?

        Mrs Stiles trembles and    the words.

        take ture arid ! so Barbara, w no more.

        I run and     loved me, and t brings t tears coolly to my eyes.

        O! Say you !

        Barbara says siles sends her away.

        Youre a sly, eful c t kno. Dont t see through you and your designing ways.

        But it is s udying of    is so me?    is anyone o save me; six montteiles,    ttle girl emper. I am sure, to be rid of you. In time, I believe et. My old life groo times emerges to darken or trouble it, in dreams and    as trokes of fotten lessons noart out upon the pages of my copy-book.

        My proper mote. Didnt srait in a little     o loat. Let me kiss mama good-nigime, unlog my box. But I do it only to torment Mrs Stiles. I raise ture to my lips and,    nig which

        follo    last, as a ust tick tular beat, I find I must do it or lie fretful in my bed. And trait must be set doly, s ribbon quite uncreased. If trikes t lining of too ake it out a down carefully again.

        Mrs Stiles c, e still until Barbara es.

        Meaainilemen at Briar: s, not uanding tter I am made to recite; and tlemen—like Mrs Stiles—gely. I groo t.    my uncles instru I curtsey. I curtsey lemen clap, to sroke my ell me, often, heir gazes.

        So    my uncles room to find my little desk removed, and a place made ready for me among o him.

        take off yloves, o touc is a cold, still, sunless day. I    Briar, t begun to bleed as women do.

        ell, Maud, says my u last you cross to my books. You are about to learn ty of your vocation. Are you afraid?

        A little, sir.

        You do o be. For ter. You think me a scholar, hmm?

        Yes, sir.

        ell, I am more t. I am a curator of poisons. tly puts    pile of ink-stained papers t litter heir Index.

        tion and proper study. t so perfect as t is plete. I ed many years to its stru and revision; and se many more, as t. I o to make you immu you mig me. My eyes—do you look at my eyes, Maud. akes off acles and brings o mine; and I flinc of    and naked face—yet see nooo, ain film, or milkiness, upon t sside triol and arsenic must do so    like t so. I he larger dose.

        urns and takes a book from    to me, pressing my fingers    it.

        Keep t o tutored. tainted, sell. You uand me? I ouch poison, Maud. Remember.

        tain Draion of Laura. I sit alone, and turn tand at last tter I    lemen.

        t pleasure. My uncle collects it—keeps it , keeps it ordered, on guarded s keeps it strangely—not for its o; rat provides fuel for tisfying of a curious lust.

        I mean, t of the bookman.

        See o me softly, draexts e t edge? Observe tooling, look. he

        tilts to me but, jealously,    let me take it. Not yet not yet! Ater; titles, look, picked out ials floext.    extravagance! And t see ispiece— ture is of a lady reed on a coucleman beside    tip—doer Borel, most rare. I all at Liverpool, for a s part    noy pounds.—e, e! y o my ea, to see you colour? ell, no more of t.    leisure. You    tance, in tiny of the form.

        So o me, many times. I do not believe een. t first,    seems a frig c lusts, gro limbs and cavities, be proo fevers, to crises, seek not togeting flesopped up ing of my legs. I imagine myself fingered and pierced ... I am teen, as I o restlessness: I begin to lie eac at Barbaras side,    back t to study t. take to c I kno, and fair—darkest of all. t troubles me. t last, one day, sc are you looking at? s, I anss as . her cheek flares crimson. Oh! she cries. I never did! here did you learn such words? From my uncle, I say.

        Oleman. Ill tell Mrs Stiles! Siles ead, like Barbara, sarts back. But takes up a block of soap and, while

        Barbara o my mout    bad fue.

        Speak like a devil,    and a filt? Like your orasher? ill you? ill

        you?

        ts me fall, and stands and    out a light.

        t least, I    may keep ;

        I ongue gro still taste lavender. I t , after all.

        But soon, I do not care. My t groand my uncles books to be filled rut c quite fades from my limbs. tlessurns all to s. I bee o be. I bee a librarian.

        tful turk, my uncle mig?

        e     index—o Priapus and Venus ed me, as oticed to the loom.

        I knoill e. I knoors, aueers— ents of ters:

        "Mr Lilly: on t of Paris claims no kno, sodomitical matter. S;

        My uncle heir lenses.

        t no leave to languis me see . . . ival of till trey? You must copy it, Maud ..."

        I will, I say.

        You t myself, and yaudies me. aken s nib.

        It appears you find your occupation dull,    last. Pero return to your room. I say not?

        Perer a moment.

        Per back your book t, Maud— t, as I cross to truct Mrs Stiles to keep t suppose I so keep you warm in idleness, hmm?

        I ate, ter—it seems aler t    until made to dress for dinner. But at table, e, my uops ,    in this house.

        takes tter arike ead I must sit, ting my o t, biting doears,    upon my uncles ink-staiongue, until I am dismissed.

        day at eigurn to my o yawn again.

        I groaller, in t follos and gloves and slippers.—My ues it, vaguely, and instructs Mrs Stiles to cut me ern of t take a sort of malicious pleasure from to suit hen again, perhaps in her grief for

        er sten t little girls are meant to turn out    Briar, and dra, noy. I o my gloves and my    t unloosening s. Undressed, I seem to feel myself as naked and unsafe as one of my uncles lenseless eyes.

        Asleep, I am sometimes oppressed by dreams. Once I fall into a fever, and a surgeon sees me.    fless o my croubled, s? ell,    expect t. You are an unon girl. rokes my o be taken in a cup of er—for restlessness. Barbara puts out ture, wiles looks on.

        to be married, and I am given anot as a bird—one of ttle, little birds t men bring dos. Se skin marked een, i as butter. S first. S still to be, and ill its look of mine. I beat he resemblance.

        So my life passes. You mig kno queer. But I read otalk of servants, and catc—by tying glances of parlourmaids and grooms!—I see well enougy I have bee.

        I am as    rakes of fi; but    came to my uncles s park. I kno remember t follo remember    do, , for example, sit a horse, or dance. I have

        never o spend it. I ain, or a sea.

        I , I t, too. I kno, from my uncles books. I kno lies upon a river—er, t, overturned punt tted as ual mockery, it seems to me, of my fi; but I like to sit upon it, gazing at t ters edge. I remember tory, of t    and er of a king. I so find a ot to keep it!—but to take its pla t and leave it at Briar to groo be me. I ten of t claim me.

        t is o fancies.    and at t and at my o, for many    a time. And in t t covers t crest, to    t of secrets.

        But I am i, and long to get out. . .

        I am seventeen    and a promise and tory of a gullible girl wo .
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