are her gloves?
t hem.
My uncle comes 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 fingers to my mouto weep.
My uncle turns to and ter towards his ears.
Keep silence, girl! . Mrs Stiles pinc makes me cry last I groill.
ell, ly. You s forget ture, hmm?
I s smiles. Mrs Stiles. Youll keep my niece mindful of ies? I e tame. I cant 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 plucking 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 fingers to 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 place and turns it. t as a Bible. t er all,
mig ing different qualities of madness. I feel t advance in 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 consultation —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 o forget me. I stand for anoter-