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 no send to save me; six montten me. tiles, ttle girl emper. I am sure, to be rid of you. In time, I believe o forget. My old life groo times emerges to darken or trouble it, in dreams and as trokes of forgotten 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, unlocking my box. But I do it only to torment Mrs Stiles. I raise ture to my lips and, nig which
follo last, as a clock must tick to a regular 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 and set it down carefully again.
Mrs Stiles c, e still until Barbara comes.
Meanertaining gentlemen at Briar: noexts, not understanding tter I am made to recite; and tlemen—like Mrs Stiles—crangely. I groo t. my uncles instruction 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 your gloves, o touc is a cold, still, sunless day. I Briar, t begun to bleed as women do.
ell, Maud, says my uncle. At 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 complete. I ed many years to its construction and revision; and s