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standing　up　alone　in　a　sea　of　billow　and　spray；　to　the　broken　boat　stranded　on　a　desolate　coast；　to　the　cold　and　ghastly　moon　glancing　through　bars　of　cloud　at　a　wreck　just　sinking。

I　cannot　tell　what　sentiment　haunted　the　quite　solitary　churchyard；　with　its　inscribed　headstone；　its　gate；　its　two　trees；　its　low　horizon；　girdled　by　a　broken　wall；　and　its　newly…risen　crescent；　attesting　the　hour　of　eventide。

The　two　ships　becalmed　on　a　torpid　sea；　I　believed　to　be　marine　phantoms。

The　fiend　pinning　down　the　thief’s　pack　behind　him；　I　passed　over　quickly：　it　was　an　object　of　terror。

So　was　the　black　horned　thing　seated　aloof　on　a　rock；　surveying　a　distant　crowd　surrounding　a　gallows。

Each　picture　told　a　story；　mysterious　often　to　my　undeveloped　understanding　and　imperfect　feelings；　yet　ever　profoundly　interesting：　as　interesting　as　the　tales　Bessie　sometimes　narrated　on　winter　evenings；　when　she　chanced　to　be　in　good　humour；　and　when；　having　brought　her　ironing…table　to　the　nursery　hearth；　she　allowed　us　to　sit　about　it；　and　while　she　got　up　Mrs。　Reed’s　lace　frills；　and　crimped　her　nightcap　borders；　fed　our　eager　attention　with　passages　of　love　and　adventure　taken　from　old　fairy　tales　and　other　ballads；　or　（as　at　a　later　period　I　discovered）　from　the　pages　of　Pamela；　and　Henry；　Earl　of　Moreland。

With　Bewick　on　my　knee；　I　was　then　happy：　happy　at　least　in　my　way。　I　feared　nothing　but　interruption；　and　that　came　too　soon。　The　breakfast…room　door　opened。

“Boh！　Madam　Mope！”　cried　the　voice　of　John　Reed；　then　he　paused：　he　found　the　room　apparently　empty。

“Where　the　dickens　is　she！”　he　continued。　“Lizzy！　Georgy！　（calling　to　his　sisters）　Joan　is　not　here：　tell　mama　she　is　run　out　into　the　rain—bad　animal！”

“It　is　well　I　drew　the　curtain；”　thought　I；　and　I　wished　fervently　he　might　not　discover　my　hiding…place：　nor　would　John　Reed　have　found　it　out　himself；　he　was　not　quick　either　of　vision　or　conception；　but　Eliza　just　put　her　head　in　at　the　door；　and　said　at　once—

“She　is　in　the　window…seat；　to　be　sure；　Jack。”

And　I　came　out　immediately；　for　I　trembled　at　the　idea　of　being　dragged　forth　by　the　said　Jack。

“What　do　you　want？”　I　asked；　with　awkward　diffidence。

“Say；　‘What　do　you　want；　Master　Reed？’”　was　the　answer。　“I　want　you　to　e　here；”　and　seating　himself　in　an　arm…chair；　he　intimated　by　a　gesture　that　I　was　to　approach　and　stand　before　him。

John　Reed　was　a　schoolboy　of　fourteen　years　old；　four　years　older　than　I；　for　I　was　but　ten：　large　and　stout　for　his　age；　with　a　dingy　and　unwholesome　skin；　thick　lineaments　in　a　spacious　visage；　heavy　limbs　and　large　extremities。　He　gorged　himself　habitually　at　table；　which　made　him　bilious；　and　gave　him　a　dim　and　bleared　eye　and　flabby　cheeks。　He　ought　now　to　have　been　at　school；　but　his　mama　had　taken　him　home　for　a　month　or　two；　“on　account　of　his　delicate　health。”　Mr。　Miles；　the　master；　affirmed　that　he　would　do　very　well　if　he　had　fewer　cakes　and　sweetmeats　sent　him　from　home；　but　the　mother’s　heart　turned　from　an　opinion　so　harsh；　and　inclined　rather　to　the　more　refined　idea　that　John’s　sallowness　was　owing　to　over…application　and；　perhaps；　to　pining　after　home。

John　had　not　much　affection　for　his　mother　and　sisters；　and　an　antipathy　to　me。　He　bullied　and　punished　me；　not　two　or　three　times　in　the　week；　nor　once　or　twice　in　the　day；　but　continually：　every　nerve　I　had　feared　him；　and　every　morsel　of　flesh　in　my　bones　shrank　when　he　came　near。　There　were　moments　when　I　was　bewildered　by　the　terror　he　inspired；　because　I　had　no　appeal　whatever　against　either　his　menaces　or　his　inflictions；　the　servants　did　not　like　to　offend　their　young　master　by　taking　my　part　against　him；　and　Mrs。　Reed　was　blind　and　deaf　on　the　subject：　she　never　saw　him　strike　or　heard　him　abuse　me；　though　he　did　both　now　and　then　in　her　very　presence；　more　frequently；　however；　behind　her　back。

Habitually　obedient　to　John；　I　came　up　to　his　chair：　he　spent　some　three　minutes　in　thrusting　out　his　tongue　at　me　as　far　as　he　could　without　damaging　the　roots：　I　knew　he　would　soon　strike；　and　while　dreading　the　blow；　I　mused　on　the　disgusting　and　ugly　appearance　of　him　who　would　presently　deal　it。　I　wonder　if　he　read　that　notion　in　my　face；　for；　all　at　once；　without　speaking；　he　struck　suddenly　and　strongly。　I　tottered；　and　on　regaining　my　equilibrium　retired　back　a　step　or　two　from　his　chair。

“That　is　for　your　impudence　in　answering　mama　awhile　since；”　said　he；　“and　for　your　sneaking　way　of　getting　behind　curtains；　and　for　the　look　you　had　in　your　eyes　two　minutes　since；　you　rat！”

Accustomed　to　John　Reed’s　abuse；　I　never　had　an　idea　of　replying　to　it；　my　care　was　how　to　endure　the　blow　which　would　certainly　follow　the　insult。

“What　were　you　doing　behind　the　curtain？”　he　asked。

“I　was　reading。”

“Show　the　book。”

I　returned　to　the　window　and　fetched　it　thence。

“You　have　no　business　to　take　our　books；　you　are　a　dependent；　mama　says；　you　have　no　money；　your　father　left　you　none；　you　ought　to　beg；　and　not　to　live　here　with　gentlemen’s　children　like　us；　and　eat　the　same　meals　we　do；　and　wear　clothes　at　our　mama’s　expense。　Now；　I’ll　teach　you　to　rummage　my　bookshelves：　for　they　are　mine；　all　the　house　belongs　to　me；　or　will　do　in　a　few　years。　Go　and　stand　by　the　door；　out　of　the　way　of　the　mirror　and　the　windows。”

I　did　so；　not　at　first　aware　what　was　his　intention；　but　when　I　saw　him　lift　and　poise　the　book　and　stand　in　act　to　hurl　it；　I　instinctively　started　aside　with　a　cry　of　alarm：　not　soon　enough；　however；　the　volume　was　flung；　it　hit　me；　and　I　fell；　striking　my　head　against　the　door　and　cutting　it。　The　cut　bled；　the　pain　was　sharp：　my　terror　had　passed　its　climax；　other　feelings　succeeded。

“Wicked　and　cruel　boy！”　I　said。　“You　are　like　a　murderer—you　are　like　a　slave…driver—you　are　like　the　Roman　emperors！”

I　had　read　Goldsmith’s　History　of　Rome；　and　had　formed　my　opinion　of　Nero；　Caligula；　&c。　Also　I　had　drawn　parallels　in　silence；　which　I　never　thought　thus　to　have　declared　aloud。

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