by chance anything like a conversation began—
for Mr. Brand had his talkative moods in a
violent, angry kind of way—she used to order
me out of the room, in just the same tone as
she used to speak to the dog. If I
remonstrated, as I did once, her only answer was,
"You can go if you like; I did not hire you."

One thing especially troubled me. It troubled
me because, like all morbidly imaginative people,
anything of a mystery terrified me more than an
open danger; and this, of which I am going to
speak, was a mystery. The boy took no notice
of me at the first. He never spoke to me when
he came into the room; he passed me in the
fields as if he did not see me; indeed, he had
always that manner to me—he did not see me
—I did not exist for him. I was well content
that this should be; but, after I had been there
a short time, Mr. Brand began to make distinct
mischief between us. From brutish indifference,
Master George passed rapidly to brutish aggression.
When he met me in the lanes and fields
he made mouths at me, and once he flung stones
and mud as I passed him; at table he would
kick me silently, and whenever I caught his
eye he made hideous grimaces, muttering in his
broad, provincial accent, "Mad dog! mad dog!
We hang mad dogs hereaway!" His insolence
and brutality increased daily, and Mrs. Brand
encouraged him. This was the mystery. Why
should he wish this kd to hate me?

There was a plot underneath it all which
I tormented myself to discover. Day and
night the thought haunted me, till I felt growing
crazed with dread and terror. I could not
conceal my abhorrence of the youth—I was
too nervous for that—nor hide the fear with
which that wicked man inspired me. I was as
helpless as the poor pale woman there, and as
thoroughly the victim of a stronger fate.

One night Master George had been more than
usually intolerable to me. He had struck me
openly before both father and mother, had
insulted my misfortunes, and spoken with brutal
disrespect of my family. It was a wild winter's
night, and the howling wind shook the windows
and dashed the trailing ivy-leaves sharply against
the panes: a fearful night, making all visions of
freedom and escape impossible; a night which
necessitated one to be content with one's own
fireside, and forbade the idea of wandering
farther. Yet it was something worse than
death to me to be shut up in that mean room,
with its squalid furniture and scanty fire,
with such companions, and to feel that I could
not escape from them—that they might ill-treat
me, mock me, persecute me as they would, and I
was bound to bear all without protection or
means of escape. The stormy night had excited
me, and I felt less than ever able to bear all the
insolence and brutality heaped upon me. When
Master George struck me again, and called me
"mad dog", something seemed to take
possession of me. My timidity and nervousness
vanished, and I felt as if swept away in a
very tumult of passion. I do not know now
what it was that I said or did, but I rememberrising passionately from my place, and pouring
out a torrent of bitterness and reproach.
I was almost unconscious of what I was doing,
for I was literally for the moment insane; but
I remember the words, "You shall die! you
shall die!" rising like a scream through the
room. I have not the slightest recollection of
how I left the parlour, nor how I got to my own
chamber, but it was past midnight when I awoke
from what must have been a kind of swoon, and
found myself lying on the floor.

The wind was still raging, howling through
the trees outside, tearing down branches, and
scattering the dead leaves like flakes of frozen
snow upon the ground. Every door and window
shook throughout the old house, and the
wild moaning in the chimneys came, startling,
like the cries of tortured beings. Confused and
giddy, I rose up out of my trance, stiff with
cold and scarcely conscious. But as my brain
grew clearer it grew also feverish, and I knew
there was no rest for me to-night. My hearing
began to be distressingly acute, and every
painful thought and circumstance of my life
rose up before me with the force and vividness
of living scenes actually present to my senses.
I paced my room for some time in a state of
despair, wringing my hands and sobbing
violently, but without tears. By degrees a little
calmness came to me, and I determined to go down
stairs for a book. I would get some quiet,
calm, religious book, which would soothe me
like a spiritual opiate, and take me out of the
abyss of misery into which I had sunk. What
friend, indeed, had I in the world, save the
Great Father above us all?

As I opened the door I fancied I heard a
stealthy step along the passage. I held my
breath to listen, shading the candle with my
hand. I was not deceived; there was a step
passing furtively over the creaking boards in
the direction of Master George's room. I
shrank back into the doorway. Yet there was
nothing to alarm me. A quiet footfall at mid-
night might be easily accounted for: why should
it affect me with mistrust and dread? and why
should I feel this overpowering impulse to go
towards the sound? I scarcely knew what I
expected to find; but something stronger than
myself seemed to impel me to the discovery of
something horrible; and placing the candle on
the floor, I crept, noiselessly along the passage,
every nerve strung to its utmost tension.

Master George slept in a room at the end of
the back-stairs gallery, which ran at right
angles to the passage in which my room was
situated. My door faced Mr. and Mrs. Brand's;
Master George's faced the kitchen stairs, and
was properly the servant's room, but she had
been moved to a small closet near to me, Mr.
Brand not approving of her holding so large a
chamber for herself, neither willing to allow the
boy anything of a better class. When I stood
by my door I could see Mr. and Mrs. Brand's
room.; but it was only by going the whole length
of the back-stairs gallery that I could get to
Master George's. I could see now, however,