gle that ensued my paints were upset, my pallet broken, and
my book drenched with the water from the glass in which I dipped my
brushes, but, as usual, Evelyn gained the victory which her superior
strength insured from the beginning, and fled from my wrath, after
holding my hands awhile, laughingly entreating mercy.

"I will kill her some day, Mrs. Austin, if she persecutes me so," I
cried, as I lay sobbing on the bed after the conflict was over. "I am
afraid of myself sometimes when she tantalizes me so dreadfully. I am
glad you held me when I got hold of the scissors; I am glad she held me
afterward. I might--I might"--I hesitated--"have stabbed her to the
heart," was in my mind, but the tragic threat faltered upon my lips.

"Pray to God, Miriam Monfort, to subdue your temper," said the
well-meaning but injudicious nurse, solemnly. "Your sister is old enough
to make sport with you whenever she likes, without such returns."

"I wish mamma was at home," I said, still sobbing. "She would not allow
me to be so treated; but it is always the way--as soon as she turns her
back, Evelyn besets me, and you look on and encourage her."

"I do no such thing," said Mrs. Austin, sharply. "You have no business
to take up cudgels for every outsider that your sister mentions, as you
do. She is afraid to speak her mind before you, for fear of a fuss."

"I hate deceit," I said, wiping my eyes; "and deceitful people, too. I
love my friends behind their backs the same as to their faces--just the
same."

"What makes you mock Mr. Bainrothe then, and show how he minces at
table, and uses his rattan?" she asked.

"Mr. Bainrothe is not my friend; besides, I said no harm of him. I don't
love him, and never will, and he knows it."

"Were you rude enough to tell him so, Miriam?"

"No, but he understands very well. I never mimic any one I love."

"Yet you love that rough, old Mr. Gerald Stanbury, as cross as a cur.
What taste!"

"Yes, from my heart I love him. He is good, he is true, he is noble;
that is what he is. He has no specks in his eyes. He does not say, 'Just
so,' whenever papa opens his lips."

"O Miriam! not to like him for that!"

"No; that is just why I _don't_ like him. He has no mind of his own--or
maybe he has two minds. Mamma thinks so, I know."

"She has told you so, I suppose?"

"If she had, I would not talk about it. No, she never told me so. I
found it out myself. I know what she thinks, though, of every one, j