ed to be very fond
of my mother, and she of him, but also she seemed to stand in great awe of
him, and dared not do what he might not approve. Soon Miss Murdstone came
to live with us. She was a gloomy-looking lady, dark like her brother, and
much like him in character. She assumed the care of the house, and mother
had nothing more to do with it. Meanwhile, I learnt lessons at home.

Shall I ever forget those lessons! They were presided over nominally by my
mother, but really by Mr. Murdstone and his sister, who were always
present, and the very sight of the Murdstones had such an effect upon me,
that every word I had tried to learn would glide away, and go I know not
where. I was treated to so much systematic cruelty that after six months,
I became sullen, dull, and dogged, and this feeling was not lessened by
the fact that I was more and more shut out from my mother. I believe I
should have been almost stupified but for the small collection of books
which had belonged to my own father, and to which I had access. From that
blessed little room, came forth "Roderick Random," "Peregrine Pickle,"
"Tom Jones," "The Vicar of Wakefield," "Robinson Crusoe," "Gil Blas," and
"Don Quixote,"--a glorious company to sustain me. They kept alive my
fancy, and my hope of something beyond that place and time--they, and the
"Arabian Nights" and "Tales of the Genii,"--and were my only comfort.

One morning, when I went into the parlour with my books, I found Mr.
Murdstone poising a cane in the air, which he had obtained, it seemed, for
the purpose of flogging me for any mistake I might make. My apprehension
was so great, that the words of my lessons slipped off by the entire
page,--I made mistake after mistake, failure upon failure,--and presently
Mr. Murdstone rose, taking up the cane, and telling me to follow him. As
he took me out at the door, my mother ran towards us. Miss Murdstone said,
"Clara! are you a perfect fool?" and interfered. I saw my mother stop her
ears then, and I heard her crying.

Mr. Murdstone walked me up to my room, and when we got there suddenly
twisted my head under his arm.

"Mr. Murdstone! Sir!" I cried, "Don't. Pray don't beat me! I have tried to
learn, sir, but I can't learn while you and Miss Murdstone are by. I can't
indeed!"

"Can't you, indeed, David?" he said. "We'll try that." He had my head as
in a vise, but I twined round him somehow, and stopped him for a moment,
entreating him again not to beat m