breast, and taps its spine.
''Do you see this title, girl?—Don''t take a step! I asked you to read, not to prance.''
But the book is too far from me. I shake my head, and feel my tears return.
''Ha!'' cries my uncle, seeing my distress. ''I should say you can''t! Look down, miss, at the floor. Down! Further! Do you see that hand, beside your shoe? That hand was set there at my word, after consultation with an oculist—an eye-doctor. These are uncommon books, Miss Maud, and not for ordinary gazes. Let me see you step once past that pointing finger, and I shall use you as I would a servant of the house, caught doing the same—I shall whip your eyes until they bleed. That hand marks the bounds of innocence here. Cross it you shall, in time; but at my word, and when you are ready. You understand me, hmm?''
I do not. How could I? But I am already grown cautious, and nod as if I do. He puts the book back in its place, lingering a moment over the-aligning of the spine upon the shelf.
The spine is a fine one, and—I will know it well, in time—a favourite of his. The title is—
But now I run ahead of my own innocence; which is vouchsafed to me a little while yet.
After my uncle has spoken he seems to forget me. I stand for another quarter-hour before he lifts his head and catches sight of me, and waves me from the room. I struggle a moment with the iron handle of his door, making him wince against the grinding of the lever; and when I close it, Mrs Stiles darts from the gloom to lead me back upstairs. ''I suppose you''re hungry,'' she says, as we walk. ''Little girls always are. I should say you''d be grateful for a white egg now.''