Here，leaning over the banister，I cried out suddenly，and without at all deliberating on my words-

"They are not fit to associate with me."

Mrs. Reed was rather a stout woman; but，on hearing this strange and audacious declaration，she ran nimbly up the stair，swept me like a whirlwind into the nursery，and crushing me down on the edge of my crib，dared me in an emphatic voice to rise from that place，or utter one syllable during the remainder of the day.

"What would Uncle Reed say to you，if he were alive?" was my scarcely voluntary demand. I say scarcely voluntary，for it seemed as if my tongue pronounced words，without my will consenting to their utterance: something spoke out of me over which I had no control.

"What?" said Mrs. Reed under her breath: her usually cold posed grey eye became troubled with a look like fear; she took her hand from my arm，and gazed at me as if she really did not know whether I were child or fiend. I was now in for it.

"My Uncle Reed is in heaven，and can see all you do and think; and so can papa and mama: they know how you shut me up all day long，and how you wish me dead."

Mrs. Reed soon rallied her spirits: she shook me most soundly，she boxed both my ears，and then left me without a word. Bessie supplied the hiatus by a homily of an hour"s length，in which she proved beyond a doubt that I was the most wicked and abandoned child ever reared under a roof. I half believed her; for I felt indeed only bad feelings surging in my breast.

November，December，and half of January passed away. Christmas and the New Year had been celebrated at Gateshead with the usual festive cheer; presents had been interchanged，dinners and evening parties given. From every enjoyment I was，of course，excluded: my share of the gaiety consisted in witnessing the daily apparelling of Eliza and Georgiana，and seeing them descend to the drawing-room，dressed out in thin muslin frocks and scarlet sashes，with hair elaborately ringleted; and afterwards，in listening to the sound of the piano or the harp played below，to the passing to and fro of the butler and footman，to the jingling of glass and china as refreshments were handed，to the broken hum of conversation as the drawing-room door opened and closed. When tired of this occupation，I would retire from the stair-head to the solitary and silent nursery: