The Evil Genius: A Domestic Story

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rivaled by the charm of a figure which had arrived at its mature perfection of development-Mrs. Linley sat side by side with a frail little dark-eyed creature, thin and pale, whose wasted face bore patient witness to the three cruelest privations under which yo

inley said. "Let me hope that my housekeeper has done what I

een all that is good a

of beginning to teach Kitty till you feel stronger and better. I see but too plainly t

life is my one excuse for having

t way,

from the library were softly parted in the middle. A keen old face, strongly marked by curiosity

d it, a crisis in domestic history. Conscience, with its customary elasticity, adapted itself to the emergency, and

ithout a suspicion on either side tha

xplained

e school. Oh, Mrs. Linley, everything I said which would have made other people suspicious of me made him feel for me! I began to wonder whether he was an angel or a man. If he had not prevented it, I should have fallen on my knees b

ore.. But there is one thing I should like to know. You have no

N

brought up by

es

xperience of kindness

urn for Mrs. Linley's kindness. Sydney had no choice but

world!" Mrs. Linley exclaimed

rica-I

thi

. "She went to America with her husban

ft you

es

e never wri

ev

-and for one morbid moment seeing her own little darling in Sydney's place-she was afra

kind person pitied and helped you when you were deserted. Any chan

most unhappy was the time when my aunt began to teach me. 'If you don't want to be beaten, an

that shameful way

fused. Dozens of ladies, he said, wrote stories for him for nothing. It didn't matter what the stories were. Anything would do for his readers, so long as the characters were lords and ladies, and there was plenty of love in it. My next attempt to get away from the school ended in another disappointment. A poor old man, who had once been an actor, used to come to us twice a week, and get a few shillings by teaching the girls to read aloud. He was called 'Professor of English Literature,' and he taught out of a ragged book of verses which smelled of his pipe. I learned one of the pieces and repeated it to him, and asked if there was any hope of my being able to go on the stage. He was very kind; he told me the truth. 'My dear, you have no dramatic ability; God forbid you should go on the stage.' I went back again to the

ere opened for the second time. With composure and dign

rs. Linley asked. And Mrs. Presty answere

other; her lovely complexio

terfield," Mrs. Presty pr

hink of her mother? Perfectly careless of what the governess m

e person. When I form an opinion and find it's the opinion of a fool, I am not in t

spectfull

." Sydney retur

ed to the winds. No, Catherine, I am not wandering. I am pointing out to a young person, who has her way to make in the world, the vast importance, on certain occasions, of possessing an independent mind. If I had been ashamed to listen behind those curtains, there is no injury that my stupid prejudices might not have inflicted on this unfortunate girl. As it is, I have heard her story, and I do her justice. Count on me, Sydney, as your friend, and now get up again. My grandchild (never accustomed to wait for anything since the day when she was born) is waiting dinner for you. She is at this moment shouting for her governess, as King Richard (I am a great reader of Shak

ley repeated. "I do

e or not. I want more information. Tell me what

obeyed. Listening throughout with the closest attention, Mrs. Presty reckoned up the i

glected and deserted her own flesh and blood. Third obstacle, her mother's sister-being her mother over again in an aggravated form. People who only look at the

nterposed, "expect everyth

ways resisted the horrid temptations and contaminations about her. Hundreds of times she must have had deceit forced on her; she must have lied, through ungovernable fear; she must have been left (at a critical time in her life, mind!) with no more warning against the insidious advances of the passions than-than-I'm repeating what Mr. Presty said of a niece of his own, who went to a bad school at Paris; and I don't quite remember what comparisons that eloquent man used when he wa

nveterately quaint way of expressing herself) failed to produce the right impression on he

eard all that Miss Westerfield said to me. You don't know her,

e any possibilities of future danger in the grateful feeling of her sensitive governess toward her handsome husband. At this exhibition of simplicit

d what of

sty took her departure by way of the library. Almost at the same moment, the door of the b