"Your curls, indeed!" and she came out of the window and stood on the
balcony beside me. "Do you call those tufts your curls?" taking one of
them disdainfully with the tips of her dainty fingers, then pulling it
sharply. "They make you look like a little water-dog, that's what they
do, and I am going to cut them off at once.--Bring me the scissors, Mrs.
Austin, and let me begin."

In the struggle 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