became sullen, silent, and despondent. My feelings driven back upon
myself, entered and preyed upon my own heart. I remained for some days
an unwelcome guest rather than a restored son in my father's house. I
was doomed never to be properly known there. I was made, by wrong
treatment, strange even to myself; and they judged of me from my
strangeness.

I was startled one day at the sight of one of the monks of my convent,
gliding out of my father's room. He saw me, but pretended not to notice
me; and this very hypocrisy made me suspect something. I had become
sore and susceptible in my feelings; every thing inflicted a wound on
them. In this state of mind I was treated with marked disrespect by a
pampered minion, the favorite servant of my father. All the pride and
passion of my nature rose in an instant, and I struck him to the earth.

My father was passing by; he stopped not to inquire the reason, nor
indeed could he read the long course of mental sufferings which were
the real cause. He rebuked me with anger and scorn; he summoned all the
haughtiness of his nature, and grandeur of his look, to give weight to
the contumely with which he treated me. I felt I had not deserved it--I
felt that I was not appreciated--I felt that I had that within me which
merited better treatment; my heart swelled against a father's
injustice. I broke through my habitual awe of him. I replied to him
with impatience; my hot spirit flushed in my cheek and kindled in my
eye, but my sensitive heart swelled as quickly, and before I had half
vented my passion I felt it suffocated and quenched in my tears. My
father was astonished and incensed at this turning of the worm, and
ordered me to my chamber. I retired in silence, choking with contending
emotions.