useless for many months afterwards, to my abiding reproach.

Philip was not hurt, but he might have been killed. Everybody told me
so often that it was a warning to me to correct my terrible temper,
that I might have revolted against the reiteration if the facts had
been less grave. But I never can feel lightly about that
hatchet-quarrel. It opened a gulf of possible wickedness and life-long
misery, over the brink of which my temper would have dragged me, but
for Aunt Isobel's strong arm and keen eye, and over which it might
succeed in dragging me any day, unless I could cure myself of my
besetting sin.

I never denied it. It was a warning.




CHAPTER III.

WARNINGS--MY AUNT ISOBEL--MR. RAMPANT'S TEMPER, AND HIS CONSCIENCE.


I was not the only scarecrow held up before my own mind.

Nurse had a gallery of historical characters, whom she kept as beacons
to warn our stormy passions of their fate. The hot-tempered boy who
killed his brother when they were at school; the hot-tempered farmer
who took his gun to frighten a trespasser, and ended by shooting him;
the young lady who destroyed the priceless porcelain in a pet; the
hasty young gentleman who kicked his favourite dog and broke its