I was as much an animal as ever—­robust in health—­inattentive, and seeking excitement and exhilaration.  I went everywhere, to Bible class, to Sunday school, and to every funeral which took place within our precincts.  But I never looked upon the dead; perhaps that sight would have marred the slumbrous security which possessed me—­the instinctive faith in the durability of my own powers of life.

But a change was approaching.  Aunt Merce considered my present state a hopeless one.  She was outside the orbit of the family planet, and saw the tendency of its revolutions, perceiving that father and mother were absorbed in their individual affairs.  She called mother’s attention to my non-improvement, and proposed that I should return to Barmouth with her for a year, and become a pupil in a young lady’s school, which had been recently established there, by a graduate of the Nipswich Female Seminary, a school distinguished for its ethics.  Mother looked astonished, when she heard this proposal.  “What!” she began with vehemence, “shall I subject”—­but checked herself when she caught my eye, and continued more calmly:  “We will decide soon.”

It was decided that I should go, without my being consulted in the matter.  I felt resentful against mother, and could not understand till afterward, why she had consented to the plan.  It was because she wished me to comprehend the influences of her early life, and learn some of the lessons she had been taught.  At first, father “poohed” at the plan, but finally said it was a good place to tame me.  When Veronica heard that I was going, she told me that I would be stifled, if I lived at Grandfather Warren’s; but added that the plums in his garden were good, and advised me to sit on the yellow stone doorstep, under which the toads lived.  She also informed me that she was glad of it, and hoped I would stay forever.

To Barmouth I went, and in May entered Miss Black’s genteel school.  Miss Black had a conviction that her vocation was teaching.  Necessity did not compel it, for she was connected with one of the richest families in Barmouth.  At the end of the week my curiosity regarding my new position was quenched, and I dropped into the depths of my first wretchedness.  I frantically demanded of father, who had stopped to see me on his way to Milford, to be taken home.  He firmly resisted me.  Once a month, I should go home and spend a Sunday, if I chose, and he would come to Barmouth every week.

My agitation and despair clouded his face for a moment, then it cleared, and pinching my chin, he said, “Why don’t you look like your mother?”

“But she is like her mother,” said Aunt Merce.

“Well, Cassy, good-by”; and he gave me a kiss with cruel nonchalance.  I knew my year must be stayed out.

CHAPTER VII.

My life at Grandfather Warren’s was one kind of penance and my life in Miss Black’s school another.  Both differed from our home-life.  My filaments found no nourishment, creeping between the two; but the fibers of youth are strong, and they do not perish.  Grandfather Warren’s house reminded me of the casket which imprisoned the Genii.  I had let loose a Presence I had no power over—­the embodiment of its gloom, its sternness, and its silence.