CHAPTER I.
With an incident of my childhood I will commence the record of my life.
It stands out in bold prominence, rugged and bleak, through the haze of memory.
I was only twelve years old.

He might have spoken less harshly.

He might have remembered and pitied my youth and sensitiveness, that tall, powerful, hitherto kind man,--my preceptor, and, as I believed, my friend.

Listen to what he did say, in the presence of the whole school of boys, as well as girls, assembled on that day to hear the weekly exercises read, written on subjects which the master had given us the previous week.
One by one, we were called up to the platform, where he sat enthroned in all the majesty of the Olympian king-god.

One by one, the manuscripts were read by their youthful authors,--the criticisms uttered, which marked them with honor or shame,--gliding figures passed each other, going and returning, while a hasty exchange of glances, betrayed the flash of triumph, or the gloom of disappointment.
"Gabriella Lynn!" The name sounded like thunder in my ears.