to seize the little
girl; but lo! the little girl was gone, and she found herself tugging
at her own hair. She let go; and there was the little girl again! Agnes
was furious now, and flew at her to bite her. But she found her teeth
in her own arm, and the little girl was gone--only to return again; and
each time she came back she was tenfold uglier than before. And now
Agnes hated her with her whole heart.

The moment she hated her, it flashed upon her with a sickening disgust
that the child was not another, but her Self, her Somebody, and that
she was now shut up with her for ever and ever--no more for one moment
ever to be alone. In her agony of despair, sleep descended, and she
slept.

When she woke, there was the little girl, heedless, ugly, miserable,
staring at her own toes. All at once, the creature began to smile, but
with such an odious, self-satisfied expression, that Agnes felt ashamed
of seeing her. Then she began to pat her own cheeks, to stroke her own
body, and examine her finger-ends, nodding her head with satisfaction.
Agnes felt that there could not be such another hateful, ape-like
creature, and at the same time was perfectly aware she was only doing
outside of her what she herself had been doing, as long as she could
remember, inside of her.

She turned sick at herself, and would gladly have been put out of
existence, but for three days the odious companionship went on. By the
third day, Agnes was not merely sick but ashamed of the life she had
hitherto led, was despicable in her own eyes, and astonished that she
had never seen the truth concerning herself before.

The next morning she woke in the arms of the wise woman; the horror had
vanished from her sight, and two heavenly eyes were gazing upon her.
She wept and clung to her, and the more she clung, the more tenderly
did the great strong arms close around her.

When she had lain thus for a while, the wise woman carried her into her
cottage, and washed her in the little well; then dressed her in clean
garments, and gave her bread and milk. When she had eaten it, she
called her to her, and said very solemnly,--

"Agnes, you must not imagine you are cured. That you are ashamed of
yourself now is no sign that the cause for such shame has ceased. In
new circumstances, especially after you have done well for a while, you
will be in danger of thinking just as much of yourself as before. So
beware of yourself. I am going from home, and leave you i