from school. The only one of her tastes that conduced to the peace of
the house was for reading; and even this made her mother uneasy; for the
books she liked best were fit, in Mrs. McQuinch's opinion, for the
bookcase only. Elinor read openly what she could obtain by asking, such
as Lamb's Tales from Shakespear, and The Pilgrim's Progress. The Arabian
Nights Entertainments were sternly refused her; so she read them by
stealth; and from that day there was always a collection of books,
borrowed from friends, or filched from the upper shelf in the library,
beneath her mattress. Nobody thought of looking there for them; and even
if they had, they might have paused to reflect on the consequences of
betraying her. Her eldest sister having given her a small workbox on her
eleventh birthday, had the present thrown at her head two days later for
reporting to her parents that Nelly's fondness for sitting in a certain
secluded summer-house was due to her desire to read Lord Byron's poetry
unobserved. Miss Lydia's forehead was severely cut; and Elinor, though
bitterly remorseful, not only refused to beg pardon for her fault, but
shattered every brittle article in the room to which she was confined
for her contumacy. The vicar, on being consulted, recommended that she
should be well whipped. This counsel was repugnant to Hardy McQuinch,
but he gave his wife leave to use her discretion in the matter. The
mother thought that the child ought to be beaten into submission; but
she was afraid to undertake the task, and only uttered a threat, which
was received with stubborn defiance. This was forgotten next day when
Elinor, exhausted by a week of remorse, terror, rage, and suspense,
became dangerously ill. When she recovered, her parents were more
indulgent to her, and were gratified by finding her former passionate
resistance replaced by sulky obedience. Five years elapsed, and Elinor
began to write fiction. The beginning of a novel, and many incoherent
verses imitated from Lara, were discovered by her mother, and burnt by
her father. This outrage she never forgave. She was unable to make her
resentment felt, for she no longer cared to break glass and china. She
feared even to remonstrate lest she should humiliate herself by bursting
into tears, as, since her illness, she had been prone to do in the least
agitation. So she kept silence, and ceased to speak to either of her
parents except when they addressed questions to her. Her father wo