knows how naughty she was."

A smile, which Shirley would not permit to expand, made her lip tremble;
she bent her face, and hid it half with her arms, half in her curls,
which, as she stooped, fell loose again. "Certainly I was a rebel," she
answered.

"A rebel!" repeated Henry. "Yes; you and papa had quarrelled terribly,
and you set both him and mamma, and Mrs. Pryor, and everybody, at
defiance. You said he had insulted you----"

"He _had_ insulted me," interposed Shirley.

"And you wanted to leave Sympson Grove directly. You packed your things
up, and papa threw them out of your trunk; mamma cried, Mrs. Pryor
cried; they both stood wringing their hands begging you to be patient;
and you knelt on the floor with your things and your up-turned box
before you, looking, Shirley, looking--why, in one of _your_ passions.
Your features, in such passions, are not distorted; they are fixed, but
quite beautiful. You scarcely look angry, only resolute, and in a
certain haste; yet one feels that at such times an obstacle cast across
your path would be split as with lightning. Papa lost heart, and called
Mr. Moore."

"Enough, Henry."

"No, it is not enough. I hardly know how Mr. Moore managed, except that
I recollect he suggested to papa that agitation would bring on his gout;
and then he spoke quietly to the ladies, and got them away; and
afterwards he said to you, Miss Shirley, that it was of no use talking
or lecturing now, but that the tea-things were just brought into the
schoolroom, and he was very thirsty, and he would be glad if you would
leave your packing for the present and come and make a cup of tea for
him and me. You came; you would not talk at first, but soon you softened
and grew cheerful. Mr. Moore began to tell us about the Continent, the
war, and Bonaparte--subjects we were both fond of listening to. After
tea he said we should neither of us leave him that evening; he would not
let us stray out of his sight, lest we should again get into mischief.
We sat one on each side of him. We were so happy. I never passed so
pleasant an evening. The next day he gave you, missy, a lecture of an
hour, and wound it up by marking you a piece to learn in Bossuet as a
punishment-lesson--'Le Cheval Dompte.' You learned it instead of packing
up, Shirley. We heard no more of your running away. Mr. Moore used to
tease you on the subject for a year afterwards."

"She never said a lesson with greater spirit," subjoined Moore