All my early feelings towards my father
revived; I again looked up to him as the stately magnificent being that
had daunted my childish imagination, and felt as if I had no
pretensions to his sympathies. My brother engrossed all his care and
love; he inherited his nature, and carried himself towards me with a
protecting rather than a fraternal air. It wounded my pride, which was
great. I could brook condescension from my father, for I looked up to
him with awe as a superior being, but I could not brook patronage from
a brother, who, I felt, was intellectually my inferior. The servants
perceived that I was an unwelcome intruder in the paternal mansion,
and, menial-like, they treated me with neglect. Thus baffled at every
point; my affections outraged wherever they would attach themselves, I
became sullen, silent, and despondent. My feelings driven back upon
myself, entered and preyed upon my own heart. I remained for some days
an unwelcome guest rather than a restored son in my father's house. I
was doomed never to be properly known there. I was made, by wrong
treatment, strange even to myself; and they judged of me from my
strangeness.
I was startled one day at the sight of one of the monks of my convent,
gliding out of my father's room. He saw me, but pretended not to notice
me; and this very hypocrisy made me suspect something. I had become
sore and susceptible in my feelings; every thing inflicted a wound on
them.
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