her that I would never press her to the disclosure, for that promises of secrecy were to be held sacred; but whenever we fell into any confidential kind of conversation, this secret seemed always ready to come out.  Whether she or I were most to blame I know not, though I own I could not help giving frequent hints how well I could keep a secret.  At length she told me what I have before related, namely, that she was in truth the daughter of sir Edward and lady Lesley, and I the child of her supposed mother.

When I was first in possession of this wonderful secret, my heart burned to reveal it.  I thought how praiseworthy it would be in me to restore to my friend the rights of her birth; yet I thought only of becoming her patroness, and raising her to her proper rank; it never occurred to me that my own degradation must necessarily follow.  I endeavoured to persuade her to let me tell this important affair to my parents:  this she positively refused.  I expressed wonder that she should so faithfully keep this secret for an unworthy woman, who in her infancy had done her such an injury.  “Oh,” said she, “you do not know how much she loves me, or you would not wonder that I never resent that.  I have seen her grieve and be so very sorry on my account, that I would not bring her into more trouble for any good that could happen to myself.  She has often told me, that since the day she changed us, she has never known what it is to have a happy moment; and when she returned home from nursing you, finding me very thin and sickly, how her heart smote her for what she had done; and then she nursed and fed me with such anxious care, that she grew much fonder of me than if I had been her own; and that on the Sundays, when she used to bring me here, it was more pleasure to her to see me in my own father’s house, than it was to her to see you her real child.  The shyness you shewed towards her while you were very young, and the forced civility you seemed to affect as you grew older, always appeared like ingratitude towards her who had done so much for you.  My mother has desired me to disclose this after her death, but I do not believe I shall ever mention it then, for I should be sorry to bring any reproach even on her memory.”

In a few days after this important discovery, Ann was sent home to pass a few weeks with her mother, on the occasion of the expected arrival of some visitors to our house; they were to bring children with them, and these I was to consider as my own guests.

In the expected arrival of my young visitants, and in making preparations to entertain them, I had little leisure to deliberate on what conduct I should pursue with regard to my friend’s secret.  Something must be done I thought to make her amends for the injury she had sustained, and I resolved to consider the matter attentively on her return.  Still my mind ran on conferring favours.  I never considered myself as transformed into the dependant person.  Indeed