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 he hoped it did not relate to what I said in my passion, and that he had resolved to forget all that as the effect of a rash, provoked spirit. I told him I wished I could forget it all too, but that it was not to be done, the impression was too deep, and it was impossible.

He then told me he was resolved not to differ with me in anything, and that therefore he would importune me no more about it, resolving to acquiesce in whatever I did or said; only begged I would then agree, that whatever it was, it should no more interrupt our quiet and our mutual kindness.

This was the most provoking thing he could have said to me, for I really wanted his further importunities, that I might be prevailed with to bring out that which indeed was like death to me to conceal. So I answered him plainly that I could not say I was glad not to be importuned, though I could not tell how to comply. 'But come, my dear', said I, 'what conditions will you make with me upon the opening this affair to you?'

'Any conditions in the world', said he 'that you can in reason desire of me.' 'Well', said I, 'come, give it me under your hand, that if you do not find I am in any fault, or that I am willingly concerned in the causes of the misfortunes that is to follow, you will not blame me, use me the worse, do me any injury, or make me be the sufferer for that which is not my fault.'

'That', says he, 'is the most reasonable demand in the world; not to blame you for that which is not your fault. Give me a pen and ink', says he; so I ran in and fetched pen, ink, and paper, and he wrote the condition down in the very words I had proposed it, and signed it with his name. 'Well', says he, 'what is next, my dear?' 'Why', says I, 'the next is, that you will not blame me for not discovering the secret to you before I knew it.' 'Very just again', says he; 'with all my heart'; so he wrote down that also, and signed it.

'Well, my dear', says I, 'then I have but one condition more to make with you, and that is, that as there is nobody concerned in it but you and I, you shall not discover it to any person in the world, except your own mother; and that in all the measures you shall take upon the discovery, as I am equally concerned in it with you, though as innocent as yourself, you shall do nothing in a passion, nothing to my prejudice, or to your mother's prejudice, without my knowledge and consent.'

This a little amazed him, and he wrote down the words distinclydistinctly [sic], but read them over and over before he signed them, hesitating at them several times, and repeating them: 'My mother's prejudice! and your prejudice? What mysterious thing can this be?' However, at last he signed it.

'Well', says I, 'my dear, I'll ask you no more under your hand; but as you are to hear the most unexpected and surprising thing that perhaps ever befell any family in the world, I beg you to promise me you will receive it with composure and a presence of mind suitable to a man of sense.'

'I'll do my utmost', says he, 'upon condition you will keep me no longer in suspense, for you terrify me with all these preliminaries.'

'Well, then', says I, 'it is this: As I told you before in a heat that I was not your lawful wife, and that our children were not legal children, so I must let you know now in calmness, and in kindness, but with affliction enough, that I am your own sister, and you my own brother,