ot 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 a 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 of it 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 distinctly, 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, and that we are both the children of our mother now alive, and
in the house, who is convinced of the truth of it, in a manner not to
be denied or contradicted.'

I saw him turn pale and look wild; and I said, 'Now remember your
promise, and receive it with presence of mind; for who could have said
more to prepare you for it than I have done?' However, I called a
servant, and got him a little glass of