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done and am willing to do, every thing consisten with my duty, to mke this house agreeable to my husband’s friend and uour son; but to give up all my time and regular occupations to amuse him, is more than you can expect.”
“True, true,” said the weeping mother, “I have no right to claim a hundredth part of the kindness that you have shown me and my son. Age produces querulousness-dependence creates suspicion-excuse me, my child.”
She covered her face with her handkerchief, and would feign have concealed the tears she could not repress.
For a while Mary continued silent, perplexed, and irresolute. Her colour went and came, and her voice troubled as she said -
“My dear mother, I am very yuoung, and very inexperienced-but there is something within that tells me Charles Lovel is not my brother-nor myhusband’s brother-that-that-not being a relation, I should not trust him as one,—but____:
“You need say no more, “ interrupted Mrs. Murray, “am I not suffieiently humbled ? Think you that I forget that when his father married me, I entered the family a portionless widow, burdened with a son—think yu that I forget that my late husband recovered from a fraudulent guardian a large fortune for that son—that I forget the unwearied cares bestowed on his education, making no difference between him and his own son. Or can i forget that William, but a few years older than my boy, received him into his affectioins as a brother-bore with all the violence of Charles’ temper- the irregularity of his habits-concealed his faults-supplied wants created by his extravagance, and was to him the most faithful of friends!”
A shuddering crept over Mary as she listened to this enumeration of her husband’s kindnesses to Charles Lovel, but speak she could not, although she perceived Mrs. Murray waited for a reply.
“Or think you,” continued the old lady, with increasing warmth and asperity, “that I forget when my husband died, instead of allowing me to go forth among strangers, William insisted on my remaining in this, his paternal mansion, and bade me continue its mistress, and he to him a mother! No, no—these are things I can never forgt—they are present with me at my lying down and my rising up. And when he brought you here a blooming bride, I fredeived you as a daughter sent by providence to supply the place of my long absent—or, as I feared, my lost son. I looked to you to comfort me for all the heartaches his sad courses inflicted on me. And it is only of late, Mary, that I have felt that you were not my daughter.”
But I will be to you a daughter!” excalimed Mary, throwing her arms around the old lady’s neck. “I have no mother but you!”.

Then, Mary, my son must be to you as a brother.”
Mary withdrew her arms, and rsumed her seat.
“Yes,” continued Mrs. Murray, “if you would be to me a daughter, you must be to him a sister. Remember the homely but expressive proverb, love me, love my dog; if general humanity