For some time I had taught the niece of an elderly lady, who was of noble family and very rich.  The aunt was always present at the lessons; and, knowing that she was very devout, I rejected all songs that were of an amorous tendency, and would only practise such as were unimpeachable.  In my demeanour I was always sedate and respectful—­full of humility and self-accusation.  When I received my money from the old lady, I used to thank her in the name of our convent, for whose use it was to be appropriated, and call her donation a charity, for which Heaven would reward her.  Her confessor died, and the old lady chose me to supply his place.  This was what I was anxious to obtain, and I redoubled my zeal, my humility, and my flattery.

It was not that I had originally any design upon the affections of the niece, although she was a very pretty girl, but upon the old lady’s purse, for I knew that she could not last for many years.  On the contrary, I was anxious, if possible, to have the niece removed, as it was supposed that she would inherit the old lady’s doubloons; but this required time and opportunity, and, in the mean while, I assiduously cultivated the old lady’s good graces.  She used to confess once a week; and I often observed that she acknowledged as a sin, thinking too much of one who had led her from her duty in former days, and for whom she still felt too much worldly passion.  One evening when the clock had struck ten, we had laid down the cards, which we occasionally played, it being the day and her usual hour for confessing.  Again she repeated the same offence, and I then delicately hinted, that she might be more at ease if she were to confide to me the circumstances connected with her compunctions.  She hesitated; but on my pointing out to her that there ought to be no reservation, and that the acknowledgment of the compunction arising from a sin was not that of the sin itself, she acquiesced.  Her confession referred to her early days, when, attached to a young cavalier, against the wishes of her parents, under a solemn promise of marriage, she had consented to receive him into her chamber.  The intercourse continued for some time, when it was discovered.  Her lover had been waylaid and murdered by her relations, and she had been thrown into a convent.  There she had been confined, and the child removed as soon as it was born:  she had resisted all the force and threats employed to induce her to take the veil; and at the death of her father had been released and came into possession of her property, of which they could not deprive her:  that she made every endeavour to find out to where her child had been removed, and at last discovered that it had been sent to the Foundling Asylum; but this information was not obtained until some years afterwards, and all the children sent there at the period had been dispersed.  Never having married, her thoughts would revert to the scenes which had taken place with her adored Felix, although years had rolled away, and she felt that she was wrong to dwell upon what in itself had been so criminal.