seized the hand of the girl, who, in her turn, was surprised by
his behaviour, and drawing her forward, said in an eager and
faultering tone, Who is she? whence does she come? what is her
name?

The answers that were given only increased the confusion of
his thoughts. He was successively told, that she was the
daughter of one whose name was Louisa Conway, who arrived among
us at such a time, who sedulously concealed her parentage, and
the motives of her flight, whose incurable griefs had finally
destroyed her, and who had left this child under the protection
of her friends. Having heard the tale, he melted into tears,
eagerly clasped the young lady in his arms, and called himself
her father. When the tumults excited in his breast by this
unlooked-for meeting were somewhat subsided, he gratified our
curiosity by relating the following incidents.

"Miss Conway was the only daughter of a banker in London, who
discharged towards her every duty of an affectionate father. He
had chanced to fall into her company, had been subdued by her
attractions, had tendered her his hand, and been joyfully
accepted both by parent and child. His wife had given him every
proof of the fondest attachment. Her father, who possessed
immense wealth, treated him with distinguished respect,
liberally supplied his wants, and had made one condition of his
consent to their union, a resolution to take up their abode with
him.

"They had passed three years of conjugal felicity, which had
been augmented by the birth of this child; when his professional