she imagined would see the secret lurking in her
bosom. Her mother observed with concern her downcast look, and want of
cheerfulness. And asking her what was the matter, she answered, her
walk had fatigued her, and she begged early to retire to rest. Her
kind mother consented; but little rest had the poor princess that whole
night, for the pain of having her mind touched with guilt, and the fear
she was under of losing her dear companion, kept her thoughts in one
continued tumult and confusion. The fairy's gift now became her curse;
for the power of seeing what was right, as she had acted contrary to her
knowledge, only tormented her.

She hastened the next morning to meet Rozella, and told her all that had
passed in her own mind the preceding night; declaring that she would not
pass such another for the whole world; but yet would not dispense with
her promise to her, without her consent; and therefore came to ask her
leave to acquaint her good mother with all that had passed: 'For (said
she) my dear Rozella, we must, if we would be happy, do always what is
right, and trust for the consequences.' Here Rozella drew her features
into the most contemptuous sneer imaginable, and said, 'Pray what are
all these mighty pains you have suffered? Are they not owing only to
your want of sense enough to know, that you can do your mother no harm,
by concealing from her this, or anything else that will vex her? and,
my dear girl (continued she) when you have once entered into this way of
thinking, and have put this blind duty out of your head, you will spend
no more such restless nights, which you must see was entirely owing to
your own imaginations.'

This startled the princess to such a degree, that she was breaking from
her, but, putting on a more tender air, Rozella cried, 'And can
you then, my dear Hebe, determine to give me up for such a trifling
consideration?' Then raising her voice again, in a haughty manner, she
said, 'I ought to despise and laugh at you for your folly, or at best
pity your ignorance, rather than offer a sincere friendship to one so
undeserving.'

The princess, having once swerved from her duty, was now in the power of
every passion that should attack her.

Pride and indignation, at the thought of being despised, bore more sway
with her, than either her duty or affection to her fond mother; and she
was now determined, she said, to think for herself, and make use of her
own understanding, which she was c