At the same hour, in the humble cottage at the entrance of that rich domain, your poor friend, George Harrison (or Philip Mornington, which is my real name) was launched upon the stormy ocean of life." At this part of Harrison's narrative I fell back upon my pillow and groaned heavily.
George flew to my assistance, raising me in his arms and sprinkling my face with water.
"Are you ill, dear Geoffrey ?" "Not ill, George, but grieved: sick at heart, that you should be grandson to that dreadful old hag." "We cannot choose our parentage," said George, sorrowfully.

"The station in which we are born, constitutes fate in this world; it is the only thing pertaining to man over which his will has no control.

We can destroy our own lives, but our birth is entirely in the hands of Providence.

Could I have ordered it otherwise, I certainly should have chosen a different mother." He smiled mournfully, and bidding me to lie down and keep quiet, resumed his tale.
"The delicate state of Lady Moncton's health precluding her from nursing her child, my mother was chosen as substitute, and the weakly infant was entrusted to her care.

The noble mother was delighted with the attention which Rachel bestowed upon the child, and loaded her with presents.