"Oh, Miss Moncton!" sobbed the poor girl, "why did you save me—why did you recall me to a life of misery—why did you not let me die, when the agony of death was already over?"
"Dear Alice!" said Margaret, soothingly, "what tempted you to drown yourself?"
"I was driven to desperation by the neglect and cruelty of those whom I love best on earth."
"Do not reproach me, dear Alice," said Margaret, almost choking with emotion. "It is not in my nature to desert those I love. My heart has been with you in all your sorrows, but I dared not disobey my father."
"Oh, Miss Moncton, it was not of you I spoke. I could not expect you to countenance one whom the whole neighbourhood joined to condemn. If others had only treated me half as well, I should not have been reduced to such straits."
"Alice, you must not stay here in this sad state. You will get your death. Lean on my arm. I will take you home."
"Home! I have no home. I dare not go home. She is there! and she will taunt me with this, and drive me mad again."
"Then come to the Hall, Alice; I will talk to you there, and no one shall hear us but your own Margaret."
"God bless you! Miss Moncton, for all your kindness. It would, indeed, be a great relief to tell you all the grief which fills my heart. Yes, I will go with you to-night. The morrow may take care of the things which belong to it. Now, or never. There may be no to-morrow on earth for me."
"Cheer up, poor heart! There may be happiness in store for you yet," said Margaret.