"O no, not that—but the clothing and the cow were purchased with his money."
"I understand it perfectly," said Montague. "I have seen my cousin's neck, encircled by a pearl-necklace; but Miss Claremont preferred relieving the sufferings of a poor Irish family, to adorning her own person."
"But Mr. Montague!" said Margarette.
"But Miss Claremont!" said Montague, laughing.
"Very well," said Margarette, in great perplexity what to say,—"you must think as you will."
"I will think as I must," said Montague,—"and bid you good morning."
A few weeks after the above conversation took place, Mr. Claremont, on returning from a morning's ride, was thrown from his horse, a few rods from his own door, and was brought in, apparently lifeless. At the appalling spectacle, both his nieces obeyed the impulse of nature, and turned to fly. But Margarette had scarcely begun her retreat, ere she returned. "I must face it," thought she, "however dreadful! kind heaven sustain me!" Without much apparent agitation, she gave directions, and assisted in conveying her uncle to his room; and before medical aid could arrive, employed herself in examining his limbs, to ascertain whether they were broken, and then in chafing his hands and head, to produce, if possible, some signs of life. All beside herself, seemed nearly delirious from fright.
The news of the accident flew like wild-fire, and in twenty minutes Montague was at the house. He found Alice in the parlor, walking the floor, and wringing her hands, in an agony of distress, constantly exclaiming—"my dear uncle!"—"my poor, dear uncle." In answer to Montague's hasty inquiries, she exclaimed—
"O, he is dead!—my dear, dear uncle!—and what will become of his own poor Alice?—doubly—doubly an orphan?"