John Smith, nursed as he was by Morag, soon recovered. After he was quite restored to health, he only waited until he could scrape a little money together to enable him to furnish a cottage, ere he should make her his wife. The penetration of the Pensassenach soon enabled her to discover how matters stood between them, and she found means to make all smooth for them in the manner which was most flattering to John, that is, by presenting him with a very handsome purse of money, as a reward for the eminent services he had rendered her. John was so proud of the purse that he did not know whether most to value it or the gold pieces it contained, and much as he loved Morag, and eager as he was for their union, he had some doubt whether he could ever bring himself to part, even with one of those pretty pieces which he so respected for the Pensassenach's sake. And, alas, as it so happened, he was never called upon to spend them as it was intended they should have been spent. Fain would I have made my story end happily, gentlemen; but, as I am narrating a piece of actual history, I must be verawcious. John had made all preparation for their marriage, when, alas, Morag was seized with some acute complaint about the region of the heart and lungs, which all the medical attendants that the Pensassenach could command could not fathom or relieve. John watched her with the tenderest and most unremitting solicitude. But it pleased God that his unwearied care of her, should not be blessed with the same happy result, which hers had been with regard to him, for after a long and lingering illness, poor Morag died on the very day she should have been his bride. The probability was, that the unheard of fatigue of body, and agitation of mind, which she underwent during her heroic expedition in search of her lover, had produced some fatal organic change within her.