Montague said no more, as he found that the sympathetic cord in his cousin's heart was not touched. He just cast his eyes on Margarette, who was sitting, busily at work, in a recess at the opposite end of the room, to see if her compassion was awakened: but she was diligently plying her needle,--and but for the motion of her hand, he thought she looked exceedingly as if she were made of stone! "Heartless! unfeeling!" he thought, and almost murmured, as he arose and precipitately took leave. The day next but one, Montague was again at Mr. Claremont's. Neither of the young ladies mentioned the Delantys; for Alice was wholly engrossed in a new novel,--and Montague concluded that Margarette had not even heard that there were any such people. But his own heart was too full of them, not to speak of their situation. "Cousin Alice," said he, "you are so compassionate that I wonder you do not ask after the welfare of the poor Irish family." "O, poor creatures! how are they? I have thought of them several times since you were here, and wished they had stayed in their own country, among their own friends, that they might be properly looked after. Have you seen them since you were here last, cousin Hubert?" "Yes--yesterday, and again this morning." "And how are they?" "The children are somewhat better, but the mother still very ill. The family, however, together, are more comfortable than when I first saw them. Some young lady has kindly visited them, and not only in some measure relieved their pressing necessities, but given judicious and salutary advice to the daughter about the management of their affairs. When they described her to me, I felt a hope that it was you, cousin Alice." "O no, Hubert, I could not go--such a scene of suffering would have shaken me all to pieces. Really I do not think I could bear it! But how did they describe the young lady?" "As neither tall nor short, with a beautiful face, and a '_raal Irish heart_'--kind as an angel!" said Hubert,--and he glanced his eyes toward Margarette, to ascertain if there were any look of consciousness in the expression of her face; but she was looking over the morning paper, and at that moment exclaimed-- "Dunlap and Miss Reed are married, Alice." "How could I, even for a moment, suspect it might be her?" thought Montague. "She cares no more for them than if they were reptiles!" "Who could it be, cousin Hubert?" asked Alice. "Did you not ask them if they knew her name?" "I did--but they knew nothing of her but her kindness, of which they could not say enough. She even made the bed, with her own hands, and put fresh linen upon it, which she brought with her for the purpose, for the sick mother, who told me of it with tears of gratitude in her eyes."