About two years ago,
Michael's father died. My mother survived him only five months, and
departed, leaving me in charge of her stepson. We had no friends but
each other. Our parents, since their union, had been isolated beings,
for this reason--his father was a Jew--my mother a Christian--therefore
the friends and relatives on either side were everlastingly offended by
their marriage. Therefore we had no one but each other. The little
property that was left was sold, and the proceeds enabled Michael to
purchase a commission in the regiment about to sail for America, and
also to place me at a good boarding school, where I remained until his
return, and the catastrophe that followed it.
"Lady, all passed so suddenly, that I knew no word of his return, much
less of his trial or execution, until I received a visit from the
chaplain who had attended his last moments, and who brought me his
farewell letter, and his last informal will, in which the poor fellow
consigned me to the care of his wife, soon to be a widow, and enjoined
me to leave school and seek her at once, and inclosed a check for the
little balance he had in bank. I went immediately, found her insensible
through grief, as I said--and, lady, I told you the rest.
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