“You are not hurt, I hope,” exclaimed both cousins, hastening to Clementina’s assistance, and raising her; for, in her ball-dress, she was more helpless than ever.
“She is hurt, I fear,” cried Ernest, as he saw red drops trickling from her brow, and falling on her lace dress. “Oh, Charles, do call Mrs. Clayton directly.”
The lady’s maid was instantly summoned, and the hurts of the trembling, sobbing, almost hysterical Clementina examined. She had received rather a deep cut on the forehead, and a little contusion under the eye. There was nothing to alarm, but much to disfigure. Charles proposed sending at once for the doctor, but this the young lady would not hear of: she had some vague, terrible idea, of wounds being sewn up, and much preferred the mild surgery of Mrs. Clayton.
In the midst of the confusion occasioned by the accident, two lamps were seen to stop before the door, and the thundering double rap which succeeded announced the return of Mrs. Hope.
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The servant who came to say that his mistress was waiting, laid at the same time a box on the table: it contained the much-wished-for pearls.
“I had better go down and tell what has happened,” said Charles, quitting the drawing-room. In two or three minutes he returned with Mrs. Hope.
“My darling child! my sweet Clemmy! what a sad business this is! How could it have happened? Why, you look as though you had been to the wars! you will never be able to go to the ball.”
Clementina leaned her head on the sofa, and sobbed piteously.
“Dear me! I hope, Clayton, that you have put on the plaster carefully. I only dread her being marked for life,” said the mother.
The poor girl’s grief became more violent.
“You must compose yourself, my dear; you will make yourself ill. A fall is a great shock to the nerves.”
Ernest had left the room as the lady entered, and now silently offered to his cousin’s trembling hand a glass of sal volatile and water.
“You had better go to bed at once,” said Mrs. Hope. “’Tis such a pity; all ready dressed for the ball! I must go, for I could not disappoint Lady Fitzwigram, and I believe that the Duchess is to be there. Clayton will take excellent care of you, I am sure. Come, Ernest and Charles, I see that you are ready.”
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“And I am to be left all alone, and on this night, just when I expected to be so happy!” sobbed Clementina.
“I should like to stay with her, I should indeed,” said Ernest to his aunt; “I hope that you will not object to my doing so.”
“Why, what will Lady Fitzwigram say?”
“She will not care; she has never seen me but once. You will be so kind as to make my excuses.”
“Well, it is very considerate of you, certainly. I don’t know what to say,” replied Mrs. Hope, very well pleased to be able to tell a fashionable circle that Lord Fontonore had stayed behind because her daughter could not come. So the matter was soon decided; the carriage moved off slowly with Mrs. Hope and Charles, and Ernest and his weeping cousin were left behind, to spend the rest of the evening quietly together.
Never before had Clementina found her cousin half so agreeable as now. He was so gentle, so considerate, so ready to sympathize with her, that she began suddenly quite to change her opinion of him, and think the young peer a very delightful companion. She had hitherto been rather provoked at his indifference towards her; now, as she had little idea of the nature of Christian courtesy, she attributed all his kindness to admiration. She thought that the white bandage across her brow might have an “interesting” effect; and Ernest’s gentle consideration would have lost half its power to please,
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 had Clementina been aware that it would have been equally shown to one in a humbler class of life of the age of forty instead of fourteen.
As she reclined on the sofa, and Ernest sat beside her, it was a great comfort to her to be able to pour out her complaints to him. “There never was anything so unfortunate,” said she; “you can’t imagine what it is to have such a disappointment.”
 
CLEMENTINA AND ERNEST.
“I think that I can, Clementina, for I was once most bitterly disappointed myself.”
“Oh, but you are such a sober creature, such a philosopher. I daresay that you scarcely gave it a thought.”
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“On the contrary, I felt myself almost overwhelmed. I could hardly speak, I could hardly keep from tears.”
“You!” exclaimed Clementina in surprise.
“I thought,” continued Ernest, “that there was no one on earth so unhappy as I—that all happiness in this world was gone.”
“What could have made you so wretched?” cried the girl, her curiosity so much roused that her own troubles were for the moment forgotten.
“I had lost what I greatly desired.”
“And what coul............