“Such a lover as he is ought not to mind rain.”
“But I should mind it, very much. But, uncle, I want to speak to you, very seriously. I have been making up my mind about something.”
“There’s nothing wrong; is there, my dear?”
“No; there’s nothing very wrong. It is not exactly about anything being wrong. I hardly know how to tell you what it is.”
And then she paused, and he could see by the light of the candle in his hand that she blushed.
“Hadn’t you better speak to your aunt?” said Mr. Granger.
“That’s what I meant to do when I got up,” said Nora; “but as I have met you, if you don’t mind—”
He assured her that he did not mind, and putting his hand upon her shoulder caressingly, promised her any assistance in his power.
“I’m not afraid that you will ask anything I ought not to do for you.”
Then she revealed to him her scheme, turning her face away from him as she spoke. “It will be so horrid,” she said, “to have a great box of finery coming home when you are all giving up everything for the poor people. And if you don’t think it would be wrong—”
“It can’t be wrong,” said her uncle. “It may be a question whether it would be wise.”
“I mean wrong to him. If it was to be any other clergyman, I should be ashamed of it. But as you are to marry us—”
“I don’t think you need mind about the clergyman.”
“And of course I should tell the Foster girls.”
“The Foster girls?”
“Yes; they are to be my bridesmaids, and I am nearly sure they have not bought anything new yet. Of course they would think it all very dowdy, but I don’t care a bit about that. I should just tell them that we had all made up our minds that we couldn’t afford wedding-clothes. That would be true; wouldn’t it?”
“But the question is about that wild American?”
“He isn’t a wild American.”
“Well, then, about that tamed American. What will he say?”
“He said I might come in an old cloak.”
“You have told him, then?”
“But I am afraid he thought I was only joking. But uncle, if you’ll help me, I think I can bring him round.”
“I dare say you can—to anything, just at present.”
“I didn’t at all mean that. Indeed, I’m sure I couldn’t bring him round to putting off the marriage.”
“No, no, no; not to that; to anything else.”
“I know you are laughing at me, but I don’t much mind being laughed at. I should save very nearly fifteen pounds, if not quite. Think of that!”
“And you’d give it all to the soup kitchen?”
“I’d give it all to you for the distress.”
Then her uncle spoke to her somewhat gravely.
“You’re a good girl, Nora—a dear good girl. I think I understand your thoughts on this matter, and I love you for them. But I doubt whether there be any necessity for you to make this sacrifice. A marriage should be a gala festival according to the means of the people married, and the bridegroom has a right to expect that his bride shall come to him fairly arrayed, and bright with wedding trappings. I think we can do, my pet, without robbing you of your little braveries.”
“Oh, as for that, of course you can do without me.”
There was a little soreness in her tone; not because she was feeling herself to be misunderstood, but because she knew that she could not explain herself further. She could not tell her uncle that the poor among the Jews might have been relieved without the contribution of those two mites, but that the widow would have lost all had she not so contributed. She had hardly arranged her thoughts as to the double blessing of charity, and certainly could not express them with reference to her own case; but she felt the need of giving in this time of trouble something that she herself valued. She was right when she had said that it was hard to be a widow. How many among us, when we give, give from off our own backs, and from out of our own mouths? Who can say that he has sacrificed a want of his own; that he has abandoned a comfort; that he has worn a threadbare coat, when coats with their gloss on have been his customary wear; that he has fared roughly on cold scraps, whereas a well-spread board has been his usual daily practice? He who has done so has thrown in his two mites, and for him will charity produce her double blessing.
Nora thought that it was not well in her uncle to tell her that he could do without her wedding clothes. Of course he could do without them. But she soon threw those words behind her, and went back upon the words which had preceded them. “The bridegroom has a right to expect that the bride shall come to him fairly arrayed.” After all, that must depend upon circumstances. Suppose the bride had no means of arraying herself fairly without getting into debt; what would the bridegroom expect in that case?
“If he’ll consent, you will?” she said, as she prepared to leave her uncle.
“You’ll drive him to offer to pay for the thing himself.”
“I dare say he will, and then he’ll drive me to refuse. You may be quite sure of this, uncle, that whatever clothes I do wear, he will never see the bill of them;” and then that conference was ended.
“I’ve made that calculation again,” said Bob at breakfast, “and I feel convinced that if an act of parliament could be passed restricting the consumption of food in Christmas week—the entire week, mind—to that of ordinary weeks, we should get two millions of money, and that those two millions would tide us over till the Indian cotton comes in. Of course I mean by food, butchers’ meat, groceries, spirits, and wines. Only think, that by one measure, which would
