chemise my mother made for me with her own hands when we weregoing to be married. I will take it to the pawnbroker to-morrow."
"I was never in a pawnshop, Annie. I don't think I should know how toset about it."
"_You!_" cried Annie, with a touch of scorn. "Do you think I wouldtrust a man with it? No; that's a woman's work. Why, you would let thefellow offer you half it was worth--and you would take it too. I shallshow it to Mrs. Whitmore: _she_ will know what I ought to get forit. She's had to do the thing herself--too often, poor thing!"
"It would be like tearing my heart out."
"What! to part with my pretty chemise. Hector, dear, you must not befoolish! What does it matter, so long as we are not cheating anybody?The pawnshop is a most honorable and useful institution. No one is theworse for it, and many a one the better. Even the tradespeople will be atrifle the better. I shall be quite proud to know that I have apawn-ticket in my pocket to fall back upon. Oh, there's that old silkdress your mother sent me--I do believe that would bring more. It is ingood condition, and looks quite respectable. If Eve had got into ascrape like ours, she would have been helpless, poor thing, not havinganything _to put away_--that is the right word, I believe. There isreally nothing disgraceful about it. Come now, dear, and eat youreggs--I'm afraid you must do without butter. I always preferred a pieceof dry bread with an egg--you get the true taste of the egg so muchbetter. One day or another we must part with everything. It is sure tocome. Sooner or later, what does that matter? 'The readiness is all,' asHamlet says. Death, or the pawnshop, signifies nothing. 'Since no manhas aught of what he leaves, what is it to leave betimes?' We do butforestall the grave for one brief hour with the pawnshop."
"You deserve to have married Epictetus, Annie, you brave woman, insteadof Xantippe!"
"I prefer you, Hector."
"But what might you have said if he had asked you, and you had heard mebemoaning the pawnshop?"
"Ah, then, indeed! But, in the meantime, we will go to bed and waitthere for to-morrow. Is it not a lovely thing to know that God isthinking about you? He will bring us to _our desired haven,_Hector, dearest!"
So in their sadness they laid them down. Annie opened her arms and tookHector to her bosom. There he sighed himself to sleep; and God put Hisarms about them both, and kept them asleep until the morning.
And in this love, more than in bed, I rest.
Annie was the first to spring up and begin to dress herself, ponderingin her mind as she did so whether to go first to the pawnbroker's or tothe baker, to ask him to recommend her as a charwoman. She would tellhim just the truth--that she must in future work for her daily bread.Then Hector rose and dressed himself.
"Oh, Annie!" he said, as he did so, "is it gone, that awful misery oflast night in the omnibus? It seemed, as I jolted along, as if God hadforgotten one of the creatures he had made, and that one was me; or,worse, that he thought of me, and would not move to help me! And why doI feel now as if He had help for me somewhere near waiting for me? Ithink I will go and see a man who lives somewhere close by, and find outif he is the same I used to know at St. Andrews; if he be the same, hemay know of something I could try for."
"Do," replied Annie. "I will go with you, and on the way call at thegrocer's--I think he will be the best to ask if he knows of any familythat wants a charwoman or could give me any sort of work. There's morethan one kind of thing I could turn my hand to--needle-work, forinstance. I could make a child's frock as well, I believe, as asecond-rate dressmaker. Can you tell me who was the first tailor,Hector? It was God himself. He made coats of skins for Adam and hiswife."
"Quite right, dear. You may well try your hand--as I know you have donemany a time already. And, if I can get hold of ever so young a pupil, Ishall be glad even to teach him his letters. We must try anything andeverything. We are long past being fastidious, I hope."
He turned and went on with his toilet.
"Oh, Hector," said Annie suddenly, and walked to the mantelpiece, "I amso sorry! Here is a letter that came for you yesterday. I did not careto open it, though you have often told me to open any letters I pleased.The fact is, I forgot all about it; I believe, because I was so unhappyat your going away without breakfast. Or perhaps it was that I wasfrightened at its black border. I really can't tell now why I did notopen it."
With little interest and less hope, Hector took theletter,--black-bordered and black-sealed,--opened it, and glancedcarelessly at the signature, while Annie stood looking at him, in thehope merely that he would find in it no fresh trouble--some forgottenbill perhaps!
She saw his face change, and his eyes grow fixed. A moment more and theletter dropped in the fender. He stood an instant, then fell on hisknees, and threw up his hands.
"What is it, darling?" she cried, beginning to tremble.
"Only five hundred pounds!" he answered, and burst into an hystericallaugh.
"Impossible!" cried Annie.
"Who _can_ have played us such a cruel trick?" said Hector feebly.
"It's no trick, Hector!" exclaimed Annie. "There's nobody would have theheart to do it. Let _me_ see the letter."
She almost caught it from his hands as he picked it from the fender, andlooked at the signature.
"Hale & Hale?" she read. "I never heard of them!"
"No, nor anyone else, I dare say," answered Hector.
"Let us see the address at the top," said Annie.
"There it is--Philpot Lane."
"Where is that? I don't believe there is such a place!"
"Oh, yes, there is; I've seen it--somewhere in the City, I believe. Butlet us read the letter. I saw only the figures. I confess I was foolishenough at first to fancy somebody had sent us five hundred pounds!"
"And why not?" cried Annie. "I am sure there's no one more in want ofit."
"That's just why not," answered Hector. "Did you ever know a rich manleave his money to a poor relation? Oh, I hope it does not mean that myfather is gone. He may have left us a trifle. Only he could not have hadso much to leave to anybody. I know he loved you, Annie."
In the meantime Annie had been doing the one sensible thing--reading theletter, and now she stood pondering it.
"I have it, Hector. He always uses good people to do his kindnesses.Don't you remember me telling you about the little old lady in Graham'sshop the time your book came out?"
"Yes, Annie; I wasn't likely to forget that; it was my love for you thatmade me able to write the poem. Ah, but how soon was the twenty pounds Igot for it spent, though I thought it riches then!"
"So it was--and so it is!" cried Annie, half laughing, but cryingoutright. "It's just that same little old lady. She was so delightedwith the book, and with you for writing it, that she put you down atonce in her will for five hundred pounds, believing it would help peopleto trust in God."
"And here was I distrusting so much that I was nearly ready to killmyself. Only I thought it would be such a terrible shock to you, myprecious! It would have been to tell God to his face that I knew hewould not help me. I am sure now that he is never forgetting, though heseems to have forgotten. There was that letter lying in the dark throughall the hours of the long night, while we slept in the weariness ofsorrow and fear, not knowing what the light was bringing us. God isgood!"
"Let us go and see these people and make sure," said Annie. "'Hale andHearty,' do they call themselves? But I'm going with you myself thistime! I'm not going to have such another day as I had yesterday--waitingfor you till the sun was down, and all was dark, you bad man!--andfancying all manner of terrible things! I wonder--I wonder, if--"
"Well, what do you wonder, Annie?"
"Only whether, if now we were to find out it was indeed all a mistake, Ishould yet be able to hope on through all the rest. I doubt it; I doubtit! Oh, Hector, you have taught me everything!"
"More, it seems, than I have myself learned. Your mother had alreadytaught you far more than ever I had to give you!"
"But it is much too early yet, I fear, to call in the City," sai
d Annie."Don't you think we should have time first to find out whether thegentleman we were thinking of inquiring after to-day be your old collegefriend or not? And I will call at the grocer's, and tell him we hope tosettle his bill in a few days. Then you can come to me, and I will go toyou, and we shall meet somewhere between."
They did as Annie propose; and before they met, Hector had found hisfriend, and been heartily received both by him and by his young wife.
When at length they reached Philpot Lane, and were seated in an outerroom waiting for admission, Annie said: "Surely, if rich people knew