FullReads

“True. And this being so, you certainly should love him. Now, can you tell me why you love him?”

“Why, aunt!”

“My question seems, no doubt, a strange one, Fanny. Yet, strange as it may appear to you, it is far from being lightly made. Calm your mind into reflection, and ask yourself, firmly and seriously, why you love Edward Allen. True love ever has an appreciating regard for moral excellence–and knowledge must precede appreciation. What do you know of the moral wisdom of this young man, into whose hands you are about placing the destinies of your being for time–it may be for eternity? Again let me put the question–Why do you love Edward Allen?”

Fanny looked bewildered. No searching interrogations like these had been addressed to her, even by her parents; and their effect was to throw her whole mind into painful confusion.

“I love him for his excellent qualities, and because he loves me,” she at length said, yet with a kind of uncertain manner, as if the reply did not spring from a clear mental perception.

“What do you mean by excellent qualities?” further inquired Mrs. Waring.

Tears came into Fanny’s sweet blue eyes, as she answered–

“A young girl like me, dear Aunt Mary, cannot penetrate very deeply into a man’s character. We have neither the opportunity nor the experience upon which, coldly, to base an accurate judgment. The heart is our guide. In my own case its instincts, I am sure, have not betrayed me into a false estimate of my lover. I know him to be good and noble; and I am sure his tender regard for the maiden he has asked to become his bride, will ever lead him to seek her happiness, as she will seek his. Do not doubt him, aunt.”

Yet, Mrs. Waring could not help doubting him. The young man had not impressed her favourably. No word had fallen from his lips during the evening unmarked by her–nor had a single act escaped observation. In vain had she looked, in his declarations of sentiments, for high moral purposes–for something elevated and manly in tone. In their place she found only exceeding worldliness, or the flippant commonplace.

“No basis there, I fear, on which to build,” said Mrs. Waring, thoughtfully, after parting with her niece for the night. “Dear, loving, confiding child! The heart of a maiden is not always her best guide. Like the conscience, it needs to be instructed; must be furnished with tests of quality.”

On the day following, Mrs. Waring went out alone. Without, seeming to have any purpose in her mind, she had asked the number of Mr. Allen’s store, whither she went with the design of making a few purchases. As she had hoped it would be, the young man did not recognise her as the aunt of his betrothed. Among the articles, she wished to obtain was a silk dress. Several pieces of goods were shown to her, one of which suited exactly, both in colour and quality.

“What is the price of this?” she asked.

The answer was not prompt. First, the ticket-mark was consulted; then came a thoughtful pause; and then the young storekeeper said–

“I cannot afford to sell you this piece of goods for less than a dollar thirteen.”

“A dollar thirty, did you say?” asked Mrs. Waring, examining the silk more closely.

“Ye–yes, ma’am,” quickly replied Allen. “A dollar thirty. And it’s a bargain at that, I do assure you.”

Mrs. Waring raised her eyes and looked steadily for a moment or two into the young man’s face.

“A dollar and thirty cents,” she repeated.

“Yes, ma’am. A dollar thirty,” was the now assured answer. “How many yards shall I measure off for you?”

“I want about twelve yards.”

“There isn’t a cheaper piece of goods in market,” said the young man, as he put his scissors into the silk–“not a cheaper piece, I do assure you. I had a large stock of these silks at the opening of the season, and sold two-thirds of them at a dollar and a half. But, as they are nearly closed out, I am selling the remainder at a trifle above cost. Can I show you any thing else, ma’am?”