Volume II. The Wife CHAPTER 1.
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James Hartley had been married three weeks — three of the happiest weeks he had ever spent; but happier far was his lovely young bride. A form of affection, as every woman is, she could love more deeply, and feel a more intense delight in loving. The more closely she looked into her husband's mind, and the clearer she saw and understood the moral qualities by which it was adorned — the purer and more elevated was her love.
They sat alone, side by side, as the day was drawing to a close, the hand of the wife resting, confidingly, in that of her husband. They were yet in the family of the bride's father, who would not hear to their going away.
"It is plenty of time, these three or four months to come, for Anna to take upon herself the cares of domestic life," he would say, whenever any allusion was made by either his daughter or her husband to their intention of going to housekeeping for themselves.
But both James Hartley and his bride thought differently, as a conversation that passed between them some few days previously, will show.
"We have been married now for nearly a month, Anna," remarked Hartley; "and it is full time that we began our preparations for housekeeping."
"A thing, you know, that father will not consent to our doing."
"So it seems. But, is it right for us to remain here longer than is necessary to make proper arrangements for getting into our own house."
"Is there any reason why we should hurry these arrangements?" returned Anna.
"None in the least. We should make them deliberately and wisely."
"And may they not be made as well three months hence as now?"
"You shall answer that question yourself," replied Hartley, smiling. "We are now husband and wife."
A light, like the flitting of a sun-ray over the face of Anna, was the response to this affirmation.
"As such," continued the husband, "we occupy a new, peculiar, and distinct position in society. The sphere of our influence is a different one from what it was. All who approach us are affected differently from what they formerly were. Can you understand why this is so?"
"Clearly. All new relations make a corresponding impression on society. The influence of the maiden is one thing — and the influence of the wife another."
"And they act in different spheres."
"Yes. One is on the circumference of the family circle, so to speak, the other in the center."
"The exact truth. Now, what position does a wife occupy in a family circle of which she is not the center? An orderly one?"
Anna shook her head.
"If not an orderly one, then not the most useful one — not the true one."
"But I, as a wife, would make both center and circumference in the family circle, now. Or, rather, you and I would."
"Even admitting this, which is not exactly clear, we would both be in truer order than when on the circumference and not in the center at the same time. You will admit that."
"I cannot help doing so."
"And if in truer order, in a better way of acting usefully in the world."
"Yes."
"Then, as husband and wife, can we too soon take our true social position? I think not. Life's duties are not so few, that any of them can safely be neglected for a single day. It is very pleasant to live here, without a thought or care about external things. But I am not at all sure that it is good for either of us."
"Nor am I, now that I fully comprehend your views, which I see to be correct in every particular. Father and mother will regret our leaving them, I know. But you are now my husband, and I am ready, when I see truth in your rational mind, to stand up by your side in obedience to the truth, even though all the world should be offended."
"Which, of course, they will not be, at our doing so sensible a thing as going to housekeeping in a month or two after our marriage."
Anna smiled sweetly into her husband's face, as he replied thus playfully to her earnestly expressed sentiment.
From that time, their resolution was taken.
On the occasion referred to in the opening of this chapter, the subject of conversation was their intention of making early preparations for getting into their own house. On the day previous, they had conversed seriously with Anna's father and mother, who, much against their will, could not help yielding a rational consent to the reasons offered by their children for the resolution to take their true place in society.
"There is now a very good house on Walnut Street to rent, which, I think, will just suit us," remarked Hartley, while they sat, hand in hand, as we have seen. "I looked through it today, and find that it has every convenience that could be desired. It is just below street."
"One of those large, handsome houses?"
"Yes. You remember them?"
"Very well. What is the rent?"
"Seven hundred dollars per year."
Anna made no reply, but sat with her eyes cast thoughtfully to the floor. She not only had no wish to go into so large and expensive a house, but felt an instant reluctance at the thought of doing so. She had no certain knowledge in regard to her husband's financial circumstances, but she did not believe that he was rich. She had been living with her father in a plain and comfortable style, and did not think of anything greatly superior.
Hartley looked earnestly into the face of his young wife, and sought to read its expression.
"How do you like the house I mention?" he at length said.
Here came a trial for Anna, the trial of not agreeing with her husband. Her wish was to yield, in all things, her will to his; but, unless her judgment approved — she could not so yield with a clear conscience. In this matter, her judgment did not approve, and she felt an acute pain at the thought of objecting to his proposal. With an effort, and a look that asked forgiveness for opposition, she said —
"It is a very handsome house. But — "
And she hesitated, while a warm glow suffused her face.
"But what, dear?" The kindness with which this was spoken, re-assured Anna, who felt an inward dread of the effects of opposition. The idea that she should ever be called upon to differ from her husband in anything requiring concert of action, had, until now, never crossed her mind.
"Don't you think the rent too high?" she said, in a suggestive tone.
"Not for the house. It is a very excellent one, and there is not a more desirable situation, I think, in the city."
"But can we effort it, I mean?"
Hartley looked again earnestly into the face of his wife — so earnestly that her eyes dropped beneath his fixed gaze. Another silence followed; to Anna a troubled one.
"I don't know but that you are right," the husband said, with a frank smile. "Seven hundred dollars is rather a heavy rent for two young people like us to pay."
"But it is not only the rent, dear," returned Anna, brightening up. "A large and elegant house like that, must be furnished in a liberal and corresponding style. And then there would have to be a free expenditure of money to maintain such an establishment. For my part, I do not desire to come before the world as a young wife, in so imposing a manner."
Hartley returned, to this, an approving pressure of the hand he still held.
"Still," resumed Anna," if your circumstances justify such a style of living, and you desire it, I, as your wife, will not object for an instant."
This remark helped to set Hartley right. The firm in which he was partner, was doing a heavy business, and there was a prospect of making large profits. If this expectation should be realized, his division would be a handsome one. But if not? — That "if" had never before presented itself so distinctly to his mind as at this moment. In thinking about commencing housekeeping, he had felt ambitious to raise Anna to as elevated a condition as possible. To place her along side of the "best and proudest." All this was more fromimpulse and feeling, than reason. His pride, not his common sense was influencing him. At the first blush, although he did not let it be seen, he felt disappointed at the lack of cordial approval manifested by Anna, for whose sake, more than for his own, he had fixed upon the handsome house in Walnut Street. But the view she took of the subject, so soon as it came directly in front of the eye of his mind, he saw to be the true one.
"That may be a question," he said, in reply to her last remark, speaking thoughtfully. "It is true, that everything looks bright ahead; but it is also true, that clouds often come suddenly over the brightest skies. It was for your sake that I wished to rent that house. I felt a pride in the thought of making you its mistress."
"I shall be much happier, as the mistress of a less imposing residence. Let us begin the world without ostentation. As we are about to commence housekeeping from a sense of right, let us not consult appearances, but be governed throughout by the right ends which prompted our first decision. For my part, a house at half, or even less than half the rent of the one in Walnut Street, will meet all my expectations. To manage its internal arrangements will cost me less care and labor, and you less money. And it is needless to be too free with either, in the beginning of life."
"Well and wisely said, Anna. I fully agree with you. I yielded to a weakness when I set my heart upon the house I have mentioned. I will look further and see if I cannot find as many comforts as that presented, in a more compact, and less costly form."
"I am sure you will. And I am sure we will be happier than if we had made our debut in a much more imposing way."
And thus the matter was settled. The reader cannot but say, wisely, when he reflects, that James Hartley was without capital himself, and only a junior partner in a mercantile house, which, although it was doing a heavy business, might not at the end of the year, from causes against which ordinary foresight could not guard, divide anything more than very moderate profits. A woman with different views and feelings, would never have thought of objecting to become the mistress of an establishment like the one offered by Hartley; but Anna had no base pride or love of ostentation to gratify. She looked only to what was right — or, at least, ever sought to do so.
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