"Not yet, George, not yet. Wait till I begin to mend. I should be but a useless wife to you at present. I have given up the thought of making a pretty bride," she continued in a tone almost of bitterness; "but I must be able to do for you, and to keep your house tidy: so there's no use in talking about being asked in church, George." George desisted, for her manner was so resolved he felt it impossible to oppose her. CHAPTER III. E l'aspettar del male è mal peggiore Forse, che non parrebbe il mal presente. Tasso. Susan was a good-hearted girl, but she had a high spirit. She had a generous temper, but it was not always under control. Of all qualities a sweet temper is perhaps the one least cultivated in the lower ranks of life. The peculiar disposition is not watched; care is not taken to distinguish between the passionate child, the sulky, the obstinate, and the timid. The children of the poor are allowed a latitude of speech unknown among the higher orders, and they are free from the salutary restraint imposed by what is termed "company." When in the enjoyment of full health and strength, the ungoverned temper of the poor is one of their most striking faults, while their resignation under affliction, whether mental or bodily, is the point of all others in which the rich might with advantage study to imitate them. Susan's spirit was not yet tamed by affliction. There were moments when she could not bear, without impatience, the pain her eyes occasioned her, and the weight of care which oppressed her mind. It was towards George that she most frequently evinced any signs of captiousness; and yet it was on his account that she most poignantly felt her present affliction, and her future prospects. She was more unhappy than she quite ventured to own to herself, or to him; more apprehensive of what might be the result. She feared he would not always continue to be as kind as he now was. She could not expect it; and she sometimes received his simple attentions as if she was more surprised, than touched by them. One evening he brought her some flowers from his father's garden. "Well! I shall be able to smell," she said, "even when I shall not be able to see; but perhaps, George, you will not go on bringing me flowers then! What beautiful double-stocks these are! we can't get any to grow like these in our little bit of garden." "I raised them for father myself, Susan; so I don't see why we should not have some, just as fine, and finer, when we have a garden of our own!" And poor George looked pleased at her praise of his pet flower. "I dare say you will never get any to come so thick and so double another time,--even if you should try," answered Susan despondingly; for she thought, "when could she hope to have a home of her own?" "And do you think I shall not try, Susan, to make my wife's home as nice as father's?" "Maybe you will,--and I may not be there to see it."