ly wished to see her, would he not
come over to the Kleinseite? There could be no reason why he should not
visit the girl he intended to marry, and whom he was longing to see. Of
course he had business which must occupy his time. He could not give up
every moment to thoughts of love, as she could do. She told herself all
this, and once more endeavoured to be comforted.

And then she unpacked the basket. There were fresh eggs, and a quantity
of jelly, and some soup in a jug ready to be made hot, and such
delicacies as invalids will eat when their appetites will serve for
nothing else. And Nina, as she took these things out, thought only of
her father. She took them as coming for him altogether, without any
reference to her own use. But at the bottom of the basket there were
stockings, and a handkerchief or two, and a petticoat, and a pair of
shoes. Should she throw them out among the ashes behind the kitchen, or
should she press them to her bosom as treasures to be loved as long as
a single thread of them might hang together? She had taken such alms
before--from her aunt Sophie--taking them in bitterness of spirit, and
wearing them as though they were made of sackcloth, very sore to the
skin. The acceptance of such things, even from her aunt, had been gall
to her; but, in the old days, no idea of refusing them had come to her.
Of course she must submit herself to her aunt's charity, because of her
father's poverty. And garments had come to her which were old and worn,
bearing unmistakable signs of Lotta's coarse but reparative energies--
raiment against which her feminine niceness would have rebelled, had it
been possible for her, in her misfortunes, to indulge her feminine
niceness.

But there was a sweet scent of last summer's roses on the things which
now lay in her lap, and each article was of the best; and, though each
had been worn, they were all such as one girl would lend to another who
was her dearest friend--who was to be made welcome to the wardrobe as
though it were her own. There was something of the tenderness of love
in the very folding, and respect as well as friendship in the care of
the packing. Her aunt's left-off clothes had come to her in a big roll,
fastened with a corking-pin. But Rebecca, with delicate fingers, had
made each article of her tribute to look pretty, as though for the
dress of such a one as Nina prettiness and care must always be needed.
It was not possible for her to refuse a presen