“Charles,” said she, fixing her large, tearful eyes upon him, with a look in which love, anxiety, and sorrow were all blended, “I fear you have not been successful in the village.  Has Moloney refused us?”

“Only conditionally, my dear Maria—­that is, until our account is paid up—­but for the present, and perhaps for a little longer, we must deny ourselves these ‘little luxuries,’” and he accompanied the words with a melancholy smile.  “Tea and sugar and white bread are now beyond our reach, and we must be content with a simpler fare.”

Mrs. Temple, on looking at their children, could scarcely refrain from tears; but she knew her husband’s patience and resignation, and felt that it was her duty to submit with humility to the dispensation of God.

“You and I, my dear Charles, could bear up under anything—­but these poor things, how will they do?”

“That reflection is only natural, my dear Maria; but it is spoken, dearest, only like a parent, who probably loves too much and with an excess of tenderness.  Just reflect, darling, upon the hundreds of thousands of children in our native land, who live healthily and happily without ever having tasted either tea or loaf-bread at all; and think, besides, dearest, that there are, in the higher circles, a great number of persons whose children are absolutely denied these comforts, by advice of their physicians.  Our natural wants, my dear Maria, are but simple, and easily satisfied; it is wealth and luxury only that corrupt and vitiate them.  In this case, then, dearest, the Christian must speak, and act, and feel as well as the parent.  You understand me now, love, and that is sufficient.  I have not succeeded in procuring anything for you or them, but you may rest assured that God will not desert us.”

“Yes, dear Charles,” replied his wife, whose black mellow eyes beamed with joy; “all that is true, but you forgot that Dr. Turbot has arrived to receive his tithes, and you will now receive your stipend.  That will carry us out of our present difficulty at least.”

“My dear Maria, it is enough to say that Dr. Turbot is in a position immeasurably more distressed and dreadful than ours.  Purcel, his proctor, has been able to receive only about fifty pounds out of his usual half-yearly income of eight hundred.  From him we are to expect nothing at present.  I know not, in fact, how he and his family will bear this dreadful privation; for dreadful it must be to those who have lived in the enjoyment of such luxuries.”

“That is indeed dreadful to such a family, and I pity them from my heart,” replied his wife; “but, dearest,Charles, what are we to do?—­except a small crust of bread, there is no food in the house for either them or you.”  As she uttered the words their eyes met, and his gentle and soothing Maria, who had been sitting beside him, threw herself upon his bosom—­he clasped his arms around her—­pressed her with melancholy affection to his heart, and they both wept together.