"Ask me not, Julia-ask me nothing; but love me, only love me, and
all will be well--all is well."
"Do I not--ah! do I not love you, Edward?"
"I believe you--God be praised, I DO believe you!"
"Oh, surely, Edward, you never doubted this."
"No, no!--never!"
Such was the fervent ejaculation of my lips; such, in spite of its
seeming inconsistency, was the real belief within my soul. What
was it, then, that I did doubt? wherefore, then, the misery,
the suspense, the suspicion, which grew and gathered, corroding
in my heart, the parent of a thousand unnamed anxieties? It will
be difficult to answer. The heart of man is one of those strange
creations, so various in its moods, so infinite in its ramifications,
so subtle and sudden in its transitions, as to defy investigation
as certainly as it refuses remedy and relief. It is enough to say
that, with one schooled as mine had been, injuriously, and with
injustice, there is little certainty in any of its movements.
It becomes habitually capricious, feeds upon passions intensely,
without seeming detriment; and, after a season, prefers the unwholesome
nutriment which it has made vital, to those purer natural sources
of strength and succor, without which, though it may still enjoy
life, it can never know happiness.