"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.




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