"Enough, dear husband. Dwell not upon these gloomy thoughts. Ah!
why should you--NOW?' "I will not; but there are others, Julia."
"What others? Evils?"
"Sadder evils yet than these."
"Oh, no!--I hope not."
"Coldness of the once warm heart. The chill of affection in the
loved one. Estrangement--indifference!--ah, Julia!"
"Impossible, Edward! This can not, MUST not be, with us You do not
think that I could be cold to you; and you--ah! surely YOU will
never cease to love me?"
"Never, I trust, never!"
"No! you must not--SHALL not. Oh, Edward, let me die first before
such a fear should fill my breast. You I love, as none was loved
before. Without your love, I am nothing. If I can not hang upon
you, where can I hang?"
And she clung to me with a grasp as if life and death depended on
it, while her sobs, as from a full heart, were insuppressible in
spite of all her efforts.
"Fear nothing, dearest Julia: do you not believe that I love you?"
"Ah! if I did not, Edward--"
"It is with you always to make me love you. You are as completely
the mistress of my whole heart as if it had acknowledged no laws
but yours from the beginning."
"What am I to do, dear Edward?"
"Forbear--be indulgent--pity me and spare me!"
"What mean you, Edward?"
"That heart which is all and only yours, Julia, is yet, I am assured,
a wilful and an erring heart! I feel that it is strange, wayward,
sometimes unjust to others, frequently to itself. It is a cross-grained,
capricious heart; you will find its exactions irksome."
"Oh, I know it better. You wrong yourself."
"No! In the solemn sweetness of this hour, dear Julia--now, while all
things are sweet to our eyes, all things dear to our affections--I
feel a chill of doubt and apprehension come over me. I am so happy--so
unusually happy--that I can not feel sure that I am so--that my
happiness will continue long. I will try, on my own part, to do
nothing by which to risk its loss. But I feel that I am too wilful,
at times, to be strong in keeping a resolution which is so very
necessary to our mutual happiness. You must help--you must strengthen
me, Julia."
"Oh, yes! but how? I will do anything--be anything."
"I am capricious, wayward; at times, full of injustice. Love me
not less that I am so--that I sometimes show this waywardness to
you--that I sometimes do injustice to your love. Bear with me till
the dark mood passes from my heart. I have these moods, or have
had them, frequently. It may be--I trust it will be--that, blessed
with your love, and secure in its possession, there will be no room
in my heart for such ugly feelings. But I know not. They sometimes
take supreme possession of me. They seize upon me in all places.
They wrap my spirit as in a cloud. I sit apart. I scowl upon those
around me. I feel moved to say bitter things--to shoot darts in
defiance at every glance--to envenom every sentence which I speak.
These are cruel moods. I have striven vainly to shake them off.
They have grown up with my growth--have shared in whatever strength
I have; and, while they embitter my own thoughts and happiness, I
dread that they will fling their shadow upon yours!"