“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. CHAPTER XXIII. PROGRESS OF PASSION. “But, do not leave me another time--not so long, Edward Do not leave me alone. Your business is one thing. THAT you must, of course, attend to; but hours--not of business--hours in which you do no business--hours of leisure--your evenings, Edward--these you must share with me--you must give to me entirely. Ah! will you not? will you not promise me?” These were among the last words which she spoke to me ere we slept that night. The next morning, almost at awaking, she resumed the same language. I could not help perceiving that she spoke in tones of greater earnestness than usual--an earnestness expressive of anxiety for which I felt at some loss to account. Still, the tenor of what she said, at the time, gave me pleasure--a satisfaction which I did not seek to conceal, and which, while it lasted, was the sweetest of all pleasures to my soul. But the busy devil in my heart made his suggestions also, which were of a kind to produce any other but satisfying emotions. While I stood in my wife's presence--in the hearing of her angel-voice, and beholding the pure spirit speaking out from her eyes--he lay dormant, rebuked, within his prison-house, crouching in quiet, waiting a more auspicious moment for activity. Nor was he long in waiting; and then his cold, insinuating doubts--his inquiries--begot and startled mine! “Very good--all very good!” Such was the tone of his suggestions. “She may well compound for the evenings with you, since she gives her whole mornings to your rival.”