“Should he get sick, Julia, even a favorite servant will not be enough. It will be our duty to make other provision for him. I owe his father much; the old man evidently expects much from me by his last letter. I owe the son much. He has been a true friend to me. I must do for him as if he were a brother, and should he get sick, Julia, you must be his nurse.” “Impossible, Mr. Clifford!” she replied, with unwonted energy, while a deep, dark flush settled over her otherwise placid features, which were now not merely discomposed but ruffled. “It is impossible that I should be what you require. Suffer me, in this case, to determine my duties for myself. Do for YOUR FRIEND what you think proper. You can provide a nurse, and secure by money, the best attendance in the town. I do not think that I can do better service than a hundred others whom you may procure; and you will permit me to say, without seeking to displease you, that I will not attempt it.” I was not displeased at what she said, but it was not my policy to admit this. With an air almost of indignation, I replied: “And you would leave my friend to perish?” “I trust he will not perish--I sincerely trust he will continue in health while he remains here. I implore you, dear husband, to make no requisition such as this. I can not serve your friend in this capacity. I pray that he may not need it.” “But should he?” “I can not serve him.” “Julia, you are a cold-hearted woman--you do not love me.” “Cold-hearted, Edward, cold-hearted? Not love you, Edward?--Oh, surely, you can not mean it. No! no! you can not!” She threw herself into my arms, clasped me fondly in hers, and the warm tears from her eyes gushed into my bosom. “Love me, love my dog--at least my friend!” I exclaimed, in austere accents, but without repulsing her. I could not repulse her. I had not strength to put her from me. The embrace was too dear; and the energy with which she rejected a suggestion in which I proposed only to try and test her, made her doubly dear at that moment to my bosom. Alas! how, in the attempt to torture others, do we torture ourselves! If I afflicted Julia in this scene, I am very sure that my own sufferings were more intense. One thing alone would have made them so. The ONE quality of evil, of the bad spirit which mingled in with MY feelings, and did not trouble HERS. But, just then I did not think her innocent altogether. I still had my doubts that her resistance to my wishes was simply meant to conceal that tendency in her own, the exposure of which she had naturally every reason to dread. The demon of the blind heart, though baffled for awhile, was still busy. Alas! he was not always to be baffled. CHAPTER XLII. CROSS PURPOSES.