Julia was unable to attach any meaning to his words: indeed she was too miserable to care what they meant. She therefore remained with her eyes fixed on the floor without attempting to reply. “You are silent,” he recommenced; “I am conscious that I have now entered on an interdicted subject; but, though I may have transgressed the letter, I trust I have not the spirit of the interdict.” She opened her lips, but, without the power to articulate, closed them again. “The subject, I see, is painful to you,” he persisted, “but only say that, in this particular, you do me justice!” Julia, still unable to comprehend his meaning, and still, as we have said, almost indifferent to it, yet willing to comply with any thing in the shape of a request from Fitz-Ullin, summoned all her powers to her aid, and whispered, “Yes,” but without venturing to look up. Fitz-Ullin stood gazing upon her for some moments, then sighed audibly, and quitted her without again speaking. Julia, by the time she thought him quite gone, stole one alarmed look all round, as if to ascertain that she was really alone, then darted into the inner cabin, locked the door on herself, and remained there the rest of the day, pleading, on being summoned to dinner, a headach. When she did appear the next morning her headach did not seem much abated. Lady Oswald, who met her with a meaning, and almost a triumphant smile, looked surprised and disappointed, and, after examining our heroine’s countenance for a short time, determined not to introduce a subject, of which her heart had been full all night. Surrel’s attentions were no longer troublesome. CHAPTER XXXI. “Winds drive along the clouds: on wings of fire, The lightnings fly!”