"No, no, no. Dearest, I pray for strength:
that is how I manage. And oh, Edward, you
used to think the poor were not to be pitied.
But now you see."

"Yes, I see, and smell and all. You are a brave,
good girl. Got any salts about you?"

"Yes, of course. There. But fancy a young
lion smelling salts."

"A young duffer, you mean; that has passed
for game through the thing not being looked
into close."

"Oh, you can be close enough, where I want
you to be open."

No answer.

The next day he accompanied her again, but
remained at the stair-foot while she went in to
her patients; and, when she came down, asked
her, Could no good Christian be found to
knock that poor woman on the head who lived
in a plate.

"No good Heathen, you mean," said Julia.

"Why yes," said he; "the savages manage
these things better."

He also accompanied her shopping, and smoked
phlegmatically outside the shops; nor could she
exhaust his patience. Then the quick girl put
this and that together. When they were at
home again and her bonnet off, she looked him
in the face and said sweetly, "I have got a
watch-dog." He smiled, and said nothing.
"Why don't you answer?" said Julia
impetuously.

"Because least said is soonest mended.
Besides, I'm down upon you: you decoy me into a
friendly conversation, and then you say biting
things directly."

"If I bite you, you sting me. Such want of
confidence! Oh how cruel! how cruel! Why
can you not trust me? Am I a child? No one
is young, who has suffered what I have suffered.
Secrets disunite a family: and we were so united.
And then you are so stupid. You keep a secret?
Yes, like a dog in a chain. You can't hide it
one bit. You have undertaken a task you are
not fit for, sir; to hide a secret you must be
able to tell fibs: and you can't: not for want of
badness, but cleverness to tell them smoothly;
you know it, you know it; and so out of your
abominable slyness you won't say a word. There,
it is no use my trying to provoke him. I wish
you were not so good tempered; so apathetic I
mean, of course." Then, with one of her old
rapid transitions, she began to caress him and
fawn on him: she seated him in an arm-chair
and herself on a footstool, and suddenly curling
round his neck, murmured, "Dear, dear brother,
have pity on a poor girl, and tell her is there
any news that I have a right to hear, only
mamma has given you your orders not to tell
me: tell me, love!" This last in an exquisite
whisper.

"Let me alone, you little fascinating demon,"
said he angrily. "Ask mamma. I won't tell
you a word."

"Thank you!" she cried, bounding to her feet;
"you have told me. He is alive. He loves me
still. He was bewitched, seduced, deluded. He
has come to himself. Mamma has seen him. He
wants to come and beg my pardon. But you
are all afraid I shall forgive him. But I will not,
for at the first word I'll stop his mouth, and say,
'If you were happy away from me, I suppose
you would not have come back.'" And instantly
she burst out singing, with inspired eloquence
and defiance,

        "Castles are sacked in war,
        Chieftains are scattered far,
        Truth is a fixed star.
                                Aileen aroon."

But, unable to sustain it, the poor Impetuosity
drooped as quickly as she had mounted, and out
went her arm on the table and her forehead
sank on her arm, and the tears began to run
silently down the sweet face, so brave for a
moment.

"W—will y—you allow me to light a cigar?"
faltered Edward. "I'm wretched and
miserable; you Tempest in petticoats, you!"

She made him a sign of assent with the hand
that was dangling languidly, but she did not
speak; nor did she appeal to him any more.
Alienation was commencing. But, what was
worse than speaking her mind, she was for ever
at the window now, looking up and down the
street; and walking with her he felt her arm
often tremble, and sometimes jerk. The secret
was agitating her nerves, and destroying her
tranquillity as much, or perhaps more, than if she
had known all.

Mrs. Dodd wrote from Portsmouth, whereof
anon.

Mr. Peterson called, and soon after him Mr.
Hurd. Edward was glad to see them, especially
the latter, whose visits seemed always to do
Julia good.

Moreover, as Peterson and Hurd were rivals,
it afforded Edward an innocent amusement to
see their ill-concealed aversion to one another,
and the admirable address and delicacy with
which his sister conducted herself between
them.

However, this pastime was cut short by Sarah
coming in and saying, "There's a young man
wants to see you, sir."

Julia looked up and changed colour.

"I think he is a fireman," said Sarah. She
knew very well he was a fireman, and also one
of her followers. Edward went out and found one
of his late brethren, who told him a young
gentleman had just been inquiring for him at the
station.

"What was he like?"

"Why I was a good ways off, but I saw he
was a tall one."

"Six feet?"

"Full that."

"Give you his name?"

"No. I didn't speak to him: it was Andrew.