This inquiry was made abruptly, but it did not disturb her. Her answer was strangely satisfactory.
“I have scarcely looked in upon the studio in all that time.”
I longed to ask what Edgerton had done with himself, and whether he had been suffered to employ himself alone, in his morning visits, but my tongue faltered--I somehow dared not. Still, it was something to have her assurance that she had not found her attractions in that apartment in which my jealous fancy had assumed that she took particular delight. She had spoken with the calmness of innocence, and I was too happy to believe her. I put my arms about her waist.
“Yes, we will renew the old habits, for I suppose that business there will be less pressing, less exacting, than I have found it here. We will take our long walks, Julia, and make up for lost time in new sketches. You have thought me a truant, Julia--neglectful hitherto! Have you not?”
“Ah, Edward!”--Her eyes filled with tears, but a smile, like rainbow, made them bright.
“Do not be angry with me if I confess I thought you very much altered in some respects. I was fearful I had vexed you.”
“You shall have no more reason to fear. We shall be the babes in the wood together. I am sure we shall be quite happy, left to ourselves. No doubts, no fears--nothing but love. And you are really willing to go?”
“Willing! I wish it! I can get ready in a day.”
“You have but a week. But, have you no reluctance? Is there nothing that you regret to leave? Speak freely, Julia. Your mother, your friends--would you not prefer to remain with them?”
She placed her hands on my shoulders, laid her head close to my bosom and murmured--how softly, how sweetly--in the touching language of the Scripture damsel.
“Entreat me not to leave thee, or to refrain from following after thee; for whither thou goest, I will go, and where thou lodgest, I will lodge. Thy people shall be my people, and thy God my God!”
I folded her with tremulous but deep joy in my embrace; and in that sweet moment of peace, I wondered that I ever should have questioned the faith of such a woman.
“AND STILL THE BITTER IN THE CUP OF JOY.”
Once more I had sunshine. The clouds seemed to depart as suddenly as they had risen, and that same rejoicing and rosy light which had encircled the brow of manhood at its dawn long shrouded, seemingly lost for ever, and swallowed up in darkness--came out as softly and quietly in the maturer day, as if its sweet serene had never known even momentary obscuration.