“Oh—I don’t mean that,” said Julia, “I—But really, Edmund, I think,” she added, gravely, “I have made you apologies enough to restore any reasonable being to good humour.”
“You make me apologies!” he commenced: but Julia, as she turned from him, with something of indignation at his supposed obstinacy, forgetting the narrow plank on which she stood, slipped her foot, and would certainly have fallen into the water had he not caught her in his arms, and lifted her to sure footing. Julia, partly from alarm, and partly from the previous exertion of her spirits in saying so much, was a good deal overcome, and even shed tears. The sight of these threw Edmund off his guard. “Would to heaven, Julia!” he exclaimed, “that I were indeed your brother! entitled to the happy privilege of guarding one more precious than life from every danger! of sheltering one dearer than happiness itself—from every sorrow!”
Thunderstruck at his own rashness, he ceased. A smile through her tears was Julia’s reply; for, as she was not expecting, or thinking of a love speech, she understood from what had been said, only that friendship and good humour were restored, and Edmund become more like himself. A long silence, however, followed: when Julia at last said, in rather a hesitating manner, and at the same time with an effort at playfulness, “Frances and I have always called you brother, you know, can you not fancy yourself such, and take as good care of us as if you were really our brother?”
This was a trying appeal; and the beating of Edmund’s heart, (closer to which he imperceptibly drew Julia’s arm as she spoke) shewed him that he must not trust himself with the use of language. Another silence, therefore, followed, and they walked slowly on. In a little time, Edmund, as if thinking aloud, gave, perhaps, unconscious utterance to what seemed to be the result of his meditations, saying: “No, no!—it cannot be required of me, to root out the permitted affections of childhood from my heart!—It were too impossible!—too unnatural!”
“And who wishes you to do so?” asked his companion, with a quickness that shewed how little she understood his feelings.
At this moment, the rest of the party came in sight at some distance; and Edmund, as if fearful of interruption, turned suddenly round, and, in hurried and agitated accents, said, “Julia! you permit me to feel for you the affection of a brother! you permit me, you say, to evince that feeling by care of your welfare, your safety, your happiness. Should I ever be so unfortunate as to extend to what may seem presumption on your goodness, the dear, the sacred privilege—check—but do not, do not utterly condemn me!”
He paused a moment for breath, then, with effort, recommenced thus: “Your family is the home of all my affections! Could it be—should it be otherwise? Yet, in cherishing those affections, so natural, in my circumstances, so inextinguishable, there may occur moments when I may be tempted to forget that I myself stand alone, must ever stand alone, an unconnected, a nameless stranger!”
Here the joining of the party as they came up, laughing and recounting Lord Borrowdale’s adventure, put an end to this dangerous conference. Its results, however, coloured the future destinies of both the young people. If Edmund had previously formed safer resolves, they were now lost in the belief that Julia was in no danger of discovering in him, or sharing herself any sentiments, exceeding the bounds of that friendship which it was, (under the circumstance,) but right and natural should subsist between them; while any deficiency (he argued with himself) in the manifestation of brotherly regard on his part, would require the very explanation it was his duty not to make. He must, therefore, shew her every silent, unpretending, affectionate attention; every mark of brotherly regard; while his own imprudent passion must lie for ever buried in his own bosom!
He must indeed correct its mad and wild intensity! The habit of being in her society, would, he hoped, assist him to do so! would moderate the extraordinary effect that society now had upon him! would enable him to sober down his feelings into those of a truly affectionate brother, really solicitous for the welfare of a sister he sincerely loves.