“My dear Julia,” said he, as he took her emaciated hand, and folded it between his own—“I can never express my gratitude to you for your kind attentions to an unworthy husband; nor my thankfulness to heaven that your precious life did not fall a sacrifice to your efforts to save mine. I hope to prove by my future conduct, that I have learned to appreciate your value.”
He spoke in the softest tones of love, while his eyes were humid with tears.
“Do you, then, love me?” said Julia.
“Love you!—yes, most tenderly—with my whole heart,” said Westbury; “more than any thing—more than every thing else on earth!”
Julia leaned her head on his shoulder, and burst into tears.
“Why do you weep, Julia?” said Westbury.
“O, I am so happy!” said Julia. “There wants but one thing to make my cup of blessedness quite full.”
“And what is that, dearest?”
“That you should give your first—your best affections where alone they are deserved—to your Creator.”
“I trust, my dear wife,” said Mr. Westbury, with deep feeling, “I trust that your precious intercessions for me at the throne of mercy, have been answered. My bed of sickness was a bed of reflection, of retrospection, of remorse, and, I hope, of true penitence. I feel as if in a new world; ‘old things have passed away, and all things have become new.’”