“We must expect the storm. It will not be moonlight always. We must look for the cloud. Age, sickness, death!—ah! do these not follow on our footsteps, ever unerring, certain always, but so often rapid? Soon, how soon, they haunt us in the happiest moments—they meet us at every corner! They never altogether leave us.”
“Enough, dear husband. Dwell not upon these gloomy thoughts. Ah! why should you—NOW?'
“I will not; but there are others, Julia.”
“What others? Evils?”
“Sadder evils yet than these.”
“Oh, no!—I hope not.”
“Coldness of the once warm heart. The chill of affection in the loved one. Estrangement—indifference!—ah, Julia!”
“Impossible, Edward! This can not, MUST not be, with us You do not think that I could be cold to you; and you—ah! surely YOU will never cease to love me?”
“Never, I trust, never!”
“No! you must not—SHALL not. Oh, Edward, let me die first before such a fear should fill my breast. You I love, as none was loved before. Without your love, I am nothing. If I can not hang upon you, where can I hang?”