Young Surrel became hourly more assiduous, and either wanted modesty to perceive that his attentions were unwelcome, or delicacy to withdraw them on that account.

The annoyance to Julia was really growing serious; when, one morning after breakfast, Fitz-Ullin placed himself near our heroine, a thing not now usual with him. While in this situation, he took an opportunity of saying to her, in an under tone, “Will you grant me a few moments’ conversation with you alone?” His late cold and constrained behaviour had made such a request so unexpected, that, instead of colouring, she became quite pale, looked up a moment, and again hastily withdrew her eyes without reply.

“Do not mistake me,” he added, with rather a haughty air, “but, I shall just take Lady Oswald on deck, and having left her walking with Arthur, return and explain myself immediately.”

The proposition to walk was then made aloud. Lady Oswald had no objection, and asked Julia, as a matter of course, to accompany them. Our heroine declined; this was certainly consenting to the interview, Julia felt that it was, and coloured while she made her excuse.

Lady Oswald and Fitz-Ullin left the cabin. Julia neither moved nor breathed, till their receding steps were lost in the confused tramping, which was always going on over head.

She then drew a very long breath, and began to prepare herself. “He will return immediately!” she thought. She tried to compose her spirits, but in vain: her heart fluttered like a bird trying to escape from its cage. The tramping over head increased; she turned pale. It lessened; the colour stole gradually over her cheeks again. She listened, and breathing was again suspended, and every power of life concentrated in the sense of hearing. This became so acute, that, amid all the mingled sounds of a busy deck, she could yet plainly distinguish the well known tread of Fitz-Ullin on the main deck, approaching the cabin door. A cold sensation passed over her cheeks and brow. She clasped her hands together a moment, then let one fall at her side, and rested the other on the table. But there, its trembling movement was so visible, that with hasty confusion she withdrew it; and, fixing her eyes on the ground, held down, with a fatiguing effort, the universal tremor of her frame. He entered. He stood before her. He seated himself beside her. But, he made no attempt to take her hand.

One universal glow had covered her face and neck at his first approach, while she could have cried with vexation at the exposure. “You do not misunderstand me, I hope,” he said, perceiving her pitiable agitation. “You must, I think,” he continued, “be able to comprehend for what purpose I have requested this interview. You must have expected that I could not see Lord Surrel’s importunate attentions, and remain passive.”

She made no reply; but coloured, if possible, deeper than before, and looked more studiously downward; yet, Fitz-Ullin perceived the dawning of a pleasurable feeling shining through the confusion that covered as with a veil every other expression of her countenance. How can he be so foolish, thought Julia, as to be jealous of an absolute stranger, like Lord Surrel.

“I am rejoiced to perceive,” he recommenced, “that instead of being offended at my presumption, you are good enough to seem disposed to give me a favourable hearing. It was quite impossible for me not to be fully aware—not to know, in fact, what are, what must be your feelings, yet,”—he paused. So audacious, so well assured a suitor, one who was thus certain, that her preference for himself must render the attentions of any one else importunate, did not seem to need encouragement; and Julia, though the tears of shame started to her eyes, was too gentle, too fondly attached to chide; she therefore remained silent; and, (must it be confessed?) uncontrollable delight predominated very unduly over the indignation she thought she ought to feel!

“At least, I should suppose I am right?” he continued, in a questioning tone. “If so—if,” Julia at length seemed to consider some little manifestation of spirit necessary. “Most people,” she faltered out, “would be offended at having their sentiments thus taken for granted; but you think, I suppose, that our long intimacy authorizes you to act as you please.”

“As I please!” repeated Fitz-Ullin, “most assuredly not as I please, but as you please. It may be, and certainly is in my power, and indeed I feel myself called upon, while you are in this ship, not to permit Lord Surrel, or any officer of mine, to make his attentions troublesome to you, in a situation where you can neither avoid his society, nor enjoy the protection of your natural friends; but, to control the inclinations of Lady Julia L?,” he added, (and with some bitterness) “is an undertaking to which I have not the boldness to aspire!”

Fortunately for Julia the stunning effects of the new and heart-chilling conviction supplied by this last speech, was so overpowering, that it gave her somewhat the appearance of outward calm. So, it was Lord Surrel’s attentions, Lord Surrel’s love, simply as troublesome to her, not as interfering with his own, of which he was speaking! Here, indeed, was a revulsion of every feeling, too tremendous for Julia’s strength! Her heart utterly ceased beating, her cheeks became as white and cold as marble.

“Am I to understand then,” said Fitz-Ullin, surprised at her silence and change of countenance, “that the attentions of Lord Surrel are agreeable to you?”

Starting into momentary life, she exclaimed, hastily and eagerly, “Oh, no!”

“Then I know how to act,” said Fitz-Ullin, as rising, and bowing with a dignified and rather scornful air, he seemed about to leave the cabin; when, pausing and returning a step or two, he stopped before her, and added, in a suppressed tone, and with visible effort, “I was for a moment apprehensive that my present interference was, perhaps, as unwelcome as my unconscious intermeddling on another occasion. But, in that particular at least, I trust you do me justice. I acted according to the routine of duty. It was impossible for me to know—to suppose—that some such step indeed was contemplated, I was partly aware; but of the when, and the how, you must be conscious I could have no suspicion. You acquit me then, I trust, of availing myself of a reposed confidence to play the ruffian, and using the power entrusted to me for the public good, for private and unjustifiable purposes?”

Julia was unable to attach any meaning to his words: indeed she was too miserable to care what they meant. She therefore remained with her eyes fixed on the floor without attempting to reply. “You are silent,” he recommenced; “I am conscious that I have now entered on an interdicted subject; but, though I may have transgressed the letter, I trust I have not the spirit of the interdict.” She opened her lips, but, without the power to articulate, closed them again.

“The subject, I see, is painful to you,” he persisted, “but only say that, in this particular, you do me justice!”

Julia, still unable to comprehend his meaning, and still, as we have said, almost indifferent to it, yet willing to comply with any thing in the shape of a request from Fitz-Ullin, summoned all her powers to her aid, and whispered, “Yes,” but without venturing to look up. Fitz-Ullin stood gazing upon her for some moments, then sighed audibly, and quitted her without again speaking.

Julia, by the time she thought him quite gone, stole one alarmed look all round, as if to ascertain that she was really alone, then darted into the inner cabin, locked the door on herself, and remained there the rest of the day, pleading, on being summoned to dinner, a headach. When she did appear the next morning her headach did not seem much abated. Lady Oswald, who met her with a meaning, and almost a triumphant smile, looked surprised and disappointed, and, after examining our heroine’s countenance for a short time, determined not to introduce a subject, of which her heart had been full all night. Surrel’s attentions were no longer troublesome.