"Yes," said Edward, "I am your ally; and a
mere spy in the camp of those two ladies. I
watch all their moves for your sake."

Alfred forgave him. And thus his whole life
was changed, and for nearly twelve months (for
Dr. Alder let him reside in the Hall through the
vacation) he pursued the quiet tenor of a student's
life, interrupted at times by law; but that is
another topic.

WIFE AND NO WIFE.

Mrs. Dodd was visibly shaken by that
calamity which made her shrink with horror from
the sight of Alfred Hardie. In the winter she
was so unwell that she gave up her duties with
Messrs. Cross and Co. Her connexion with them
had been creditable to both parties. I believe I
forgot to say why they trusted her so; well, I
must tell it elsewhere. David off her hands, she
was independent, and had lost the motive and
the heart for severe work. She told the partners
she could no longer do them justice, and left
them to their regret. They then advised her to
set up as a milliner, and offered her credit for
goods at cash prices up to two thousand pounds:
she thanked them like a sorrowful queen, and
went her way.

In the spring she recovered some spirit and
health: but at midsummer a great and subtle
misfortune befel her. Her mind was bent on
David night and day, and used to struggle to
evade the laws of space, that bind its grosser
companion, and find her lost husband on the sea.
She often dreamt of him, but vaguely. But one
fatal night she had a dream as clear as daylight,
and sharp as white pebbles in the sun. She was
on a large ship with guns; she saw men bring
a dead sailor up the side; she saw all their faces,
and the dead man's too. It was David. His
face was white. A clear voice said he was to be
buried in the deep next morning. She saw the
deck at her feet, the breeches of the guns, so clear,
so defined, that, when she awoke, and found
herself in the dark, she thought reality was an
illusion. She told the dream to Julia and
Edward. They tried to encourage her, in vain. "I
saw him," she said, "I saw him; it was a vision,
not a dream: my David is dead. Well, then, I
shall not be long behind him."

Dr. Sampson ridiculed her dream to her face.
But to her children he told another story. "I
am anxious about her," he said, "most anxious.
There is no mortal ill the distempered brain may
not cause. We can hear nothing of him. She
will fret herself into the grave, as sure as fate, if
something does not turn up."

Her children could not console her: they
tried, but something hung round their own
hearts, and chilled every effort. In a word, they
shared her fears. How came she to see him on
board a ship with guns? In her waking hours
she always said he was on a merchant ship. Was
it not one of those visions, which come to mortals
and give them sometimes a peep into broad space,
and far more rarely, a peep into futurity itself?

One day in the autumn, Alfred, being in town
on law business, met what seemed the ghost of
Mrs. Dodd in the streets. She saw him not;
her eye was on that ghastly face she had seen in
her dreams. It flashed through his mind that
she would not live long to part him and Julia.
But he discouraged the ungenerous thought;
almost forgave her repugnance to himself, and
felt it would be worse than useless to ask Julia
to leave her mother, who was leaving her visibly.

But her horror of him was anything but
softened; and she used to tell Dr. Sampson she
thought the sight of that man would kill her
now. Edward himself began to hope Alfred
would turn his affections elsewhere. The house
in Pembroke-street was truly the house of
mourning now; all their calamities were light
compared with this.

THE DISTRICT VISITOR.

While Julia was writing letters to keep up
Alfred's heart, she was very sad herself. Moreover
he had left her for Oxford but a very few
days, when she received an anonymous letter:
her first. It was written in a female hand, and
couched in friendly and sympathetic terms. The
writer thought it only fair to warn her that Mr.
Alfred Hardie was passionately fond of a lady in
the asylum, and had offered her marriage. If
Miss Dodd wished to be deceived, let her burn
this letter and think no more of it: if not, let
her insert this advertisement in the Times: "The
whole Truth.—L. D.," and her correspondent
would communicate particulars by word or
writing.

What a barbed and poisoned arrow is to the
body was this letter to Julia's mind. She sat
cold as a stone with this poison in her hand.
Then came an impetuous impulse to send it
down to Alfred, and request him to transfer
the other half of his heart to his lady of the
asylum. Then she paused; and remembered
how much unjust suspicion had been levelled at
him already. What right had she to insult him?
She would try and keep the letter to herself.
As to acting upon it, her good sense speedily
suggested it came from the rival in question, real
or supposed. "She wants to make use of me,"
said Julia; "it is plain Alfred does not care
much for her; or why does she come to me?"
She put the letter in her desk, and it rankled in
her heart. Hæret lateri lethalis arundo. She
trembled at herself: she felt a savage passion
had been touched in her. She prayed day and
night against jealousy.

But I must now, to justify my heading, skip
some months, and relate a remarkable incident
that befel her in the said character. On the first
of August in this year, a good Christian woman,
one of her patients, asked her to call on Mr.
Barkington, that lodged above. "He is a decent
body, miss, and between you and me, I think his
complaint is, he don't get quite enough to eat."

"Barkington!" said Julia, and put her hand to
her bosom. She went and tapped at his door.

"Come in," said a shrillish voice.