She was sitting at the window, half-shaded from his view by some beautiful orange-trees. She did not seem to have observed his entrance; for she did not rise from her seat, nor move her head from the delicate white hand which was supporting it. “Julia!” he cried, in a voice of the wildest passion; but she did not stir. “Julia,” he said, coming nearer, and speaking in a calmer tone; still she was motionless. “Julia,” he whispered gently, bending his head over the orange-blossoms. Their lips almost met; she started from him as if from profanation. “Cœlius!” she exclaimed, “this must not be! I have broken the holy cake[6] with another! To-night I shall be the wife of Marcius.” He lifted his hands to Heaven; a curse rose to his lips. “May the vows you have falsified--may the hopes you have blighted--may the heart you have broken---- But no, Julia,” he continued, as he gazed upon her rayless eye, and her colourless cheek; “you have suffered much--and I cannot--I cannot reproach you!” He hid his tears with his hands, and rushed into the street. She had indeed suffered much! Her face had become pale and emaciated, her step melancholy and slow: she no longer took her wonted care in arranging her dress, or setting in order her luxuriant hair; but this was not the alteration which had shocked her unfortunate lover--it was the languor which had succeeded to her natural liveliness, the despondency in her every accent, the absence of soul in her every look! The evening came, and the ceremony was near at hand. Julia suffered her attendants to adorn her, reckless herself of the pains they took and the decorations they bestowed. They put upon her a long white robe, quite plain; it would have well set off the bloom of her loveliness, but upon the paleness of her sorrow it seemed to sit like a shroud. They made large masses of her hair to flow dishevelled down her neck, and mingled with it locks of wool, to signify that, in her new station, she was to imitate the purity of the vestals, whose peculiar emblem it was. The extremities of her long ringlets were curled and arranged with the steel of a lance; and among her attendants there were many pretty flutterings and drawings-back as they handled so terrible a comb. Then they suffered her to wait in quiet the approach of the bridegroom. He was not long in his coming. They drew over her head the crown of vervain, and concealed her deathlike features beneath the flame-coloured veil. They put on, too, the yellow slippers, which it was the fashion for brides to wear: they were so contrived as to add considerably to the height, but Julia’s was so much diminished by sadness and disease, that even with this assistance she did not seem near her usual stature.