“To-morrow”—she replied in tones of eloquent music, half blushing as she spoke even at the intensity of her own feelings—“To-morrow, my Aurelius, I shall be thine, all thine!”— “And art thou not all mine, even now, beloved—By the bright heavens above us—for long—long years!—my heart with all its hopes and fears and aspirations, my life with its whole crime and purpose—my soul with its very essence and existence have been thine—all! all thine—my Julia—and art not thou mine, now!—why what save death should sever us?—” “Talk not of death!”—she answered with a slight shiver running through all her frame—“Talk not of death, Aurelius—I feel even now as if his icy breath was blowing on my spirit, his dim and awful shadow reflecting darkness on my every thought—dost thou believe, Aurelius, that passing shades like these, which will at times sadden and chill the soul, are true presentiments of coming evil?” “That do I not—sweet love”—he answered—“that do I not believe; when by chance or some strain of highly wrought and thrilling sentiment the heart-strings of us mortals are attuned too high beyond their wont, like harp chords, they will harmonize to any sound or sentiment that accords to their own spirit pitch; and, neither sad nor joyous in themselves, will respond readily to either grief or sorrow: that, feeling no cause for mirth or gloom, we fancy them prophetic feelings, when they are but reflected tones, and so disquiet ourselves often with a vain shadow!” “Well,”—she replied, still sadly—“I wish it may be so, as I suppose it is. Yet—yet—I would it were to-morrow!” “Come, come! I must not have thee thus sad on an eve like this, my Julia—lo! they have lighted up the hall—and the banquet is spread, and the wine poured—the queen of the feast must not be absent!” And shaking off the gloom which had, she knew not why, oppressed her, she turned with one long lingering last glance to the sun as he disappeared behind the dark tree tops which seemed to swallow him up in an unnatural gloom, and entered the vast hall which, hung with tapestries of silk and gold, and garlanded with wreaths of choice flowers, and reeking with unnumbered perfumes, lighted with lamps of gold pouring their soft illumination over the gorgeous boards, shewed like a very palace of the senses. The bridal strains burst forth harmonious at the first, and slow and solemn, but quickening and thrilling as they rose, till every ear that heard them responded to their enlivening impulse, and every bosom glowed and panted to their expressive cadences. The wine went round, and laughter circled with it, and many a tender glance was interchanged, and many a whisper that called up burning blushes, and many a pressure of young hands betwixt those, who hoped that as this night to Julia and Aurelius, so should one be for them at no far distant!—and many prayed that such might be their lot—and many envied them!—Oh God, what blinded worms we be—when left to our own guidance!