That kiss was an era in her life. Innocence itself, she had put up her delicious lips to her lover in pure, though earnest affection; but the male fire with which his met them, made her blush as well as thrill, and she drew back a little, ashamed and half scared, and nestled on his shoulder, hiding a face that grew redder and redder. He bent his graceful head, and murmured down to her, “Are you afraid of me, sweetest?” “Oh no, no! Yes, a little. I don't know. I was afraid I had made too free with my Treasure; you don't quite belong to me yet, you know.” “Oh yes, I do; and, what is more, you belong to me. Don't you, sweet rebel?” “Ah, that I do, heart and soul, my own, own, own.” A few more soft delicious murmurs, and then Julia was summoned to more rites of vanity, and the lovers parted with tender reluctance for those few hours. Alfred went home to his lodgings. He had not been there above ten minutes, when he came out hastily, and walked quickly to the “White Lion,” the principal inn in Barkington. He went into the stable-yard, and said a few words to the ostler: then returned to his lodgings. The man followed him at a distance from Albion Terrace; watched him home; dogged him to the “White Lion;” and, by-and-bye, entered the yard and offered the ostler a glass of ale at the tap. At Albion Villa they were working on Julia's dresses till past midnight: and then Mrs. Dodd insisted on her going to bed. She obeyed; but when the house was all quiet, came stealing out to her mother, and begged to sleep with her: the sad mother strained her in a tearful embrace: and so they passed the night; clinging to one another more as the parting drew near. Edward arranged the wedding breakfast for after the ceremony; and sent the ladies up a cup of coffee, and a bit of toast apiece. They could hardly find appetite even for this; or indeed time; there was so much still to do. At ten o'clock Julia was still in the height of dressing, delayed by _contretemps_ upon _contretemps._ Sarah and her sister did her hair up too loose, and, being a glorious mass, it threatened all to come down and, meantime, a hair-pin quietly but persistently bored her cream-white poll. “Oh, run for mamma!” she cried. Mamma came half dressed, had the hair all down again, and did it up with adroit and loving hand, and put on the orange wreath, kissed her admiringly, and retired to her own toilet; and the girls began to lace the bride's body. Bump came Edward's foot against the door, making them all shriek. “Now I don't want to hurry you; but Dr. Sampson is come.” The handmaids, flustered, tried to go faster; and, when the work was done, Julia took her little handglass and inspected her back: “Oh,” she screamed, “I am crooked. There, go for mamma!” Mamma soon came, and the poor bride held out imploring hands, “I'm all awry; I'm as crooked as a ram's horn.” “La, miss,” said Sarah, “it's only behind; nobody will notice it.” “How can they help it? Mamma! _am_ I deformed?”