“No, mamma,” said Julia; “Alfred was to call for Edward; because our house was on the way.” “Are you sure, my child?” asked Mrs. Dodd very gravely. “Oh yes, mamma,” said Julia, beginning to tremble; “at a quarter before eleven: I heard them settle it.” The matter was terribly serious now; indeed, it began to look hopeless. Weather overclouded: rain-drops falling; and hard upon twelve o'clock. They all looked at one another in despair. Suddenly there was a loud, long buzzing heard outside, and the house of God turned into a gossiping fair. “Talk of money changers,” said Satan that day, “give _me_ the exchangers of small talk.” “Thank Heaven they are come,” said Mrs. Dodd. But, having thus relieved her mind, she drew herself up and prepared a freezing reception for the defaulter. A whisper reached their excited ears: “It is young Mr. Dodd” and next moment Edward came into the vestry--alone: the sight of him was enough; his brow wet with perspiration, his face black and white with bitter wrath. “Come home, _my_ people,” he said sternly: “there will be no wedding here to-day!” The bridesmaids cackled questions at him; he turned his back on them. Mrs. Dodd knew her son's face too well to waste inquiries. “Give me my child!” she cried, in such a burst of mother's anguish long restrained, that even the insult to the bride was forgotten for one moment, till she was seen tottering into her mother's arms and cringing and trying to hide bodily in her: “Oh, throw a shawl over me,” she moaned; “hide all this.” Well, they all did what they could. Jane hung round her neck and sobbed, and said, “I've a sister now, and no brother.” The bridesmaids cried. The young curate ran and got the fly to the vestry-door: “Get into it,” he said, “and you will at least escape the curious crowd.” “God bless you, Mr. Hurd,” said Edward, half choked. He hurried the insulted bride and her mother in; Julia huddled and shrank into a corner under Mrs. Dodd's shawl: Mrs. Dodd had all the blinds down in a moment; and they went home as from a funeral. Ay, and a funeral it was; for the sweetest girl in England buried her hopes, her laugh, her May of youth, in that church that day. When she got to Albion Villa, she cast a wild look all around for fear she should be seen in her wedding clothes, and darted moaning into the house. Sarah met her in the hall, smirking; and saying, “Wish you j----” The poor bride screamed fearfully at the mocking words, and cut the conventional phrase in two as with a razor; then fled to her own room and tore off her wreath, her veil, her pearls, and had already strewed the room, when Mrs. Dodd, with a foot quickened by affection, burst in and caught her half fainting, and laid her weary as old age, and cold as a stone, upon her mother's bosom, and rocked her as in the days of happy childhood never to return, and bedewed the pale face with her own tears.