, and he felt that her
heart was indeed throbbing violently; yet 'twas not with amorous
passion, as she had said; no, 'twas with fierce triumph at the success
of her schemes.

The contact of his hand with her voluptuous charms, inflamed him with
impatient desire.

'Come,' cried he,--'let us no longer defer the blissful hour that gives
you to my arms.'

In a few minutes Julia was ready; and the happy pair, seating themselves
in the carriage, were driven to the abode of Dr. Sinclair, who was to
perform the marriage ceremony.

We said _happy_ pair--yes, they were indeed so; the old gentleman was
happy in the prospect of having such a beautiful creature to share his
fortune and bed; and the young lady was happy in the certainty of having
secured a husband whose wealth would enable her to live in luxury and
splendor.

They arrive at the rector's residence, and are ushered into a spacious
apartment. Everything is handsome and costly, yet everything is in
disorder; judging from appearances one would suppose that the place was
occupied by a gentleman of intemperate habits--not by a minister of the
gospel. The rich carpet is disfigured with many stains, which look
marvelously like the stains produced by the spilling of port wine. The
mirror is cracked; the sofa is daubed with mud; a new hat lies crushed
beneath an overturned chair. An open Bible is upon the table, but on it
stand a decanter and a wine-glass; and the sacred page is stained with
the blood-red juice of the grape. On the mantle-piece are books, thrown
in a confused pile; the collection embraces all sorts--Watts' hymn book
reposes at the side of the 'Frisky Songsters,' the Pilgrim's Progress
plays hide-and-seek with the last novel of Paul de Kock; while 'Women of
Noted Piety' are in close companionship with the 'Voluptuous Turk.'

Soon the rector enters, and there is something in his appearance
peculiar, if not suspicious. His disordered dress corresponds with his
disordered room. His coat is soiled and torn, his cravat is put on awry,
and his linen is none of the cleanest. He salutes Brother Hedge and his
fair intended, in an unsteady voice, while his eyes wander vacantly
around the apartment, and he leans against a chair for support.

'How very strangely he looks and acts,' whispered Julia to her frosty
bridegroom--'surely he can't be _tipsy_?'

'Of course not,' replied Mr. Hedge--'such a supposition with reference
to our beloved pastor would be sacrilege