CHAPTER VI.
THE following day our travellers were on the road
before the sun, and busily pursued their route
through the delightful valley of the Mohawk. It was
now that Julia, in some measure accustomed to her
proximity to her hero, began to enjoy the beauties
of the scenery; her eye dwelt with rapture on each
opening glimpse that they caught of the river, and
took in its gaze meadows of never-failing verdure,
which were beautifully interspersed with elms that
seemed coeval with the country itself. Occasionally
she would draw the attention of her aunt to some
view of particular interest; and if her eager voice
caught the attention of Antonio, and he turned to
gaze, to ponder, and to admire--then Julia felt
happy indeed, for then it was that she felt the
indescribable bliss of sharing our pleasures with
those we love. What heart of sensibility has stood
and coldly gazed on a scene over which the eye,
that it loves to admire, is roving with delight? Who
is there that has yet to learn, that if the strongest
bond to love is propinquity, so is its tenderest tie,
sympathy? In this manner did our lovely heroine
pass a day of hitherto untasted bliss. Antonio
would frequently stop his horses on the summit of
a hill, and Julia understood the motive; turning her
looks in the direction in which she saw the eye of
her lover bent, she would sit in silent and secret
communion with his feelings. In vain Charles
endeavoured to catch her attention--his remarks
were unnoticed, and his simple efforts to please
disregarded. At length, as they advanced towards
the close of their day's ride, Charles, observing a
mountain obtruding itself directly across their path,
and meeting the river, which swept with great
velocity around its base, cried aloud with a laugh--
"Anthony, I wish you would remove your nose!"
"Charles!" exclaimed Julia, shocked at his rude
familiarities with a man of Antonio's elevated
character.
"Poh!" said the young man, in an under tone,
conceiving her surprise to be occasioned by his
lowering himself to joke with an inferior, "he is a
good, honest fellow, and don't mind a joke at all, I
assure you."
Charles was right, for Antonio, moving his face,
with a laugh cried in his turn--"There, sir, my nose
is moved, but you can't see no better, after all."
Julia was amused with his condescension, which
she thought augured perfect good-nature and
affability. After all, thought Julia, if noble and
commanding qualities are necessary to excite
admiration or to command respect, familiar virtues
induce us to love more tenderly, and good temper
is absolutely necessary to contribute to our
comfort. On the whole, she was rather pleased than
otherwise, that Antonio could receive and return
what was evidently intended for a witticism,
although as yet she did not comprehend it. But
Charles did not leave her long in doubt. On the
north side of the Mohawk, and at about fifty miles
from its mouth, is a mountain which, as we have
already said, juts, in a nearly perpendicular
promontory, into the bed of the river; its inclination
is sufficient to admit of its receiving the name of a
nose. Without the least intention of alluding to our
hero, the early settlers had affixed the name of St.
Anthony, who appears to have been a kind of Dutch
deity in this state, and to have monopolized all the
natural noses within her boundaries to himself. The
vulgar idiom made the pronunciation an-TONY's
nose--and all this Charles briefly explained to Miss
Emmerson and her niece by way of giving point to
his own wit. He had hardly made them comprehend
the full brilliancy and beauty of his application of
the mountain to their driver, when they reached the
pass itself. The road was barely sufficient to suffer
two carriages to move by each other without
touching, being from necessity dug out of the base
of the mountain; a precipice of many feet led to the
river, which was high and turbulent at the time;
there was no railing nor any protection on the side
next the water--and in endeavouring to avoid the
unprotected side of the road, two wagons had met
a short time before, and one of them lost a wheel
in the encounter--its owner had gone to a distance
for assistance, leaving the vehicle where it had
fallen. The horses of Antonio, unaccustomed to
such a sight, were with some difficulty driven by
the loaded wagon, and when nearly past the object,
took a sudden fright at its top, which was flapping
in the wind. All the skill and exertions of Antonio to
prevent their backing was useless, and carriage and
horses would inevitably have gone off the bank
together, had not Charles, with admirable presence
of mind, opened a door, and springing out, placed a
billet of wood, which had been used as a base for a
lever in lifting the broken wagon, under one of the
wheels. This checked the horses until Antonio had
time to rally them, and, by using the whip with
energy, bring them into the road again. He certainly
showed great dexterity as a coachman. But,
unhappily, the movement of Charles had been
misunderstood by Julia, and, throwing open the
door, with the blindness of fear, she sprang from
the carriage also: it was on the side next the
water, and her first leap was over the bank; the hill
was not perpendicular, but too steep for Julia to
recover her balance--and partly running, and partly
falling, the unfortunate girl was plunged into the
rapid river. Charles heard the screams of Miss
Emmerson, and caught a glimpse of the dress of
Julia as she sprang from the carriage. He ran to the
bank just in time to see her fall into the water.
{St. Anthony's Nose = this incident probably
occurred at a place on the Mohawk River called
today The Noses, between Fonda and Palatine
Bridge; there is another St. Anthony's Nose on the
Hudson River}
"Oh, God!" he cried, "Julia!--my Julia!"--and, without
seeming to touch the earth, he flew down the bank,
and threw himself headlong into the stream. His
great exertions and nervous arms soon brought him
alongside of Julia, and, happily for them both, an
eddy in the waters drew them to the land. With
some difficulty Charles was enabled to reach the
shore with his burthen.
Julia was not insensible, nor in the least injured.
Her aunt was soon by her side, and folding her in
her arms, poured out her feelings in a torrent of
tears. Charles would not, however, suffer any delay,
or expressions of gratitude--but, forcing both aunt
and niece into the carriage, bid Anthony drive
rapidly to a tavern known to be at no great
distance.--
On their arrival, both Julia and Charles immediately
clad themselves in dry clothes--when Miss
Emmerson commanded the presence of the young
man in her own room. On entering, Charles found
Julia sitting by a fire, a thousand times handsomer,
if possible, than ever. Her eyes were beaming with
gratitude, and her countenance was glowing with
the excitement produced by the danger that she
had encountered.
"Ah! Charles, my dear cousin," cried Julia, rising and
meeting him with both hands extended, "I owe my
life to your bravery and presence of mind."
"And mine too, Charles." said Miss Emmerson; "but
for you, we should have all gone off the hill
together."
"Yes, if Anthony had not managed the horses
admirably, you might have gone indeed," said
Charles, with a modest wish to get rid of their
praise. But this was an unlucky speech for Charles:
he had, unconsciously presented the image of a
rival, at the moment that he hoped he filled all the
thoughts of Julia.
"Ah, Antonio!" she cried, "poor Antonio!--and where
is he?--Why do you not send for him, dear aunt?"
"What, my love, into my bed-chamber!" said Miss
Emmerson, in surprise; "fear has made the girl
crazy!--But, Charles, where is Anthony?"
"In the stable, with the horses, I believe," said the
youth--"no, here he is, under the window, leading
them to the pump."
"Give him this money," said Miss Emmerson, "and
tell him it is for his admirable skill in saving my
life."
Julia saw the danger of an exposure if she
interfered, yet she had the curiosity to go to the
window, and see how Antonio would conduct in the
mortifying dilemma.
"Here, Anthony," said Charles, "Miss Emmerson has
sent you ten dollars, for driving so well, and saving
the carriage."
"Ah! sir, it is no matter--I can ask nothing for that,
I'm sure."
But Charles, accustomed to the backwardness of
the common Americans to receive more than the
price stipulated, still extended his hand towards
the man. Julia saw his embarrassment, and
knowing of no other expedient by which to relieve
him, said, in a voice of persuasion--
"Take it for my sake, Antonio--if it be unworthy of
you, still, take it, to oblige me."
The man no longer hesitated, but took the money,
and gave Julia a look and a bow that sunk deep
into the tablet of her memory--while Charles
thought him extremely well paid for what he had
done, but made due allowances for the excited
state of his cousin's feelings.
"You perceive," said Miss Emmerson, with a smile,
as Julia withdrew from the window, "if Charles be a
little afraid of lightning, he has no dread of the
water."
"Ah! I retract my error," cried Julia; "Charles must
be brave, or he never could have acted so coolly,
and so well."
"Very true, my love," said Miss Emmerson,
excessively gratified to hear her niece praise the
youth; "it is the surest test of courage when men
behave with presence of mind in novel situations.
Those accustomed to particular dangers easily
discharge their duties, because they know, as it
were instinctively, what is to be done. Thus with
Tony--he did well, but, I doubt not, he was horribly
frightened--and for the world he could not have
done what Charles did."
"Not Antonio!" echoed Julia, thrown a little off her
guard--"I would pledge my life, aunt, that Antonio
would have done as much, if not more, than
Charles!"
"Why did he not, then?---It was his place to stop
the carriage---why did he not?"
"It was his place," said Julia, "to manage the
horses, and you acknowledge that he did it well.
Duties incurred, no matter how unworthy of us,
must be discharged; and although we may be
conscious that our merit or our birth entitles us to a
different station from the one we fill, yet a noble
mind will not cease to perform its duty, even in
poverty and disgrace."
Miss Emmerson listened in surprise; but as her
niece often talked in a manner that she did not
comprehend, she attributed it to the improvements
in education, and was satisfied. But Julia had
furnished herself with a clue to what had
occasioned her some uneasiness. At one time she
thought Antonio ought to have left carriage, horses,
every thing, and flown to her rescue, as Charles had
done; but now she saw that the probity of his soul
forbade it. He had, doubtless, by secret means,
induced the owner of the horses to entrust them to
his keeping---and could he, a soldier, one used to
trust and responsibility, forget his duty in the
moment of need? Sooner would the sentinel quit
his post unrelieved---sooner the gallant soldier turn
his back on his enemy---or sooner would Antonio
forget his Julia!
With this view of the propriety of his conduct, Julia
was filled with the desire to let him know that she
approved of what he had done. Surely, if any thing
can be mortifying to a lover, thought our heroine, it
must be to see a rival save the life of his mistress,
while imperious duty chains him to another task.
Young as Julia was, she had already learnt, that it
is not enough for our happiness that we have the
consciousness of doing right, but it is necessary
that others should think we have done so too.
Accordingly, early the following morning she arose,
and wandered around the house, in hopes that
chance would throw her lover in her way, and give
her an opportunity of relieving his mind from the
load of mortification under which she knew he must
be labouring. It was seldom that our heroine had
been in the public bar-room of a tavern--but, in
gliding by the door, she caught a glimpse of
Antonio in the bar; and, impelled by her feelings,
she was near him before she had time to collect her
scattered senses. To be with Antonio, and alone,
Julia felt was dangerous; for his passion might
bring on a declaration, and betray them both to the
public and vulgar notice.--Anxious, therefore, to
effect her object at once, she gently laid her hand
on his arm--Antonio started and turned, while the
glass in his hands fell, with its contents, untasted,
on the floor.
"Rest easy, Antonio," said Julia, in the gentlest
possible tones; "to me your conduct is satisfactory,
and your secret will never be exposed." So saying,
she turned quickly, and glided from the room.
"As I hope to be saved," said Antonio, "I meant
nothing wrong--but should have paid the landlord
the moment he came in"--but Julia heard him not.
Her errand was happily executed, and she was
already by the side of her aunt. On entering the
carriage, Julia noticed the eye of Antonio fixed on
her with peculiar meaning, and she felt that her
conduct had been appreciated.--From this time until
the day of their arrival at the house of Mr. Miller,
nothing material occurred. Antonio rose every hour
in the estimation of Julia, and the young lady
noticed a marked difference in her lover's conduct
towards her. A few miles before they reached the
dwelling, Miss Emmerson observed
"To-morrow will be the twentieth of September;
when I am to know who will be my companion for
the winter, Miss Miller or Katherine."
"Ah! aunt, you may know that now, if I am to
decide," said Julia, "it will be Anna, my Anna,
surely."
Her manner was enthusiastic, and her voice a little
louder than usual. Antonio turned his head, and
their eyes met. Julia read in that glance the
approbation of her generous friendship. Miss
Emmerson was a good deal hurt at this decision of
her niece, who, she thought, knowing her
sentiments, would be induced to have been
satisfied with the visit to Anna, and taken
Katherine for the winter. It was with reluctance that
the aunt abandoned this wish, and, after a pause,
she continued--
"Remember, Julia, that you have not my permission
to ask your friend until the twentieth--we can stay
but one night at Mr. Miller's, but if Anna is to spend
the winter in Park Place, we will return this way
from the Falls, and take her with us to the city."
"Thank you, dear aunt," cried Julia, kissing her with
an affection that almost reconciled Miss Emmerson
to the choice--while Charles Weston whistled "Hail,
Columbia! happy land!"
Julia saw that Antonio pitied her impatience--for
the moment he arrived in sight of Mr. Miller's
house, he put his horses to their speed, and
dashed into the court-yard in the space of a few
minutes. For a little while all was confusion and
joy. Anna seemed delighted to see her friend, and
Julia was in raptures--they flew into each other's
arms--and if their parting embrace was embalmed
in tears, their meeting was enlivened with smiles.
With arms interlocked, they went about the house,
the very pictures of joy.--Even Antonio, at the
moment, was forgotten, and all devoted to
friendship. Nay, as if sensible of the impropriety of
his appearance at that critical instant, he withdrew
himself from observation--and his delicacy was not
lost on Julia. Happy are they who can act in
consonance with their own delicate sentiments, and
rest satisfied with the knowledge that their motives
are understood by those whom it is their greatest
desire to please!---Such, too fortunate Antonio, was
thy lot--for no emotion of thy sensitive mind, no act
of thy scrupulously honourable life, passed
unheeded by thy Julia!--so thought the maiden.
It has been already mentioned that the family of
Mr. Miller was large; and amid the tumult and
confusion of receiving their guests, no opportunity
was afforded to the friends for conversation in
private. The evening passed swiftly, and the hour
for bed arrived without any other communication
between Julia and Anna than whisperings and
pressures of the hands, together with a thousand
glances of peculiar meaning with the eyes. But Julia
did not regret this so much as if Antonio had been
unknown--she had been in his company for four
days, and knew, or thought she knew, already, as
much of his history as Anna herself.--But one
thought distressed her, and that was, that his
residence might be far from the house of her aunt.
This reflection gave the tender-hearted girl real
pain, and her principal wish to converse with Anna
in private was to ascertain her future lot on this
distressing point. No opportunity, however, offered
that night, and Julia saw that in the morning her
time would be limited, for Miss Emmerson desired
Mr. Miller to order her carriage to be in readiness to
start so soon as they had breakfasted.
"When, dear aunt, am I to give Anna the
invitation," said Julia, when they were left alone, "if
you start so early in the morning?"
"The proper time will be, my child, immediately
before we get into the carriage," said Miss
Emmerson, with a sigh of regret at the
determination of her niece; "it will then be more
pointed, and call for an immediate answer."
This satisfied Julia, who knew that it would be
accepted by her friend, and she soon fell asleep, to
dream a little of Anna, and a great deal of Antonio.
The following morning Julia arose with the sun, and
her first employment was to seek her friend. Anna
had also risen, and was waiting impatiently for the
other's appearance, in the vacant parlour.
"Ah! dear Julia," said she, catching her arm and
dragging her to a window, "I thought you would
never come.--Well, are we to spend the winter
together--have you spoken to your dear, dear aunt,
about it?"
"You shall know in good time, my Anna," said Julia,
mindful of the wishes of her aunt, and speaking
with a smile that gave Anna an assurance of her
success.
"Oh! what a delightful winter we will have!" cried
Anna, in rapture.
"I am tongue-tied at present," said Julia, laughing;
"but not on every subject," she continued, blushing
to the eyes; "do tell me of St. Albans--of Regulus--
who is he?"
"Who is he?" echoed Anna--"why, nobody!--one
must have something to write about, you know, to
a friend."
Julia felt sick and faint--her colour left her cheeks
as she forced a smile, and uttered, in a low voice--
"But Antonio--Stanley?"
"A man of straw," cried Anna, with unfeeling levity;
"no such creature in the world, I do assure you!"
Julia made a mighty effort to conquer her emotion,
and wildly seizing Anna by the arm, she pointed to
her aunt's coachman, who was at work on his
carriage at no great distance, and uttered--"For
God's sake, who is HE?"
"He!" cried Anna, in surprise, "why, your driver--and
an ugly wretch he is!--don't you know your own
driver yet?"
Julia burst from her treacherous friend--rushed into
the room of her aunt-and throwing herself into the
arms of Miss Emmerson, wept for an hour as if her
heart would break. Miss Emmerson saw that
something had hurt her feelings excessively, and
that it was something she would not reveal.
Believing that it was a quarrel with her friend, and
hoping at all events that it would interrupt their
intercourse, Miss Emmerson, instead of trying to
discover her niece's secret, employed herself in
persuading her to appear before the family with
composure, and to take leave of them with decency
and respect. In this she succeeded, and the happy
moment arrived. Anna in vain pressed near her
friend to receive the invitation--and her mother
more than once hinted at the thousand pities it was
to separate two that loved one another so fondly.
No invitation was given--and although Anna spent
half a day in searching for a letter, that she
insisted must be left in some romantic place, none
was ever found, nor did any ever arrive.
While resting with her foot on the step of the
carriage, about to enter it, Julia, whose looks were
depressed from shame, saw a fluid that was
discoloured with tobacco fall on her shoe and soil
her stocking. Raising her eyes with disgust, she
perceived that the wind had wafted it from the
mouth of Antonio, as he held open the door--and
the same blast throwing aside his screen of silk,
discovered a face that was deformed with disease,
and wanting of an eye!
Our travellers returned to the city by the way of
Montreal and Lake Champlain; nor was it until Julia
had been the happy wife of Charles Weston for
more than a year, that she could summon
resolution to own that she had once been in love,
like thousands of her sex, "with a man of straw!"
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