Macon beacon. [volume] (Macon, Miss.) 1859-1995, 1872-09-14

dies who seemed to be the only occu-
pants of the carriage, and from one
of whom came the shrieks.
1t was but the work of an instant
for me to rush forward, seize the
near horse, twist the bit until /
threw him against his fellow, and
stop the carriage with lurch that
snapped the pole and sent the coach
man reeling from his seat. In an
other instant my friend had come to
my side, the traces had been cut, and
all danger was over.
l stepped to the carriage to
assist the ladies to alight. The one
nearest me, an elderly woman, whose
shrieks had rent the air, fairly tum-
bled into my arms. 1t took both
my friend and myself, she was so
helpless, to carry her to the bank by
the roadside, when we put her down.
Then, leaving my companion and
the ladies' of the party to attend to
her, hurried back to the barouche.
But before | could reach it the other
occupant, springing lightly out, had
met me half way. Apparently she
was as cool and composed as in her
drawing-room at dinner. As | be-
gan to apologize for my delay she
threw back her veil and smiled, re-
vealing the face of Miss Vonberg.
| felt as if | walked on air.
How can we thank you sufficient
ly?' she said, in the softest, most
musical Of voices. 81 had given
ourselves up for lost, when you rush
ed forward so brayely
Never shall l forget the emphasis
on these last words, or her looks as
she spoke them. "It wa7 nothing,
yet my heart beat high and proud.
=" Nothing more than any other would
have dore."
pardon me-" she answered, II
do not think SO. 1t was an even
chance that the horse would trample
you death, and only heroes take such
Iisks ms that" Her great Juno-Iikc
eyes b'az d as she uttered these
words.
She had stopped in her entbusi-
asm. But now, as il sensible she had
been too frank, she colored violently
and moved quickly forward, saying,
excuse me, but aunt, perceive, is
calling me"
"How shall we ever get back to
Rome?' cried the poor old lady, who
had recovered from her faint. " |
never, never can trust myself behind
those horses again.
"If you will accept them, the seats
of my friend and myself are at your
service" | said.
"But you will have to walk back
to Rome
"That is trihe," Ireplied.
"Tho distance must be four or five
miles But for my aunt | could not
think of accepting" She hesitated.
Z" l suppose there is no other alterna-
tive. How can we ever repay your
She gave me her haud IN parting,
smiling bewitchingly.
The long miles back to the Late
ran gate seemed but a few steps, |
was SO intoxicated with happiness.
intoxicated with happiness, and
with dreams that | soon found to be,
alas hopeless ones; for, calling next
day at the Palazza Goldona, the frs
person | saw in the saloon was
Prince Borgia, to whom Miss Won
berg introduced me. He had heard
of the event of the day before, and
he scowled at me rs if had inter
fered with him. Miss Nonberg her
self was i'll at ease. She watched the
Prince anxiously--so anXlously that
in n little while | rose to 90.
think was very angry. Miss
Vonberg was evidently engaged to
the Prince, and, moreover, was afraid
of him. she was as different in bis
presence from the bright, frank, en-
thusiastic girl of the Campagna as
it was possible to be. Another
sacrifice to rank" l said, wrathfully.
"What fools our American girls
make of themselves y You see, |
had gone there expecting warm
welcome, dreaming impossible
dreams, and this was my revenge.
Now came days and weeks of in
tolerable misery. Angry as I was |
could not get rid of Miss Vonberg's
image. Her blushing, eager face, as
she thanked me on the Campogna,
was rising up before me constantly
and at every recurrence of that Sc
ductive vision I was more madly in
love than ever. More than this,
whenever l happened to find her
alone, she was grGciousness itself,
natural, frank, sympathetic and
charming beyond words. But if the
Prince happened to come in, she
froze toward me at once. Was she a
hirt? Everything contradicted this
idea. No, she was pledged to the
Prince, and was afraid OF awakening
his jealousy. Yet [ loved her i'll
spite of all. The reader will say it
was insanity. Perhaps it was. Per
haps all love at first sight is. Again
and again had laughed at such a
passion; had called it boyish; and
said it was impossible for man
of sense; yet here l was, at eight and
twenty, as much q slave to love at
first sight as the veriest lad of sew
enteen. Night and day l thought
only of Miss Vonberg. l haunted
every place l thought / might meet
her-the Pincian hill, the Borgese
gardens, the Vile Pamphilia, the
opera, the Corso. Her sweet, low
voice, her enchanting smile, her di'
vine face and figure were always IN
vision before me.
At last came n crisis. The Prince