The lost hunter: A tale of early times

by John Turvill Adams

COLERIDGE.

William Bernard had, of late, been more than usually attracted to the society of Faith. In habits of familiar intercourse with the family of the Armstrongs, from his childhood, and admitted to almost the same degree of intimacy which exists between brothers and sisters with the little black-eyed girl whom, in winter, he drew on his sled, with Anne, to school, and, to fill whose apron, he shook chestnuts and walnuts from the trees, in autumn, he and Faith had never had, during the earlier period of their acquaintance, feelings other than those attaching one to another, members of the same household. The fact that Faith had no brother, taken in connection with her love for Anne, had caused her to lean more on William, and be willing to call upon him for a thousand little services, which he was as ready to grant as she to ask. These, in the years of childhood, were rewarded by a kiss, or permission to ride on her rocking-horse, or to make calls, with Anne and herself, on their dolls, and so forth; but as years rolled on, and vague feelings and shadowy intimations assumed definiteness, a delicate veil of reserve imperceptibly interposed itself, as effectual to bar the former familiarity as if a Chinese wall had been built between them. Yet, for years, no warmer sentiment succeeded; and, though William Bernard felt pleasure in the society of his beautiful neighbor, he experienced no uneasiness in her absence.

But a change was destined to take place which, indeed, it is surprising had not sooner occurred. William found himself, he hardly knew how, more frequently in the company of his sister's lovely friend, notwithstanding it was with a more timid step he sought the dwelling of Mr. Armstrong. For it seemed to him as if the little community were beginning to suspect the existence of those feelings which, like the morning glory, shrink from the rays of the sun. They were too delicate for inspection. They were like the wing of the butterfly or the plumage of the humming-bird, which cannot be handled without being tarnished. Hence, though longing to enter the house as in his school-boy days, were it only to catch for a moment the sounds of Faith's voice or a glimpse of her face, he would content himself with merely passing by, deriving a satisfaction from the consciousness of being nearer to her, and of gazing on the house beautified by her presence. Besides, as his feelings became more interested, his distrust of himself increased. The heart of the bold, young man, which real danger had never disturbed, fluttered like a caught bird at the voice of Faith, more and more, and he hesitated to make an avowal which might, indeed, crown his hopes, but which might, also, dash them to the ground. For he could not conceal from himself that Faith, so far from giving him encouragement as a lover, had never even appeared to suspect his feelings. Her conduct had always been the same, the same unreserved confidence, the same frank, unconstrained deportment. She spoke to him as freely as ever of her hopes and fears; she took his arm as readily, nor did a blush welcome his coming or a tremor of the voice signalize his departure.

Young ladies are usually sharp-sighted enough in detecting admiration, and fathoming the heart of a lover, and some may think her want of penetration strange. If so, I must entreat indulgence for my simple Faith. Be the circumstances remembered in which she was placed and had grown up; her child-like innocence and purity, unacquainted with the world, her seclusion from society, the intimacy that had always existed between her and young Bernard, which continued to make many attentions that would have been marked in another, natural and expected from him, and the want of all preoccupation in his favor, and the surprise of the keen-sighted will diminish. Is not an inexperienced and modest girl slow to suspect in another, emotions towards herself of a kind which she has never felt?

William Bernard, then, had never told his love, nor did Miss Armstrong dream of its existence. To her he was the dear friend of her childhood, and nothing more. His mother and sister suspected the condition of his heart, and it was with calm satisfaction in the former, and a glow of delight in the latter, that they looked forward to the time when the attentions and amiable qualities of the son and brother should ripen the friendship of the unimpassioned beauty into love. Of this result, with a pardonable partiality they did not doubt. With this explanation of the feelings of the two young people towards each other at this time, we will accompany them on a morning walk to the Falls of the Yaupáae.

It was one of those bright, glorious days which the poet Herrick calls the "bridal of the earth and sky." From a heaven intensely blue, the sun, without a cloud, "looked like a God" over his dominions. Some rain had fallen in the night, and the weather suddenly clearing up towards morning, had hardened the moisture into ice. Every bush, every tree, the fences, were covered with a shining mail, from which and from the crisped surface of the snow, the rays of the sun were reflected, and filled the air with a sparkling light. Transmuted, as by a magician's wand, the bare trees were no longer ordinary trees. They were miracles of vegetable silver and crystal. Mingled among them, the evergreens glittered like masses of emerald hung with diamonds. Aladdin, in the enchanted cavern, saw not so brilliant a spectacle.

The narrow road which led to the Falls descended a declivity, where it left the main street until it came to within a few feet of the surface of the river, then curving round the base of the hill, it skirted the winding margin of the stream until it ascended another hill, on the top of which, from a platform of level rock, one of the finest views was commanded. The path was slippery with ice, and in descending the declivity the arm of Bernard was necessary to support the uncertain steps of his companion. It was with a sort of tremor he offered it, of which Faith was all unconscious. She took it without hesitation, and stepping cautiously over the glazed surface, and laughing at each other's slips, the young couple pursued their walk. On their right was a steep hill, rising in some places to a height of one hundred feet above their heads, covered over, for a considerable distance along the road, with the perennial beauty of the graceful hemlock and savin, now resplendent in jewels; and on the left the Yaupàae, its frozen level hid in snow, out of which the trees and shrubs on the little islands raised their silver armor glittering in the sun. In the distance, and visible from the greater part of the road, the river, in a narrow chasm, dashed down the rocks. An unusual quantity of snow had lately fallen, which, having been succeeded by heavy rains, had swollen the stream to more than double its ordinary size. It was evident that, what in the language of the country is called a freshet was commencing. Such is the name given to those swellings of the water, the most formidable of which commonly occur in the month of February, or early in the Spring, when the overcharged rivers, bursting their boundaries and overflowing the neighboring lowlands, sometimes occasion great damage to property, sweeping away bridges, and mills, and dams, with irresistible violence.

The roaring of the Falls had been long distinguishable, but, it was not until the first curve in the road had been turned, that they came into sight."

"Look! Faith," cried Bernard, as they burst into view; "did you ever see them more magnificent?"

The attention of the young lady had been, hitherto, too much engrossed by the necessity of watching her footsteps down the descent, to give much heed to surrounding objects; but, now, she looked up, having reached the comparatively level spot, which extended as far as the second hill or rising ground above mentioned, and felt all the admiration expressed by her companion.