This was an awful moment to Julia--she was on the eve of being confronted, in a room, for the first time, with the man on whom she felt that her happiness or misery must depend. Although she knew the vast importance to her of good looks at such a moment, she looked unusually ill--she was pale from apprehension, and awkward and ungraceful from her agitation. She would have given the world to have got out of the room, but this was impossible--there was but one door, and through that he must come. She had just concluded that it was better to remain in her chair than incur the risk of fainting in the passage, when he entered, preceded by Charles. His upper, and part of his lower lip, were clean shaved; a small part of one cheek and his nose were to be seen; all the rest of his face was covered with hair, or hid under the patch. An enormous coloured handkerchief was tied, in a particular manner, round his neck; and his coat, made of plain materials, and somewhat tarnished with service, was buttoned as close to his throat as the handkerchief would allow. In short, his whole attire was that of a common driver of a hack carriage; and no one who had not previously received an intimation that his character was different from his appearance, would at all have suspected the deception. "Your name is Anthony?" said Miss Emmerson, as he bowed to her with due deference. "Yes, ma'am, Anthony--Tony Sandford," was the reply--it was uttered in a vulgar nasal tone, that Julia instantly perceived was counterfeited: but Miss Emmerson, with perfect innocency, proceeded in her inquiries. "Are your horses gentle and good, Tony?" adopting the familiar nomenclature that seemed most to his fancy. "As gentle as e'er a lady in the land," said Tony, turning his large black eye round the room, and letting it dwell a moment on the beautiful face of Julia--her heart throbbed with tumultuous emotion at the first sound of his voice, and she was highly amused at the ingenuity he had displayed, in paying a characteristic compliment to her gentleness, in this clandestine manner--if he preserves his incognito so ingeniously he will never be detected, thought Julia, and all will be well. "And the carriage," continued Miss Emmerson, "is it fit to carry us?" "I can't say how fit it may be to carry sich ladies as you be, but it is as good a carriage as runs out of York." Here was another delicate compliment, thought Julia, and so artfully concealed under brutal indifference that it nearly deceived even herself. "When will you be ready to start?" asked Miss Emmerson. "This moment," was the prompt reply--"we can easily reach Schenectady by sundown."