 | CHAPTER IV. Ormond, or, The secret witness |  |
4. CHAPTER IV.
The terms on which she had been admitted
into this house, included the advance of one quarter's
rent and the monthly payment of subsequent
dues. The requisite sum had been with difficulty
collected, the landlord had twice called to remind
her of her stipulation, and this day had been fixed
for the discharge of this debt. He had omitted,
contrary to her expectations and her wishes, to
come. It was probable, however, that they
should meet on the ensuing day. If he should fail
in this respect, it appeared to be her duty to carry
her resolution to perform.
Now, however, new views were suggested to
her thoughts. By the payment of this debt she
should leave herself nearly destitute. The flight
and terror of the citizens would deprive her of
employment. Want of food was an immediate
and inevitable evil which the payment of this sum
would produce. Was it just to incur this evil?
To retain the means of luxurious gratification
would be wrong, but to bereave herself and her
father of bare subsistance was surely no dictate of
duty.
It is true the penalty of nonpayment was always
in the landlord's hands. He was empowered
by the law to sell their moveables and expel
them from his house. It was now no time for a penalty
like this to be incurred. But from this treatment
it was reasonable to hope that his lenity
would save them. Was it not right to wait till
the alternative of expulsion or payment was imposed?
Meanwhile, however, she was subjected
to the torments of suspense and to the guilt of a
broken promise. These consequences were to be
eluded only in one way: By visiting her landlord
and stating her true condition, it was possible
that his compassion would remit claims which
were, in themselves, unreasonable and uncommon.
The tender of the money accompanied by
representations sufficiently earnest and pathetic,
might possibly be declined.
These reflections were, next morning, submitted
to her father. Her decision in this case was
of less importance in his eyes, than in those of his
daughter. Should the money be retained, it
was, in his opinion, a pittance too small to afford
them effectual support. Supposing provisions to
be had at any price, which was, itself improbable,
confusion would probably last for months, and
thirty dollars would be devoured in a few weeks
even in a time of safety. To give or to keep was
indifferent for another reason. It was absurd for
those to consult about means of subsistence for the
next month, when it was fixed that they should
die to-morrow—The true proceeding was obvious.
The landlord's character was well known
to him by means of the plaints and invectives of
their neighbours, most of whom were tenants of
the same man. If the money were offered his
avarice would receive it, in spite of all the pleas
that she should urge. If it were detained without
lieve, an officer of justice would quickly be
dispatched to claim it.
This statement was sufficient to take away from
Constance the hope that she had fostered. What
then, said she, after a pause, is my father's advice?
Shall I go forthwith and deliver the money?
No, said he, stay till he sends for it. Have
you forgotten that Mathews resides in the very
midst of this disease. There is no need to thrust
yourself within its fangs. They will reach us
time enough. It is likely his messenger will be
an agent of the law. No matter. The debt will
be merely increased by a few charges. In a state
like ours, the miserable remnant is not worth caring
for.
This reasoning, did not impart conviction to
the lady. The danger, flowing from a tainted
atmosphere was not small, but to incur that danger
was wiser than to exasperate their landlord,
to augment the debt and to encounter the disgrace,
accruing from a constable's visits. The
conversation was dropped and, presently after,
she set out on a visit to Mathews.
She fully estimated the importance to her happiness
of the sum which she was going to pay. The
general panic had already, in some degree, produced
the effect she chiefly dreaded; the failure
of employment for her needle. Her father had,
with his usual diligence at self-torment, supplied
her with sufficient proofs of the covetous and obdurate
temper of her creditor. Insupportable,
however, as the evil of payment was, it was better
to incur it spontaneously, than by means of
legal process. The desperateness of this proceeding
therefore, did not prevent her from
adopting it, but it filled her heart with the bitterest
sensations. Absorbed as she past along, by
these, she was nearly insensible to the vacancy
which now prevailed in a quarter which formerly
resounded with the din of voices and carriages.
As she approached the house to which she was
going, her reluctance to proceed increased.
Frequently she paused to recollect the motives
that had prescribed this task, and to reinforce her
purposes. At length she arrived at the house.
Now, for the first time, her attention was excited
by the silence and desolation that surrounded her.
This evidence of fear and of danger struck upon
her heart. All appeared to have fled from the presence
of this unseen and terrible foe. The temerity
of adventuring thus into the jaws of the pest,
now appeared to her in glaring colours.
Appearances suggested a reflection which had
not previously occurred and which tended to console
her. Was it not probable that Mathews had
likewise flown? His habits were calculated to
endear to him his life: He would scarcely be
among the last to shun perils like these: The
omission of his promised visit on the preceding
day, might be owing to his absence from the city,
and thus, without subjection to any painful alternative,
money.
To give certainty to this hope, she cast her eye
towards the house opposite to which she now
stood. Her heart drooped on perceiving proofs
that the dwelling was still inhabited. The door
was open and the windows in the second and
third story were raised. Near the entrance, in
the street, stood a cart. The horse attached to
it, in his form and furniture and attitude, was an
emblem of torpor and decay. His gaunt sides,
motionless limbs, his gummy and dead eyes, and
his head hanging to the ground, were in unison
with the craziness of the vehicle to which he belonged,
and the paltry and bedusted harness which
covered him. No attendant nor any human face
was visible. The stillness, though at an hour
customarily busy, was uninterrupted except by
the sound of wheels moving at an almost indistinguishable
distance.
She paused for a moment to contemplate this
unwonted spectacle. Her trepidations were
mingled with emotions not unakin to sublimity,
but the consciousness of danger speedily prevailed,
and she hastened to acquit herself of her engagement.
She approached the door for this
purpose, but before she could draw the bell her
motions were arrested by sounds from within.
The staircase was opposite the door. Two persons
were now discovered descending the stair.
They lifted between them an heavy mass, which
was presently discerned to be a coffin. Shocked
by this discovery and trembling she withdrew
from the entrance.
At this moment a door on the opposite side of
the street opened and a female came out. Constance
approached her involuntarily and her appearance
not being unattractive, adventured,
obsequies were thus unceremoniously conducted.
The woman informed her that the dead was Mathews,
who, two days before, was walking about,
indifferent to, and braving danger. She cut
short the narrative which her companion seemed
willing to prolong, and to embellish with all its
circumstances, and hastened home with her utmost
expedition.
The mind of Constance was a stranger to pusillanimity.
Death, as the common lot of all,
was regarded by her without perturbation. The
value of life, though not annihilated, was certainly
diminished by adversity. With whatever
solemnity contemplated, it excited on her own
account, no aversion or inquietude. For her father's
sake only, death was an evil to be ardently
deprecated. The nature of the prevalent disease,
the limits and modes of its influence, the risque
that is incurred by approaching the sick or the
dead, or by breathing the surrounding element,
were subjects foreign to her education. She
judged like the mass of mankind from the most
obvious appearances, and was subject like them
to impulses which disdained the controul of her
reason. With all her complacency for death and
speculative resignation to the fate that governs the
world, disquiet and alarm pervaded her bosom
on this occasion.
The deplorable state to which her father would
be reduced by her death, was seen and lamented,
but her tremulous sensations flowed not from this
source. They were, in some sort, inexplicable
and mechanical. In spite of recollection and reflection,
they bewildered and harassed her, and
subsided only of their own accord.
The death of Mathews was productive of one
desirable consequence. Till the present tumult
to inspect his affairs, his debtors would probably
remain unmolested. He, likewise, who should
succeed to the inheritance, might possess very
different qualities, and he as much distinguished
for equity as Mathews had been for extortion.
These reflections lightened her footsteps as she
hied homeward. The knowledge she had gained,
she hoped would counterpoise, in her father's
apprehension, the perils, which accompanied the
acquisition of it.
She had scarcely passed her own threshhold,
when she was followed by Whiston. This man
pursued the occupation of a Cooper. He performed
journey-work in a shop, which, unfortunately
for him, was situated near the water, and
at a small distance from the scene of original infection.
This day his employer had dismissed his
workman, and Whiston was at liberty to retire
from the city; a scheme, which had been the
theme of deliberation and discussion during the
preceding fortnight.
Hitherto his apprehensions seemed to have molested
others more than himself. The rumours
and conjectures industriously collected during the
day, were, in the evening, copiously detailed to
his neighbours, and his own mind appeared to be
disburthened of its cares, in proporation as he filled
others with terror and inquietude. The predictions
of physicians, the measures of precaution
prescribed by the government, the progress of
the malady, and the history of the victims who
were hourly destroyed by it, were communicated
with tormenting prolixity and terrifying minuteness.
On these accounts as well as on others, no one's
visits were more unwelcome than his. As his
deportment was sober and honest, and his intentions
with politeness, though his entrance always
produced a momentary depression of her
spirits. On this evening she was less fitted than
ever to repel those anxieties which his conversation
was qualified to produce. His entrance,
therefore, was observed with sincere regret.
Contrary, however, to her expectation, Whiston
brought with him new manners and a new expression
of countenance. He was silent, abstracted,
his eye was full of inquietude, and wandered
with perpetual restlessness. On these tokens being
remarked, he expressed, in faultering accents
his belief, that he had contracted this disease, and
that now it was too late for him to leave the city.
Mr. Dudley's education was somewhat medical.
He was so far interested in his guest as to enquire
into his sensations. They were such as were
commonly the preludes to fever. Mr. Dudley,
while he endeavoured by cheerful tones, to banish
his dejection, exhorted him to go home, and
to take some hot and wholesome draught, in consequence
of which, he might rise tomorrow with
his usual health. This advice was gratefully received,
and Whiston put a period to his visit much
sooner than was customary.
Mr. Dudley entertained no doubts that Whiston
was seized with the reigning disease, and extingnished
the faint hope which his daughter had
cherished, that their district would escape. Whiston's
habitation was nearly opposite their own,
but as they made no use of their front room, they
had seldom an opportunity of observing the transactions
of their neighbours. This distance and
seclusion were congenial with her feelings, and
she derived pleasure from her father's confession,
that they contributed to personal security.
Constance was accustomed to rise with the
dawn, and traverse, for an hour, the State-house
Mall. As she took her walk the next morning,
she pondered with astonishment on the present
situation of the city. The air was bright and
pure, and apparently salubrious. Security and
silence seemed to hover over the scene. She was
only reminded of the true state of things by the
occasional appearance of carriages loaded with
household utensils tending towards the country,
and by the odour of vinegar by which every passenger
was accompanied. The public walk was
cool and fragrant as formerly, skirted by verdure
as bright, and shaded by foliage as luxuriant, but
it was no longer frequented by lively steps and
cheerful countenances. Its solitude was uninterrupted
by any but herself.
This day passed without furnishing any occasion
to leave the house. She was less sedulously
employed than usual, as the cloaths, on which
she was engaged, belonged to a family who had
precipitately left the city. She had leisure therefore
to ruminate. She could not but feel some
concern in the fate of Whiston. He was a young
man who subsisted on the fruits of his labour, and
divided his gains with an only sister who lived
with him, and who performed every household
office.
This girl was humble and innocent, and of a
temper affectionate and mild. Casual intercourse
only had taken place between her and Constance.
They were too dissimilar for any pleasure to arise
from communication, but the latter was sufficiently
disposed to extend to her harmless neighbour,
the sympathy and succour which she needed.
Whiston had come from a distant part of the
country, and his sister was the only person in the
city with whom he was connected by ties of kindred.
dition would be helpless and deplorable.
Evening arrived, and Whiston failed to pay his
customary visit. She mentioned this omission to
her father, and expressed her apprehension as to
the cause of it. He did not discountenance the
inference which she drew from this circumstance,
and assented to the justice of the picture which
she drew of the calamitous state to which Whiston
and his sister would be reduced by the indisposition
of either. She then ventured to suggest
the propriety of visiting the house, and of thus ascertaining
the truth.
To this proposal Mr. Dudley urged the most
vehement objectioes. What purpose could be
served by entering their dwelling? What benefit
would flow but the gratification of a dangerous
curiosity? Constance was disabled from furnishing
pecuniary aid. She could not act the part of
physician or nurse. Her father stood in need of
a thousand personal services, and the drudgery of
cleansing and cooking, already exceeded the
bounds of her strength. The hazard of contracting
the disease by conversing with the sick, was
imminent. What services was she able to render
equivalent to the consequences of her own
sickness and death?
These representations had temporary influence.
They recalled her for a moment, from her purpose,
but this purpose was speedily re-embraced.
She reflected that the evil to herself, formidable
as it was, was barely problematical. That converse
with the sick would impart this disease, was
by no means certain. Whiston might at least be
visited. Perhaps she should find him well. If
sick, his disease might be unepidemical, or curable
by seasonable assistance. He might stand in
his sister, to summon this aid.
Her father listened calmly to her reasonings.
After a pause, he gave his consent. In doing
this he was influenced not by the conviction that
his daughter's safety would be exposed to no hazard,
but from a belief that though she might
shun infection for the present, it would inevitably
seize her during some period of the progress
of this pest.
| CHAPTER IV. Ormond, or, The secret witness | |