University of Virginia Library

10. CHAPTER X.

Craig was indebted to her father. He had
defrauded him by the most attrocious and illicit
arts. On either account he was liable to prosecution,
but her heart rejected the thought of being
the author of injury to any man. The dread
of punishment, however, might induce him to refund,
uncoercively, the whole or some part of
the stolen property. Money was at this moment
necessary to existence, and she conceived herself
justly entitled to that, of which her father had
been perfidiously despoiled.

But the law was formal and circuitous. Money
itself was necessary to purchase its assistance.
Besides, it could not act with unseen virtue and
instantaneous celerity. The co-operation of advocates
and officers was required. They must be
visited, and harangued, and importuned. Was
she adequate to the task? Would the energy of
her mind supply the place of experience, and,
with a sort of miraculous efficacy, afford her the
knowledge of official processes and dues? As little,
on this occasion, could be expected from her
father, as from her. He was infirm and blind.
The spirit that animated his former days was
flown. His heart's blood was chilled by the rigours
of his fortune. He had discarded his indignation
and his enmities, and, together with
them, hope itself had perished in his bosom. He
waited in tranquil despair, for that stroke which
would deliver him from life, and all the woes that
it inherits.

But these considerations were superfluous. It
was enough that justice must be bought, and
that she had not the equivalent. Legal proceedings
are encumbered with delay, and her necessities
were urgent. Succour, if withheld till the
morrow, would be useless. Hunger and cold
would not be trifled with. What resource was
there left in this her uttermost distress? Must she
yield, in imitation of her father, to the cowardly
suggestions of despair?

Craig might be rich. His coffers might be
stuffed with thousands. All that he had, according
to the principles of social equity, was her's;
yet he, to whom nothing belonged, rioted in superfluity,
while she, the rightful claimant, was
driven to the point of utmost need. The proper
instrument of her restoration was law, but its arm
was powerless, for she had not the means of bribing
it into activity. But was law the only instrument?

Craig, perhaps, was accessible. Might she
not, with propriety, demand an interview, and
lay before him the consequences of his baseness?
He was not divested of the last remains of humanity.
It was impossible that he should not relent
at the picture of those distresses of which he was
the author. Menaces of legal prosecution she
meant not to use, because she was unalterably
resolved against that remedy. She confided in
the efficacy of her pleadings to awaken his justice.
This interview she was determined immediately
to seek. She was aware that by some accident
her purpose might be frustrated. Access
to his person, might, for the present, be impossible,
or might be denied. It was proper therefore
to write him a letter, which might be substituted
in place of an interview. It behoved her
to be expeditious, for the light was failing, and

her strength was nearly exhausted by the hurry
of her spirits. Her fingers, likewise, were benumbed
with the cold. She performed her task,
under these disadvantages, with much difficulty.
This was the purport of her letter:

An hour ago I was in Second-Street,
and saw you. I followed you till you entered
the Indian Queen-Tavern. Knowing where
you are, I am now preparing to demand an interview.
I may be disappointed in this hope, and
therefore write you this.

I do not come to upbraid you, to call you to a
legal, or any other account for your actions. I
presume not to weigh your merits. The God of
cquity be your judge. May he be as merciful,
in the hour of retribution, as I am disposed to be.

It is only to inform you that my father is on
the point of perishing with want. You know who
it was that reduced him to this condition. I persuade
myself I shall not appeal to your justice in
vain. Learn of this justice to afford him instant
succour.

You know who it was that took you in, an
houseless wanderer; protected and fostered your
youth, and shared with you his confidence and
his fortune. It is he who now, blind and indigent,
is threatened, by an inexorable landlord,
to be thrust into the street; and who is, at this
moment, without fire and without bread.

He once did you some little service: now he
looks to be compensated. All the retribution he
asks, is to be saved from perishing. Surely you
will not spurn at his claims. Thomas Craig has
done nothing that shews him dcaf to the cries of
distress. He would relieve a dog from such suffering.

Forget that you have known my father in any
character but that of a supplicant for bread. I
promise you that, on this condition, I, also, will
forget it. If you are so far just, you have nothing
to fear. Your property and reputation
shall both be safe. My father knows not of your
being in this city. His enmities are extinct, and
if you comply with this request, he shall know
you only as a benefactor.

Having finished and folded this epistle, she
once more returned to the tavern. A waiter informed
her that Craig had lately been in, and was
now gone out to spend the evening. Whither
had he gone? she asked.

How was he to know where gentlemen eat
their suppers? Did she take him for a witch?
What, in God's name, did she want with him
at that hour? Could she not wait, at least, till
he had done his supper? He warranted her pretty
face would bring him home time enough.

Constantia was not disconcerted at this address.
She knew that females are subjected,
through their own ignorance and cowardice, to a
thousand mortifications. She set its true value
on base and low-minded treatment. She disdained
to notice this ribaldry, but turned away
from the servant to meditate on this disappointment.

A few moments after, a young fellow smartly
dressed, entered the apartment. He was immediately
addressed by the other, who said to him,
Well, Tom, where's your master. There's a
lady wants him, pointing to Constantia, and laying
a grinning emphasis on the word lady. She
turned to the new-comer: Friend, are you Mr.
Craig's servant?

The fellow seemed somewhat irritated at the
bluntness of her interrogatory. The appellation
of servant sat uneasily, perhaps, on his pride, especially
as coming from a person of her appearance.
He put on an air of familiar ridicule, and
surveyed her in silence. She resumed, in an authoritative
tone, where does Mr. Craig spend
this evening? I have business with him of the
highest importance, and that will not bear delay.
I must see him this night.—He seemed preparing
to make some impertinent answer, but she anticipated
it. You had better answer me with decency.
If you do not, your master shall hear
of it.

This menace was not ineffectual. He began
to perceive himself in the wrong, and surlily muttered,
Why, if you must know, he is gone to
Mr. Ormond's. And where lived Mr. Ormond?
In Arch-Street; he mentioned the number on
her questioning him to that effect.

Being furnished with this information, she left
them. Her project was not to be thwarted by
slight impediments, and she forthwith proceeded
to Ormond's dwelling. Who was this Ormond?
she enquired of herself as she went along: whence
originated, and of what nature is the connection
between him and Craig? Are they united by
union of designs and sympathy of character, or is
this stranger a new subject on whom Craig is
practising his arts? The last supposition is not
impossible. Is it not my duty to disconcert his
machinations, and save a new victim from his
treachery? But I ought to be sure before I act.
He may now be honest, or tending to honesty,
and my interference may cast him backward, or
impede his progress.

The house to which she had been directed was
spacious and magnificent. She was answered

by a servant, whose uniform was extremely singular
and fanciful, and whose features and accents
bespoke him to be English, with a politeness
to which she knew that the simplicity of her
garb gave her no title. Craig, he told her, was
in the drawing-room above stairs. He offered to
carry him any message, and ushered her, meanwhile,
into a parlour. She was surprized at the
splendour of the room. The ceiling was painted
with a gay design, the walls stuccoed in relief,
and the floor covered with a Persian carpet,
with suitable accompaniments of mirrors, tables
and sofas.

Craig had been seated at the window above.
His suspicions were ever on the watch. He suddenly
espied a figure and face on the opposite side
of the street, which an alteration of garb and the
improvements of time, could not conceal from
his knowledge. He was startled at this incident,
without knowing the extent of its consequences.
He saw her cross the way opposite this house,
and immediately after heard the bell ring. Still
he was not aware that he himself was the object
of this visit, and waited, with some degree of
impatience, for the issue of this adventure.

Presently he was summoned to a person below,
who wished to see him. The servant shut
the door, as soon as he had delivered the message,
and retired.

Craig was thrown into considerable perplexity.
It was seldom that he was wanting in presence
of mind and dexterity, but the unexpectedness of
this incident, made him pause. He had not forgotten
the awful charms of his summoner. He
shrunk at the imagination of her rebukes. What
purpose could be answered by admitting her? It
was, undoubtedly, safest to keep at a distance,
but what excuse should be given for refusing this

interview? He was roused from his reverie by a
second and more urgent summons. The person
could not conveniently wait; her business was of
the utmost moment, and would detain him but a
few minutes.

The anxiety which was thus expressed to see
him, only augmented his solicitude to remain invisible.
He had papers before him which he had
been employed in examining. This suggested
an excuse. Tell her that I am engaged just now,
and cannot possibly attend to her. Let her leave
her business. If she has any message you may
bring it to me.

It was plain to Constance that Craig suspected
the purpose of her visit. This might have come
to his knowledge by means impossible for her to
divine. She now perceived the wisdom of the
precaution she had taken. She gave her letter
to the servant with this message: Tell him I
shall wait here for an answer, and continue to
wait till I receive one.

Her mind was powerfully affected by the criticalness
of her situation. She had gone thus far,
and saw the necessity of persisting to the end.
The goal was within view, and she formed a sort
of desperate determination not to relinquish the
pursuit. She could not overlook the possibility
that he might return no answer, or return an unsatisfactory
one. In either case, she was resolved
to remain in the house till driven from it by violence.
What other resolution could she form?
To return to her desolate home, penniless, was
an idea not to be endured.

The letter was received, and perused. His
conscience was touched, but compunction was a
guest, whose importunities he had acquired a peculiar
facility of eluding. Here was a liberal offer.
A price was set upon his impunity. A

small sum, perhaps, would secure him from all
future molestation.—She spoke, to be sure, in a
damned high tone. 'Twas a pity that the old
man should be hungry before snpper-time. Blind
too! Harder still, when he cannot find his way
to his mouth. Rent unpaid, and a flinty-hearted
landlord. A pretty pickle to be sure. Instant
payment she says. Won't part without it. Must
come down with the stuff. I know this girl:
When her heart is once set upon a thing, all the
devils will not turn her out of her way. She
promises silence. I can't pretend to bargain
with her. I'd as lief be ducked, as meet her face
to face. I know she'll do what she promises.
That was always her grand failing. How the
little witch talks! Just the dreamer she ever
was! Justice! Compassion! Stupid fool! One
would think she'd learned something of the world
by this time.

He took out his pocket book. Among the
notes it contained the lowest was fifty dollars.
This was too much, yet there was no alternative,
something must be given. She had detected his
abode, and he knew it was in the power of the
Dudleys to ruin his reputation, and obstruct his
present schemes. It was probable, that if they
should exert themselves, their cause would find
advocates and patrons. Still the gratuitous gift
of fifty dollars, sat uneasily upon his avarice. One
idea occurred to reconcile him to the gift.
There was a method he conceived of procuring
the repayment of it with interest. He inclosed
the note in a blank piece of paper and sent it
to her.

She received the paper, and opened it with
trembling fingers. When she saw what were its
contents, her feelings amounted to rapture. A
sum like this was affluence to her in her present

condition. At least it would purchase present
comfort and security. Her heart glowed with
exultation, and she seemed to tread with the
lightness of air, as she hied homeward. The
langour of a long fast, the numbness of the cold,
were forgotten. It is worthy of remark how
much of human accommodation was comprized
within this small compass; and how sudden was
this transition from the verge of destruction to the
summit of security.

Her first business was to call upon her landlord
and pay him his demand. On her return
she discharged the little debts she had been obliged
to contract, and purchased what was immediately
necessary. Wood she could borrow from
her next neighbour, and this she was willing to
do, now that she had the prospect of repaying it.