University of Virginia Library

22. CHAPTER XXII.

Unhappy Constance! At the moment
when thy dearest hopes had budded afresh, when
the clouds of insecurity and disquiet had retired
from thy vision, wast thou assailed by the great
subverter of human schemes. Thou sawest nothing
in futurity but an eternal variation and succession
of delights. Thou wast hastening to forget
dangers and sorrows which thou fondly imaginedst
were never to return. This day was to
be the outset of a new career; existence was
henceforth to be embellished with enjoyments,
hitherto scarcely within the reach of hope.

Alas! Thy predictions of calamity seldom failed
to be verified. Not so thy prognostics of pleasure.
These, though fortified by every calculation
of contingencies, were edifices grounded upon
nothing. Thy life was a struggle with malignant
destiny; a contest for happiness in which
thou wast fated to be overcome.

She stooped to kiss the venerable cheek of her
father, and, by whispering, to break his slumber.
Her eye was no sooner fixed upon his countenance,
than she started back and shrieked. She
had no power to forbear. Her outcries were
piercing and vehement. They ceased only with
the cessation of breath. She sunk upon a chair
in a state partaking more of death than of life,
mechanically prompted to give vent to her agonies
in shrieks, but incapable of uttering a sound.

The alarm called her servants to the spot.
They beheld her dumb, wildly gazing, and gesticulating
in a way that indicated frenzy. She
made no resistence to their efforts, but permitted

them to carry her back to her own chamber. Sarah
called upon her to speak and to explain the
cause of these appearances, but the shock which
she had endured, seemed to have irretrievably
destroyed her powers of utterance.

The terrors of the affectionate Sarah were increased.
She kneeled by the bed-side of her
mistress, and with streaming eyes, besought the
unhappy lady to compose herself. Perhaps the
sight of weeping in another possessed a sympathetic
influence, or nature had made provision
for this salutary change: However that be, a
torrent of tears now came to her succour, and
rescued her from a paroxysm of insanity, which
its longer continuance might have set beyond the
reach of cure.

Meanwnile, a glance at his master's countenance
made Fabian fully acquainted with the nature
of the scene. The ghastly visage of Mr.
Dudley shewed that he was dead, and that he
had died in some terrific and mysterious manner.
As soon as this faithful servant recovered from
surprize, the first expedient which his ingenuity
suggested, was to fly with tidings of this event to
Mr. Melbourne. That gentleman instantly obeyed
the summons. With the power of weeping,
Constantia recovered the power of reflection.
This, for a time, served her only as a medium of
anguish. Melbourne mingled his tears with hers,
and endeavoured, by suitable remonstrances, to
revive her fortitude.

The filial passion is perhaps instinctive to man;
but its energy is modified by various circumstances.
Every event in the life of Constance contributed
to heighten this passion beyond customary
bounds. In the habit of perpetual attendance
on her father, of deriving from him her knowledge,
and sharing with him the hourly fruits of

observation and reflection, his existence seemed
blended with her own. There was no other
whose concurrence and council she could claim,
with whom a domestic and uninterrupted alliance
could be maintained. The only bond of consanguinity
was loosened, the only prop of friendship
was taken away.

Others, perhaps, would have observed, that
her father's existence had been merely a source
of obstruction and perplexity; that she had hitherto
acted by her own wisdom, and would find,
hereafter, less difficulty in her choice of schemes,
and fewer impediments to the execution.—These
reflections occurred not to her. This disaster had
increased, to an insupportable degree, the vacancy
and dreariness of her existence The face she
was habituated to behold, had disappeared forever;
the voice, whose mild and affecting tones,
had so long been familiar to her ears, was hushed
into eternal silence. The felicity to which she
clung was ravished away: Nothing remained to
hinder her from sinking into utter despair.

The first transports of grief having subsided, a
source of consolation seemed to be opened in the
belief that her father had only changed one form
of being for another: That he still lived to be
the guardian of her peace and honor; to enter the
recesses of her thought: To forewarn her of evil
and invite her to good. She grasped at these
images with eagerness, and fostered them as the
only solaces of her calamity. They were not
adapted to inspire her with cheerfulness, but they
sublimed her sensations, and added an inexplicable
fascination to sorrow.

It was unavoidable sometimes to reflect upon
the nature of that death which had occurred. Tokens
were sufficiently apparent that outward violence

had been the cause. Who could be the
performer of so black a deed, by what motives
he was guided were topics of fruitless conjecture.
She mused upon this subject, not from the thirst
of vengeance, but from a mournful curiosity.
Had the perpetrator stood before her, and challenged
retribution, she would not have lifted a
finger to accuse or to punish. The evil already
endured, left her no power to concert and execute
projects for extending that evil to others.
Her mind was unnerved, and recoiled with loathing
from considerations of abstract justice, or political
utility, when they prompted to the prosecution
of the murderer.

Melbourne was actuated by different views,
but, on this subject, he was painfully bewildered.
Mr. Dudley's deportment to his servants and
neighbours, was gentle and humane. He had no
dealings with the trafficking or labouring part of
mankind. The fund which supplied his cravings
of necessity or habit, was his daughter's. His
recreations and employments were harmless and
lonely. The evil purpose was limited to his death,
for his chamber was exactly in the same state in
which negligent security had left it. No midnight
footstep or voice, no unbarred door or lifted
window afforded tokens of the presence, or
traces of the entrance or flight, of the assassin.

The meditations of Constantia, however, could
not fail, in some of their circuities, to encounter
the image of Craig. His agency in the impoverishment
of her father, and in the scheme by which
she had like to have been loaded with the penalties
of forgery, was of an impervious and unprecedented
kind. Motives were unveiled by time,
in some degree, accounting for his treacherous
proceeding, but there was room to suppose an
inborn propensity to mischief. Was he not the

authour of this new evil? His motives and his
means were equally inscrutable, but their inscrutability
might flow from her own defects in discernment
and knowledge, and time might supply
her defects in this as in former instances.

These images were casual. The causes of
the evil were seldom contemplated. Her mind
was rarely at liberty to wander from reflection on
her irremidiable loss. Frequently, when confused
by distressful recollections, she would detect
herself going to her father's chamber. Often his
well known accents would ring in her ears, and
the momentary impulse would be to answer his
calls. Her reluctance to sit down to her meals,
without her usual companion, could scarcely be
surmounted.

In this state of mind the image of the only
friend who survived, or whose destiny, at least,
was doubtful, occurred to her. She sunk into fits
of deeper abstraction and dissolved away in tears
of more agonizing tenderness. A week after her
father's interment, she shut herself up in her
chamber, to torment herself with fruitless remembrances.
The name of Sophia Westwyn
was pronounced, and the ditty that solemnized
their parting was sung. Now, more than formerly,
she became sensible of the loss of that
portrait, which had been deposited in the hands
of M`Crea, as a pledge. As soon as her change
of fortune had supplied her with the means of redeeming
it, she hastened to M`Crea for that end.
To her unspeakable disappointment he was absent
from the city: He had taken a long journey,
and the exact period of his return could not be
ascertained. His clerks refused to deliver the
picture, or even, by searching, to discover
whether it was still in their master's possession.
This application had frequently and lately been

repeated, but without success; M`Crea had not
yet returned and his family were equally in the
dark, as to the day on which his return might be
expected.

She determined on this occasion, to renew her
visit. Her incessant disappointments had almost
extinguished hope, and she made enquiries at his
door, with a faultering accent and sinking heart.
These emotions were changed into surprize and
delight, when answer was made that he had just
arrived. She was instantly conducted into his
presence.

The countenance of M`Crea easily denoted,
that his visitant was by no means acceptable.
There was a mixture of embarrassment and sullenness
in his air, which was far from being diminished
when the purpose of this visit was explained.
Constance reminded him of the offer and
acceptance of this pledge, and of the conditions
with which the transaction was accompanied.

He acknowledged, with some hesitation, that
a promise had been given to retain the pledge
until it were in her power to redeem it, but the
long delay, the urgency of his own wants, and
particularly the ill treatment which he conceived
himself to have suffered, in the transaction respecting
the forged note, had, in his own opinion,
absolved him from this promise. He had
therefore sold the picture to a goldsmith, for as
much as the gold about it was worth.

This information produced, in the heart of
Constantia, a contest between indignation and
sorrow, that, for a time, debarred her from
speech. She stifled the anger that was, at length,
rising to her lips, and calmly inquired to whom
the picture had been sold.

M`Crea answered that for his part he had little
dealings in gold and silver, but every thing of

that kind, which fell to his share, he transacted
with Mr. D —. This person was one of the
most eminent of his profession. His character
and place of abode were universally known.
The only expedient that remained was to apply
to him, and to ascertain, forthwith, the destiny
of the picture. It was too probable, that when
separated from its case, the portrait was thrown
away or destroyed, as a mere incumbrance, but
the truth was too momentous to be made the
sport of mere probability. She left the house of
M`Crea, and hastened to that of the goldsmith.

The circumstance was easily recalled to his remembrance.
It was true that such a picture had
been offered for sale, and that he had purchased
it. The workmanship was curious, and he felt
unwilling to destroy it. He therefore hung it up
in his shop and indulged the hope that a purchaser
would, sometime, be attracted by the mere beauty
of the toy.

Constantia's hopes were revived by these tidings,
and she earnestly inquired if it were still in
his possession.

No. A young gentleman had entered his shop
some months before; the picture had caught his
fancy, and he had given a price which the artist
owned he should not have demanded, had he not
been encouraged by the eagerness which the
gentleman betrayed to possess it.

Who was this gentleman? Had there been any
previous acquaintance between them? What was
his name, his profession, and where was he to be
found?

Really, the goldsmith answered, he was ignorant
respecting all those particulars. Previously
to this purchase, the gentleman had sometimes
visited his shop, but he did not recollect to have

since seen him. He was unacquainted with his
name and his residence.

What appeared to be his motives for purchasing
this picture?

The customer appeared highly pleased with it.
Pleasure, rather than surprize, seemed to be
produced by the sight of it. If I were permitted
to judge, continued the artist, I should imagine
that the young man was acquainted with the original.
To say the truth, I hinted as much at the
time, and I did not see that he discouraged the
supposition. Indeed, I cannot conceive how the
picture could otherwise have gained any value in
his eyes.

This only heightened the eagerness of Constance
to trace the footsteps of the youth. It was
obvious to suppose some communication or connection
between her friend and this purchaser.
She repeated her enquiries, and the goldsmith,
after some consideration, said:— Why, on second
thoughts, I seem to have some notion of having
seen'a figure like that of my customer, go into a
lodging house, in Front-Street, some time before
I met with him at my shop.

The situation of this house being satisfactorily
described, and the artist being able to afford her
no further information, except as to stature and
guise, she took her leave. There were two motives
impelling her to prosecute her search after
this person; the desire of regaining this portrait
and of procuring tidings of her friend. Involved
as she was in ignorance, it was impossible to
conjecture, how far this incident would be subservient
to these inestimable purposes. To procure
an interview with this stranger, was the first measure
which prudence suggested.

She knew not his name or his person. He was
once seen entering a lodging house. Thither

she must immediately repair, but how to introduce
herself, how to describe the person of whom
she was in search, she knew not. She was beset
with embarrassments and difficulties. While her
attention was entangled by these, she proceeded
unconsciously on her way, and stopped not until
she reached the mansion that had been described.
Here she paused to collect her thoughts.

She found no relief in deliberation. Every
moment added to her perplexity and indecision.
Irresistibly impelled by her wishes, she at length,
in a mood that partook of desperate, advanced to
the door and knocked. The summons was immediately
obeyed by a woman of decent appearance.
A pause ensued, which Constantia at
length terminated, by a request to see the mistress
of the house.

The lady courteously answered that she was
the person, and immediately ushered herrisitant
into an apartment. Constance being scated, the
lady waited for the disclosure of her message.
To prolong the silence was only to multiply embarrassments.
She reverted to the state of her
feelings, and saw that they flowed from inconsistency
and folly. One vigorous effort was sufficient
to restore her to composure and self-command.

She began with apologizing for a visit, unpreceeded
by an introduction. The object of her enquiries
was a person, with whom it was of the
utmost moment that she should procure a meeting,
but whom, by an unfortunate concurrence
of circumstances, she was unable to describe by
the usual incidents of name and profession. Her
knowledge was confined to his external appearance,
and to the probability of his being an inmate
of this house, at the begining of the year.

She then proceeded to describe his person and
dress.

It is true, said the lady, such an one as you
describe has boarded in this house. His name was
Martynne. I have good reason to remember
him, for he lived with me three months, and then
left the country without paying for his board.

He has gone then? said Constance, greatly
discouraged by these tidings.

Yes: He was a man of specious manners and
loud pretensions. He came from England, bringing
with him forged recommendatory letters, and
after passing from one end of the country to the
other, contracting debts which he never paid, and
making bargains which he never fulfilled, he suddenly
disappeared. It is likely that he has returned
to Europe.

Had he no kindred, no friends, no companions?

He found none here. He made pretences to
alliances in England, which better information
has, I believe, since shewn to be false.

This was the sum of the information procurable
from this source. Constance was unable to
conceal her chagrin. These symptoms were observed
by the lady, whose curiosity was awakened
in turn. Questions were obliquely started, inviting
Constance to a disclosure of her thoughts.
No advantage would arise from confidence, and
the guest, after a few minutes of abstraction and
silence, rose to take her leave.

During this conference, some one appeared to
be negligently sporting with the keys of an harpsichord,
in the next apartment. The notes were
too irregular and faint to make a forcible impression
on the ear. In the present state of her mind,
Constance was merely conscious of the sound, in
the intervals of conversation. Having arisen
from her seat, her anxiety to obtain some informátion

that might lead to the point she wished,
made her again pause. She endeavoured to
invent some new interrogatory better suited to
her purpose, than those which had, already, been
employed. A silence on both sides ensued.

During this interval, the unseen musician suddenly
refrained from rambling, and glided into
notes of some refinement and complexity. The
cadence was aerial, but a thunderbolt, falling at
her feet, would not have communicated a more
visible shock to the senses of Constance. A
glance that denoted a tumult of soul bordering on
distraction, was now fixed upon the door, that
led into the room whence the harmony proceeded.
Instantly the cadence was revived, and
some accompanying voice, was heard to warble

Joy and grief in their sudden onset, and their
violent extremes, approach so nearly, in their influence
on human beings, as scarce to be distinguished.
Constantia's frame was still enfeebled
by her recent distresses. The torrent of emotion
was too abrupt and too vehement. Her faculties
were overwhelmed, and she sunk upon
the floor motionless and without sense, but not
till she had faintly articulated;

My God! My God! This is a joy unmerited
and too great.