 | CHAPTER XXVIII. Ormond, or, The secret witness |  |
28. CHAPTER XXVIII.
While oocupied with these reflections,
the light hastily disappeared, and darkness, rendered,
by a cloudy atmosphere, uncommonly intense,
succeeded. She had the means of lighting
a lamp, that hung against the wall, but had
been too much immersed in thought, to notice the
deepening of the gloom. Recovering from her reverie,
she looked around her with some degree of
trepidation, and prepared to strike a spark, that
would enable her to light her lamp.
She had hitherto indulged an habitual indifference
to danger. Now the presence of Ormond,
the unknown purpose that led him hither, and
the defencelessness of her condition, inspired her
with apprehensions, to which she had hitherto
been a stranger. She had been accustomed to
pass many nocturnal hours in this closet. Till
now, nothing had occurred, that made her enter
it with circumspection, or continue in it with reluctance.
Her sensations were no longer tranquil. Each
minute that she spent in this recess, appeared to
multiply her hazards. To linger here, appeared
to her the height of culpable temerity. She hastily
resolved to return to the farmer's dwelling,
and, on the morrow, to repair to New-York.
For this end, she was desirous to produce a light.
The materials were at hand.
She lifted her hand to strike the flint, when her
ear caught a sound, which betokened the opening
of the door, that led into the next apartment.
Her motion was suspended, and she listened as
well as a throbbing heart would permit. That
first suggestion of her fears. The motives of this
unseasonable entrance, could not be reconciled
with her safety. He had given no warning of his
approach, and the door was opened with tardiness
and seeming caution.
Sounds continued, of which no distinct conception
could be obtained, or the cause that produced
them assigned. The floors of every
apartment being composed, like the walls and
ceiling, of cement, footsteps were rendered almost
undistinguishable. It was plain, however,
that some one approached her own door.
The panic and confusion that now invaded her,
was owing to surprize, and to the singularity of
her situation. The mansion was desolate and
lonely. It was night. She was immersed in
darkness. She had not the means, and was unaccustomed
to the office, of repelling personal injuries.
What injuries she had reason to dread,
who was the agent, and what were his motives,
were subjects of vague and incoherent meditation.
Meanwhile, low and imperfect sounds, that
had in them more of inanimate than human, assailed
her ear. Presently they ceased. An inexplicable
fear deterred her from calling. Light
would have exercised a friendly influence. This,
it was in her power to produce, but not without
motion and noise, and these, by occasioning the
discovery of her being in the closet, might possibly
enhance her danger.
Conceptions like these, were unworthy of the
mind of Constance. An interval of silence succeeded,
interrupted only by the whistling of the
blast without. It was sufficient for the restoration
of her courage. She blushed at the cowardice
which had trembled at a sound. She considered
that he was probably unconscious of her situation.
His coming was not with the circumspection of
an enemy. He might be acquainted with the
place of her retreat, and had come to obtain an
interview, with no clandestine or myterious purposes.
The noises she had heard, had, doubtless,
proceeded from the next apartment, but might
be produced by some harmless or vagrant creature.
These considerations restored her tranquillity.
They enabled her, deliberately, to create a
light, but they did not disuade her from leaving
the house. Omens of evil seemed to be connected
with this solitary and dark some abode: Besides,
Ormond had unquestionably entered upon
this scene. It could not be doubted that she was
the object of his visit. The farm-house was a
place of meeting, more suitable and safe than any
other. Thither, therefore, she determined immediately
to return.
The closet had but one door, and this led into
the chamber where the sounds had arisen.
Through this chamber, therefore, she was obliged
to pass, in order to reach the stair-case, which
terminated in the hall below.
Bearing the light in her left hand, she withdrew
the bolt of the door, and opened. In spite
of courageous efforts, she opened with unwillingness,
and shuddered to throw a glance forward
or advance a step into the room. This was not
needed, to reveal to her the cause of her late disturbance.
Her eye instantly lighted on the body
of a man, supine, motionless, stretched on the
floor, close to the door through which she was
about to pass.
A spectacle like this, was qualified to startle
her. She shrunk back and fixed a more steadfast
mark of blood or of wounds, but there was something
in the attitude, more significant of death
than of sleep. His face rested on the floor, and
his ragged locks concealed what part of his visage
was not hidden by his posture. His garb
was characterized by fashionable elegance, but
was polluted with dust.
The image that first occurred to her, was that
of Ormond. This instantly gave place to another,
which was familiar to her apprehension.
It was at first too indistinctly seen to suggest a
name. She continued to gaze and to be lost in
fearful astonishment. Was this the person whose
entrance had been overheard, and who had dragged
himself hither to die at her door? Yet, in
that case, would not groans and expiring efforts
have testified his condition, and invoked her succour?
Was he not brought hither in the arms of
his assassin? She mused upon the possible motives
that induced some one thus to act, and upon the
connection that might subsist, between her destiny
and that of the dead.
Her meditations, however fruitless, in other
respects, could not fail to shew her the propriety
of hastening from this spot. To scrutinize the
form or face of the dead, was a task, to which
her courage was unequal. Suitably accompanied
and guarded, she would not scruple to return
and ascertain, by the most sedulous examination,
the causes of this ominous event.
She stept over the breathless corpse, and hurried
to the stair-case. It became her to maintain the
command of her muscles and joints, and to proceed
without faultering or hesitation. Scarcely
had she reached the entrance of the hall, when,
casting anxious looks forward, she beheld an human
her, that this was Ormond.
She stopped. He approached her with looks
and gestures, placid but solemn. There was
nothing in his countenance rugged or malignant.
On the contrary, there were tokens of
compassion.
So, said he, I expected to meet you. A light,
gleaming from the window, marked you out.
This, and Laffert's directions, have guided me.
What, said Constance, with discomposure in
her accent, was your motive for seeking me?
Have you forgotten, said Ormond, what past
at our last interview? The evil that I then predicted
is at hand. Perhaps, you were incredulous:
You accounted me a madman or deciever:
Now I am come to witness the fulfilment of my
words, and the completion of your destiny. To
rescue you, I have not come: That is not within
the compass of human powers.
Poor Constantia! he continued, in tones that
manifseted geuuine sympathy, look upon thyself
as lost. The toils that beset thee are inextricable.
Summon up thy patience to endure the
evil. Now will the last and heaviest trial betide
thy fortitude. I could weep for thee, if my manly
nature would permit. This is the scene of thy
calamity, and this the hour.
These words were adapted to excite curiosity
mingled with terror. Ormond's deportment was
of an unexampled tenor, as well as that evil which
he had so ambiguously predicted. He offered
not protection from danger, and yet gave no proof
of being himself an agent or auxiliary. After a
minute's pause, Constantia recovering a firm tone,
said:
Mr. Ormond! Your recent deportment but ill
accords with your professions of sincerity and
you have any purpose, I am at a loss to conjecture.
Whether you most deserve censure or
ridicule, is a point which you afford me not the
means of deciding, and to which, unless on your
own account, I am indifferent. If you are willing
to be more explicit, or if there be any topic
on which you wish further to converse, I will not
refuse your company to Laffert's dwelling. Longer
to remain here, would be indiscrete and absurd.
So saying, she motioned towards the door. Ormond
was passive, and seemed indisposed to prevent
her departure, till she laid her hand upon
the lock. He then, without moving from his
place, exclaimed:
Stay. Must this meeting, which fate ordains
to be the last, be so short? Must a time and
place so suitable, for what remains to be said and
done, be neglected or misused? No. You charge
me with duplicity, and deem my conduct either
ridiculous or criminal. I have stated my reasons
for concealment, but these have failed to convince
you. Well. Here is now an end to doubt.
All ambiguities are preparing to vanish.
When Ormond began to speak, Constance
paused to hearken to him. His vehemence was
not of that nature, which threatened to obstruct
her passage. It was by intreaty that he apparently
endeavoured to detain her steps, and not
by violence. Hence arose her patience to listen.
He continued:
Constance! thy father is dead. Art thou not
desirous of detecting the authour of his fate?
Will it afford thee no consolation to know that
the deed is punished? Wilt thou suffer me to
drag the murderer to thy feet? Thy justice will
due to him who avenged thy wrong in the blood
of the perpetrator? What sayest thou? Grant
me thy permission, and, in a moment, I will drag
him hither.
These words called up the image of the person,
whose corpse she had lately seen. It was
readily conceived that to him Ormond alluded,
but this was the assassin of her father, and his
crime had been detected and punished by Ormond!
These images had no other effect than to
urge her departure: She again applied her hand
to the lock, and said:
This scene must not be prolonged. My father's
death I desire not to hear explained or to
see revenged, but whatever information you are
willing or able to communicate, must be deferred.
Nay, interrupted Ormond, with augmented
vehemence, art thou equally devoid of curiosity
and justice? Thinkest thou, that the enmity
which bereft thy father of life, will not seek thy
own? There are evils which I cannot prevent
thee from enduring, but there are, likewise, ills
which my counsel will enable thee and thy friend
to shun. Save me from witnessing thy death.
Thy father's destiny is sealed; all that remained
was to punish his assassin: But thou and thy Sophia
still live. Why should ye perish by a like
stroke?
This intimation was sufficient to arrest the steps
of Constance. She withdrew her hand from the
door, and fixed eyes of the deepest anxiety on
Ormond;—What mean you? How am I to understand
—
Ah! said Ormond, I see thou wilt consent to
stay. Thy detention shall not be long. Remain
where thou art during one moment; merely while
I drag hither thy enemy, and shew thee a visage
this, he hastily ascended the staircase, and
quickly passed beyond her sight.
Deportment thus mysterious, could not fail of
bewildering her thoughts. There was somewhat
in the looks and accents of Ormond, different
from former appearances: tokens of an hidden
purpose and a smothered meaning, were perceptible:
A mixture of the inoffensive and the lawless
which added to the loneliness and silence
that encompassed her, produced a faultering emotion.
Her curiosity was overpowered by her fear,
and the resolution was suddenly conceived, of
seizing this opportunity to escape.
A third time she put her hand to the lock and
attempted to open. The effort was ineffectual.
The door that was accustomed to obey the gentlest
touch, was now immoveable. She had lately
unlocked and past through it. Her eager inspection
convinced her that the principal bolt
was still withdrawn, but a smaller one was now
perceived, of whose existence she had not been
apprized, and over which her key had no power.
Now did she first harbour a fear that was intelligible
in its dictates. Now did she first perceive
herself sinking in the toils of some lurking enemy.
Hope whispered that this foe was not Ormond.
His conduct had bespoken no willingness to put
constraint upon her steps. He talked not as if
he were aware of this obstruction, and yet his
seeming acquiescence might have flowed from a
knowledge that she had no power to remove beyond
his reach.
He warned her of danger to her life, of which
he was her self-appointed rescuer. His counsel
was to arm her with sufficient caution; the peril
that awaited her was imminent; this was the time
and place of its occurrence, and here she was
would condescend to loose the door. There
were other avenues to the hall. These were accustomed
to be locked, but Ormond had found
access, and if all continued fast, it was incontestable
that he was the authour of this new impediment.
The other avenues were hastily examined. All
were bolted and locked. The first impulse led
her to call for help from without, but the mansion
was distant from Laffert's habitation. This
spot was wholly unfrequented. No passenger
was likely to be stationed where her call could be
heard. Besides, this forcible detention might
operate for a short time, and be attended with
no mischievous consequences. Whatever was to
come, it was her duty to collect her courage and
encounter it.
The steps of Ormond above now gave tokens
of his approach. Vigilant observance of this man
was all that her situation permitted. A vehement
effort restored her to some degree of composure.
Her stifled palpitations allowed her
steadfastly to notice him, as he now descended
the stair, bearing a lifeless body in his arms.
There, said he, as he cast it at her feet, Whose
countenance is that? Who would imagine that
features like those, belonged to an assassin and
imposter?
Closed eyelids and fallen muscles, could not
hide from her lineaments so often seen. She
shrunk back and exclaimed—Thomas Craig!
A pause succeeded, in which she alternately
gazed at the countenance of this unfortunate
wretch and at Ormond. At length, the latter
exclaimed:
Well, my girl; hast thou examined him? Dost
thou recognize a friend or an enemy?
I know him well; but how came this? What
purpose brought him hither? Who was the authour
of his fate?
Have I not already told thee that Ormond was
his own avenger and thine? To thee and to me
he has been a robber. To him thy father is indebted
for the loss not only of property but life.
Did crimes like these merit a less punishment?
And what recompense is due to him whose vigilance
pursucd him hither, and made him pay for
his offences with his blood? What benefit have I
recieved at thy hand to authorize me, for thy
sake, to take away his life?
No benefit recieved from me, said Constance,
would justify such an act. I should have abhored
myself for annexing to my benefits, so bloody
a condition. It calls for no gratitude or recompense.
Its suitable attendant is remorse. That
he is a thief, I know but too well: that my father
died by his hands is incredible.—No motives
or means —
Why so? interrupted Ormond. Does not sleep
seal up the senses? Cannot closets be unlocked
at midnight? Cannot adjoining houses communicate
by doors? Cannot these doors be hidden
from suspicion by a sheet of canvass?—
These words were of startling and abundant
import. They reminded her of circumstances in
her father's chamber, which sufficiently explained
the means by which his life was assailed. The
closet, and its canvass-covered wall; the adjoining
house untenanted and shut up—but this house,
though unoccupied, belonged to Ormond! From
the inferences which flowed hence, her attention
was withdrawn by her companion, who continued:
Do these means imply the interposal of a miracle?
His motives? What scruples can be expected
and pillage? Will he abstain from murder when
urged by excruciating poverty, by menaces of
persecution: by terror of expiring on the gallows?
Tumultuous suspicions were now awakened in
the mind of Constance. Her faultering voice
scarcely allowed her to ask: How know you that
Craig was thus guilty; that these were his incitements
and means?—
Ormond's solemnity now gave place to a tone
of sarcasm and looks of exultation: Poor Constance!
Thou art still pestered with incredulity
and doubts! My veracity is still in question! My
knowledge, girl, is infallible. That these were
his means of access I cannot be ignorant, for I
pointed them out. He was urged by these motives,
for they were stated and enforced by me.
His was the deed, for I stood beside him when it
was done.
These, indeed, were terms that stood in no
need of further explanation. The veil that shrouded
this formidable being, was lifted high enough
to make him be regarded with inexplicable horror.
What his future acts should be, how his
omens of ill were to be solved, were still involved
in uncertainty.
In the midst of the fears for her own safety, by
which Constantia was now assailed, the image of
her father was revived; keen regret and vehement
upbraiding were conjured up:
Craig then was the instrument, and your's the
instigation that destroyed my father! In what
had he offended you? What cause had he given
for resentment?
Cause! replied he, with impetuous accents,
Resentment! None. My motive was benevolent:
My deed conferred a benefit. I gave him
sight and took away his life, from motives equally
enough to set value on the affections of a woman?
These were sought with preposterous anxiety and
endless labour. Among other facilitators of his
purpose, he summoned gratitude to his aid. To
snatch you from poverty, to restore his sight to
your father, were expected to operate as incentives
to love.
But here I was the dupe of error. A thousand
prejudices stood in my way. These, provided
our intercourse were not obstructed, I hoped to
subdue. The rage of innovation seized your father:
this, blended with a mortal antipathy to
me, made him labour to seduce you from the bosom
of your peaceful country: to make you enter
on a boisterous sea; to visit lands where all is
havock and hostility. To snatch you from the influence
of my arguments.
This new obstacle I was bound to remove.
While revolving the means, chance and his evil
destiny threw Craig in my way. I soon convinced
him that his reputation and his life were in my
hands. His retention of these depended upon
my will; on the performance of conditions which
I prescribed.
My happiness and your's, depended on your
concurrence with my wishes. Your father's life
was an obstacle to your concurrence. For killing
him, therefore, I may claim your gratitude. His
death was a due and disinterested offering, at the
altar of your felicity and mine.
My deed was not injurious to him. At his age,
death, whose coming, at some period, is inevitable,
could not be distant. To make it unforeseen
and brief, and void of pain; to preclude the
torments of a lingering malady; a slow and visible
descent to the grave; was the dictates of beneficence.
But of what value was a continuance
to Europe, or have staid at home with me. In
the first case, his life would have been rapidly
consumed by perils and cares. In the second,
separation from you, and union with me, a being
so detestable, would equally have poisoned his
existence.
Craig's cowardice and crimes, made him a pliant
and commodious tool. I pointed out the
way. The unsuspected door, which led into the
closet of your father's chamber, was made by my
direction, during the life of Hellen. By this avenue
I was wont to post myself, where all your
conversations could be overheard. By this avenue,
an entrance and retreat were afforded to
the agent of my newest purpose.
Fool that I was! I solaced myself with the belief
that all impediments were now smoothed,
when a new enemy appeared: My folly lasted as
long as my hope. I saw that to gain your affections,
fortified by antiquated scruples, and obsequious
to the guidance of this new monitor, was
impossible. It is not my way to toil after that
which is beyond my reach. If the greater good
be inaccessible, I learn to be contented with
the less.
I have served you with successless sedulity. I
have set an engine in act to obliterate an obstacle
to your felicity, and lay your father at rest. Under
my guidance, this engine was productive only
of good. Governed by itself or by another, it
will only work you harm. I have, therefore, hastened
to destroy it. Lo! it is now before you
motionless and impotent.
For this complexity of benefit I look for no reward.
I am not tired of well-doing. Having
ceased to labour for an unattainable good, I have
come hither to possess myself of all that I now
opportunity to signalize your wisdom
and your fortitude.
During this speech, the mind of Constance became
more deeply pervaded with dread of some
over-hanging but incomprehensible evil. The
strongest impulse was, to gain a safe asylum, at
a distance from this spot, and from the presence
of this extraordinary being. This impulse was
followed by the recollection, that her liberty was
taken away: That egress from the hall was denied
her, and that this restriction might be part
of some conspiracy of Ormond, against her life.
Security from danger like this, would be, in
the first place, sought, by one of Constantia's sex
and opinions, in flight. This had been rendered,
by some fatal chance, or by the precautions of her
foe, impracticable. Stratagem or force was all
that remained, to elude or disarm her adversary.
For the contrivance and exeention of frauds, all
the habits of her life and all the maxims of her
education, had conspired to unfit her. Her force
of muscles would avail her nothing, against the
superior energy of Ormond.
She remembered that to inflict death, was no
iniquitous exertson of self-defence, and that the
pen-knife which she held in her hand, was capable
of this service. She had used it to remove
any lurking obstruction in the wards of her key,
supposing, for a time, this to be the cause of her
failing to withdraw the bolt of the door. This
resource, was, indeed, scarcely less disastrous
and deplorable, than any fate from which it
could rescue her. Some uncertainty still involved
the intentions of Ormond. As soon as he
paused, she spoke:
How am I to understand this prelude? Let me
know the full extent of my danger; why it is that
this interview was sought.
Ah! Constance! This, indeed, is merely prelude
to a scene that is to terminate my influence
over thy fate. When this is past, I have sworn
to part with thee forever. Art thou still dubious
of my purpose? Art thou not a woman? And
have I not intreated for thy love, and been rejected?
Canst thou imagine that I aim at thy life? My
avowals of love were sincere; my passion was
vehement and undisguised. It gave dignity and
value to a gift in thy power, as a woman, to bestow.
This has been denied. That gift has lost
none of its value in my eyes. What thou refusedst
to bestow, it is in my power to extort. I
came for that end. When this end is accomplished,
I will restore thee to liberty.
These words were accompanied by looks, that
rendered all explanation of their meaning useless.
The evil reserved for her, hitherto obscured by
half-disclosed and contradictory attributes, was
now sufficiently apparent. The truth in this respect
unveiled itself with the rapidity and brightness
of an electrical flash.
She was silent. She cast her eyes at the windows
and doors. Escape through them was hopeless.
She looked at those lineaments of Ormond
which evinced his disdain of supplication and inexorable
passions. She felt that intreaty and argument
would be vain. That all appeals to
his compassion and benevolence would counteract
her purpose, since, in the unexampled conformation
of this man's mind, these principles were
made subservient to his most flagitious designs.
Considerations of justice and pity were made, by
a fatal perverseness of reasoning, champions and
bul warks of his most atrocious mistakes.
The last extremes of opposition, the most violent
expedients for defence, would be justified by
being indispensable. To find safety for her honor,
even in the blood of an assailant, was the
prescription of duty. The equity of this species
of defence, was not, in the present confusion of
her mind, a subject of momentary doubt.
To forewarn him of her desperate purpose,
would be to furnish him with means of counter-action.
Her weapon would easily be wrested
from her feeble hand. Ineffectual opposition
would only precipitate her evil destiny. A rage,
contented with nothing less than her life, might
be awakened in his bosom. But was not this to
be desired? Death, untimely and violent, was
better than the loss of honor.
This thought led to a new series of reflections.
She involuntarily shrunk from the act of killing,
but would her efforts to destroy her adversary, be
effectual? Would not his strength and dexterity,
easily repel or elude them? Her power, in this
respect, was questionable, but her power was
undeniably sufficient to a different end. The
instrument, which could not rescue her from this
injury, by the destruction of another, might save
her from it by her own destruction.
These thoughts rapidly occurred, but the resolution
to which they led, was scarcely formed,
when Ormond advanced towards her. She recoiled
a few steps, and, shewing the knife which
she held, said:
Ormond! Beware! Know that my unalterable
resolution is, to die uninjured. I have the
means in my power. Stop where you are; one
step more, and I plunge this knife into my heart.
I know that to contend with your strength or
your reason, would be vain. To turn this weapon
against you, I should not fear, if I were sure
a greater good by the sacrifice of life, is in my
power, and that sacrifice shall be made.
Poor Constance! replied Ormond, in a tone of
contempt: So! thou preferrest thy imaginary
honor to life! To escape this injury without a
name or substance: Without connection with the
past or future; without contamination of thy purity
or thraldom of thy will; thou wilt kill thyself:
Put an end to thy activity in virtue's cause:
Rob thy friend of her solace: The world of thy
beneficence: Thyself of being and pleasure?
I shall be grieved for the fatal issue of my experiment:
I shall mourn over thy martyrdom to
the most opprobrious and contemptible of all errors,
but that thou shouldst undergo the trial is
decreed. There is still an interval of hope, that
thy cowardice is counterfeited, or that it will give
place to wisdom and courage.
Whatever thou intendest, by way of prevention
or cure, it behoves thee to employ with
steadfastness. Die with the guilt of suicide and
the brand of cowardice upon thy memory, or live
with thy claims to felicity and approbation undiminished.
Chuse which thou wilt. Thy decision
is of moment to thyself, but of none to me.
Living or dead, the prize that I have in view
shall be mine.—
| CHAPTER XXVIII. Ormond, or, The secret witness | |