 | Randolph |  |
SARAH TO FRANK.
I thank you for your foolish letter, and hasten to set
you, hair-brained as you are, upon the scent of our prey,
a wild beast cousin, that may be tracked in blood. Judge
of my earnestness, when I consent to overlook your
swearing, and address you, seriously. But so it is. I
have just received a letter from Washington, which I
must commit to your care. Do not deceive me, Frank.
I think that I know you. That unthinking levity of
yours, is affectation. You are boisterous, and rude, that
you may not be suspected of sentiment. Is it not so?—
Have you not been too keenly alive to—but no. It is
enough for me, that you have a steady hand, and a stout
heart. Will you do me a favour? I want to put your
I am sure, whatever may be the cause. But I demand
what is more difficult for you to perform;—yet, the
cause is worthy of it—a continual effort. Can you
be a man?—stern, inflexible and serious, for a while;—
a few weeks only. You can—you will. I shall understand
that you are ready to be, what I am sure you are
capable of being, with all your constitutional rashness,
and affected frivolity, a prudent, but implacable minister
of justice, if you do not refuse, by return mail.
By the enclosed, you will perceive that I have good
reason to suspect that the girl, whom you will recollect
only, as Helen, and speak of, in the same way, when you
write to me, lest any of our letters should miscarry, is
really in this country, after all:—nay—that she is, in
what capacity I know not, whether wife, or mistress, a
follower of Edward Molton!—You are thunderstruck.
But, I have no time to explain. You will perceive
also, who and what she is, by the enclosed; which, after
reading it, I beg you to return to me. Perhaps the
tremendous riddle is about to be unfolded. O, how sincerely,
how fervently, do I pray to our Heavenly Father,
that it may be! Frank—my dear, dear Frank, think
what I am trusting to you;—the honour of a whole family.
Ah, be not indiscreet, or precipitate. I have chosen
you, in preference to John, because I think it safer;—for,
to deal plainly with you, nobody would ever suspect me
of employing you, in an affair of so much delicacy and
mystery.
The moment that you have read this, and re-enclosed
the contents to me again, you will take immediate steps,
to ascertain the truth of the conjecture. I have little
doubt now:—but we must be certain, entirely certain, before
we act.
(The following Letter was enclosed.)
TO MISS SARAH RAMSAY.
My dear young lady,—A circumstance has occurred
this morning, which seems to justify, in no slight degree,
You know how she was admired and sought after; and
truly, I never saw a more fascinating creature. She left
here, very abruptly, about a fortnight since; and the
next day, a gentleman arrived at the house, and was
shown directly to her chamber, at his own request, by a
black girl who happened to be in the hall, when he entered.
But just as he was on the point of opening the door
of Miss Howard's room, he seemed to recollect himself;
for he turned, and asked the stupid little creature, in a
threatening manner, where the lady of the house was.—
The child was terrified, and ran, screaming, down the
stairs. The gentleman, whom nobody knows here, although
it is said, that he was seen here about three weeks
before, behaved like a distracted man. He must have
thought it a publick house; for, when the family were
alarmed, Mr. Arrinaut the elder son of Madame Arrinaut,
at whose house, the lady chaperone of Miss Howard,
had stayed, was sent for;—all were silent as death
till he came—nobody dared to enter. He ran up stairs,
and found the stranger folding a note, just written; and
another lying by him on the table, which, from the appearance
of the writing, Mr. Arrinaut does not doubt to
have been Miss Howard's.
“What business have you here, Sir”—said Mr. Arrinaut.
The stranger, he says, looked at him, for a moment,
as if amazed at his rudeness;—and then quietly went
up to him—and asked him where Mary was.
“Mary!—what Mary?—Do you mean Miss Howard,
Sir?” said Mr. Arrinaut.
“I do”—answered the stranger;—and then, as if suddenly
recollecting himself, while the tears stood in his
eyes,—he added—“Gracious God, sir—I am sadly
afraid I—I pray you, where am I?—how came
I here?—what have I done?”
“Please to give me your name, first, sir,” said Mr. Arrinaut,
“and descend with me to the parlour.”
“Edward Molton,” was the reply.
“What!—the brother of Miss Howard?”
“The same.—The brother—aye—the half brother of
Miss Howard.” Mutual apologies and explanations immediately
been led into a strange mistake. From the similarity
of names, he had been induced to believe that she was in
a publick house; and, therefore, had came on for the purpose
of taking her away, even from the excellent woman
who accompanied her.
He mounted his horse immediately, after being informed
of her return to Baltimore, and departed at full
speed.
The story, with many aggravations, soon got abroad;
and, at last, came back to our house, with the addition,
that this enchanting woman was not named Howard—and
—was not his half sister!—I sent my brother, who is cruelly
sensible, on matters of this sort, since the imposition
practised upon us last year, by Miss * * * * to trace
the story to its author. Would you believe it!—He
found a gentleman in the suite of —, who had
seen this Mary Howard at court!—He was not acquainted
with her, or her family; but was sure that her
name was not Howard, when she was presented. At the
—'s last ball, he met her again; and sat next to
her at the supper table. She would not know him.—
There was some mystery about it; for her eyes betrayed
a consciousness of having met his before. She retired
early; coloured, as she passed him; then turned, haughtily,
toward him in particular, and bade him good night.
This was the last time that she was in company. He is a
sensible man; a profound observer of human nature; and
has told me, plainly, that he thinks there is somewhat
suspicious in her deportment—“I do not believe that she
knew me,” he said—“but I am sure that my countenance
troubled her.” I am much changed since she saw me.
I never saw her but once; and, while she has not entirely
forgotten my face, yet, it is probable, that she cannot remember
where she has seen me. Thus I account for her
perplexity;—no, her name is not Howard—nor is she married.
Perhaps she has eloped;—and now, it does appear
to me, that I have heard something of that sort—
she was very much celebrated; and came out, at the last
Drawing Room that I attended. Yes—yes—it is so—
her name, I have lost; but I have an indistinct recollection,
that there is somewhat wrong in her history.”
I related this to our charming friend, who was, of
course, much shocked; but she forbore all reproaches till
she had arrived at a greater degree of certainty. All the
town was in uproar about the affair. She was cruelly
censured, and misrepresented; yes, she!—who, but a few
days ago was idolized and caressed by the whole city,
for having such a “melancholy, and magnificent” creature,
as they called Miss Howard, then, under her guardianship.
In justification of herself, she showed me the
letters which Miss Howard brought; and you know too,
that she came in the company of the celebrated Mr. —,
the member from —. How was it possible to doubt her
credentials? And why should we doubt them? Was she
not beautiful, accomplished; and, at the worst, of high
rank abroad? And why should we be fastidious? We
are unreasonable, dear, are we not, to complain of their
cast off gentry? Heaven and earth!—Mrs. B— was at
my elbow. Another discovery! A handkerchief has been
found with—what, of all the letters of the alphabet,
think you, marked upon it? With no others, my dear
Miss Ramsay, than H. W. O. Yes; it is a fact, I assure
you. I have seen them myself. They were marked
originally in blue silk, and have been picked out; but,
so recently, that they can be plainly traced by a faint blue
stain. You may judge of our consternation.
We sent immediately for the paper in which the advertisement
appeared; and, at last, succeeded in getting it
—but not from the office. The papers have all been taken
off the files, and there was not a copy to be had in the
city; but, at length, we recollected an acquaintance, who
was in the habit of cutting out the pieces that struck her,
for any reason whatever, in the papers of the day. We
sent to her, and luckily obtained it. Yes! the very letters!
Good heaven! how deceived have we been! All flashes
upon us now, so clearly, that we wonder at our own
blindness. The same lofty carriage—the same impassioned
tenderness of tone—the very colour of the hair
and eyes—and yet, that we should never have suspected
her! How strange! But then, who would have thought
of looking here for your Helen; that most interesting and
unfortunate creature; that subject of so much inquiry and
are things of daily occurrence, in common life, more extravagant
and improbable than we ever find in romances
and novels; just, I dare say, as there are skies and trees,
which no painter would dare to copy. Nay, to add to
our wonder, we are just told, (for nothing else is heard
of in Washington, now,) that Miss Howard herself, when
that advertisement appeared, read it aloud, at Mrs. L----'s
breakfast table. It is distinctly recollected; because she
read it, in a manner very unsual to her, en badinage.—
What a wonderful woman she is? Tell me, if you know,
where she is—and who? We are dying to know her history;
and I, for one, shall persist in believing well of her,
in spite of appearances, until I know that she is unworthy.
And above all, I pray you, my dear Miss Ramsay, not
to forget that we are equally curious to know who, and
what her brother is. Is he named Molton? Where does
he live? Tell us all that you know; for he has excited
a strange interest here. Mr. Arrinaut says, that he is
the most extraordinary man, that he ever met with;—
that, at first, he thought him a lunatick; but that, when
he entered the parlour, and made his apology, with such
an air of gentlemanly self possession, pained and distressed
as he was, with his awkward mistake;—and, particularly
when he mounted at the door (and, by the way,
he says that he never saw a man sit a horse so “royally”)—
he, Mr. Arrinaut, was “awestruck”—and affected, inconceivably
affected, by the melancholy lustre of his eyes.
Ma chere amie toujours à toi!
| Randolph | |