When once the subject had been introduced, Helena was prone to descant
upon her own situation, and listened with deference to the remarks and
admonitions of her companion. Constantia did not conceal from her any of
her sentiments. She enabled her to view her own condition in its true
light, and set before her the indispensable advantages of marriage,
while she, at the same time, afforded her the best directions as to the
conduct she ought to pursue in order to effect her purpose.
The mind of Helena was thus kept in a state of perpetual and uneasy
fluctuation. While absent from Ormond, or listening to her friend's
remonstrances, the deplorableness of her condition arose in its most
disastrous hues before her imagination. But the spectre seldom failed
to vanish at the approach of Ormond. His voice dissipated every
inquietude.
She was not insensible of this inconstancy. She perceived and lamented
her own weakness. She was destitute of all confidence in her own
exertions. She could not be in the perpetual enjoyment of his company.
Her intervals of tranquillity, therefore, were short, while those of
anxiety and dejection were insupportably tedious. She revered, but
believed herself incapable to emulate the magnanimity of her monitor.
The consciousness of inferiority, especially in a case like this, in
which her happiness so much depended on her own exertions, excited in
her the most humiliating sensations.
While indulging in fruitless melancholy, the thought one day occurred to
her, why may not Constantia be prevailed upon to plead my cause? Her
capacity and courage are equal to any undertaking. The reasonings that
are so powerful in my eyes, would they he trivial and futile in those of
Ormond? I cannot have a more pathetic and disinterested advocate.
This idea was cherished with uncommon ardour. She seized the first
opportunity that offered itself to impart it to her friend. It was a
wild and singular proposal, and was rejected at the first glance. This
scheme, so romantic and impracticable as it at first seemed, appeared to
Helena in the most plausible colours. She could not bear to relinquish
her new-born hopes. She saw no valid objection to it. Every thing was
easy to her friend, provided her sense of duty and her zeal could be
awakened. The subject was frequently suggested to Constantia's
reflections. Perceiving the sanguineness of her friend's confidence, and
fully impressed with the value of the end to be accomplished, she
insensibly veered to the same opinion. At least the scheme was worthy
of a candid discussion before it was rejected.
Ormond was a stranger to her. His manners were repulsive and austere.
She was a mere girl. Her personal attachment to Helena was all that she
could plead in excuse for taking part in her concerns. The subject was
delicate. A blunt and irregular character like Ormond might throw an air
of ridicule over the scene. She shrunk from the encounter of a
boisterous and manlike spirit.
But were not these scruples effeminate and puerile? Had she studied so
long in the school of adversity, without conviction of the duty of a
virtuous independence? Was she not a rational being, fully imbued with
the justice of her cause? Was it not ignoble to refuse the province of a
vindicator of the injured, before any tribunal, however tremendous or
unjust? And who was Ormond, that his eye should inspire terror?
The father or brother of Helena might assume the office without
indecorum. Nay, a mother or sister might not be debarred from it. Why
then should she, who was actuated by equal zeal, and was engaged, by
ties stronger than consanguinity, in the promotion of her friend's
happiness. It is true she did not view the subject in the light in which
it was commonly viewed by brothers and parents. It was not a gust of
rage that should transport her into his presence. She did not go to
awaken his slumbering conscience, and to abash him in the pride of
guilty triumph, but to rectify deliberate errors, and to change his
course by the change of his principles. It was her business to point out
to him the road of duty and happiness, from which he had strayed with no
sinister intentions. This was to be done without raving and fury; but
with amicable soberness, and in the way of calm and rational
remonstrance. Yet, there were scruples that would not be shut out, and
continually whispered to her, "What an office is this for a girl and a
stranger to assume!"
In what manner should it be performed? Should an interview be sought,
and her ideas be explained without confusion or faltering, undismayed by
ludicrous airs or insolent frowns. But this was a point to be examined.
Was Ormond capable of such behaviour? If he were, it would be useless to
attempt the reformation of his errors. Such a man is incurable and
obdurate. Such a man is not to be sought as the husband of Helena; but
this, surely, is a different being.
The medium through which she had viewed his character was an ample one,
but might not be very accurate. The treatment which Helena had received
from him, exclusive of his fundamental error, betokened a mind to which
she did not disdain to be allied. In spite of his defects, she saw that
their elements were more congenial, and the points of contact between
this person and herself more numerous than between her and Helena, whose
voluptuous sweetness of temper, and mediocrity of understanding excited
in her bosom no genuine sympathy.
Every thing is progressive in the human mind. When there is leisure to
reflect, ideas will succeed each other in a long train, before the
ultimate point be gained. The attention must shift from one side to the
other of a given question many times before it settles. Constantia did
not form her resolutions in haste; but when once formed, they were
exempt from fluctuation. She reflected before she acted, and therefore
acted with consistency and vigour. She did not apprize her friend of her
intention. She was willing that she should benefit by her interposition,
before she knew it was employed.
She sent her Lucy with a note to Ormond's house. It was couched in these
terms:--
"Constantia Dudley requests an interview with Mr. Ormond. Her
business being of some moment, she wishes him to name an hour when
most disengaged."
An answer was immediately returned that at three o'clock, in the
afternoon, he should be glad to see her.
This message produced no small surprise in Ormond. He had not withdrawn
his notice from Constantia, and had marked, with curiosity and
approbation, the progress of the connexion between the two women. The
impressions which he had received from the report of Helena were not
dissimilar to those which Constantia had imbibed, from the same quarter,
respecting himself; but he gathered from them no suspicion of the
purpose of a visit. He recollected his connection with Craig. This lady
had had an opportunity of knowing that some connection subsisted between
them. He concluded that some information or inquiry respecting Craig
might occasion this event. As it was, it gave him considerable
satisfaction. It would enable him more closely to examine one, with
respect to whom he entertained great curiosity.
Ormond's conjecture was partly right. Constantia did not forget her
having traced Craig to this habitation. She designed to profit by the
occasion which this circumstance afforded her, of making some inquiry
respecting Craig, in order to introduce, by suitable degrees, a more
important subject.
The appointed hour having arrived, he received her in his drawing-room.
He knew what was due to his guest. He loved to mortify, by his
negligence, the pride of his equals and superiors, but a lower class had
nothing to fear from his insolence. Constantia took the seat that was
offered to her, without speaking. She had made suitable preparations for
this interview, and her composure was invincible. The manners of her
host were by no means calculated to disconcert her. His air was
conciliating and attentive.
She began with naming Craig, as one known to Ormond, and desired to be
informed of his place of abode. She was proceeding to apologise for this
request, by explaining, in general terms, that her father's infirmities
prevented him from acting for himself, that Craig was his debtor to a
large amount, that he stood in need of all that justly belonged to him,
and was in pursuit of some means of tracing Craig to his retreat. Ormond
interrupted her, examining, at the same time, with a vigilance somewhat
too unsparing, the effects which his words should produce upon her:--
"You may spare yourself the trouble of explaining. I am acquainted with
the whole affair between Craig and your family. He has concealed from me
nothing. I know _all_ that has passed between you."
In saying this, Ormond intended that his looks and emphasis should
convey his full meaning. In the style of her comments he saw none of
those corroborating symptoms that he expected:--
"Indeed! He has been very liberal of his confidence. Confession is a
token of penitence; but, alas! I fear he has deceived you. To be sincere
was doubtless his true interest, but he is too much in the habit of
judging superficially. If he has told you all, there is, indeed, no need
of explanation. This visit is, in that case, sufficiently accounted for.
Is it in your power, Sir, to inform us whither he has gone?"
"For what end should I tell you? I promise you you will not follow him.
Take my word for it, he is totally unworthy of you. Let the past be no
precedent for the future. If you have not made that discovery yourself,
I have made it for you. I expect at least to be thanked for my trouble."
This speech was unintelligible to Constantia. Her looks betokened a
perplexity unmingled with fear or shame.
"It is my way," continued he, "to say what I think. I care little for
consequences. I have said that I know _all_. This will excuse me for
being perfectly explicit. That I am mistaken is very possible; but I am
inclined to place that matter beyond the reach of a doubt. Listen to me,
and confirm me in the opinion I have already formed of your good sense,
by viewing, in a just light, the unreservedness with which you are
treated. I have something to tell, which, if you are wise, you will not
be offended at my telling so roundly. On the contrary you will thank me,
and perceive that my conduct is a proof of my respect for you. The
person whom you met here is named Craig, but, as he tells me, is not the
man you look for. This man's brother--the partner, of your father, and,
as he assured me, your own accepted and illicitly-gratified lover--is
dead."
These words were uttered without any extenuating hesitation or
depression of tone. On the contrary, the most offensive terms were drawn
out in the most deliberate and emphatic manner. Constantia's cheeks
glowed, and her eyes sparkled with indignation, but she forbore to
interrupt. The looks with which she listened to the remainder of the
speech showed that she fully comprehended the scene, and enabled him to
comprehend it. He proceeded:--
"This man is a brother of that. Their resemblance in figure occasioned
your mistake. Your father's debtor died, it seems, on his arrival at
Jamaica. There he met with this brother, and bequeathed to him his
property and papers. Some of these papers are in my possession. They are
letters from Constantia Dudley, and are parts of an intrigue, which,
considering the character of the man, was not much to her honour. Such
was this man's narrative told to me some time before your meeting with
him at his house. I have right to judge in this affair; that is, I have
a right to my opinion. If I mistake, (and I half suspect myself,) you
are able, perhaps, to rectify my error; and in a case like this
doubtless you will not want the inclination."
Perhaps if the countenance of this man had not been characterized by the
keenest intelligence, and a sort of careless and overflowing good-will,
this speech might have produced different effects. She was prepared,
though imperfectly, for entering into his character. He waited for an
answer, which she gave without emotion:--
"You were deceived. I am sorry for your own sake that you are. He must
have had some end in view, in imposing these falsehoods upon you, which
perhaps they have enabled him to accomplish. As to myself, this man can
do me no injury. I willingly make you my judge. The letters you speak of
will alone suffice to my vindication. They never were received from me,
and are forgeries. That man always persisted till he made himself the
dupe of his own artifices. That incident in his plot, on the
introduction of which he probably the most applauded himself, will most
powerfully operate to defeat it.
"Those letters never were received from me, and are forgeries. His skill
in imitation extended no farther in the present case than my
handwriting. My model of thinking and expression were beyond the reach
of his mimicry."
When she had finished, Osmond spent a moment in ruminating. "I perceive
you are right," said he. "I suppose he has purloined from me two hundred
guineas, which I entrusted to his fidelity. And yet I received a letter;
but that may likewise be a forgery. By my soul," continued he, in a tone
that had more of satisfaction than disappointment in it, "this fellow
was an adept at his trade. I do not repine. I have bought the
exhibition at a cheap rate. The pains that he took did not merit a less
recompense. I am glad that he was contented with so little. Had he
persisted he might have raised the price far above its value. 'Twill be
lamentable if he receive more than he stipulated for,--if, in his last
purchase, the gallows should be thrown into the bargain. May he have the
wisdom to see that a halter, though not included in his terms, is only a
new instance of his good fortune! But his cunning will hardly carry him
thus far. His stupidity will, no doubt, prefer a lingering to a sudden
exit.
"But this man and his destiny are trifles. Let us leave them to
themselves. Your name is Constantia. 'Twas given you, I suppose, that
you might be known by it. Pr'ythee, Constantia was this the only purpose
that brought you hither? If it were, it has received as ample a
discussion as it merits. You _came_ for this end, but will remain, I
hope, for a better one. Haying dismissed Craig and his plots, let us now
talk of each other."
"I confess," said the lady, with an hesitation she could not subdue,
"this was not my only purpose. One much more important has produced this
visit."
"Indeed! pray let me know it. I am glad that so trivial an object as
Craig did not occupy the first place in your thoughts. Proceed, I
beseech you."
"It is a subject on which I cannot enter without hesitation,--a
hesitation unworthy of me."
"Stop," cried Ormond, rising and touching the bell; "nothing like time
to make a conquest of embarrassment. We will defer this conference six
minutes, just while we eat our dinner."
At the same moment a servant entered, with two plates and the usual
apparatus for dinner. On seeing this she rose, in some hurry, to
depart:--"I thought, sir, you were disengaged? I call at some other
hour."
He seized her hand, and held her from going, but with an air by no means
disrespectful. "Nay," said he, "what is it that scares you away? Are you
terrified at the mention of victuals? You must have fasted long when it
comes to that. I told you true. I am disengaged, but not from the
obligation of eating and drinking. No doubt _you_ have dined. No reason
why _I_ should go without my dinner. If you do not choose to partake
with me, so much the better. Your temperance ought to dispense with two
meals in an hour. Be a looker-on; or, if that will not do, retire into
my library, where in six minutes, I will be with you, and lend you my
aid in the arduous task of telling me what you came with an intention of
telling."
This singular address disconcerted and abashed her. She was contented to
follow the servant silently into an adjoining apartment. Here she
reflected with no small surprise on the behaviour of this man. Though
ruffled, she was not heartily displeased with it. She had scarcely time
to collect herself, when he entered. He immediately seated her, and
himself opposite to her. He fixed his eyes without scruple on her face.
His gaze was steadfast, but not insolent or oppressive. He surveyed her
with the looks with which he would have eyed a charming portrait. His
attention was occupied with what he saw, as that of an artist is
occupied when viewing a madonna of Rafaello. At length he broke
silence:--
"At dinner I was busy in thinking what it was you had to disclose. I
will not fatigue you with my guesses. They would he impertinent, as long
as the truth is going to be disclosed." He paused, and then
continued:--"But I see you cannot dispense with my aid. Perhaps your
business relates to Helena. She has done wrong, and you wish me to
rebuke the girl."
Constantia profited by this opening, and said, "Yes, she has done wrong.
It is true my business relates to her. I came hither as a suppliant in
her behalf. Will you not assist her in recovering the path from which
she has deviated? She left it from confiding more in the judgement of
her guide than her own. There is one method of repairing the evil. It
lies with you to repair that evil."
During this address the gaiety of Ormond disappeared. He fixed his eyes
on Constantia with new and even pathetic earnestness. "I guessed as
much," said he. I have often been deceived in my judgement of
characters. Perhaps I do not comprehend yours. Yet it is not little that
I have heard respecting you. Something I have seen. I begin to suspect a
material error in my theory of human nature. Happy will it be for Helena
if my suspicions be groundless.
"You are Helena's friend. Be mine also, and advise me. Shall I marry
this girl or not? You know on what terms we live. Are they suitable to
our respective characters? Shall I wed this girl, or shall things remain
as they are?
"I have an irreconcilable aversion to a sad brow and a sick bed. Helena
is grieved, because her neighbours sneer and point at her. So far she is
a fool; but that is a folly of which she never will be cured. Marriage,
it seems, will set all right. Answer me, Constantia, shall I marry?"
There was something in the tone, but more in the tenor of this address
that startled her. There was nothing in this man but what came upon her
unaware. This sudden effusion of confidence was particularly unexpected
and embarrassing. She scarcely knew whether to regard it as serious or a
jest. On observing her indisposed to speak, he continued:--
"Away with these impertinent circuities and scruples. I know your
meaning. Why should I pretend ignorance, and put you to the trouble of
explanation? You came hither with no other view than to exact this
question, and furnish an answer. Why should not we come at once to the
point? I have for some time been dubious on this head. There is
something wanting to determine the balance. If you have that something,
throw it into the proper scale.
"You err if you think this manner of addressing you is wild or improper.
This girl is the subject of discourse. If she was not to be so, why did
you favour me with this visit? You have sought me, and introduced
yourself. I have, in like manner, overlooked ordinary forms,--a
negligence that has been systematic with me, but, in the present case,
particularly justifiable by your example. Shame upon you, presumptuous
girl, to suppose yourself the only rational being among mankind. And
yet, if you thought so, why did you thus unceremoniously intrude upon my
retirements? This act is of a piece with the rest. It shows you to be
one whose existence I did not believe possible.
"Take care. You know not what you have done. You came hither as Helena's
friend. Perhaps time may show that in this visit you have performed the
behest of her bitterest enemy. But that is out of season. This girl is
our mutual property. You are her friend; I am her lover. Her happiness
is precious in my eyes and in yours. To the rest of mankind she is a
noisome weed that cannot be shunned too cautiously, nor trampled on too
much. If we forsake her, infamy, that is now kept at bay, will seize
upon her, and, while it mangles her form, will tear from her her
innocence. She has no arms with which to contend against that foe.
Marriage will place her at once in security. Shall it be? You have an
exact knowledge of her strength and her weakness. Of me you know little.
Perhaps, before that question can be satisfactorily answered, it is
requisite to know the qualities of her husband. Be my character
henceforth the subject of your study. I will furnish you with all the
light in my power. Be not hasty in deciding; but, when your decision is
formed, let me know it." He waited for an answer, which she, at length,
summoned resolution enough to give:--
"You have come to the chief point which I had in view in making this
visit. To say truth, I came hither to remonstrate with you on
withholding that which Helena may justly claim from you. Her happiness
will be unquestionably restored, and increased by it. Yours will not be
impaired. Matrimony will not produce any essential change in your
situation. It will produce no greater or different intercourse than now
exists. Helena is on the brink of a gulf which I shudder to look upon.
I believe that you will not injure yourself by snatching her from it. I
am sure that you will confer an inexpressible benefit upon her. Let me
then persuade you to do her and yourself justice."
"No persuasion," said Ormond, after recovering from a fit of
thoughtfulness, "is needful for this end: I only want to be convinced.
You have decided, but, I fear hastily. By what inscrutable influences
are our steps guided! Come, proceed in your exhortations. Argue with the
utmost clearness and cogency. Arm yourself with all the irresistibles of
eloquence. Yet you are building nothing. You are only demolishing. Your
argument is one thing. Its tendency is another; and is the reverse of
all you expect and desire. My assent will be refused with an obstinacy
proportioned to the force that you exert to obtain it, and to the just
application of that force."
"I see," replied the lady, smiling and leaving her seat, "you can talk
in riddles, as well as other people. This visit has been too long. I
shall, indeed, be sorry, if my interference, instead of serving my
friend, has injured her. I have acted an uncommon, and, as it may seem,
an ambiguous part. I shall be contented with construing my motives in my
own way. I wish you a good evening."
"'Tis false," cried he, sternly, "you do not wish it!"
"How?" exclaimed the astonished Constantia.
"I will put your sincerity to the test. Allow me to spend this evening
in your company; then it will be well spent, and I shall believe your
wishes sincere. Else," continued he, changing his affected austerity
into a smile, "Constantia is a liar."
"You are a singular man. I hardly know how to understand you."
"Well. Words are made to carry meanings. You shall have them in
abundance. Your house is your citadel. I will not enter it without
leave. Permit me to visit it when I please. But that is too much. It is
more than I would allow you. When will you permit me to visit you?"
"I cannot answer when I do not understand. You clothe your thoughts in a
garb so uncouth, that I know not in what light they are to be viewed."
"Well, now, I thought you understood my language, and were an
Englishwoman, but I will use another. Shall I have the honour" (bowing
with a courtly air of supplication) "of occasionally paying my respects
to you at your own dwelling? It would be cruel to condemn those who have
the happiness of knowing Miss Dudley, to fashionable restraints. At what
hour will she be least incommoded by a visitant?"
"I am as little pleased with formalities," replied the lady, "as you
are. My friends I cannot see too often. They need to consult merely
their own convenience. Those who are not my friends I cannot see too
seldom. You have only to establish your title to that name, and your
welcome at all times is sure. Till then you must not look for it."