It will be requisite to withdraw your attention from this scene for a
moment, and fix it on myself. My impatience of my friend's delay, for
some days preceding this disastrous interview, became continually more
painful. As the time of our departure approached, my dread of some
misfortune or impediment increased. Ormond's disappearance from the
scene contributed but little to my consolation. To wrap his purposes in
mystery, to place himself at seeming distance, was the usual artifice of
such as he,--was necessary to the maturing of his project and the
hopeless entanglement of his victim. I saw no means of placing the
safety of my friend beyond his reach. Between different methods of
procedure, there was, however, room for choice. Her present abode was
more hazardous than an abode in the city. To be alone argued a state
more defenceless and perilous than to be attended by me.
I wrote her an urgent admonition to return. My remonstrances were
couched in such terms as, in my own opinion, laid her under the
necessity of immediate compliance. The letter was despatched by the
usual messenger, and for some hours I solaced myself with the prospect
of a speedy meeting.
These thoughts gave place to doubt and apprehension. I began to distrust
the efficacy of my arguments, and to invent a thousand reasons, inducing
her, in defiance of my rhetoric, at least to protract her absence. These
reasons I had not previously conceived, and had not, therefore,
attempted, in my letter, to invalidate their force. This omission was
possible to be supplied in a second epistle; but, meanwhile, time would
be lost, and my new arguments might, like the old, fail to convince
her. At least, the tongue was a much more versatile and powerful
advocate than the pen; and, by hastening to her habitation, I might
either compel her to return with me, or ward off danger by my presence,
or share it with her. I finally resolved to join her by the speediest
conveyance.
This resolution was suggested by the meditations of a sleepless night. I
rose with the dawn, and sought out the means of transporting myself,
with most celerity, to the abode of my friend. A stage-boat, accustomed
twice a day to cross New York Bay to Staten Island, was prevailed upon,
by liberal offers, to set out upon the voyage at the dawn of day. The
sky was gloomy, and the air boisterous and unsettled. The wind, suddenly
becoming tempestuous and adverse, rendered the voyage at once tedious
and full of peril. A voyage of nine miles was not effected in less than
eight hours and without imminent and hairbreadth danger of being
drowned.
Fifteen miles of the journey remained to be performed by land. A
carriage, with the utmost difficulty, was procured, but lank horses and
a crazy vehicle were but little in unison with my impatience. We reached
not Amboy ferry till some hours after nightfall. I was rowed across the
Sound, and proceeded to accomplish the remainder of my journey--about
three miles--on foot.
I was actuated to this speed by indefinite but powerful motives. The
belief that my speedy arrival was essential to the rescue of my friend
from some inexplicable injury haunted me with ceaseless importunity. On
no account would I have consented to postpone this precipitate
expedition till the morrow.
I at length arrived at Dudley's farm-house. The inhabitants were struck
with wonder at the sight of me. My clothes were stained by the water by
which every passenger was copiously sprinkled during our boisterous
navigation, and soiled by dust; my frame was almost overpowered by
fatigue and abstinence.
To my anxious inquiries respecting my friend, they told me that her
evenings were usually spent at the mansion, where it was probable she
was now to be found. They were not apprized of any inconvenience or
danger that betided her. It was her custom sometimes to prolong her
absence till midnight.
I could not applaud the discretion nor censure the temerity of this
proceeding. My mind was harassed by unintelligible omens and
self-confuted fears. To obviate the danger and to banish my inquietudes
was my first duty. For this end I hastened to the mansion. Having passed
the intervening hillocks and copses, I gained a view of the front of the
building. My heart suddenly sunk, on observing that no apartment--not
even that in which I knew it was her custom to sit at these unseasonable
hours--was illuminated. A gleam from the window of the study I should
have regarded as an argument at once of her presence and her safety.
I approached the house with misgiving and faltering steps. The gate
leading into a spacious court was open. A sound on one side attracted my
attention. In the present state of my thoughts, any near or unexplained
sound sufficed to startle me. Looking towards the quarter whence my
panic was excited, I espied, through the dusk, a horse grazing, with his
bridle thrown over his neck.
This appearance was a new source of perplexity and alarm. The inference
was unavoidable that a visitant was here. Who that visitant was, and how
he was now employed, was a subject of eager but fruitless curiosity.
Within and around the mansion, all was buried in the deepest repose. I
now approached the principal door, and, looking through the keyhole,
perceived a lamp, standing on the lowest step of the staircase. It shed
a pale light over the lofty ceiling and marble balustrades. No face or
movement of a human being was perceptible.
These tokens assured me that some one was within: they also accounted
for the non-appearance of light at the window above. I withdrew my eye
from this avenue, and was preparing to knock loudly for admission, when
my attention was awakened by some one who advanced to the door from the
inside and seemed busily engaged in unlocking. I started back and waited
with impatience till the door should open and the person issue forth.
Presently I heard a voice within exclaim, in accents of mingled terror
and grief, "Oh, what--what will become of me? Shall I never be released
from this detested prison?"
The voice was that of Constantia. It penetrated to my heart like an
icebolt. I once more darted a glance through the crevice. A figure, with
difficulty recognised to be that of my friend, now appeared in sight.
Her hands were clasped on her breast, her eyes wildly fixed upon the
ceiling and streaming with tears, and her hair unbound and falling
confusedly over her bosom and neck.
My sensations scarcely permitted me to call, "Constantia! For Heaven's
sake, what has happened to you? Open the door, I beseech you."
"What voice is that? Sophia Courtland! O my friend! I am imprisoned!
Some demon has barred the door, beyond my power to unfasten. Ah, why
comest thou so late? Thy succour would have somewhat profited if sooner
given; but now, the lost Constantia--" Here her voice sunk into
convulsive sobs.
In the midst of my own despair, on perceiving the fulfilment of my
apprehensions, and what I regarded as the fatal execution of some
project of Ormond, I was not insensible to the suggestions of prudence.
I entreated my friend to retain her courage, while I flew to Laffert's
and returned with suitable assistance to burst open the door.
The people of the farm-house readily obeyed my summons. Accompanied by
three men of powerful sinews, sons and servants of the farmer, I
returned with the utmost expedition to the mansion. The lamp still
remained in its former place, but our loudest calls were unanswered. The
silence was uninterrupted and profound.
The door yielded to strenuous and repeated efforts, and I rushed into
the hall. The first object that met my sight was my friend, stretched
upon the floor, pale and motionless, supine, and with all the tokens of
death.
From this object my attention was speedily attracted by two figures,
breathless and supine like that of Constantia. One of them was Ormond. A
smile of disdain still sat upon his features. The wound by which he fell
was secret, and was scarcely betrayed by the effusion of a drop of
blood. The face of the third victim was familiar to my early days. It
was that of the impostor whose artifice had torn from Mr. Dudley his
peace and fortune.
An explication of this scene was hopeless. By what disastrous and
inscrutable fate a place like this became the scene of such complicated
havoc, to whom Craig was indebted for his death, what evil had been
meditated or inflicted by Ormond, and by what means his project had
arrived at this bloody consummation, were topics of wild and fearful
conjecture.
But my friend--the first impulse of my fears was to regard her as dead.
Hope and a closer observation outrooted, or, at least, suspended, this
opinion. One of the men lifted her in his arms. No trace of blood or
mark of fatal violence was discoverable, and the effusion of cold water
restored her, though slowly, to life.
To withdraw her from this spectacle of death was my first care. She
suffered herself to be led to the farm-house. She was carried to her
chamber. For a time she appeared incapable of recollection. She grasped
my hand, as I sat by her bedside, but scarcely gave any other tokens of
life.
From this state of inactivity she gradually recovered. I was actuated by
a thousand forebodings, but refrained from molesting her by
interrogation or condolence. I watched by her side in silence, but was
eager to collect from her own lips an account of this mysterious
transaction.
At length she opened her eyes, and appeared to recollect her present
situation, and the events which led to it. I inquired into her
condition, and asked if there were any thing in my power to procure or
perform for her.
"Oh, my friend," she answered, "what have I done, what have I suffered,
within the last dreadful hour! The remembrance, though insupportable,
will never leave me. You can do nothing for my relief. All I claim is
your compassion and your sympathy."
"I hope," said I, "that nothing has happened to load you with guilt or
with shame?"
"Alas! I know not. My deed was scarcely the fruit of intention. It was
suggested by a momentary frenzy. I saw no other means of escaping from
vileness and pollution. I was menaced with an evil worse than death. I
forebore till my strength was almost subdued: the lapse of another
moment would have placed me beyond hope.
"My stroke was desperate and at random. It answered my purpose too well.
He cast at me a look of terrible upbraiding, but spoke not. His heart
was pierced, and he sunk, as if struck by lightning, at my feet. O much
erring and unhappy Ormond! That thou shouldst thus untimely perish! That
I should be thy executioner!"
These words sufficiently explained the scene that I had witnessed. The
violence of Ormond had been repulsed by equal violence. His foul
attempts had been prevented by his death. Not to deplore the necessity
which had produced this act was impossible; but, since this necessity
existed, it was surely not a deed to be thought upon with lasting
horror, or to be allowed to generate remorse.
In consequence of this catastrophe, arduous duties had devolved upon me.
The people that surrounded me were powerless with terror. Their
ignorance and cowardice left them at a loss how to act in this
emergency. They besought my direction, and willingly performed whatever
I thought proper to enjoin upon them.
No deliberation was necessary to acquaint me with my duty. Laffert was
despatched to the nearest magistrate with a letter, in which his
immediate presence was entreated and these transactions were briefly
explained. Early the next day the formalities of justice, in the
inspection of the bodies and the examination of witnesses, were
executed. It would be needless to dwell on the particulars of this
catastrophe. A sufficient explanation has been given of the causes that
led to it. They were such as exempted my friend from legal
animadversion. Her act was prompted by motives which every scheme of
jurisprudence known in the world not only exculpates, but applauds. To
state these motives before a tribunal hastily formed and exercising its
functions on the spot was a task not to be avoided, though infinitely
painful. Remonstrances the most urgent and pathetic could scarcely
conquer her reluctance.
This task, however, was easy, in comparison with that which remained. To
restore health and equanimity to my friend; to repel the erroneous
accusations of her conscience; to hinder her from musing, with eternal
anguish, upon this catastrophe; to lay the spirit of secret upbraiding
by which she was incessantly tormented, which bereft her of repose,
empoisoned all her enjoyments, and menaced not only the subversion of
her peace but the speedy destruction of her life, became my next
employment.
My counsels and remonstrances were not wholly inefficacious. They
afforded me the prospect of her ultimate restoration to tranquillity.
Meanwhile, I called to my aid the influence of time and of a change of
scene. I hastened to embark with her for Europe. Our voyage was
tempestuous and dangerous, but storms and perils at length gave way to
security and repose.
Before our voyage was commenced, I endeavoured to procure tidings of the
true condition and designs of Ormond. My information extended no further
than that he had put his American property into the hands of Mr.
Melbourne, and was preparing to embark for France. Courtland, who has
since been at Paris, and who, while there, became confidentially
acquainted with Martinette de Beauvais, has communicated facts of an
unexpected nature.
At the period of Ormond's return to Philadelphia, at which his last
interview with Constantia in that city took place, he visited
Martinette. He avowed himself to be her brother, and supported his
pretensions by relating the incidents of his early life. A separation at
the age of fifteen, and which had lasted for the same number of years,
may be supposed to have considerably changed the countenance and figure
she had formerly known. His relationship was chiefly proved by the
enumeration of incidents of which her brother only could be apprized.
He possessed a minute acquaintance with her own adventures, but
concealed from her the means by which he had procured the knowledge. He
had rarely and imperfectly alluded to his own opinions and projects, and
had maintained an invariable silence on the subject of his connection
with Constantia and Helena. Being informed of her intention to return to
France, he readily complied with her request to accompany her in this
voyage. His intentions in this respect were frustrated by the dreadful
catastrophe that has been just related. Respecting this event,
Martinette had collected only vague and perplexing information.
Courtland, though able to remove her doubts, thought proper to withhold
from her the knowledge he possessed.
Since her arrival in England, the life of my friend has experienced
little variation. Of her personal deportment and domestic habits you
have been a witness. These, therefore, it would be needless for me to
exhibit. It is sufficient to have related events which the recentness of
your intercourse with her hindered you from knowing but by means of some
formal narrative like the present. She and her friend only were able to
impart to you the knowledge which you have so anxiously sought. In
consideration of your merits and of your attachment to my friend, I have
consented to devote my leisure to this task.
It is now finished; and I have only to add my wishes that the perusal of
this tale may afford you as much instruction as the contemplation of the
sufferings and vicissitudes of Constantia Dudley has afforded to me.
Farewell.
THE END.