Ormond; Or, The Secret Witness. Volume 3 (of 3) Read online

  CHAPTER III.

  Unhappy Constantia! At the moment when thy dearest hopes had buddedafresh, when the clouds of insecurity and disquiet had retired from thyvision, wast thou assailed by the great subverter of human schemes. Thousawest nothing in futurity but an eternal variation and succession ofdelights. Thou wast hastening to forget dangers and sorrows which thoufondly imaginedst were never to return. This day was to be the outset ofa new career; existence was henceforth to be embellished with enjoymentshitherto scarcely within the reach of hope.

  Alas! thy predictions of calamity seldom failed to be verified. Not sothy prognostics of pleasure. These, though fortified by everycalculation of contingencies, were edifices grounded upon nothing. Thylife was a struggle with malignant destiny,--a contest for happiness inwhich thou wast fated to be overcome.

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

  The alarm called her servants to the spot. They beheld her dumb, wildlygazing, and gesticulating in a way that indicated frenzy. She made noresistance to their efforts, but permitted them to carry her back to herown chamber. Sarah called upon her to speak, and to explain the causeof these appearances; but the shock which she had endured seemed to haveirretrievably destroyed her powers of utterance.

  The terrors of the affectionate Sarah were increased. She kneeled by thebedside of her mistress, and, with streaming eyes, besought the unhappylady to compose herself. Perhaps the sight of weeping in anotherpossessed a sympathetic influence, or nature had made provision for thissalutary change. However that be, a torrent of tears now came to hersuccour, and rescued her from a paroxysm of insanity which its longercontinuance might have set beyond the reach of cure.

  Meanwhile, a glance at his master's countenance made Fabian fullyacquainted with the nature of the scene. The ghastly visage of Mr.Dudley showed that he was dead, and that he had died in some terrificand mysterious manner. As soon as this faithful servant recovered fromsurprise, the first expedient which his ingenuity suggested was to flywith tidings of this event to Mr. Melbourne. That gentleman instantlyobeyed the summons. With the power of weeping, Constantia recovered thepower of reflection. This, for a time, served her only as a medium ofanguish. Melbourne mingled his tears with hers, and endeavoured, bysuitable remonstrances, to revive her fortitude.

  The filial passion is perhaps instinctive to man; but its energy ismodified by various circumstances. Every event in the life of Constantiacontributed to heighten this passion beyond customary bounds. In thehabit of perpetual attendance on her father, of deriving from him herknowledge, and sharing with him the hourly fruits of observation andreflection, his existence seemed blended with her own. There was noother whose concurrence and council she could claim, with whom adomestic and uninterrupted alliance could be maintained. The only bondof consanguinity was loosened, the only prop of friendship was takenaway.

  Others, perhaps, would have observed that her father's existence hadbeen merely a source of obstruction and perplexity; that she hadhitherto acted by her own wisdom, and would find, hereafter, lessdifficulty in her choice of schemes, and fewer impediments to theexecution. These reflections occurred not to her. This disaster hadincreased, to an insupportable degree, the vacancy and dreariness of herexistence. The face she was habituated to behold had disappearedforever; the voice whose mild and affecting tones had so long beenfamiliar to her ears was hushed into eternal silence. The felicity towhich she clung was ravished away; nothing remained to hinder her fromsinking into utter despair.

  The first transports of grief having subsided, a source of consolationseemed to be opened in the belief that her father had only changed oneform of being for another; that he still lived to be the guardian of herpeace and honour, to enter the recesses of her thought, to forewarn herof evil and invite her to good. She grasped at these images witheagerness, and fostered them as the only solaces of her calamity. Theywere not adapted to inspire her with cheerfulness, but they sublimed hersensations, and added an inexplicable fascination to sorrow.

  It was unavoidable sometimes to reflect upon the nature of that deathwhich had occurred. Tokens were sufficiently apparent that outwardviolence had been the cause. Who could be the performer of so black adeed, by what motives he was guided, were topics of fruitlessconjecture. She mused upon this subject, not from the thirst ofvengeance, but from a mournful curiosity. Had the perpetrator stoodbefore her and challenged retribution, she would not have lifted afinger to accuse or to punish. The evil already endured left her nopower to concert and execute projects for extending that evil to others.Her mind was unnerved, and recoiled with loathing from considerations ofabstract justice, or political utility, when they prompted to theprosecution of the murderer.

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

  The meditations of Constantia, however, could not fail in some of theircircuities to encounter the image of Craig. His agency in theimpoverishment of her father, and in the scheme by which she had like tohave been loaded with the penalties of forgery, was of an impervious andunprecedented kind. Motives were unveiled by time, in some degreeaccounting for his treacherous proceeding; but there was room to supposean inborn propensity to mischief. Was he not the author of this newevil? His motives and his means were equally inscrutable, but theirinscrutability might flow from her own defects in discernment andknowledge, and time might supply her defects in this as in formerinstances.

  These images were casual. The causes of the evil were seldomcontemplated. Her mind was rarely at liberty to wander from reflectionon her irremediable loss. Frequently, when confused by distressfulrecollections, she would detect herself going to her father's chamber.Often his well-known accents would ring in her ears, and the momentaryimpulse would be to answer his calls. Her reluctance to sit down to hermeals without her usual companion could scarcely be surmounted.

  In this state of mind, the image of the only friend who survived, orwhose destiny, at least, was doubtful, occurred to her. She sunk intofits of deeper abstraction and dissolved away in tears of more agonizingtenderness. A week after her father's interment, she shut herself up inher chamber, to torment herself with fruitless remembrances. The name ofSophia Westwyn was pronounced, and the ditty that solemnized theirparting was sung. Now, more than formerly, she became sensible of theloss of that portrait which had been deposited in the hands of M'Crea asa pledge. As soon as her change of fortune had supplied her with themeans of redeeming it, she hastened to M'Crea for that end. To herunspeakable disappointment, he was absent from the city; he had taken along journey, and the exact period of his return could not beascertained. His clerks refused to deliver the picture, or even, bysearching, to discover whether it was still in their master'spossession. This application had frequently and lately been repeated,but without success; M'Crea had not yet returned, and his family wereequally in the dark as to the day on which his return might be expected.

  She determined, on this occasion, to renew her visit. Her incessantdisappointments had almost extinguished hope, and she made inquiries athis door, with a faltering accent and sinking heart. These emotions werechanged into surprise
and delight, when answer was made that he had justarrived. She was instantly conducted into his presence.

  The countenance of M'Crea easily denoted that his visitant was by nomeans acceptable. There was a mixture of embarrassment and sullenness inhis air, which was far from being diminished when the purpose of thisvisit was explained. Constantia reminded him of the offer and acceptanceof this pledge, and of the conditions with which the transaction wasaccompanied.

  He acknowledged, with some hesitation, that a promise had been given toretain the pledge until it were in her power to redeem it; but the longdelay, the urgency of his own wants, and particularly the ill treatmentwhich he conceived himself to have suffered in the transactionrespecting the forged note, had, in his own opinion, absolved him fromthis promise. He had therefore sold the picture to a goldsmith, for asmuch as the gold about it was worth.

  This information produced, in the heart of Constantia, a contest betweenindignation and sorrow, that for a time debarred her from speech. Shestifled the anger that was, at length, rising to her lips, and calmlyinquired to whom the picture had been sold.

  M'Crea answered that for his part he had little dealings in gold andsilver, but every thing of that kind which fell to his share hetransacted with Mr. D----. This person was one of the most eminent ofhis profession. His character and place of abode were universallyknown. Tho only expedient that remained was to apply to him, and toascertain, forthwith, the destiny of the picture. It was too probablethat, when separated from its case, the portrait was thrown away ordestroyed, as a mere encumbrance, but the truth was too momentous to bemade the sport of mere probability. She left the house of M'Crea, andhastened to that of the goldsmith.

  The circumstance was easily recalled to his remembrance. It was truethat such a picture had been offered for sale, and that he had purchasedit. The workmanship was curious, and he felt unwilling to destroy it. Hetherefore hung it up in his shop and indulged the hope that a purchaserwould some time be attracted by the mere beauty of the toy.

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

  "No. A young gentleman had entered his shop some months before: thepicture had caught his fancy, and he had given a price which the artistowned he should not have demanded, had he not been encouraged by theeagerness which the gentleman betrayed to possess it."

  "Who was this gentleman? Had there been any previous acquaintancebetween them? What was his name, his profession, and where was he to befound?"

  "Really," the goldsmith answered, "he was ignorant respecting all thoseparticulars. Previously to this purchase, the gentleman had sometimesvisited his shop; but he did not recollect to have since seen him. Hewas 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 thansurprise, seemed to be produced by the sight of it. If I were permittedto judge," continued the artist, "I should imagine that the young manwas acquainted with the original. To say the truth, I hinted as much atthe time, and I did not see that he discouraged the supposition. Indeed,I cannot conceive how the picture could otherwise have gained any valuein his eyes."

  This only heightened the eagerness of Constantia to trace the footstepsof the youth. It was obvious to suppose some communication or connectionbetween her friend and this purchaser. She repeated her inquiries, andthe goldsmith, after some consideration, said, "Why, on second thoughts,I seem to have some notion of having seen a figure like that of mycustomer go into a lodging-house in Front Street, some time before I metwith him at my shop."

  The situation of this house being satisfactorily described, and theartist being able to afford her no further information, except as tostature and guise, she took her leave. There were two motives impellingher to prosecute her search after this person,--the desire of regainingthis portrait and of procuring tidings of her friend. Involved as shewas in ignorance, it was impossible to conjecture how far this incidentwould be subservient to these inestimable purposes. To procure aninterview with this stranger was the first measure which prudencesuggested.

  She knew not his name or his person. He was once seen entering alodging-house. Thither she must immediately repair; but how to introduceherself, how to describe the person of whom she was in search, she knewnot. She was beset with embarrassments and difficulties. While herattention was entangled by these, she proceeded unconsciously on herway, and stopped not until she reached the mansion that had beendescribed. Here she paused to collect her thoughts.

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

  The lady courteously answered that she was the person, and immediatelyushered her visitant into an apartment. Constantia being seated, thelady waited for the disclosure of her message. To prolong the silencewas only to multiply embarrassments. She reverted to the state of herfeelings, and saw that they flowed from inconsistency and folly. Onevigorous effort was sufficient to restore her to composure andself-command.

  She began with apologizing for a visit unpreceded by an introduction.The object of her inquiries was a person with whom it was of the utmostmoment that she should procure a meeting, but whom, by an unfortunateconcurrence of circumstances, she was unable to describe by the usualincidents of name and profession. Her knowledge was confined to hisexternal appearance, and to the probability of his being an inmate ofthis house at the beginning of the year. She then proceeded to describehis person and dress.

  "It is true," said the lady; "such a one as you describe has boarded inthis house. His name was Martynne. I have good reason to remember him,for he lived with me three months, and then left the country withoutpaying for his board."

  "He has gone, then?" said Constantia, greatly discouraged by thesetidings.

  "Yes. He was a man of specious manners and loud pretensions. He camefrom England, bringing with him forged recommendatory letters, and,after passing from one end of the country to the other, contractingdebts 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, whichbetter information has, I believe, since shown to be false."

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

  During this conference, some one appeared to be negligently sportingwith the keys of a harpsichord, in the next apartment. The notes weretoo irregular and faint to make a forcible impression on the ear. In thepresent state of her mind, Constantia was merely conscious of the sound,in the intervals of conversation. Having arisen from her seat, heranxiety to obtain some information that might lead to the point shewished made her again pause. She endeavoured to invent some newinterrogatory better suited to her purpose than those which had alreadybeen employed. A silence on both sides ensued.

  During this interval, the unseen musician suddenly refrained fromrambling, and glided into notes of some refinement and complexity. Thecadence was aerial; but a thunderbolt, falling at her feet, would nothave communicated a more visible shock to the senses of Constantia. Aglance that denoted a tumult of soul bordering on distraction was nowfixed upon the door that led into the room from whence the harmonyproceeded. Instantly the cadence was revived, and some accompanyingvoice was heard to warbl
e,--

  "Ah! far beyond this world of woes We meet to part,--to part no more."

  Joy and grief, in their sudden onset and their violent extremes,approach so nearly in their influence on human beings as scarce to bedistinguished. Constantia's frame was still enfeebled by her recentdistresses. The torrent of emotion was too abrupt and too vehement. Herfaculties were overwhelmed, and she sunk upon the floor motionless andwithout sense, but not till she had faintly articulated,--

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