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Brown, Charles Brockden, 1771-1810 [1827], The Novels... (S. G. Goodrich, Boston) [word count] [eaf033a].
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CHAPTER XV.

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,

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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 be trivial and futile in
those of Ormond? I cannot have a more pathetic and disinterested
advocate.

This idea was cherished with uncommon ardor. 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 colors. 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's, might throw

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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
abash him in the pride of guilty triumph, but to rectify deliberate
errors and 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 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 faultering, 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

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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 vigor. She did not apprise
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
connexion with Craig. This lady had had an opportunity of
knowing that some connexion 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

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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 apologize 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 for 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.

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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 looked 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,
shewed 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 honor. Such was this man's narrative told to me
some time before your meeting with him at this house. I
have a 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
characterised by the keenest intelligence, and a sort of careless
and overflowing good will, this speech might have produced

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different effects. She was prepared, though imperfectly,
for entering into his character. He waited for an answer,
which she gave without emotion.

You are 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 modes of thinking
and expression were beyond the reach of his mimicry.

When she had finished, Ormond spent a moment in ruminating.
I perceive you are right, said he. I suppose
he has purloined from me two hundred guineas, which I intrusted
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.

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You came for this end, but will remain, I hope, for a better
one. Having dismissed Craig and his plots, let us now talk
of each other.

I confess, said the lady, with a 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 will 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 behavior of this man. Though ruffled, she was not
heartily displeased with it. She had scarcely time to recollect
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

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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 be 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 judgment 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 judgment of characters. Perhaps I do
not comprehend your's. 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 neighbors 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

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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 favor 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 shew 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 your's. 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

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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. Your's 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.

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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 you 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 English woman, but I will use another. Shall I
have the honor (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.

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Brown, Charles Brockden, 1771-1810 [1827], The Novels... (S. G. Goodrich, Boston) [word count] [eaf033a].
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