Unhappy Constantia! At the moment when thy dearest
hopes had budded afresh, when the clouds of insecurity and
disquiet had retired from thy vision, wast thou assailed by
the great subverter of human schemes. Thou sawest nothing
in futurity but an eternal variation and succession of
delights. Thou wast hastening to forget dangers and sorrows
which thou fondly imaginedst were never to return.
This day was to be the outset of a new career; existence
was henceforth to be embellished with enjoyments, hitherto
scarcely within the reach of hope.

Alas! Thy predictions of calamity seldom failed to be
verified. Not so thy prognostics of pleasure. These,
though fortified by every calculation of contingencies, were
edifices grounded upon nothing. Thy life was a struggle
with malignant destimy; a contest for happiness in which
thou wast fated to be overcome.

She stooped to kiss the venerable cheek of her father,
and, by whispering, to break his slumber. Her eye was no

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sooner fixed upon his countenance, than she started back
and shrieked. She had no power to forbear. Her outcries
were piercing and vehement. They ceased only with
the cessation of breath. She sunk upon a chair in a state
partaking more of death than of life, mechanically prompted
to give vent to her agonies in shrieks, but incapable of
uttering a sound.

The alarm called her servants to the spot. They beheld
her dumb, wildly gazing, and gesticulating in a way
that indicated frenzy. She made no resistance to their
efforts, but permitted them to carry her back to her own
chamber. Sarah called upon her to speak, and to explain
the cause of these appearances, but the shock which she
had endured, seemed to have irretrievably destroyed her
powers of utterance.

The terrors of the affectionate Sarah were increased.
She kneeled by the bedside of her mistress, and with
streaming eyes, besought the unhappy lady to compose
herself. Perhaps the sight of weeping in another possessed
a sympathetic influence, or nature had made provision
for this salutary change. However that be, a torrent of
tears now came to her succor, and rescued her from a
paroxysm of insanity, which its longer continuance might
have set beyond the reach of cure.

Meanwhile, a glance at his master's countenance made
Fabian fully acquainted with the nature of the scene. The
ghastly visage of Mr. Dudley shewed that he was dead,
and that he had died in some terrific and mysterious manner.
As soon as this faithful servant recovered from surprise,
the first expedient which his ingenuity suggested,
was to fly with tidings of this event to Mr. Melbourne.
That gentleman instantly obeyed the summons. With the
power of weeping, Constantia recovered the power of reflection.
This, for a time, served her only as a medium
of anguish. Melbourne mingled his tears with hers, and
endeavored, by suitable remonstrances, to revive her fortitude.

The filial passion is perhaps instinctive to man; but its
energy is modified by various circumstances. Every event
in the life of Constantia contributed to heighten this passion
beyond customary bounds. In the habit of perpetual

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attendance on her father, of deriving from him her knowledge,
and sharing with him the hourly fruits of observation
and reflection, his existence seemed blended with her own.
There was no other whose concurrence and council she
could claim, with whom a domestic and uninterrupted alliance
could be maintained. The only bond of consanguinity
was loosened, the only prop of friendship was taken
away.

Others, perhaps, would have observed, that her father's
existence had been merely a source of obstruction and perplexity;
that she had hitherto acted by her own wisdom,
and would find, hereafter, less difficulty in her choice of
schemes, and fewer impediments to the execution. These
reflections occurred not to her. This disaster had increased,
to an insupportable degree, the vacancy and dreariness of
her existence. The face she was habituated to behold, had
disappeared forever; the voice, whose mild and affecting
tones had so long been familiar to her ears, was hushed into
eternal silence. The felicity to which she clung was ravished
away; nothing remained to hinder her from sinking into
utter despair.

The first transports of grief having subsided, a source of
consolation seemed to be opened in the belief that her father
had only changed one form of being for another; that he
still lived to be the guardian of her peace and honor; to
enter the recesses of her thought; to forewarn her of evil
and invite her to good. She grasped at these images with
eagerness, and fostered them as the only solaces of her
calamity. They were not adapted to inspire her with cheerfulness,
but they sublimed her sensations, and added an
inexplicable fascination to sorrow.

It was unavoidable sometimes to reflect upon the nature
of that death which had occurred. Tokens were sufficiently
apparent that outward violence had been the cause. Who
could be the performer of so black a deed, by what motives
he was guided were topics of fruitless conjecture. She
mused upon this subject, not from the thirst of vengeance,
but from a mournful curiosity. Had the perpetrator stood
before her, and challenged retribution, she would not have
lifted a finger to accuse or to punish. The evil already endured,
left her no power to concert and execute projects

[figure description] Page 190.[end figure description]

for extending that evil to others. Her mind was unnerved,
and recoiled with loathing from considerations of abstract
justice, or political utility, when they prompted to the prosecution
of the murderer.

Melbourne was actuated by different views, but, on this
subject, he was painfully bewildered. Mr. Dudley's deportment
to his servants and neighbors, was gentle and humane.
He had no dealings with the trafficking or laboring part of
mankind. The fund which supplied his cravings of necessity
or habit, was his daughter's. His recreations and
employments were harmless and lonely. The evil purpose
was limited to his death, for his chamber was exactly in
the same state in which negligent security had left it. No
midnight footstep or voice, no unbarred door or lifted
window afforded tokens of the presence, or traces of the
entrance or flight of the assassin.

The meditations of Constantia however, could not fail,
in some of their circuities, to encounter the image of Craig.
His agency in the impoverishment of her father, and in the
scheme by which she had like to have been loaded with
the penalties of forgery, was of an impervious and unprecedented
kind. Motives were unveiled by time, in some
degree, accounting for his treacherous proceeding, but there
was room to suppose an inborn propensity to mischief.
Was he not the author of this new evil? His motives and
his means were equally inscrutable, but their inscrutability
might flow from her own defects in discernment and knowledge,
and time might supply her defects in this as in
former instances.

These images were casual. The causes of the evil were
seldom contemplated. Her mind was rarely at liberty to
wander from reflection on her irremediable loss. Frequently,
when confused by distressful recollections, she would detect
herself going to her father's chamber. Often his well known
accents would ring in her ears, and the momentary impulse
would be to answer his calls. Her reluctance to sit down to
her meals, without her usual companion, could scarcely be
surmounted.

In this state of mind the image of the only friend who survived,
or whose destiny, at least, was doubtful, occurred to
her. She sunk into fits of deeper abstraction and dissolved

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away in tears of more agonizing tenderness. A week after
her father's interment, she shut herself up in her chamber, to
torment herself with fruitless remembrances. The name of
Sophia Westwyn was pronounced, and the ditty that solemnized
their parting was sung. Now, more than formerly,
she became sensible of the loss of that portrait, which had
been deposited in the hands of M'Crea, as a pledge. As
soon as her change of fortune had supplied her with the
means of redeeming it, she hastened to M'Crea for that end.
To her unspeakable disappointment he was absent from the
city; he had taken a long journey, and the exact period of
his return could not be ascertained. His clerks refused to
deliver the picture, or even, by searching, to discover whether
it was still in their master's possession. This application
had frequently and lately been repeated, but without success;
M'Crea had not yet returned and his family were equally in
the dark, as to the day on which his return might be expected.

She determined on this occasion, to renew her visit. Her
incessant disappointments had almost extinguished hope, and
she made inquiries at his door, with a faltering accent and
sinking heart. These emotions were changed into superise
and delight, when answer was made that he had just arrived.
She was instantly conducted into his presence.

The countenance of M'Crea easily denoted, that his visitant
was by no means acceptable. There was a mixture of
embarrassment and sullenness in his air, which was far from
being diminished when the purpose of this visit was explained.
Constantia reminded him of the offer and acceptance
of this pledge, and of the conditions with which the transaction
was accompanied.

He acknowledged, with some hesitation, that a promise
had been given to retain the pledge until it were in her power
to redeem it, but the long delay, the urgency of his own
wants, and particularly the ill treatment which he conceived
himself to have suffered, in the transaction respecting the
forged note, had, in his own opinion, absolved him from this
promise. He had therefore sold the picture to a goldsmith,
for as much as the gold about it was worth.

This information produced, in the heart of Constantia, a
contest between indignation and sorrow, that, for a time,

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debarred her from speech. She stifled the anger that was, at
length, rising to her lips, and calmly inquired to whom the
picture had been sold.

M'Crea answered that for his part he had little dealings in
gold and silver, but every thing of that kind, which fell to his
share, he transacted with Mr. D—. This person was
one of the most eminent of his profession. His character
and place of abode were universally known. The only expedient
that remained was to apply to him, and to ascertain,
forthwith, the destiny of the picture. It was too probable,
that when separated from its case, the portrait was thrown
away or destroyed, as a mere incumbrance, but the truth
was too momentous to be made the sport of mere probability.
She left the house of M'Crea, and hastened to that
of the goldsmith.

The circumstance was easily recalled to his remembrance.
It was true that such a picture had been offered for sale, and
that he had purchased it. The workmanship was curious,
and he felt unwilling to destroy it. He therefore hung it up
in his shop and indulged the hope that a purchaser would,
sometime, be attracted by the mere beauty of the toy.

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

No. A young gentleman had entered his shop some
months before; the picture had caught his fancy, and he
had given a price which the artist owned he should not have
demanded, had he not been encouraged by the eagerness
which the gentleman betrayed to possess it.

Who was this gentleman? Had there been any previous
acquaintance between them? What was his name, his profession,
and where was he to be found?

Really, the goldsmith answered, he was ignorant respecting
all those particulars. Previously to this purchase, the
gentleman had sometimes visited his shop, but he did not recollect
to have since seen him. He was 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 than surprise, seemed to be produced by the sight of
it. If I were permitted to judge, continued the artist, I

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should imagine that the young man was acquainted with the
original. To say the truth, I hinted as much at the time,
and I did not see that he discouraged the supposition. Indeed,
I cannot conceive how the picture could otherwise
have gained any value in his eyes.

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

The situation of this house being satisfactorily described,
and the artist being able to afford her no further information,
except as to stature and guise, she took her leave. There
were two motives impelling her to prosecute her search after
this person; the desire of regaining this portrait and of procuring
tidings of her friend. Involved as she was in ignorance,
it was impossible to conjecture, how far this incident
would be subservient to these inestimable purposes. To
procure an interview with this stranger, was the first measure
which prudence suggested.

She knew not his name or his person. He was once seen
entering a lodging house. Thither she must immediately repair,
but how to introduce herself, how to describe the person
of whom she was in search, she knew not. She was
beset with embarrassments and difficulties. While her attention
was entangled by these, she proceeded unconsciously
on her way, and stopped not until she reached the mansion
that had been described. Here she paused to collect
her thoughts.

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

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The lady courteously answered that she was the person,
and immediately ushered her visitant into an apartment.
Constantia being seated, the lady waited for the disclosure of
her message. To prolong the silence was only to multiply
embarrassments. She reverted to the state of her feelings,
and saw that they flowed from inconsistency and folly. One
vigorous effort was sufficient to restore her to composure
and self-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 utmost moment that she should procure
a meeting, but whom, by an unfortunate concurrence of circumstances,
she was unable to describe by the usual incidents
of name and profession. Her knowledge was confined
to his external appearance, and to the probability of his
being an inmate of this house, at the beginning of the year.
She then proceeded to describe his person and dress.

It is true, said the lady, such a one as you describe has
boarded in this house. His name was Martynne. I have
good reason to remember him, for he lived with me three
months, and then left the country without paying for his board.

He has gone, then? said Constantia, greatly discouraged
by these tidings.

Yes; he was a man of specious manners and loud pretensions.
He came from England, bringing with him forged
recommendatory letters, and after passing from one end of
the country to the other, contracting debts 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, which better information has, I believe, since shewn
to be false.

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

[figure description] Page 195.[end figure description]

During this conference, some one appeared to be negligently
sporting with the keys of a harpsichord, in the next
apartment. The notes were too irregular and faint to make
a forcible impression on the ear. In the present state of her
mind, Constantia was merely conscious of the sound, in the
intervals of conversation. Having arisen from her seat, her
anxiety to obtain some information that might lead to the
point she wished, made her again pause. She endeavored
to invent some new interrogatory better suited to her purpose,
than those which had, already, been employed. A silence
on both sides ensued.

During this interval, the unseen musician suddenly refrained
from rambling, and glided into notes of some refinement
and complexity. The cadence was aerial, but a thunderbolt,
falling at her feet, would not have communicated a more
visible shock to the senses of Constantia. A glance that
denoted a tumult of soul bordering on distraction, was now
fixed upon the door, that led into the room whence the harmony
proceeded. Instantly the cadence was revived, and
some accompanying voice, was heard to warble

Joy and grief in their sudden onset, and their violent extremes,
approach so nearly, in their influence on human beings,
as scarce to be distinguished. Constantia's frame was
still enfeebled by her recent distresses. The torrent of
emotion was too abrupt and too vehement. Her faculties
were overwhelmed, and she sunk upon the floor motionless
and without sense, but not till she had faintly articulated:—

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