It was now dusk and she hastened to perform this duty.
Whiston's dwelling was wooden and of small dimensions.
She lifted the latch softly and entered. The lower room
was unoccupied. She advanced to the foot of a narrow
staircase, and knowcked and listened, but no answer was returned
to the summons. Hence there was reason to infer
that no one was within, but this, from other considerations,
was extremely improbable. The truth could be ascertained
only by ascending the stair. Some feminine scruples were
to be subdued before this proceeding could be adopted.

After some hesitation, she determined to ascend. The
staircase was terminated by a door at which she again knocked
for admission, but in vain. She listened, and presently
heard the motion as of some one in bed. This was succeeded
by tokens of vehement exertions to vomit. These signs

[figure description] Page 042.[end figure description]

convincing her that the house was not without a tenant, she
could not hesitate to enter the room.

Lying in a tattered bed, she now discovered Mary Whiston.
Her face was flushed and swelled, her eyes closed,
and some power appeared to have laid a leaden hand upon
her faculties. The floor was moistened and stained by the
effusion from her stomach. Constantia touched her hand,
and endeavored to rouse her. It was with difficulty that
her attention was excited. Her languid eyes were scarcely
opened before they again closed and she sunk into forgetfulness.

Repeated efforts, however, at length recalled her to herself,
and extorted from her some account of her condition. On
the day before, at noon, her stomach became diseased, her
head dizzy, and her limbs unable to support her. Her
brother was absent, and her drowsiness, interrupted only by
paroxysms of vomiting, continued till his return late in the
evening. He had then shewn himself, for a few minutes,
at her bedside, had made some inquiries and precipitately
retired, since when he had not reappeared.

It was natural to imagine that Whiston had gone to procure
medical assistance. That he had not returned, during
a day and a half, was matter of surprise. His own indisposition
was recollected, and his absence could only be accounted
for by supposing that sickness had disabled him from
regaining his own house. What was his real destiny, it was
impossible to conjecture. It was not till some months after
this period that satisfactory intelligence was gained upon this
head.

It appeared that Whiston had allowed his terrors to overpower
the sense of what was due to his sister and to humanity.
On discovering the condition of the unhappy girl,
he left the house, and, instead of seeking a physician, he
turned his steps towards the country. After travelling some
hours, being exhausted by want of food, by fatigue, and by
mental as well as bodily anguish, he laid himself down under
the shelter of a hayrick, in a vacant field. Here he was
discovered in the morning by the inhabitants of a neighboring
farm house. These people had too much regard for
their own safety to accommodate him under their roof, or
even to approach within fifty paces of his person.

[figure description] Page 043.[end figure description]

A passenger, whose attention and compassion had been
excited by this incident, was endowed with more courage.
He lifted the stranger in his arms, and carried him from this
unwholesome spot to a barn. This was the only service
which the passenger was able to perform. Whiston, deserted
by every human creature, burning with fever, tormented
into madness by thirst, spent three miserable days in agony.
When dead, no one would cover his body with earth, but he
was suffered to decay by piecemeal.

The dwelling, being at no great distance from the barn,
could not be wholly screened from the malignant vapor
which a corpse, thus neglected, could not fail to produce.
The inhabitants were preparing on this account, to change
their abode, but, on the eve of their departure, the master of
the family became sick. He was, in a short time, followed
to the grave by his mother, his wife and four children.

They probably imbibed their disease from the tainted atmosphere
around them. The life of Whiston and their own
lives, might have been saved by affording the wanderer an
asylum and suitable treatment, or at least, their own deaths
might have been avoided by interring his remains.

Meanwhile Constantia was occupied with reflecting on the
scene before her. Not only a physician but a nurse was
wanting. The last province it was more easy for her to supply
than the former. She was acquainted with the abode of
but one physician. He lived at no small distance from this
spot. To him she immediately hastened, but he was absent,
and his numerous engagements left it wholly uncertain when
he would return and whether he would consent to increase
the number of his patients. Direction was obtained to the
residence of another, who was happily disengaged, and who
promised to attend immediately. Satisfied with this assurance,
she neglected to request directions, by which she
might regulate herself on his failing to come.

During her return her thoughts were painfully employed
in considering the mode proper for her to pursue, in her present
perplexing situation. She was for the most part unacquainted
with the character of those who composed her neighborhood.
That any would be willing to undertake the tendance
of this girl was by no means probable. As wives and
mothers, it would perhaps be unjust to require or permit it.

[figure description] Page 044.[end figure description]

As to herself there were labors and duties of her own sufficient
to engross her faculties, yet, by whatever foreign cares
or tasks she was oppressed, she felt that, to desert this being,
was impossible.

In the absence of her friend, Mary's state exhibited no
change. Constantia, on regaining the house, lighted the
remnant of a candle, and resumed her place by the bedside
of the sick girl. She impatiently waited for the arrival of the
physician, but hour succeeded hour and he came not. All
hope of his coming being extinguished, she bethought herself
that her father might be able to inform her of the best
manner of proceeding. It was likewise her duty to relieve
him from the suspense in which her absence would unavoidably
plunge him.

On entering her own apartment she found a stranger in
company with Mr. Dudley. The latter perceiving that she
had returned, speedily acquainted her with the views of their
guest. His name was M'Crea; he was the nephew of their
landlord and was now become, by reversion, the proprietor
of the house which they occupied. Mathews had been buried
the preceding day, and M'Crea, being well acquainted
with the engagements which subsisted between the deceased
and Mr. Dudley, had come, thus unseasonably, to demand
the rent. He was not unconscious of the inhumanity and
sordidness of this proceeding, and therefore, endeavored to
disguise it by the usual pretences. All his funds were exhausted.
He came not only in his own name, but in that of
Mrs. Mathews his aunt, who was destitute of money to procure
daily and indispensable provision, and who was striving
to collect a sufficient sum to enable her and the remains of
her family, to fly from a spot where their lives were in perpetual
danger.

These excuses were abundantly fallacious, but Mr. Dudley
was too proud to solicit the forbearance of a man like
this. He recollected that the engagement on his part was
voluntary and explicit, and he disdained to urge his present
exigencies as reasons for retracting it. He expressed the
utmost readiness to comply with the demand, and merely
desired him to wait till Miss Dudley returned. From the
inquietudes with which the unusual duration of her absence
had filled him, he was now relieved by her entrance.

[figure description] Page 045.[end figure description]

With an indignant and desponding heart, she complied
with her father's directions, and the money being reluctantly
delivered, M'Crea took a hasty leave. She was too deeply
interested in the fate of Mary Whiston, to allow her
thoughts to be diverted for the present into a new channel.
She described the desolate condition of the girl to her father,
and besought him to think of something suitable to her
relief.

Mr. Dudley's humanity would not suffer him to disapprove
of his daughter's proceeding. He imagined that the
symptoms of the patient portended a fatal issue. There
were certain complicated remedies which might possibly be
beneficial, but these were too costly, and the application
would demand more strength than his daughter could bestow.
He was unwilling, however, to leave any thing within
his power, untried. Pharmacy had been his trade, and
he had reserved, for domestic use, some of the most powerful
evacuants. Constantia was supplied with some of these,
and he consented that she should spend the night with her
patient, and watch their operation.

The unhappy Mary received whatever was offered, but
her stomach refused to retain it. The night was passed by
Constantia without closing her eyes. As soon as the day
dawned, she prepared once more to summon the physician,
who had failed to comply with his promise. She had scarcely
left the house, however, before she met him. He pleaded
his numerous engagements in excuse for his last night's
negligence, and desired her to make haste to conduct him to
the patient.

Having scrutinized her symptoms, he expressed his hopelessness
of her recovery. Being informed of the mode in
which she had been treated, he declared his approbation of
it, but intimated, that these being unsuccessful, all that remained
was to furnish her with any liquid she might choose
to demand, and wait patiently for the event. During this
interview, the physician surveyed the person and dress of
Constantia with an inquisitive eye. His countenance betrayed
marks of curiosity and compassion, and had he made
any approaches to confidence and friendliness, Constantia
would not have repelled them. His air was benevolent and
candid, and she estimated highly the usefulness of a

[figure description] Page 046.[end figure description]

counselandlor friend in her present circumstances. Some motive,
however, hindered him from tendering his service, and, in
a few moments, he withdrew.

Mary's condition hourly grew worse. A corroded and
gangrenous stomach was quickly testified by the dark hue
and poisonous malignity of the matter which was frequently
ejected from it. Her stupor gave place to some degree of
peevishness and restlessness. She drank the water that was
held to her lips with unspeakable avidity, and derived from
this source a momentary alleviation of her pangs. Fortunately
for her attendant, her agonies were not of long duration.
Constantia was absent from her bedside as rarely, and for
periods as short as possible. On the succeeding night, the
sufferings of the patient terminated in death.

This event took place at two o'clock in the morning.
An hour whose customary stillness was, if possible, increased
tenfold by the desolation of the city. The poverty of
Mary and of her nurse had deprived the former of the benefits
resulting from the change of bed and clothes. Every
thing about her was in a condition noisome and detestable.
Her yellowish and haggard visage, conspicuous by a feeble
light, an atmosphere freighted with malignant vapors, and
reminding Constantia at every instant, of the perils which
encompassed her, the consciousness of solitude and sensations
of deadly sickness in her own frame, were sufficient to
intimidate a soul of firmer texture than hers.

She was sinking fast into helplessness, when a new train
of reflections showed her the necessity of perseverance. All
that remained was to consign the corpse to the grave. She
knew that vehicles for this end were provided at the public
expense, that notice being given of the occasion there was for
their attendance, a receptacle and carriage for the dead
would be instantly provided. Application, at this hour, she
imagined would be unseasonable. It must be deferred till
the morning which was yet at some distance.

Meanwhile to remain at her present post, was equally
useless and dangerous. She endeavored to stifle the conviction,
that some mortal sickness had seized upon her own
frame. Her anxieties of head and stomach she was willing
to impute to extraordinary fatigue and watchfulness; and
hoped that they would be dissipated by an hour's

[figure description] Page 047.[end figure description]

unmolested repose. She formed the resolution of seeking her own
chamber.

At this moment, however, the universal silence underwent
a slight interruption. The sound was familiar to her ears.
It was a signal frequently repeated at the midnight hour during
this season of calamity. It was the slow movement of
a hearse, apparently passing along the street, in which the
alley, where Mr. Dudley resided, terminated. At first, this
sound had no other effect than to aggravate the dreariness of
all around her. Presently it occurred to her that this vehicle
might be disengaged. She conceived herself bound to
see the last offices performed for the deceased Mary. The
sooner so irksome a duty was discharged the better. Every
hour might augment her incapacity for exertion. Should
she be unable when the morning arrived, to go as far as the
city hall, and give the necessary information, the most shocking
consequences would ensue. Whiston's house and her
own were opposite each other, and not connected with any
on the same side. A narrow space divided them, and her
own chamber was within the sphere of the contagion which
would flow, in consequence of such neglect, from that of her
neighbor.

Influenced by these considerations she passed into the
street, and gained the corner of the alley, just as the carriage,
whose movements she had heard, arrived at the same
spot. It was accompanied by two men, negroes, who listened
to her tale with respect. Having already a burthen of
this kind, they could not immediately comply with this request.
They promised that, having disposed of their present
charge, they would return forthwith and be ready to
execute her orders.

Happily one of these persons was known to her. At other
seasons his occupation was that of woodcarter, and as such
he had performed some services for Mr. Dudley. His temper
was gentle and obliging. The character of Constantia
had been viewed by him with reverence, and his kindness
had relieved her from many painful offices. His old occupation
being laid aside for a time, he had betaken himself,
like many others of his color and rank, to the conveyance
and burial of the dead.

At Constantia's request, he accompanied her to Whiston's

[figure description] Page 048.[end figure description]

house, and promised to bring with him such assistance, as
would render her farther exertions and attendance unnecessary.
Glad to be absolved from any new task, she now retired
to her own chamber. In spite of her distempered
frame, she presently sunk into sweet sleep. She awoke not
till the day had made considerable progress, and found herself
invigorated and refreshed. On re-entering Whiston's
house, she discovered that her humble friend had faithfully
performed his promise, the dead body having disappeared.
She deemed it unsafe, as well as unnecessary, to examine
the clothes and other property remaining, but leaving every
thing in the condition in which it had been found, she fastened
the windows and doors, and thenceforth kept as distant
from the house as possible.