CHAPTER VII.
The politeness of Melbourne had somewhat abated Mr. Dudley's aversion tosociety. He allowed himself sometimes to comply with urgent invitations.On this evening he happened to be at the house of that gentleman. Ormondentered, and found Constantia alone. An interview of this kind wasseldom enjoyed, though earnestly wished for, by Constantia, who waseager to renew the subject of her first conversation with Ormond. I havealready explained the situation of her mind. All her wishes wereconcentred in the marriage of Helena. The eligibility of this scheme, inevery view which she took of it, appeared in a stronger light. She wasnot aware that any new obstacle had arisen. She was free from theconsciousness of any secret bias. Much less did her modesty suspectthat she herself would prove an insuperable impediment to this plan.
There was more than usual solemnity in Ormond's demeanour. After he wasseated, he continued, contrary to his custom, to be silent. Thesesingularities were not unobserved by Constantia. They did not, however,divert her from her purpose.
"I am glad to see you," said she. "We so seldom enjoy the advantage of aprivate interview. I have much to say to you. You authorize me todeliberate on your actions, and, in some measure, to prescribe to you.This is a province which I hope to discharge with integrity anddiligence. I am convinced that Helena's happiness and your own can besecured in one way only. I will emulate your candour, and come at onceto the point. Why have you delayed so long the justice that is due tothis helpless and lovely girl? There are a thousand reasons why youshould think of no other alternative. You have been pleased to reposesome degree of confidence in my judgement. Hear my full and deliberateopinion. Make Helena your wife. This is the unequivocal prescription ofyour duty."
This address was heard by Ormond without surprise; but his countenancebetrayed the acuteness of his feelings. The bitterness that overflowedhis heart was perceptible in his tone when he spoke:--
"Most egregiously are you deceived. Such is the line with which humancapacity presumes to fathom futurity. With all your discernment you donot see that marriage would effectually destroy me. You do not see that,whether beneficial or otherwise in its effects, marriage is impossible.You are merely prompting me to suicide: but how shall I inflict thewound? Where is the weapon? See you not that I am powerless? Leap, sayyou, into the flames. See you not that I am fettered? Will a mountainmove at your bidding? Sooner than I in the path which you prescribe tome."
This speech was inexplicable. She pressed him to speak lessenigmatically. Had he formed his resolution? If so, arguments andremonstrances were superfluous. Without noticing her interrogatories, hecontinued:--
"I am too hasty in condemning you. You judge, not against, but withoutknowledge. When sufficiently informed, your decision will be right. Yethow can you be ignorant? Can you for a moment contemplate yourself andme, and not perceive an insuperable bar to this union?"
"You place me," said Constantia, "in a very disagreeable predicament. Ihave not deserved this treatment from you. This is an unjustifiabledeviation from plain dealing. Of what impediment do you speak. I cansafely say that I know of none."
"Well," resumed he, with augmented eagerness, "I must supply you withknowledge. I repeat, that I perfectly rely on the rectitude of yourjudgement. Summon all your sagacity and disinterestedness and choose forme. You know in what light Helena has been viewed by me. I have ceasedto view her in this light. She has become an object of indifference.Nay, I am not certain that I do not hate her,--not indeed for her ownsake, but because I love another. Shall I marry her whom I hate, whenthere exists one whom I love with unconquerable ardour?"
Constantia was thunderstruck with this intelligence. She looked at himwith some expression of doubt. "How is this?" said she. "Why did you nottell me this before?"
"When I last talked with you on this subject I knew it not myself. Ithas occurred since. I have seized the first occasion that has offeredto inform you of it. Say now, since such is my condition, ought Helenato be my wife?"
Constantia was silent. Her heart bled for what she foresaw would be thesufferings and forlorn destiny of Helena. She had not courage to inquirefurther into this new engagement.
"I wait for your answer, Constantia. Shall I defraud myself of all thehappiness which would accrue from a match of inclination? Shall I putfetters on my usefulness? This is the style in which you speak. Shall Ipreclude all the good to others that would flow from a suitablealliance? Shall I abjure the woman I love, and marry her whom I hate?"
"Hatred," replied the lady, "is a harsh word. Helena has not deservedthat you should hate her. I own this is a perplexing circumstance. Itwould be wrong to determine hastily. Suppose you give yourself toHelena: will more than yourself be injured by it? Who is this lady?Will she be rendered unhappy by a determination in favour of another?This is a point of the utmost importance."
At these words Ormond forsook his seat, and advanced close up toConstantia:--"You say true. This is a point of inexpressible importance.It would be presumption in me to decide. That is the lady's ownprovince. And now, say truly, are you willing to accept Ormond with allhis faults? Who but yourself could be mistress of all the springs of mysoul? I know the sternness of your probity. This discovery will onlymake you more strenuously the friend of Helena. Yet why should you notshun either extreme? Lay yourself out of view. And yet, perhaps thehappiness of Constantia is not unconcerned in this question. Is there nopart of me in which you discover your own likeness? Am I deceived, or isit an incontrollable destiny that unites us?"
This declaration was truly unexpected by Constantia. She gathered fromit nothing but excitements of grief. After some pause she said:--"Thisappeal to me has made no change in my opinion. I still think thatjustice requires you to become the husband of Helena. As to me, do youthink my happiness rests upon so slight a foundation? I cannot love butwhen my understanding points out to me the propriety of love. Ever sinceI have known you I have looked upon you as rightfully belonging toanother. Love could not take place in my circumstances. Yet I will notconceal from you my sentiments. I am not sure that, in differentcircumstances, I should not have loved. I am acquainted with your worth.I do not look for a faultless man. I have met with none whose blemisheswere fewer.
"It matters not, however, what I should have been. I cannot interfere,in this case, with the claims of my friend. I have no passion tostruggle with. I hope, in every vicissitude, to enjoy your esteem, andnothing more. There is but one way in which mine can be secured, andthat is by espousing this unhappy girl."
"No!" exclaimed Ormond. "Require not impossibilities. Helena can neverbe any thing to me. I should, with unspeakably more willingness, assailmy own life."
"What," said the lady, "will Helena think of this sudden and dreadfulchange? I cannot bear to think upon the feelings that this informationwill excite."
"She knows it already. I have this moment left her. I explained to her,in a few words, my motives, and assured her of my unalterableresolution. I have vowed never to see her more but as a brother; andthis vow she has just heard."
Constantia could not suppress her astonishment and compassion at thisintelligence:--"No surely; you could not be so cruel! And this was donewith your usual abruptness, I suppose. Precipitate and implacable man!Cannot you foresee the effects of this madness? You have planted adagger in her heart. You have disappointed me. I did not think you couldact so inhumanly."
"Nay, beloved Constantia, be not so liberal of your reproaches. Wouldyou have me deceive her? She must shortly have known it. Could the truthbe told too soon?"
"Much too soon," replied the lady, fervently. "I have always condemnedthe maxims by which you act. Your scheme is headlong and barbarous.Could not you regard with some little compassion that love thatsacrificed, for your unworthy sake, honest fame and the peace of virtue?Is she not a poor outcast, goaded by compunction, and hooted at by amalignant and misjudging world? And who was it that reduced her to thisdeplorable condition? For whose sake did she willingly consent to braveevils, by which the stout
est heart is appalled? Did this argue nogreatness of mind? Who ever surpassed her in fidelity and tenderness?But thus has she been rewarded. I shudder to think what may be theevent. Her courage cannot possibly support her against treatment soharsh, so perversely and wantonly cruel. Heaven grant that you are notshortly made bitterly to lament this rashness!"
Ormond was penetrated with these reproaches. They persuaded him for amoment that his deed was wrong; that he had not unfolded his intentionsto Helena with a suitable degree of gentleness and caution. Little morewas said on this occasion. Constantia exhorted him, in the most earnestand pathetic manner, to return and recant, or extenuate, his formerdeclarations. He could not be brought to promise compliance. When heparted from her, however, he was half resolved to act as she advised.Solitary reflection made him change this resolution, and he returned tohis own house.
During the night he did little else than ruminate on the events of thepreceding evening. He entertained little doubt of his ultimate successwith Constantia. She gratified him in nothing, but left him every thingto hope. She had hitherto, it seems, regarded him with indifference, butthis had been sufficiently explained. That conduct would be pursued, andthat passion be entertained, which her judgement should previouslyapprove. What then was the obstacle? It originated in the claims ofHelena. But what were these claims? It was fully ascertained that heshould never be united to this girl. If so, the end contemplated byConstantia, and for the sake of which only his application was rejected,could never be obtained. Unless her rejection of him could procure ahusband for her friend, it would, on her own principles, be improper andsuperfluous.
What was to be done with Helena? It was a terrible alternative to whichhe was reduced:--to marry her or see her perish. But was thisalternative quite sure? Could not she, by time or by judicioustreatment, be reconciled to her lot? It was to be feared that he had notmade a suitable beginning: and yet, perhaps it was most expedient that ahasty and abrupt sentence should be succeeded by forbearance and lenity.He regretted his precipitation, and though unused to the melting mood,tears were wrung from him by the idea of the misery which he hadprobably occasioned. He was determined to repair his misconduct asspeedily as possible, and to pay her a conciliating visit the nextmorning.
He went early to her house. He was informed by the servant that hermistress had not yet risen. "Was it usual," he asked, "for her to lie solate?" "No," he was answered, "she never knew it happen before, but shesupposed her mistress was not well. She was just going into her chamberto see what was the matter."
"Why," said Ormond, "do you suppose that she is sick?"
"She was poorly last night. About nine o'clock she sent out for somephysic to make her sleep."
"To make her sleep?" exclaimed Ormond, in a fettering and affrightedaccent.
"Yes: she said she wanted it for that. So I went to the 'pothecary's.When I came back she was very poorly indeed. I asked her if I might notsit up with her. 'No,' she said, 'I do not want anybody. You may go tobed as soon as you please, and tell Fabian to do the same. I shall notwant you again.'"
"What did you buy?"
"Some kind of water,--laud'num I think they call it. She wrote it down,and I carried the paper to Mr. Eckhart's, and he gave it to me in abottle, and I gave it to my mistress."
"'Tis well: retire: I will see how she is myself."
Ormond had conceived himself fortified against every disaster: he lookedfor nothing but evil, and therefore, in ordinary cases, regarded itsapproach without fear or surprise. Now, however, he found that histremors would not be stilled: his perturbations increased with everystep that brought him nearer to her chamber. He knocked, but no answerwas returned. He opened the door, advanced to the bed side, and drewback the curtains. He shrunk from the spectacle that presented itself.Was this the Helena that, a few hours before, was blithesome with healthand radiant with beauty? Her visage was serene, but sunken and pale.Death was in every line of it. To his tremulous and hurried scrutinyevery limb was rigid and cold.
The habits of Ormond tended to obscure the appearances, if not to deadenthe emotions of sorrow. He was so much accustomed to the frustration ofwell-intended efforts, and confided so much in his own integrity, thathe was not easily disconcerted. He had merely to advert, on thisoccasion, to the tumultuous state of his feelings, in order to banishtheir confusion and restore himself to calm. "Well," said he, as hedropped the curtain and turned towards another part of the room, "this,without doubt, is a rueful spectacle. Can it be helped? Is there in manthe power of recalling her? There is none such in me.
"She is gone: well then, she _is_ gone. If she were fool enough to die,I am not fool enough to follow her. I am determined to live and be happynotwithstanding. Why not?
"Yet, this is a piteous night. What is impossible to undo, might beeasily prevented. A piteous spectacle! But what else, on an amplerscale, is the universe? Nature is a theatre of suffering. What corneris unvisited by calamity and pain? I have chosen as became me. I wouldrather precede thee to the grave, than live to be thy husband.
"Thou hast done my work for me. Thou hast saved thyself and me from athousand evils. Thou hast acted as seemed to thee best, and I amsatisfied.
"Hast thou decided erroneously? They that know thee need not marvel atthat. Endless have been the proofs of thy frailty. In favour of thislast act something may be said. It is the last thou wilt ever commit.Others only will experience its effects; thou hast, at least, providedfor thy own safety.
"But what is here? A letter for me? Had thy understanding been as promptas thy fingers, I could have borne with thee. I can easily divine thecontents of this epistle."
He opened it, and found the tenor to be as follows:--
"You did not use, my dear friend, to part with me in this manner. You never before treated me so roughly. I am, sorry, indeed I am, that I ever offended you. Could you suppose that I intended it? And if you knew that I meant not offence, why did you take offence?
"I'm very unhappy, for I have lost you, my friend. You will never see me more, you say. That is very hard. I have deserved it to-be-sure, but I do not know how it has happened. Nobody more desired to please than I have done. Morning, noon, night, it was my only study; but you will love me no more; you will see me no more. Forgive me, my friend, but I must say it is very hard.
"You said rightly; I do not wish to live without my friend. I have spent my life happily heretofore. 'Tis true, these have been transient uneasinesses, but your love was a reward and a cure for every thing. I desired nothing better in this world. Did you ever hear me murmur? No; I was not so unjust. My lot was happy, infinitely beyond my deserving. I merited not to be loved by you. Oh that I had suitable words to express my gratitude for your kindness! but this last meeting,--how different from that which went before? Yet even then there was something on your brow like discontent, which I could not warble nor whisper away as I used to do. But sad as this was, it was nothing like the last.
"Could Ormond be so stern and so terrible? You knew that I would die, but you need not have talked as if I were in the way, and as if you had rather I should die than live. But one thing I rejoice at; I am a poor silly girl, but Constantia is a noble and accomplished one. Most joyfully do I resign you to her, my dear friend. You say you love her. She need not be afraid of accepting you. There will be no danger of your preferring another to her. It was very natural and very right for you to prefer her to me. She and you will be happy in each other. It is this that sweetens the cup I am going to drink. Never did I go to sleep with more good-will than I now go to death. Fare you well, my dear friend."
This letter was calculated to make a deeper impression on Ormond thaneven the sight of Helena's corpse. It was in vain, for some time, thathe endeavoured to reconcile himself to this event. It was seldom that hewas able to forget it. He was obliged to exert all his energies toenable him to support the remembrance. The task was of course renderedeasier by time.
I
t was immediately requisite to attend to the disposal of the corpse. Hefelt himself unfit for this mournful office. He was willing to relievehimself from it by any expedient. Helena's next neighbour was an oldlady, whose scruples made her shun all direct intercourse with thisunhappy girl; yet she had performed many acts of neighbourly kindness.She readily obeyed the summons of Ormond, on this occasion, to takecharge of affairs till another should assert it. Ormond returned home,and sent the following note to Constantia:--
"You have predicted aright. Helena is dead. In a mind like your's every grief will be suspended, and every regard absorbed in the attention due to the remains of this unfortunate girl. _I_ cannot attend to them."
Constantia was extremely shocked by this intelligence, but she was notunmindful of her duty. She prepared herself, with mournful alacrity, forthe performance of it. Every thing that the occasion demanded was donewith diligence and care. Till this was accomplished, Ormond could notprevail upon himself to appear upon the stage. He was informed of thisby a note from Constantia, who requested him to take possession of theunoccupied dwelling and its furniture.
Among the terms of his contract with Helena, Ormond had voluntarilyinserted the exclusive property of a house and its furniture in thiscity, with funds adequate to her plentiful maintenance. These he hadpurchased and transferred to her. To this he had afterwards added arural retreat, in the midst of spacious and well-cultivated fields,three miles from Perth-Amboy, and seated on the right bank of the Sound.It is proper to mention that this farm was formerly the property of Mr.Dudley,--had been fitted up by him, and used as his summer abode duringhis prosperity. In the division of his property it had fallen to one ofhis creditors, from whom it had been purchased by Ormond. Thiscircumstance, in conjunction with the love which she bore to Constantia,had suggested to Helena a scheme, which her want of foresight would, indifferent circumstances, have occasioned her to overlook. It was that ofmaking her testament, by which she bequeathed all that she possessed toher friend. This was not done without the knowledge and cheerfulconcurrence of Ormond, who, together with Melbourne and anotherrespectable citizen, were named executors. Melbourne and his friend wereinduced by their respect for Constantia to consent to this nomination.
This had taken place before Ormond and Constantia had been introduced toeach other. After this event, Ormond had sometimes been employed incontriving means for securing to his new friend and her father asubsistence, more certain than the will of Helena could afford. Herdeath he considered as an event equally remote and undesirable. Thisevent, however unexpectedly, had now happened, and precluded thenecessity of further consideration on this head.
Constantia could not but accept this bequest. Had it been her wish todecline it, it was not in her power, but she justly regarded theleisure and independence thus conferred upon her, as inestimablebenefits. It was a source of unbounded satisfaction on her father'saccount, who was once more seated in the bosom of affluence. Perhaps, ina rational estimate, one of the most fortunate events that could havebefallen those persons, was that period of adversity through which theyhad been doomed to pass. Most of the defects that adhered to thecharacter of Mr. Dudley, had, by this means, been exterminated. He wasnow cured of those prejudices which his early prosperity had instilled,and which had flowed from luxurious indigencies. He had learned toestimate himself at his true value, and to sympathize with sufferingswhich he himself had partaken.
It was easy to perceive in what light Constantia was regarded by herfather. He never reflected on his relation to her without rapture. Herqualities were the objects of his adoration. He resigned himself withpleasure to her guidance. The chain of subordination and duties wasreversed. By the ascendancy of her genius and wisdom the province ofprotection and the tribute of homage had devolved upon her. This hadresulted from incessant experience of the wisdom of her measures, andthe spectacle of her fortitude and skill in every emergency.
It seemed as if but one evil adhered to the condition of this man. Hisblindness was an impediment to knowledge and enjoyment, of which, theutmost to be hoped was, that he should regard it without pungent regret,and that he should sometimes forget it; that his mind shouldoccasionally stray into foreign paths, and lose itself in sprightlyconversations, or benign reveries. This evil, however, was by no meansremediless.
A surgeon of uncommon skill had lately arrived from Europe. He was oneof the numerous agents and dependants of Ormond and had been engaged toabdicate his native country for purposes widely remote from hisprofession. The first use that was made of him was to introduce him toMr. Dudley. The diseased organs were critically examined, and thepatient was, with considerable difficulty, prevailed upon to undergo thenecessary operation. His success corresponded with Constantia's wishes,and her father was once more restored to the enjoyment of light.
These were auspicious events. Constantia held herself amply repaid bythem for all that she had suffered. These sufferings had indeed beenlight, when compared with the effects usually experienced by others in asimilar condition. Her wisdom had extracted its sting from adversity,and without allowing herself to feel much of the evils of its reign,had employed it as an instrument by which the sum of her presenthappiness was increased. Few suffered less in the midst of poverty, thanshe. No one ever extracted more felicity from the prosperous reverse.
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