The novels of Charles Brockden Brown, consisting of Wieland;or, The transformation. Arthur Mervyn; or, Memoirs of the year 1793. Edgar Huntly; or, Memoirs of a sleep-walker. Jane Talbot. Ormond; or, The secret witness. Clara Howard; or, The enthusiasm of love. With a memoir of the author.

THE SECRET WITNESS.

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Mary Ridgeley was artless and affectionate. She saw
that her society was dearer to me than that of any other,
and was therefore seldom willing to leave my chamber.
Her presence, less on her own account than by reason
of her personal resemblance and her affinity by birth to
Constantia, was a powerful solace.
I had nothing to detain me longer in America. I was
anxious to change my present lonely state, for the communion of those friends in England, and the performance
of those duties, which were left to me. I was informed
that a British packet would shortly sail from New York.
My frame was sunk into greater weakness than I had
felt at any former period; and I conceived that to return
to New York by water was more commodious than to
perform the journey by land.
This arrangement was likewise destined to be disappointed. One morning I visited, according to my custom, Mary Ridgeley. I found her in a temper somewhat inclined to gayety. She rallied me, with great
archness, on the care with which I had concealed from
her a tender engagement into which I had lately
entered.
I supposed myself to comprehend her allusion, and
therefore answered that accident, rather than design,
had made me silent on the subject of marriage. She
had hitherto known me by no appellation but Sophia
Courtland. I had thought it needless to inform her that
I was indebted for my name to my husband, Courtland
being his name.
"All that," said my friend, "I know already. And
so you sagely think that my knowledge goes no further
than that? We are not bound to love our husbands
longer than their lives. There is no crime, I believe, in
preferring the living to the dead; and most heartily do
I congratulate you on your present choice."
"What mean you? I confess, your discourse surpasses my comprehension."
At that moment the bell at the door rung a loud peal.
Miss Ridgeley hastened down at this signal, saying, with
much significance,"I am a poor hand at solving a riddle. Here comes
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