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.

227

their neighbours, and had died, neglected and unknown.
Mr. Thompson was vested with the superintendence of
this district, and had passed the house frequently without
suspicion of its being tenanted.
He was at length informed, by one of those who conducted a hearse, that he had seen the window in the
upper story of this house lifted and a female show herself. It was night, and the hearseman chanced to be
passing the door. He immediately supposed that the
person stood in need of his services, and stopped.
This procedure was comprehended by the person at
the window, who, leaning out, addressed him in a broken
and feeble voice. She asked him why he had not taken
a different route, and upbraided him for inhumanity in
leading his noisy vehicle past her door. She wanted repose, but the ceaseless rumbling of his wheels would not
allow her the sweet respite of a moment.
This invective was singular, and uttered in a voice
which united the utmost degree of earnestness with a
feebleness that rendered it almost inarticulate. The
man was at a loss for a suitable answer. His pause only
increased the impatience of the person at the window,
who called upon him, in a still more anxious tone, to proceed, and entreated him to avoid this alley for the future.
He answered that he must come whenever the occasion
called him; that three persons now lay dead in this alley,
and that he must be expeditious in their removal; but
that he would return as seldom and make as little noise
as possible.
He was interrupted by new exclamations and upbraidings. These terminated in a burst of tears, and assertions that God and man were her enemies,-that they
were determined to destroy her; but she trusted that the
time would come when their own experience would avenge
her wrongs, and teach them some compassion for the
misery of others. Saying this, she shut the window with
violence, and retired from it, sobbing with a vehemence
that could be distinctly overheard by him in the street.
He paused for some time, listening when this passion
should cease. The habitation was slight, and he imagined that he heard her traversing the floor. While he
O