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.

118

CLARA HOWARD.; OR,

"Never!-never be mine! —Well, may the arms of
a protecting Providence encircle thee! may some other
rise to claim and possess thy love! may ye never, neither
thou nor Clara, know remorse for your treatment of me!"
Saying this, he snatched his hat from the table and
ran out of the house. I called, but he was gone beyond
my hearing.
I was justly alarmed by this frantic demeanour. I
knew not how to account for it but by imagining that
some remains of delirium still affected his understanding.
I related this conversation to Sedley. I entreated him
to pursue Philip to his lodgings, to prevail upon him to
return hither, or to calm his mind by relating what his
abrupt departure had prevented me from saying.
Sedley cheerfully complied with my request; but Stanley was not to be found at his lodging. He waited his
return till ten, eleven, and twelve o'clock, but in vain.
Meanwhile, I found some relief in imagining they had
met; that Sedley's address and benevolence had succeeded in restoring our friend to better thoughts. My
disappointment and alarm, at his return, on hearing that
Stanley had not been met with, were inexpressible.
That night passed away without repose. Early the
* next morning, I again entreated Sedley to go in search
of the fugitive. lHe went, but presently returned, to inform me that Stanley had set out in the stage for Baltimore at day-dawn.
Icannot comprehend his intimations of a journey to
the wilderness; of imbruting his faculties; of exposing his
humanity, his life, to hazard. Could he have interpreted
your letters into avowals of hatred or scorn, or even of
indifference? One, indeed, who knew you less perfectly,
might impute to you a rigour in judging; a sternness
not suitable to the merits of this youth. Your letters
are void of that extenuating spirit, that reluctance to
inflict sufferings, which, perhaps, the wisest inflexibility
will not be slow to feel or unwilling to express. But
Philip had sufficient knowledge to save him from a wrong
construction.
Yet that, alas! is not true. He ought to have had
that knowledge; but it was wanting.