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.

215

strangers, by whom no account could be given of its
former tenants. I obtained directions to the owner of
the house. He was equally unable to satisfy my curiosity. The purchase had been made at a public sale, and
terms had been settled, not with Dudley, but with the
sheriff.
It is needless to say that the history of Craig's imposture and its consequences were confirmed by every
one who resided at that period in New York. The Dudleys were well remembered, and their disappearance, immediately after their fall, had been generally noticed;
but whither they had retired was a problem which no one
was able to solve.
This evasion was strange. By what motives the Dudleys were induced to change their ancient abode could be
vaguely guessed. My friend's grandfather was a native
of the West Indies. Descendants of the same stock still
resided in Tobago. They might be affluent, and to them
it was possible that Mr. Dudley, in this change of fortune, had betaken himself for relief. This was a mournful expedient, since it would raise a barrier between my
friend and myself scarcely to be surmounted.
Constantia's mother was stolen by Mr. Dudley from a
convent at Amiens. There were no affinities, therefore,
to draw them to France. Her grandmother was a native
of Baltimore, of a family of some note, by name Ridgeley. This family might still exist, and have either afforded an asylum to the Dudleys, or, at least, be apprized
of their destiny. It was obvious to conclude that they
no longer existed within the precincts of New York. A
journey to Baltimore was the next expedient.
This journey was made in the depth of winter, and by
the speediest conveyance. I made no more than a day's
sojourn in Philadelphia. The epidemic by which that
city had been lately ravaged, I had not heard of till my
arrival in America. Its devastations were then painted
to my fancy in the most formidable tolours. A few months
only had elapsed since its extinction, and I expected to
see numerous marks of misery and depopulation.
To my no small surprise, however, no vestiges of this
calamity were to be discerned. All houses were open,