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.

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CLARA HOWARD; OR,

not suspect that my regard for any woman could possibly
be carried further than what I felt for her.
Mary's knowledge of the heart, the persuasion of her
own defects, or her refined conception of the passions,
made her less sanguine and impetuous. Her love was to
be indisputably requited by a love as fervent, before she
would permit herself to indulge in hopes of felicity, or
allow me to esteem in her my future wife. Our mutual
situation by no means justified marriage. Secure and
regular means of subsistence were wanting, as I had,
somewhat indiscreetly, bound myself to serve a parsimonious master for a much longer period than was requisite to make me a proficient in my art. Meanwhile,
there subsisted between us the most affectionate and cordial intercourse, such as was worthy of her love and my
boundless esteem.
As long as the possibility of marriage was distant, this
discord of feelings was of less moment. A very great
misfortune, however, seemed to have brought it, for a
time, very near. Wilmot embarked on the river in an
evil hour, and, the boat being upset by a gust of wind,
was drowned. The brother and sister tenderly loved
each other, and this calamity was long and deeply deplored
by the survivor. One unexpected good, however, grew
out of this event. Wilmot was found to be credited in
the Bank of P- for so large a sum as five thousand
dollars.
You will judge of the surprise produced by such a discovery, when I tell you that this credit appeared to have
been given above two years before Wilmot's death; that
we, his constant and intimate associates, had never heard
the slightest intimation of his possessing any thing beyond the scanty income of his school; that his expenses
continued, till the day of his death, perfectly conformable
to the known amount of this wretched income; and that
no documents could be found among his papers throwing
any light on the mystery.
I shall not recount the ten thousand fruitless conjectures that were formed to account for this circumstance.
None was more probable than that Wilmot held this
money for another. Mary was particularly confident of