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.

54 ORMOND; OR,
to ward off terror and dismay in a scene of horrors thus
hourly accumulating, was impossible. Constantia found
it vain to contend against the inroads of sadness. Amidst
so dreadful a mortality, it was irrational to cherish the
hope that she or her father would escape. Her sensations, in no long time, seemed to justify her apprehensions. Her appetite forsook her, her strength failed,
the thirst and lassitude of fever invaded her, and the
grave seemed to open for her reception.
Lucy was assailed by the same symptoms at the same
time. Household offices were unavoidably neglected.
Mr. Dudley retained his health, but he was able only to
prepare his scanty food, and supply the cravings of his
child with water fiom the well. His imagination marked
him out for the next victim. HIe could not be blind to
the consequences of his own indisposition at a period so
critical. Disabled from contributing to each other's
assistance, destitude of medicine and food, and even of
water to quench their tormenting thirst, unvisited, unknown, and perishing in frightful solitude! These images
had a tendency to prostrate the mind, and generate or
ripen the seeds of this fatal malady, which, no doubt, at
this period of its progress, every one had imbibed.
Contrary to all his fears, he awoke each morning free
from pain, though not without an increase of debility.
Abstinence from food, and the liberal use of cold water,
seemed to have a medicinal operation on the sick. Their
pulse gradually resumed its healthy tenor, their strength
and their appetite slowly returned, and in ten days they
were able to congratulate each other on their restoration.
I will not recount that series of disastrous thoughts
which occupied the mind of Constantia during this period. Her lingering and sleepless hours were regarded
by her as preludes to death. Though at so immature an
age, she had gained large experience of the evils which
are allotted to man. Death, which, in her prosperous
state, was peculiarly abhorrent to her feelings, was now
disrobed of terror. As an entrance into scenes of
lightsome and imperishable being, it was the goal of all
her wishes. As a passage to oblivion it was still desirable, since forgetfulness was better than the life which