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.

56

ORMOND; OR,

the usual wages, she would by no means consent to be absolved from this task. Her earnestness on this head was
not to be eluded; and Constantia, in consenting that her
work.should, for the present, be performed gratuitously,
solaced herself with the prospect of being able, by some
future change of fortune, amply to reward her.
Sarah's abode was distant from danger, and her fears
were turbulent. She was, nevertheless, punctual in her
visits to the Dudleys, and anxious for their safety. In
case of their sickness, she had declared her resolution to
be their attendant and nurse. Suddenly, however, her
visits ceased. The day on which her usual visit was paid
was the same with that on which Constantia sickened,
but her coming was expected in vain. Her absence was,
on some accounts, regarded with pleasure, as it probably
secured her from the danger connected with the office of
a nurse; but it added to Constantia's cares, inasmuch as
her own sickness, or that of some of her family, was the
only cause of her detention.
To remove her doubts, the first use which Constantia
made of her recovered strength was to visit her laundress.
Sarah's house was a theatre of suffering. Her husband
was the first of his family assailed by the reigning disease. Two daughters, nearly grown to womanhood, welldisposed and modest girls, the pride and support of their
mother, and who lived at service, returned home, sick,
at the same time, and died in a few days. TIer husband
had struggled for eleven days with his disease, and was
seized, just before Constantia's arrival, with the pangs of
death.
Baxter was endowed with great robustness and activity.
This disease did not vanquish him but with tedious and
painful struggles. His muscular force now exhausted
itself in ghastly contortions, and the house resounded
with his ravings. Sarah's courage had yielded to so
rapid a succession of evils. Constantia found her shut
up in a chamber distant from that of her dying husband,
in a paroxysm of grief, and surrounded by her younger
children.
Constantia's entrance was like that of an angelic comforter. Sarah was unqualified for any office but that