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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ORMOND; 'OR,

the absence of nourishment, seemed scarcely adequate
to the task which she had assigned herself.
Her burden, whatever it was, was closely wrapped in
a sheet. She drew it forward a few paces, then desisted,
and seated herself on the ground, apparently to recruit
her strength and give vent to the agony of her thoughts
in sighs. Her tears were either exhausted or refused to
flow, for none were shed by her. Presently she resumed
her undertaking. Baxter's horror increased in proportion as she drew nearer to the spot where he stood; and
yet it seemed as if some fascination had forbidden him
to recede.
At length the burden was drawn to the side of the
opening in the earth. Here it seemed as if the mournful task was finished. She threw herself once more upon
the earth. Her senses seemed for a time to have forsaken her. She sat buried in reverie, her eyes scarcely
open, and fixed upon the ground, and every feature set
to the genuine expression of sorrow. Some disorder,
occasioned by the circumstance of dragging, now took
place in the vestment of what he had rightly predicted
to be a dead body. The veil by accident was drawn
aside, and exhibited to the startled eye of Baxter the
pale and ghastly visage of the unhappy Monrose.
This incident determined him. Every joint in his
frame trembled, and he hastily withdrew from the fence.
His first motion in doing this produced a noise by which
the lady was alarmed; she suddenly threw her eyes upward, and gained a full view of Baxter's extraordinary
countenance, just before it disappeared. She manifested
her terror by a piercing shriek, Baxter did not stay to
mark her subsequent conduct, to confirm or to dissipate
her fears, but retired, in confusion, to his own house.
Hitherto his caution had availed him. He had carefully avoided all employments and places from which he
imagined imminent danger was to be dreaded. Now,
through his own inadvertency, he had rushed, as he believed, into the jaws of the pest. His senses had not
been assailed by any noisome effluvia. This was no unplausible ground for imagining that his death had some
other cause than the yellow fever. This circumstance