The anxiety which was thus expressed to see him only augmented his solicitude to remain invisible. He had papers before him, which he had been employed in examining. This suggested an excuse—"Tell her that I am engaged just now, and cannot possibly attend to her. Let her leave her business. If she has any message, you may bring it to me."
It was plain to Constantia that Craig suspected the purpose of her visit. This might have come to his knowledge by means impossible for her to divine. She now perceived the wisdom of the precaution she had taken. She gave her letter to the servant with this message:—"Tell him I shall wait here for an answer, and continue to wait till I receive one."
Her mind was powerfully affected by the criticalness of her situation. She had gone thus far, and saw the necessity of persisting to the end. The goal was within view, and she formed a sort of desperate determination not to relinquish the pursuit. She could not overlook the possibility that he might return no answer, or return an unsatisfactory one. In either case, she was resolved to remain in the house till driven from it by violence. What other resolution could she form? To return to her desolate home, pennyless, was an idea not to be endured.
The letter was received, and perused. His conscience was touched, but compunction was a guest whose importunities he had acquired a peculiar facility of eluding. Here was a liberal offer. A price was set upon his impunity. A small sum, perhaps, would secure him from all future molestation.—"She spoke, to-be-sure, in a damned high tone. 'Twas a pity that the old man should be hungry before supper-time. Blind too! Harder still, when he cannot find his way to his mouth. Rent unpaid, and a flinty-hearted landlord. A pretty pickle, to-be-sure. Instant payment, she says. Won't part without it. Must come down with the stuff. I know this girl. When her heart is once set upon a thing, all the devils will not turn her out of her way. She promises silence. I can't pretend to bargain with her. I'd as lief be ducked, as meet her face to face. I know she'll do what she promises: that was always her grand failing. How the little witch talks! Just the dreamer she ever was! Justice! Compassion! Stupid fool! One would think she'd learned something of the world by this time."
He took out his pocket-book. Among the notes it contained the lowest was fifty dollars. This was too much, yet there was no alternative; something must be given. She had detected his abode, and he knew it was in the power of the Dudleys to ruin his reputation, and obstruct his present schemes. It was probable that, if they should exert themselves, their cause would find advocates and patrons. Still the gratuitous gift of fifty dollars sat uneasily upon his avarice. One idea occurred to reconcile him to the gift. There was a method he conceived of procuring the repayment of it with interest: he enclosed the note in a blank piece of paper, and sent it to her.
She received the paper, and opened it with trembling fingers: when she saw what were its contents, her feelings amounted to rapture. A sum like this was affluence to her in her present condition; at least it would purchase present comfort and security. Her heart glowed with exultation, and she seemed to tread with the lightness of air as she hied homeward. The languor of a long fast, the numbness of the cold, were forgotten. It is worthy of remark how much of human accommodation was comprised within this small compass; and how sudden was this transition from the verge of destruction to the summit of security.
Her first business was to call upon her landlord, and pay him his demand. On her return she discharged the little debts she had been obliged to contract, and purchased what was immediately necessary. Wood she could borrow from her next neighbour, and this she was willing to do, now that she had the prospect of repaying it.
END OF VOL. I.