It came into his possession, as it came
into mine, without a crime; but my knowledge of the true proprietor is
equally certain, and the claims of the unfortunate stranger are as valid
as ever. Indeed, if utility, and not law, be the measure of justice, her
claim, desolate and indigent as she is, unfitted, by her past life, by
the softness and the prejudices of her education, for contending with
calamity, is incontestable. "As to me, health and diligence will give me, not only the competence
which I seek, but the power of enjoying it. If my present condition be
unchangeable, I shall not be unhappy. My occupations are salutary and
meritorious; I am a stranger to the cares as well as to the enjoyment of
riches; abundant means of knowledge are possessed by me, as long as I
have eyes to gaze at man and at nature, as they are exhibited in their
original forms or in books. The precepts of my duty cannot be mistaken. The lady must be sought and the money restored to her." Certain obstacles existed to the immediate execution of this scheme. How
should I conduct my search? What apology should I make for withdrawing
thus abruptly, and contrary to the terms of an agreement into which I
had lately entered, from the family and service of my friend and
benefactor Hadwin? My thoughts were called away from pursuing these inquiries by a rumour,
which had gradually swelled to formidable dimensions; and which, at
length, reached us in our quiet retreats. The city, we were told, was
involved in confusion and panic, for a pestilential disease had begun
its destructive progress. Magistrates and citizens were flying to the
country. The numbers of the sick multiplied beyond all example; even in
the pest-affected cities of the Levant. The malady was malignant and
unsparing. The usual occupations and amusements of life were at an end. Terror had
exterminated all the sentiments of nature. Wives were deserted by
husbands, and children by parents. Some had shut themselves in their
houses, and debarred themselves from all communication with the rest of
mankind. The consternation of others had destroyed their understanding,
and their misguided steps hurried them into the midst of the danger
which they had previously laboured to shun. Men were seized by this
disease in the streets; passengers fled from them; entrance into their
own dwellings was denied to them; they perished in the public ways. The chambers of disease were deserted, and the sick left to die of
negligence. None could be found to remove the lifeless bodies. Their
remains, suffered to decay by piecemeal, filled the air with deadly
exhalations, and added tenfold to the devastation. Such was the tale, distorted and diversified a thousand ways by the
credulity and exaggeration of the tellers. At first I listened to the
story with indifference or mirth. Methought it was confuted by its own
extravagance. The enormity and variety of such an evil made it unworthy
to be believed. I expected that every new day would detect the absurdity
and fallacy of such representations. Every new day, however, added to
the number of witnesses and the consistency of the tale, till, at
length, it was not possible to withhold my faith. CHAPTER XIV. This rumour was of a nature to absorb and suspend the whole soul. A
certain sublimity is connected with enormous dangers that imparts to our
consternation or our pity a tincture of the pleasing. This, at least,
may be experienced by those who are beyond the verge of peril. My own
person was exposed to no hazard. I had leisure to conjure up terrific
images, and to personate the witnesses and sufferers of this calamity. This employment was not enjoined upon me by necessity, but was ardently
pursued, and must therefore have been recommended by some nameless
charm. Others were very differently affected. As often as the tale was
embellished with new incidents or enforced by new testimony, the hearer
grew pale, his breath was stifled by inquietudes, his blood was chilled,
and his stomach was bereaved of its usual energies. A temporary
indisposition was produced in many. Some were haunted by a melancholy
bordering upon madness, and some, in consequence of sleepless panics,
for which no cause could be assigned, and for which no opiates could be
found, were attacked by lingering or mortal diseases. Mr. Hadwin was superior to groundless apprehensions. His daughters,
however, partook in all the consternation which surrounded them. The
eldest had, indeed, abundant reason for her terror. The youth to whom
she was betrothed resided in the city. A year previous to this, he had
left the house of Mr. Hadwin, who was his uncle, and had removed to
Philadelphia in pursuit of fortune. He made himself clerk to a merchant, and, by some mercantile adventures
in which he had successfully engaged, began to flatter himself with
being able, in no long time, to support a family. Meanwhile, a tender
and constant correspondence was maintained between him and his beloved
Susan. This girl was a soft enthusiast, in whose bosom devotion and love
glowed with an ardour that has seldom been exceeded. The first tidings of the _yellow fever_ was heard by her with
unspeakable perturbation. Wallace was interrogated, by letter,
respecting its truth. For a time, he treated it as a vague report. At
length, a confession was extorted from him that there existed a
pestilential disease in the city; but he added that it was hitherto
confined to one quarter, distant from the place of his abode. The most pathetic entreaties were urged by her that he would withdraw
into the country. He declared his resolution to comply when the street
in which he lived should become infected and his stay should be attended
with real danger. He stated how much his interests depended upon the
favour of his present employer, who had used the most powerful arguments
to detain him, but declared that, when his situation should become, in
the least degree, perilous, he would slight every consideration of
gratitude and interest, and fly to _Malverton_. Meanwhile, he promised
to communicate tidings of his safety by every opportunity. Belding, Mr. Hadwin's next neighbour, though not uninfected by the
general panic, persisted to visit the city daily with his _market-cart_. He set out by sunrise, and usually returned by noon. By him a letter was
punctually received by Susan. As the hour of Belding's return
approached, her impatience and anxiety increased. The daily epistle was
received and read, in a transport of eagerness. For a while her emotion
subsided, but returned with augmented vehemence at noon on the ensuing
day. These agitations were too vehement for a feeble constitution like hers. She renewed her supplications to Wallace to quit the city. He repeated
his assertions of being, hitherto, secure, and his promise of coming
when the danger should be imminent.