Ormond; Or, The Secret Witness. Volume 2 (of 3) — Edition Insights
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This digital edition of Ormond; Or, The Secret Witness. Volume 2 (of 3) — Edition Insights is described by source-level measurements including 35,093 words, 2 hr 33 min estimated reading time, and 3 detected text sections.
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On leaving Mr. Ormond's house, Constantia was met by that gentleman. He saw her as she came out, and was charmed with the simplicity of her appearance. On entering, he interrogated the servant as to the business that brought her thither.
"So," said he, as he entered the drawing-room, where Craig was seated, "you have had a visitant. She came, it seems, on a pressing occasion, and would be put off with nothing but a letter."
Craig had not expected this address, but it only precipitated the execution of a design that he had formed. Being aware of this or similar accidents, he had constructed and related on a previous occasion to Ormond a story suitable to his purpose.
"Ay," said he, in a tone of affected compassion, "it is a sad affair enough. I am sorry it is not in my power to help the poor girl. She is wrong in imputing her father's misfortunes to me, but I know the source of her mistake. Would to heaven it was in my flower to repair the wrongs they have suffered not from me, but from one whose relationship is a disgrace to me."
"Perhaps," replied the other, "you are willing to explain this affair."
"Yes, I wish to explain it. I was afraid of some such accident as this. An explanation is due to my character. I have already told you my story. I mentioned to you a brother of mine. There is scarcely thirteen months difference in our ages. There is a strong resemblance between him and me in our exterior, though I hope there is none at all in our minds. This brother was a partner of a gentleman, the father of this girl, at New York. He was a long time nothing better than an apprentice to Mr. Dudley, but he advanced so much in the good graces of his master, that he finally took him into partnership. I did not know till I arrived on the continent the whole of his misconduct. It appears that he embezzled the property of the house, and fled away with it, and the consequence was, that his quondam master was ruined. I am often mistaken for my brother, to my no small inconvenience: but all this I told you formerly. See what a letter I just now received from this girl."
Craig was one of the most plausible of men. His character was a standing proof of the vanity of physiognomy. There were few men who could refuse their confidence to his open and ingenuous aspect. To this circumstance, perhaps, he owed his ruin. His temptations to deceive were stronger than what are incident to most other men. Deception was so easy a task, that the difficulty lay, not in infusing false opinions respecting him, but in preventing them from being spontaneously imbibed. He contracted habits of imposture imperceptibly. In proportion as he deviated from the practice of truth, he discerned the necessity of extending and systematizing his efforts, and of augmenting the original benignity and attractiveness of his looks, by studied additions. The further he proceeded, the more difficult it was to return. Experience and habit added daily to his speciousness, till at length the world perhaps might have been searched in vain for his competitor.
He had been introduced to Ormond under the most favourable auspices. He had provided against a danger which he knew to be imminent, by relating his own story as if it were his brother's. He had, however, made various additions to it, serving to aggravate the heinousness of his guilt. This arose partly from policy, and partly from the habit of lying, which was prompted by a fertile invention, and rendered inveterate by incessant exercise. He interwove in his tale an intrigue between Miss Dudley and his brother. The former was seduced, and this man had employed his skill in chirographical imitation, in composing letters from Miss Dudley to his brother, which sufficiently attested her dishonour. He and his brother, he related, to have met in Jamaica, where the latter died, by which meant his personal property and papers came into his possession.
This volume opens with Constantia Dudley leaving Ormond's house, only to be intercepted by Ormond himself, who is charmed by her simplicity. The scene quickly pivots to a tense confrontation: Ormond has been told by a man named Craig that Constantia was his brother's illicit lover, and he presents this accusation with deliberate bluntness. Constantia's response—asserting that the letters in question are forgeries and that Craig's skill in imitation extended only to her handwriting, not her "model of thinking and expression"—reveals a heroine who relies on intellectual and moral clarity rather than emotional appeals. The episode exemplifies Brown's interest in the unreliability of testimony and the power of forged documents, themes that resonate through the Gothic tradition while grounding the drama in the practical anxieties of reputation and inheritance in post-Revolutionary Philadelphia.
Accusation and Counter-Evidence
Ormond's method of accusation is striking: he states his case "without any extenuating hesitation or depression of tone," drawing out "the most offensive terms" in a deliberate and emphatic manner. Constantia, rather than collapsing, listens with "indignation" but forbears to interrupt, then replies "without emotion." She offers to let the letters themselves be her judge, asserting they are forgeries—a claim that hinges on the distinction between physical imitation and intellectual authenticity. Brown thus stages a courtroom-like drama in a drawing room, where character is tested not by action but by the ability to withstand and reframe slander. The episode also introduces a key structural device: the letter as both evidence and trap, a motif that recurs throughout Gothic fiction but here is tied to the specific social vulnerabilities of a young woman without male protection.
The Artifice of Resemblance
Craig's plot depends on physical resemblance between brothers—a Gothic staple that Brown uses to explore the instability of identity. Ormond notes that Craig had previously told him a story about a brother who was "a partner of a gentleman, the father of this girl" and that there is "a strong resemblance between him and me in our exterior, though I hope there is none at all in our minds." This doubling is not merely sensational; it serves as the mechanism for a financial and reputational fraud. Constantia's mistake in approaching Craig is explained as a natural error given the likeness, but the narrative quickly moves beyond mistaken identity to deliberate deception. Brown's handling of the device is economical: the brother's death in Jamaica, the bequest of papers, and the forged letters all hinge on the initial resemblance, making the plot both intricate and psychologically plausible within the conventions of the period.
Ormond's Unsettling Candor
Ormond's character emerges through his speech patterns: he claims to "say what I think" and "care little for consequences," and he frames his bluntness as a proof of respect. When Constantia refutes his accusations, he responds not with anger but with a tone "that had more of satisfaction than disappointment," remarking that Craig's scheme was "an adept at his trade" and that he has "bought the exhibition at a cheap rate." This aesthetic detachment—treating deception as a performance to be appraised—sets Ormond apart from the typical Gothic villain. He is less a persecutor than an observer, one who tests others for his own edification. The excerpts do not reveal his ultimate motives, but his willingness to entertain the possibility of error ("I half suspect myself") and his cool assessment of Craig's skill suggest a character driven by intellectual curiosity rather than malice, complicating any simple reading of him as a villain.
Readers should note that this volume is the middle of a three-part work, and the excerpts provide only a partial view of the plot's development. Brown's prose rewards attention to the precise wording of accusations and defenses, as the narrative often turns on the interpretation of documents and the credibility of speakers. The Gothic elements here are less supernatural than social: forged letters, mistaken identities, and the power of reputation in a close-knit urban setting. Those interested in the evolution of the American novel will find in these pages an early example of psychological realism embedded within a sensational framework.
Rereading Constantia's weary resilience in Ormond, I found myself thinking of another quiet persistence, the kind that asks no applause. There was something in her patient, solitary clarity that echoed the unsung labor I once sensed reading The War-Workers — Themes and Context. Both feel like hushed rooms where duty, not drama, holds the lamp.
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