CHAPTER X.

"This is indeed a tiding! That fellow is a precious casket to us Enclosing weighty things."

WALLENSTEIN.

"On a fine evening of autumn, I arrived at Grenada. Fatigued after a toilsome journey, I determined to halt for the night in this ancient city, and strolling into one of its magnificent churches, from which the congregation had just issued, I wandered up and down the spacious aisles, indulging in silent solitude my admiration for the grand obscure of their noble architecture.

"As I moved slowly forward, musing on a scene which peculiarly harmonised with my love for the sublime, a female figure, habited like a nun, and whose features were studiously concealed by a long veil, glided swiftly from behind one of the enormous pillars which supported the building, laid her hand hastily upon my arm, and in a low tone, addressed the following words to me in the Spanish language:

"'I have marked your countenance; it bespeaks intrepidity and benevolence; if you possess these qualities, meet me to-night precisely at twelve o'clock without fail, at the western gate of the ancient palace of the Moors.'

"The vision vanished, but the solemnity of voice and manner in which these words were pronounced, convinced me that the adventure had something extraordinary in its nature. It might be a case of imprisonment or distress. Conjecture was vain, but there was an earnestness in the nun's manner which was irresistible. I resolved on going armed, and taking a friend along with me to guard against a surprise. Exactly at the appointed hour I reached the western inlet to that once splendid residence, now superb vestige of former days, which had been named as the place of rendezvous. At the moment of my arrival, the same veiled figure whom I had seen in the church, appeared with a small lamp in her hand. Looking fearfully around, she inquired whether I was alone. I answered in the affirmative, having left my companion at a sufficient distance to prevent our being overheard.

"'Then,' said my conductress, 'fear nothing; and follow me, if you are prepared to undertake a commission which requires secrecy and kindness to execute it efficiently.'

"I hesitated, and drew back; but instantly perceiving the doubt which crossed my mind, the Nun added, with eagerness, 'Fear not; I will detain you but a few minutes. The only trial to which your courage will be exposed is surmounted in the moment of your entrance here. You suspect my truth, and the dark labyrinth through which I am going to lead the way, may well appal a stranger; but _trust_ me, and I will not deceive you.'

"Ashamed to express any further unwillingness, and impressed by the mild dignity of her manner, I suffered myself to be drawn inside a small door which led down a flight of narrow stone stairs to a long winding subterranean passage. My guide went swiftly forward, encouraging me to follow. We made many turnings, and passed several doors on the right and left, which seemed to lead to other passages; but all was still and silent as the grave, except when the large heavy drops, that lined the vaulted roofs, fell to the ground with loud and sullen splash. My sword was slight defence, if ambush lurked within these walls; but it was too late to recede. The faint cry of an infant at length struck upon my ear, and sent a sudden thrill through my frame.

"'Hush, beloved babe!' said my companion, as she pushed back a bolt, and we entered a small vaulted chamber, at the extremity of which a little silver lamp streamed its feeble rays upon a spectacle of woe--the lifeless corpse of a young and exquisitely beautiful woman, who seemed but that moment to have breathed her last, lay extended on the ground; from the chill damps of which, her delicate limbs appeared to have been only protected by a pallet of straw, over which was thrown, by way of coverlet, a rich mantle of scarlet cloth lined with ermine. The Nun, raising this splendid pall, discovered to my view a new-born infant within its folds. The little creature had just awakened from sleep; and my conductress taking the mantle from the dead body, wrapped it carefully round the child, which, after pressing affectionately to her bosom, she delivered into my arms. Then arranging the garments of the deceased, which resembled her own costume, with pious care, next placing an ebony cross, or _prie Dieu_, on the breast, and winding a string of beads round the alabaster arms, which she folded across the bosom, the friendly Nun threw back her veil, and with a heavenly expression of devotional tenderness, knelt down at the side of the corpse, and with uplifted hands and eyes, briefly, but fervently, implored a blessing on the departed spirit, committing that which had but just left its earthly tabernacle to the Eternal Guardian of souls. Then printing a fond kiss on the cold lips which were unconscious of the tender farewell, she seized a packet which lay near the head of the dead lady, and disposing it within her cloak, snatched up the lamp which had guided our steps to this abode of death, leaving the other to become fainter and fainter, and then expire over the dead. She pointed towards the door, which having passed, she bolted, and we again pursued our way through the same passages by which we entered the vaults, till, turning short by the foot of a staircase which I had not seen before, she led me to a different portal from that at which I met her: stopping there before she proceeded to unlock the outside door, and uncovering her face, she desired me to attend to her instructions. She appeared about five and thirty, of a fine figure, and her countenance was remarkable for its expression of serenity and sweetness.

"'Preserve this precious infant,' said she, 'with fidelity and affection. Take her to your own country; and in this packet, which I consign to your honourable trust, you will find resources for giving her the best education. Her father is an English nobleman, her mother was lovely and virtuous, but deceived. She left the convent in which I dwell to join her husband; but a fictitious marriage, which she believed to have been performed according to the most sacred rites of your Church, left him who had basely practised on her confidence free to desert his victim, who died of grief after giving birth to this dear babe. She resumed her Nun's habit ere she laid her down in death; and made me vow to send her daughter to England, but not to the guardianship of her father. You will not disappoint my hopes; I feel assured that you will watch this little treasure with fostering kindness. Adieu! May the God of the orphan be with you! Depart in peace!'

"So saying, she waved her hand; and giving me no time for more than a sincere but hasty promise, urged me gently forward, and closing the entrance, she retraced her steps, returning into the building, while I proceeded to grope along at random in quest of my friend, who suffered the greatest anxiety, fearing that I had fallen a prey to my imprudence and foolish thirst for romance. Apprehensive of my fate, he continued wandering round and round the Moorish palace, seeking me in every direction. We met at length. I related my adventure, and shall procure the signature of my friend to this account of it, that she to whom it is most interesting may hereafter find the best proof which I can give her of its accuracy.

"It was but a slight deviation from the truth to proclaim, on my return to quarters, that I had found the infant. Having procured an excellent nurse, I placed my little charge in her care. The child grew in strength and beauty, and became as dear to me as if it had been my own. My duty obliged me frequently to change place and encounter peril, which, to spare my young ward, I settled her and her nurse in a delightful and wholesome situation in the province of Castille, resolving not to disturb them till I could convey the child to an English school. During my absence the nurse died. I was not informed of the event. Zorilda fell into the hands of an unprincipled wretch, the wife of a soldier, who immediately perceived that she could turn her theft to lucrative profit. This woman carefully concealed the child, wandering from place to place to elude pursuit, and at length, having crossed the sea with her booty, disposed of the little girl to a band of gipsies.

"It was a long time before I gained any intelligence respecting Zorilda's fate, and when at last my mind was relieved from its solicitude, I was far away in India, and it appeared to me that I could do nothing better for my young charge, than leave her quietly in the safe asylum which the kindness of Mr. and Mrs. Hartland had provided for her. My appearing to prefer my claim could not, I thought, benefit the condition of Zorilda. I was neither enabled to clear up the mystery of her birth, nor offer any clue to the discovery of her father. Interference on my part might lessen the interest conceived towards her by those benefactors who imagined their rights to be undisputed, while her noble parent, whoever he might be, coming to the knowledge of circumstances which were not intended to be divulged, and perhaps alarmed in consequence for his own reputation, might employ some artful means to obtain possession of his daughter. This reasoning satisfied me that the wisest plan was to lie by, and make no stir in the matter; but suffering things for the present to take their course, wait patiently till the full age, or marriage of Zorilda, should furnish occasion for the final relinquishment of my guardianship.

"The sum originally deposited with me by the Nun has increased to five thousand pounds British, for which amount, a check upon my banker in London will be found sealed up in a packet containing a diamond cross, a bracelet of hair, and a miniature portrait.

"I had presumed to hope that I might one day deliver these articles of value with my own hands to their interesting possessor, and taste the pleasure of recalling to her remembrance the welcome with which she used to receive me at her nurse Rueda's house, when I went laden with fruit and flowers to visit my charming little play-fellow. Providence has ordained it otherwise, and death arrests my progress.

"The mantle of scarlet cloth, lined with ermine, which I wished to preserve and restore with the rest, was stolen from me. I commit all that remains to the care of Mr. Playfair, that excellent, may I venture to call him, friend, to whose goodness I am deeply indebted----"

The concluding lines of this memoir were scarcely legible, and traced with a pencil in characters so unlike the writing which preceded, as to prove that an effort of expiring strength had added them by way of supplement to the narrative. A certificate was appended to it, sealed and signed with the name of Charles Russell, who confirmed the statement which it set forth; and Zorilda having with breathless impatience devoured the entire, fell upon her knees, to adore that Power which thus signally interposed to sustain her in the darkest hour of adversity.

After a passionate thanksgiving offered with instinctive glow from her inmost soul, the cruel thought of Algernon returned with all its force. Oh! had these tidings arrived to crown his virtuous, constant love, how blest had been Zorilda! But, like a lamp suddenly introduced into the depths of a dungeon, the light which had just fallen on her history only seemed to mark more clearly the desolation of her lot. She read Mr. Playfair's letter again and again, and returned as often to the narrative of Colonel Dalton, so absorbed in anxious scrutiny of their contents, that for a long time she totally forgot another inclosure which still remained unexamined.

Catching it hastily, with the eagerness of one desirous to repair an ungrateful omission by increased activity, she unfolded the other parcel, and opening a box of transparent agate, drew forth a splendid Maltese cross of the richest brilliants, then a miniature, and lastly, a bracelet of the finest soft dark hair, to which was fastened a ticket, addressed "TO MY BELOVED ZORILDA, FROM HER MOTHER."

The word _Mother_, that magic word, containing within itself all that the human heart intuitively acknowledges of tender and protective, struck at this moment on Zorilda's heart with all the power of nature and novelty, while her emotions almost seemed to threaten existence.

"Oh, my mother, my adored mother! must I lose and find you in the same instant of time? Zorilda's arms would grow around that neck, and shield that heavenly bosom from every grief, but she is dead! cold and dead! This beaming eye is sealed, the soft glow of this beautiful cheek has faded, this angelic smile no longer plays upon these coral lips which it has deserted, and for ever!"

So raved Zorilda, as she pressed to her bosom the miniature of her mother, and gazed, in an agony of grief, on the portrait of her whose presence, could it be restored to her fond embrace, would now, she thought, fill every void in her heart, and leave no room for any other love.

When the feelings are strained to their utmost, the mind falls into calm, as the raging billows of the ocean subside into repose after a storm of elemental strife, while resignation sits above, and watches the moment to whisper peace. Zorilda became gradually more composed, and the torturing sense of her own loss began to yield to less selfish considerations.

"This lovely being," said she aloud, "was unhappy; she is now inhabiting the mansions of eternal rest. Here, in this cold and cruel world, contumely and reproach might have pierced her soul; in Heaven are no tears. _There_, in celestial communion with kindred spirits of the just made perfect, clothed in white robes, and crowned with imperishable glory, amongst the highly favoured, who have drank at the bitter waters of affliction, and risen purified by tribulation, my blessed mother stands before the throne, joining her voice in the melodious concert of everlasting hallelujahs: and shall I wish her back again in this scene of sorrow? No! But Heaven will hear my prayer, and take me to her. That is all my desire, all for which my longing soul now pants."

"Lord love my dear Miss Zoé, what fine things are here!" exclaimed Rachel, who at this moment entered the room with some refreshment which she set down on a tray before Zorilda. The latter started from her seat, and threw her arms round the neck of this affectionate creature; then, pointing to the papers, told her, that they contained much interesting matter which should be explained at some future time when she felt more equal to the task.

"Heaven be praised," said Rachel, "that you have good news from any quarter to comfort you, for you have little to spare, and there will be even less than we enjoy already, if I do not mistake, as my lady is desperately chop-fallen, by reason of news which she has received through this day's post; and you and I can both tell how her temper is likely to be affected. Master writes her word, that he and Mr. Algernon (Lord Hautonville, I should say,) are to be here the latter end of next week, and there is a terrible falling off by what I can learn, in the _property_ part of the story. It seems that my Lord Marchdale had power to will away all the estates except one, which must go with the title; and sure enough he did not leave Master a rap that he could keep from him. All the bulk of his fortune is gone, they say, to a set of people who have for a long time been eating him out of house and home; and I hear, moreover, that what is left to the present lord is not enough to keep up any state or style suitable for a nobleman. Indeed I wish that we were well out of this before the meeting of the family again, for I am full certain, that we shall find ourselves in troubled waters."

Zorilda appeared lost in reverie during the greater part of Rachel's harangue; but, suddenly awakened by its cessation, she answered,

"Yes, dear nurse, it is time to be gone. I will not wait the return of Lord Marchdale, but I have neither head nor heart to make any preparation for departure. On your skill and management I rest for so ordering matters, that the strictest secrecy shall attend upon our movements. I have the means of re-paying any money necessary for our journey, but you must contrive to borrow for the present. I have much to say, but am exhausted, and cannot talk to you more till to-morrow."

"Do not fatigue yourself, my child," replied Rachel. "Blessed and praised for all things be that Providence which brings round the most wonderful changes in its own good time. I had so many dreams about you, and my sleep of late was so uneasy, that it was foreshewn to me how you would come to riches and honour, and find out all about your birth and parentage, and learn who you are, and----"

"Oh! stop, Rachel, stop, no more of this;" said Zorilda, whose memory was touched upon a sensitive chord by these allusions to a part of her history, which remained as much as ever wrapped in clouds. "Go," added she, "and think how we shall get away in such a manner that we may avoid the possibility of being traced. My mind is so agitated and confused, that you must give me time to recover. Moments are precious. Go, dear Rachel; lose no time; but consider how we shall leave this without suspicion. No one must be involved in any difficulty or hazard on my account, and therefore our purpose must be secret as well as its execution."

"I will do every thing you desire," answered Rachel; "and moreover the whole plan is already in my head. Every body knows that I was going myself, and therefore no questions will be asked about my trunks, in which there is room for your clothes as well as mine. My brother lives near, and will lend me whatever I want. All is smooth as a bowling-green, since you know who you are, and where you are going."

So saying, Rachel quitted the room, and her young mistress was left to collect her scattered senses. "Her last words strike upon my heart. Alas! I know as little as ever, and 'Who is she?' remains unanswered," sighed poor Zorilda, who had now leisure to reflect, and perceive that the discovery which she had made was one that left her in all her original ignorance. "But," added she, as she still mused on this strange event, "it no longer avails, that I have neither name, nor house, nor pretensions. More knowledge than I possess, what would it do for me? Would it not only lead to hatred of a father who could act so wickedly as mine has done? Why should I wish to know the man who was in fact the murderer of this angelic being? It is better as it is. Oh! if all our vain wishes were heard, what wretchedness should we add to our afflictions! The councils of heaven are wiser than those of earth. We know not what we ask."

Rachel returned after some interval of time, elated with her contrivance, in which Zorilda could find nothing to improve. It was arranged, that as soon as possible Rachel was to ask for her dismissal, which Mrs. Hartland was prepared to give her. Her wages were paid, and the removal of her luggage appeared a matter of course.

"We will leave the house so early in the morning," said Rachel, "that there will be no witnesses of our departure. I will tell Mary not to mind going till late into your room, and not to take notice of your absence from it, as you must walk for your health, and cannot submit to such close imprisonment as that to which you are condemned. The servants will all be glad to think that you are taking the air. Mistress will ask no questions, for she cares little about you, and her mind is taken up with her own affairs. I have already borrowed a covered cart of my brother's, who will meet us at a little distance from his house. You shall throw a large cloak of mine over your dress, which will disguise you completely. Even the man who drives us shall not know that you are with me, and we will leave our vehicle before we arrive at the next village; so that there will be no clue whatsoever to our retreat. Let me manage every thing, and it shall be well done, I promise you. Where are you going?"

"I am going to Scotland," answered Zorilda. "I leave all to your sagacity. Take me to my dear Mrs. Gordon in Aberdeenshire, and I ask no more. I will consult the map, and tell you the route by which we are to travel. Let your care only be to guard against discovery and pursuit."

"Mrs. Hartland will not give herself any trouble about you, but will be very glad to hear that you are out of her way; and as to the gentlemen, who might not indeed take the matter so easily, they will not be here till we are many a mile away from Henbury," answered Rachel. "I am now going to send off my trunks, with a line, to my brother, to let him know that I must go directly after one who owes me some money. He is aware that I am frightened about this debt, and will have his cart ready for me at the orchard-gate, where I have appointed it to attend me, a quarter of a mile beyond his own house at five o'clock to-morrow morning. I am come now to take the last of your things: every article except these books is put up."

"I will leave these books behind," said Zorilda, bursting into tears; "and this packet--this precious packet, shall never be separated from me for an instant. I will take charge of it myself."

Rachel hastened to finish her preparations, and Zorilda, once more left alone, gathered together a few volumes and some trifling ornaments, which had been given her from time to time by Algernon, and after gazing upon, and kissing fondly each memorial of early affection, which brought distant circumstances and tender recollections to her mind, she sealed up a parcel, containing all the little gifts which she had ever received, and felt as if she had now closed the grave over the last dear remains of blighted love and murdered hope. Her next act was to write the following note, addressed to Mrs. Hartland:

"There was a time when Zorilda believed herself an object of affectionate interest in the breast of that kind benefactress who first offered an asylum to the destitute being, now going to requite a deed of charity by one of gratitude. That time, alas! is past, and with it all Zorilda's earthly happiness. Circumstances have occurred which render decision necessary, and these few lines are only left to say, that they are accompanied by a parcel, and the most earnest prayers for every good, from the heart of her who now leaves Henbury for ever, and bids Lady Marchdale a last adieu."

All being now ready, Zorilda lay down to rest, but not to sleep. "Fast coming thoughts" troubled repose, and busy memory would not be still. Weary of her uneasy couch, she rose before day, and looked from her window by the clear starlight, on that scene to which in a little hour she was to bid an eternal farewell.

"Beloved spot! I leave you, and for ever--yes, for ever! Nor time nor change can alter my resolves. Algernon is dead to me, and my heart shall prove a faithful widow to its first, its only love. These stars shall witness my vows; these shrubs and flowers form the altar on which they are dedicated."

As Zorilda meditated on the landscape, the eastern clouds began to glow, and the birds awaked to the first beam of morning. Rachel's approach interrupted the mournful soliloquy of her young mistress, who was soon dressed, and, wrapping Rachel's large cloak around her, they both quitted the apartment, and with light step passed down stairs, through hall and passages unseen, and gained the pleasure-grounds without any obstacle to their progress. Zorilda made a sudden stop as she reached the arbour, which she had wreathed with fragrant climbers to meet Algernon's return. The sweet breath of new-born day wafted the perfume towards her, and she clasped her hands in anguish. Rachel's presence repressed utterance; but here was the bower, she thought, in which her delighted ear should listen to the tales of foreign travel, and hear once more the accents of unchanging affection.

"Come, my dear," said Rachel, taking Zorilda by the arm, and gently urging her forward, "you must not make yourself melancholy by lingering here. If we are to go, we should not stand shilly shally. Remember that you wish to avoid discovery, and the only way to secure privacy is to use despatch."

Zorilda suffered herself to be driven on, and was presently in the open fields, not daring to look round upon the home of her happy childhood.

As they advanced towards the orchard, near which they were to be met by Farmer Wilson's cart, Rachel spied this rude equipage at a distance, and concealing Zorilda behind some bushes, while she spoke to the driver, and saw that her luggage was safely stowed within, she beckoned our trembling heroine, and having contrived to place her in the vehicle, stepped in herself, and ordered the lad to proceed in the direction which she described to him. Zorilda observed a mournful silence, which her companion, though not given to taciturnity, had no inclination to disturb, her own mind being so intent on the practical concern of executing her present task with ability, that she was not sorry for the leisure to ponder her schemes, which Zorilda's deep depression of spirits afforded her.

At the distance of nearly ten miles from Henbury, our travellers approached the carrier's station, at which it was Rachel's design to stop, but to avoid being seen in company with her young mistress, she had the address to desire her charioteer to alight, and make inquiry in a cottage by the way-side, whether Mrs. Nixon, an imaginary friend of hers was to be found in the neighbourhood. While Tom made this inquiry, Rachel watched her opportunity, and opening the door at the back of the cart, made Zorilda descend, and walk forward towards the public-house, which was near at hand.

This was so dexterously managed, that when the carter returned with his answer, that no such person as Mr. Nixon was known, Rachel sat in solitary possession of the lowly conveyance which all along the road had been shared by another.

Arrived at the end of her appointed stage, she had the good luck to find a caravan just ready to start from the door. Zorilda had directions from her duenna to sit by the road side, under a spreading tree, till this new vehicle was in motion, while Rachel bustled about, appeared busy in recognising her acquaintances at the inn, and was attended to her carriage by the landlord and his wife, who wished her a pleasant journey, as she drove away from the porch at which they performed the parting honours.

Bidding adieu to the group who always assemble on such occasions to witness a departure, Rachel set off, and a sudden turn in the road, bore the caravan, though not moving at a very brisk rate, out of sight in a moment.

Zorilda was seated under the appointed tree, at a little distance, but so completely absorbed in her own thoughts, that she would have suffered the machine to pass unnoticed, if Rachel had not vociferated, 'Driver, driver; don't you hear that gentlewoman calling to you; wont you stop for a passenger?'

The caravan stood still; Zorilda was roused from her melancholy reverie, and appearing with her little basket on her arm, Rachel shuffled from side to side with officious civility, assuring the stranger that there was "plenty of room," and so there was, for though like a snow-ball, they were destined to gather as they rolled, there were but two other persons already occupying seats, and these were a brace of sturdy farmers, who were so intent on comparing samples of corn, which each drew from his pocket, that Rachel had full opportunity to inform her fellow traveller, whose courage seemed to flag, that all farther devices to cover her flight would be unnecessary in a few hours.

"If they come in search of us, it will be first to my brother's; then to the inn which we have just quitted, and where, likewise, they will be foiled. After this stage, we may take our ease, and travel in a proper manner, like Christians. A little caution for one or two stages more, and we shall then be at liberty."

Zorilda sighed assent, and we will leave her and her attendant to their repose in a quiet country inn, while we return to Henbury.

Some hours elapsed before it was perceived that the fugitives were actually missing. Mrs. Hartland, or, as we must not forget henceforward to entitle her, Lady Marchdale, heard the intelligence with perfect sang froid, only remarking that it was very extraordinary that her orders should be disobeyed, and desiring that on Zorilda's return to her chamber, she should be informed of the circumstance. The servants had no more suspicion than their Lady of a longer absence than till evening, and fully believed that Rachel, fearful lest want of customary exercise might injure "Miss Zoé's health," had prevailed on her to make a short excursion for change of air.

Evening came on, however, and no sign of return. The parcel, with Zorilda's note, which had escaped observation, was now brought to Lady Marchdale, who was much surprised, but though she summoned all the household, she could learn no tidings whatsoever of the travellers. Curiosity was in fact the only motive for her inquiries, as the event of Zorilda's voluntary flight gave her inexpressible delight. All care and responsibility were now at an end. She had taken her affairs into her own hands, and Lady Marchdale not only felt relieved from all anxiety how to dispose of her, but might expatiate on the various surmises which she chose to indulge, so unfavourable to female modesty, youthful timidity, natural affection, gratitude, and the like, as to strengthen her arguments upon the impropriety of Lord Hautonville's wasting another thought upon such a graceless adventurer. "And Rachel too; no doubt _she_ is in the secret. A pretty piece of work, truly, but they are gone upon their own inventions, which I am afraid are not of the best, and so I can do no more than leave them to their fate."

The old butler, to whom these words were principally addressed, shook his head, and replied: "My lady, I could bear any thing but to hear Miss Zoé suspected of evil doings. She is an angel on earth, wherever she is gone, and if all the world were as good as she, there would be no need of any other heaven."

"Shut the door," answered Lady Marchdale; "I did not ask your opinion."

Bernard retired, and all the servants mingled tears and wailing for the loss of their favourite, while every effort to trace Zorilda was fruitless. The dairy-maid, who was very superstitious, almost persuaded the rest at length, that the fairies who she knew to a certainty were often busy in conveying cows secretly from their pastures, had some hand in the elopement of Miss Zoé. "Any way, she is gone upon nothing harmful," was the unanimous decision below stairs. As to Rachel, every body knew that she was to leave the service, and no one was puzzled at her disappearance.

Several days were spent in discussions and controversy before the earl and his son returned to Henbury. Lord Hautonville had scarcely seen his mother before he flew off to Zorilda's apartment. The door was open. He went in, and called. From thence he ran down stairs, and out into the shrubberies, not waiting to ask a question of any one; but seeking her through all the places which were familiar to remembrance, and not a little indignant at her absence in the moment of his arrival.

The gardener at last appeared, and stunned him by the intelligence that Zorilda had been missing for several days.

"Missing! gone!--Where--when--how--with whom? Did she receive any letters? Did any gentleman visit here? Tell me every thing this moment. Order fresh horses directly. I will largely reward whoever brings me intelligence of their route, and be the death of any man who conceals information. Be quick;--fly!--but tell me before you go all about her departure."

Such were the incoherencies which burst all in a breath from Lord Hautonville, who seemed so completely bereft of his senses as scarcely to possess the faculty of listening; while Bernard, to whom they were addressed, endeavoured to reply.

"My lord, nobody here can throw any light upon the matter. Miss Zoé _did_ receive a packet, but we heard that it came from Mr. Playfair."

"Accursed treachery; foul contrivance all. I know who sent the letter. How did it come; by post or messenger? Who brought it here, and when did she receive it?"

"Two days before her departure, my lord," answered Bernard; "a sallow-looking man, well mounted, a stranger here, rode to the lodge in the dusk of the evening, and inquired for Rachel, who went to know his commands, and thought it some message from Marchdale-court. When she returned to the house we inquired what she had seen or heard; but she put us off with saying that it was only a friend of Mr. Playfair's who desired him to call as he passed, and ask after the family. This seemed plausible enough, but since all this stir, and questioning, it has come out that little Ben Tyrrel, who held the gate while the gentleman stopped at it, saw him give Rachel a large packet."

"Death and fury! I see the whole train. I know it all. The messenger was a dark devil of an Italian. His own man, whose heart's blood shall answer for this. Call Rachel; let me see her instantly. But stay--not so fast. How did she receive it? Did she appear agitated, or seemed pleased? What did she do? How did she look?"

"We do not know, my Lord, for my Lady had ordered Miss Zoé not to quit her apartment for many days. It seems they had some words in my Lady's dressing-room, and Rachel was the only one who took any refreshment to our dear and good young lady; and every time that she came from her room, she used to be in tears herself, and said that it would melt a heart of stone to see how Miss Zoé would walk all day backwards and forwards, with her hands clasped, and her eyes streaming. It was a pitiful sight. Well, when she went, it was so softly and so secretly, that no mortal man or woman about the place, saw her go out. The very dogs never barked, and that is no wonder, for they were so fond of her, that they would follow her to Jamaica, if she was going there."

"Curse your folly!" exclaimed Lord Hautonville. "Never mind the dogs. Was it a chaise and four? Where did it meet her?"

"My Lord, sure I am telling your Lordship as plain as I can speak, that there was no sign of man, or horse, or carriage, or any thing else, even to the value of a wheel-barrow, to leave track or trace in the finest gravel round all Henbury. There wasn't a sign even of her light footsteps, so much as would crush down a daisy's head, across the fields, to tell us which way she went; and, as the ignorant people say, it was as much like Fairies' work as any thing that ever came to pass. The only one thing that with all our spelling and putting together, we could remark was, that latterly she grew timoursome about taking long walks, as she used to do; and Matthew the gardener observed one day that she came hastily into the shrubbery gate, looking pale, as if she was frightened; but that was long ago before your lordship returned, and we concluded that the cattle might have startled her, though she said nothing, only did not go out of the grounds again."

"Call Rachel, call Rachel. Bring Ben Tyrrell. Where is my mother? I will question every one; make haste."

"My Lord, Rachel is no longer here; she quitted the service on the very day that Miss Zoé left the house, and went to farmer Wilson's, her brother; and here is my Lady herself coming to look for you."

Lady Marchdale entered the room with a reproachful air, and upbraided her son with his want of affection. "I have," said she, "been calling you every where. Is this the way in which you meet me after such an absence?"

"What have you done with Zorilda?" answered Lord Hautonville, with a savage countenance, as he looked sternly at his mother.

"I know nothing of the ungrateful girl," replied Lady Marchdale; "she has taken herself out of my protection, and proved herself unworthy of my regard."

"Madam," answered her son, "we part this moment, and for ever, if you conceal a single tittle of all you know. Why did you imprison her? Where is she gone? She is mine, and I will follow her. Nothing shall prevail upon me to give her up; and you will not accomplish any end by keeping me in the dark. Tell me all, I beg; I _demand_ that you do not deceive me. The most fatal consequences may result from this affair; consequences which you little anticipate."

Terrified out of her senses, Lady Marchdale now began to repent the cruel part which she had acted; and told her son, without reserve, all that she had to tell. Her proposal to Zorilda to reject his suit, and bind herself by a written promise never to ally herself with the family of Hartland; Zorilda's refusal--her subsequent imprisonment--farewell note, and mysterious departure, were all detailed with an effort at amplification, which seemed as if designed to bury the recollection of past unkindness and neglect towards an amiable orphan, in the importance and display of the present statement.

Algernon's impetuous temper broke out into unmeasured reproaches against his mother, whom he charged, without any regard to decency, with selfishness, pride, and barbarity. In the expression, "Circumstances have occurred," contained in Zorilda's note, he found ample confirmation of his suspicions, which were no other than that the Marquess of Turnstock, having first unsuccessfully urged his suit, and terrified her by an unexpected appearance at Henbury, had afterwards adopted the artifice of assuming the name of Mr. Playfair, to practise on her credulity, and decoy her from her friends. Rushing like a lunatic from the house, Lord Hautonville's first essay was at farmer Wilson's. There he summoned the boy who had driven Rachel to the carrier's inn, but could learn no more than that he had performed his mission; that the good woman travelled alone, and was safely lodged at her destination. His next resolve was to mount a horse, and go off to this place, where he obtained no farther satisfaction. Rachel was gone; and the people of the inn were not sure, but thought they could recollect that she spoke of being on her way to London, seeking after a bad debt. Here the clue was lost. To look for Rachel in the metropolis would have been like searching for a grain of mustard seed in the sands of the sea.

In vain Lord Marchdale represented to his son the folly of his conduct, and the necessity of remaining at home to meet several persons who were appointed to assemble at Henbury on legal business. It was in vain that Lady Marchdale alternately stormed and beseeched. Arguments, threats, and caresses were alike ineffectual. Post horses were ordered; and before the morning's dawn, on the following day, Lord Hautonville and his valet were on the high road to London. But we return, to attend on the steps of our female travellers.

END OF VOL. I.

J. B. Nichols and Son, 25, Parliament-street.