CHAPTER VII.

We were as twinned lambs that did frisk i' the sun And bleat the one at the other: what we changed Was innocence for innocence. We knew not The doctrine of ill-doing. No, nor dreamed That any did.

WINTER'S TALE.

As we are not shackled by those inconvenient unities which fetter the discursive propensities of the dramatist, binding him to time and place, we have been permitted to take a ramble or a doze as our inclinations prompted, and re-assemble at Henbury, after an interval of some years.

On our return, we are naturally struck with the changes which such a lapse has effected. Many alterations have taken place amongst our old friends in the Hartland family since our last domestication amongst them. On our return we found, it is true, the same dramatis personæ; but the aspect of things was changed. The master of the mansion was the first to appear as we approached his dwelling; and though men of his temperament are remarkable for wearing well, the perennial smile which used to illumine his features with the dead-light of a peat-coal fire, was darkened by a cloud, if not of contemplation, certainly of care, which had destroyed the only redeeming expression of a mindless countenance. He was riding over his farm, with his eyes fixed on vacancy, while he went at a snail's pace, and his horse's bridle lay floating on the pummel of the saddle. We next discovered that Mrs. Hartland was not far off, as we heard her speak before we had the pleasure of seeing her, and learned, on inquiry, that we were not mistaken in our recollection of her voice, though it was now employed in scolding, which was a novelty to our ears.

"Ay," said the gardener, with whom we held some conversation before we were enabled to judge for ourselves, "Missess has taken latterly to thrift, and her eye is every where. We say that, like what is remarked of the Bristol men, she sleeps with one eye open, for nothing escapes her. She is all for the lucre of gain. The family is kept as bare as can be, and she sends off the best of every thing to market. Miss Ferret now supplies the whole country round with Henbury pork, and Henbury fowls, and Henbury cheese, vegetables, fruit, and flowers. Nothing will go down that doesn't come from Henbury; and it is lamentable to see a lady scuffling about early and late, in her thick shoes and rug cloak; battling with every body, and grinding people to powder with her tongue; and all this to puff up pride, by heaping up treasure for him who will not have the heart to spend it as he ought. If it wasn't for that angel, Miss Zoé, who keeps the young Squire in check, he would be just as great a skin-flint as his mother."

Accuracy of observation is not to be measured by refinement of phrase; and though this rough sketch was delivered in coarse language, it was a correct delineation. Mr. Hartland's strictness of economy had grown out of circumstances, the chief amongst which was a decline in the health of Lady Marchdale. Should she die, there was danger that Lord Marchdale would marry again, and thus the remotest chance might be cut off of Algernon's succession to the title and estates of his noble relative. As matters stood, though _hope_ fluttered her golden pinion, and sometimes dazzled the mother's eye, _expectation_ could not be said to live in her breast, for she knew that Lord Marchdale had levied fines, and could alienate his property if he pleased; but he was fond of his name, and her son bore not only that of the family, but the Earl's Christian name in addition; besides, the relation of godfather was _something_, and the best look-out of all was, that a nobleman so situated might delay making his will; in which case, were he to die intestate, Algernon was next heir after his own father. These were strong points, but not sufficient ground to _rest_ upon, and therefore Mrs. Hartland prudently resolved to act as if the hedge-rows of Henbury formed the extremest horizon of her view. Having taken the lead in her son's education for several years, and perhaps believing that he was _quite_ faultless, she gradually relaxed the severity of her studies, and, ranging the ponderous volumes over which she had pored during many a day upon the shelf, she devoted herself to active concerns, and became so expert in buying and selling, farming and feeding, that every year found a new deposit in the hands of Mr. Fairly, the stock-broker.

"My dear," said Mrs. Hartland to her husband, "we must not depend on accidents. Our duty is to lay up for our child. If he comes to the family title and fortune, well and good; no harm is done, and a nest-egg in the funds is never amiss. If, on the other hand, we are disappointed, Algernon may still hold up his head amongst our neighbours, if we scrape together our pence, and live as we ought to do."

Mr. Hartland nodded assent, and the screwing system commenced, not, however, without a keen eye to appearances, which were to be observed so as to maintain a show of gentility suited to prospective contingencies. The warm, broad, laughing fire was exchanged for the sullen brasier or the sulphurous stove; and though Mr. Playfair more than once reminded Mrs. Hartland of the anecdote of Alexander and Diogenes, she contrived to exclude the brightness of the sun, along with the caloric of his beams, from affording compensation for the deficiency of coals, by blocking up half the windows in the house, to avoid the tax upon daylight. The _form_ of two courses certainly graced the table; but in the first, the smoking joint had given way to scraps and messes dished up nobody knew how, or from what material, while never-ending Jerusalem artichokes, skerrets, and celery, played an unfailing part in furnishing the second. We were assured that Mrs. Hartland's parsimony had even descended to mixing the wines with water, before they were put down after dinner.

But where were the young people, and how had time dealt with them? The old lord of the scythe and hour-glass had performed the promise which, during their infancy, he made to each. Algernon, who had reached his nineteenth year, was strikingly handsome. Nearly six feet in height, he had nothing of the awkwardness which usually marks that age; but presented the appearance of full-grown five-and-twenty. Algernon was, however, still the same indolent and selfish being of our former acquaintance. He had imbibed just enough of knowledge and acquirement to shew how much more he might have attained, and possessed abilities capable of far higher cultivation than he could be prevailed upon to employ; but self was the deity of his worship, and we need say no more of him.

Of Zorilda--what words can be found to convey an adequate idea of her perfections? She had numbered nearly seventeen years, and in face and figure exhibited a model of female loveliness. The exquisite beauty of her form, the natural grace of every movement, and the penetrating sensibility of her countenance, would have rivetted all beholders, even though her features had wanted that symmetry which is requisite to charm the artist's eye; but Zorilda might have defied the painter's skill to find a fault in the proportions of her face, and that face bespoke the soul which dwelt within, and was worthy of such a casket to contain such a gem. Never did imagination create a more delightful fiction than was realized in the person of the youthful Spaniard. Was it wonderful, then, that all who looked upon her, saw and loved?

For two young people to have lived from infancy together without having ascertained that they were not related to each other by even the remotest tie of consanguinity, would be ridiculous to suppose, and was not the fact, though Mr. and Mrs. Hartland had been silent, and ordered their household to abstain from any communication which might destroy the illusion of brother and sister, which, if established into habitual belief, might never be questioned, and prevent the growth of those sentiments which the anxious parents at _last_ dreaded to anticipate. Blinded by her wishes, as well as natural presumption, Mrs. Hartland had long refused to open her eyes to the possible consequences of her imprudent conduct, in domesticating her only son with the most attractive of her sex, unless she desired a union between them. She saw nothing but the accomplishment of her own views in _any_ arrangement; and even after the warning voice of Mr. Playfair had put her on her guard, thought it only necessary to employ an increased reserve upon the topic of Zoé's origin, to secure against an unfortunate result, and continue to Algernon the happiness of companionship, without endangering his future repose.

"Should a time ever arrive," said the coarse-grained Mrs. Hartland, "when it may become requisite to take stronger measures, it is only necessary to tell Algernon the truth. _My_ son will never disgrace himself by alliance with a gipsey. We can remove Zoé at any time, as I say, Mr. Playfair. I appeal to _you_, rather than Mr. Hartland, on this point, because he is absurdly fond of the girl, and I often tell him that I am certain he loves that _enfant trouvé_ better than his own flesh and blood."

"If he did not love his ward," replied Mr. Playfair, "he would be less than human. Every body loves her, and when she is called hence amongst her kindred of the skies, the angels will greet her, not as a stranger, but beloved companion, who had been detached from the heavenly ranks for a season, to teach earth better things than mortals could have learned without her. Madam, you know my opinion; I have often told you that the young people are bound in cords of affection for each other, which it will be a heart-break to dissever. Your son may not suffer much; the world lies before him; he will soon go to the University, and find new friends as well as amusements; but not so the gentle, the tender Zorilda, of whose happiness you seem to make small account. May I ask what are your intentions respecting her? She is already a woman in growth, and her acquirements would do honour to any age; believe me, the danger increases daily, and an indissoluble engagement may bind your son in chains, which having forged yourself, you could not desire him to break; you would not have him act dishonourably, and sully his name for ever in the eyes of virtue and delicacy."

"Nonsense! Mr. Playfair," said Mrs. Hartland, with vehemence, "virtue and delicacy indeed! There would be much of these fine qualities required to make me keep my temper, if I feared the fulfilment of your prediction. I _must_ say that, after so many years passed in my family, I might naturally expect that you would enter a little more into the feelings of a mother, and the interests of our house; but truly, gratitude is a rare return now-a-days for the most valuable friendship. I cannot conceive why you should not see the impossibility of a marriage between Algernon, the stay, the support, I may surely add, the heir apparent, of a noble house, and an orphan out-cast. Who is Zorilda?"

Mr. Playfair's cheek burned with honest indignation, but he determined to control himself, and calmly replied:--

"The period of our separation. Madam, is drawing near, and I do not wish to embitter the last moments of sojournment under your roof by useless inquiries into the measure of my gratitude. For _kindness_ I am always acknowledging, but if you allude to my pecuniary obligations, which if I mistake not, take the lead in _your_ estimate of favours conferred, I must beg leave to observe that I have dearly earned my salary as tutor to your son, and may perhaps be presumptuous enough to think that, on casting up the amount of mutual benefit, the balance of debt may lie against you. But we were talking of a worthier theme; you inquire of me, Who is Zorilda? I am sure if you who introduced her here are ignorant of her birth and parentage, it would be difficult for me to have discovered them. I can only say that whoever her parents may be, they are enviable as having given being to such a creature, and pitiable for having lost her. The only particle of rebellion in her whole soul against the wisdom of that Providence to which she bows in all things else with meek submission, may be traced in the anguish which she endures on the score of her mysterious history. Her suspicions have been long confirmed. She knows that she is not your child, and is likewise aware of the obscure destiny from which she was redeemed, through a money price paid by you. 'Alas!' she often exclaims to me, 'what have I done to deserve this cruel punishment? Am I one of those who fall under condemnation for the sins of their forefathers? Why am I a cast-away? Is it like the abundant mercy of a gracious God, who sendeth rain on the just and the unjust with prodigal bounty, thus to visit a guiltless being so severely? Death would be preferable to this brand of disgrace. It is like the mark set upon Cain, and shame overwhelms me when I think of my lot. Yes, dear Mr. Playfair, there is a worm which dieth not, gnawing incessantly at my heart's core.'

"In this way, Madam, does Zorilda pour out her grief to me. You know nothing of it, for she thinks it her duty not to broach a subject which you have never touched upon with her. She is wretched as she is lovely and virtuous! Spare her, I conjure you, and let not her feelings be wounded; you may have to answer for her life. When I leave Henbury, I may be able to devise some scheme for the future. I have a sister who lives in Switzerland, and I will----"

Just as Mr. Playfair uttered these words, the door opened, and Zorilda entered the room, radiant with bloom, such as the breath of morn dapples on the velvet cheek of youth. Her long dark eye-lashes were moistened by a tear, and looked like the silky grass which waves on the streamlet's verge before the sun has smiled away the dew-drop which glitters through its graceful fringes, while with light and gentle step she pressed forward to Mrs. Hartland, holding in her hand a bunch of half-blown roses.

"Here is my first offering from the little tree which Algernon brought me last year, from Marchdale Court; I have kept it secret to surprise dear Mamma."

It was an unlucky moment, and the association of ideas produced by the few words which Zorilda had spoken, was at that instant peculiarly unfortunate. Mrs. Hartland forced a reluctant smile, accompanying a frigid "Thank you," which chilled Zoé to the heart.

"What is the matter, dearest Mamma? are you ill? or has any thing happened to displease you?"

"Do not tease me, Zoé; I was speaking on business of importance with Mr. Playfair; and, my dear, you are growing too old to say _Mamma_. I wish that you would begin to call me Mrs. Hartland."

Zorilda had an intuitive delicacy of character which gave her sufficient command over her feelings to prevent a _scene_. Mrs. Hartland was too unlike her in almost every respect to have ever been the friend of her choice; but she was the only one who had occupied the place of Mother to her, and her whole soul was formed to gratitude and affection; but she had now for the first time experienced repulse, and minds of sensibility do not require to be told what misery may be inflicted on a confiding spirit, by the rejection of its tender sympathies. Zorilda was stung to the quick, but restraining every expression of excitement, she glided hastily from the apartment, carrying with her the unwelcome flowers, which she perceived afforded no gratification.

Without stopping to be informed whether Algernon had returned from his ride, Zorilda flew to an arbour of acacias at some distance from the house, and throwing herself upon a rustic seat, beneath its shade, gave vent to a full tide of sorrow. When the oppression of her bosom was in some measure relieved, she knelt down, and clasping her hands with uplifted energy of supplication, prayed for fortitude to bear the ills which seemed impending. The Divine aid is never asked in vain, and Zorilda rose strengthened by the fervency of her petition. Her soul was soothed and tranquillized, and she thanked the Almighty for a friend who had in some degree prepared her for events which she now perceived in prospect.

"Yes! Mr. Playfair has sometimes almost appeared unkind, in dwelling on my misfortunes, and prophecying this evil hour, when I should no longer be loved by the protectors of my youth. How _picturesque_ they love a purchased stranger? The sad truth is now revealed. While yet children, our infant sports caused no uneasiness, and we enjoyed happiness unmixed with care. We are children no longer, and I am not wanted here. The unknown Zorilda, the wandering gipsey, the dependent orphan, is not considered meet companion for Algernon, advanced to manhood. What shall I do? I must quit the asylum of my youth, the loved partner of my playful hours, the venerable instructor of my early days, and remove this weight of anxiety from the breast of my benefactress."

"Never!" exclaimed Algernon, who, rushing impetuously into the arbour, caught Zorilda in his arms. "What means this emotion? Zoé, you must be my wife, and then you shall stay here as in your natural home. In the mean time leave it all to me. You know my influence with my mother; I will come to the bottom of these whims, and you shall hear no more of them."

"Speak not disrespectfully of your mother, Algernon; she is right, we should either of us perhaps pursue the same course were we in her situation. She once said that I was "nobody." All ask "Who is she?" to which painful question there is no answer to be given; and why should I delude myself any more. I thought the world was kind because every one caressed me, but when they did so I was a mere plaything. Those who once cherished are now ashamed of me, and this is what I can never bear. Mr. Playfair has taught me many things, and your mother (oh! must I never again call her mine) has not neglected to make me useful. I will earn my bread, and be a willing sacrifice if my departure can restore the peace which I have disturbed."

Algernon, though spoiled by indulgence, and rendered vain by flattery, was as yet uncorrupted by the cold maxims of worldly wisdom, and loved Zorilda with all the devotion of which a narrow soul was capable. She was the confidant of all his pains and pleasures. In her society the former were always mitigated, the latter constantly enhanced. He had gazed upon her beautiful countenance, which reflected every ray that cheered or cloud that darkened his own from infancy to youth; and he could not realize to his mind the possibility of a separation from a being so habitually necessary to his comfort.

"I will threaten my mother to shoot myself if she plagues you any more," vociferated Algernon; and before the gentle Zoé could reply, he darted from the arbour and ran to seek his agitated parent; while Zorilda bent her steps towards a walk where she thought it likely that she should meet Mr. Playfair, in which hope she was not disappointed. A conversation with him was always sure to give her comfort; and never had she so much needed the balm of kindness as on the present occasion. Zorilda wept with bitterness as she expressed her grief and surprize at the altered tone of Mrs. Hartland, and an impatient desire to sacrifice every consideration to that of removing a source of disquietude from her breast.

"Softly, my dear child," said Mr. Playfair, as he kindly pressed the hand of his pupil. "We must not allow ourselves to act on mere impulses, however amiable. There are _picturesque_ sorrows which must not be allowed to tempt us out of the broad high way of a sober march. We must not talk of victims and sacrifices, altars and shrines. Though I know your heart, and how sincere are your wishes to promote the happiness of others, even to the forgetfulness of your own, I cannot permit you to be romantic. There is a vanity in heroic deeds which dims the purity of action. My dear Zoé will act, I trust, in all things with a _single_ purpose, and that purpose is to endeavour at the performance of _duty_, the most difficult part of which, in morals as in the field of war, is to _forbear_. Your path is sown with thorns, but I have often warned you against repining. Believe and trust, pray to Him who alone appoints the issue of events, for patience to _submit_. You cannot see why you are thus grieved--you do not understand why you are a nameless, solitary, insulated being, unknown, unclaimed, unconnected; while all whom you see around are encircled in the social bands of fond relationship. You do not behold the _end_. A day may come in which you shall be suffered to comprehend the mysteries which now obscure your sight; or, should it not please God to send a lamp to your feet, you may learn to bless the darkness by which you are enveloped, and rejoice in that uncertainty which you now consider your greatest misfortune. You must not leave Henbury. Mrs. Hartland is bound to protect you, and will do so. You will correspond with me, and I will watch your interests with an anxious eye."

The ingenuous Zorilda confessed that some pride and impetuosity were perhaps mingled with better feelings, in her hasty resolution to quit the friends of her youth; and promising implicit acquiescence in her Mentor's advice, prepared to return to the house. In her way thither she met Algernon, who hastened to inform her that he had settled every thing with his mother. "I told her fairly that I would never marry any one but you; and that unless she chose to quarrel with me, she must behave as she used to do in former times towards you. You know that I can do any thing with my mother, and therefore you need not fret yourself any more. Do dry your eyes, for I hate to see you in this deplorable state. Come and feed the pheasants, I have not been to visit them to day."

The disinterestedness of a noble mind attributes its own qualities to every other, and Zorilda could perceive no motive in Algernon's conduct at any time which would not have actuated her own in a similar situation. She thanked him affectionately, but, gently rebuking him for not speaking more kindly of his mother, added,

"You vex her I am sure by talking of marrying. You and I are very young; we cannot see into futurity. I do not like engagements that bind one to do what perhaps the free heart might reject at an after-time. You are going away, and will find new pleasures in the world, and of which you never dreamed before. You will not, it may be, always think of poor Zoé as you do now, and I could not be satisfied with the cold performance of a vow. I shall never love any beside Algernon, but _you_ must be free."

Zorilda's tears gushed afresh as she uttered these words; to which her youthful lover impatiently replied,

"You know, Zoé, that I have no _taste_ for this _larmoyante_ mood; I love the laughing philosophers; they are the only true ones after all. Tottham, our bailiff, told me lately that my godfather cannot live long. When he dies my father succeeds to a certainty. Then I shall be Lord Hautonville, with the higher title of Marchdale in prospect; and may do what I please. Now I please to marry you, and let me hear what is to prevent me from following my inclination."

Zoé sighed. "Dear Algernon, I do not love to build a life of happiness upon the death of friends. I love you as you are, and do not like the titles in your family half so well as your own pretty name. Besides, I am sure from what Mr. Playfair says of the world, that I should never enjoy its gay pageants. I would rather feed our gold and silver pheasants than see myself decorated with all the jewels which you often tell me shall one day be mine."

"You will not always think so," replied Algernon; "and I should be sorry if you did. Nothing, it is said, is more annoying to a man of fashion than a rustic wife who does not know her situation."

"Alas!" said the artless Zoé, "I do not like the only specimen of high life that I have seen amongst young men, and ever since you and the Marquess of Turnstock have taken so many rides together, you have picked up several new notions unlike your former self. I wish that his Lordship would go away, and leave our sober country."

"That he will not do till the shooting season is over," answered Algernon; "and I can tell you, that our acquaintance is only in the bud. He is an Oxford man, and I expect that we shall be much together. Here comes my mother. She has made me promise not to call you my wife, nor talk any more of our marriage in her presence. So upon the principle of 'any thing for a quiet life,' I shall indulge her during my short remaining stay, and she will be all civility and good-humour with you. Are you not much obliged to me?"

Zorilda sighed again. Mrs. Hartland came up; took her son's arm; discovered that some overhanging branches required lopping, and sent Zorilda off with affected unconstraint to call the gardener, and see the job executed.

Mrs. Hartland now felt that her innocent ward was a grievous encumbrance, but she rejoiced to see her son attach himself _con amore_ to the society of the young nobleman of whom we have made mention, and who had lately come to pay a visit in the neighbourhood of Henbury.

"Mr. Playfair is right," said she to herself, as she soliloquized on this subject, which now absorbed all her thoughts: "I ought not to take this thing to heart. Opposition only rivets faster whatever we resist in a young mind, and matters which are often spoiled by our interference, would rectify themselves if we let them alone. Algernon will be cured of his _first love_ by the sight of newer faces, and I am resolved to give a hint to Lord Turnstock, to serve as a cue hereafter, for ridiculing low matches, in the presence of my dear boy, who will grow wise in time. Poor Zoé is useful to me, and I should certainly lose a great deal by giving her up, besides appearing cruel and capricious. No, no; all will come about in the end, and a little flirtation in early life never leaves lasting impression, now that the days of romance have vanished. My sister Gordon too, is a valuable _corps de reserve_. She will come to visit me ere long, and will dote on Zorilda, who is just formed in the very mould for her. I _will not_ torment myself: 'All's well that ends well.'"

With the help of these reflections Mrs. Hartland allayed the ferment of her temper, and went to give orders that due preparation should be made for the Marquess, who was invited to dine at Henbury, by way of securing his future friendship for the Oxonian elect. How comically do people in middling life deceive themselves respecting the nature of an occasional intercourse with the great! A hum-drum pair, in a remote situation, ransack the entire district to get up a dull dinner at enormous cost; and the noble stranger, for whom this unusual expense is incurred, does penance for a banquet which is supposed to be as fine a thing in his eyes as in those of his unpractised entertainers, and to create a sense of obligation never to be forgotten. The Marquess of Turnstock was precisely one of those young men of fashion who consider their presence ample requital for a lavish expenditure of the best viands, and the choicest wines; and as the country afforded little variety, an invitation from the Hartlands arrived seasonably enough in aid of killing a day. A cook was sent for to the county town; and fish, flesh, and fowls, in accredited rotation, were provided from all quarters. The Marquess brought three or four gentlemen, who were, he said, "brother sportsmen," along with him; and Mrs. Hartland expressed herself as particularly gratified with this indication of his desire to cultivate an intimacy with her son. "It was such an easy friendly act, and shewed how completely his Lordship felt _at home_" that she augured every thing from such a beginning.

Zorilda entreated leave to absent herself from the dinner table, to which Mrs. Hartland at first objected, from a secret hope that some one of the strangers might be captivated by her beauty, but was prevailed upon to acquiesce, from an irresistible argument, that the eye of her protegée might be advantageously employed behind the scenes, in marshalling the servants, and regulating affairs in a house unaccustomed, generally speaking, to any other than a plain family dinner.

Few motives are altogether unmixed. Zorilda's private incentive on the present occasion was to evade the awkwardness, which till of late had never been practically distressing to her feelings, of having _no name_. "The little gipsey," "The Spanish girl," passed lightly over her ear at an early period, but now planted a dagger in her heart; and she courted solitude, flying from the presence of even a casual guest. Mrs. Hartland, however, would not dispense with Zoé's company at the tea-table, at which she was obliged to preside; but as the gentlemen were not aware that any metal more attractive than the society of Mrs. Hartland awaited them in the drawing-room, they were slow in making their appearance; and when they did leave the dining parlour, some of the party were certainly not the best society themselves. Elate with wine, they talked and laughed on their way up stairs, in full demonstration of having sacrificed too devoutly at the shrine of the rosy god; but when the drawing-room door was opened, and Zorilda, glowing with modest loveliness, met their astonished view, their boisterous mirth received a sudden check, and they all seemed to feel simultaneously, "how awful beauty is."

The Marquess and his satellite wassailers, were struck with amazement at sight of the vision which now presented itself to their eyes, and appeared instinctively to avoid the tea-table at which she sat. A sort of general introduction took place, in which no name, except that of the Marquess, was distinctly heard; while Mr. Playfair, who had protracted his sitting below stairs, in order to act, as far as hospitality would permit, as a _buff-stop_ on the festive gaiety of his pupil, took his station on one side of Zorilda, and Mr. Hartland took possession of a chair on the other. Well pleased to find herself thus guarded, the timid Zoé smiled sweetly on her supporters, and proceeded to perform the mysteries of tea and coffee as priestess of the rites.

The reader is not to understand that our guests were inebriated. That expression conveys too strong a meaning. "Flushed with the Tuscan grape," they were still _compos_, and after a short pause the _rumble_ of conversation, like that of a mill-wheel, was heard again to succeed a temporary suspension.

"My friend Forbes, Mrs. Hartland," said Lord Turnstock, "is an Irishman, and we have been bantering him on his country. I was just making these gentlemen laugh with the story of an old woman who came to me some time ago requesting my interference to prevent her grandson, who had enlisted, from being sent to the Island of Saints with his regiment. 'Oh my Lord,' said she, 'I shall never see my poor boy again. They says as how that the Romans are all romancing so furious in Hireland.' Was'nt it excellent?"

Mrs. Hartland laughed heartily, and Mr. Forbes, a very handsome fine young man, stepped forward, still addressing her as _Chairman_ of the Committee in defence of his native Erin:

"I can allow them to amuse themselves, Mrs. Hartland," said the young Hibernian. "I grant that amongst vulgar people the peculiar tone of my country, which you may have heard called _brogue_, is not harmonious, but I would fight it against your Somersetshire, Lancashire, or Cornish dialects, any day in the year; and as for Irish _character_, it stands too high to need my championship. Whether I turn my eyes to the cabinet or the field, whether I contemplate scholarship or divinity, powers of penmanship or conversation, I find myself standing on such exalted ground that I can endure the merriment of his Lordship with the calm dignity of a lion, round whose head the harmless fly is humming. He shall divert himself as much as he likes with the Anglo-Irish, provided he sets his hand and seal to the truth of my statement."

"You are too strong to need his Lordship's vote," said Mr. Playfair; "you have no occasion to solicit, you may command assent; at least this is not the age for triumph over you. Whichever way we turn Irishmen meet our eyes in the first situations of the state; and as to the fair daughters of your Emerald Isle----"

"In _this_ company I withdraw _their_ claim," answered Mr. Forbes; "at least I am forced to be modest in asserting it."

Zorilda coloured violently; and the Marquess, apparently apprehensive of not being considered _first_ actor in the scene, looked at his watch, and ringing the bell, ordered his carriage, which was in fact already at the door; then apologizing for the lateness of the hour to which he had been detained by agreeable society, a general leave taking succeeded, and the guests departed without having exchanged three words with her who had excited all their curiosity.

"Who is that magnificent girl, Hartland?" said the Marquess, as he reached the hall door, and got rid of the civilities of his elder host, who stuck closely to his side all the way down stairs.

"Where was she during dinner-time?" inquired Mr. Forbes.

"Why did you not apprize us of this rural divinity?" asked young Cecil; "I should gladly have paid her an earlier homage."

As these questions were put all in a breath, Algernon contrived to evade them; and in the bustle of calling for hats, gloves, &c. they were never answered. "She can hardly be a sister of Hartland's, she is so unlike the family," said Lord Turnstock. "I wonder you none of you asked her name." "One would imagine that she has not any name," replied one of his companions; "probably the truth is, that this country _belle_ is affianced to the _heir apparent_ of Henbury, and the youth is an Othello. I saw him frown like Jupiter while we gazed at his beloved; and I am sure that the fellow will dream to-night of rope-ladders, post chaises and four, elopements, and the blacksmith of Gretna Green."

The Marquess laughed, and fell asleep. Some of his associates followed his example, and thought no more of Zorilda till they reached Thornton Abbey; but Cecil and Forbes were not of the number.

"Did you hear the servants say who that young lady is whom I saw at Mr. Hartland's?" said his Lordship to his valet when he retired to his bed-chamber.

"No, my Lord, I took no notice, except that I recollect somebody said that a Virginia nightingale, which I saw in a cage, belonged to Miss Zoé, or some such name; perhaps she may be the young lady that your Lordship means."

"Aye i'faith, she is worthy of a Grecian appellation," muttered the Marquess, as his servant went out of the room. "This fair incognita is certainly an exotic, and the banks of the Ilissus may have given her birth. She would make a noise in London, there is no doubt of that." With this sentence the young Nobleman concluded his meditations; and having desired to be called betimes to go upon a shooting expedition, consigned himself to repose. The morning brought its own pursuits, and Zorilda was either effaced from memory, or so little was elicited respecting her that inquiry ceased, and the party at Thornton Abbey dispersed in all directions.

The present age is one of too much refinement for trouble of any kind; and we have long been spared the slavish toil of thinking for ourselves. We talk indeed of _free_-thinkers, and make an unusual stir about liberty of opinion; but that is a _façon de parler_ which satisfies, while in reality we are more completely led than at any former period of the world. "Whatever facilitates weakens." The human mind is strengthened by labour; and now that we have grown too polished to work, we cannot look for strong judgment; consequently individuality is not the character of our time, and we are accustomed to praise or abuse _en masse_. Zorilda with a _title_ would have set the capital on fire, and filled every eye and tongue; but Zorilda, untrumpeted, unknown, was soon forgotten. _Name_ is everything; whether of player or preacher, beauty or book, a fashionable paper or review sounds the key note, and the chorus is universal.

Preparations were now advancing at Henbury for Algernon's departure to Oxford; and the desolation of Zoé's heart may be more easily imagined than described. To lose the beloved companion of her life, her more than self, seemed wretchedness enough for mortal lot; but in parting with Mr. Playfair too, she was deprived of the only solace which might have remained in her affliction, namely, that of talking over the subject of it with a true friend. Mr. Hartland was good-natured, and had always been affectionate in his bearing; but there was "no speculation in his eye," no intelligence in his mind. He was a mere recipient, and too dull even to reflect with vividness the thoughts of another. With Mrs. Hartland, Zorilda had ceased to communicate, except on household affairs.

Young and shrinking sensibility, like the opening rose, will only diffuse its fragrance while we refrain from rudely touching its delicate fabric; once decompose the tender structure by unhallowed finger, and no skill of chemic art can restore its organization.

The dread hour arrived, and Zorilda, convulsed with grief, saw the gate close upon all that she best loved on earth.