CHAPTER IX.

"Oft expectation fails, and most oft there where most it promised."

SHAKSPEARE.

The difference between hope and fruition is a hacknied theme, and there are few pleasures belonging to man, of which it may not be said, with Congreve, that

"'Tis expectation makes the blessing dear."

Scarcely had Zorilda bid adieu to the friends whose society had afforded that fulness and variety of enjoyment which constitute the longest as well as most delightful measure of remembered time, when in an hour of such desolation as a heart like hers, alive to the strongest impressions, could alone experience; the current of her grief was disturbed, as is the rivulet's gentle flow, when a fragment from the mountain side dashes into the midst of the stream, breaking its silent waters into a thousand troubled eddies.

A letter from Algernon came to announce his intended return, and one brief fortnight would now give him back to the eyes and heart of her whose agitated spirits bore speaking testimony to the powerful hold which he possessed on her affections.

Two years had intervened since our hero left Henbury for Oxford. He had contrived, on various pretences, to lengthen his stay at Paris, till the University appeared to be altogether abandoned. Mrs. Hartland felt her son's absence severely, but it was some consolation to believe that he was extending his connections advantageously amongst people whose rank and consequence were conformable to the future dignity of his prospects. She likewise trusted, that present sacrifice of his society would be repaid by the perfect cure of his first love.

Algernon never failed to flatter the weakness of his parents, and while time and money were wasted in profligacy, a list of distinguished names deceived them, gratified their vanity, and cheated them, through a series of vaunting lies, into the fond assurance, that their darling was the principal ornament of the Court of France. He had quarrelled with the Marquess of Turnstock, but concealed his separation from him, and the true motive of his present design to re-visit home at this moment, was in order to anticipate conjecture which might naturally arise when his Lordship's arrival in England unaccompanied by him, would lead to inquiry why they had parted from each other after being the "Castor and Pollux" of Oxford.

Zorilda had indeed often wondered at the frigid nature of that affection which could impose upon itself the pangs and penalties of such lengthened absence. She had often asked herself what spell had the power to charm the wanderer, and would then chide her heart for its jealous doubts. The intervals between Algernon's letters were much increased since he commenced his foreign travel, but Zorilda could account for this. "He knows that I have no money, and would spare me his mother's reproaches for the cost of frequent postage," said the innocent Zoé, who judged of others by herself. Every letter, too, when tried by the test which revealed its hidden sentiments, contained assurance of undying love which kindred flames developed, when, spite of her prohibition, inspired by

"Hope, kind cheat, fair fallacy,"

she held the paper to the fire, "pardoning the treason for the traitor's sake."

Zorilda's quick penetration had also remarked sundry abbreviations and blots in Algernon's late _despatches_, which might be truly so called in every sense of the word, and sighed as she recollected that a celebrated Madame de Staal, who lived in the age of Louis Quinze, had discovered the refrigeration of a lover's affection, in his voluntary choice of a short road when he used to conduct her home to her convent, after passing the day with her friends in Paris. Two sides of the triangle which formed the court of the convent would have afforded a longer _tête-à-tête_ than the diagonal; yet the lover abridged opportunity by preferring the diagonal, and the young Frenchwoman at once decided that he had ceased to be one, and would see him no more.

She was right, but though Zorilda felt the shortened words as much as Madame de Staal in her youth had felt the shortened way, she pleaded unavoidable haste, to excuse all apparent negligence or contempt, though the acuteness of her sensibility made her alive to the slightest change of temperature in affection. Even had her reasoning been more severe, it would not have stood proof against the first sound of the carriage wheels which announced Algernon's arrival within the gates of Henbury. The most subtile arguments are but feeble weapons when opposed to true love, when the latter is re-inforced by presence of the beloved object. One look is sufficient to put to flight a world of reasoning, and Zorilda did not wait to see her truant, before her beating heart proclaimed full pardon of every omission or commission of which he had ever been guilty. Algernon's letter inclosed an open note, which his mother as usual read before she suffered it to leave her hands. To _her_ eyes it only contained a few careless words, calculated to lull every apprehension of repose. She could find nothing more than--

"Dear Zo, I am coming and am in too great a bustle to say more than a few words. I am longing to see all my four-footed favourites. Send to Norton for my greyhound and setters, which I left with him; and tell him that I expect their _education to be finished_ by the time I see them again. I long also to re-visit my hawks and pheasants, which you have been nursing for me; and I long to see you too, and tell you of all my adventures. Your's truly, dear Zo, in _fire_ haste, A. H."

Mrs. Hartland contrasted this meagre demonstration with the "dearest mother" and "most affectionate son," addressed to herself, and presented this blotted billet to the blushing girl with an air of triumph.

Zorilda read it without making any comment, but longed to be alone to try whether "fire haste" might not extract something more from the paper which she held in her trembling hand.

The intelligent reader has, no question, often remarked, that people whose tempers are not governed by any other director than their passions, are kind or unkind to others as they happen to be pleased or displeased themselves. This was Mrs. Hartland's habit, and Zorilda's patience was often put to severe trial; but the mother's spirits were now elated, and all around shared their _couleur de rose_. She folded up her packet, and smiling benignantly on her young friend, desired her to go, and give the necessary orders to prepare for her son's return.

"Algernon will be of age on the 25th," said Mrs. Hartland, "and this is an event of importance in my family. If he comes before his birthday, we shall have a double joy to celebrate. Childish things must henceforth be put away, and my son must now assume the manly character in which he is called from this time to act a new part upon the stage of life; aye, and I trust also a _distinguished_ one. The boyish follies of Algernon's early youth are no longer to be remembered, and one-and-twenty is an age----"

The young Spaniard's eloquent cheek and eye were beginning to betray a painful consciousness of the secret meaning which these words were designed to convey. She understood, with rapid comprehension, the full tenour of this commencing oration; but the entrance of a servant, who came to say that a messenger had just arrived on horseback at full speed, bringing a letter which he had orders not to confide to any other hands than those of Mr. or Mrs. Hartland, offered an opportunity which Zorilda instantaneously seized to glide out of the room, and snatching up her straw hat as she passed quickly through the hall, she flew into the open air to give free vent to feelings too agonizing to be suppressed, too proud to be revealed, to her who had excited them.

"Break not yet, poor heart," said Zorilda aloud, as she gained her favourite solitude; "such tumult of the soul can find no place in Heaven, whither all my thoughts should bend. _There_ all is peace, celestial peace! Oh, she is a skilful archer; every arrow is securely aimed, every poisoned shaft is winged unerringly. Did she not say that "childish things are to be laid aside?" and what _so_ childish as love for the nameless, friendless, orphan-gipsey? I understand it all too well, yet why _too_ well? Ungrateful that I am! Shall I repine that I am enabled to perceive the dangers which beset my path? and do I call myself unfriended while the spirit of her who so lately blessed me with almost a mother's tenderness, still hovers here? Yes, in this spot used we to hold sweet counsel. Here did I listen to the soothing voice of comfort, here taste the balm of sacred wisdom as from her lips distilled the pure stream of divine instruction, which poured daily on my ear. Though absent, she shall teach me still, and I will pray in the silence of this fragrant breeze, to that Being who is never deaf to the supplicant's cry."

What breast unvitiated by the artificial world is not alive to the soft influence of nature, and what soul ever sought its God in sincerity and humiliation without finding relief? Zorilda rose from the mossy shrine, strengthened, refreshed, consoled, and sitting down where she had knelt before, exclaimed with fervour, "Remember Drumcairn!" "Those were her parting words as she folded me to her bosom. Yes, I will remember, and with thankfulness, that there is yet an earthly asylum for Zorilda." A slight rustling amongst the branches which formed a screen behind where she sat, and threw their protective shade over her head, disturbed her meditations; and starting up she looked around, but could only discover by an increased movement of the leaves, that something had brushed through them.

"What a fool I am!" said she; "shall I fear my old and faithful companions, and start at a bird? But hah! what is here? a letter, and for me!" She seized the paper with trembling haste, and casting a timid glance around, hurried breathlessly back to the shrubbery from which she had strayed, and closed its gate before she dared venture to break the seal, and read the following lines:

"ZORILDA,

"There is one at least in the world who asks not '_Who is she?_' but who knows you to be virtuous, lovely, and unhappy; one who can behold in you the pedigree of a noble soul, whencesoever it be derived; who has gazed more than once unseen upon your streaming eyes uplifted in prayer to Heaven; and listened to those sighs which rend your heart, yet without intrusion on your sorrows. The friend who now addresses you, has not taken advantage of his situation to possess himself of your secrets, if you have any which you desire should be unrevealed, and his motive in thus alarming, is to warn you against dangers which threaten your peace. Walk no more beyond the enclosure of your shrubbery, till you bear from your unknown guardian that you are safe in doing so; and rely on the fidelity of one, who cannot tell you more at present than that he is devoted to your interests, over which he watches with constant vigilance. Beware of wandering by moonlight, and alone."

Zorilda was nearly overcome with terror and astonishment. Unused to consider herself an object of interest to any one, the liveliest gratitude would have possessed her unsuspecting heart, if the dread of some impending ill did not predominate over every calmer feeling. From whence came the warning which she had just received? It was not the hand-writing of Mr. Playfair, and if it were, why should he be thus mysterious? He would have pointed explicitly to the approaching danger, and as openly advised the best means of avoiding it. This anonymous intimation was perhaps itself a snare; yet it prescribed caution, and seemed to be dictated by truth and kindness.

"What shall I do? Oh whither shall I turn for counsel?" said Zorilda. "If I tell Mr. Hartland, what profit will accrue? He cannot lock me up, nor place a guard in attendance on my steps. Mrs. Hartland would call me a heroine of romance, and I should be derided, ridiculed, insulted. What a time is this to have lost the true friends who would have been my pilots! But God is every where, He will direct me, if with a single heart, I implore His heavenly guidance."

The sound of hasty footsteps put an end to Zorilda's reflections. She folded the paper quickly, over which she had been musing, and had scarcely time to conceal it, when Rachel, a faithful domestic already introduced to the reader, ran towards her, out of breath--

"Miss Zoé, Miss Zoé, make no delay; my mistress is calling for you, and angry that you cannot be found. Master is from home too; not expected till dinner, which is ordered an hour later than usual, and we have been put into a great flutterment by news at the house; but I am not to tell you any thing about it, only to find, and send you in, without loss of time."

Zorilda trembled so exceedingly, that she could hardly obey the summons, and immediately concluded, that whatever circumstances had occurred in her absence, bore some reference to the mysterious communication which had been made to her. Bewildered by the variety of alarms which thronged upon her mind, she advanced with breathless agitation, and having reached the house, heard Mrs. Hartland's voice loudly employed in giving directions to have a horse saddled, and a servant in readiness to set off in quest of her husband, who had gone that morning to attend a board of magistrates at some distance from Henbury.

Zorilda, pale as death, gained the apartment from whence she heard these orders issuing, and felt sinking with apprehension and exhaustion, when she was met by a countenance in which exultation, impatience, resentment, and solicitude struggled for mastery.

"Where is it that you hide yourself in this unfeeling manner?" said Mrs. Hartland, with impetuous eagerness. "Is it not too provoking that I should be left alone, and that nobody can be found in a moment of such agitation as the present. Lord Marchdale lies at the point of death. He has had a paralytic stroke, and is speechless. Mr. Humphries, the head steward, who has long been in our interests, has sent off an express to give secret intelligence of the event; and here, by the most unlucky chance imaginable, my son is far away, and I know not how to direct to him. Mr. Hartland, who hardly ever leaves home, is absent; and even you too are moping idly in some hole or corner, and can nowhere be found. _You_ have no personal interest, it is true, in the matter, but it is intolerable that you should be out of the way when my hand shakes so that I cannot hold a pen."

The harshness, as well as unreasonableness, of this attack, repelled the softer sympathies of Zorilda's heart, which were ever ready at the call of affection; and summoning as much firmness as she could command, she calmly replied,

"Madam, as you had no cause to anticipate this event, you would have been the first to censure Mr. Hartland's indolence, had he neglected the business which engages him this morning; and as to me, I am not aware of disobeying your commands in taking a walk at no great distance from the house. I am ready now, though _my_ hand is not very steady, to write as you shall dictate."

"I shall remember your insolent coldness," said Mrs. Hartland; "write directly to Mr. Humphries, thank him in my name for the zeal which _he_ has shewn in our affairs, desire him to keep a strict eye over the property, and to refuse admittance to all interlopers, and----"

"Oh," interrupted Zorilda, "do not accuse me of that which is foreign from my nature. Can any good or evil happen at Henbury in which I do not share? Are you not my benefactors? But you reject my sympathy with disdain, and then reproach me for the want of it. Let me prove how much I feel upon the present occasion by conjuring you not to commit yourself by writing such a letter as you propose to the steward. If, as I have heard you say, Mr. Hartland is heir to the estates, as well as to the title of Marchdale, you will owe nothing to the officiousness of this Humphries; but should Lord Marchdale have had power over his fortune, and exercised it to your disadvantage, how will this precipitancy advance your claims, or redress the evil? Again, a paralytic stroke is not always fatal. Lord Marchdale may recover, and then you are at the mercy of a sycophant who may turn your impatience to account with his master, and represent you in unfavourable colours, to your future ruin. Let me return your acknowledgments for a letter which you have opened in the absence of Mr. Hartland, and enter no farther into the subject of it."

"You are right, Zoé; I forgive you," answered Mrs. Hartland; "make haste, give a guinea to the messenger, see that he is properly taken care of, and despatch him without delay."

Zorilda executed the task which her own good sense and delicacy had suggested; but who can describe the state of her mind, when, having performed her commission, she had time to reflect on her own situation, rendered doubly precarious and painful, by the increased distance which she perceived the near prospect of rank and fortune would place between her and all she loved?

Mr. Hartland returned, and even his phlegmatic temperament was excited by the news which awaited him. Visions of future greatness now absorbed the attention of him and his wife, though they took various hues, according with the difference of their characters. Mr. Hartland shewed no impatience, but, assuming a sort of sullen pomp, seemed to feel himself already in possession of the distinction which he anticipated; while Mrs. Hartland, in an agony of "hope deferred," endured a perpetual fever of mind from the restlessness and impotent activity of her disposition. Day after day passed without bringing farther tidings, and the _final_ account from Marchdale-court was necessary to allay those apprehensions which embittered her golden dreams.

There is one character still more irritating than that of an _ex post facto_ prophet, and that is a person who, not waiting for events, begins, while they are yet pending, to foresee disastrous issues in the interval between causes and effects, without casting a shadow of blame upon themselves for having acquiesced in that very conduct, on the failure of which their angry sagacity is afterwards employed too late to prevent whatever may be its result. Mrs. Hartland was of this description. The mob principle, that every one must be wrong who does not glide with full sails before the wind, influenced all her decisions of every kind; and though in the present case it was obvious, that while Lord Marchdale _lived_ she could not receive the joyful information of his _death_, she could not impute the silence of Mr. Humphries to any other source than offence at the frigid style of Zorilda's reply to his letter. "I _saw plainly_ how it would be. I _knew_ that Mr. Humphries would be affronted. We have evidently lost a friend who would have watched over our interests, and all because I was too much agitated to write myself. I should have conciliated this worthy man, and flattered his vanity with assurance of my entire reliance on his zeal and discretion; but people who know nothing of the world will put in a word of advice, and woe to all who give ear to their stupid counsels."

To these, and such like taunts, Zorilda had to listen, whenever her evil genius brought her within hearing of Mrs. Hartland's unceasing complaints; which were now received with less submission by her husband, as he began to feel himself rising in the scale of human dignity, and remembered that it was through _him_ that the expected honours were to come.

"For Heaven's sake," he would sometimes say, "let my relation die in peace, my dear. Would you have Mr. Humphries administer a dose of poison to hasten your victim out of the world, in order to accommodate your ambition?"

"Mr. Hartland you are becoming insufferable. Your torpor is more exasperating than the rage of a lion. I am sure, were it not for the sake of posterity, I wish that your relation may recover, and keep you out of an earldom which you are not fit for, and have too little feeling to value. My _son_, however, will one day grace a coronet of which his father is little worthy."

"I suppose that you would kill me also, to make way for your idol," retorted Mr. Hartland; "but we may all prove too tough for your wishes. Mind, I tell you that a paralytic stroke is not always a stroke unto death; and you may be punished yet for committing murder in your heart, if not with your hands. Take my advice, good lady, and keep yourself cool; or in vulgar phrase, do not reckon your chickens before they are hatched."

This was a new style of dialogue at Henbury, and exceedingly shocked the gentle Zorilda; who, endeavouring to forget her own anxieties as much as possible, tried every effort in her power to soften these asperities and mediate between the belligerent parties, who never had quarrelled till now, when they seemed upon the eve of attaining the grand object of their common wishes.

"How strange the effect of what the world calls prosperity!" exclaimed this child of nature, when relieved from the irksome society of those with whom it was her lot to drag the heavy hours. "Who would desire to possess a few ideal distinctions, brief as shadowy, at the expense of all that is dear to the heart?"

Zorilda was debarred the luxury, not denied to many in this age, of communicating her thoughts to a distant friend. The power of purchasing this gratification was more than she could command, so entire was her dependence; and even if it had been permitted her to correspond with Mrs. Gordon, the necessity of shewing every line which she either wrote or received, would have neutralized the privilege.

"Let me thank God," said she, "that I have still the power of thought; still the blessed boon of self-communion left; and, oh may I use the gift to profit! examine my heart, probe its most secret recesses, and cultivate resignation to the will of Him who sees it good that I should be thus severely tried!"

When aspirations such as these would escape her lips, a bright gleam of hope sometimes succeeded, and painted Algernon in all the bloom of youthful joy, returning to the home of his happy childhood; called thither to embellish a higher sphere, elate with glad prospects, and placed in possession of power to shed happiness in every smile. Spite of every effort to repress the fond dreams of imagination, they would sometimes, too, indulge in weaving a golden future for herself. If Algernon had ceased to love, why did his letters still breathe the honied accents of a sentiment which he might pretend to forget? Was it generous to doubt his truth because his words were few? Was it reasonable to expect more lavish demonstration of an attachment so constrained by circumstances? Arrived at full age, and raised to dignity and independence, might he not prevail with his parents to enter into his views?

Thoughts such as these were too welcome not to force their way, and if Zorilda had inclination, she wanted strength to banish them always from her mind. A secret feeling would even picture the pleased surprise with which Algernon would hear her voice, already flexible and melodious, now improved by science and cultivation, and accompanied by the "mellow minstrelsy" of a Spanish guitar, on which Mrs. Gordon's tasteful tuition had rendered her a proficient.

How lovely was the expression of that eloquent eye! How touching the sounds which flowed from those ruby lips when hope's delightful inspirations came o'er her mind,

"Like the sweet south That breathes upon a bank of violets, Stealing and giving odour."

At length the time arrived which was to realize or blast the timid promises of faithful love; and on the same day, the evening of which was to be blessed by Algernon's return, the dawn was ushered in by an express to announce the death of Lord Marchdale.

Suspense and irritation had brought Mrs. Hartland's mind to a state of quiescence through exhaustion, without effecting any improvement of temper. On the contrary, the spirit of bickering against her husband was ready as before, on the present occasion, and broke out into the following fretful complaint:

"Ay! when one is worn out with expecting, here comes this empty title at last; but not a word about the estates. As to the coronet, that was a thing of course, and no gratitude is due on that score; but if the property is left away, it would be much better that the title had gone along with it. You have always neglected my advice, Mr. Hartland, or we should not be indebted now to back-stairs informers for what we ought to know ourselves. It is ten to one but you have ruined the fortunes of your son by your indolent supineness."

"Can you not wait till the dead are buried?" answered the exasperated husband. "Did any mortal, but yourself, ever hear of prying into a will before the body is laid in the grave? even the commonest decencies of life are violated by your rapacity."

"Pretty language, _indeed_," replied the ruffled dame; "but you may find, bye and bye, that my '_rapacity_,' or prudence, or whatever else you may please to call it, may have saved you from a jail."

Each party quitted the room by opposite doors in no very harmonious frame of mind; yet, spite of ill humour with each other, they were irresistibly excited by the intelligence just received. Men are said to be but "children of a larger growth," and certain it is that we should often be ashamed to confess to the world how a bauble can charm our imaginations.

Mr. Hartland was met, on quitting the apartment, by eager faces of attempted condolence and congratulation, mingled with the slavish wonder and submissiveness generated in vulgar minds by sudden accession of rank. The servants and dependants were peeping on tip-toe, shoving each other backwards and forwards to catch the first glimpse of their master, and see whether he looked differently from his former self, since he had become a great lord; but the dread of discovering how much he was pleased with his new dignity, as also a certain fear of upstart claims which might at least be vexatious, and delay its attainment, induced him to refrain from his usual ride, and issue orders that no one should address him by any other than the ordinary appellation, till his return from Marchdale-court, for which place it would be necessary that he and his son should set out on the following day.

Mrs. Hartland gratified the people and herself by going out into the shrubbery, garden, farm-yard, etcetera; and wherever she could find a human being to greet her with the delightful sounds of "my Lady," and "your ladyship," she condescended to expatiate on the lofty acquirements which had descended on her house. One old woman, in the effervescence of her zeal and ignorance, styled her "your Majesty," which flattered so bewitchingly, that the salutation scarcely seemed ridiculous.

The express of the morning produced a very different effect on Zorilda, whose agitation was sufficient for her delicate frame, without this increase. These new honours had no charm for her, but seemed to raise a barrier in her path. Algernon was no longer Algernon; she was to meet Lord Hautonville, and a chill came over her heart as she tried to practise the unwonted and unwished-for sounds. Then the object of her soul's dearest attachment was to be snatched from her eyes, almost in the moment of meeting them: and though the recollection of her own danger was the last consideration to present itself, yet when remembrance of the letter which she had in her possession forced upon her mind a consciousness of the defenceless condition in which a few hours would leave her, she shuddered with terror of she knew not what, but felt such instinctive repugnance to proclaim her fears, and the cause of them, that she resolved, under accumulating difficulty, still to place her sole trust in that merciful assistance, the support of which her heart began to acknowledge experimentally in moments of trial.

"Oh! will not one look repay me for all this uneasiness, if it beams with the affection of dear old times; and why do I admit these mean doubts to overwhelm me? I will cast them from me, and sit musing here no longer!"

So saying, Zorilda started from her reverie, and ran to put the last finish to her little preparations, by dressing every part of the house with fresh gathered flowers. After which she culled a bunch of

----"Valley Lilies, whiter Than Leda's love;"

with which to decorate her marble brow, and had scarcely ended her simple toilette, when carriage wheels were heard. Mr. and Mrs. Hartland, followed by the servants, hastened to the hall. Zorilda, with beating heart, blanched cheek, and trembling knees, lingered on the stairs, unable to move, but the first accents of the well-known voice were, "Where is Zoé?" The vital glow re-animated her countenance, and in a few short seconds she was folded in the arms of Algernon.

Never was the meeting of two lovers more rapturous. Zorilda's innocent and confiding nature tasted such blessed assurance in this joyful instant, as repaid an age of keenest anguish, while Algernon's astonished gaze, seemed to declare that no such loveliness had ever burst upon his senses, as met his eyes in the modest, yet dazzling beauty of her on whom they now were rivetted.

Zorilda drew back, surprised in her turn by the changes which time had wrought. Algernon was a perfect model of manly grace, and all the easy elegance and polish of fashionable society were added to the native symmetry which distinguished his appearance. A reproachful call from Mrs. Hartland, quickly interrupted this short-lived transport of uncertain bliss. Alas! it was never to return. Zorilda loved, and was beloved; but, she knew not why, she had not the same pleasure which she formerly felt in Algernon's company. There was a fire in his manner of looking at her, and a bold familiarity in his mode of address, which discomposed her, and made her desire to shrink into herself, without being able to explain to her own breast the reason why she did so. While he was summoned to hear the story of his altered fortunes, she threw herself, exhausted by the variety of her emotions, into a chair near a window, that opened on a trellised alcove, which she had carefully entwined with every sweet climber that perfumes the garden, to breathe a welcome for him she loved. Bursting into an agony of tears, she looked upon her work and exclaimed:

"Flowers! you have lost your fragrance. The simple joys of nature are no longer here. They are become 'dim recollected feelings of the days of youth and early love.' Dreamer! thy doom is sealed! What has Zorilda in common with the world's attractions? Algernon is lost to me! Yes, these are not the looks of Algernon! Why do I turn abashed from the companion of my childhood?"

Zorilda's meditations were interrupted by a summons from Mr. Hartland, who informed her that he must leave Henbury early on the following day, and desired to commit several matters of importance to her care during his absence. Dinner succeeded, and the evening was chiefly occupied in preparations of one kind or other for the ensuing journey; but notwithstanding the vigilance of Mrs. Hartland, and her constant endeavour to monopolize her son, he found opportunity from time to time, to say a few words in secret to Zorilda.

"Keep up your spirits, Zoé; you shall be Lady Hautonville one of these days! I am resolved upon it, so do not be frightened; but we have much to do, and you have much to learn. You must be _schooled_ for the new order of society which you are about to enter. Nothing can be more unlike the world than your present style of manners, dress, appearance. _My_ wife can never be such a country lassie as you are; but I will have you put in the right way. I know a charming person, La Baronne de Torsi, who will be happy to do me a kindness. She will have pleasure in forming you to the standard of good taste. The materials, my Zoé, are perfect, but you want the air, the fashion, the indispensable tone of society, which you could not attain in this wretched place. What a pair are these poor old souls, my father and mother! They seem to have the year _one_, printed in large letters on every look, word, and gesture. We must bury them in the woods at Marchdale-court, while you and I figure away on the theatres of glorious France and Italy. I am sick of Old England's roast beef, and find nothing good or agreeable off the Continent. Good night, my lovely Zo; we will make all our arrangements on my return from this horrible funeral."

Algernon wished to seal these words, which were but jarring sounds to Zorilda's ear, by a kiss, but she turned, and hastily disengaging her hand from his, flew to the sanctuary of her chamber, there to reflect, through a sleepless night, upon the miseries of her destiny.

"La Baronne de Torsi! a stranger, a foreigner; _she_ to form my mind, my manners, my tastes anew, to the frivolous and artificial? I will have no such monitress. Is this the language of true love? I know it not by these signs. There is no prison, however dreary, no wilderness however wild, into which Zorilda would not accompany the being whom she loved, to suffer pain and privation, and if not permitted her to shield, yet still to share each pang, would be her bosom's joy; but thus scorned, thus disdained, it must not, cannot be."

Morning came, and found the poor mourner still a prey to the tortures of wounded sensibility. Mr. Hartland and his son were to set out so early, that she was spared the humiliation of shewing how much power Algernon possessed over her affections. As he went down stairs he knocked at Zorilda's door, and slipped a bit of paper underneath, on which were hastily written, with a pencil, the following words:

"In the tumult of yesterday's meeting, I forgot to warn you against receiving any communication, either by letter or visit, from any one till my return. _Addio, carissima, Algernon_."

"Hah!" thought Zorilda, "Can this be the explanation? Is Algernon the unseen guardian who has been watching over me, and to whose friendly care I have been indebted for avoiding danger, though I know not of what nature? But no: the letter which I received is not in his hand-writing, and the sentiments which it expresses, so full of delicate consideration for the unhappy Zorilda, are alas! little in unison with the language of yesterday evening, which still echoes through my heart. Nothing but mystery appears to surround me whichever way my eyes are directed."

On meeting Mrs. Hartland in the breakfast-parlour, Zorilda's looks too plainly bespoke the state of her mind to leave a doubt of what she endured. A few constrained questions and answers broke the rigid silence which would otherwise have marked this unsocial meeting.

Mrs. Hartland rang the bell, and ordering the tea things to be taken away, desired her young companion to wait her return; and quitting the room, left Zorilda in new perplexity at what was next to happen.

Mrs. Hartland re-appeared in a few minutes, bringing an ink-stand and paper in her hand. Shutting the door, and laying these upon a table, she ordered Zorilda, in a stern voice, to sit down opposite to her, with which the latter having complied, she proceeded to unfold her object.

"It is no longer possible," said Mrs. Hartland, "to be silent. The time is come when it is necessary to explain my views, and come to an open understanding with you. Your attachment to my son cannot be mistaken, and I must tell you plainly, that it highly displeases Mr. Hartland and me. _You_ should recollect our relative positions: you, an unknown orphan, discovered, accidentally, in a gipsey camp, without name, family, or pretensions; redeemed from the infamy of associating with a lawless horde by the charity which brought you here, are finely repaying the protectors of your childhood! Can you suppose, for a moment, that because you were permitted during infancy to be the companion of my son, and allowed, in after life to share the instructions which were bestowed on him by Mr. Playfair; can you, I repeat, imagine for a single instant that you were ever designed to be his wife? Do you think that a pretty face is sufficient qualification for the future Countess of Marchdale, or that Lord Hautonville's parents would ever look upon him again, were the wiles of an artful girl to betray his honourable mind into a remembrance of the boyish vows which children make to each other before they comprehend the nature of a promise? There is only one act by which you can ease my mind, and restore yourself to that place in my regards from which, I confess with regret, that you have fallen. Here are paper, pen, and ink; I have never found you untrue, and shall depend with confidence upon your written assurance, regularly signed, for my _full_ satisfaction, that from this moment, you not only renounce all pretension to an alliance with my family; but should a romantic spirit of chivalry induce Algernon to forget what he owes to himself, and his father and mother, by offering his hand to you, that you here pledge yourself solemnly to repel such proposals, and reject every advance on the part of one whose death would be preferable, in my eyes to a marriage inconsistent with his rank in society. I have now spoken without reserve. You know my feelings, and if you are disposed to gratify me by the sacrifice which I require, there is nothing which I will leave undone to forward your interests. I will prevail on my son to settle something handsome upon you. I will write to my friends, and obtain some situation for you as soon as possible, in which your talents may secure your future independence; or it may be, that when you are seen and known out of this deep retirement, some suitable match may present itself, and----"

Zorilda had resolved to hear out Mrs. Hartland's harangue in patient silence, and restrain every emotion which it might excite; but though she had prepared for want of kindness, she did not anticipate the coarseness by which she had just been assailed. Notwithstanding every effort, or rather, perhaps, because she exerted herself beyond her powers, her eyes grew dim, her head became giddy, and she fell back senseless in her chair.

When she revived from the state of insensibility into which she had been thrown by the indelicacy of Mrs. Hartland's proceedings, she found herself alone with Rachel, whose tender assiduity restored her faculties once more. She had been removed to her apartment, and was laid on her bed, from which she now rose in haste, and, dismissing her faithful attendant with thanks, she summoned up all the resolution of her character, entered Mrs. Hartland's dressing-room, where she found that lady seated at her table, writing with perfect sang froid, and calmly addressed her:

"Madam," said Zorilda, in a gentle but unfaltering voice, "I come to give you an answer, which the accident of sudden indisposition has delayed. I thank you for your care of my infant years. I am grateful also for the asylum which I have since found under your roof. These acknowledgments are all that I have to bestow, and I confess that they are a poor remuneration for the favours which you have conferred upon a hapless stranger."

"My dear girl," said Mrs. Hartland, interrupting the lovely but unfortunate Zorilda, "you can make a return which will more than repay me. Certainly I _have been_ every thing to you, and I am glad that you appreciate as you ought to do that kindness which snatched you from perils worse than death, and has cherished you ever since in the enjoyment of every comfort. You have sense enough to be conscious that you have not been a costless charge; but I only mention your _entire_ destitution, your dependence for every morsel of bread, every article of clothing, protection, tenderness, education, companionship, only, I say, to show how _greatly_ I shall estimate the act by which you, who are aware of the extent of your obligations, are enabled at one stroke of your pen to cancel them all. Here, my love, I have drawn up the _promissory note_, as I may call it, which wipes off all scores between us. Here, my dear, though you have no sirname, nor for the matter of _that_, perhaps, Christian either, for you may have been born amongst the Turks or the Jews, and never baptized at all, for any thing that we can tell to the contrary; sign the three syllables, Zorilda, whether given to you at the font or in the gipsey's camp, it is all the same to me. Write your name in a fair hand, opposite to this seal; declare it to be your act and deed; I will call Rachel to witness the transaction, and our business is done; I demand no legal forms, as my confidence in your truth----"

"Must be your only guarantee, Madam," replied Zorilda. "I will not sign any document to resign possessions to which I lay no claim. Whatever kindness may be manifested towards me during my pilgrimage on earth, must be freely given and as freely received; but you need not dread me; I will not requite ungratefully the obligations which I owe. If you really confide in my truth, prove it by relying on what I say; and as to my future fate, discharge your mind, I pray you, of all anxiety upon that account. Grant me but a short time to make some trifling arrangements for my departure, and you shall be satisfied in all things. I can never be too thankful for the instructions which you permitted me to derive from that much valued friend, Mr. Playfair, and upon these I shall depend for being no longer a tax upon your bounty. The God in whom I trust, will hear the orphan's prayer, and bless my humble exertions."

"Then, Madam," answered Mrs. Hartland, "am I to understand, that you refuse to sign the paper which I hold in my hand?"

"It is most reluctantly that I refuse to comply with any requisition of yours," said Zorilda; "but I am determined not to sign that paper. Possessing no rights, making no demand, I will not assume the merit of renouncing that to which I do not assert a title. Were I bound by an engagement such as terrifies you to anticipate, I should be unworthy of the choice, undeserving of the affection with which I could basely trifle, and of which I could thus make a cruel, cold, and heartless surrender----"

"Quit my presence this instant, artful and unnatural girl," retorted Mrs. Hartland: "If you are resolved not to comply with my reasonable desire, I am equally so, that you shall not reap any harvest from your obstinacy and disobedience. Quit me, I say, this moment, and do not presume to leave your apartment. I give you one week to consider of your conduct; if at the end of that time you repent of your behaviour to me, and declare yourself ready to submit, all shall be forgotten; but if you persevere in your present shameful resistance to my will and pleasure, prepare to depart. I shall take measures in the interim for your removal, and shall not consult your convenience as to the time or manner of it."

Zorilda withdrew, and having gained her prison-chamber, laid her aching head upon the pillow, revolving in her mind this crisis of her present circumstances. The cup of sorrow seemed now filled to the brim; one drop more, and it would overflow; and death, the last friend of despair, would come, she thought, to her aid, and terminate her trials. It was not the rigorous treatment which she had just experienced--it was not confinement--that she deplored; on the contrary, solitude and repose were as soothing as they were become necessary to her harassed spirits; but the gentle, the affectionate Zorilda, had never till now rebelled against the authority of her whom she still reflected on as her benefactress; and she reproached herself with having inflicted pain. Unaccustomed to resist, she wondered how she could have denied a request of Mrs. Hartland's. Yet to yield was as repugnant to every sentiment of love and delicacy as to every principle of truth and honour. Here, then, was the final dissolution of all her airy dreams. Here was the extinguishment of hope, the end of wishes, the last blow to expectation.

"How merciful the 'blindness kindly given' which prevents us penetrating the dark veil of future events!" exclaimed the meek sufferer; "but the time is come. How little did I imagine it so close at hand when the friendship of my beloved Mrs. Gordon is to be tried! _Her_ friendship will not fail me in the hour of need!"

Zorilda was at a loss whether or not to apprise the family at Drumcairn of her intentions by a letter which should precede her arrival in Scotland, but after a short consideration determined against doing so. Her departure, she felt, had become too necessary to leave any option, and it was better not to hazard the possibility of Mrs. Gordon's recommending her to postpone so adventurous an undertaking. Besides, if her elopement were to excite a desire in those she left behind to trace her retreat, inquiry would naturally be directed, in the first instance, to the only quarter from which it might be supposed that authentic information respecting her movements and designs might be obtained. She therefore resolved on prosecuting her journey without giving Mrs. Gordon any reason to expect her, certain as she felt of the welcome that awaited her coming at all times in the breast of that true friend.

Those only whose hearts are capable of such attachment as dwelt within Zorilda's bosom can form any idea of the overwhelming grief with which she contemplated bidding farewell to the scenes of her childhood, and with them to every object round which her strong, but tender affection, had entwined itself from earliest infancy; yet as misfortune had begun to teach her the happy art which can draw good from apparent evil, as the bee extracts honey from the vilest weeds, she felt glad that the prohibition which forbade her usual exercise preserved her from the pain of dwelling in detail on every leaf and flower associated with fondest memory. "Mrs. Hartland's decree is a kind one," said she. "I shall break my bonds at once, and not weaken resolution by re-visiting those objects, which to gaze upon again would but enfeeble its powers. Algernon--once beloved--oh _still_ beloved, must I tear _you_ from this heart? _There_ is the sting; but the sacrifice shall be finished."

Some days elapsed; Zorilda made an effort to occupy herself in preparation for her intended flight. Rachel's watchful care ministered all the consolation which kindness could impart, and through her activity and address, the manner of the journey was planned with so much circumspection, that nothing further remained to impede its commencement. The approaching alterations in the establishment at Henbury afforded Rachel an opportunity of disengaging herself from further services as a domestic without exciting suspicion respecting her future intentions; and having given notice to Mrs. Hartland that she meant to leave her, she determined on accompanying Zorilda wherever her fortunes might lead the way. At the end of a week, just as the time was drawing near when some account might be expected from Marchdale-court, Rachel, gliding softly into Zorilda's apartment with a packet in her hand,

"This is for you, my dear young lady; but it is not the letter which you were hoping for from the North."

Zorilda started, and remembering the caution which she had received from Algernon at parting, concluded this to be the communication against which he had warned her in the slip of paper which he thrust under her door just before he left Henbury. She seized the packet with tremulous eagerness. It was of large dimensions, and contained some hard substance. Whence could it come? what could it be? were questions which might well interest a girl of eighteen. Perhaps, if truth were told, there are few of either sex or any age exempt from such a measure of curiosity as would tempt to break the seal in such a case; but in Zorilda's circumstances every trifle was raised into importance; even the parcel which she held in her hand might elucidate her history and influence her fate. Yet Algernon had bid her beware of receiving any thing of this nature. He therefore knew whence it came, and if advantageous to her, would he have advised her to return it unopened? Certainly not, and he should find, that however he might conduct himself in the end towards her, she would not begin by doubting either his truth or kindness. After a moment's pause, she gave back the packet to Rachel, who stood gaping with expectation, and longing for the unfolding of its contents.

"Here, Rachel, I am afraid to open this. I know nothing of it, and think that there is some mistake. It may be a parcel of Mrs. Hartland's; it cannot be for me; at least I will inquire who sent it, before I take off the packing."

"Lord ha' mercy, my dear child," answered Rachel, "did I not tell you that it comes from your old and fast friend Mr. Playfair? I'm sure if I did not, it was the joy I felt in bringing it to you, that made me neglect to name him. I thought you would know all about it the minute you set your two eyes upon the cover, and wondered to see you so slow in coming at the inside."

"Thank heaven!" ejaculated Zorilda. "Here is assistance in the hour of need. Here at least is sympathy, when my dejected spirit is cast down."

Tearing off the wrapping paper with eagerness, she found a letter, directed to "My dear Pupil," in the well known hand of her tutor, accompanied by a large packet without any address.

"This will explain the other," said Zorilda, "and comes, I know, from one in whom I may confide. I will read his letter first. Now, dear Rachel, leave me, and if I have any good news to communicate you may be sure of hearing it. You are the only being here who will care to listen to aught that affects me, and you shall not be kept long in ignorance."

Rachel quitted the room while Zorilda unfolded the letter, and to her astonishment read as follows:

"I have, my dear child, always endeavoured to impress upon your young heart a _practical_ belief in the God who watches over His people. Your quick sensibility has been more inclined to murmuring than thankfulness, and the apparent hardness of that dispensation which left you like a fallen star, dropped from the clouds upon earth without home or parents or worldly provision of any kind, seemed to furnish excuse for the tardiness of your submission; but, inasmuch as you have felt inclined to doubt the care of an Almighty ruler, as relating to yourself, in such proportion will you now assuredly pour out the incense of gratitude and wonder, when you hear the tale which I have to unfold, and ponder on those remarkable coincidences which render me the medium of an accompanying packet, which I have taken means to convey by a safe hand through which it will find its way to yours, without the knowledge of any one at Henbury except the faithful Rachel. May this interesting document, which I now send you, prove the forerunner of future good, and may you experience as much satisfaction in receiving as I feel in imparting it!

"I am yet to tell you how this packet most unexpectedly fell into the possession of your old and affectionate friend. On my way to Paris I lingered at Abbeville, with intention of revisiting those haunts endeared to memory by our favourite Petrarch. While staying at the inn a message was brought to me, saying that a dying gentleman, who lived at no great distance, was desirous to speak with me, and requested my immediate attention to his request. At a loss to account for such an invitation, yet fearful of giving pain to a fellow-creature in extremity, if I waited to make further inquiry, I followed a servant who led the way, and in a few minutes was introduced to the bedside of Colonel Dalton. He had a manly and noble countenance, but appeared in the last stage of decline. Fixing his fine expressive eyes, which were lighted by that meteor gleam which burns brightest on the confines of the tomb, upon my face, as if to read my character there--he extended his emaciated hand, and said, with a feeble voice,

"'I thank you Sir. This is an act of kindness which will relieve my mind, and soothe the last moments of a departing spirit. Since I have been sensible that my hour is at hand, and that I shall never leave this place, the packet which I am now going to give into your care, has been subject of deep solicitude to me. I lately sent a faithful servant, on whose integrity I could have relied for its safe delivery--to prepare my sister, who lives in Sussex, for my arrival--but Heaven has ordered otherwise. I reached Abbeville a few days ago, attended only by my groom, whom I have not known long enough to depend upon. This packet contains some property of value, and a narrative which I drew up years ago. These are of the deepest interest to a young and lovely Spaniard who resides somewhere in England, with a family of the name of Hartland. The only name I know for her is Zorilda, but I do not mean to trouble you with seeking her out. Convey this, together with a box which I shall commit to your keeping, to my sister, Lady Carleton, whose address I will give you. She will do the rest, if you explain my wishes now expressed to you. You will greatly oblige me by this act of benevolence. Strength fails me. Your countenance inspires belief that you will fulfil the sacred trust which I repose in you. I am a soldier, and honour is the soldier's bond.'

"He grew faint. I gave him some reviving drops, which were at hand, and, after promising to execute his commission with my best zeal, proceeded at intervals, as he could listen to the recital, to inform him of the extraordinary providence which had thrown in his way the very person of all others most suited to his purpose. He was much struck with the detail which I gave him, and during three succeeding days entirely devoted to him, I had the satisfaction of holding such conversation, as, with the blessing of Heaven upon its motive, I have good reason to believe deprived death of its sting. I took charge of his will, and other papers of value, for his family. He expired without a struggle, and having stayed to attend his mortal remains to the tomb, I travelled back to perform my vow. Having seen Lady Carleton, I have discharged my mission as far as regards her; but send your parcel, of which I made no mention to her ladyship, by a sure conveyance to your own hands. On my return to England (for I am once more setting out for the Continent) I hope to see you. Having now fortified your mind, I trust, by the proof which I send you of your Heavenly Father's care, I feel it my duty to put that faith and confidence, which such assurance ought to inspire, to a severe test, by communicating intelligence of another kind; but I should not be your true friend were I to suppress what has come to my knowledge; and through a cowardly dread of inflicting a present pang, incur the danger of contributing, by my silence, to your far greater suffering at a future day.

"I am too well acquainted, my dear Zorilda, with the human heart, and the signs by which its feelings are naturally expressed, to be ignorant of the attachment which sprang up under my own observation between Algernon and you. I beheld its rise and progress, and lamented what I was unable to prevent. I knew the dissimilarity of your characters, and the difference of those motives by which you were severally actuated. Algernon, selfish and domineering from his birth, regarded no object except inasmuch as it increased the sum of his own gratification. You were ever generous, affectionate, and disinterested. Such disparity I was well aware could never produce a happy union; but I had no means of averting the perils which I foresaw. Events have confirmed my presages, and Algernon's career since he left home has been marked by an utter dereliction of every principle with which I vainly sought to imbue his mind. It is with grief I inform you that his extravagance and dissipation have arrived at a fearful height, and the last account which I have heard of him, is the worst. Overwhelmed with debt, for the payment of which his future prospects are pledged beyond, it is said, what the estates of Marchdale, if bequeathed to him, can liquidate, burthened as they are already; he has supplied present necessities by borrowing at usurious interest, till, on the failure of even this ruinous resource, he has condescended to receive pecuniary assistance from an opera singer, to whom many people believe that he is married, and in whose company he is gone to England.

"Whatever be the nature of the tie which binds Algernon to such society, it is your part, my child, to wean your affections from a man who is unworthy of them. The effort will be painful, but it is necessary to your peace."

"Farewell, my dear young friend, may you be sustained through every trial of life, by the divine protection," &c. &c. &c.

Zorilda's emotions as she concluded Mr. Playfair's letter, may be imagined but cannot be described. Surprise, curiosity, grief, and indignation took alternate possession of her mind. The packet accompanying the letter was still unopened. What mysterious interference of Providence in her behalf could it contain, and coming too from a stranger's hand, that should call forth her gratitude to God? She broke the seals and found an agate box with a roll of paper inscribed,

"A TRUE NARRATIVE."

Laying the former aside, she read as follows: