"Like the sweet southThat breathes upon a bank of violets,Stealing and giving odour."
"Like the sweet southThat breathes upon a bank of violets,Stealing and giving odour."
"Like the sweet southThat breathes upon a bank of violets,Stealing and giving odour."
"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, whiterThan Leda's love;"
——"Valley Lilies, whiterThan Leda's love;"
——"Valley Lilies, whiterThan Leda's love;"
——"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 beschooledfor 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.Mywife 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 yearone, 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;sheto 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.Youshould 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 myfullsatisfaction, 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 Ihave beenevery 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 yourentiredestitution, your dependence for every morsel of bread, every article of clothing, protection, tenderness, education, companionship, only, I say, to show howgreatlyI 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 thepromissory 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 ofthat, 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!Herfriendship 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—ohstillbeloved, must I tearyoufrom this heart?Thereis 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 apracticalbelief 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.
"I have, my dear child, always endeavoured to impress upon your young heart apracticalbelief 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:
"This is indeed a tiding!That fellow is a precious casket to usEnclosing weighty things."Wallenstein.
"This is indeed a tiding!That fellow is a precious casket to usEnclosing weighty things."Wallenstein.
"This is indeed a tiding!That fellow is a precious casket to usEnclosing weighty things."
"This is indeed a tiding!
That fellow is a precious casket to us
Enclosing weighty things."
Wallenstein.
Wallenstein.
"On a fine evening of autumn, I arrived at Grenada. Fatigued after a toilsome journey, I determined to halt for the night in this ancient city, and strolling into one of its magnificent churches, from which the congregation had just issued, I wandered up and down the spacious aisles, indulging in silent solitude my admiration for the grand obscure of their noble architecture."As I moved slowly forward, musing on a scene which peculiarly harmonised with my love for the sublime, a female figure, habited like a nun, and whose features were studiously concealed by a long veil, glided swiftly from behind one of the enormous pillars which supported the building, laid her hand hastily upon my arm, and in a low tone, addressed the following words to me in the Spanish language:"'I have marked your countenance; it bespeaks intrepidity and benevolence; if you possess these qualities, meet me to-night precisely at twelve o'clock without fail, at the western gate of the ancient palace of the Moors.'"The vision vanished, but the solemnity of voice and manner in which these words were pronounced, convinced me that the adventure had something extraordinary in its nature. It might be a case of imprisonment or distress. Conjecture was vain, but there was an earnestness in the nun's manner which was irresistible. I resolved on going armed, and taking a friend along with me to guard against a surprise. Exactly at the appointed hour I reached the western inlet to that once splendid residence, now superb vestige of former days, which had been named as the place of rendezvous. At the moment of my arrival, the same veiled figure whom I had seen in the church, appeared with a small lamp in her hand. Looking fearfully around, she inquired whether I was alone. I answered in the affirmative, having left my companion at a sufficient distance to prevent our being overheard."'Then,' said my conductress, 'fear nothing; and follow me, if you are prepared to undertake a commission which requires secrecy and kindness to execute it efficiently.'"I hesitated, and drew back; but instantly perceiving the doubt which crossed my mind, the Nun added, with eagerness, 'Fear not; I will detain you but a few minutes. The only trial to which your courage will be exposed is surmounted in the moment of your entrance here. You suspect my truth, and the dark labyrinth through which I am going to lead the way, may well appal a stranger; buttrustme, and I will not deceive you.'"Ashamed to express any further unwillingness, and impressed by the mild dignity of her manner, I suffered myself to be drawn inside a small door which led down a flight of narrow stone stairs to a long winding subterranean passage. My guide went swiftly forward, encouraging me to follow. We made many turnings, and passed several doors on the right and left, which seemed to lead to other passages; but all was still and silent as the grave, except when the large heavy drops, that lined the vaulted roofs, fell to the ground with loud and sullen splash. My sword was slight defence, if ambush lurked within these walls; but it was too late to recede. The faint cry of an infant at length struck upon my ear, and sent a sudden thrill through my frame."'Hush, beloved babe!' said my companion, as she pushed back a bolt, and we entered a small vaulted chamber, at the extremity of which a little silver lamp streamed its feeble rays upon a spectacle of woe—the lifeless corpse of a young and exquisitely beautiful woman, who seemed but that moment to have breathed her last, lay extended on the ground; from the chill damps of which, her delicate limbs appeared to have been only protected by a pallet of straw, over which was thrown, by way of coverlet, a rich mantle of scarlet cloth lined with ermine. The Nun, raising this splendid pall, discovered to my view a new-born infant within its folds. The little creature had just awakened from sleep; and my conductress taking the mantle from the dead body, wrapped it carefully round the child, which, after pressing affectionately to her bosom, she delivered into my arms. Then arranging the garments of the deceased, which resembled her own costume, with pious care, next placing an ebony cross, orprie Dieu, on the breast, and winding a string of beads round the alabaster arms, which she folded across the bosom, the friendly Nun threw back her veil, and with a heavenly expression of devotional tenderness, knelt down at the side of the corpse, and with uplifted hands and eyes, briefly, but fervently, implored a blessing on the departed spirit, committing that which had but just left its earthly tabernacle to the Eternal Guardian of souls. Then printing a fond kiss on the cold lips which were unconscious of the tender farewell, she seized a packet which lay near the head of the dead lady, and disposing it within her cloak, snatched up the lamp which had guided our steps to this abode of death, leaving the other to become fainter and fainter, and then expire over the dead. She pointed towards the door, which having passed, she bolted, and we again pursued our way through the same passages by which we entered the vaults, till, turning short by the foot of a staircase which I had not seen before, she led me to a different portal from that at which I met her: stopping there before she proceeded to unlock the outside door, and uncovering her face, she desired me to attend to her instructions. She appeared about five and thirty, of a fine figure, and her countenance was remarkable for its expression of serenity and sweetness."'Preserve this precious infant,' said she, 'with fidelity and affection. Take her to your own country; and in this packet, which I consign to your honourable trust, you will find resources for giving her the best education. Her father is an English nobleman, her mother was lovely and virtuous, but deceived. She left the convent in which I dwell to join her husband; but a fictitious marriage, which she believed to have been performed according to the most sacred rites of your Church, left him who had basely practised on her confidence free to desert his victim, who died of grief after giving birth to this dear babe. She resumed her Nun's habit ere she laid her down in death; and made me vow to send her daughter to England, but not to the guardianship of her father. You will not disappoint my hopes; I feel assured that you will watch this little treasure with fostering kindness. Adieu! May the God of the orphan be with you! Depart in peace!'"So saying, she waved her hand; and giving me no time for more than a sincere but hasty promise, urged me gently forward, and closing the entrance, she retraced her steps, returning into the building, while I proceeded to grope along at random in quest of my friend, who suffered the greatest anxiety, fearing that I had fallen a prey to my imprudence and foolish thirst for romance. Apprehensive of my fate, he continued wandering round and round the Moorish palace, seeking me in every direction. We met at length. I related my adventure, and shall procure the signature of my friend to this account of it, that she to whom it is most interesting may hereafter find the best proof which I can give her of its accuracy."It was but a slight deviation from the truth to proclaim, on my return to quarters, that I had found the infant. Having procured an excellent nurse, I placed my little charge in her care. The child grew in strength and beauty, and became as dear to me as if it had been my own. My duty obliged me frequently to change place and encounter peril, which, to spare my young ward, I settled her and her nurse in a delightful and wholesome situation in the province of Castille, resolving not to disturb them till I could convey the child to an English school. During my absence the nurse died. I was not informed of the event. Zorilda fell into the hands of an unprincipled wretch, the wife of a soldier, who immediately perceived that she could turn her theft to lucrative profit. This woman carefully concealed the child, wandering from place to place to elude pursuit, and at length, having crossed the sea with her booty, disposed of the little girl to a band of gipsies."It was a long time before I gained any intelligence respecting Zorilda's fate, and when at last my mind was relieved from its solicitude, I was far away in India, and it appeared to me that I could do nothing better for my young charge, than leave her quietly in the safe asylum which the kindness of Mr. and Mrs. Hartland had provided for her. My appearing to prefer my claim could not, I thought, benefit the condition of Zorilda. I was neither enabled to clear up the mystery of her birth, nor offer any clue to the discovery of her father. Interference on my part might lessen the interest conceived towards her by those benefactors who imagined their rights to be undisputed, while her noble parent, whoever he might be, coming to the knowledge of circumstances which were not intended to be divulged, and perhaps alarmed in consequence for his own reputation, might employ some artful means to obtain possession of his daughter. This reasoning satisfied me that the wisest plan was to lie by, and make no stir in the matter; but suffering things for the present to take their course, wait patiently till the full age, or marriage of Zorilda, should furnish occasion for the final relinquishment of my guardianship."The sum originally deposited with me by the Nun has increased to five thousand pounds British, for which amount, a check upon my banker in London will be found sealed up in a packet containing a diamond cross, a bracelet of hair, and a miniature portrait."I had presumed to hope that I might one day deliver these articles of value with my own hands to their interesting possessor, and taste the pleasure of recalling to her remembrance the welcome with which she used to receive me at her nurse Rueda's house, when I went laden with fruit and flowers to visit my charming little play-fellow. Providence has ordained it otherwise, and death arrests my progress."The mantle of scarlet cloth, lined with ermine, which I wished to preserve and restore with the rest, was stolen from me. I commit all that remains to the care of Mr. Playfair, that excellent, may I venture to call him, friend, to whose goodness I am deeply indebted——"
"On a fine evening of autumn, I arrived at Grenada. Fatigued after a toilsome journey, I determined to halt for the night in this ancient city, and strolling into one of its magnificent churches, from which the congregation had just issued, I wandered up and down the spacious aisles, indulging in silent solitude my admiration for the grand obscure of their noble architecture.
"As I moved slowly forward, musing on a scene which peculiarly harmonised with my love for the sublime, a female figure, habited like a nun, and whose features were studiously concealed by a long veil, glided swiftly from behind one of the enormous pillars which supported the building, laid her hand hastily upon my arm, and in a low tone, addressed the following words to me in the Spanish language:
"'I have marked your countenance; it bespeaks intrepidity and benevolence; if you possess these qualities, meet me to-night precisely at twelve o'clock without fail, at the western gate of the ancient palace of the Moors.'
"The vision vanished, but the solemnity of voice and manner in which these words were pronounced, convinced me that the adventure had something extraordinary in its nature. It might be a case of imprisonment or distress. Conjecture was vain, but there was an earnestness in the nun's manner which was irresistible. I resolved on going armed, and taking a friend along with me to guard against a surprise. Exactly at the appointed hour I reached the western inlet to that once splendid residence, now superb vestige of former days, which had been named as the place of rendezvous. At the moment of my arrival, the same veiled figure whom I had seen in the church, appeared with a small lamp in her hand. Looking fearfully around, she inquired whether I was alone. I answered in the affirmative, having left my companion at a sufficient distance to prevent our being overheard.
"'Then,' said my conductress, 'fear nothing; and follow me, if you are prepared to undertake a commission which requires secrecy and kindness to execute it efficiently.'
"I hesitated, and drew back; but instantly perceiving the doubt which crossed my mind, the Nun added, with eagerness, 'Fear not; I will detain you but a few minutes. The only trial to which your courage will be exposed is surmounted in the moment of your entrance here. You suspect my truth, and the dark labyrinth through which I am going to lead the way, may well appal a stranger; buttrustme, and I will not deceive you.'
"Ashamed to express any further unwillingness, and impressed by the mild dignity of her manner, I suffered myself to be drawn inside a small door which led down a flight of narrow stone stairs to a long winding subterranean passage. My guide went swiftly forward, encouraging me to follow. We made many turnings, and passed several doors on the right and left, which seemed to lead to other passages; but all was still and silent as the grave, except when the large heavy drops, that lined the vaulted roofs, fell to the ground with loud and sullen splash. My sword was slight defence, if ambush lurked within these walls; but it was too late to recede. The faint cry of an infant at length struck upon my ear, and sent a sudden thrill through my frame.
"'Hush, beloved babe!' said my companion, as she pushed back a bolt, and we entered a small vaulted chamber, at the extremity of which a little silver lamp streamed its feeble rays upon a spectacle of woe—the lifeless corpse of a young and exquisitely beautiful woman, who seemed but that moment to have breathed her last, lay extended on the ground; from the chill damps of which, her delicate limbs appeared to have been only protected by a pallet of straw, over which was thrown, by way of coverlet, a rich mantle of scarlet cloth lined with ermine. The Nun, raising this splendid pall, discovered to my view a new-born infant within its folds. The little creature had just awakened from sleep; and my conductress taking the mantle from the dead body, wrapped it carefully round the child, which, after pressing affectionately to her bosom, she delivered into my arms. Then arranging the garments of the deceased, which resembled her own costume, with pious care, next placing an ebony cross, orprie Dieu, on the breast, and winding a string of beads round the alabaster arms, which she folded across the bosom, the friendly Nun threw back her veil, and with a heavenly expression of devotional tenderness, knelt down at the side of the corpse, and with uplifted hands and eyes, briefly, but fervently, implored a blessing on the departed spirit, committing that which had but just left its earthly tabernacle to the Eternal Guardian of souls. Then printing a fond kiss on the cold lips which were unconscious of the tender farewell, she seized a packet which lay near the head of the dead lady, and disposing it within her cloak, snatched up the lamp which had guided our steps to this abode of death, leaving the other to become fainter and fainter, and then expire over the dead. She pointed towards the door, which having passed, she bolted, and we again pursued our way through the same passages by which we entered the vaults, till, turning short by the foot of a staircase which I had not seen before, she led me to a different portal from that at which I met her: stopping there before she proceeded to unlock the outside door, and uncovering her face, she desired me to attend to her instructions. She appeared about five and thirty, of a fine figure, and her countenance was remarkable for its expression of serenity and sweetness.
"'Preserve this precious infant,' said she, 'with fidelity and affection. Take her to your own country; and in this packet, which I consign to your honourable trust, you will find resources for giving her the best education. Her father is an English nobleman, her mother was lovely and virtuous, but deceived. She left the convent in which I dwell to join her husband; but a fictitious marriage, which she believed to have been performed according to the most sacred rites of your Church, left him who had basely practised on her confidence free to desert his victim, who died of grief after giving birth to this dear babe. She resumed her Nun's habit ere she laid her down in death; and made me vow to send her daughter to England, but not to the guardianship of her father. You will not disappoint my hopes; I feel assured that you will watch this little treasure with fostering kindness. Adieu! May the God of the orphan be with you! Depart in peace!'
"So saying, she waved her hand; and giving me no time for more than a sincere but hasty promise, urged me gently forward, and closing the entrance, she retraced her steps, returning into the building, while I proceeded to grope along at random in quest of my friend, who suffered the greatest anxiety, fearing that I had fallen a prey to my imprudence and foolish thirst for romance. Apprehensive of my fate, he continued wandering round and round the Moorish palace, seeking me in every direction. We met at length. I related my adventure, and shall procure the signature of my friend to this account of it, that she to whom it is most interesting may hereafter find the best proof which I can give her of its accuracy.
"It was but a slight deviation from the truth to proclaim, on my return to quarters, that I had found the infant. Having procured an excellent nurse, I placed my little charge in her care. The child grew in strength and beauty, and became as dear to me as if it had been my own. My duty obliged me frequently to change place and encounter peril, which, to spare my young ward, I settled her and her nurse in a delightful and wholesome situation in the province of Castille, resolving not to disturb them till I could convey the child to an English school. During my absence the nurse died. I was not informed of the event. Zorilda fell into the hands of an unprincipled wretch, the wife of a soldier, who immediately perceived that she could turn her theft to lucrative profit. This woman carefully concealed the child, wandering from place to place to elude pursuit, and at length, having crossed the sea with her booty, disposed of the little girl to a band of gipsies.
"It was a long time before I gained any intelligence respecting Zorilda's fate, and when at last my mind was relieved from its solicitude, I was far away in India, and it appeared to me that I could do nothing better for my young charge, than leave her quietly in the safe asylum which the kindness of Mr. and Mrs. Hartland had provided for her. My appearing to prefer my claim could not, I thought, benefit the condition of Zorilda. I was neither enabled to clear up the mystery of her birth, nor offer any clue to the discovery of her father. Interference on my part might lessen the interest conceived towards her by those benefactors who imagined their rights to be undisputed, while her noble parent, whoever he might be, coming to the knowledge of circumstances which were not intended to be divulged, and perhaps alarmed in consequence for his own reputation, might employ some artful means to obtain possession of his daughter. This reasoning satisfied me that the wisest plan was to lie by, and make no stir in the matter; but suffering things for the present to take their course, wait patiently till the full age, or marriage of Zorilda, should furnish occasion for the final relinquishment of my guardianship.
"The sum originally deposited with me by the Nun has increased to five thousand pounds British, for which amount, a check upon my banker in London will be found sealed up in a packet containing a diamond cross, a bracelet of hair, and a miniature portrait.
"I had presumed to hope that I might one day deliver these articles of value with my own hands to their interesting possessor, and taste the pleasure of recalling to her remembrance the welcome with which she used to receive me at her nurse Rueda's house, when I went laden with fruit and flowers to visit my charming little play-fellow. Providence has ordained it otherwise, and death arrests my progress.
"The mantle of scarlet cloth, lined with ermine, which I wished to preserve and restore with the rest, was stolen from me. I commit all that remains to the care of Mr. Playfair, that excellent, may I venture to call him, friend, to whose goodness I am deeply indebted——"
The concluding lines of this memoir were scarcely legible, and traced with a pencil in characters so unlike the writing which preceded, as to prove that an effort of expiring strength had added them by way of supplement to the narrative. A certificate was appended to it, sealed and signed with the name of Charles Russell, who confirmed the statement which it set forth; and Zorilda having with breathless impatience devoured the entire, fell upon her knees, to adore that Power which thus signally interposed to sustain her in the darkest hour of adversity.
After a passionate thanksgiving offered with instinctive glow from her inmost soul, the cruel thought of Algernon returned with all its force. Oh! had these tidings arrived to crown his virtuous, constant love, how blest had been Zorilda! But, like a lamp suddenly introduced into the depths of a dungeon, the light which had just fallen on her history only seemed to mark more clearly the desolation of her lot. She read Mr. Playfair's letter again and again, and returned as often to the narrative of Colonel Dalton, so absorbed in anxious scrutiny of their contents, that for a long time she totally forgot another inclosure which still remained unexamined.
Catching it hastily, with the eagerness of one desirous to repair an ungrateful omission by increased activity, she unfolded the other parcel, and opening a box of transparent agate, drew forth a splendid Maltese cross of the richest brilliants, then a miniature, and lastly, a bracelet of the finest soft dark hair, to which was fastened a ticket, addressed "To my beloved Zorilda, from her Mother."
The wordMother, that magic word, containing within itself all that the human heart intuitively acknowledges of tender and protective, struck at this moment on Zorilda's heart with all the power of nature and novelty, while her emotions almost seemed to threaten existence.
"Oh, my mother, my adored mother! must I lose and find you in the same instant of time? Zorilda's arms would grow around that neck, and shield that heavenly bosom from every grief, but she is dead! cold and dead! This beaming eye is sealed, the soft glow of this beautiful cheek has faded, this angelic smile no longer plays upon these coral lips which it has deserted, and for ever!"
So raved Zorilda, as she pressed to her bosom the miniature of her mother, and gazed, in an agony of grief, on the portrait of her whose presence, could it be restored to her fond embrace, would now, she thought, fill every void in her heart, and leave no room for any other love.
When the feelings are strained to their utmost, the mind falls into calm, as the raging billows of the ocean subside into repose after a storm of elemental strife, while resignation sits above, and watches the moment to whisper peace. Zorilda became gradually more composed, and the torturing sense of her own loss began to yield to less selfish considerations.
"This lovely being," said she aloud, "was unhappy; she is now inhabiting the mansions of eternal rest. Here, in this cold and cruel world, contumely and reproach might have pierced her soul; in Heaven are no tears.There, in celestial communion with kindred spirits of the just made perfect, clothed in white robes, and crowned with imperishable glory, amongst the highly favoured, who have drank at the bitter waters of affliction, and risen purified by tribulation, my blessed mother stands before the throne, joining her voice in the melodious concert of everlasting hallelujahs: and shall I wish her back again in this scene of sorrow? No! But Heaven will hear my prayer, and take me to her. That is all my desire, all for which my longing soul now pants."
"Lord love my dear Miss Zoé, what fine things are here!" exclaimed Rachel, who at this moment entered the room with some refreshment which she set down on a tray before Zorilda. The latter started from her seat, and threw her arms round the neck of this affectionate creature; then, pointing to the papers, told her, that they contained much interesting matter which should be explained at some future time when she felt more equal to the task.
"Heaven be praised," said Rachel, "that you have good news from any quarter to comfort you, for you have little to spare, and there will be even less than we enjoy already, if I do not mistake, as my lady is desperately chop-fallen, by reason of news which she has received through this day's post; and you and I can both tell how her temper is likely to be affected. Master writes her word, that he and Mr. Algernon (Lord Hautonville, I should say,) are to be here the latter end of next week, and there is a terrible falling off by what I can learn, in thepropertypart of the story. It seems that my Lord Marchdale had power to will away all the estates except one, which must go with the title; and sure enough he did not leave Master a rap that he could keep from him. All the bulk of his fortune is gone, they say, to a set of people who have for a long time been eating him out of house and home; and I hear, moreover, that what is left to the present lord is not enough to keep up any state or style suitable for a nobleman. Indeed I wish that we were well out of this before the meeting of the family again, for I am full certain, that we shall find ourselves in troubled waters."
Zorilda appeared lost in reverie during the greater part of Rachel's harangue; but, suddenly awakened by its cessation, she answered,
"Yes, dear nurse, it is time to be gone. I will not wait the return of Lord Marchdale, but I have neither head nor heart to make any preparation for departure. On your skill and management I rest for so ordering matters, that the strictest secrecy shall attend upon our movements. I have the means of re-paying any money necessary for our journey, but you must contrive to borrow for the present. I have much to say, but am exhausted, and cannot talk to you more till to-morrow."
"Do not fatigue yourself, my child," replied Rachel. "Blessed and praised for all things be that Providence which brings round the most wonderful changes in its own good time. I had so many dreams about you, and my sleep of late was so uneasy, that it was foreshewn to me how you would come to riches and honour, and find out all about your birth and parentage, and learn who you are, and——"
"Oh! stop, Rachel, stop, no more of this;" said Zorilda, whose memory was touched upon a sensitive chord by these allusions to a part of her history, which remained as much as ever wrapped in clouds. "Go," added she, "and think how we shall get away in such a manner that we may avoid the possibility of being traced. My mind is so agitated and confused, that you must give me time to recover. Moments are precious. Go, dear Rachel; lose no time; but consider how we shall leave this without suspicion. No one must be involved in any difficulty or hazard on my account, and therefore our purpose must be secret as well as its execution."
"I will do every thing you desire," answered Rachel; "and moreover the whole plan is already in my head. Every body knows that I was going myself, and therefore no questions will be asked about my trunks, in which there is room for your clothes as well as mine. My brother lives near, and will lend me whatever I want. All is smooth as a bowling-green, since you know who you are, and where you are going."
So saying, Rachel quitted the room, and her young mistress was left to collect her scattered senses. "Her last words strike upon my heart. Alas! I know as little as ever, and 'Who is she?' remains unanswered," sighed poor Zorilda, who had now leisure to reflect, and perceive that the discovery which she had made was one that left her in all her original ignorance. "But," added she, as she still mused on this strange event, "it no longer avails, that I have neither name, nor house, nor pretensions. More knowledge than I possess, what would it do for me? Would it not only lead to hatred of a father who could act so wickedly as mine has done? Why should I wish to know the man who was in fact the murderer of this angelic being? It is better as it is. Oh! if all our vain wishes were heard, what wretchedness should we add to our afflictions! The councils of heaven are wiser than those of earth. We know not what we ask."
Rachel returned after some interval of time, elated with her contrivance, in which Zorilda could find nothing to improve. It was arranged, that as soon as possible Rachel was to ask for her dismissal, which Mrs. Hartland was prepared to give her. Her wages were paid, and the removal of her luggage appeared a matter of course.
"We will leave the house so early in the morning," said Rachel, "that there will be no witnesses of our departure. I will tell Mary not to mind going till late into your room, and not to take notice of your absence from it, as you must walk for your health, and cannot submit to such close imprisonment as that to which you are condemned. The servants will all be glad to think that you are taking the air. Mistress will ask no questions, for she cares little about you, and her mind is taken up with her own affairs. I have already borrowed a covered cart of my brother's, who will meet us at a little distance from his house. You shall throw a large cloak of mine over your dress, which will disguise you completely. Even the man who drives us shall not know that you are with me, and we will leave our vehicle before we arrive at the next village; so that there will be no clue whatsoever to our retreat. Let me manage every thing, and it shall be well done, I promise you. Where are you going?"
"I am going to Scotland," answered Zorilda. "I leave all to your sagacity. Take me to my dear Mrs. Gordon in Aberdeenshire, and I ask no more. I will consult the map, and tell you the route by which we are to travel. Let your care only be to guard against discovery and pursuit."
"Mrs. Hartland will not give herself any trouble about you, but will be very glad to hear that you are out of her way; and as to the gentlemen, who might not indeed take the matter so easily, they will not be here till we are many a mile away from Henbury," answered Rachel. "I am now going to send off my trunks, with a line, to my brother, to let him know that I must go directly after one who owes me some money. He is aware that I am frightened about this debt, and will have his cart ready for me at the orchard-gate, where I have appointed it to attend me, a quarter of a mile beyond his own house at five o'clock to-morrow morning. I am come now to take the last of your things: every article except these books is put up."
"I will leave these books behind," said Zorilda, bursting into tears; "and this packet—this precious packet, shall never be separated from me for an instant. I will take charge of it myself."
Rachel hastened to finish her preparations, and Zorilda, once more left alone, gathered together a few volumes and some trifling ornaments, which had been given her from time to time by Algernon, and after gazing upon, and kissing fondly each memorial of early affection, which brought distant circumstances and tender recollections to her mind, she sealed up a parcel, containing all the little gifts which she had ever received, and felt as if she had now closed the grave over the last dear remains of blighted love and murdered hope. Her next act was to write the following note, addressed to Mrs. Hartland:
"There was a time when Zorilda believed herself an object of affectionate interest in the breast of that kind benefactress who first offered an asylum to the destitute being, now going to requite a deed of charity by one of gratitude. That time, alas! is past, and with it all Zorilda's earthly happiness. Circumstances have occurred which render decision necessary, and these few lines are only left to say, that they are accompanied by a parcel, and the most earnest prayers for every good, from the heart of her who now leaves Henbury for ever, and bids Lady Marchdale a last adieu."
All being now ready, Zorilda lay down to rest, but not to sleep. "Fast coming thoughts" troubled repose, and busy memory would not be still. Weary of her uneasy couch, she rose before day, and looked from her window by the clear starlight, on that scene to which in a little hour she was to bid an eternal farewell.
"Beloved spot! I leave you, and for ever—yes, for ever! Nor time nor change can alter my resolves. Algernon is dead to me, and my heart shall prove a faithful widow to its first, its only love. These stars shall witness my vows; these shrubs and flowers form the altar on which they are dedicated."
As Zorilda meditated on the landscape, the eastern clouds began to glow, and the birds awaked to the first beam of morning. Rachel's approach interrupted the mournful soliloquy of her young mistress, who was soon dressed, and, wrapping Rachel's large cloak around her, they both quitted the apartment, and with light step passed down stairs, through hall and passages unseen, and gained the pleasure-grounds without any obstacle to their progress. Zorilda made a sudden stop as she reached the arbour, which she had wreathed with fragrant climbers to meet Algernon's return. The sweet breath of new-born day wafted the perfume towards her, and she clasped her hands in anguish. Rachel's presence repressed utterance; but here was the bower, she thought, in which her delighted ear should listen to the tales of foreign travel, and hear once more the accents of unchanging affection.
"Come, my dear," said Rachel, taking Zorilda by the arm, and gently urging her forward, "you must not make yourself melancholy by lingering here. If we are to go, we should not stand shilly shally. Remember that you wish to avoid discovery, and the only way to secure privacy is to use despatch."
Zorilda suffered herself to be driven on, and was presently in the open fields, not daring to look round upon the home of her happy childhood.
As they advanced towards the orchard, near which they were to be met by Farmer Wilson's cart, Rachel spied this rude equipage at a distance, and concealing Zorilda behind some bushes, while she spoke to the driver, and saw that her luggage was safely stowed within, she beckoned our trembling heroine, and having contrived to place her in the vehicle, stepped in herself, and ordered the lad to proceed in the direction which she described to him. Zorilda observed a mournful silence, which her companion, though not given to taciturnity, had no inclination to disturb, her own mind being so intent on the practical concern of executing her present task with ability, that she was not sorry for the leisure to ponder her schemes, which Zorilda's deep depression of spirits afforded her.
At the distance of nearly ten miles from Henbury, our travellers approached the carrier's station, at which it was Rachel's design to stop, but to avoid being seen in company with her young mistress, she had the address to desire her charioteer to alight, and make inquiry in a cottage by the way-side, whether Mrs. Nixon, an imaginary friend of hers was to be found in the neighbourhood. While Tom made this inquiry, Rachel watched her opportunity, and opening the door at the back of the cart, made Zorilda descend, and walk forward towards the public-house, which was near at hand.
This was so dexterously managed, that when the carter returned with his answer, that no such person as Mr. Nixon was known, Rachel sat in solitary possession of the lowly conveyance which all along the road had been shared by another.
Arrived at the end of her appointed stage, she had the good luck to find a caravan just ready to start from the door. Zorilda had directions from her duenna to sit by the road side, under a spreading tree, till this new vehicle was in motion, while Rachel bustled about, appeared busy in recognising her acquaintances at the inn, and was attended to her carriage by the landlord and his wife, who wished her a pleasant journey, as she drove away from the porch at which they performed the parting honours.
Bidding adieu to the group who always assemble on such occasions to witness a departure, Rachel set off, and a sudden turn in the road, bore the caravan, though not moving at a very brisk rate, out of sight in a moment.
Zorilda was seated under the appointed tree, at a little distance, but so completely absorbed in her own thoughts, that she would have suffered the machine to pass unnoticed, if Rachel had not vociferated, 'Driver, driver; don't you hear that gentlewoman calling to you; wont you stop for a passenger?'
The caravan stood still; Zorilda was roused from her melancholy reverie, and appearing with her little basket on her arm, Rachel shuffled from side to side with officious civility, assuring the stranger that there was "plenty of room," and so there was, for though like a snow-ball, they were destined to gather as they rolled, there were but two other persons already occupying seats, and these were a brace of sturdy farmers, who were so intent on comparing samples of corn, which each drew from his pocket, that Rachel had full opportunity to inform her fellow traveller, whose courage seemed to flag, that all farther devices to cover her flight would be unnecessary in a few hours.
"If they come in search of us, it will be first to my brother's; then to the inn which we have just quitted, and where, likewise, they will be foiled. After this stage, we may take our ease, and travel in a proper manner, like Christians. A little caution for one or two stages more, and we shall then be at liberty."
Zorilda sighed assent, and we will leave her and her attendant to their repose in a quiet country inn, while we return to Henbury.
Some hours elapsed before it was perceived that the fugitives were actually missing. Mrs. Hartland, or, as we must not forget henceforward to entitle her, Lady Marchdale, heard the intelligence with perfect sang froid, only remarking that it was very extraordinary that her orders should be disobeyed, and desiring that on Zorilda's return to her chamber, she should be informed of the circumstance. The servants had no more suspicion than their Lady of a longer absence than till evening, and fully believed that Rachel, fearful lest want of customary exercise might injure "Miss Zoé's health," had prevailed on her to make a short excursion for change of air.
Evening came on, however, and no sign of return. The parcel, with Zorilda's note, which had escaped observation, was now brought to Lady Marchdale, who was much surprised, but though she summoned all the household, she could learn no tidings whatsoever of the travellers. Curiosity was in fact the only motive for her inquiries, as the event of Zorilda's voluntary flight gave her inexpressible delight. All care and responsibility were now at an end. She had taken her affairs into her own hands, and Lady Marchdale not only felt relieved from all anxiety how to dispose of her, but might expatiate on the various surmises which she chose to indulge, so unfavourable to female modesty, youthful timidity, natural affection, gratitude, and the like, as to strengthen her arguments upon the impropriety of Lord Hautonville's wasting another thought upon such a graceless adventurer. "And Rachel too; no doubtsheis in the secret. A pretty piece of work, truly, but they are gone upon their own inventions, which I am afraid are not of the best, and so I can do no more than leave them to their fate."
The old butler, to whom these words were principally addressed, shook his head, and replied: "My lady, I could bear any thing but to hear Miss Zoé suspected of evil doings. She is an angel on earth, wherever she is gone, and if all the world were as good as she, there would be no need of any other heaven."
"Shut the door," answered Lady Marchdale; "I did not ask your opinion."
Bernard retired, and all the servants mingled tears and wailing for the loss of their favourite, while every effort to trace Zorilda was fruitless. The dairy-maid, who was very superstitious, almost persuaded the rest at length, that the fairies who she knew to a certainty were often busy in conveying cows secretly from their pastures, had some hand in the elopement of Miss Zoé. "Any way, she is gone upon nothing harmful," was the unanimous decision below stairs. As to Rachel, every body knew that she was to leave the service, and no one was puzzled at her disappearance.
Several days were spent in discussions and controversy before the earl and his son returned to Henbury. Lord Hautonville had scarcely seen his mother before he flew off to Zorilda's apartment. The door was open. He went in, and called. From thence he ran down stairs, and out into the shrubberies, not waiting to ask a question of any one; but seeking her through all the places which were familiar to remembrance, and not a little indignant at her absence in the moment of his arrival.
The gardener at last appeared, and stunned him by the intelligence that Zorilda had been missing for several days.
"Missing! gone!—Where—when—how—with whom? Did she receive any letters? Did any gentleman visit here? Tell me every thing this moment. Order fresh horses directly. I will largely reward whoever brings me intelligence of their route, and be the death of any man who conceals information. Be quick;—fly!—but tell me before you go all about her departure."
Such were the incoherencies which burst all in a breath from Lord Hautonville, who seemed so completely bereft of his senses as scarcely to possess the faculty of listening; while Bernard, to whom they were addressed, endeavoured to reply.
"My lord, nobody here can throw any light upon the matter. Miss Zoédidreceive a packet, but we heard that it came from Mr. Playfair."
"Accursed treachery; foul contrivance all. I know who sent the letter. How did it come; by post or messenger? Who brought it here, and when did she receive it?"
"Two days before her departure, my lord," answered Bernard; "a sallow-looking man, well mounted, a stranger here, rode to the lodge in the dusk of the evening, and inquired for Rachel, who went to know his commands, and thought it some message from Marchdale-court. When she returned to the house we inquired what she had seen or heard; but she put us off with saying that it was only a friend of Mr. Playfair's who desired him to call as he passed, and ask after the family. This seemed plausible enough, but since all this stir, and questioning, it has come out that little Ben Tyrrel, who held the gate while the gentleman stopped at it, saw him give Rachel a large packet."
"Death and fury! I see the whole train. I know it all. The messenger was a dark devil of an Italian. His own man, whose heart's blood shall answer for this. Call Rachel; let me see her instantly. But stay—not so fast. How did she receive it? Did she appear agitated, or seemed pleased? What did she do? How did she look?"
"We do not know, my Lord, for my Lady had ordered Miss Zoé not to quit her apartment for many days. It seems they had some words in my Lady's dressing-room, and Rachel was the only one who took any refreshment to our dear and good young lady; and every time that she came from her room, she used to be in tears herself, and said that it would melt a heart of stone to see how Miss Zoé would walk all day backwards and forwards, with her hands clasped, and her eyes streaming. It was a pitiful sight. Well, when she went, it was so softly and so secretly, that no mortal man or woman about the place, saw her go out. The very dogs never barked, and that is no wonder, for they were so fond of her, that they would follow her to Jamaica, if she was going there."
"Curse your folly!" exclaimed Lord Hautonville. "Never mind the dogs. Was it a chaise and four? Where did it meet her?"
"My Lord, sure I am telling your Lordship as plain as I can speak, that there was no sign of man, or horse, or carriage, or any thing else, even to the value of a wheel-barrow, to leave track or trace in the finest gravel round all Henbury. There wasn't a sign even of her light footsteps, so much as would crush down a daisy's head, across the fields, to tell us which way she went; and, as the ignorant people say, it was as much like Fairies' work as any thing that ever came to pass. The only one thing that with all our spelling and putting together, we could remark was, that latterly she grew timoursome about taking long walks, as she used to do; and Matthew the gardener observed one day that she came hastily into the shrubbery gate, looking pale, as if she was frightened; but that was long ago before your lordship returned, and we concluded that the cattle might have startled her, though she said nothing, only did not go out of the grounds again."
"Call Rachel, call Rachel. Bring Ben Tyrrell. Where is my mother? I will question every one; make haste."
"My Lord, Rachel is no longer here; she quitted the service on the very day that Miss Zoé left the house, and went to farmer Wilson's, her brother; and here is my Lady herself coming to look for you."
Lady Marchdale entered the room with a reproachful air, and upbraided her son with his want of affection. "I have," said she, "been calling you every where. Is this the way in which you meet me after such an absence?"
"What have you done with Zorilda?" answered Lord Hautonville, with a savage countenance, as he looked sternly at his mother.
"I know nothing of the ungrateful girl," replied Lady Marchdale; "she has taken herself out of my protection, and proved herself unworthy of my regard."
"Madam," answered her son, "we part this moment, and for ever, if you conceal a single tittle of all you know. Why did you imprison her? Where is she gone? She is mine, and I will follow her. Nothing shall prevail upon me to give her up; and you will not accomplish any end by keeping me in the dark. Tell me all, I beg; Idemandthat you do not deceive me. The most fatal consequences may result from this affair; consequences which you little anticipate."
Terrified out of her senses, Lady Marchdale now began to repent the cruel part which she had acted; and told her son, without reserve, all that she had to tell. Her proposal to Zorilda to reject his suit, and bind herself by a written promise never to ally herself with the family of Hartland; Zorilda's refusal—her subsequent imprisonment—farewell note, and mysterious departure, were all detailed with an effort at amplification, which seemed as if designed to bury the recollection of past unkindness and neglect towards an amiable orphan, in the importance and display of the present statement.
Algernon's impetuous temper broke out into unmeasured reproaches against his mother, whom he charged, without any regard to decency, with selfishness, pride, and barbarity. In the expression, "Circumstances have occurred," contained in Zorilda's note, he found ample confirmation of his suspicions, which were no other than that the Marquess of Turnstock, having first unsuccessfully urged his suit, and terrified her by an unexpected appearance at Henbury, had afterwards adopted the artifice of assuming the name of Mr. Playfair, to practise on her credulity, and decoy her from her friends. Rushing like a lunatic from the house, Lord Hautonville's first essay was at farmer Wilson's. There he summoned the boy who had driven Rachel to the carrier's inn, but could learn no more than that he had performed his mission; that the good woman travelled alone, and was safely lodged at her destination. His next resolve was to mount a horse, and go off to this place, where he obtained no farther satisfaction. Rachel was gone; and the people of the inn were not sure, but thought they could recollect that she spoke of being on her way to London, seeking after a bad debt. Here the clue was lost. To look for Rachel in the metropolis would have been like searching for a grain of mustard seed in the sands of the sea.
In vain Lord Marchdale represented to his son the folly of his conduct, and the necessity of remaining at home to meet several persons who were appointed to assemble at Henbury on legal business. It was in vain that Lady Marchdale alternately stormed and beseeched. Arguments, threats, and caresses were alike ineffectual. Post horses were ordered; and before the morning's dawn, on the following day, Lord Hautonville and his valet were on the high road to London. But we return, to attend on the steps of our female travellers.
END OF VOL. I.
J. B. Nichols and Son, 25, Parliament-street.