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