"I was born so high
Our eiry buildeth in the cedar top,
And dallies with the winds, and scorns the sun."
SHAKSPEARE.
Sir Godfrey Cecil derived De Lacy castle, with the immense estates
which descended to him along with this noble remnant of feudal pride,
through a long line of ancestors, whose gaunt effigies, clad in shining
mail, lined the great baronial hall, whose banners waved upon his
chapel walls, and whose proud escutcheons were engraved upon those last
records of departed grandeur which still proclaim amid all the pomp of
heraldry, that dust hath to dust returned.
Sir Godfrey had married early into the ancient house of the De Burgho's
and as he pored with constantly renewed delight over the pages of
Froissart, it was his favourite boast that every name distinguished by
that immortal chronicler, was allied to him or to his consort the Lady
Grace. In fine there were few failures in the moral code for which,
though himself a man of the correctest conduct, he could not have more
easily found excuse, than for obscurity of birth.
Lady Grace paid the same devotion to hereditary honours, and the
general bearing of her tastes and pursuits was in perfect accordance
with those of her husband. She knew the quarterings of every shield,
and there was not a crest throughout the land with the device and
history of which Lady Grace Cecil was unacquainted. Sir Godfrey and
his wife, therefore, lived in all the harmony of kind intercourse,
and mutual appeal upon those subjects which interested them both most
nearly; and were the best friends imaginable, till any accidental
occurrence produced, or led to competition between the merits of
a Cecil and De Burgho. Angry looks and taunting speech would then
interrupt domestic harmony; but, as such conflicts did not frequently
happen, Sir Godfrey and Lady Grace might be fairly called a very happy
couple. Making allowance for this single foible, they were deservedly
entitled to the character which they held for all those qualities which
ought to adorn exalted birth. They were people of lofty principle,
unsullied honour, and boundless munificence.
It was Sir Godfrey's rule that station makes the man, and one of the
first maxims which he endeavoured to impress on the minds of his
children was, that every individual whose fortune it was to be greatly
born, owed it to his pedigree not to disgrace the armorial bearings
committed to his safe custody, by a mean thought or sordid action.
It was an apparent anomaly at De Lacy castle that, though known to be
as proud as Lucifer, the affability of Sir Godfrey and his Lady was a
continual topic of popular praise. The truth was, that they were _real_
aristocrats. It was not the paltry distinction of a new title, nor the
accidental acquisition of wealth, which they held in esteem. Poverty
was no crime in their eyes. Alfred, turning the old woman's cakes at
the fire, was as truly great in their contemplation, as Alfred dressed
in ermined robes, and seated on his kingly throne; but woe to the
Parvenû who entered their presence, however studded over with stars and
garters. They would give gold to the needy, pity and protection to the
friendless, but honour was denied to all who could not boast of ancient
descent, and he who was not able to trace his lineage to at least the
time of William the Conqueror, had little chance of rendering himself a
welcome visitor, at the proud baronial residence to which we have just
introduced our readers.
Sir Godfrey and Lady Grace had an only son and daughter, and never were
two young persons more deserving of parental tenderness than Clara and
Lionel Cecil, who were at once "their father's pride and mother's joy."
The difficulties which raised a barrier to sending their affections
abroad, had the happy effect of concentrating them at home; and the
mutual attachment of this interesting brother and sister was a source
of unfailing delight to themselves, and of admiration to all who
witnessed its pleasing influence upon their manners and dispositions,
to which were added the attractions of fine talent and external beauty.
We are often led to observe how puny are the efforts of little man,
with all his free-will, to alter or disturb the general laws of
providence. If pride, for instance, always engendered pride, and
continued an increasing quality, this earthly theatre would soon be too
small for the pretensions of an inflated few, but fortunately excess of
every kind carries its antidote along with the bane, and re-action is
frequently as favourable to the growth of moral excellence as direct
example; hence a profligate father is not always permitted to entail
a curse upon his offspring, who, disgusted by his evil courses, start
into an opposite track themselves. The miser is often followed by a
liberal son. The spendthrift succeeded by one of economical habits.
An age of infidelity gives birth to a generation of believers; one of
fanaticism, to rational inquiry, and thus while we are still invariably
taught that _motives_ alone constitute virtue in individual character,
we perceive that limits are set to the consequences of human vice; and
all things are so ordered as to work together for good upon the great
scale of creation. A striking confirmation of this remark was exhibited
by the children of the house of Cecil, who, though they entertained
the sincerest veneration and affection for their parents, were rather
inclined to take the opposite extreme of family pride, and value too
little that which they heard so much overrated every day.
Lionel Cecil enjoyed every advantage which wealth could impart, and
repaid the care which was bestowed upon his education, by making a
distinguished figure both at Eton and Oxford. To a noble exterior, and
splendid abilities, he added all the lighter accomplishments, which
shine in mixed society. Full of youthful manliness and grace, the
natural gaiety of his spirits was tempered by such a gentleness of
disposition, as served to soften, without enervating his character.
Never having had a brother, Clara was the companion of his infant
sports, and the friend of riper years. The most perfect confidence
subsisted between these amiable young people who were twins in
affection, though Lionel was somewhat older than his sister.
Now it so happened that young Cecil made one of a shooting party, which
our readers may remember at Thornton Abbey; and dined at Henbury, in
company with the Marquis of Turnstock and a few others, invited thither
by Algernon Hartland. The exquisite beauty of Zorilda, heightened by
that shrinking timidity which shunned the admiration which it excited,
had struck a lively impression on his feelings, which time had not
effaced from memory. The little he had heard her speak, was addressed
to Mr. Playfair, but the pathetic sweetness of her voice lived on his
ear, as her image did in his heart. She looked unhappy, and Lionel
would have given a diadem to know the subject of her sorrows, and
remove it. As he gazed upon her perfections, he wished for those days
of chivalry, of which his father loved to tell the gallant feats
performed by his ancestors, and thought that no such lovely Lady as
Zorilda, had ever smiled upon true knight in the olden time.
The inquiries which were prompted by curiosity, met with such reply
as to stimulate romance in the moment of arresting hope. "Who is
she?" "Nobody knows." What an answer for the only son, heir, and
representative of the proudest family in England! "Whence comes she?"
"From a gipsey camp. How she got there no one can tell."
Lionel was too honourable to cherish an idea of clandestine love, and
too good to make his parents miserable. He must, therefore, banish the
idle vision, and shake off the sudden fascination which entangled his
heart. This determination was aided after his return to Oxford, by
certain observations on the manner of young Hartland, whenever Lord
Turnstock rallied him on the subject of Zorilda's beauty, which had not
been carelessly remarked by the Marquess as circumstances proved in the
sequel. From some indications which were exhibited on such occasions,
Lionel concluded that an engagement already subsisted between Algernon
and the charming Spaniard.
When this conviction stole upon his mind he gave a sigh, and could
not refrain from saying to himself, "How happy are those, who, free to
follow the bent of inclination, may taste the sweets of mutual love
unshackled by these bonds, these galling chains of feudal despotism!"
This sigh, however, was the last. Lionel resolved to hold no dalliance
with his duty, and with a manly resolution he plucked from his breast
the forbidden thought, and had forgotten the short-lived dream which,
for a time, murdered his repose, when Lord Turnstock arrived from the
Continent. Lionel had never liked him, and now less than ever; he spoke
of his former friend and ally Hartland in terms of unmeasured hatred
and contempt, and one evening let out in convivial openness, that he
was planning a good trick to vex him, adding, in a careless way, "by
the bye, can any one tell me of that Spanish girl, that handsome gipsey
who lives at Hartland's house? I have some business to transact with
her."
These words were repeated accidentally to Cecil by one of the party,
who thought that he could perceive some connection between the "good
trick," and the Spanish gipsey. Cecil thought so too, and resolved, as
far as he was able, to avert danger from Zorilda by giving her such
warning as to put her effectually on her guard, till the arrival of her
lover should place her in security.
With this generous design, Lionel set out on a visit of a few days to
Thornton Abbey, having had the satisfaction of seeing Lord Turnstock
unexpectedly called in another direction by the death of a relation,
from whom he hoped for a legacy. Cecil justly surmised, that this
would give a new turn to the Marquess' thoughts, for a short time at
least, and afford him the desired opportunity of frustrating any scheme
inimical to Zorilda's safety. When he reached the neighbourhood of
Henbury he made himself acquainted with Zorilda's daily habits, and
conveyed the letter before mentioned in the manner already described.
Clara was the only person to whom he had ever spoken of Zorilda,
with whom his late meeting at the ball was purely accidental; and
for her sake, as well as his own, he now wished with scrupulous care
to suppress every hint of his having been the person who sent her a
message through Rachel at the inn. Such intelligence might produce
embarrassment on her part, and render her anxious to leave De Lacy
castle before her health was sufficiently re-established to encounter
a journey; and for himself, the slightest acknowledgment of former
acquaintance with, or interest concerning Zorilda, would infallibly
awaken alarm in the minds of Sir Godfrey and Lady Grace.
Secrecy being therefore determined upon, an able surgeon was
immediately sent for, who found his patient extremely feverish. After
bandaging the injured wrist, and administering a composing draught, he
ordered perfect quiet, and took his leave, promising to pay an early
visit on the following day. Nothing could surpass the kindness with
which the sick stranger was treated by the whole family, and she had
been nearly twelve hours under the roof before Lady Grace asked, "Who
is she?"
"Some Miss Gordon," answered Clara, "returning to her family in
Scotland.
"The name is a good one," replied Lady Cecil. "Did you hear, my love,
whether she is of the----"
"Her maid, I believe," said Miss Cecil, hastily, "is no genealogist.
She looks like an old heir-loom in the shape of a nurse, who has been
more conversant with swaddling-clothes than coats of arms; but I am
sure that Miss Gordon _must_ be of a good stock, she is so pretty and
so elegant."
"That is a fallacious test, as I have often told you," rejoined Lady
Cecil. "To be sure it little signifies when we are merely called upon
to relieve distress, what rank the sufferer holds in the Herald's
Court. We reserve _that_ inquiry for our friendships and alliances."
Clara being afraid of displeasing her mother by an ill-timed remark on
the possibility of giving one's confidence, and affection too, without
referring to her mother's favourite volume, entitled, "Norroy King at
Arms," contented herself with assenting to the first branch of her
proposition, while the latter was left undisputed, and went to inquire
whether there was any thing that she could do for her guest.
On the surgeon's return next day Zorilda's fever had greatly
increased, and the accident which she had met with only appeared its
accelerating, not original cause. Her mind was the real seat of malady.
The unkindness of Lady Marchdale, and the perfidy of her once beloved
Algernon, preyed upon her innocent heart, while the occurrence of such
strange events as she had lately experienced, confused her head. On the
third day of her illness she became delirious, and raved incessantly
of all that weighed upon her spirit, but so incoherently, that none
who was ignorant of her story could draw any collected evidence from
the wild and whirling words which she uttered. The name of Algernon,
however, escaped her lips so often as to convince young Cecil, to whom
his sister reported all she heard, that a deep attachment existed in
Zorilda's breast, of which Lord Hautonville was the object.
"Alas!" said Lionel, "the sweet girl has little knowledge of the man
to whom she has betrothed her guileless heart. Her pure mind arrays
the image of its devotion in the colours of her own glowing fancy,
and represents the object of her love as he should be, not as he is. I
would not have _you_, my Clara, married to Lord Hautonville though he
wore a crown imperial, and could trace his pedigree through a _forest_,
instead of a single _tree_."
"I neither love crowns nor pedigrees for myself," replied Clara; "but
we must not let the artless Zorilda be deceived. We must devise means
of snatching her from future misery, if you know the object of her
regards to be unworthy of them."
"It is a delicate task," answered Cecil, "but she may perhaps have
made discoveries, the pain of which now presses on her feeble frame.
I have questioned her attendant, who is a niggard of her information,
or ignorant of what I want to know. Yet still I can gather, that this
lovely creature has been harshly treated by Lady Marchdale, whose
aversion to the idea of her son's alliance with the friendless Zorilda,
I conclude to be the cause of a manner so contrary to her former
kindness. Perhaps the noble minded stranger may have set out upon this
journey to remove all solicitude from the minds of her benefactors,
and make a sacrifice of her own inclination to her sense of honour and
virtue; but what a man must he be, who, knowing himself in possession
of Zorilda's affections, can thus basely desert her?"
"He may not know of the sacrifice," said Clara. "Upon proposing to the
old nurse to write to Miss Gordon's friends, and inform them of her
present situation, she conjured me to preserve an inviolable secrecy
respecting her, alleging the probable speedy termination of her
illness, and the fear of alarming her relations, as the pretext for
silence; but so extraordinary was the poor woman's vehemence, so urgent
her entreaty, that I could not help feeling that 'more was meant than
met the ear.'"
A physician who was called concurred with surgeon Crump, that no
danger of contagion was to be dreaded, and Clara took advantage of
this assurance to bestow the tenderest care on her guest, frequently
stealing from her own room at night, to take Rachel's post and send her
to bed.
Zorilda's illness was both tedious and alarming, and several weeks
elapsed before her medical attendants pronounced their patient
convalescent. Such a time however arrived, and the benevolence which
offered asylum to distress now met its full reward. The doctors,
however, insisted particularly on the utmost caution, and to Zorilda's
earnest prayer to be told how soon she might resume her journey,
constantly replied, that as a relapse would probably be fatal, she owed
it to her friends as well as to herself to avoid the risk of one. She
was permitted however to leave her chamber, and enjoy the society of
her kind hosts in an adjoining dressing-room, where she received the
most friendly congratulations on her recovery. Sir Godfrey, who had
not seen his fair ward till now, was fascinated by her beauty, which
late illness had only rendered more touching: and whatever impression
was made by Zorilda's exterior form, was confirmed by her manners and
conversation. Gratitude called upon her for every exertion to repay
such kindness as she had found, and ere many days were past, that
which at first was effort, became inclination.
Armed with the honourable determination to preserve his heart from all
entanglement, under the full persuasion that Zorilda's was already
attached to another object, Lionel gave himself freely up to the charms
of an intercourse, rendered the more seductive from the supposed
security of the case, and Zorilda's dressing-room became the scene
of all that delicate attention and polished taste could devise for
her amusement. Clara had her harp and guitar transported thither, and
delighted her young friend by the sweetest music, when she feared that
conversation might exhaust her, while Lionel came laden with fresh
stores of books and fine prints with which to beguile the hours, which
flew on golden pinion.
One day, on the return of Clara and her brother from attending Sir
Godfrey and Lady Cecil in a visit of ceremony, Zorilda, who believing
them all absent had been singing some of her softest melodies to the
guitar, was surprised by her young friends, who stood for a long
time outside the door of her apartment, held in bondage there by the
captivation of her plaintive voice. This discovery opened a new source
of attraction, and Clara, who loved nothing in creation like Lionel,
began to grow uneasy lest society so congenial, and becoming each day
more and more ensnaring, should produce too much present gratification
for his future repose.
"I almost wish the day of parting were arrived," said she, as she held
her brother's arm in a stroll in the pleasure-grounds. "This Spanish
Syren will become too necessary to us, and we shall not know how to
live without her."
Lionel started, and seemed to feel the truth of Clara's apprehension,
but instantly repressing the emotion which her remark had excited, he
answered with an assumed firmness, which imposed upon his sister as
well as himself,
"She would indeed be a dangerous visitor here, were not the certainty
that her affections are pre-occupied a perfect safeguard against the
sorcery of such loveliness and modesty as never before appeared in
union with such various talents. Zorilda is a wonder of nature, but
I never look on her without repeating my _lesson_--that she belongs
to another; that with Lady Hautonville I have no other bond than that
which a singular coincidence of romantic circumstances has thrown in
my way. She is a stranger here, and will depart hence, leaving, it may
be, such a standard of female excellence in one's mind, as to increase
the difficulties of falling in love elsewhere; but as I am in no haste
to marry, and our good father has no _crotchet_ in his head for me, you
may set your anxieties to sleep, and let us not be over wise in our
prudence."
Clara was satisfied and returned to Zorilda's dressing-room, lightened
of a weight which had oppressed her.
The security which Lionel only imagined, was real in Zorilda's
instance. Her soul was fortified by feelings of pain so deeply
seated, that though the happiness of companionship, and the sympathy
of kindness, such as she now experienced, had power to soothe, they
had none to change her heart, which was sealed, by her misfortunes,
to every impression of a dangerous sort; while the total absence of
vanity in her character, precluded all suspicion of that effect which
she produced on others. Increasing strength extended the permission of
indulgence, and the invalid was allowed to take the air.
The gardens and grounds around De Lacy castle were worthy of that
sumptuous edifice, which stood in the midst of scenery rendered
doubly delightful in Zorilda's eyes by her long confinement; and
the enthusiastic admiration which she bestowed upon the surrounding
landscape, flattered the pride of Sir Godfrey as much as it excited
a tenderer interest in the mind of his son. Time rolled on, and
Zorilda, who saw how genuine was the expression of sorrow in Clara's
countenance, whenever she spoke of departure, had refrained from
questioning her physician. Her hand was still too weak to hold a pen;
and she had, for obvious reasons, declined all offers of informing
her Scotch friends, through any other medium, of her situation. Nay,
she even rejoiced, on one account, that they were as ignorant of her
present retreat as the family of Henbury, since, should the latter
desire to pursue or recall her, what so natural as to apply for
information concerning movements to the only persons with whom she had
ever formed a bond of friendship?
But Zorilda was not insensible to the extraordinary appearance which
her neglected condition must wear in the eyes of her hosts, who did
frequently express their astonishment that no letters arrived for their
guest. At length our heroine, struggling to overcome the reluctance
with which she resolved on tearing herself from those whose truth and
tenderness had won upon her heart, producing the fullest return of all
that she had to give, imparted to Miss Cecil her fixed design to pursue
her purpose, and set out in a few days for Scotland, adding,
"My beloved Clara will not endeavour to dissuade me any longer from
doing what she would herself feel to be right and necessary, were our
situations reversed; what must Sir Godfrey and Lady Cecil think of a
deserted wanderer, thus apparently bereft of all the natural ties that
bind to house, to home, to kindred?"
"They have been prevented from wondering much upon this subject,"
answered Clara, "by my brother's care, and my own, to assure them
that you are incapable of any but the highest and the best motives
for concealment. That none but parents possess such rights as to make
it strange that, in default of their claims, of which perhaps death
may have deprived you, your silence respecting an accident which has
blessed us with your society during a few short weeks, has spared the
feelings of more distant relatives, who may expect with less solicitude
than would be a father or a mother's portion. Am I right? And if I am,
have we no claims to urge? Oh, Zorilda! I know not how to part with
you."
"Dear generous being!" exclaimed Zorilda, embracing her friend. "Such
confidence must and shall be requited. Yes, you shall one day be made
acquainted with the mysterious circumstances."
At this moment, a tap at the dressing-room door, was followed by the
entrance of Lady Cecil, leaning on the arm of her son.
"I will ask Miss Gordon myself," said the former, as if in continuation
of preceding discourse with Lionel.
"We were just talking, my dear, of your uncommon name, which I maintain
is Spanish, and as you know that I am a bit of a genealogist, I have
been puzzling my brain to recollect how it happened to fall amongst
the Gordons. Now that you are able to speak without fatigue, you shall
tell us all about it. I dare say that there is some romantic tale of
other days which I shall delight to hear, though I much wonder that my
excellent friend of Drumcairn--"
"Drumcairn! Good Heavens do you know the Gordons of Drumcairn?"
interrupted Zorilda, whose sudden surprise sent a vivid blush into her
cheeks, which was followed by the lily's hue.
"To be sure I do. The Gordons of Drumcairn? They were here last summer.
Mr. Gordon is one of my oldest friends, one of the best families
in Europe. How is he related to you, my dear? I am so glad that I
happened to mention Drumcairn!"
"It is to Drumcairn that I am going," said Zorilda, deeply agitated.
"Well, well, this is really quite a _hit_," answered Lady Cecil, "and
I see that you are as much struck by the coincidence as I am. But
how can all this be? You are not niece to my good friend; for, if I
remember rightly, his brother left only two sons behind him. Then for
his sisters; the elder, Janet, married a Mackensie; and the younger
a Stuart. How do you stand, my dear, with respect to the Drumcairn
branch? I am quite charmed to find out who you are, and you have the
Gordon features too."
Zorilda never was formed for dissimulation of any kind, and, though she
met a glance of transport from Clara's eye, and felt an answering gleam
of joy from Lionel's countenance, she quickly dispelled both the one
and the other by confessing the truth.
"The family of Drumcairn are not related to me at all, except by the
tenderest friendship on their parts towards a solitary orphan,"
replied Zorilda.
Lady Cecil drew back, and with less beaming aspect, looked steadily at
her blushing guest.
"I beg your pardon, my young friend," said she, "perhaps I distress
you; but I _thought_ I knew every Gordon in the world," and with a
half disdainful, half incredulous air, added, "perhaps it is better
to inquire no farther; all people do not trouble their heads about
relationship after _my_ fashion, _you_ have no taste for heraldry I
suppose."
So saying, Lady Cecil rose from her chair to leave the room, when
Zorilda caught her hand, and bursting into tears drew it towards her
lips.
"Accept, oh, accept the most grateful tribute of a broken heart. I have
no right to the name of Gordon, and never assumed it. You shall not be
deceived as the base return for all your goodness. Dear Madam, I am,
it is true, without a name, and know little of a science with which
I have no concern; but I have a glowing sense of all I owe to your
generous hospitality; and alas! I can only repay it by lowering myself
in your esteem. In two days I shall quit your princely abode, and may
never have the happiness of beholding you again. Before I leave De Lacy
castle Miss Cecil shall be put in possession of my sad, my romantic
story."
Zorilda's emotion would scarcely permit her to utter these words. Lady
Cecil appeared agitated also. She was naturally enough shocked by any
appearance of deception in one whom she had harboured so long under the
roof with her only daughter. Yet the purity and candour of Zorilda's
whole deportment, seemed to repel all doubt. Again, she felt glad that
one day more would conclude the adventure, and while she rejoiced in
getting rid of one in whose station in society she was disappointed,
she felt it a pity to spoil preceding kindness by a cold farewell.
Perhaps the most awkward and angry feeling in Lady Cecil's mind, arose
at this instant from the recollection that she had laid herself open to
a smile of ridicule, by her discovery of that strong likeness to the
Gordon physiognomy, for which it now appeared there was no foundation.
In short, whatever were the combination, her feelings were not
pleasant, and beckoning to her son, whose countenance betrayed the deep
interest which he took in the scene, she slightly inclined her head,
and left the room.
"I have lost your mother's favour," said Zorilda, as she leaned on the
bosom of her weeping friend, "but I must not repine. "_Who is she?_"
was the brand set on the frontlet which bound my infant brows, and it
is indelible. Will Clara, too, cast me off, and hate me because I have
none other to love and shelter me?"
"I would give my life for you," replied her friend, "and so would--"
but, suddenly pausing, Zorilda entreated her to leave the apartment.
"My time is short," added she, "and I must set all things in order for
my departure. You shall have my narrative to-night, for I am resolved
to go to-morrow; read it to your family, and return it to me before you
retire to rest. I will avoid seeing Sir Godfrey and Lady Cecil again;
my presence can only distress them; but my gratitude will only end
with life, and memory, my Clara, will not be exercised in far distant
retrospects. My days will be few, and sorrowful: I feel it here (as she
laid her hand upon her heart), and Zorilda will soon have passed away
like an evening shadow."
A fond embrace was all the comfort which Clara could impart, and she
withdrew with feelings of wonder, sympathy, and admiration, too big for
expression.
Rachel received orders to prepare for the journey, and never felt
less inclined to obey than upon this occasion. She could have spent
the remnant of her days well pleased in the luxurious ease of De Lacy
castle, and had been long indulging a secret hope that two people,
so formed for each other as its young Lord and her gentle mistress,
should one day conclude the romance which brought them together in the
usual way, by a happy union. Rachel loved a novel, next to her tea,
better than any earthly solace, and had found rich stores of literary
food, as well as Congo, at the castle; but in all her reading she had
never stumbled upon a single instance in which faithful love was not
rewarded. Now, that Lionel loved Zorilda was her firm persuasion, not
only because Rachel could not imagine _any_ one secure against the
attractions of her mistress, but she had too much sagacity, not to
interpret the thousand kind attentions which she received herself from
Mr. Cecil, as well as the pleasure which he seemed to feel in talking
of Zorilda's improved health and appearance.
But Rachel buried these happy thoughts in her own breast, as, though
Zorilda's manners were of dove-like softness, there was a native
dignity in her demeanour which repelled all attempt at vulgar
familiarity; and Rachel had sufficient tact to know exactly how far
she might go, and where it was prudent to stop. She had never ventured
therefore upon the slightest allusion to her hopes, and now set about
the performance of her task with silent reluctance, while Zorilda
endeavoured to compose her thoughts, and throw together a few brief
outlines of her story, from the time of her removal from the gipsey
camp to Henbury, by way of supplement to the narrative communicated to
her by Mr. Playfair.
Nothing was suppressed in her artless and affecting sketch, except
the attachment between her and Algernon. This was a sacred theme. She
alleged no motives, therefore, for Lady Marchdale's changed regards,
and only stated, that having been conscious of altered feelings towards
her, she could no longer endure to be a burthen on the kindness of
her former friends, and had consequently resolved on sparing them all
farther solicitude on her account, though circumstances of a peculiar
nature prevented her from revealing her intentions, or informing her
late benefactors of her retreat, till her future way of life should
have assumed some fixed shape and character.
On leaving Zorilda, Clara had quitted the house to indulge in a
solitary ramble the grief with which she felt oppressed as she
contemplated the approaching separation from one who had become so
dear to her, and whom she was forced into the painful belief was
likely to prove a source of misery to her brother. "Alas!" said she,
soliloquizing as she wandered onwards, "he loves her, and the more
devotedly, because his generous soul disdained to acknowledge danger
while honour imposed silence on his wishes. He will be silent still,
but he will be unhappy."
While Clara pondered these melancholy forebodings, Lionel was seeking
for her, and at length overtook his sister, pale and breathless, with a
newspaper in his hand.
"Here, Clara," said he, "is something strange. It struck my father, who
brought it just now to me. I felt little appetite for news, but feared
to offend, if I refused to look at what excited his curiosity, and my
attention was soon arrested. I am certain that I know all the actors
in this horrible catastrophe, and that it is interwoven with Zorilda's
fate."
Clara snatched the paper, and read aloud the following paragraph:
"For obvious reasons of a delicate nature, we forbear from alluding
openly to the noble individuals who are involved in the tragical
circumstances at which we glanced in a former number. Subsequent
information, we regret to say, from an authentic source, leaves no
doubt as to the painful fact, that a young nobleman, Lord H., whose
family has been recently exalted by succession to the peerage, has
shot a nobleman, with whom not long since he was considered as being
closely _lié_, and who now lies dangerously ill at Brussels. The
cause of this lamentable occurrence continues to be wrapped in the
profoundest mystery, but immediately after the dreadful act, the
unhappy perpetrator made a voluntary surrender of himself to the
civil authorities, to abide his trial; and it is rumoured, that his
noble parents, of whom he is the only child, have set out for the
Netherlands, plunged in the severest affliction. As a little time must
fully develop this dark transaction, we shall abstain from any comment
upon it, under present circumstances."
"It is, indeed, a terrible story, if true; but what reference can it
have to Zorilda?" asked Clara, eagerly.
"I see it plainly," answered Lionel. "The recent succession; the former
intimate friendship, and present enmity; an only child; the letter H,
which is given as an initial; every circumstance, in short, to my mind,
points out Lord Hautonville as the unfortunate young gentleman who has
killed the Marquess of Turnstock."
"You may be wrong," said Clara, "and all these signs may belong to some
other persons. What does my father say?"
"Oh, nothing. He has no suspicion at all about the matter, and is
unacquainted with the actors in this tragedy altogether."
"And did you hint your own surmise?"
"No; I thought it better to conceal the entire from Zorilda, who,
as she does not dine below stairs, will not be liable to hear any
discussion which might alarm her. If the truth be as I suppose, nay, as
some unaccountable internal evidence assures me it is, she will soon be
made acquainted with the fatal particulars, but I wanted to consult you
on the possibility of detaining her here, by informing the _rulers_ of
my conjecture."
"Dismiss the idea from your mind," said Clara: "The greatest kindness
we can now show this dear girl, is to hasten her departure, or at least
not retard it. The tide has turned; my mother has infused her doubts
into my father's mind, and they are both restlessly impatient till she
is gone. I saw the whole train on fire before I left the house, though
there hardly seemed time to have put the match to it; but it is evident
that previous doubts only required the slightest grain of probability
to decide the question against our sweet forlorn Zorilda, and her
confession that she does not belong to the house of Gordon has ruined
her. My only hope is in the effect which may be produced by the recital
of her history, which we are to have this evening, and for which I am
myself burning with impatience. Who _can_ she be? and, who are the
parents who could cast such a creature on the merciless world?"
"I long to know as much as you can do," answered Lionel; "and believe
that you counsel prudently. We must let things work and wait the issue."
"She must go," replied Clara; "and it will be better for her--for us
all, that she should do so. We must not censure those, who with more
experience of life, and less enthusiasm than you and I possess, are
slower in deciding on merit. I would not have Zorilda stay for all the
indulgence of her society to myself. She would be looked on with an
evil eye, and watched with jealous apprehension."
"And would defy all scrutiny to detect one dissembled thought," said
Lionel, with warmth.
"Yes; but we must not detain her here to be suspected. We must let her
go to Drumcairn; and the attachment of the Gordons towards her will be
better proof of her deserts than all that you and I could assert in her
favour."
Lionel, seized with avidity on this view, which seemed to open into a
new vista of hope, that sparkled in his eye. "Come," said he, "let us
return. We must caution Rachel not to suffer a newspaper to fall in
her mistress' way till she reaches the end of her journey. Alas! that
journey! Oh Clara! we shall feel an aching void when she is gone!"
The brother and sister returned home, and instructed Rachel in her
lesson.
Clara and her friend passed the greater part of the day together in
mutual regrets at parting--professions of unalterable attachment,
and promises of future correspondence. Lionel made but one attempt
to interrupt the _tête-à-tête_; and then exhibited so much emotion,
in spite of all his efforts at concealment, that Zorilda became
embarrassed; and Clara, dreading some painful _eclaircissement_,
prevailed on her brother, by a supplicating look, to leave the room.
When Lionel was gone, Zorilda, blushing violently, and taking Clara's
hand, entreated her to grant the request which she was going to make.
"Your kind brother and you will be desirous to perform the duties of
hospitality to the last hour; but you must indulge my wishes. I cannot
see either of you in the morning. _You_ will deliver the packet, which
I am to entrust to your care this evening, into my hands here in this
dressing-room before you go to bed; but I conjure you to prevent me
from seeing any of your family after they have become acquainted with
my history. I feel unspeakable pain at confiding the strange events
of my life to your parents; but I am impelled by gratitude to assure
them, as far as I can, that they have not thrown away their charity
upon an impostor. I feel it due also to myself to prove, that I am not
willingly or needlessly a young female adventurer, assuming an air of
mystery and romance to win upon curiosity or benevolence. Alas! I _am_
truly what I _seem_. I may be spurned with contempt, but I will try and
make myself believed. Promise--_faithfully_ promise, that I shall see
none but yourself after the reading of my narrative."
Clara felt the energy with which this petition was urged; and the
quickness of her penetration unravelled the true cause of Zorilda's
earnestness. Lionel's looks and manners, though guarded by the
strictest care, betrayed those feelings which are never more powerfully
expressed than when they most assiduously seek to avoid all expression.
Zorilda had long resisted every demonstration; but there is a language
which those who have felt the influence of a strong attachment within
their own breasts, cannot, if they would, misunderstand; and Zorilda
had been forced into a reluctant conviction, that she was dear to
Lionel. A conviction, the more painful, because he was, of all earthly
beings, the man in whose breast it was most agonizing to her heart
to plant a thorn. Lionel's was, in fact, of all human characters,
that which, most resembling Zorilda's, would have drawn upon every
sympathy of her nature, had not her pre-occupied affections been sealed
to every sentiment which might shake their rooted hold. She had, it
is true, too keen a sense of moral perfection not to perceive young
Cecil's merit in its full extent. She had sometimes caught herself in
making involuntary comparisons between Algernon and him. She had even
started from herself, as she had once mentally exclaimed, "Oh did he
but resemble Lionel!" The sentence was never finished, even in her
heart; and the aspiration so pure that angels might have witnessed it,
seemed, to the scrupulous sensibility of Zorilda's soul, a species of
inconstancy towards the idol whom she had worshipped from earliest,
happiest, purest infancy, for which she had found it difficult to
forgive herself. Algernon existed no longer for her, but his image was
enshrined in her memory; and though he had ceased to be worthy of her
love, she never dreamed of bestowing it upon another.
"Why did I refuse to tie myself by a vow?" would she sometimes say as
she mused on the past, "but because the free-will offering of a broken
heart is as certain as a sickly bond could make it."
But Zorilda began to perceive that Lionel loved her, and dreaded
nothing so much as a disclosure of feelings which she could not repay
in kind. She was therefore urgent in her entreaty to Clara, that
she might be allowed to glide away unnoticed, and her friend easily
promised for herself. The bitterness of a farewell, perhaps for ever,
was too deeply felt, to make her anxious to pronounce it.
The evening hour arrived, and Zorilda put her packet into the hands
of Miss Cecil, who hastened to the library where her father, mother,
and brother were assembled. The narrative was read; the diamond
cross examined, the miniature admired; the whole pondered; but very
different were the feelings which these interesting memoranda produced
in the minds of the old and the young. Sir Godfrey and his Lady were
evidently displeased, and though they did not refuse their pity, it was
mingled with distrust.
"The story is very extraordinary," said Lady Cecil, "and may be
correctly told; but there is something so undefined in the whole
narration, that after all the mind is left in utter confusion. After
all, we are not informed who she is, nor who her parents were; nor is
there any elucidation of her conduct in quitting the asylum of her
youth. There is a cloud hanging over her desertion of those tried
friends and early benefactors, which requires clearing up."
"Yes," answered Sir Godfrey, "the nature of her offence must have been
serious to call for a change of manner on the part of Lady Marchdale;
and I confess that my opinion of this wandering damsel is not improved,
though many charitable allowances may be made; but I fear there is
something of the gipsey about her still. I do not like these heroines,
and am very glad that without committing an act of harshness, we
shall get rid of her to-morrow. Clara, my love, you are young and
enthusiastic. I know how much you have been feeling for this stranger,
whose beauty has irresistibly inspired an interest in her favour, to
which perhaps she is not justly entitled. Your mother very properly
remarks that a cloud at present hangs over her character, and till we
learn what reception she meets with at Drumcairn, whither she says that
she is going, I must insist on your avoiding all sort of correspondence
with this giddy girl. If the Gordons continue their friendship towards
her, I shall have no objection to your writing to her now and then
hereafter, if you wish it."
Clara sighed, and bowed her head in token of submission to parental
authority; but Lionel, eager only to justify Zorilda, exclaimed, "What
Sir! must a helpless stranger be condemned unheard? Cannot a case be
easily imagined, which, far from imparting censure to the conduct of
your guest, raises every feeling of admiration for the noble principle
which governs her every thought, as well as action? Suppose, for a
moment that her uncommon attractions had inspired sentiments in the
breast of Lord Hautonville, more powerful than those which knit the
hearts of children at that early age when first the lovely little
Spaniard was brought home to be his play-fellow, may it not be that the
high minded Zorilda, fearing that those to whom she owed every thing
might not approve a union which the cold maxims of worldly prudence
calls unequal, has left the asylum of her youth--perhaps the scene of
her fondest affections, to give an exalted proof of gratitude, by the
sacrifice of all her earthly happiness. Such magnanimity would be in
perfect accordance with all that I know of Miss Gordon's character."
"Upon my word, Mr. Lionel," replied Sir Godfrey, "you are apparently a
practised advocate. Either you know more of _Miss Gordon's_ affairs,
or conjecture takes a wonderfully favourable turn for her acquittal."
The name of Gordon was pronounced with emphasis, while Sir Godfrey's
countenance wore an expression of the most bitterly sarcastic
scrutiny. Lionel coloured, and, hurried forward by his feelings,
would instantly have betrayed all that he knew of Henbury and its
inhabitants, if a beseeching look from Clara had not arrested the
recital. Suddenly recovering himself, he told his father that the laws
of the land required delinquency to be proved before guilt is imputed,
and that he had done no more than suggest a _probable_ case.
"A fellow feeling makes us wondrous kind, they say," replied Sir
Godfrey, with a sneer. "I suppose that your own heart is the storehouse
of your _probabilities_. Lionel, this is not a subject to be trifled
with. I must have some serious conversation with you, and desire that
you will meet me here to-morrow after breakfast. In the meantime you
may consult your pillow upon some topics connected with this letter,
which I received to-day from the Duke of Kingsbury."
So saying, Sir Godfrey quitted the room, Lady Cecil retired, and Clara
employed a moment's interval before she followed her mother, in
pressing the necessity of secrecy and discretion on Lionel's mind, and
imploring him to recollect Zorilda's request that she might be suffered
to depart on the following morrow without observation.
"I will open the last gate of the great avenue, nothing shall prevent
me from taking our farewell look," said Lionel, "and so good night."
Clara having listened to a lecture from Lady Cecil on the folly of
yielding to benevolent feelings, without considering consequences,
and heard how severely she reproached herself for having permitted a
nameless wanderer to sleep a night beneath her roof, hastened to her
friend's apartment. Zorilda rose to meet her, and as Clara restored
the packet, a long and tender embrace conveyed more eloquently than
language is capable of doing, the impression which it had made upon her
heart. Not a word was spoken, but a thousand promises of unalterable
love were interchanged, in the tears which choked their utterance.
The earliest dawn, found Zorilda stealing softly along the little
velvet lawn which skirted Clara's garden, from which as she passed,
she gathered a wild honeysuckle which seemed to have strayed over the
paling on purpose to breathe its fragrant adieus at her feet.
"Balm of the wilderness! that floats upon the pilgrim's path! what
desert too revolting, what solitude too dreary for thy errant
charities? Emblem of the brief and honied dream of kindness here, too
sweet for more than passing breath upon the gale, thy farewell shall
exhale upon Zorilda's grateful bosom."
Thus apostrophizing the trailing wreath, she pulled one of its golden
flowers, which, placing next her heart, and casting one fond, lingering
look at the turrets of De Lacy, she reached the carriage, in which
Rachel was already seated, and ordering the postilion to keep along a
narrow green lane at the back of the castle, as if actuated by some
hidden impulse to avoid the great avenue, the travellers gained the
high road, at the distance of more than a mile from the principal
entrance, where Lionel waited their approach, with feelings of sorrow
and agitation not to be described. He loitered for an hour amongst the
cedars, which formed a dark screen round the porter's-lodge, before the
truth struck upon his mind. Starting then, as if from sleep, he dashed
across the park, and gaining the narrow lane by which Zorilda had left
his father's lordly abode, he needed not to ask a question. The fresh
traces of her recent departure told their own story; and a sensation of
inexpressible agony followed the assurance that Zorilda was gone. The
first impulse was to mount his horse, and pursue the lovely fugitive;
but Clara's anxious eye had watched her friend's device, and seen her
brother return from his fruitless endeavour to obtain a parting glimpse
of her whose image was engraven in his inmost heart; and she hastened
towards him.
"Beware, dearest Lionel," said his weeping sister; "intrude not on
Zorilda's grief. She has effected her retreat in this manner to avoid
giving and receiving pain; we must respect her purpose; remember what
affliction is yet in store for this young martyr when she knows the
horrible tidings of her lover's present situation."
Lionel shuddered involuntarily as Clara uttered the word "lover," and,
suffering himself to be led by Clara's arm, accompanied her in sullen
apathy towards the house.
"My father will expect you presently in the study. Have you looked at
the letter which he gave you last night?" said Clara.
Lionel had never bestowed a thought upon it, and now feeling in his
pocket, drew it out, and dashed it on the ground.
"I am in no humour to read letters; there! give it back to Sir Godfrey,
I cannot keep his appointment now." Saying these words, he disengaged
himself from his sister's hold, and would have turned into another
walk, but she seized, and, forcibly detaining him, entreated earnestly
for Zorilda's sake that he would be calm. "You may injure _her_ by this
violence," said Clara; "what, if my father, irritated by your altered
temper, should accuse, and wound her gentle spirit by some rude charge
of having practised on your affections?"
This argument had its effect. Lionel paused, and pressing Clara's hand,
"Be ever thus," said he, "my guardian angel; read this letter to me, I
will be advised by you, and curb this impetuous nature." Clara opened
and read a formal composition, announcing, with a good deal of the
_vieille cour_ pomp, that the duke and all his family were returned to
the country, and anticipated with pleasure a renewal of intercourse
with De Lacy castle. The concluding paragraph, in form of a postscript,
ran thus:
"I assure you that I have heard your son's praises loudly rung since I
had the good fortune to see you last, and beg that you will bring him
with you, when you visit Beaumont."
"My father thinks largely of my vanity, it would seem," said Lionel;
"what has this complimentary stuff to do with me? My head is not likely
to be made giddy with this sort of thing."
"The Duke has _daughters_, and my poor father's eye, like that of the
poet, 'in a fine frenzy-rolling,' glances from earth to heaven, and
beholds the arms of Beaumont quartered with those of De Lacy," replied
Clara.
"Poetry, indeed! for he will be solely indebted to his imagination for
such a sight," answered Lionel; "but I hope that he has more common
sense than to buoy himself up with hope so absurd, upon the ground of
this piece of frothy ceremony."
"We shall see," said Clara; and the event proved that she was right.
Lionel repaired to his father's study, and found him pacing up and down
the room, with knit brow, and hands behind his back, as if pondering
some affair of weighty issue.
"Good morrow, Sir; you wished, I think, to see me here, and I am come
to return the letter, which kindly informs us that we may have the
notable privilege of leaving cards for the Duke of Kingsbury."
"Cease with your idle sarcasms, Lionel," said Sir Godfrey, "and sit
down while you hear what I have to say. I shall not dwell long upon the
past, nor sully an act of benevolence, by regretting that mine induced
me to give temporary shelter to a houseless stranger. We are not gifted
with second sight, and must be sometimes liable to err through the
impossibility of foreseeing consequences. This female adventurer has
shared our bounty, and I will not grudge her the services which have
been rendered, but rejoice that she is gone; and as you were yourself
the person to suggest a reason fully sufficient to account for her
elopement from Lord Marchdale's family, it is not my purpose, without
knowledge of the facts, to injure the character of one who has probably
no other reliance for support. It is enough for me, that if her noble
host did really anticipate so horrible a degradation as an attachment
on the part of their only son, towards the nameless foundling of
Hazlewood-moor; it is quite, I repeat, sufficient for me to be assured
that _you_ possess sense enough to enter into their feelings, and
perceive ground for such a change of manner towards the object of their
alarm, as to make her either from honour or policy, resolve on removing
herself from Henbury."
"Sir," answered Lionel, "I pretend not to combat your feelings, or
those of Lord Marchdale, if he concurs in your sentiments. I must only
declare against any participation in them myself, and assure you that
I consider Lord Hautonville much more honoured by, than honouring the
lovely companion of his youth, by any attachment which may subsist
between them."
"Silly, silly," said Sir Godfrey, with an impatient tone; "I thought
such folly had been obsolete, and am sorry that a remnant of the old
leaven should be found under my roof. But let Lord Marchdale and his
son settle their own affairs; _we_ need not meddle in them. My business
with you at present is, I am happy to say, of a far different kind, and
I must, by way of preface, inform you, my dear boy, that much of the
comfort which your mother and I venture to look for during our future
life, depends on your coinciding with our views for your welfare. To be
brief, I have had it from undoubted authority, that no event could be
half so agreeable to the Duke and Duchess of Kingsbury, as an alliance
with De Lacy castle, nor can I wonder at this. The Duke has several
children, and small means to provide for them suitably in life, while
a union with my son would not only confer wealth upon his house, but
bring accession (Sir Godfrey drew up his shirt collar at both sides,
as he spoke) of those honours which every sensible man desires to see
added to his family escutcheon. In point of birth-right, I thank my
stars, I do not yield to any dukedom in Great Britain. Lady Jessie and
Lady Emmiline are charming persons; and I have, as I said before, solid
foundation for believing----."
"Pardon me, Sir, for interrupting you," said Lionel; "I cannot allow
you to proceed any farther in a speculation at which my mind revolts.
I will endeavour to meet your wishes in all reasonable requirements,
and hope that I shall never be tempted to bring dishonour on your
house; but I cannot consent to barter my liberty for the indulgence of
ambition, which, forgive me for saying, I despise. Were man created for
no higher purpose than to serve as a block on which to hang armorial
emblazonments, all his intellect, tastes, and affections are an affair
of cumbrous supererogation; but if happiness be his aim and object,
and if I cannot find mine in the Heralds' Office, I should certainly
be a fool to seek it there. It could never occur to my imagination to
interpret a civil letter from the Duke, as you have done; but believe
me, that were his Grace of Kingsbury to forget so far what is due to
his own pride and his daughter's delicacy, as to make an unequivocal
declaration in my favour, nothing could possibly be so repugnant to my
feelings as to act upon such a hint."
Just as Sir Godfrey, whose angry eye boded no very soft answer, was
going to reply, the footman announced his agent; and we may be allowed
to hope that the intelligence which he had to communicate of having let
some farms, which were out of lease, at an advance of several hundreds
a year, had the good fortune to act on the Baronet's temper like oil on
the troubled ocean's wave. Lionel was glad to adjourn; and would have
been well pleased had it been _sine die_, but another conference was
decreed by Sir Godfrey, the result of which we must leave in doubt to
attend Zorilda to Drumcairn, where she arrived without farther accident
or adventure.
As hills rise into height upon our approach, from what in the distance
had appeared a level plain, so did a thousand scruples occur to her
mind in drawing near to the residence of her friend, which till
then had never distressed her. Nothing but the journey thither had
previously perplexed our heroine in the thought of seeking an asylum at
Drumcairn; but she now questioned her title to the boon. She had not
announced her purpose, and was an unexpected visitor; perhaps might
prove an unwelcome intruder. She had few opportunities of corresponding
with Mrs. Gordon, who might have forgotten her general invitation.
Mr. Gordon, too, might not desire her company. Oppressed by such
reflections, Zorilda ordered the postilion to halt at a little village
within a mile of Drumcairn; and having alighted at a small neat quiet
inn, she wrote a note to Mrs. Gordon.
As soon as possible, after sending it off, she was folded in the arms
of that excellent woman, who flew to greet the travellers, accompanied
by her husband, whose salutations were fully as sincere, if not quite
so rapturous, as those of his partner.
The joy of this meeting was enhanced to Mrs. Gordon by the uneasiness
which she had felt since a few lines from Lady Marchdale had mentioned
Zorilda's departure, and made rather a haughty demand, whether she had
not directed her flight towards Aberdeenshire. Mrs. Gordon had answered
her sister's letter; and in much earnestness had begged for farther
particulars of an event so unaccountable; but Lady Marchdale was too
selfishly absorbed by her own cares to think of distant friends, and
not a line from Henbury, though repeatedly solicited, had thrown light
upon any thing which was passing there. Both Mr. and Mrs. Gordon had
seen the newspaper paragraph to which allusion was made at De Lacy
castle; but as they were only slightly acquainted with their nephew's
associates, and knew still less of his habits of life, it so happened
that they were never struck with any application of the direful
circumstances which were related in the public prints; and even had
suspicion attached to the story, the silence of the family at Henbury
would have completely banished it.
A few short hours put the friends mutually in possession of all that
either had to unfold. Zorilda's history made the liveliest impression
on the kind hearts to which it was revealed; and was followed by a
solemn proffer of the most affectionate adoption.
"Let me henceforward be the fond, though imperfect, representative of
that mother whom you have lost, while I shall find in my beloved Zoé
such a daughter as I have often vainly longed to press to my bosom,"
said Mrs. Gordon. Zorilda's heart was too full for the lips to speak,
but she looked all that a sinking spirit could express.
Though dreading pursuit, Zorilda had cherished a secret hope, that on
reaching Scotland she might hear of Henbury; and learn what effects had
been produced there by her sudden disappearance. This hope had greater
influence in supporting her exertions than she was aware of, till
disappointment crushed every energy of her soul. She had reached the
goal--she had arrived at that haven of rest which had long been the end
and aim of her desires, and now experienced the inefficacy of external
things to restore peace to the lacerated heart. Nothing which the
tenderest feeling could suggest was left undone, yet Zorilda drooped
in spite of every effort to repay the kindness of those around her, by
answering endeavours on her part.
Drumcairn was the very sum and centre of domestic bliss, and presented
a scene of happiness and concord, which seemed to realize the beautiful
vision of an earthly Elysium. The landscape without was wildly
picturesque; and within, whatever was best, wisest, and most tasteful,
lent its aid to diversify the social resources. How blessed could
Zorilda have felt in such a home; and what a gem would she have added
to its attractions were not the secret poison carrying on its latent
destruction, and gradually undermining health and strength!
When the first agitation of meeting was over, Mrs. Gordon invited her
young friend to assist her in the charitable labours which employed
much of her time. Zorilda learned, in these pious exercises, that
numbers of her fellow creatures were as miserable as herself. She
soon discovered that she was not the only houseless orphan; but that
thousands wept the bereavement of parents, lovers, friends. Her mind
at last began to taste a heavenly pleasure in her new occupations. To
pour the balm of comfort into the wounded spirit; to teach the young
to live, the sick and old to die, became her principal delight; and
her days were chiefly dedicated to those duties of active goodness, in
which the selfishness of sorrow gradually gives way to that peace which
is ever sure to spring from the pure source of practical religion. She
would often start from the recollections of past time, and rush to
employment from the stings of memory.
Sometimes it grieved her that no word of soothing friendship found its
way to her from De Lacy castle. A letter from Clara, to say that her
affection had not suffered diminution from acquaintance with the events
which she confided to her knowledge would have been a consolation; but
Zorilda was making rapid progress in the belief that there is no trial
of life which is not sent for some purpose of mercy, and her beloved
guide and instructress never failed to improve every opportunity of
tracing divine goodness in the bitterest dispensations.
We will now leave the young saint pursuing her celestial path, while we
travel back to look upon a very different scene.