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.