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Tales of My Time, Vol. 2 (of 3)

by William Pitt Scargill · English · Gutenberg #44959 · 339,601 chars · public domain (US)

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Title: Tales of My Time, Vol. 2 (of 3)

Author: William Pitt Scargill

Dubious author: Lady Barbarina Dacre
        Mrs. Loudon


        
Release date: February 18, 2014 [eBook #44959]
                Most recently updated: October 24, 2024

Language: English

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Credits: E-text prepared by Heather Clark, Les Galloway, and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team (http://www.pgdp.net) from page images generously made available by Internet Archive (https://archive.org)


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      Project Gutenberg has the first volume of this work.
      Volume I: see https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/43756


Transcriber's note:

      Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_).





TALES OF MY TIME.

By the Author of Blue-Stocking Hall.

In Three Volumes.

VOL. II.

WHO IS SHE?

THE YOUNG REFORMERS.







London:
Henry Colburn and Richard Bentley,
New Burlington Street.
1829.

J. B. Nichols and Son
25, Parliament Street.




CONTENTS

  WHO IS SHE
  CHAPTER X.
  CHAPTER XI.
  CHAPTER XII.

  THE YOUNG REFORMERS
  CHAPTER I.
  CHAPTER II.
  CHAPTER III.
  CHAPTER IV.
  CHAPTER V.
  CHAPTER VI.
  CHAPTER VII.


TALES OF MY TIME.




CHAPTER X.

 "Les vrais evènemens de la Vie sont quelquefois, beaucoup plus
 incroyable que ceux que l'Imagination presente à l'Esprit."

  L'ABBE PREVÔT.


There are some whose lot it is to pace the dull and beaten round
of daily life like a sort of moral turn-spit, unconscious of the
stages by which they travel from the cradle to the tomb. To these the
extraordinary accidents and romantic coincidences, which occasionally
chequer and diversify the flat road of human existence in the history
of other men, appear incredible as the Arabian Nights' Entertainment;
yet Fiction, in her most fantastic mood, does not leave the common
average of events farther behind than reality is continually doing.
Zorilda's was no common fate, and it pursued her to the grave.

Rachel's schemes had prospered so entirely that, by the time that she
and her young mistress reached the great northern line, no farther
anxiety attended their progress, and they journied onwards without
apprehension. They stopped in the first large town, and found no
difficulty in procuring pecuniary supplies at the Bank. So far all
proceeded smoothly; but the pale cheek, and smileless eye, bore witness
to that grief which "doth not speak" but "whispers the o'erfraught
heart and bids it break."

There is sorrow which lies too deep for the landscape or the breeze.
Neither air nor scene can reach its dwelling; and the change of
both, which proves a sovereign balm to light afflictions, brought no
healing to Zorilda's heart. It had not been always thus. There was a
time when her glad eye hailed the rising sun with answering ray; and
her young spirit, all alive to the charms of undefined but sparkling
anticipation, which dresses the future in bright ideal glories, could
carol with the lark at early dawn. Alive, with more than common
enthusiasm, to the beauties of nature, every opening bud and blossom
had once inspired joy; but the charm was broken, sunshine and spring
only seemed now to mock her grief, while one exclusive torturing
thought occupied every avenue of sense. Algernon was false--Algernon
was unworthy--and the affection which could no longer flow in
unresisted tide towards him, returned with all the overwhelming force
of a back-water current into her bosom.

It is maintained by some writers that woman's love ought to cling
blindly to its object, and survive every trial. A true and devoted
attachment is indeed proof against every attack which can assail
it from without. The female breast can endure the rudest shocks of
adversity, and outlive the severest reverses of fortune--it can
preserve its bloom within the walls of a prison, and its warmth amid
Siberian snows--but it is a vulgar love which grasps at the empty
casket, after the gem which it contained is thrown away. Zorilda's soul
was incapable of harbouring any but pure and exalted sentiments, which
when driven from the cherished object on whom they rested, came back
with oppressive weight upon her widowed breast.

After a day's journey, which had been rendered particularly fatiguing
from bad horses, our travellers reached the town of----. They arrived
late, and found that every room at the inn was occupied. There was
no second, and upon inquiring for private lodgings, the landlady
of the Greyhound assured them that it was quite vain to hope for a
bed any where. Young Squire Macdonald had just come of age. He was
eldest son to Sir Herbert, and heir to immense estates. The great
house was undergoing repairs, and therefore a splendid ball, which it
was impossible to give on the present joyful occasion at the family
mansion, was to assemble all the surrounding gentry that night at
the inn. The company was to be as numerous as possible, to secure
popularity, and, "in fact," the landlady added, with a broad grin,
"our powers of accommodation are the only limits to Sir Herbert's
hospitality on this happy event."

What was to be done? Nothing in nature could be less accordant with
the feelings of Zorilda than the sound of mirth and revelry; but the
night was dark, and she feared to proceed any farther. The next stage
too was long, and lay over a dreary moor. The landlady also protested
that she had not a horse in the stables which was not nearly "jaded to
death."

"Only allow me to remain under the protection of your roof," said
Zorilda, "I shall not require any care or attendance." "I am sure,"
replied the landlady, "I never was so puzzled in all my life. If it was
my sister, I could neither promise her a bed or a mutton chop. Even
now, while I stand talking, I assure you, Ma'am, that I am wanted in
half a dozen different places."

"I am sure of it," answered Zorilda; "but I can do without a bed and
mutton chop. Only take me in. Put me any where, but _pray_ do not
refuse me."

The landlady was mollified, and promised to do her best, but gave fair
warning that that _best_ would prove a sorry sort of welcome to weary
travellers.

Zorilda drew her veil closely over her face, and wrapping Rachel's
large cloak round her person descended from the carriage, and following
the woman of the house through a long stone entry and up a wide
stair-case, which were lighted up and decorated with laurel branches,
was ushered into a miserable scrap of an apartment, if indeed such a
cage might be dignified with the style of one. There was neither table
nor chair in it, but both were to be brought in a few minutes.

"Here, Ma'am, is the only cranny that I have to offer you, and I am
very sorry for it," said the landlady. "I should not have even this to
give you but for an accident to one of our gutters, and you see this
wall is ruined by the deluge of water that came down upon it. I sent
to London for paper, which did not come in time, so here you perceive
I have been obliged to knock up a few boards, in the greatest hurry
you can imagine, into a sort of partition, which I have hung all over
with drapery, on the other side, to hide the new timber. There are
only a few gentlemen in the house, who are sitting at their wine below
stairs; and before the company assembles you could just step here into
the ball-room, and I think you will say that it is well contrived and
tasty."

"I am obliged to you," answered Zorilda, "and am sure that all your
arrangements are made in the best manner, but I will take possession
of my quarters, and only wish that they were farther removed from the
gay revels which are soon to begin. This is a thin partition, I hope at
least that it is secure.

"Oh! bless you, yes, Ma'am. You will see nothing of the company. I wish
I could guard you as well from hearing them," answered the landlady,
whose houshold cares now "called her hence;" and who added, as she
tripped out of the room, "you will have little quiet or comfort, but
you can lock your door on the inside, and when the hurry of supper is
over, if I can, I will get you a mattress."

Zorilda cared little about want of comfort, but she wished herself far
from the riotous scene in which the sense of hearing, if not of sight,
was soon to be involved.

Rachel exerted herself to do as much for her mistress' accommodation,
as the case would admit. A small table and an arm-chair were provided,
and "now, my dear child," said the kind hearted creature, "that I have
at last seen you fairly seated, I will go and see if I cannot fetch
you a cup of hot coffee, and a nice dry toast." Carriages arrived, and
the company poured in like a torrent. A band of music began to play.
Zorilda had never heard so full a harmony of instruments since she
left her native country, and the effect was magical. The musicians
gave a popular Spanish air, to which, when an infant of three years
old, she had often danced with a little pair of castanets. The stores
of memory seemed suddenly unlocked. Her nurse, her cottage, the grove
of chestnuts, the kind visitor whom she called her father, all were
pictured in her mind's eye with the most vivid colouring, and as if
called by fairy wand from a world of shadows to live again on earth.

"Oh! why cannot I remember thee, beloved mother," she exclaimed, as
opening her precious packet which lay folded in her bosom, she pressed
the lovely image to her breast; "but no sound of melody can, with
mysterious power, strike upon that chord, and draw forth strains of
'linked sweetness.' I was too young when torn from this snowy pillow,
to see, to feel the heavenly mildness of that eye, the tender pathos of
that smile."

The rooms filled, and all the "laughter loving Gods" were busy in
producing such a din, that Zorilda's head ached from an uproar so
uncongenial with her spirits.

"Can this be pleasure?" said she, as she listened to the vapid jest,
the unmeaning laugh, the idle listless talk, which, penetrating the
thin screen that separated her from the throng, came upon her unwilling
ear. "Yes, these are the joys of which Algernon used to tell me, and
joys perhaps they might have seemed, if tasted in his society; but I
resemble the blind who live _within_, and imagination, which is most
active when things external are shut out, weaves her web of 'sweet and
bitter fancies,' which are little accordant with the world's opinions."

Rachel returned, but desirous to pursue her thoughts in solitude,
Zorilda sent her to amuse herself with staring at all the fine dresses
and equipages, which formed in her estimation, the most magnificent
spectacle she had ever looked upon; and much did she wish if possible,
to inspire her young mistress with a single spark of her own curiosity
to witness so splendid a pageant.

Once more alone in her cell, Zorilda endeavoured to abstract her mind
from the noisy scene. She took out her mother's diamond cross, and
having kissed, she pinned it to her breast.

"I will wear you always," said she, "next my heart, but it shall be
unseen. When I reach Drumcairn, I will have a ribband and suspend it
round my neck. This bracelet, too. These are _my_ jewels, and they are
gems of more worth than Potosi's mines could furnish, or Golconda has
ever sent forth."

She had laid aside her cloak and veil. Her beautiful hair, which
was only restrained by a tortoise-shell comb from falling over her
shoulders, curled in rich profusion over her ivory throat and
forehead. The air of evening had fanned a rose-bud tint upon her cheek,
and a black silk dress which folded across the bosom, formed the simple
costume of her, whom only the thickness of a half-inch board concealed
from that mirthful multitude, over whom in mingling, she would have
reigned queen paramount, in loveliness and grace.

Amongst the papers which lay before her, was the letter which she
had picked up in the walk at Henbury, when she had been startled by
a rustling in the bushes behind where she sat. The idea struck her
as she now looked over it again, with relation to other parts of her
history since developed, that a father's care might watch at distance
over her destiny. He was an English nobleman, perhaps, nay probably, a
married man, and withheld not only by a sense of the wrongs which he
had inflicted, but, also by existing family interests, from revealing
himself to his injured child. This conjecture was little soothing; on
the contrary, a cold tremor ran through her frame at thoughts of him
who basely deceived, and then deserted those to whom he was bound by
the most powerful ties of nature as well as moral obligation.

"Alas!" said she, "as my father, whoever, or wherever he may be, I owe
him reverence; but may I be spared the necessity of paying a tribute
which could never be animated by affection! Better remain the unknown,
despised 'Who is she?' than obtain a name and place in society at
the cost of incurring Heaven's displeasure by violating the first of
earthly duties."

As she uttered these words within her heart, her eyes were raised
upwards, and her hands clasped in a posture of supplication.

At this instant a heavy crash, as if one of the dancers had fallen with
great force against the weak partition, levelled the frail screen,
which went to pieces, and came in fragments to the ground.

What a scene was now unveiled! Zorilda narrowly escaped receiving on
her head a piece of the timber, which laid the table at which she had
been sitting prostrate at her feet, and together with it, the now
scattered contents of her sacred packet.

The male part of the assembly rushed simultaneously forward to offer
assistance, while, terrified and amazed, our heroine started from her
seat, the most beautiful object that had ever graced a ball-room,
revealing too

                  "the sparkling cross she wore,
    Which saints might kiss, and infidels adore."

One gathered up the loose sheets of the narrative; another found
the bracelets; and a third, who had seized the miniature, glancing
at it before he presented it to the owner, uttered an involuntary
ejaculation, and stood like one transfixed; but instantaneously
recovering his presence of mind, he advanced, and grasping the hand
which was extended to receive the portrait, with frenzied fervour,
restored the _treasure trove_, and darted out of the room. The words
which he had spoken, though probably not caught by others in the
confusion of the moment, reached Zorilda's ear, for her eyes were
intently fixed on him whom she saw take up her picture from the floor;
and the exclamation, "Oh! my daughter!" reverberating through every
nerve, she felt her knees refuse their office, and tottering backwards,
she fell into the arm-chair, almost bereft of sense; yet dreading the
effect of her emotion, and fearful of losing again any part of what
she prized more than life itself, she seemed suddenly invigorated, and
hastily folding her packet once more to her bosom, she waved her head
gracefully in acknowledgment of gratitude for polite attention, and
pressed towards the door, which was opened for her by one of the many
who were only anxious to try who should be foremost in affording aid.
Numberless arms were proffered to support her, but declined, and with
such an air of sincerity, as forbade all farther solicitations.

The waiters who had heard the crash, came running from all parts of the
house, and Rachel was not wanting in the train, who flew to inquire
what had happened. Zorilda seized her arm, and desired to be shown
immediately to the landlady's apartment. Thither she was conveyed,
quite exhausted.

"I must leave this place," said she, "before the dawn of day. Offer
any thing as a bribe for fresh horses, but procure me the means of
quitting this inn before the company break up; here I cannot stay,
and the repose which this dreadful uproar denies, may be found at no
great distance. I am not well, and my brain will become disordered if I
cannot find quiet. Dear Rachel use your best diligence."

Rachel left the room; and as there are few things which money cannot
procure, an offer of double fare soon produced the promise of as fine a
pair of horses as ever ran in harness, which it was now _recollected_
could be had at break of day. Ere long, she returned with the news, and
with a story to boot.

"Lord o' mercy, my dear, but I have had my own share of trouble since
I left you here, less than half an hour ago. There is all the whole
town, I believe, in a ferment about you. 'Who is she? Who is she?'
says one: 'Who is she? Where does she come from? Where is she going?'
says another. I thought they would tear me to pieces among them. 'Is
she a foreigner? Spanish, French, or Italian?' Now all along we forgot
to settle what name you should bear, and it came into my head, that
it would not be any way creditable to be without one, so when they
let me speak, I answered fair and softly, that you were Miss Gordon,
going home to your relations in Scotland; that you were in trouble
about one of them lately dead, and wished to be as private as could
be. I had fifty offers of carriages from both ladies and gentlemen,
and one and all they say, that such a beauty as yourself they never
beheld. One young gentleman followed after me, when I returned thanks,
and refused the rest; and sure I was ready to sink into the earth with
consternation when he called me by my own name, given me at my baptism
fifty-two years ago. 'Rachel,' says he, as plain as you ever spoke the
word: 'Rachel,' says he, 'your lady is not unknown to me. If I may have
the honour of seeing her, but for a moment, I will give her a letter
which she dropped in her way from the ball-room, and entreat her to
accept my best services in any manner that may be most useful.'

"'Sir,' says I, 'you have the advantage of me, but I am much obliged,
and will let my mistress know all you say;' so here's the message, and
I am to take back your answer; but like a noodle, I forgot to ask whose
compliments I was to bring you."

"Never mind, never mind;" answered Zorilda, in great agitation; "I do
not know any body; nor will I see any person. Go back; request the
gentleman to give you whatever letter of mine he has found, and decline
all farther communication. Be civil, but firm, and bring me no farther
offers of assistance, which I do not intend to accept."

Rachel saw that there was no use in attempting to alter this
determination, and though she would have been well pleased to convey
a more conciliatory reply, she thought it prudent to do as she was
desired without farther comment. The young gentleman waited her return,
and Rachel acquitted herself of her task, mitigating the severity of a
refusal, by assuring him how grateful her Lady felt for his politeness.

"Give her back her letter then," said the stranger, who, during the
interval of Rachel's absence, had asked for a sheet of paper, and
inclosed it with these words:

"For worlds I would not be thought an intruder by Zorilda, and
I therefore submit to her decision, which I anticipate. The
letter accidentally dropped in the hurry of her retreat is now
restored--extraordinary coincidence--by its writer; and he who now
returns it is no other than the unseen guardian, who has for some time
past watched unperceived, and been the fortunate means of saving much
disquiet to her, who, once seen, must be remembered _for ever_."

"Unaccountable, intricate, bewildering destiny!" exclaimed Zorilda.
"Can it be possible? Have I met my father? Was it he who grasped my
hand? Have I refused a parent's request; and is it he who returns the
letter, which, by a mysterious allotment of Providence (for who but the
infidel talks of chance) has been directed to his hand?"

"Put such a notion out of your head, my dear young lady," replied
Rachel, who stood behind, and of whose presence Zorilda was
unconscious when she spoke aloud. "No, no; the young gentleman who
gave me that letter for you might be your brother indeed, and not much
older than yourself; but as to being your father, you need not perplex
yourself on _that_ score. You have enough to be unhappy about, my poor
dear, without such fancies. If it was the poor gentleman who was taken
sick, and came out of the ball-room ready to faint, and drank a glass
of water, and ordered his carriage in the greatest hurry, and looked
like one possessed of an evil spirit; if _he_ was the person that gave
me the letter, it would be quite a different affair, for though a very
fine man, tall as a may-pole, and straight as an arrow, he could not
be less than forty, and a Lord into the bargain--Lord, Lord--something
beginning with----."

"Oh! no more guessing," interrupted Zorilda, "what have I to do with
any one? Make no inquiry, I charge you, I know enough. Hasten my
departure."

When Rachel disappeared to collect her luggage and pay the bill,
Zorilda, still pondering on the events of the evening, now
conjectured, that the young unknown, to whom she was indebted for some
unexplained benefit, must be the person against whose attempts to write
to, or speak with her, Algernon had given her an impressive caution
when he was going to Marchdale Court. "Alas!" said she, "he need not
have feared a rival; but it is past. These feverish uncertainties will
soon have an end; and my beloved friend, whose name is now my shield
and safeguard, will discover some retreat in which I may hide my head
and bury my sorrows."

The riot began to subside, the music ceased, the last carriage rolled
from the door, and a silvery streak along the eastern horizon gave
notice of the coming day, when Zorilda's post-chaise was ready to
receive her.

"Since I have been delayed till after the departure of these people,"
said she, "I will make a little alteration in my route in hopes to get
rid of them. You see this map, Rachel, look; we will turn into this
road. It cannot make the difference of more than five or six miles; and
_here_ you see we shall come again into the exact line of our journey
when all this crowd of revellers will have reached their several
homes." "You were always knowing in maps, and such like," answered
Rachel. "I know nothing but to desire the post-boy to drive whichever
way you bid me; only take care not to go into any bye place, where you
will not find a chaise or horses to take you on."

"We will lie by for the day then at the next stage," replied Zorilda,
"and perhaps it will be no harm to do so; at all events, Rachel, I am
very ill. Come, let us be gone."

So saying, she hurried down stairs along the squalid scene of departed
festivity, assailed at every step by an expiring lamp, or the remains
of a wassail bowl, at which the servants had been liberally plied. Sick
and weary, Zorilda threw herself into the carriage, and blessed the
morning air, which breathed "wooingly" upon her senses, and dispelled
the horrible atmosphere of the inn.

An officious hostler stood at the horses' heads to prove that their
fire required to be restrained; but the fact was, that it was with
difficulty they could be urged from the door. Zorilda desired that they
might not be pushed beyond their strength; and the postilion, making a
virtue of necessity, assuring her at the same time that his "cattle"
could easily go at the rate of ten miles an hour, condescended to let
them go at the only pace of which they were capable, a snail-slow walk,
by which, in course of time, they arrived at a house seven miles on the
stage of fifteen which they had to go. Here the horses were to bait;
and precisely as the driver flourished his whip, to bring his tired
beasts up to the door with some sort of _eclat_, a heavy waggon, which
had just descended a steep hill in the opposite direction, came in such
violent contact with the wheels of Zorilda's chaise as to overturn it
in an instant into a deep ditch by the road side.

The people of the house ran to assist the travellers; but Zorilda had
fainted from the agony of a dislocated wrist, and it was some time
before she could be extricated from her perilous situation. At length
she was conveyed into the house, and laid upon a bed; while Rachel,
almost distracted with apprehension, implored every body whom she met
to go for a surgeon. None was to be had nearer than the town which they
had left in the morning, and the only expedient was to send off a man
and horse, but there was no horse in the stable at this poor place, and
all that remained was to dispatch the post-boy with one of his tired
steeds back again. In the interim the dislocated joint might become
inflamed, and the greatest difficulty occur in replacing it. Zorilda
continued insensible; Rachel ran nearly frantic out of the house to way
lay the passengers, if any were haply going the road, who could assist
her in this distress. A horseman advanced.

"Thank God!" exclaimed Rachel; "I will tell him what has happened, and
he will be a swifter messenger, if he will undertake the thing, than
this looby and his jaded beast."

Running to meet the gentleman, who approached at a swinging trot, what
was the poor woman's joyful surprise to recognise the young man who
had restored the letter, and whom she left only a few short hours
preceding, at the inn where the ball had been given.

No time was lost, and even Rachel, loquacious as was her usual habit,
was brief on this occasion. The stranger alighted in an instant, and
only employing the precaution of charging Rachel on no account to
divulge either to Miss Gordon, or to any one whomsoever, her previous
acquaintance with him, flew to the apartment in which Zorilda,
suffering tortures of pain, had just opened her eyes on the women who
were rubbing her forehead, applying burnt feathers to her nostrils,
and trying whatever other scanty means the place supplied, to restore
animation. The young gentleman, whom the patient at once concluded to
be a medical practitioner, immediately pulled the injured limb, and
with a powerful and skilful effort replaced the joint. Then, calling
for vinegar and spirits, he bathed the hand and arm, which he bound,
and leaving Rachel to prepare for accompanying her mistress to his
father's house, which was, he said close at hand, and from whence he
would immediately despatch a carriage for her conveyance thither. He
re-mounted his horse with the rapidity of lightning, and disappeared in
an instant.

Before it was possible to imagine that he could have ridden a mile and
back again, he returned with the family coach, in which his sister had
brought cushions, shawls, pillows, and all sorts of accommodation for
the invalid, whose acute pain and fever, added to the tears of Rachel,
induced her to submit without resistance. Zorilda suffered herself to
be placed in the coach, and conveyed to Sir Godfrey Cecil's splendid
abode, where, leaving her under medical care, we must digress for a
little while to explain some circumstances connected with the family
amongst whom, she was now introduced by the singular course of her
fortunes.




CHAPTER XI.

                          "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.




CHAPTER XII.

    "I see with boding heart the near approach
    Of an ill-starred, unblessed catastrophe."

  WALLENSTEIN.


The consternation of Lord and Lady Marchdale was unutterable, when, on
awakening in the morning they learned that Lord Hautonville had taken
flight, leaving only a verbal message to say, that sudden business had
carried him to London, from whence he hoped speedily to return; and
not a little was the vexation of this abrupt departure aggravated in
the minds of his parents, by a persuasion that he had gone in quest of
Zorilda.

What rage, anxiety, and confusion of counsels, succeeded, it is
impossible to describe. At length, after a stormy discussion,
embittered by much of mutual crimination, it was determined that the
whole family should pack up for the metropolis; but as more elaborate
preparations were necessary for the elders than was required by their
son, some days elapsed before Henbury was deserted by its inhabitants,
who little thought as they drove through the outer gate, that they were
destined to meet no more within its once cheerful precincts.

On reaching Marchdale-house, they learned that Lord Hautonville had
been there, but was gone: and all the information which his parents
could obtain respecting the object or motive of his short stay and
hurried departure, was from the housekeeper, an utter stranger to the
new comers, and one who appeared by no means overjoyed at the change.
This woman reported that the young lord seemed to be in the greatest
possible agitation, and that his sole care was to find the Marquess
of Turnstock, for whom he made inquiry with vehement solicitude;
but finding that his lordship had set out for the continent, Lord
Hautonville left town immediately, Mrs. Hobson could not tell with
what intent. It was some relief to the anxious parents to learn that
Lord Turnstock was the object of their son's pursuit; and though it
mortified them that he should absent himself without giving the
slightest intimation of his designs, and particularly at a period when
his presence was more than ever necessary at home, they endeavoured to
tranquillize their apprehensions, by the flattering unction which they
laid to their hearts, that he had only followed his friend into the
country upon some scheme of amusement.

Letters were dispatched to recall the truant, and the Earl and his
Countess were involved directly in all the bustle of legal affairs
and visits of etiquette. When the time had expired which ought in due
course to have brought an answer from Lord Hautonville, the arrival of
the post became a subject of restless inquiry, but no letter arrived;
and as it often happens that the most obvious measures do not occur to
our minds _first_ in the order of time, several days elapsed before
Lord Marchdale, applying in the right place, heard from the Marquess's
banker that he was gone to Brussels.

During this interval Lord Hautonville, who had taken his friend Col.
Clapham along with him, passed over to Ostend. On reaching Brussels
he was maddened almost to fury by finding that his enemy had gone
upon an excursion, and would not return for a few days. Feeding on his
meditated revenge, and suffering imagination to supply all the facts
which were necessary to goad him to the rashest acts of desperation,
every moment appeared a century, till Lord Turnstock unsuspectingly
drove to the door of the Hotel de Belle Vue, where he was saluted, as
soon as he alighted from his carriage, by a challenge from his quondam
ally, delivered by the hands of Col. Clapham.

Lord Hautonville had had his suspicions so convincingly corroborated
by the answers which he received to certain inquiries concerning the
Marquess, that he did not condescend to enter into the slightest
explanation relative to the nature of the supposed insult for which
he sought revenge; and the latter, in utter ignorance of the cause of
offence, could not suppress an involuntary smile, as he returned the
challenge to Colonel Clapham, and desired him to tell his friend that
it was not his custom to fight with madmen.

An answer so irritating, heightened by the sarcastic air with which
it was accompanied, was not calculated to appease; and as it lost
nothing in its transit (the second feeling himself now nearly as much
enraged as the principal), the message was conveyed in such exaggerated
colours, as to deprive Lord Hautonville, for the moment of all
self-control. He seized his pistols, rushed into the streets, arrived
at the Hotel de Belle Vue, darted into the room where the Marquess was
going to dine, and taking a deliberate aim, shot him through the body,
without uttering a word. The Marquess fell, the report of a pistol
brought numbers of people together; and before Colonel Clapham overtook
his friend, he was a prisoner. Surgical aid was immediately obtained,
the wounded man removed to bed, his wounds examined, dressed, and
pronounced dangerous.

Returning reason made Lord Hautonville speedily sensible of the awful
situation in which he had placed himself; rendered more horrible by the
assurance that he had no foundation for his conjectures, and therefore
not even the excuse of injurious treatment for the dreadful act which
he had perpetrated.

Colonel Clapham's first care was to write to England, and apprise
the unhappy parents of their son's condition; advising the utmost
secrecy respecting the circumstances of this tragical event, and their
immediate presence in Brussels, accompanied by whatever confidential
legal adviser they considered most likely to give a favourable turn to
the aspect of affairs.

The agonies of despair into which Lord and Lady Marchdale were thrown
by the dreadful intelligence, almost deprived them of life, and some
days elapsed before the unfortunate pair recovered sufficient bodily
strength to undertake their mournful expedition. This interval was long
enough to put them in possession of the fact that Lord Hautonville's
debts amounted to a much larger sum than he had any prospect of being
enabled to repay; and several of them revealed the truth that he was a
determined gambler, and lived amongst a set remarkable in every way for
habits of such dissipation as lead to inevitable destruction.

But who shall attempt to pourtray the feelings of the miserable
culprit, when informed by Colonel Clapham that his jealousy was
groundless as it had been vindictive; and that the marquess knew
nothing whatsoever respecting the elopement of Zorilda. Grief,
contrition, self-reproach, despair, took alternate possession of his
soul, and he would have laid down millions to insure that life of which
but a few hours before he was resolved, at the probable sacrifice of
his own, on the cruel extermination.

The solitude of a prison is a powerful preacher to the human soul!
Conscience now called up a grisly train of terrifying spectres; and a
review of the past rose in hideous contrast with the fate which might
have awaited him. Mr. Playfair's counsels, illustrated in the lovely
singleness and purity of Zorilda's character, came upon his memory and
made him tremble. What a difference between the beloved, the cherished
heir of a noble house, and the forlorn captive, whose ignominious end
was perhaps destined to pay the forfeit of a murderous deed. The cold
dews of death stood now upon that brow on which pride and pleasure were
wont to keep perpetual jubilee; and a livid paleness overspread that
cheek so lately animated by the flush of enterprize.

Of what avail were resolutions now? The accounts from hour to hour,
of the hapless victim's condition, though sufficiently fluctuating
to keep the balance trembling between hope and fear, afforded little
comfort. If a momentary ray cheered the prospect, it was extinguished
in the next instant. Amendment was not progressive, and those transient
gleams, which were quenched successively in thicker gloom, only added
poignance to despair. In the visions of horror which haunted the mind
of Algernon, thoughts of those afflicted parents who were on their way
to the scene of sorrow and humiliation continually mingled; and, as if
the cup of grief could not be full unless it overflowed, he was now
enlightened, and could explain Zorilda's disappearance. He was now able
to perceive in her secret departure, the same noble self-denying spirit
which had always distinguished every action of her life; and to curse
the ungoverned passion which had hurried him into irretrievable ruin. A
sudden frenzy would seize his frame, when scenes of early mutual love,
and childish innocence, glanced across memory in the prison's darksome
solitude, to torture his imagination--but more was still to be endured.

The marquess preserved his senses throughout the lingering agonies
which he was doomed to suffer--the most earnest supplication for
pardon on the one side, and assurance of forgiveness on the other,
were interchanged too late for any purpose connected with this world's
futurities. The horrors of suspense, operating on irritable nerves, and
temper unsubdued, were too powerful for successful conflict against
them; and Algernon Hartland, so lately the pride and boast of a noble
house, consumed by fever and tortured by remorse, breathed his last, in
the same hour which brought Lord and Lady Marchdale to the hotel which
contained the victim of their son's infuriate jealousy, apparently
languishing also on the confines of the tomb.

The veil of Timanthes must be drawn over feelings too terrible for
description. The die was cast. "Take me to the prison. I will see my
darling, and expire within his cell," said the wretched mother, who
would not listen to any attempt at dissuading her from the dreadful
purpose of visiting the remains of her son. Colonel Clapham conducted
her, and with preternatural firmness she hastened forward; but the
sight which burst upon her senses, when she reached the dreary chamber
in which he lay, was the last on which her tearless eyes ever rested.
The mother's heart had received its death dart, and her whole soul
appeared to undergo a sudden change. Not a cry escaped her. Kneeling
calmly down by the bed-side, and pressing to her bosom the clay-cold
hand of Algernon her beloved--once "beautiful and brave"--her
countenance assumed an unwonted expression of heavenly peace. Her
husband stood with folded arms, behind her, and groaned heavily. She
looked round, and taking his hand also, laid it upon that of her
departed child; then raising her eyes, she exclaimed with fervor, "Lord
forgive me--Thy will be done!" After uttering which word, one short
convulsive sigh set the spirit free.

Stunned and transfixed, the miserable survivor bent over the bed of
death, like one who had been petrified in that attitude, and scarcely
preserved consciousness of the scene which surrounded him. At this
awful moment, Mr. Playfair entered the chamber. That excellent man
had accidentally met with a friend who prevailed on him to alter his
original design of proceeding directly to Switzerland, and visit first
the far-famed plain of Waterloo. No sooner had he arrived at Brussels,
than the fearful tale which was in every mouth, met his ear. He quickly
recognised the _dramatis personæ_ in this horrible tragedy, and
hastened to inform himself of all its particulars. The case admitted
of no earthly comfort, and he wept with heartfelt bitterness over the
misfortunes of those unhappy parents whom he followed to the prison.

"Vain titles of worldly greatness! how little is it in your power to
confer happiness!" ejaculated this true friend, as he hastened after
the sufferers. What a spectacle presented itself when he reached the
gloomy pile, and gained the dismal scene of death just in time to hear
the pious aspiration which bore a mother's spirit to the eternal world!
He knelt, and prayed aloud for heaven's mercy on him who stood, like
the scathed oak of the forest, a sad monument of solitary existence,
when the pelting of the pitiless storm has levelled all things else in
desolation and destruction at its feet.

Lord Marchdale was removed insensible from the prison, and a shock of
paralysis for a time shed the poppies of oblivion over his senses, and
spared him for more tranquil days to come. Colonel Clapham, who was
deeply affected, and began to reproach himself as the principal actor
in the late catastrophe, now delivered into Mr. Playfair's hands two
letters with which his poor friend had entrusted him the day before his
death, when he felt his last hour drawing near. One was addressed to
his parents, the other to Zorilda; and he desired that they might be
safely conveyed when he should be no more.

"You will be the fittest medium for the performance of this charge.
How can I appear again in the presence of those from whom I might have
averted the calamity which bows them broken-hearted to the earth? Oh,
Mr. Playfair, had I not fanned the flame, which I might at least have
endeavoured to extinguish; had I not used all my influence to provoke
and aggravate the feelings of my poor friend, instead of trying to
assuage them, how different might not have been the result? But I am
punished as I deserve. His untimely end is my work, and I shall never
cease during my life, to be haunted by his dying image, when he called
upon the grim tyrant to terminate his misery, and relieve him from the
anguish of anticipating an ignominious end."

Mr. Playfair did not fail to improve the feeling which had been
awakened in Colonel Clapham's mind, not by laying flattering unction to
his criminal conduct, but by encouraging such repentance for the past
as should effectually guard, during the remainder of his life against
its recurrence. While he continued to take advantage of the opportunity
to impress wholesome truths upon a softened heart, a message was
brought from Lord Turnstock's apartment to say that the physicians who
had just been holding consultation, were of opinion that a favourable
crisis had taken place in the night; and it was the earnest desire
of the marquess to have the joyful tidings communicated, without a
moment's delay, to the prisoner. What indescribable rapture would the
intelligence have imparted a little week before! Then might it have
poured the balsam of returning health into the fevered veins--the balm
of stillness into the agitated breast--and whispered peace to the
withered spirit; but it came not till the dull cold ear was deaf to the
voice of the charmer--till the heart had ceased to beat, and the weary
pulses to flutter.

The mother and her son were laid in the same grave, and Mr. Playfair
and Colonel Clapham attended the sad procession as chief mourners.
It was a sight which struck upon all who witnessed it, and was not
soon forgotten. Lord Marchdale continued in a doubtful state, and
some time elapsed ere it was considered safe to move him. During
this interval the favourable change in Lord Turnstock's condition
was sufficiently confirmed to admit of his being visited by Colonel
Clapham, who gradually prepared his mind for the dreadful events
which had occurred. Informed, at length, of the whole truth, he
expressed an eager desire to see Mr. Playfair, who obeyed the summons
with readiness, anxious on his part to turn present circumstances to
account, and work a salutary impression on him, who of all people
living had exercised the most destructive influence on the character of
the departed.

The meeting was solemn and affecting. Though death seemed no longer in
immediate prospect, the marquess was assured by his medical attendants
that nothing short of the most patient temperance and long continued
caution, could afford the slightest hope of restoration, and he
therefore saw before him so much of uncertainty in the prospect as to
furnish scope for deep reflection.

It occurred to Mr. Playfair, that no language which he could possibly
employ, would be so efficacious in giving a right turn to meditation,
as the last words of one who had lived long enough to retract every
principle on which his actions had been governed, and he therefore
determined on seizing an opportunity which could never return, of
making Algernon speak from the tomb. Well assured that those to whom
the letters which he possessed were addressed, would approve such use
of their contents, he drew the packet which was unsealed from his
bosom, and read as follows:

  "TO THE EARL AND COUNTESS OF MARCHDALE.

"Alas! my parents; my soul sickens as I trace these empty titles, which
seem but 'unreal mockery' when applied to you. 'How are the mighty
fallen!' Oh! my father, my poor mother--here is the fulfilment of your
prophetic vision. Here, in this damp and chilly cell, is the end of all
your ambition. I feel as if you were now on your way to this place, but
you will come too late. The vapour is dissolved, the bubble bursts;
the halter and the block would present the only alternative for your
unhappy son were life prolonged; but Heaven has heard the captive's
prayer, and death approaches with friendly speed to save you from
shame, and restrain the hand of Algernon from self-destruction.

"Horrible idea! yet it might have been so. The same ungovernable
passions which raised the murderous blow against another's existence,
might have urged to suicide under increasing temptation. Weep not for
him who is taken from evil to come. My parents! had you been less
aspiring, had you known that true happiness, but--forbear, my pen!--I
leave no brethren to benefit by my dying counsels. My own impetuous
temper, my own devouring selfishness, have been my bane. Try to forget
that I have ever been. Recall that angel whom you have banished; she
will speak peace to your troubled souls. Farewell, my dear father; and
oh, my mother, may Heaven support you in this season of trial! prays
your expiring

  "ALGERNON."

  "TO ZORILDA.

"First and last beloved, I dedicate to you this solemn pause between
time and eternity. Life is ebbing fast. Oh! Zorilda, I die, and die for
you. However unworthy of your regard, however wandering and irregular
my course, you have still been the polar star towards which my
unsettled spirit ever returned, and no scheme for future happiness ever
occupied my thoughts, of which you were not the soul and centre. While
living in sin, I dreamed of a virtuous hereafter, when guided by you, I
should reform and taste of quiet bliss.

"Arrogant delusion! I leaned presumptuously on that love which I was
daily forfeiting, and dared to believe that Zorilda, whose soul was
all purity, would still bestow her affection on one who had ceased to
merit it. Alas! I know that you love me no longer. Why should I repine
in this sad hour? No, while life continued, I could ill endure to
relinquish the hold which I once possessed on that dear heart, and my
selfish endeavour to bind you by a vow to refuse all besides, that of
which I was myself undeserving, was justly punished by your refusal.

"Zorilda, beloved Zorilda! I feel my heart new opened, I see with
other eyes, and despise the thing I have been; resolution can now
avail me nothing in this world; but He who sees my tears of contrite
humiliation, will hear the suppliant's prayer, even in the eleventh
hour. Farewell! If the memory of our fond attachment in happy youthful
days, may shed kind influence on a last request, console I entreat you
those unfortunate beings who are soon to be left childless. Bid them
not grieve for me. I have requited their affection with ingratitude,
and leave them nothing in my bereavement but a hollow sounding name,
like those gorgeous plumes which wave their feathered honours on the
hearse to mock the dead. Oh! 'had I served my God with half the zeal'
that ministered to my guilty pleasures! but the past is buried with the
years beyond the flood. I have your prayers, I know I have, unworthy as
I am, and Zorilda's prayers will reach the throne of mercy.

"My sand is nearly run. The king of terrors beckons to me. A little
while, a few brief moments, and I shall awake in the invisible world,
from whose bourne none hath ever returned to unfold its mysteries.
Strength fails. Cold dews creep over my frame. Think of me sometimes.
First and last beloved, farewell for ever."

When Mr. Playfair ceased to read, he found Lord Turnstock drowned in
tears. His own flowed plenteously; and, taking the sick man's hand, "My
Lord," said he, "let us not be ashamed, and call this weakness. There
are tears which refresh the soul like dews of heaven. May yours be of
this blessed nature! May you expiate past error, by seeking your future
portion in a new course; and may our dear departed Hartland be the
Mentor of your youth; the guide of your pilgrimage; the beacon of your
way!"

"Will you henceforward be my friend?" answered the Marquess, with deep
emotion. "I have learned a lesson, but impressions wear away, and vows
made in pain are speedily forgotten. Let me be your pupil; direct me;
warn me; counsel me."

The bond was sealed. Lord Marchdale was pronounced capable of
undertaking a journey; and Mr. Playfair, who had surrendered all his
own plans to devote himself to the purposes of benevolence, accompanied
the poor solitary Earl to England; but his chief concern was for
Zorilda. "How shall I break these fatal tidings, without endangering
her life?" was a question continually present to the mind of her friend.

The travellers arrived at Henbury, and Mr. Playfair felt as a man of
humane and tender feeling would naturally do, in placing his charge
in that whilom abode of quiet cheerfulness, where its unfortunate
master had long enjoyed the happiness of domestic peace in private
life, under the care of an old servant, who had passed her youthful
days in his family. Lord Marchdale was spared such anguish, as more
acute sensibility could not have survived by the nature of his malady.
Naturally phlegmatic, disease now rendered him more than ordinarily
torpid; and he used to forget at times not only the extent of his
deprivation, but the manner. At such moments it was affecting to hear
him address his wife and son as if they were present, or speak of them
as if he expected their return from a ride or a walk. Influenced,
too, by the necromancy of association, he never passed by a shrub or
flower, which had been planted by Zorilda's hand, without muttering the
name of Zoé.

When Mr. Playfair had made all necessary arrangement for the bodily
comfort of the invalid, he set out for Scotland, meditating sorrowfully
as he proceeded, on the afflicting dispensations which it was his
painful task to communicate at Drumcairn. Arrived at the same village
where Zorilda had paused to consider of the reception which she was
likely to receive, he wrote to Mr. Gordon, requesting a private
interview at the inn. The dreadful particulars were soon unfolded;
and Mr. Playfair discovered that his tale of woe was not altogether
unexpected. Mr. and Mrs. Gordon had so repeatedly seen paragraphs in
the public prints, touching on late events at Brussells with more or
less obscurity, that their attention was at length awakened to some
fancied coincidences with the Henbury family, and anxiety was daily on
the increase, from Lady Marchdale's unusual silence. Her sister had
written over and over entreating a letter, but not a line was received
in reply.

The extreme delicacy of Zorilda's health made all excitement hazardous;
and though she secretly pined with solicitude to be informed of all
that passed in her absence, she could not bear to make inquiry, and
trusted to a voluntary mention of the next intelligence which might
arrive, trying to force her mind into tranquillity, but in vain. Her
cheek sometimes glowed with momentary bloom, and her eyes sparkled with
a transient ray of light and brilliancy; but it was fever which lighted
up these evanescent fires, consuming as they were vivid.

Her kind friends, who watched her tender frame with parental vigilance,
and perceived the silent progress of the destroying angel, resolved
on avoiding to impart their own apprehensions, or communicate the
suspicions which began to alarm them, to Zorilda, who, in addition to
her too evidently declining health, "has now to sustain," said Mr.
Gordon, "a trying scene, which as yet she has neither had strength nor
fortitude to encounter."

"Within the last two days," continued he, "she has received a
disclosure of the deepest interest from the rich and powerful Earl of
Pierrepoint, who turns out to be no other than Zorilda's father. I
have brought his letter in my pocket, knowing how affectionately you
participate in the concerns of our dear child."

Mr. Gordon then read as follows:

"Zorilda, these lines come from a parent's hand. Will you receive them
with feeling answering to that which now sues for your forgiveness,
and dictates a request that you will name the earliest moment for an
interview with one for whom you have had little reason to entertain any
sentiment save that of aversion. Since we last met, when an involuntary
exclamation on my part proclaimed the relation subsisting between you
and me, I have lost an amiable and high-born partner, who, after the
marriage of my two daughters, now advantageously settled, was the only
remaining bar to my acknowledgment of you. Had I claimed you before,
I must have revealed a part of my early history, which might have
injured others without benefiting you.

"Let me now taste the blessing of offering such expiation as is yet
in my power, to the manes of that angel who was your mother. You will
not withhold your aid in restoring the memory of her whose portrait
you bear, whose living image you are, to the rights and privileges of
a wife and mother, which can only be accomplished by your returning to
the protection of your father's house, and assuming his name. In the
eye of Heaven, as well as according to an accredited form of Christian
ritual, my marriage, of which you are the sole pledge, was duly
solemnized, and wanted only such circumstances to give it legality,
as I basely took advantage of, to desert the wife of my bosom, and
the child of my hopes. Urged to the unnatural deed by the unrelenting
voice of worldly ambition, I lent myself to the views of family
aggrandisement, and have been wretched all my life. United to another
before the death of her whom I shall never cease to mourn, I could not
adopt you as my legitimate offspring, without invalidating my second
engagement; and to have brought you forward as _less_ than my lawful
progeny, would have but added fresh insult to the wrongs which you had
already experienced at my hands.

"Zorilda, beloved child, a father supplicates forgiveness at your feet.
Will you refuse pardon to such a petitioner? I have sought you at De
Lacy castle, and sought you as my daughter. If my penetration do not
greatly err, there is one of that family to whom you are an object of
no common interest. Should my suspicions prove correct, to what joy
may I not yet look forward? I have already obtained my sovereign's
permission to add a title to your name; and twenty thousand pounds are
ready for my dear girl, when I may be called upon to bestow the hand
of Lady Zorilda Fitzhugh on Lionel Cecil, the man in all England most
worthy of her heart.

"Return me one line by the messenger, and say when you will see your

  "FATHER."

"This letter," said Mr. Gordon, "was immediately followed by one of
the most enraptured congratulations from Miss Cecil, who it appears
has been hitherto obliged to neglect her friend in compliance with Sir
Godfrey's commands. What a metamorphosis will not worldly consideration
effect! The despised, the slighted Zorilda receives homage now from the
proudest pair in Great Britain. Sir Godfrey and Lady Cecil condescend
to add their testimony to the merits of her who was so lately shaken
from their presence as unworthy of the least regard: and I agree
with Lord Pierrepoint in foreseeing that ere long an alliance will
be solicited. Oh; that I might live to witness a union which could
not fail of being blessed! But what a tale have you to impart! Alas,
Zorilda!--and my poor Eugenia too. However dissimilar the character
of Lady Marchdale and my wife, a sister and a nephew are not to be
relinquished without a cruel pang, in this case pointed with tenfold
acuteness from the awful manner of their death. Come, we have a
dreadful duty to perform, and must commence the task."

Mrs. Gordon, who had long anticipated some unknown ill, was gradually
informed of the terrible truth. Horror and astonishment at first forbid
the relief of tears, and sent a frightful tremor through her frame; but
tenderer feelings at length found vent, and a burst of natural sorrow
came to her aid, and eased the suffocating oppression of her heart. Too
habitually thoughtful of others' woe to indulge her own exclusively,
this excellent woman after a short silence exclaimed, "Oh! may I join
in the pious prayer of my dear departed sister, and say from the deep
of my heart, 'Thy will be done!' This blow will fall heavily on my poor
Zoé. It is to her that we should principally direct our attention, and
as her father is to be here to-morrow, my counsel is to delay breaking
this intelligence to her till after that so much dreaded interview.
In the mean time I will talk to her of my own fears and ominous
forebodings."

This advice was approved, and Mrs. Gordon subdued her own feelings
sufficiently to visit Zorilda's bed-chamber, in which she had
requested permission to remain all day, with calmness, and even an
appearance of tender cheerfulness, while she endeavoured to strengthen
a mind which had so much in prospect to endure.

"You must give a filial welcome to your father, my love, and bless
the Almighty, who has sent such a host of kindness and protection in
an hour of greatest need. He was beloved by the mother whose loss you
deplore, and if the temptations of wealth and power were too strong for
his wavering virtue to conquer, remember that he is now making all the
reparation which such a case as yours will admit, and your duty is not
only to receive the penitent with full pardon, but open your heart to
the gracious influence of parental affection."

"It is not the creature's part to murmur, I know, dearest friend,"
answered Zorilda; "but so mysteriously woven is the web of my fate,
that I am not allowed to _see and believe_, but _faith_ is continually
called upon, and much as I desire to stand firmly in the optimist's
creed, which you are always enforcing, I find my rebellious spirit too
frequently resisting conviction. I did indeed perceive how mercifully
was this blessed asylum opened to me; when obliged to leave De Lacy
castle I could not return to the home of my youth; but how can I
rejoice now in any event which is likely to remove me from you and this
peaceful retreat? How am I to bear the burthen of a sick and sorrowful
soul in a world of gay smiles, enter upon a new sphere for which I am
ill suited, encounter strangers whom I can never love, and give up
those employments in which, by being suffered to do some little good,
I learn submission to my own misfortunes? How can I leave this abode
of rest, and cease to hear your dear voice? How shall I mingle in the
scenes of what the world calls pleasure, with a breaking heart and
failing health; or learn the joyless task of dressing my poor face in
artificial gladness, while the asp is feeding on my life-blood? I have
tried to pray, but I can only weep."

"Child of my adoption," answered Zorilda's sweet comforter, "be still
and wait events. Is it nothing that your mother's fame is brought out
before mankind like 'unsmutched snow?' Nothing that the haughty souls
of De Lacy yield to evidence, and recognise the daughter of proud
Pierrepoint in the houseless adventurer, the _wandering_ gipsey? Is
there no balm in Clara's friendship, lately sealed, and now allowed to
flow towards you?--no soothing in the still tenderer accents of----"

"I am ungrateful, hard, unthankful, I know I am, for many goods; yet
could you look into this breast, and see all that passes there, you
would pity more than censure me," replied Zorilda.

"And will that Being, whose penetrating glance reads the inmost soul,
who knows all our frailty, all our weakness, pity less than I should
do? Believe it not. You will not be tried beyond the bounds of mercy,
though you know not how much is still to be endured. My mind misgives
me, and this long silence of my sister's fills me with vague, yet sad
prognostics; I dread the arrival of letters, and feel my mind almost
superstitiously inclined to evil augury."

"How unlike you!" said Zorilda, "If _you_ are scared by omens and
portents, what wonder that _I_ should tremble; dearest friend, tell me
your fears."

"They have no shape," answered Mrs. Gordon, "but come not the less
affrightingly because they are undefined. When I contemplate the
materials of which my family are composed, have I not continual reason
to dread the consequences of ungoverned passion, self indulgence, and
pride, now inflated by the prosperous gales of fortune? What may I not
apprehend as the result of Algernon's violent temper, unaccustomed to
restraint, and now let loose to tyrannize with wider scope, subduing
all things to his purposes? My poor sister, too, so blind in her
attachments, so precipitate in her aversions, so little calculated for
the enlarged sphere of action to which she is called, so ill prepared
to meet with disappointment, so soured by late occurrences; what
comfort should I have in considering the elevation of those for whom I
am so deeply interested, to a station which will only furnish increased
temptation to err, and render every fault and failing more conspicuous,
were it not for my firm trust in Him who rules our destinies, and who
alone is acquainted with the issue of events, after which we vainly
strain our short sighted organs?"

"Forgive me," replied Zorilda, "for the indulgence of my morbid
discontent. 'I will arise and go to my father,' I will try to _follow_,
not presumptuously _lead_, the ordinances of Providence; you shall not
find me deaf to your instructions. Dispose of me. The tide of strength
is ebbing in my veins, and perhaps the mind partakes of the body's
weakness, for I was not always thus, but in all things I will endeavour
to obey your counsels; guide, direct me; tell me all that I shall say
and do in this dread hour of meeting; yet if my father should prove an
austere man, I am afraid that it will little avail me to con over my
lesson."

Zorilda knew nothing of Mr. Playfair's arrival, and it was resolved to
conceal his presence from her till after Lord Pierrepoint's visit.

The appointed hour drew near, and the flush of anxiety had lighted
up that cheek on which the lily had lately begun to usurp the rose's
dominion, and the blending of sorrow with timid solicitude, imparted
the most angelic expression to the countenance of her who now, with
beating heart, heard her father's carriage wheels approach the door.

Lord Pierrepoint's exterior was highly favourable; tall, graceful,
and still in the meridian of life, there was something singularly
prepossessing in his appearance. To fine features, was added that charm
of polished refinement without which no beauty can be attractive,
and accompanied by which, no physiognomy can be destitute of power
to please. A melodious voice, and insinuating gentleness of manner,
finished the impression which Lord Pierrepoint's first _abord_ never
failed to make upon strangers, but who shall attempt to describe
the effect of such a union of qualities in delightful contrast with
all that her fears had suggested, on the tender heart of his lovely
daughter? The scene of such a meeting can only be represented in the
imagination. Feelings so electric, transitions so rapid, silence so
eloquent, may be felt, but not pourtrayed.

Locked in each other's arms, one moment's embrace seemed to annihilate
an age of doubt, and banish from Zorilda's bosom every sentiment except
that of filial love and admiration; while the father hung spell-bound
over his treasure. Drawing her close to his breast, and then receding,
as if

                  "----to view,
    If such a bliss indeed were true,"

he continued to clasp her again and again to his heart in silent
rapture.

When the first strong instinctive emotions of nature had in some degree
subsided, Lord Pierrepoint remarked, with much uneasiness, the delicacy
of his daughter's complexion, which underwent a thousand aspects,
mutable as the dolphin tints or the sun's varying hues upon the snows
of Mont Blanc.

"I must lose no time in snatching my darling," said the fond parent,
"from this northern climate. My Zorilda shall invoke the warmer beams
and softer breezes of an Italian sky. We will prepare immediately for
the voyage."

A deep hectic blush overspread Zorilda's face, as thoughts of leaving
Drumcairn flashed across her mind; but dreading to hurt her father's
feelings, by seeming averse to any scheme proposed by his affection,
she made no reply, except by a faint smile, like that transient glow
which glances hastily through the misty curtain on the grey mountain's
side, and is followed by a thicker veil, gathering as if to repel
the bright intrusion. But associations of another kind arose in Lord
Pierrepoint's mind, and pressing his daughter's hand, he added, "I do
not mean to hurry you, my love. You are, I grieve to see, not equal to
any great exertion. Farewell, dearest, I will return to-morrow, and
we will then consult upon the answer which you wish me to give to Sir
Godfrey Cecil."

So saying, he put a letter, of which the seal was broken, upon the
table, kissed his dear girl's alabaster forehead, and hastened out of
the room.

"All powerful force of nature?" exclaimed Zorilda, as she strained her
eyes towards the door which had closed upon her father, "who could
have believed this miracle? My heart follows him, and echoes every
retiring footstep. Is this the formidable being whose anticipated
presence banished sleep from my eyelids, whose dreaded voice arrested
every pulse, while yet it sounded only in the ear of fancy? What a
transformation in an instant of time! I can scarcely believe in my own
identity, as I reckon the hours till his return. Poor Sir Godfrey! Here
is the world--the cold heartless world, which encumbers with help when
there is no farther need of assistance. What have we here? No doubt a
complimentary address. Perchance an invitation to De Lacy castle--but I
must not forget that De Lacy's walls afforded me kind refuge in an hour
of adversity." Zorilda sighed, as she slowly unfolded the following
letter:

  "MY DEAR LORD,

"Amongst the numberless congratulations which your Lordship may expect
to receive on the joyful event of reunion with your charming daughter,
none more sincere can be offered to your acceptance, than I have now
the honour to present from De Lacy castle. We have the good fortune
here to be acquainted with the perfections which it is your Lordship's
happy lot to possess in the Lady Zorilda Fitzhugh; and are therefore
enabled to judge of your feelings in receiving such a child to your
bosom, and restoring her to that exalted station in society which will
henceforward be adorned by her talents and virtue. Lady Cecil and I
have often said of our distinguished guest, that such a noble bearing
bespoke high birth, and we are not mistaken.

"It will not surprise your Lordship to learn that younger eyes have
been fascinated, and hearts impressed by attractions which even the
aged cannot behold unmoved. You know my son's pretensions, and if you
think them worthy of alliance with your Lordship's house, nothing
shall be wanting on my part to facilitate an event so desirable to me
as a union between our families. I have long been aware of my son's
deep admiration of the Lady Zorilda, but so entirely averse is he to
revealing his sentiments at the _present_ juncture, that I risk his
displeasure in making an avowal to which I am urged by the high sense
that I entertain of those qualifications which must render your
daughter an object of universal competition.

"I have the honour to be, my Lord, your Lordship's sincere friend, and
most obedient humble servant,

  GODFREY CECIL."

"Pompous treachery!" exclaimed Zorilda, as she folded the letter. "How
grateful to his ear the tinkling bell of Ladyship, appended to this

  '----Jonah's Gourd,
  An overnight creation of court favour,
  With which an undistinguishable case
  Makes baron, or makes prince.'

"I hate this greedy haste which, fearful of forestalment, thus violates
all delicacy, and would compromise the feelings of his pure and
nobleminded son, to compass his proud ends--but we are going to Italy.
Perhaps, too, this is for the best. If I must leave dear Drumcairn, at
least it will be some recompense that I shall quit these harpies, who,
like Sir Godfrey, hover round the well spread board, and force their
unneeded praise where fortune smiles."

Mrs. Gordon's entrance interrupted this soliloquy. "I left you, my
dear one, to meet your trial alone, because my presence might have
embarrassed your father."

"Yes he _is_ my father. I feel the sacred bond drawn tight across my
heart, which almost beat itself to death, like a poor bird against its
prison wires, in terror of his approach. You say truly, my monitress,
that we are for ever prone to take trouble at interest. Aye, and
usurious interest too--we raise ghosts and then wonder that they haunt
us. But my dear father talks of Italy, and thinks that her classic
shores bear healing on their gales. Alas! he knows not how deep the
mine--how industrious the sappers. The 'sweet South' can do nought for
me. No breeze, however balmy, 'can minister unto the mind diseased.' I
have a longer journey before me than to Nice or Pisa."

Mrs. Gordon had hitherto controlled her feelings, but, overcome by the
prophetic melancholy which accompanied the last words of Zorilda, she
burst into tears, and, covering her face with her hands, remained for
some time unable to speak.

"Kindest, dearest friend," said Zorilda, "I meant only to familiarize
your mind to what I feel must come to pass ere long--but I am always
doing wrong. The idea of death is so welcome to me that I forget its
sorrowful effect on others, and have grieved my best and dearest Mrs.
Gordon. Oh think no more of my Cassandra propensities; let us speak of
something else. I did not hear my father's carriage drive from your
door. Surely he cannot still be here?"

"He is still here, my Zorilda, and listening to a tale of woe which
concerns us all; but my child, Heaven has sent you support in this
dear and newly found relation. May you rest on him as on a pillar of
strength, and be enabled to stand firm under divine assistance! I too
have been a Cassandra, but you must hear the dismal story from other
lips. I cannot tell it to you."

"You have given me a clue," said Zorilda, who turned as pale as ashes,
"which too fatally directs my imagination, though not perhaps through
every winding of the labyrinth. Speak, oh speak! you need not fear
to trust me; I can bear to hear. Yes, I can bear to hear even that
Algernon--my once loved----"

The words which Zorilda would have uttered died upon her lips, and she
fell senseless at Mrs. Gordon's feet.

When she recovered recollection, she found herself laid on a sofa,
while Mr. Playfair kneeled at her side, invoking heavenly mercy in her
behalf. He had put every one out of the room, and took upon himself the
task of preparing her for a full disclosure; but Zorilda's quick eye
and mind anticipated the conclusion, and she was in possession of the
whole ere it was designed that she should be informed of more than half
the direful narrative.

Mr. Playfair did not give Algernon's letter till after imagination
was so wrought upon, that even that dreadful document by realizing
the horrors of the scene which it exhibited, prevented reason from
deserting her throne to wander irretrievably into the wild regions of
maniac desolation.

"It is done!" said Zorilda; "it is finished. Lord, thou wouldst have
my whole heart, and it is thine! 'Whom have I in heaven but thee,
and whom do I desire on earth beside thee.' I can say this now--Hah!
killed by _his_ hand! a murderer! But he is pardoned. Oh say not that
forgiveness is impossible!

    'Between the death-deed and the ground
    He mercy sought and mercy found.'

Tell me not that he did not repent the act."

A violent shuddering came over her whole frame, from which suddenly
starting up, she gazed round the room, and asked for Mrs. Gordon, who
waited but the slightest movement in the apartment to open the door,
and heedless of her own affliction, fly to the aid of sorrow yet
greater than that which she suffered.

But there was now no longer any apparent weakness to combat--no excess
of feeling to assuage--all was still.

"My friend," said Zorilda, in a firm voice, as she held her hand to
Mrs. Gordon, "help me to shake off this lethargy. God has given me
duties to perform. I must no longer be a useless torpid thing. Where is
my father?"

Lord Pierrepoint had lingered to wait the event, and now stole
softly into his daughter's apartment. Surprised and delighted by
her unexpected fortitude, he determined to indulge every wish which
she might express, in the hope by doing so to restore her soon to a
sufficient measure of health and tranquillity for the undertaking
which he meditated. "A warm climate will strengthen, and a gradual
introduction to society, the charms of which are unknown to her, will
do the rest," said he in a whisper.

Mrs. Gordon shook her head, but did not contradict these visions of
hope.

"My father will not refuse his child's request," said Zorilda, who
raised her beautiful eyes as he drew near the couch on which she
leaned; "he will conduct me to the home of my youth. I have another
father there, who needs my consolation. Shall I not offer him all that
I have to bestow?"

"My Zorilda shall do every thing that may contribute to her peace,"
answered Lord Pierrepoint. "I will give immediate orders for the
journey."

A gleam of short-lived irradiation shot across the pale cheek of
Zorilda, who pressed her parent's hand in mute acknowledgment of his
goodness, but Mrs. Gordon interposed.

"My Zorilda," said she, "has other claims upon her heart, and she will
not neglect to fulfil them. _Something_ is due to her poor friends at
Drumcairn, and she will not desert them in this moment of heaviness.
I too must share with her the task of watching and comforting my poor
brother. Why not bring him here? The change of scene will assist our
cares for him, and my Zoé will recover faster in the repose of this
chamber than in the excitement of a journey, for the fatigues of which
she is not strong enough at present."

Zorilda sighed in silence, when she perceived by the expression of her
father's countenance how much he preferred this arrangement to her
plan. Mr. Playfair warmly seconded the measure proposed by Mrs. Gordon,
and offered to attend Lord Pierrepoint on the following day. They
commenced their route at an early hour, promising to return as quickly
as circumstances would admit; bringing their invalid charge along with
them to Scotland.

Zorilda's fervid bloom and tearless eye would have led an ignorant
observer to believe that some secret source of joy poured the soft
springs of consolation over her withered spirit, and that hope still
fluttered in the distance. Hope and faith were indeed whispering peace,
but they were not of this world; they were celestial visitants, and
Mrs. Gordon was not deceived. Zorilda had forced her friend to bed,
and entreated to be left in solitude herself. On entering her room in
the morning, Mrs. Gordon, who had not slept, found her beloved adopted
child already up, her head reclining on her hand, papers and writing
implements scattered around.

"My mother," said she, "I have been busy making my will. You must take
care of my poor pensioners. You will be my almoner. You know that I
have a little fortune in bank. I am setting my house in order, and long
to be gone."

Mrs. Gordon could not reply. Zorilda rose and threw her arms
affectionately round the neck of her who was truly a mother to her in
tenderness. "I will not afflict you any more," said she, "by touching
on these subjects which distress you. Yet were you to know how sweet
are the thoughts of death, you would not grieve. It was you too who
first imparted to my soul that strength in which I am now permitted
to pass through the dark valley; you taught me to lean on the staff
which is now sustaining my footsteps: and will you repent you of the
good you have performed, and mourn over the happy work which you have
accomplished?

"I cannot tell how it is, but I feel assured that the conflict will
speedily be ended. How simple, how beautiful is the religion which
teaches how to die! and how little does it resemble the eloquent
declamations, the fine spun arguments, the perplexing subtleties,
with which we puzzle comprehension and estrange the affections, while
'redolent of life' we waste our intellectual prime in the labyrinths of
metaphysical lore, and _talk_ ourselves far away from God. My mother,
I am about to depart, and shall soon be removed beyond the confines
of sense. Pray for me, not that I should tarry here, but be received
amidst the countless millions of the blessed."

Mrs. Gordon was called away upon urgent business, and Zorilda, having
thrown on a cloak, glided secretly down the back stairs, and passing
up a path lined with cypress, gained the church-yard, which had long
been her favourite haunt. It was a romantic spot, in which she loved
to listen to the sullen roar of the gathering storm, or the melancholy
sighing of the sea breezes as they whistled through the long wiry grass
which waved upon the walls of a ruined abbey overhung with ivy, that
still outlived the wreck of time, and stood a monument of former days.
An ancient yew tree, which tossed its old fantastic roots high in air,
with flattened crown, over which the northern blast from Kinnaird's
head swept nippingly, overshadowed a gloomy corner of this wild and
desolate cemetery. Thither Zorilda bent her steps. Pausing as she
approached the spot, the curlieu's plaintive wail struck upon her ear.

"Hah! that is my funeral knell! it is a gracious and a cheering sound;
a requiem of welcome omen."

  "I love to linger in the narrow field
  "Of rest--to wander round from tomb to tomb,
  "And think of some who silent sleep below."

She turned round an angle of the old building, as she mused, and
reaching her accustomed rocky seat, beneath the yew tree's matted
roof, "This," said she, "shall be my resting place! Ocean! thou image
of eternity! thy breath is balmy, and wafts freedom to my bosom. Here
will I trace the simple memorial which shall mark my grave. Ambition!
but for thee, how different had been my fate; but the pilot who guided
my bark, can never err. I have required long discipline to teach me;
but at last I see the heavenly scheme which comprehends a wider range
than this poor nether sphere can supply. Why is it so difficult to
justify the ways of God to man, but that we seek results on faith,
which are furnished only in a higher scene. My father, I acknowledge
my stubbornness and stupidity. Thou hast dealt with me thus, that we
might meet in the mansions of glory, where all tears shall be wiped
away. What are the brief enjoyments of this fleeting world, when
compared with the celestial communion of those who are purified in the
furnace of affliction! Yes, we shall meet father, mother, Algernon! Oh!
my burning brow; my beating heart. How I long for the green pastures
and refreshing waters, which are promised to the weary pilgrim! Had I
been what the world calls happy, I should have loved it too well, and
built my tabernacle on its unstable sands. My God resolved to bring me
home to more abiding felicity than I could have known below; there, I
grow faint: this feeble outline is all that I can sketch, but Lionel
shall finish it. That dear friend shall perform Zorilda's last earthly
purpose, and place this memento where she lies. Oh that I were already
laid beneath the verdant turf! but my tarrying will not be long--my
strength is exhausted."

She made an effort to rise, but her bending limbs refused their office.
Her eyes grew dim, and unable to recover herself, she fell back into
the arms of him, whose name she had just pronounced.

"Adored Zorilda! thy Lionel is here, and Clara is at this moment
seeking her best beloved friend at Drumcairn. Oh speak! Raise those
precious eye-lids, and look on one who is devoted to thee! Speak, oh
say but one word, and relieve this agony of dread!"

She heard not; saw not; felt not. She had fallen asleep to wake no
more, and at her feet the pencil lay, with which she had just traced an
urn, veiled in clouds, through which the name of Zorilda was faintly
discernible, and on its pedestal were engraved the words,

  "Who was she?"
  "What is she?"


THE YOUNG REFORMERS.

  "Boys immature in knowledge
  Pawn their experience to their present pleasure,
  And so rebel to judgment."

  SHAKSPEARE.


PREFACE.


On calling lately at the house of a friend who was indisposed, I found
him in his study wrapped in a dressing gown, and turning over, with
pensive air, the leaves of a dust-brown manuscript, which lay open
before him on the table.

"What have you got here? have you turned author, or are you revising
and correcting for another?" said I, arresting the arm of my friend, as
he was in the act of removing his papers.

"I have been," he replied, "looking over a cobwebbed memoir of my own
life, which has been one of no ordinary vicissitude. It is a melancholy
pleasure to retrace the path of existence through a faithful narrative
of its events; and compare ourselves with ourselves in different stages
of our progress. I have not glanced at this moth-eaten record for
upwards of twenty years, and feel, after closing it, as if I had been
conversing with the dead; but let me place it on its shelf again, and
we will talk on more agreeable subjects."

"Not till I have possession," said I, darting forwards and seizing
the manuscript. An intimacy of long standing pleaded excuse for this
abrupt measure. I took home my booty, read the memoir; and felt so
deeply interested in a story which I knew to be true, that I entreated
permission to give it to my printer. "I thought, at one time, of
publishing it," replied my friend, "but afterwards relinquished the
idea. The experience of one man never guides another. All people like
to purchase their own; but provided you change every name of place or
person which might inflict a wound in any breast, you may do as you
please with my tale of other times."

I promised, and have performed, so let no Reader, who happens to have
a taste either for genealogy or geography, seek acquaintance with any
character or locality introduced in the following pages.

  THE EDITOR.




CHAPTER I.


"A bramble at the eye is larger than an oak at a distance," and thus
every man is of importance in his own view; and imagines that he could
communicate something of profit or pleasure by recounting the results
of his individual experience. But the most remarkable adventures, as
well as the sagest remarks, are forgotten, if they are merely the
subjects of fire-side reminiscence; and people are deterred from making
public the events of their own lives through the terror of imputed
egotism, however well they may feel inclined to impart a benefit to
their species. In this dilemma, between vanity and forgetfulness, much
useful warning is withheld from the world, since all agree that one
fact is more valuable than volumes of theory.

This train of meditation was awakened by unpacking a case, in which
a pile of journals, which I had kept from early youth, met my eye.
Many a bitter recollection rose upon my mind, as I arranged them
according to order; but _coute qui coute_, I resolved that I would
collect my scattered memoranda, and attempt a sketch of my own history.
The retrospect was painful; but if a single fellow-being might be
instructed by a narrative of my errors, I felt that I should be
rewarded; and even should no second person peruse these pages, a review
of the past will be good for my own heart.

Inspired by these reflections, I begin by saying, who I am and whence
I came. My name is Albert Fitzmaurice, and my birth-place the western
extremity of a certain county in Ireland. My father was a clergyman
of the Established Church, who, though born likewise in Ireland,
was of English parentage, and received an Oxford education, which
was a greater distinction in his day than it is at present, when
the intercourse between the Sister Kingdoms has softened down, or
obliterated so many national differences amongst their inhabitants.

Charles Fitzmaurice, for that was my father's name, was an accomplished
gentleman, according to that high standard which never varies in all
the changes of time and taste. Amiable, classical, and refined, he
sought a congenial partner to mitigate the horrors of the banishment to
which he was doomed at eight and twenty by his ecclesiastical patron;
and as the females of that period were distinguished from each other by
varieties not entirely comprehended under the endorsement of "black,
brown, and fair;" my father was fortunate enough to find a companion
whose fine understanding and heavenly sweetness of disposition
maintained a perpetual sunshine of the soul wherever she moved.

In the present artificial state of society, when rank and fortune are
generally considered necessary to refinement, I shall encounter the
curled lip and elevated eye-brow of disdain if I venture to assert that
my parents were amongst the happiest specimens of polished elegance,
though they could neither boast of wealth nor title. There is a dignity
of mind, which, borrowing nothing from the Proteus fashion of the day,
rises gracefully in its own strength, and is suited to all times,
because, proceeding from solid principles, it is not indebted to the
changeful caprices of the passing hour. Surely that politeness which
has its foundation in the heart, and which may be defined good nature
sent to school, is the only genuine sort, permanent in its influence,
and of universal application.

Such was the kind with which I was acquainted in the home of my early
existence. As the shores appear to glide by the skimming bark in
the sweet calm of a summer sky, while in reality they are fixed and
immoveable, so did the suavity of parental affection temper discipline
to such a degree, that commands put on the gentle aspect of request,
which none but demons could have resisted; and retirement, which
precluded any attempt at awkward imitation, imparted all that ease and
self-possession, which are the essence of good society.

Situated in a wild and thinly peopled district, though in one of the
most populous of all countries, this excellent pair began their wedded
career on the humble pittance of five hundred _per annum_, which sum,
however, it must be remembered, embraced a much wider proportion of
comfort than the same income could at present procure. During many
tranquil years my parents pursued "the noiseless tenor of their way,"
rich in each other's love, and happy because their mutual attachment
was built on sympathy in virtue, which wears brighter instead of being
destroyed by use. They lived, it is true, in what modern language
styles the deepest obscurity; but _really_ in the meridian light of
truth and contentment. A numerous tribe of olive branches sprang around
their table; and notwithstanding the straightened finances which
supplied their wants, each addition to the family group was hailed with
affection, which seemed to increase in fervor with every new direction
of its course.

The chief delight of my father and mother consisted in bestowing upon
their offspring every advantage which their own acquirements, and
whatever instruction they could attain at such a distance from the
capital, enabled them to impart. An excellent library lent its aid to
their efforts, but the quiet routine of a country life, in which each
day certified of another, however pleasingly diversified for the actors
in a domestic group, is too monotonous to interest such as may be
strangers to those endearing relations which produce, in breasts that
feel their influence, an unceasing supply of excitement; and therefore
my readers (if readers I should have) will readily dispense with all
the particulars of my childhood, and thank me for retarding their
introduction to the parsonage of Glendruid, in the wilds of the west,
till about the year ninety-seven, when I was a full grown youth of
eighteen, tall, active, and manly. Truth compels me, in thus declaring
how many summers I had numbered at the commencement of my story, to
destroy _in limine_ any romantic visions with which the fairer part of
creation may be inspired, if any amongst them should deign to turn my
title page in fond belief of meeting with a youthful hero, under the
not _unnovel_ like appellation which I bear. It is true that I _have
been_ young, giddy, and adventurous; and if I am no longer the Albert
of former days, it is because time will do his silent work without
regard to the prayer of beauty, and hurry his victim forward unmindful
of every entreaty preferred by either sex, to stay his merciless
career. But to my tale.

All who have lived as long as I have done, will recollect that the
epoch of which I write was one of violent commotion in the minds of
Irishmen. The revolutionary spirit of France had crossed the seas, and
while actively fermenting the population of my country, was as rapidly
decomposing the substance of religion and morals. What was called
a thirst of inquiry, a search after truth, liberality of opinion,
unprejudiced reason, and many such misnomers, was in fact, a burning
desire to demolish the entire structure of civilized institution, and
send mankind again into the woods as hunters and shepherds, to emerge
anew from the elements of natural society. Man differs not more from
the very antipodes of his own character in another person, than he does
from himself in distant periods of his life, and I almost doubt my
identity in retracing the days of my youth, when I was one of those who

    ----"Bawl for freedom in their senseless mood,
    And still revolt when truth would set them free,
    License they mean when they cry liberty."

Glendruid Glebe was situated in one of the wildest spots of earth; and
the only old wood, though of dwarfish size, which the whole district
for many miles could boast, embellished the precipitous sides of a
ravine close to my father's dwelling, into which the Atlantic billows
rushed as impetuously as if they sought asylum in our sheltered creek
from some sea monster. The rocks which lined this mountain _gash_, were
chafed into fretwork, resembling honey-comb by the constant friction of
returning tides, and assumed a thousand fantastic forms along the shore
as far as the eye could reach. Surrounded by these rugged masses, it
was my delight, in childhood, to watch the seals as they lay basking in
the sunshine upon our rocks, or listen with charmed attention to the
"sob of the wave," as it struggled through those stony syphons which
had been perforated by the ocean waters. Seated under the blast-riven
trunk of a stunted oak, I used to weave the web of future fate while
yet a boy, and all my day-dreams were of happiness and virtue.

In the same nook, at a later period, did I plan the revolution of the
state, and trampling, by anticipation, all institutions, human and
divine, beneath my feet, revel in the wishes for success of anarchy and
scepticism. Alas! what a vapour is man throughout his seven ages, when
not governed by the spirit of God within his breast! How easy is the
transition from good to evil, and how ingenious that sophistry which
blends the most discordant elements into one favourite system!

Having briefly sketched the character of my parents, and set them down
amid the Irish Alps, I must proceed to speak of two other families by
whom our western wilderness was peopled, and who were unhappily the
only near neighbours of Glendruid, except a pair of ecclesiastics,
hereafter to be described.

John Talbot Esq. was a gentleman of fortune, that is to say, according
to an interpretation which would often be found to explain that title
in Ireland, he possessed a large tract of territory in fee, and
appeared the undisputed Lord of a widely spread though barren domain,
while his revenues were so circumscribed, that had it not been for the
high-ways and bye-ways of ocean, and a great subterranean vault in
which tobacco, tea, and brandy, found convenient hiding place, all but
the common necessaries of life would often have been wanting. He was
a man of education, just enough to be as mischievous as possible in
such a country as Ireland, where the materials of combustion are always
at hand, and only require a breath to blow them. Mr. Talbot was not a
scholar, and therefore perhaps it was that he held learning and science
in the profoundest contempt. He read, however, all the publications of
the day, and was well versed in the French school; while newspapers,
pamphlets, and reviews, light, loose, and in constant succession,
supplied him with stores for the furtherance of his daily purpose in
fanning discontent amongst the people.

His family had been originally Roman Catholic, but some intermarriage
introduced property and Protestantism at the same time into one of its
branches, of which he was the principal descendant, and he had never
gone to mass, though, unfortunately, he was not nearer to church on
that account. He was an infidel, and the bookcases at Ferney, a name
which, through admiration of Voltaire, Mr. Talbot had superinduced on
the ancient denomination of Kimahone, were filled with the voluminous
works of this favourite author, to which were added those of his
Gallic brethren, and the more recent trash of Godwin, Paine, Volney,
Wolstoncroft, and such like, of indigenous growth. From these sources
he drew his heavy artillery when required, but as I have stated, the
lighter productions of each day's publication furnished abundant
ammunition for a successful warfare against religion and loyalty in a
weekly meeting at St. Patrick's cross, where a few miserable huts,
built on the confluence of four mountain tracks, were dignified by the
style and title of town, and yclept Ballymaclashen.

One slated roof raised its head in solitary pre-eminence in the centre
of these mud-walled tenements, and was commonly called from this
distinguishing circumstance, the "_slat-house_." In front of this
edifice was a pole, the perpendicular position of which was preserved
by an immense _cairn_ of rude stones piled round its base, as though
it marked the grave of some renowned Milesian; and from this pole was
suspended by a pair of rusty hooks, a board, on which was daubed an
equestrian figure attired in patches of red and green, with a full
bottomed wig, and cocked hat. In my childhood this warrior was said to
represent "King George the Third _a hoss back_;" but in after time,
though no change of costume had been carried into effect on the sign
post, the same red man and white horse were ingeniously metamorphosed
by the landlord into Buonaparte mounted on his charger. Underneath
was inscribed, "Lisaned to cell Bere, Ail, & Portur, as likewize
pruf sperrets by Tim Carthy," while "entertenmant for Man and Hoss,"
flourished in a scroll at the bottom to allure the wayfarer who might
stand in need of refreshment in crossing the moor of Ballymaclashen.

Amongst the meaner habitations of this wretched hamlet, two or three
were distinguished from the rest by a thin lacquering of whitewash,
which mottled the clayey surface of the walls into a ground which
served to render legible the ill-spelt and apocryphal announcement,
traced with a burnt stick, that "dry lodgen" might be found within;
while a turf tied in a string, and fastened by a withy to the potato
stalks, which formed the thatch of these miserable dwellings, informed
travellers of humbler description that all the inspiration of that
witching herb which affords stimulus in such variety of charm, was not
confined to the elegant accommodations of Tim, but might be enjoyed
with uncostly "means and appliances." Smile not, ye sleek and pampered
sons of commerce, who gloat upon the wealth of nations, if I proceed
to shew that even the spirit of competition was not a stranger to the
desert scene which I am describing. On one of these freckled fronts,
was scrawled the following sentence, which I shall give in its original
orthography, "Lady ha'punce tuck within and no questions axed."

For the explanation of this singular inscription, be it known, that a
quantity of counterfeit copper had got into circulation, to the great
alarm of the country dealers, who became so suspicious of Hibernia's
effigy, that, seized with a panic, they refused for some time any thing
less than a silver tender, and preferred running on a doubtful score
with their customers, to risking their little property in exchange
for a base coin of more easy attainment; but the dread of non-payment
and avidity of gain, will submit to sacrifice, and the extraordinary
advertisement to which I have alluded, was the device hit upon by Larry
Connell, more crafty, and a bolder speculator than his fellows, for the
purpose of inviting, in the true spirit of monopoly, all the consumers
of his neighbourhood, and securing an exclusive interest which he
hoped might outlive the temporary inconvenience of this fraudulent
medium of exchange. "Nothing venture, nothing have," was Larry's motto,
and the event proved his sagacity, for all the "lady ha'punce" came to
his cabin to be bartered for snuff or illicit whiskey, during a season,
to his cost; but in process of time, when the base metal disappeared,
gratitude and habit confirmed a preference for our liberal trader,
who, like many of his betters, managed by a little splash and cunning,
to acquire a character for generosity, while thinking of no interest
except his own. Such is the race of man; varying in modes; in substance
ever the same.

Well! Ballymaclashen would seem but an unprofitable theatre for the
exertion of oratory; but Cæsar thought it better to be first in a
village than second at Rome, and Mr. Talbot, who was of the same
opinion, did not disdain to wear the bays which were placed on his
brow, to crown him Anacharsis Cloots of the "Slat House." There he
held his political orgies, and there unrivalled, uttered many a
bold harangue to the admiring multitude of red-haired, raw-boned,
open-mouthed, and bare-legged peasants, who flocked from all the
adjacent districts to hear arguments which there was no adversary to
oppose; swallow statements which no one started up to contradict;
and applaud declamations, one half at least of which they did not
understand.

Paddy, however, is a quick intelligent animal, and as Mr. Talbot was
largely gifted with natural eloquence, and studied to use language of a
popular _savour_, seasoning the graver topics in his speeches with that
dry humour which to Irish minds is an irresistible _sauce piquante_,
his auditors were enabled to catch, and carry away, a good deal of the
matter which he propounded, and returned to their homes discoursing
all the way, with inflated spirits, of liberty and equality; the
downfall of tithes; the destruction of kingly government; the partition
and recovery of forfeited estates, with all the other themes of
disaffection then afloat, in their own phraseology, and with much zeal
in these subjects of discussion.

Mr. Talbot had a wife and family, who were all bitten by the mania of
the day, and all practised according to sex and age, the doctrines
which they had imbibed. The children were taught from their cradle
to abhor an orange dye, as the livery of Satan, and I well remember
that the first exhibition of prowess manifested by these youngsters,
consisted in an attack with broad swords made of wood, on all the
lilies of that hue, which could be found in the neighbouring gardens.
A horse-leech which had been caught in a pool by a plough-boy, and
brought as a curiosity to the young gentlemen, underwent a merciless
_auto da fe_ for the crime of being spotted with a proscribed colour;
and an old woman narrowly escaped being ducked in an adjacent pond,
for the offence of bringing a basket of fish to the door, in which the
plaice appeared with forbidden tints. All this, and much more, was
encouraged as wit, and while the children were in their infancy, the
unfortunate servants, who were condemned to endure the effects of their
undisciplined self-will and lawless fancies, were the only victims of
that misrule in which they were brought up; but as time advanced,
and energies expanded, the nursery became an arena too confined for
the exercise of _freemen_, and a mob of untutored democrats were now
let loose upon the common, to talk of equal rights, and wield unequal
power, and, like a second deluge of Goths and Vandals, issue forth the
terror and the curse of all around, to barbarise the human race anew.

As the young Talbots grew to man's estate, the only practical evidence
which they gave of sincerity in their professions, was discoverable
in their love of low company, not preferred with the view, it must
be added, of exerting any benevolence towards their inferiors, but
for the pleasure of drilling, dictating to, and domineering over, all
the slavish crew whom poverty and ignorance, hope or fear, induced to
submit to the tyranny of their control.

Dogs, horses, fishing-rods, were soon disregarded for the more
animating amusement of training soldiers for the field. At first a
harmless host, armed with bulrushes, assembled on the green; but
these innoxious weapons were ere long exchanged for more destructive
instruments, and the day-light parade gave place in time, to nocturnal
meetings, to which the mystery of darkness and silence lent an
irresistible attraction. Albinia Talbot, an Amazonian girl of sixteen,
tall, masculine, and uncommonly handsome, furnished all her aid to
these martial exercises, and attended her brothers in all their nightly
excursions. Dressed in a green habit, and mounted on her pony, she
would appear at the rendezvous, and by her presence add the charm of
gallantry to that of prowess.

Albinia's adoption of the rebel politics and uniform, was the hinge
upon which my obedience turned, and I resolved to be deterred no longer
by any authority from following the bent of inclination. I had been
strictly prohibited by my father from joining in any of the exploits
of our young neighbours, of which he received information through some
secret channel; and though strongly tempted by the love of adventure
to transgress the order, I did not yield till my imagination was fired
by the example of a beautiful female, who, imitating the Semiramises
and Hersilias of antiquity, laid aside the timidity of her sex, and
spurning the distaff, rushed forth, inspired by patriotic ardour in her
country's cause.

"What!" said I, "shall it be said that the young and lovely Albinia
disdains inglorious ease, and braves the midnight blast, the fatigues
of the field, and the risk of detection, while I am lying supinely
taking my repose? Shall I be indifferent to the wrongs of that island
which gave me birth, while this noble minded girl, regardless of self,
devotes every energy to the freedom and happiness of a suffering
people?"

The bonds of filial submission had long been gradually relaxing. I now
determined on slipping the noose, and delivering myself at once from
the restraint by which I had hitherto been withheld. I had been often
solicited to accept a commission in "_the regiment_," which name the
young Talbots gave to the rabble rout which they were dragooning into
military array; but I had refused, much as I envied them, and wished
to join in the enterprize. Albinia however, as I have said, turned the
balance, and to the next mountain muster I promised to go. While I
live I shall never forget the rapture which, notwithstanding all the
anxiety incident to concealment, and the dread of discovery, I felt at
finding myself not only a spectator, but an actor in a scene so novel
and inspiring, as broke upon my sight, on the first time of keeping my
appointment.

I had several miles to ride to the place of meeting, at which, when
arrived, I found some hundreds of fine young fellows assembled, who
were regularly marshalled, and put through several evolutions (which
they executed with astonishing precision) by a man who the Talbots
informed me was a deserter, and in their service. The place selected
for these clandestine meetings, was admirably calculated for the
purpose, and presented a _coup d'oeil_ singularly picturesque as well
as imposing. A mixed and confused remembrance of every thing romantic
which I had ever read, occurred to my imagination as I approached the
scene. Gil Blas, the Pretender, and a thousand other recollections
rushed upon my memory, and poured such a tide of the most delightful
visions on my mind, that when united to a dream of Brutus, and the
Scipios, with the more recent names of those who were now endangering
life and property for their country's good, nothing was wanting to
complete the enthusiasm with which I made a vow on the altar of
liberty, that night, to devote my services to the goddess of popular
adoration.

The spot on which I met my friends was deeply embosomed within a
circular barrier of mountains, the outlines of which gracefully
intersected each other, and seemed to close entirely round a small lake
of water, pure and clear, but dark as Erebus. In the middle of this
lake rose a little green island, beautifully tufted with elder, yew,
and a few withered stumps of oak, which seemed to tell of better days.

This sequestered patch of earth appeared to have been a favourite haunt
of various orders of worshippers, for a gigantic Cromlech reared its
Druid head at no great distance from the remains of a ruined abbey,
furnishing a powerful contrast between the durability of its form and
materials, unaltered in the lapse of ages, and the mouldering fragments
which spoke the vanity of man's best efforts to perpetuate his fleeting
fame.

From the main land to the island, a rude causeway of enormous stones,
narrow, but of massy structure, was the _via sacra_ by which thousands
of poor pilgrims, led by the most benighted superstition, annually
visited this vestige of monastic times. I had often heard of the
striking effect produced by the reflection of St. John's fires from
the lake, on the eve of that saintly vigil when the votaries of papal
dominion used to assemble here and perform their religious rites; but
what is always within our reach we generally neglect to seek, and so it
was in the present instance.

As I drew near, the pale and tranquil moonbeams fell upon the
commanding form of Albinia, who, standing on the Cromlech's height,
and arrayed in her vestment of green, addressed the troop who were
listening with devoted zeal, as though she had been another Joan of
Arc, to every word uttered by her lips. She had adorned her hat with
a branch of the mountain ash, to the beautiful scarlet fruit of which
Scotland has given the name of rowan berries; and such was the romance
with which I gazed on her figure, that she seemed no other in that
moment to my eyes, than the genius of Erin awakening from a tedious
slumber to invoke the justice of Heaven on her beloved country. I wept
as I mused on the scene of enchantment before me, while a projecting
crag still kept me out of view, but the tears which I then shed, were
the last that bedewed my cheeks for many a day. I was about to enter
the labyrinth of that false philosophy which hardens the heart, and
every remnant of tender feeling was attacked with such ridicule by my
new advisers, who set their faces against _sentiment_ of whatever kind,
that, under their tuition, I quickly learned to despise all natural
impulses of the human breast.

After pausing for a few minutes to contemplate the assembly, I left my
screen, and appeared in full front of the band. I was received with
such welcome and applause as flattered my vanity to intoxication. No
hero, ancient or modern, could have felt himself more elevated by the
well-earned clang of triumph than I did at hearing my praises sounded
by a mob of deluded peasants. Albinia appointed me immediately to a
company in the corps; she seemed to act as _generalissima_ on the
occasion, and to exercise unlimited control over this rebel multitude,
who looked upon her as inspired.

I was informed by my fair commandant, that she expected much from my
skill, bravery, and judgment; and I resolved to repay the confidence
thus reposed, by the most entire submission to my lovely chief, and the
most perfect devotion to the cause which she supported. I longed for
some distinguishing badge of favour, and would gladly have received a
scarf, or glove, or even the rowan wreath, which would have turned to
amaranth in my keeping, but I am obliged to confess that Albinia was
not a gentle Dulcinea; abrupt almost to coarseness, she shook me rather
roughly by the hand, and presenting me a pistol and powder-horn, said,
"There! I commit these to you, and as you see that as yet we are but
slenderly provided with either arms or ammunition, I request you to
make good use of what is now entrusted to your care."

Our _regiment_ was composed, as I have mentioned, of some hundred fine
brawny youths. They were all dressed in linen shirts which they wore
over their ragged clothes. This garb had the double advantage of giving
an air of uniformity, and also of being easily slipped off in case of a
surprise, against the occurrence of which we endeavoured to guard, by
always keeping a watch in the passes which led to our rendezvous. Our
band were armed with clubs of white-thorn, elder, or whatever else they
could procure. A few of them had old military belts and feathers, which
served to mark the corporals and sergeants; the officers being supplied
from the houses of Ferney and Painesville.

So infatuated was I by these martial exercises, that in spite of the
repugnance which I knew my parents felt to an intimacy on my part
with the Lovetts and Talbots, I gave myself up to them; and, though
by stealth, contrived to be a punctual attendant on the musters. A
brisk correspondence, in which my brothers had been, as I discovered,
employed long before I was called upon to join, existed between us and
all the _mauvais sujets_ in the country. Military tactics formed but a
part of the schemes on foot. As an auxiliary branch of united Irishmen,
we had our committees, secretaries, treasurers, and central offices,
to which we communicated whatever information we had been enabled to
collect, and which we considered likely to advance our schemes.




CHAPTER II.


Such was the state of affairs at the period of which I write, as
touching our _public_ functions; but the condition of private life
remains to be unfolded; and as the inhabitants of Glendruid were not
the leaders, but the led, I will begin with causes before I proceed
to effects, and describe the situation of affairs at _Painesville_,
formerly known by the appellation of Lovett-lodge, and exhibiting
a complete pandemonium at the time in which my tale may be said to
commence. Looking back on Mr. Lovett's family with the sobered views of
forty-five, I must own that nothing could be more preposterously absurd
than the inversion of all natural order in his house.

Mr. and Mrs. Lovett were pupils of that school which directly sprang
from the French revolution, though they had not drank so deeply of
the poisoned chalice as to be openly professed advocates of irreligion
or immorality. They were republicans; and held all the incompatible
doctrines which contradict each other, and the unfortunate consequences
of which are precisely as apparent under a single roof as in a nation.
Of such nature were the dogmas of liberty and equality, so utterly
at variance with the constitution of created things, that were they
introduced by the divine fiat over the face of the whole globe in
perfect balance at the moment of its formation, one generation
could not pass away without witnessing the destruction of a state
inconsistent with the unequal proportions of strength and intellect
awarded by our Maker to his creatures, and therefore never designed to
be continued amongst them.

The uproar of a democracy met the eye and ear on crossing the threshold
of the door at Painesville, where eight children were permitted, from
the earliest age, to exercise their several talents for disputation
without the slightest restraint. Assertion passed for argument,
roughness was styled sincerity, and contempt of all authority was
called the light of reason. When first I became acquainted with manners
so dissimilar from those to which I had been used at Glendruid, I
was struck with an unfavourable impression, and felt like one who
is suddenly introduced from a purer atmosphere into one that is
contaminated; but the moral and physical senses become alike accustomed
to vitiated air, and we learn to breathe freely where suffocation
seemed to threaten. I soon imbibed enough of the popular _Malaria_ to
be quite at home; and though conscious that paradoxes were imposed upon
my understanding, against which the unbiassed mind revolted, I speedily
adopted the nomenclature, and learned to call things by names which
were foreign to their nature; right and wrong often changed places,
and I became an adept in the language of "natural justice--tyranny of
the laws--folly of legislation--wickedness of power--sovereignty of
reason," and the disgusting farrago of a period now gone by, but which,
though its grosser errors are disclaimed by the more judicious, has
left much of its leaven behind.

At Painesville there was nothing but incessant discussion,
replication, rejoinder, mooting of futile questions, and disrespectful
contradiction. Talents were held to be the one thing needful; and
though the heads of the family did not carry matters to such lengths
as to pronounce that religion and morals were of no value, yet the
whole bearing of conversation tended to loosen all existing ties with
either the one or the other. Every subject was tried by the test
of reason; not meaning the reason of the wise, the informed, the
experienced--but of the young, the pert, and superficial. The rapid
conclusions of ingenuity put to flight the sober maxims of truth and
knowledge. Whatever was rendered venerable by the sanction of time
was _litigated_, and brought to the bar anew, to be tried by a self
impanelled jury. At Painesville it was decreed that, "relationship was
a mere accident, which ought not to infringe on the liberty of the
subject, by conveying any right. Children, it was argued, were not
consulted as to their choice--they did not give consent to be brought
into the world; consequently there was no covenant. Nature declared
for equality, in the inferior creation, as soon as animals acquired
physical power to take care of themselves. Why should man be the only
exception to a law thus general, and with superior endowments be
excluded from the charter enjoyed by every other living creature?"

It is painful, even now, to retrace, at this distance of time, the
dicta of a philosophy which has become nearly obsolete, and the very
remembrance of which ought to be expunged; but I am giving the history
of my own times; and facts which I must narrate require a retrospect of
those modes of thinking which gave them birth. The intelligent reader,
who is aware of the moral confusion which followed, upon the adoption
of those principles introduced by the French revolution, will easily
fill up the rough sketch which I have attempted of the Lovett family,
and be enabled to anticipate, in idea, all the consequences exhibited
in the minuter detail of their lives. Such a reader will easily guess,
that on the part of the parents was presented a wild assumption of
those destructive principles which led to the dismemberment of that
country from which they were unhappily imported; while the offspring,
as might naturally be expected, found too much that was gratifying
both to pride and vanity, in the lessons which they were taught, not
to seize them with avidity; and Painesville accordingly exhibited a
saturnalia where the rulers and the ruled exchanged places.

All was chaos and usurpation; Mr. and Mrs. Lovett boasted of the
equality which reigned in their family, and rejected every idea of
governing their children by means of parental discipline. Fear was
decided to be a slavish sentiment, which was not allowed place amongst
the motives which ought to actuate rational beings. "Man was born
free, and judgment was given as the only guide of action. Affections
were mere instincts unworthy of swaying the conduct; and duty was an
imposition on the privileges of the human race."

The young people were not long in convincing their father and mother
that the relation of equal fraternity, once substituted for that
of parent and child, it is no easy matter to retrace the path, and
when the evils of misrule become intolerable from the numbers and
the strength of those whom it influences, to exchange them for the
blessings of legitimate control. The colt too long at large will not
readily submit to bit and bridle; and that rider who would attempt
to enforce the unwonted restraint, will soon be rendered practically
sensible of his mistake.

At Painesville all the members of the family talked together, which
seemed the only symptom of concert amongst them. They quoted Rousseau,
D'Alembert, Gibbon, Hume, Volney, at every sentence. With these authors
I was not acquainted, as they made no part of the study furniture at
Glendruid; but, as I have said already, though conscience winced in the
outset from doctrines so little in unison with those of home, I was an
apt pupil, and speedily adopted a new system of thinking.

My two brothers, who were senior to me, had entered the University
in the year that preceded that of the Irish rebellion; and though
they never remained more than a few days at each examination in the
metropolis, yet my father's parochial duties frequently interfering
with his power of accompanying them, these short visits in Dublin were
sufficient to bring them acquainted with all that was in progress, such
was the activity that characterized at that juncture the republican
energies in Ireland.

The elder of these youths, whose name was Harold, was particularly
amiable, and became the victim of designing men, who worked
successfully on his generosity to draw him into their snares. He took
up the theory of Godwin, and believed, with more sincerity than his
master, in the infinite perfectibility of the human race. Ascribing all
the evil which he beheld under the sun to the various corruptions of
administration, and the venality of governors, benevolence was in fact
the destroying angel of _his_ mind; and he would gladly have prostrated
princes in the dust, and overthrown their seats of empire, in order to
secure "_the people_" in the enjoyment of every good.

Short-sighted politicians, who, rejecting the light of experience,
fell into the error of expecting universal order, out of particular
derangement, and general virtue, as the result of individual crime!
Harold's was a benign spirit, which wished well to every thing that
breathed; but he was not proof against the seductions of the popular
creed, and became completely entangled in speculations worthy of the
source from which they emanated. His temper, which had been naturally
sweet, and open as the morning breeze, changed to dark, sullen, and
secretive. He had been, deservedly, a darling with the best of mothers,
and her grief at his altered deportment may be more easily conceived
than described. It was not that he designed, "as of malice prepense,"
to behave uncourteously, but his mind was absolutely absorbed. The
amusements which had hitherto delighted, no longer afforded interest.
His favourite dog--his garden--his collection of shells and minerals,
were all neglected. Harold, who used to wander for miles along the
sea-shore in quest of specimens with which to enrich his store, and who
hastened to bring the fruits of his labour to that gentle being, the
kindness of whose smile might have warmed the breast of an anchorite,
and whose ready participation in whatever gave pleasure to others
rendered her in better times the beloved friend as well as mother of
her children--lived now immured in his bed-chamber, the door of which
he kept locked while he was within it, and the key was always put into
his pocket when he left the house.

How he was employed no one could tell, as no trace of book, pen,
ink, or writing was discoverable at those times when old Margaret, a
faithful domestic who lived in my family during several years, had
access to his apartment. One day, however, in sweeping the room, she
discovered a small bit of paper which had been torn from a larger
piece, and escaped the flames to which it had been probably destined.
"Central Committee," "Western District," "French Forces," were the only
words from which any surmise could be collected; and these were enough
to alarm her, to whom they bore evident testimony of league in those
treasonable plots which were threatening to involve the country in
civil discord, and endanger the lives and property of thousands.

Margaret, who was well acquainted with the anxious state of my mother's
mind, took the fragment to her, and the latter, watching an opportunity
to remark the effect which it might produce upon her son, fixed her
eyes steadily upon him as he entered the room where she sat, saying,
"Harold, is not this your hand-writing?"

"I am sure it is hard to tell; perhaps it may be," was my brother's
reply; uttered so coldly, so carefully, as to baffle inquiry, and
convince my mother that any further scrutiny would lead but to a more
artful avoidance of the truth, as well as more cunning contrivance
for future concealment. She therefore refrained from asking another
question, but heaved a sigh as she quitted her seat to gain the
sanctuary of her closet.

There _had_ been a time when that sigh would have agonized the soul
of Harold, could he have believed himself to be the cause of drawing
it forth; but his affections were seared, and he saw his mother
turn from him with a breaking heart, undisturbed by the slightest
emotion. My second brother possessed neither Harold's talents, nor
my romance. He was more phlegmatic and common-place than any of the
family. Yet he, too, was infected by the distemper of the times, and
had his part assigned him, in which he was more useful than if he had
been considered equal to higher purposes. He had ever been fond of
shooting and fishing, and as these sports were continued as usual, he
was not suspected of taking much concern in political matters, and was
therefore employed as a safe ambassador, frequently leaving our once
peaceful abode, loaded with despatches which were to be deposited in
the ivied wall of a ruined castle, at some distance from Glendruid. All
who met him supposed that lines, flies, and sandwiches, constituted
the entire freight of a wicker basket which, strapped upon his back,
was in reality the vehicle of a correspondence, the discovery of which
would have doomed its authors to inevitable destruction. The plans thus
carried on were, it is true, carefully wrapped in the concealment of
cypher, but a key is easily found to the most cunning contrivance of
this kind; and in fact at a later period, our devices were all brought
to light.

I have said that my father's circumstances were very limited, and
I should not revert to a subject which involves the remembrance of
privations as humiliating to pride as distasteful to sense, were it
not to preserve a recollection of our real situation in the minds of
such as may read my story, and furnish some excuse for the wanderings
of youth, debarred as we were from the enjoyment of those advantages
which depend upon wealth. Books we had, and a great many of them, but
they had ceased to charm. The standard works of a former day were not
in vogue; the new philosophy had extinguished the wisdom of antiquity,
and reduced it to a dead letter, and the flippant apothegms of the day,
whether applied to religion, morals, or politics, were accounted the
only knowledge worth possessing.

I had no money to procure the modern publications, but the Talbots
and Lovetts were bountifully supplied, and always ready to lend. I
devoured, therefore, with famished appetite, all that I could beg or
borrow, and conveyed my treasure to that rocky recess which I have
described, where, with industry worthy of a better object, I used
to read whatever was recommended by my evil instructors. My poor
father, who was an excellent scholar, found himself at length deserted
in his study, from which his sons retired one by one, leaving this
affectionate parent to mourn over the shipwreck of a sanguine spirit,
which had delighted to anticipate with prophetic zeal the honours
of his children, and wreathe their brows with academic glory; but a
"killing frost" was preparing to nip the tender germ of hope, and
destroy every shoot from which the chaplet of future fame might be
derived.

Those who have never been parents cannot, I believe, form an adequate
conception of the sorrow reserved for those who, after having passed
one half of life in expectation, are doomed to spend the other in
disappointment, and reap a blighted crop in return for devoted love and
unslumbering solicitude.

We were no doubt unlucky in the society which chequered the domestic
sameness of our home; not that intercourse with archangels would have
deterred us in all probability from joining in the general frenzy,
but our course was perhaps accelerated by the want of a stronger
counteracting influence than any which opposed our progress. The
adjoining parishes were under the superintendence of two clergymen,
both intimates at Glendruid. They frequently visited at our house,
and were good men, but in no way calculated to control the spirit of
insubordination which was in movement, nor stem the torrent of that
voluble disaffection which was always ready to pour forth abuse upon
every thing really valuable and of sound repute.

Mr. Hill, who lived within a mile of Glendruid, and had the parish
adjoining ours, was a gentleman in education, descent, and manners.
He was at once genteel, moral, and zealous in the performance of what
he believed to be his duty; but he was a weak man, a _tête bornée_,
a formalist. Though his age did not exceed forty years when I left
home, he had a face so long-drawn that it looked as if the grand
inquisitors had got hold of it, and put his features _to the question_.
His countenance was solemn, but not from power or depth of mind, and
presented the oddest mixture imaginable of gravity and imbecility. The
physiognomy tallied exactly with the structure of his mind, which was a
union of _sounding_ sense, with the veriest impotence of reason which I
have ever happened to witness.

Even at this distance of time, I can still fancy that I hear his
long-winded harangues, and listen to his well-turned periods,
unenlivened by a single ray of mental illumination, though uttered
with grammatical accuracy, and the truest attention to accent and
emphasis. Whether the conversation related to a mouse or a mammoth,
the same laborious correctness of diction, the same flaccid sternness
of expression, marked his dull observations on either the one or the
other. If church matters were the subject of discussion, he would
treat with equal gravity the divine right of tithes or the bleaching
of a surplice; and seemed quite incapable of seeing any gradation of
sin between an atheist and a dissenter from the rubric of our English
Prayer-book. He would no more have altered the shape of his band,
than he would have changed his creed, and would have been nearly as
much shocked by seeing the pulpit of his church transplanted to the
opposite side of the building, as to have encountered a denial of the
thirty-nine articles.

From such a man little aid to a sinking cause was to be expected, and
I well remember the uneasiness of my father whenever Mr. Hill entered
the lists of theological controversy, from the unfortunate hand which
he made of an argument. There was enough of importance, however, in the
bearing of the man, to prevent his being summarily put down, though
every topic of human inquiry withered into nothing in his nerveless
grasp. In short, he was a pompous nonentity, who, like an empty cart,
made more noise than a full one; and a rumbling succession of sounds
supplied the place of sense, covering the deficiency of his faculties
from the view of stupid people with whom he passed for an oracle. We
of the new school resolved all the inflated emptiness of this good
man into the absurdity of his profession, and, as is usual with the
scoffing fraternity, visited on religion whatever lack of skill we
discovered in her advocates.

Such was our clerical neighbour on one side, while on the other resided
the Reverend Mr. Stockdale, a man in every way different from him
already pourtrayed. Tall and muscular of frame, commanding in aspect,
and powerful in understanding, but irritable of temper, Mr. Stockdale
resented with vivacity the rapid inroads which a shallow but impetuous
torrent of new fangled doctrines was daily making upon all the solid
bulwarks of ancient authority. He was a person of strong intellect
and great erudition; but the powers of his mind were precluded
from assisting him in debate, through the impatience of his honest
indignation; galled and provoked at the changes which he beheld working
destruction all around, he was not calm enough to contend with a callow
brood of upstarts, who offered perpetual resistance, in every word
which they uttered, to that creed established in unmolested sway within
his breast, during a ministry of thirty years. During this long lapse
of time not a doubt had troubled his repose, not a single adversary
till now, had ever disputed the grounds of his faith.

When this excellent man made his appearance occasionally at Painesville
or Ferney, he was attacked on all sides with rude disregard of
his sacred calling, and though primed and loaded with ammunition,
a moderate dose of which would have frittered the puny opponents
arrayed against him to atoms, yet unluckily it was not _ready_ for the
conflict. Long disuse had rusted over a fine piece of ordnance; the
_cannon_ missed fire, and not only required to be rubbed up, but to
be set to a lower level, to make it available. Thus it unfortunately
happened that a set of reasoning coxcombs, who owed their apparent
triumph to pertness and audacity, often seemed for a time masters of
the field; and, silenced by the presumption of these tyro combatants,
the worthy pastor was frequently surprised into excitement of temper,
and returned discomfited to his rectory-house, bewailing, as he
regained the mountain fastness, the flood of infidelity which had burst
upon the land, and his own incapacity to arrest its desolating progress.

The rebel crew were not slow to find out here again, that religion
could not be of celestial origin, because Mr. Stockdale, pushed
to extremity by the taunts of arrogance, was not endued with that
unalterable coolness which the indifference of scepticism can assume at
will. He could not always curb, as prudence dictated, the ebullitions
of a holy zeal which lighted spontaneously into flame, when all that
he possessed on earth, or desired in heaven, was assailed with wanton
disrespect and indecency. He wore also a large cauliflower wig, a deep
shovel hat, long waistcoat pockets descending to his knees, and leaned
on a cane, with a head of battered gold. This costume served to sharpen
our ridicule, and increase the vexation which awaited our friendly
neighbour, whenever he quitted the protection of his upland dwelling.

At Glendruid I might ever behold the influence of piety in preserving
the most beautiful equanimity of temper under the provocations which
every hour produced; but I had been too well taught to give credit to
any thing under the paternal roof. Parents in _my_ day were held in
contempt, as mere instruments by which being was conferred on another
generation, and the opinion of a father or mother was so far from
giving a bias to the conduct of their offspring, that their approval
of any person, book, or sentiment, principle, or mode of action, was
considered by us of the philosophic school as _primâ facie_ evidence
against whatever was so applauded.

The restricted society of our house received occasional addition
likewise from the visits of two elderly ladies, who were first cousins
of my father. The Misses Cresswell were frequent members of our family
circle, and served to whet my genius as well as excite my spleen. They
were women of real virtue and high principle, but doggedly tenacious.
They thought together upon every matter of judgment, and would not
give up an iota upon any one subject of debate. I hated, and used to
take delight in stirring them to opposition, by an assault on some of
their favourite tenets. They piqued themselves on their orthodoxy,
and were what is called high church; _so_ high, that I detested
steeples for their sakes. They lived in the "Black North," and were but
slenderly provided for, yet ever employed in doing good; and nothing
distressed my parents so much as to see them ill-treated.

The quaint wardrobe of these two old women, was another source of
merriment. They seemed as if newly shaken out of lavender whenever
they came to Glendruid, and I preferred the savour of garlick to the
perfume of that fragrant herb, which was associated with the idea of my
cousins Cresswell. I have been since reminded of my own unwarrantable
prejudice, by hearing a friend of mine declare, that he could not
endure the works of a celebrated author, because he always found
a volume of them open on the table of his dentist, and the finest
passages were combined in his memory with some piercing pang or
awkward chasm in his jaws.

_My_ imagination had no such train of cause and effect to urge in
defence of my rude conduct towards these my harmless relations, and as
they are dead and gone they will know nothing of my repentance; but
their blind deference to names and forms was to be lamented. Provided
that a man wore lawn sleeves, it little mattered whether he was wise
or foolish, learned or unlearned: he was a _Bishop_, and, according
to their creed, whatever he uttered must necessarily be law and
gospel. "My dear, the Reverend Mr. Smiler had it from his Lordship's
own mouth," was an unanswerable reply to an objector against any fact
related in the presence of these good souls.

One day I ventured to retort to this invincible argument, "And what
care I for the bench of Bishops, if they talk nonsense? Many of them
hide asses ears under their great wigs."

Such a speech was the acme of impropriety, and was repeated with
uplifted hands and eyes: my iniquity was then considered at its
height, and every day furnishing new cause for animadversion, the
visits of our cousins became at first less frequent, and were then
discontinued.

My brother Charles and I rejoiced that we had frightened away the
musty lavender bags, and should hear no more quotations from Saint
Chrysostom. I have not yet mentioned my sisters, the number of whom was
reduced by death from five to two. I had been deeply attached to Maria,
the younger of those who remained; and till the demon of democracy
chased every amiable feeling from my heart, we had lived in the most
entire harmony and confidence. Notwithstanding the unceasing efforts
of my brothers and me, to warp the minds of these dear girls, they
resisted every evil impression. It was sufficient for them to know that
their parents disapproved, to turn them from any temptation, however
alluring; but their virtuous resolution obtained the character of
"inflexible obstinacy, narrow bigotry," or some such equally unkind and
inappropriate appellation.

Had it not been for the soothing tenderness of their daughters, I
know not how my unhappy father and mother could have sustained their
accumulated afflictions. The loss of their children had weighed heavily
on their spirits, but these trials, distressing as they were felt to
be, were sent from Heaven, and did not agonize their disconsolate
hearts like the disunion of those who were spared. They bowed with
resignation to the will of Him who gives and takes away, and believed
that every sorrow from the Almighty came on an errand of love, to warn
or wean the souls of His creatures. It was the machinations of the
foolish and the bad, that subdued their minds, and bent them down to
the earth. The events which they saw occurring daily, confounded their
penetration, but with patient, though broken spirits, they strove
to await the end, baffled as they were in every attempt to avert or
restrain the tide of opinion, which had become too strong for control.




CHAPTER III.


Such was the gloomy state of affairs at home; while abroad all was
wrapped in a cloud of mysterious uncertainty. Day after day we met
each other in melancholy estrangement. No joyous open countenance
smiled upon the social board. No cheerful conversation seasoned the
frugal repast. A deadly silence knew no interruption except from some
endeavour at dry uninteresting common place, which, like a doubtful
light that serves but to "render darkness visible," had the effect of
saddening, rather than enlivening our domestic group. My father was
afraid to trust himself with uttering a syllable which might lead to
discourse upon exasperating topics, while grief appeared to choke my
mother's voice. Her changing form proclaimed the undermining work which
was going on within, and sapping the vital holds of her constitution.
Oh! and her unnatural sons were so insensible to her decline, that
though witnessing its progress, we neither tried to mitigate the
symptoms, nor to console, though it might not be permitted us to
remedy. No length of life can abate the pain with which I cast my eyes
back upon that angelic being; nor can the penance of self-reproach
extract the sting which is fixed in my breast by the memory of
ingratitude towards a matchless parent, now no more.

It was our custom to separate directly after dinner, each desirous to
shorten a period of restraint, 

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