"'I cannot tell,' answered I. 'To tell you the truth, a mystery hangs over her birth which I am not permitted to unravel.'
"'Oh! I cry you mercy,' replied the Marquess; 'I shall not make further inquisition; I see how it is, 'A rose by any other name would smell as sweet;' so says the poet. A little mystery, they say is never amiss. Now it is a Miss, and nobody knows who, upon the present occasion; but n'importe; Zorilda is a lovely girl; and Zoé, as your servants call her, is better still, associated, as are those three letters, with all the nectar and ambrosia of Grecian song. We will place the Amaranth wreath on Zoé's brow, and drink to her health in a bumper of champagne. Come, Hartland, fill your glass. You shall not undergo any farther catechism. You are too wise a man to marry an 'inexpressive she:' and as for a little of the doubtful in any other relation of life, there is no need of taking it to heart.'
"Now I know that all this sort of thing will fret and vex you, but never mind, we will talk of other matters. Turnstock is uncommonly clever, and I can assure you that we have often very deep conversation. He brought a young man with him from town who received his education here, but as he wants money and has plenty of brains, he has taken to writing for the Reviews. The little Marquess talks of getting up a periodical here under his own inspection. It is to be called 'The Freeman;' so if you see it advertised you will know whence it springs. We had a sort of rehearsal last night, when some contributions were brought in. A friend of mine had a hit against his Lordship which made me laugh. The former brought an Essay on the Paradise Lost, which was read, but the Marquess condemned it. 'No, Caulfield, that will not do,' said he. 'I do not patronize your sentiments on Milton. You must try your pen at something else.'
"'I thought, my Lord,' answered Caulfield, 'that we were to write for the Freeman, but I find that it is for the Bondsman.'
"'Free or Bond, I shall not insert your Essay, my good fellow,' answered his Lordship. 'I mean to have this my own way. I set my face against all prosing; not a word of any poet older than Byron of immortal fame; and I will give a prize of his works, bound in russia, to whoever brings me the best satire on our modern novels, which are growing so decidedly moral, metaphysical, and soporific, that I would as lief sit down to Hooker's Ecclesiastical Polity as open a volume of any of the last half dozen which have issued from the press. I think I shall write a novel myself, and call it 'Re-action; or, the Extinguisher.'
"You would not like any of my friends I am afraid, who are certainly not religious men. The Marquess cavils at holy writ: I was going to stand up its advocate, but found it better to hold my tongue. There are many good people here, but Turnstock calls them Spoonies, and I do not feel any ambition to be ridiculed as one of the fraternity. Remember that I am only talking of my own set; so my father need not take alarm, and accuse me of a libel on his favourite Oxford. Things, however, are changed every where since his day. The Marquess declares that religion is only a political consideration now with strong heads. The march of mind, he says, has outstripped superstition and all her train. I do not say that he is right, for I am not much versed as yet in matters of this nature. The miserable error of bringing me up at home has prevented me, amongst many other things, from knowing what general opinion really is. In fact, Turnstock, who gives me more insight into these subjects than any one else, and who ought to be good authority, is eloquent in decrying all narrow limitations of sect or nation. He says that all mankind should be considered as a great family, claiming equal rights, and entitled to equal privileges; that all qualifications which exclude any individual from the attainment of power are infractions of natural justice; and all religious establishments are the offspring of persecution. He speaks beautifully, and uses very convincing arguments. For instance, he says, that to be born and to die are common to the whole created species, and no favour or partiality distinguishes one man from another in these two extreme events. The same pangs usher every mortal into existence—helpless, naked, and like his fellows in all things. Death again sweeps away irrespectively the beggar and the king, who both lie down in the grave where all their thoughts perish, and both are resolved alike into dust. 'What right then,' reasons Turnstock, 'has man to play such antic tricks before high heaven, and parcel out the intermediate term so unequally in his generation, that some shall lord it triumphantly, while others starve? Some rule with tyrannous sway, while thousands cringe in chains, and are forced to obey the few who usurp dominion over them?' I wish that you could hear him declaim upon these topics. Caulfield, who is always ready with some vexatious question or remark, but who had listened, as I thought, with as much satisfaction as I did myself to the whole harangue yesterday evening, asked rudely enough at its close, 'And pray, good my Lord, why are you the Marquess of Turnstock? Your guardians went through a tedious litigation to procure the title for you which another claimed, and fiercely contested. Though not called, like Cincinnatus, exactly from the plough, your Lordship's situation now is very different from what it was. Yet you do not object to these inequalities in your own case!'
"Turnstock looked contemptuously round, and silenced the inquirer in a summary manner, 'Pooh, pooh, Caulfield. You are like a fly, for ever buzzing in one's ears. It is a pity you do not enter at Cambridge, ad eundem; you are a Wrangler without the trouble of learning, and all competitors will make way for you.'
"There was a great laugh against Caulfield, and so ended the dispute. I have enlisted under Turnstock's banner. I like his Epicurean philosophy, and think that his doctrines would tend to render mankind a far happier race than they are. Remember what I told you about writing with lemon-juice, and be sure to hold all my letters to the fire after you have read them through. Like Janus we must wear two faces, you know, while we are watched. A day will come when we may defy all vigilance, and interchange our thoughts in ink of any colour. Farewell, my Zoé, how I long to see you!" &c.
Zorilda vainly attempted to counteract the influences which she found increasing reason to perceive were exercised over Algernon's mind to the injury of his character. Her young heart poured forth its entreating eloquence, but the poison had begun to work, and she had not sufficient power to arrest its deadly progress. In vain did she appeal to the memory of happier days in strains like the following, which we extract from one of her letters:
"Oh, my Algernon! is it for this that I have submitted to the mean device of dissimulation, and joined in a plot to deceive your mother by writing that which she is not to see? When I complied with your proposal to adopt this mode of frustrating her penetration, it was that I might spare her pain, and exert the power which I fondly imagined I possessed over your mind to your advantage, by constantly reminding you of the lessons which our dear and valued preceptor left us as a parting legacy. Algernon, I am punished for forgetting that we must not do evil in hope of future good. Yet after once o'erstepping the barrier which separates truth from falsehood, the noble ingenuousness of virtue for the mean accommodations of artifice, how difficult to regain the track of probity and honour! I feel with bitterness, how greatly I have erred; yet before I for ever abjure this dishonest method of conveying to you my secret thoughts, I will for once express the anguish of my heart, as I trace in your altered language a different Algernon from him who was the brother of my infant years, the beloved friend of riper age. Have you, too, become ashamed of the nameless Zorilda? and do you ask 'Who is she?' with scornful reproach? Then indeed is my cup of affliction filled to overflowing. Talk no more of a day to come, when raised to the dignity of your wife. That question, which has been the blight of my Spring—the spectre of my solitude—the besetting demon of a ceaseless persecution; shall no longer scare me with humiliation and debasement. Zorilda will never purchase repose at Algernon's cost. How can such things be? Does not true affection identify itself with the object on which it rests? Would not 'Who was she?' be a death knell of my happiness still more appalling to my heart than the inquiry which now condemns me alone to obscurity and shame! Never will I repay by base ingratitude the kindness which fostered a houseless child of want. I will fulfil my sad destiny, and pray for courage to meet the sting which awaits me. I shall be assisted from above, and Mr. Playfair's counsel will support my tottering steps. The path of duty is often one of difficulty and fatigue, but it is safe. There are no precipices along the way.