Zorilda was at a loss whether or not to apprise the family at Drumcairn of her intentions by a letter which should precede her arrival in Scotland, but after a short consideration determined against doing so. Her departure, she felt, had become too necessary to leave any option, and it was better not to hazard the possibility of Mrs. Gordon's recommending her to postpone so adventurous an undertaking. Besides, if her elopement were to excite a desire in those she left behind to trace her retreat, inquiry would naturally be directed, in the first instance, to the only quarter from which it might be supposed that authentic information respecting her movements and designs might be obtained. She therefore resolved on prosecuting her journey without giving Mrs. Gordon any reason to expect her, certain as she felt of the welcome that awaited her coming at all times in the breast of that true friend.
Those only whose hearts are capable of such attachment as dwelt within Zorilda's bosom can form any idea of the overwhelming grief with which she contemplated bidding farewell to the scenes of her childhood, and with them to every object round which her strong, but tender affection, had entwined itself from earliest infancy; yet as misfortune had begun to teach her the happy art which can draw good from apparent evil, as the bee extracts honey from the vilest weeds, she felt glad that the prohibition which forbade her usual exercise preserved her from the pain of dwelling in detail on every leaf and flower associated with fondest memory. "Mrs. Hartland's decree is a kind one," said she. "I shall break my bonds at once, and not weaken resolution by re-visiting those objects, which to gaze upon again would but enfeeble its powers. Algernon—once beloved—oh still beloved, must I tear you from this heart? There is the sting; but the sacrifice shall be finished."
Some days elapsed; Zorilda made an effort to occupy herself in preparation for her intended flight. Rachel's watchful care ministered all the consolation which kindness could impart, and through her activity and address, the manner of the journey was planned with so much circumspection, that nothing further remained to impede its commencement. The approaching alterations in the establishment at Henbury afforded Rachel an opportunity of disengaging herself from further services as a domestic without exciting suspicion respecting her future intentions; and having given notice to Mrs. Hartland that she meant to leave her, she determined on accompanying Zorilda wherever her fortunes might lead the way. At the end of a week, just as the time was drawing near when some account might be expected from Marchdale-court, Rachel, gliding softly into Zorilda's apartment with a packet in her hand,
"This is for you, my dear young lady; but it is not the letter which you were hoping for from the North."
Zorilda started, and remembering the caution which she had received from Algernon at parting, concluded this to be the communication against which he had warned her in the slip of paper which he thrust under her door just before he left Henbury. She seized the packet with tremulous eagerness. It was of large dimensions, and contained some hard substance. Whence could it come? what could it be? were questions which might well interest a girl of eighteen. Perhaps, if truth were told, there are few of either sex or any age exempt from such a measure of curiosity as would tempt to break the seal in such a case; but in Zorilda's circumstances every trifle was raised into importance; even the parcel which she held in her hand might elucidate her history and influence her fate. Yet Algernon had bid her beware of receiving any thing of this nature. He therefore knew whence it came, and if advantageous to her, would he have advised her to return it unopened? Certainly not, and he should find, that however he might conduct himself in the end towards her, she would not begin by doubting either his truth or kindness. After a moment's pause, she gave back the packet to Rachel, who stood gaping with expectation, and longing for the unfolding of its contents.
"Here, Rachel, I am afraid to open this. I know nothing of it, and think that there is some mistake. It may be a parcel of Mrs. Hartland's; it cannot be for me; at least I will inquire who sent it, before I take off the packing."
"Lord ha' mercy, my dear child," answered Rachel, "did I not tell you that it comes from your old and fast friend Mr. Playfair? I'm sure if I did not, it was the joy I felt in bringing it to you, that made me neglect to name him. I thought you would know all about it the minute you set your two eyes upon the cover, and wondered to see you so slow in coming at the inside."
"Thank heaven!" ejaculated Zorilda. "Here is assistance in the hour of need. Here at least is sympathy, when my dejected spirit is cast down."
Tearing off the wrapping paper with eagerness, she found a letter, directed to "My dear Pupil," in the well known hand of her tutor, accompanied by a large packet without any address.
"This will explain the other," said Zorilda, "and comes, I know, from one in whom I may confide. I will read his letter first. Now, dear Rachel, leave me, and if I have any good news to communicate you may be sure of hearing it. You are the only being here who will care to listen to aught that affects me, and you shall not be kept long in ignorance."