"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?"