"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.