"Mrs. Hartland will not give herself any trouble about you, but will be very glad to hear that you are out of her way; and as to the gentlemen, who might not indeed take the matter so easily, they will not be here till we are many a mile away from Henbury," answered Rachel. "I am now going to send off my trunks, with a line, to my brother, to let him know that I must go directly after one who owes me some money. He is aware that I am frightened about this debt, and will have his cart ready for me at the orchard-gate, where I have appointed it to attend me, a quarter of a mile beyond his own house at five o'clock to-morrow morning. I am come now to take the last of your things: every article except these books is put up." "I will leave these books behind," said Zorilda, bursting into tears; "and this packet--this precious packet, shall never be separated from me for an instant. I will take charge of it myself." Rachel hastened to finish her preparations, and Zorilda, once more left alone, gathered together a few volumes and some trifling ornaments, which had been given her from time to time by Algernon, and after gazing upon, and kissing fondly each memorial of early affection, which brought distant circumstances and tender recollections to her mind, she sealed up a parcel, containing all the little gifts which she had ever received, and felt as if she had now closed the grave over the last dear remains of blighted love and murdered hope. Her next act was to write the following note, addressed to Mrs. Hartland: "There was a time when Zorilda believed herself an object of affectionate interest in the breast of that kind benefactress who first offered an asylum to the destitute being, now going to requite a deed of charity by one of gratitude. That time, alas! is past, and with it all Zorilda's earthly happiness. Circumstances have occurred which render decision necessary, and these few lines are only left to say, that they are accompanied by a parcel, and the most earnest prayers for every good, from the heart of her who now leaves Henbury for ever, and bids Lady Marchdale a last adieu." All being now ready, Zorilda lay down to rest, but not to sleep. "Fast coming thoughts" troubled repose, and busy memory would not be still. Weary of her uneasy couch, she rose before day, and looked from her window by the clear starlight, on that scene to which in a little hour she was to bid an eternal farewell. "Beloved spot! I leave you, and for ever--yes, for ever! Nor time nor change can alter my resolves. Algernon is dead to me, and my heart shall prove a faithful widow to its first, its only love. These stars shall witness my vows; these shrubs and flowers form the altar on which they are dedicated."