"Why does not Mr. Playfair make Zoé as unhappy as I am, and give her this hard lesson to get by heart?" said the boy, as he sobbed upon his mother's breast. Zoé was also drowned in tears; but it was because Algernon was afflicted, and her question, urged in the softest tenderest accent, was, "Oh, why may not I learn his lesson? I will then teach it to him." These two short and simple queries furnish the clue by which to follow the entire labyrinth of these childrens' course. Mr. Playfair, who was charmed with Zorilda's beauty and docility, readily undertook to aid her generous purpose, by becoming her tutor, to which Mrs. Hartland willingly consented; "_not_ that Greek and Latin," said she, "are necessary for a young lady, but as dear Zoé, who in point of fact is _nobody_, much as we love her, may turn all that we can do for her to future account, she may now be made useful to Algernon as well as herself, by sharing _all_ his labours." This fiat, though pronounced in an under voice, struck on Zorilda's ear and attention. She was now only six years old, but the remarkable acuteness of her sensibility, as well as understanding, rendered a thousand appeals to both, which were beyond the reach of much older children, comprehensible to her young mind; and the word _nobody_ suffused her expressive countenance with a blush of deepest die. She had often heard the question asked, "Who is she?" "Zoé," was her only reply, and she had never tarried to hear another answer. This _nobody_ perplexed her little heart, and, running into the arms of Mrs. Hartland, she buried her glowing face in the bosom of her protectress. "What do you mean, dear Mamma? sure Algernon is somebody; and though I am younger, is not Zoé somebody too? we are both _your_ children." Mrs. Hartland sighed, and, caressing the child, disengaged herself from the tender pressure, while a "Yes, my love," hastily uttered as she left the room, had the effect of brushing away the tear which, at Zoé's age, "is dried as soon as shed." Mr. Playfair was a man of distinguished learning, but he possessed qualities of much rarer character than scholarship. He was a man of strong sense and deep feeling. Mrs. Hartland on quitting the room had given him a look of intelligence, which he understood, and following her to another apartment, he listened, for the first time, to the history of Zorilda's introduction at Henbury. When the story was finished, Mr. Playfair ventured to suggest a hint of future inconvenience from this lovely child's domestication in the family. "A day will come," added he, "in which the truth _must_ be revealed, and I foresee at least the possibility of great misery and embarrassment."