Algernon, though spoiled by indulgence, and rendered vain by flattery, was as yet uncorrupted by the cold maxims of worldly wisdom, and loved Zorilda with all the devotion of which a narrow soul was capable. She was the confidant of all his pains and pleasures. In her society the former were always mitigated, the latter constantly enhanced. He had gazed upon her beautiful countenance, which reflected every ray that cheered or cloud that darkened his own from infancy to youth; and he could not realize to his mind the possibility of a separation from a being so habitually necessary to his comfort. "I will threaten my mother to shoot myself if she plagues you any more," vociferated Algernon; and before the gentle Zoé could reply, he darted from the arbour and ran to seek his agitated parent; while Zorilda bent her steps towards a walk where she thought it likely that she should meet Mr. Playfair, in which hope she was not disappointed. A conversation with him was always sure to give her comfort; and never had she so much needed the balm of kindness as on the present occasion. Zorilda wept with bitterness as she expressed her grief and surprize at the altered tone of Mrs. Hartland, and an impatient desire to sacrifice every consideration to that of removing a source of disquietude from her breast. "Softly, my dear child," said Mr. Playfair, as he kindly pressed the hand of his pupil. "We must not allow ourselves to act on mere impulses, however amiable. There are _picturesque_ sorrows which must not be allowed to tempt us out of the broad high way of a sober march. We must not talk of victims and sacrifices, altars and shrines. Though I know your heart, and how sincere are your wishes to promote the happiness of others, even to the forgetfulness of your own, I cannot permit you to be romantic. There is a vanity in heroic deeds which dims the purity of action. My dear Zoé will act, I trust, in all things with a _single_ purpose, and that purpose is to endeavour at the performance of _duty_, the most difficult part of which, in morals as in the field of war, is to _forbear_. Your path is sown with thorns, but I have often warned you against repining. Believe and trust, pray to Him who alone appoints the issue of events, for patience to _submit_. You cannot see why you are thus grieved--you do not understand why you are a nameless, solitary, insulated being, unknown, unclaimed, unconnected; while all whom you see around are encircled in the social bands of fond relationship. You do not behold the _end_. A day may come in which you shall be suffered to comprehend the mysteries which now obscure your sight; or, should it not please God to send a lamp to your feet, you may learn to bless the darkness by which you are enveloped, and rejoice in that uncertainty which you now consider your greatest misfortune. You must not leave Henbury. Mrs. Hartland is bound to protect you, and will do so. You will correspond with me, and I will watch your