Zoé's voice would once have roused Algernon to any enterprise, or deterred him from any undertaking; but though he loved her better than all things else, she was distant, pleasure present. Her melancholy forebodings cast a gloom over his mind, and at length grew so distasteful, that he resolved to adopt a new language in his correspondence with her; pretending to be influenced by her advice, he promised to be on his guard against the allurements which she dreaded, assuring her that, sensible of the errors into which young men might be led, he designed to be very particular in his selection of acquaintance, should he feel himself so far engaged to accompany his friends to the Continent, that he could not break through the arrangement. The heart is of easy faith, when it wishes to believe, and the innocent Zorilda, who knew nothing of the world, except what she had heard of its snares from the instructor of her youth, seized with joy on the happy omen; and the roses of health again bloomed on her pallid cheek, with all the freshness of spring. "Beloved Algernon," she would exclaim, while training the jessamine which was taught to decorate his favourite seat, or visiting with thoughtful tenderness the animals committed to her care, "you will never be led away from these pure delights. The blandishments of vice shall vainly attempt to dazzle, and its wicked artifices to entangle, my Algernon, who will return unpolluted by the influence of bad example. These sweet flowers will have new charms for him, and I shall proudly deliver up my trust when I show him these birds of brilliant wing, his dogs, and all his play-fellows so grown, so beautified, under my guardianship." Zorilda's hours now glided swiftly as the weaver's shuttle. She was full of employment, and Algernon was the inspiring object of all she did or imagined; improving daily in loveliness of face and form, and glowing with animation, she seemed by her presence to cheer creation, and, like the blessed sun, to dispel every cloud that gathered on the horizon. While Algernon was away from home, his mother, who never reflected much on any thing, the immediate pressure of which on her external senses did not force itself upon her mind, resumed her cheerfulness, and finding in Zorilda all that the sweetest filial duty could bestow, treated her once more with as much affection as her selfish nature could feel. Mr. Hartland loved her as a daughter, and amongst the dependents of every degree she was considered as an angel of light who had descended from Heaven, to shower mercy and consolation on the poor, the sick, and the afflicted. As Zorilda avoided strangers with the greatest anxiety, she was seldom seen, and as she never left Henbury, except to go to the parish church, in which a curtain round the pew where she sat, and a veil on her bonnet, afforded all the privacy which she sought, it is not surprising that the fame of her beauty had not gone much abroad.