"There is one at least in the world who asks not '_Who is she?_' but who knows you to be virtuous, lovely, and unhappy; one who can behold in you the pedigree of a noble soul, whencesoever it be derived; who has gazed more than once unseen upon your streaming eyes uplifted in prayer to Heaven; and listened to those sighs which rend your heart, yet without intrusion on your sorrows. The friend who now addresses you, has not taken advantage of his situation to possess himself of your secrets, if you have any which you desire should be unrevealed, and his motive in thus alarming, is to warn you against dangers which threaten your peace. Walk no more beyond the enclosure of your shrubbery, till you bear from your unknown guardian that you are safe in doing so; and rely on the fidelity of one, who cannot tell you more at present than that he is devoted to your interests, over which he watches with constant vigilance. Beware of wandering by moonlight, and alone." Zorilda was nearly overcome with terror and astonishment. Unused to consider herself an object of interest to any one, the liveliest gratitude would have possessed her unsuspecting heart, if the dread of some impending ill did not predominate over every calmer feeling. From whence came the warning which she had just received? It was not the hand-writing of Mr. Playfair, and if it were, why should he be thus mysterious? He would have pointed explicitly to the approaching danger, and as openly advised the best means of avoiding it. This anonymous intimation was perhaps itself a snare; yet it prescribed caution, and seemed to be dictated by truth and kindness. "What shall I do? Oh whither shall I turn for counsel?" said Zorilda. "If I tell Mr. Hartland, what profit will accrue? He cannot lock me up, nor place a guard in attendance on my steps. Mrs. Hartland would call me a heroine of romance, and I should be derided, ridiculed, insulted. What a time is this to have lost the true friends who would have been my pilots! But God is every where, He will direct me, if with a single heart, I implore His heavenly guidance." The sound of hasty footsteps put an end to Zorilda's reflections. She folded the paper quickly, over which she had been musing, and had scarcely time to conceal it, when Rachel, a faithful domestic already introduced to the reader, ran towards her, out of breath-- "Miss Zoé, Miss Zoé, make no delay; my mistress is calling for you, and angry that you cannot be found. Master is from home too; not expected till dinner, which is ordered an hour later than usual, and we have been put into a great flutterment by news at the house; but I am not to tell you any thing about it, only to find, and send you in, without loss of time."