"Keep up your spirits, Zoé; you shall be Lady Hautonville one of these days! I am resolved upon it, so do not be frightened; but we have much to do, and you have much to learn. You must be _schooled_ for the new order of society which you are about to enter. Nothing can be more unlike the world than your present style of manners, dress, appearance. _My_ wife can never be such a country lassie as you are; but I will have you put in the right way. I know a charming person, La Baronne de Torsi, who will be happy to do me a kindness. She will have pleasure in forming you to the standard of good taste. The materials, my Zoé, are perfect, but you want the air, the fashion, the indispensable tone of society, which you could not attain in this wretched place. What a pair are these poor old souls, my father and mother! They seem to have the year _one_, printed in large letters on every look, word, and gesture. We must bury them in the woods at Marchdale-court, while you and I figure away on the theatres of glorious France and Italy. I am sick of Old England's roast beef, and find nothing good or agreeable off the Continent. Good night, my lovely Zo; we will make all our arrangements on my return from this horrible funeral." Algernon wished to seal these words, which were but jarring sounds to Zorilda's ear, by a kiss, but she turned, and hastily disengaging her hand from his, flew to the sanctuary of her chamber, there to reflect, through a sleepless night, upon the miseries of her destiny. "La Baronne de Torsi! a stranger, a foreigner; _she_ to form my mind, my manners, my tastes anew, to the frivolous and artificial? I will have no such monitress. Is this the language of true love? I know it not by these signs. There is no prison, however dreary, no wilderness however wild, into which Zorilda would not accompany the being whom she loved, to suffer pain and privation, and if not permitted her to shield, yet still to share each pang, would be her bosom's joy; but thus scorned, thus disdained, it must not, cannot be." Morning came, and found the poor mourner still a prey to the tortures of wounded sensibility. Mr. Hartland and his son were to set out so early, that she was spared the humiliation of shewing how much power Algernon possessed over her affections. As he went down stairs he knocked at Zorilda's door, and slipped a bit of paper underneath, on which were hastily written, with a pencil, the following words: "In the tumult of yesterday's meeting, I forgot to warn you against receiving any communication, either by letter or visit, from any one till my return. _Addio, carissima, Algernon_."