de a female child), her character was left to shape itself.
There was good in it, and evil. Passionate, self-willed, and
imperious, she had a warm and generous nature; showing the richness of
the soil, however, chiefly by the weeds that flourished in it, and
choked up the herbs of grace. In her girlhood her uncle died. As
Fauntleroy was supposed to be likewise dead, and no other heir was
known to exist, his wealth devolved on her, although, dying suddenly,
the uncle left no will. After his death there were obscure passages in
Zenobia's history. There were whispers of an attachment, and even a
secret marriage, with a fascinating and accomplished but unprincipled
young man. The incidents and appearances, however, which led to this
surmise soon passed away, and were forgotten.

Nor was her reputation seriously affected by the report. In fact, so
great was her native power and influence, and such seemed the careless
purity of her nature, that whatever Zenobia did was generally
acknowledged as right for her to do. The world never criticised her so
harshly as it does most women who transcend its rules. It almost
yielded its assent, when it beheld her stepping out of the common path,
and asserting the more extensive privileges of her sex, both
theoretically and by her practice. The sphere of ordinary womanhood
was felt to be narrower than her development required.

A portion of Zenobia's more recent life is told in the foregoing pages.
Partly in earnest,--and, I imagine, as was her disposition, half in a
proud jest, or in a kind of recklessness that had grown upon her, out
of some hidden grief,--she had given her countenance, and promised
liberal pecuniary aid, to our experiment of a better social state. And
Priscilla followed her to Blithedale. The sole bliss of her life had
been a dream of this beautiful sister, who had never so much as known
of her existence. By this time, too, the poor girl was enthralled in
an intolerable bondage, from which she must either free herself or
perish. She deemed herself safest near Zenobia, into whose large heart
she hoped to nestle.

One evening, months after Priscilla's departure, when Moodie (or shall
we call him Fauntleroy?) was sitting alone in the state-chamber of the
old governor, there came footsteps up the staircase. There was a pause
on the landing-place. A lady's musical yet haughty accents were heard
making an inquiry from some denizen of the house, who had thrus