CHAPTER XIV.
Lady Annabel was particularly kind to Venetia on their return to theirhotel, otherwise her daughter might have fancied that she had offendedher, for she was silent. Venetia did not doubt that the presence ofLord Cadurcis was the reason that her mother would not remain anddine at her uncle's. This conviction grieved Venetia, but she did notrepine; she indulged the fond hope that time would remove the strongprejudice which Lady Annabel now so singularly entertained against onein whose welfare she was originally so deeply interested. During theirsimple and short repast Venetia was occupied in a reverie, inwhich, it must be owned, Cadurcis greatly figured, and answered theoccasional though kind remarks of her mother with an absent air.
After dinner, Lady Annabel drew her chair towards the fire, for,although May, the weather was chill, and said, 'A quiet evening athome, Venetia, will be a relief after all this gaiety.' Venetiaassented to her mother's observation, and nearly a quarter of an hourelapsed without another word being spoken. Venetia had taken up abook, and Lady Annabel was apparently lost in her reflections. Atlength she said, somewhat abruptly, 'It is more than three years, Ithink, since Lord Cadurcis left Cherbury?'
'Yes; it is more than three years,' replied Venetia.
'He quitted us suddenly.'
'Very suddenly,' agreed Venetia.
'I never asked you whether you knew the cause, Venetia,' continued hermother, 'but I always concluded that you did. I suppose I was not inerror?'
This was not a very agreeable inquiry. Venetia did not reply toit with her previous readiness and indifference. That indeed wasimpossible; but, with her accustomed frankness, after a moment'shesitation, she answered, 'Lord Cadurcis never specifically stated thecause to me, mamma; indeed I was myself surprised at his departure,but some conversation had occurred between us on the very morning hequitted Cadurcis, which, on reflection, I could not doubt occasionedthat departure.'
'Lord Cadurcis preferred his suit to you, Venetia, and you rejectedhim?' said Lady Annabel.
'It is as you believe,' replied Venetia, not a little agitated.
'You did wisely, my child, and I was weak ever to have regretted yourconduct.'
'Why should you think so, dearest mamma?'
'Whatever may have been the cause that impelled your conduct then,'said Lady Annabel, 'I shall ever esteem your decision as a signalinterposition of Providence in your favour. Except his extreme youth,there was apparently no reason which should not have induced you toadopt a different decision. I tremble when I think what might havebeen the consequences.'
'Tremble, dearest mother?'
'Tremble, Venetia. My only thought in this life is the happiness of mychild. It was in peril.
'Nay, I trust not that, mamma: you are prejudiced against Plantagenet.It makes me very unhappy, and him also.'
'He is again your suitor?' said Lady Annabel, with a scrutinisingglance.
'Indeed he is not.'
'He will be,' said Lady Annabel. 'Prepare yourself. Tell me, then, areyour feelings the same towards him as when he last quitted us?'
'Feelings, mamma!' said Venetia, echoing her mother's words; forindeed the question was one very difficult to answer; 'I ever lovedPlantagenet; I love him still.'
'But do you love him now as then? Then you looked upon him as abrother. He has no soul now for sisterly affections. I beseech youtell me, my child, me, your mother, your friend, your best, your onlyfriend, tell me, have you for a moment repented that you ever refusedto extend to him any other affection?'
'I have not thought of the subject, mamma; I have not wished to thinkof the subject; I have had no occasion to think of it. Lord Cadurcisis not my suitor now.'
'Venetia!' said Lady Annabel, 'I cannot doubt you love me.'
'Dearest mother!' exclaimed Venetia, in a tone of mingled fondness andreproach, and she rose from her seat and embraced Lady Annabel.
'My happiness is an object to you, Venetia?' continued Lady Annabel.
'Mother, mother,' said Venetia, in a deprecatory tone. 'Do not asksuch cruel questions? Whom should I love but you, the best, thedearest mother that ever existed? And what object can I have in lifethat for a moment can be placed in competition with your happiness?'
'Then, Venetia, I tell you,' said Lady Annabel, in a solemn yetexcited voice, 'that that happiness is gone for ever, nay, my verylife will be the forfeit, if I ever live to see you the bride of LordCadurcis.'
'I have no thought of being the bride of any one,' said Venetia. 'I amhappy with you. I wish never to leave you.'
'My child, the fulfilment of such a wish is not in the nature ofthings,' replied Lady Annabel. 'The day will come when we must part;I am prepared for the event; nay, I look forward to it not only withresignation, but delight, when I think it may increase your happiness;but were that step to destroy it, oh! then, then I could live no more.I can endure my own sorrows, I can struggle with my own bitter lot,I have some sources of consolation which enable me to endure my ownmisery without repining; but yours, yours, Venetia, I could not bear.No! if once I were to behold you lingering in life as your mother,with blighted hopes and with a heart broken, if hearts can break, Ishould not survive the spectacle; I know myself, Venetia, I could notsurvive it.'
'But why anticipate such misery? Why indulge in such gloomyforebodings? Am I not happy now? Do you not love me?'
Venetia had drawn her chair close to that of her mother; she sat byher side and held her hand.
'Venetia,' said Lady Annabel, after a pause of some minutes, and in alow voice, 'I must speak to you on a subject on which we have neverconversed. I must speak to you;' and here Lady Annabel's voice droppedlower and lower, but still its tones were distinct, althoughshe expressed herself with evident effort: 'I must speak to youabout--your father.'
Venetia uttered a faint cry, she clenched her mother's hand with aconvulsive grasp, and sank upon her bosom. She struggled to maintainherself, but the first sound of that name from her mother's lips, andall the long-suppressed emotions that it conjured up, overpowered her.The blood seemed to desert her heart; still she did not faint; sheclung to Lady Annabel, pallid and shivering.
Her mother tenderly embraced her, she whispered to her words of greataffection, she attempted to comfort and console her. Venetia murmured,'This is very foolish of me, mother; but speak, oh! speak of what Ihave so long desired to hear.'
'Not now, Venetia.'
'Now, mother! yes, now! I am quite composed. I could not bear thepostponement of what you were about to say. I could not sleep, dearmother, if you did not speak to me. It was only for a moment I wasovercome. See! I am quite composed.' And indeed she spoke in a calmand steady voice, but her pale and suffering countenance expressed thepainful struggle which it cost her to command herself.
'Venetia,' said Lady Annabel, 'it has been one of the objects of mylife, that you should not share my sorrows.'
Venetia pressed her mother's hand, but made no other reply.
'I concealed from you for years,' continued Lady Annabel, 'acircumstance in which, indeed, you were deeply interested, but theknowledge of which could only bring you unhappiness. Yet it wasdestined that my solicitude should eventually be baffled. I know thatit is not from my lips that you learn for the first time that you havea father, a father living.'
'Mother, let me tell you all!' said Venetia, eagerly.
'I know all,' said Lady Annabel.
'But, mother, there is something that you do not know; and now I wouldconfess it.'
'There is nothing that you can confess with which I am not acquainted,Venetia; and I feel assured, I have ever felt assured, that your onlyreason for concealment was a desire to save me pain.'
'That, indeed, has ever been my only motive,' replied Venetia, 'forhaving a secret from my mother.'
'In my absence from Cherbury you entered the chamber,' said LadyAnnabel, calmly. 'In the delirium of your fever I became acquaintedwith a circumstance which so nearly proved fatal to you.'
Venetia's cheek turned scar
let.
'In that chamber you beheld the portrait of your father,' continuedLady Annabel. 'From our friend you learnt that father was stillliving. That is all?' said Lady Annabel, inquiringly.
'No, not all, dear mother; not all. Lord Cadurcis reproached me atCherbury with, with, with having such a father,' she added, in ahesitating voice. 'It was then I learnt his misfortunes, mother; hismisery.'
'I thought that misfortunes, that misery, were the lot of your otherparent,' replied Lady Annabel, somewhat coldly.
'Not with my love,' said Venetia, eagerly; 'not with my love, mother.You have forgotten your misery in my love. Say so, say so, dearestmother.' And Venetia threw herself on her knees before Lady Annabel,and looked up with earnestness in her face.
The expression of that countenance had been for a moment stern, butit relaxed into fondness, as Lady Annabel gently bowed her head, andpressed her lips to her daughter's forehead. 'Ah, Venetia!' she said,'all depends upon you. I can endure, nay, I can forget the past, if mychild be faithful to me. There are no misfortunes, there is no misery,if the being to whom I have consecrated the devotion of my life willonly be dutiful, will only be guided by my advice, will only profit bymy sad experience.'
'Mother, I repeat I have no thought but for you,' said Venetia. 'Myown dearest mother, if my duty, if my devotion can content you, youshall be happy. But wherein have I failed?'
'In nothing, love. Your life has hitherto been one unbroken course ofaffectionate obedience.'
'And ever shall be,' said Venetia. 'But you were speaking, mother, youwere speaking of, of my, my father!'
'Of him!' said Lady Annabel, thoughtfully. 'You have seen hispicture?'
Venetia kissed her mother's hand.
'Was he less beautiful than Cadurcis? Was he less gifted?' exclaimedLady Annabel, with animation. 'He could whisper in tones as sweet, andpour out his vows as fervently. Yet what am I? O my child!' continuedLady Annabel, 'beware of such beings! They bear within them a spiriton which all the devotion of our sex is lavished in vain. A year, no!not a year, not one short year! and all my hopes were blighted! OVenetia! if your future should be like my bitter past! and it mighthave been, and I might have contributed to the fulfilment! can youwonder that I should look upon Cadurcis with aversion?'
'But, mother, dearest mother, we have known Plantagenet from hischildhood. You ever loved him; you ever gave him credit for a heart,most tender and affectionate.'
'He has no heart.'
'Mother!'
'He cannot have a heart. Spirits like him are heartless. It is anotherimpulse that sways their existence. It is imagination; it is vanity;it is self, disguised with glittering qualities that dazzle our weaksenses, but selfishness, the most entire, the most concentrated. Weknew him as a child: ah! what can women know? We are born to love, andto be deceived. We saw him young, helpless, abandoned; he moved ourpity. We knew not his nature; then he was ignorant of it himself. Butthe young tiger, though cradled at our hearths and fed on milk, willin good time retire to its jungle and prey on blood. You cannot changeits nature; and the very hand that fostered it will be its firstvictim.'
'How often have we parted!' said Venetia, in a deprecating tone; 'howlong have we been separated! and yet we find him ever the same; heever loves us. Yes! dear mother, he loves you now, the same as in olddays. If you had seen him, as I have seen him, weep when he recalledyour promise to be a parent to him, and then contrasted with suchsweet hopes your present reserve, oh! you would believe he had aheart, you would, indeed!'
'Weep!' exclaimed Lady Annabel, bitterly, 'ay! they can weep.Sensibility is a luxury which they love to indulge. Their verysusceptibility is our bane. They can weep; they can play upon ourfeelings; and our emotion, so easily excited, is an homage to theirown power, in which they glory.
'Look at Cadurcis,' she suddenly resumed; 'bred with so much care;the soundest principles instilled into him with such sedulousness;imbibing them apparently with so much intelligence, ardour, andsincerity, with all that fervour, indeed, with which men of histemperament for the moment pursue every object; but a few years back,pious, dutiful, and moral, viewing perhaps with intolerance tooyouthful all that differed from the opinions and the conduct he hadbeen educated to admire and follow. And what is he now? The mostlawless of the wild; casting to the winds every salutary principle ofrestraint and social discipline, and glorying only in the abandonedenergy of self. Three years ago, you yourself confessed to me, hereproached you with your father's conduct; now he emulates it. Thereis a career which such men must run, and from which no influence candivert them; it is in their blood. To-day Cadurcis may vow to youeternal devotion; but, if the world speak truth, Venetia, a month agohe was equally enamoured of another, and one, too, who cannot be his.But grant that his sentiments towards you are for the moment sincere;his imagination broods upon your idea, it transfigures it with a halowhich exists only to his vision. Yield to him; become his bride; andyou will have the mortification of finding that, before six mouthshave elapsed, his restless spirit is already occupied with objectswhich may excite your mortification, your disgust, even your horror!'
'Ah, mother! it is not with Plantagenet as with my father; Plantagenetcould not forget Cherbury, he could not forget our childhood,' saidVenetia.
'On the contrary, while you lived together these recollections wouldbe wearisome, common-place to him; when you had separated, indeed,mellowed by distance, and the comparative vagueness with which yourabsence would invest them, they would become the objects of his muse,and he would insult you by making the public the confidant of all yourmost delicate domestic feelings.'
Lady Annabel rose from her seat, and walked up and down the room,speaking with an excitement very unusual with her. 'To have allthe soft secrets of your life revealed to the coarse wonder of thegloating multitude; to find yourself the object of the world'scuriosity, still worse, their pity, their sympathy; to have the sacredconduct of your hearth canvassed in every circle, and be the grandsubject of the pros and cons of every paltry journal, ah, Venetia! youknow not, you cannot understand, it is impossible you can comprehend,the bitterness of such a lot.'
'My beloved mother!' said Venetia, with streaming eyes, 'you cannothave a feeling that I do not share.'
'Venetia, you know not what I had to endure!' exclaimed Lady Annabel,in a tone of extreme bitterness. 'There is no degree of wretchednessthat you can conceive equal to what has been the life of your mother.And what has sustained me; what, throughout all my tumultuoustroubles, has been the star on which I have ever gazed? My child! Andam I to lose her now, after all my sufferings, all my hopes that sheat least might be spared my miserable doom? Am I to witness her also avictim?' Lady Annabel clasped her hands in passionate grief.
'Mother! mother!' exclaimed Venetia, in agony, 'spare yourself, spareme!'
'Venetia, you know how I have doted upon you; you know how I havewatched and tended you from your infancy. Have I had a thought, awish, a hope, a plan? has there been the slightest action of my life,of which you have not been the object? All mothers feel, but none everfelt like me; you were my solitary joy.'
Venetia leant her face upon the table at which she was sitting andsobbed aloud.
'My love was baffled,' Lady Annabel continued. 'I fled, for both oursakes, from the world in which my family were honoured; I sacrificedwithout a sigh, in the very prime of my youth, every pursuit whichinterests woman; but I had my child, I had my child!'
'And you have her still!' exclaimed the miserable Venetia. 'Mother,you have her still!'
'I have schooled my mind,' continued Lady Annabel, still pacing theroom with agitated steps; 'I have disciplined my emotions; I have feltat my heart the constant the undying pang, and yet I have smiled, thatyou might be happy. But I can struggle against my fate no longer. Nolonger can I suffer my unparalleled, yes, my unjust doom. What have Idone to merit these afflictions? Now, then, let me struggle no more;let me die!'
Venetia tried to rise; her limbs refused their office; she tottered
;she fell again into her seat with an hysteric cry.
'Alas! alas!' exclaimed Lady Annabel, 'to a mother, a child iseverything; but to a child, a parent is only a link in the chain ofher existence. It was weakness, it was folly, it was madness to stakeeverything on a resource which must fail me. I feel it now, but I feelit too late.'
Venetia held forth her arms; she could not speak; she was stifled withher emotion.
'But was it wonderful that I was so weak?' continued her mother, as itwere communing only with herself. 'What child was like mine? Oh! thejoy, the bliss, the hours of rapture that I have passed, in gazingupon my treasure, and dreaming of all her beauty and her rarequalities! I was so happy! I was so proud! Ah, Venetia! you know nothow I have loved you!'
Venetia sprang from her seat; she rushed forward with convulsiveenergy; she clung to her mother, threw her arms round her neck, andburied her passionate woe in Lady Annabel's bosom.
Lady Annabel stood for some minutes supporting her speechless andagitated child; then, as her sobs became fainter, and the tumult ofher grief gradually died away, she bore her to the sofa, and seatedherself by her side, holding Venetia's hand in her own, and ever andanon soothing her with soft embraces, and still softer words.
At length, in a faint voice, Venetia said, 'Mother, what can I do torestore the past? How can we be to each other as we were, for this Icannot bear?'
'Love me, my Venetia, as I love you; be faithful to your mother; donot disregard her counsel; profit by her errors.'
'I will in all things obey you,' said Venetia, in a low voice; 'thereis no sacrifice I am not prepared to make for your happiness.'
'Let us not talk of sacrifices, my darling child; it is not asacrifice that I require. I wish only to prevent your everlastingmisery.'
'What, then, shall I do?'
'Make me only one promise; whatever pledge you give, I feel assuredthat no influence, Venetia, will ever induce you to forfeit it.'
'Name it, mother.'
'Promise me never to marry Lord Cadurcis,' said Lady Annabel, in awhisper, but a whisper of which not a word was lost by the person towhom it was addressed.
'I promise never to marry, but with your approbation,' said Venetia,in a solemn voice, and uttering the words with great distinctness.
The countenance of Lady Annabel instantly brightened; she embraced herchild with extreme fondness, and breathed the softest and the sweetestexpressions of gratitude and love.