Venetia

  CHAPTER V.

  The waiter threw open the door of Mr. Herbert's chamber, and LadyAnnabel swept in with a majesty she generally assumed when about tomeet strangers. The first thing she beheld was her daughter inthe arms of a man whose head was bent, and who was embracing her.Notwithstanding this astounding spectacle, Lady Annabel neitherstarted nor screamed; she only said in an audible tone, and one ratherexpressing astonishment than agitation, 'Venetia!'

  Immediately the stranger looked up, and Lady Annabel beheld herhusband!

  She was rooted to the earth. She turned deadly pale; for a moment hercountenance expressed only terror, but the terror quickly changed intoaversion. Suddenly she rushed forward, and exclaimed in a tone inwhich decision conquered dismay, 'Restore me my child!'

  The moment Herbert had recognised his wife he had dexterouslydisengaged himself from the grasp of Venetia, whom he left on thechair, and meeting Lady Annabel with extended arms, that seemed todeprecate her wrath, he said, 'I seek not to deprive you of her; sheis yours, and she is worthy of you; but respect, for a few moments,the feelings of a father who has met his only child in a manner sounforeseen.'

  The presence of her mother instantaneously restored Venetia toherself. Her mind was in a moment cleared and settled. Her past andpeculiar life, and all its incidents, recurred to her with theiraccustomed order, vividness, and truth. She thoroughly comprehendedher present situation. Actuated by long-cherished feelings and thenecessity of the occasion, she rose and threw herself at her mother'sfeet and exclaimed, 'O mother! he is my father, love him!'

  Lady Annabel stood with an averted countenance, Venetia clinging toher hand, which she had caught when she rushed forward, and which nowfell passive by Lady Annabel's side, giving no sign, by any pressureor motion, of the slightest sympathy with her daughter, or feeling forthe strange and agonising situation in which they were both placed.

  'Annabel,' said Herbert, in a voice that trembled, though the speakerstruggled to appear calm, 'be charitable! I have never intruded uponyour privacy; I will not now outrage it. Accident, or some divinermotive, has brought us together this day. If you will not treat mewith kindness, look not upon me with aversion before our child.'

  Still she was silent and motionless, her countenance hidden from herhusband and her daughter, but her erect and haughty form betokeningher inexorable mind. 'Annabel,' said Herbert, who had now withdrawnto some distance, and leant against a pillar, 'will not then nearlytwenty years of desolation purchase one moment of intercourse? I haveinjured you. Be it so. This is not the moment I will defend myself.But have I not suffered? Is not this meeting a punishment deepereven than your vengeance could devise? Is it nothing to behold thisbeautiful child, and feel that she is only yours? Annabel, look on me,look on me only one moment! My frame is bowed, my hair is grey, myheart is withered; the principle of existence waxes faint and slack inthis attenuated frame. I am no longer that Herbert on whom you oncesmiled, but a man stricken with many sorrows. The odious conviction ofmy life cannot long haunt you; yet a little while, and my memory willalone remain. Think of this, Annabel; I beseech you, think of it. Oh!believe me, when the speedy hour arrives that will consign me to thegrave, where I shall at least find peace, it will not be utterlywithout satisfaction that you will remember that we met if even byaccident, and parted at least not with harshness!'

  'Mother, dearest mother!' murmured Venetia, 'speak to him, look onhim!'

  'Venetia,' said her mother, without turning her head, but in a calm,firm tone, 'your father has seen you, has conversed with you. Betweenyour father and myself there can be nothing to communicate, either offact or feeling. Now let us depart.'

  'No, no, not depart!' said Venetia franticly. 'You did not say depart,dear mother! I cannot go,' she added in a low and half-hystericalvoice.

  'Desert me, then,' said the mother. 'A fitting consequence of yourprivate communications with your father,' she added in a tone ofbitter scorn; and Lady Annabel moved to depart, but Venetia, stillkneeling, clung to her convulsively.

  'Mother, mother, you shall not go; you shall not leave me; we willnever part, mother,' continued Venetia, in a tone almost of violence,as she perceived her mother give no indication of yielding to herwish. 'Are my feelings then nothing?' she then exclaimed. 'Is thisyour sense of my fidelity? Am I for ever to be a victim?' She loosenedher hold of her mother's hand, her mother moved on, Venetia fell uponher forehead and uttered a faint scream. The heart of Lady Annabelrelented when she fancied her daughter suffered physical pain, howeverslight; she hesitated, she turned, she hastened to her child; herhusband had simultaneously advanced; in the rapid movement andconfusion her hand touched that of Herbert.

  'I yield her to you, Annabel,' said Herbert, placing Venetia in hermother's arms. 'You mistake me, as you have often mistaken me, if youthink I seek to practise on the feelings of this angelic child. She isyours; may she compensate you for the misery I have caused you, butnever sought to occasion!'

  'I am not hurt, dear mother,' said Venetia, as her mother tenderlyexamined her forehead. 'Dear, dear mother, why did you reproach me?'

  'Forget it,' said Lady Annabel, in a softened tone; 'for indeed youare irreproachable.'

  'O Annabel!' said Herbert, 'may not this child be some atonement, thischild, of whom I solemnly declare I would not deprive you, though Iwould willingly forfeit my life for a year of her affection; and your,your sufferance,' he added.

  'Mother! speak to him,' said Venetia, with her head on her mother'sbosom, who still, however, remained rigidly standing. But Lady Annabelwas silent.

  'Your mother was ever stern and cold, Venetia,' said Herbert, thebitterness of his heart at length expressing itself.

  'Never,' said Venetia, with great energy; 'never; you know not mymother. Was she stern and cold when she visited each night in secretyour portrait?' said Venetia, looking round upon her astonishedfather, with her bright grey eye. 'Was she stern and cold when shewept over your poems, those poems whose characters your own hand hadtraced? Was she stern and cold when she hung a withered wreath on yourbridal bed, the bed to which I owe my miserable being? Oh, no, myfather! sad was the hour of separation for my mother and yourself.It may have dimmed the lustre of her eye, and shaded your locks withpremature grey; but whatever may have been its inscrutable cause,there was one victim of that dark hour, less thought of thanyourselves, and yet a greater sufferer than both, the being in whoseheart you implanted affections, whose unfulfilled tenderness has madethat wretched thing they call your daughter.'

  'Annabel!' exclaimed Herbert, rapidly advancing, with an imploringgesture, and speaking in a tone of infinite anguish, 'Annabel,Annabel, even now we can be happy!'

  The countenance of his wife was troubled, but its stern expression haddisappeared. The long-concealed, yet at length irrepressible, emotionof Venetia had touched her heart. In the conflict of affection betweenthe claims of her two parents, Lady Annabel had observed with asentiment of sweet emotion, in spite of all the fearfulness of themeeting, that Venetia had not faltered in her devotion to her mother.The mental torture of her child touched her to the quick. In theexcitement of her anguish, Venetia had expressed a profound sentiment,the irresistible truth of which Lady Annabel could no longerwithstand. She had too long and too fondly schooled herself to lookupon the outraged wife as the only victim. There was then, at lengthit appeared to this stern-minded woman, another. She had laboured inthe flattering delusion that the devotion of a mother's love mightcompensate to Venetia for the loss of that other parent, which in somedegree Lady Annabel had occasioned her; for the worthless husband, hadshe chosen to tolerate the degrading connection, might neverthelesshave proved a tender father. But Nature, it seemed, had shrunk fromthe vain effort of the isolated mother. The seeds of affection forthe father of her being were mystically implanted in the bosom of hischild. Lady Annabel recalled the harrowing hours that this attempt byher to curb and control the natural course and rising sympathiesof filial love had cost her child, on whom she had so vigilantly
practised it. She recalled her strange aspirations, her inspiredcuriosity, her brooding reveries, her fitful melancholy, her terribleillness, her resignation, her fidelity, her sacrifices: there cameacross the mind of Lady Annabel a mortifying conviction that thedevotion to her child, on which she had so rated herself, mightafter all only prove a subtle form of profound selfishness; and thatVenetia, instead of being the idol of her love, might eventually bethe martyr of her pride. And, thinking of these things, she wept.

  This evidence of emotion, which in such a spirit Herbert knew how toestimate, emboldened him to advance; he fell on one knee before herand her daughter; gently he stole her hand, and pressed it to hislips. It was not withdrawn, and Venetia laid her hand upon theirs,and would have bound them together had her mother been relentless.It seemed to Venetia that she was at length happy, but she wouldnot speak, she would not disturb the still and silent bliss of theimpending reconciliation. Was it then indeed at hand? In truth, thedeportment of Herbert throughout the whole interview, so delicate, sosubdued, so studiously avoiding the slightest rivaly with his wifein the affections of their child, and so carefully abstaining fromattempting in the slightest degree to control the feelings of Venetia,had not been lost upon Lady Annabel. And when she thought of him, sochanged from what he had been, grey, bent, and careworn, with all thelustre that had once so fascinated her, faded, and talking of thatimpending fate which his wan though spiritual countenance too clearlyintimated, her heart melted.

  Suddenly the door burst open, and there stalked into the room a womanof eminent but most graceful stature, and of a most sovereign andvoluptuous beauty. She was habited in the Venetian dress; her darkeyes glittered with fire, her cheek was inflamed with no amiableemotion, and her long black hair was disordered by the violence of hergesture.

  'And who are these?' she exclaimed in a shrill voice.

  All started; Herbert sprang up from his position with a glance ofwithering rage. Venetia was perplexed, Lady Annabel looked round, andrecognised the identical face, however distorted by passion, that shehad admired in the portrait at Arqua.

  'And who are these?' exclaimed the intruder, advancing. 'PerfidiousMarmion! to whom do you dare to kneel?'

  Lady Annabel drew herself up to a height that seemed to look down evenupon this tall stranger. The expression of majestic scorn that shecast upon the intruder made her, in spite of all her violence andexcitement, tremble and be silent: she felt cowed she knew not why.

  'Come, Venetia,' said Lady Annabel with all her usual composure, 'letme save my daughter at least from this profanation,'

  'Annabel!' said Herbert, rushing after them, 'be charitable, be just!'He followed them to the threshold of the door; Venetia was silent, forshe was alarmed.

  'Adieu, Marmion!' said Lady Annabel, looking over her shoulder with abitter smile, but placing her daughter before her, as if to guard her.'Adieu, Marmion! adieu for ever!'