Venetia

  CHAPTER IX.

  One circumstance alone cast a gloom over this happy family, and thatwas the approaching departure of Captain Cadurcis for England. Thishad been often postponed, but it could be postponed no longer. Noteven the entreaties of those kind friends could any longer preventwhat was inevitable. The kind heart, the sweet temper, and the livelyand companionable qualities of Captain Cadurcis, had endeared him toeveryone; all felt that his departure would occasion a blank intheir life, impossible to be supplied. It reminded the Herberts alsopainfully of their own situation, in regard to their native country,which they were ever unwilling to dwell upon. George talked ofreturning to them, but the prospect was necessarily vague; theyfelt that it was only one of those fanciful visions with which anaffectionate spirit attempts to soothe the pang of separation. Hisposition, his duties, all the projects of his life, bound him toEngland, from which, indeed, he had been too long absent. It wasselfish to wish that, for their sakes, he should sink down into a mereidler in Italy; and yet, when they recollected how little his futurelife could be connected with their own, everyone felt dispirited.

  'I shall not go boating to-day,' said George to Venetia; 'it is mylast day. Mr. Herbert and Plantagenet talk of going to Lavenza; let ustake a stroll together.'

  Nothing can be refused to those we love on the last day, and Venetiaimmediately acceded to his request. In the course of the morning,therefore, herself and George quitted the valley, in the directionof the coast towards Genoa. Many a white sail glittered on the bluewaters; it was a lively and cheering scene; but both Venetia and hercompanion were depressed.

  'I ought to be happy,' said George, and sighed. 'The fondest wishof my heart is attained. You remember our conversation on the LagoMaggiore, Venetia? You see I was a prophet, and you will be LadyCadurcis yet.'

  'We must keep up our spirits,' said Venetia; 'I do not despair of ourall returning to England yet. So many wonders have happened, that Icannot persuade myself that this marvel will not also occur. I am suremy uncle will do something; I have a secret idea that the Bishop isall this time working for papa; I feel assured I shall see Cherburyand Cadurcis again, and Cadurcis will be your home.'

  'A year ago you appeared dying, and Plantagenet was the most miserableof men,' said Captain Cadurcis. 'You are both now perfectly well andperfectly happy, living even under the same roof, soon, I feel, to beunited, and with the cordial approbation of Lady Annabel. Your fatheris restored to you. Every blessing in the world seems to cluster roundyour roof. It is selfish for me to wear a gloomy countenance.'

  'Ah! dear George, you never can be selfish,' said Venetia.

  'Yes, I am selfish, Venetia. What else can make me sad?'

  'You know how much you contribute to our happiness,' said Venetia,'and you feel for our sufferings at your absence.'

  'No, Venetia, I feel for myself,' said Captain Cadurcis with energy;'I am certain that I never can be happy, except in your society andPlantagenet's. I cannot express to you how I love you both. Nothingelse gives me the slightest interest.'

  'You must go home and marry,' said Venetia, smiling 'You must marry anheiress.'

  'Never,' said Captain Cadurcis. 'Nothing shall ever induce me tomarry. No! all my dreams are confined to being the bachelor uncle ofthe family.'

  'Well, now I think,' said Venetia, 'of all the persons I know, thereis no one so qualified for domestic happiness as yourself. I thinkyour wife, George, would be a very fortunate woman, and I only wish Ihad a sister, that you might marry her.'

  'I wish you had, Venetia; I would give up my resolution againstmarriage directly.'

  'Alas!' said Venetia, 'there is always some bitter drop in the cup oflife. Must you indeed go, George?'

  'My present departure is inevitable,' he replied; 'but I have somethoughts of giving up my profession and Parliament, and then I willreturn, never to leave you again.'

  'What will Lord ---- say? That will never do,' said Venetia. 'No; Ishould not be content unless you prospered in the world, George. Youare made to prosper, and I should be miserable if you sacrificed yourexistence to us. You must go home, and you must marry, and writeletters to us by every post, and tell us what a happy man you are. Thebest thing for you to do would be to live with your wife at the abbey;or Cherbury, if you liked. You see I settle everything.'

  'I never will marry,' said Captain Cadurcis, seriously.

  'Yes you will,' said Venetia.

  'I am quite serious, Venetia. Now, mark my words, and remember thisday. I never will marry. I have a reason, and a strong and good one,for my resolution.'

  'What is it?'

  'Because my marriage will destroy the intimacy that subsists betweenme and yourself, and Plantagenet,' he added.

  'Your wife should be my friend,' said Venetia.

  'Happy woman!' said George.

  'Let us indulge for a moment in a dream of domestic bliss,' saidVenetia gaily. 'Papa and mamma at Cherbury; Plantagenet and myself atthe abbey, where you and your wife must remain until we could buildyou a house; and Dr. Masham coming down to spend Christmas with us.Would it not be delightful? I only hope Plantagenet would be tame. Ithink he would burst out a little sometimes.'

  'Not with you, Venetia, not with you,' said George 'you have a holdover him which nothing can ever shake. I could always put him in anamiable mood in an instant by mentioning your name.'

  'I wish you knew the abbey, George,' said Venetia. 'It is the mostinteresting of all old places. I love it. You must promise me when youarrive in England to go on a pilgrimage to Cadurcis and Cherbury, andwrite me a long account of it.'

  'I will indeed; I will write to you very often.'

  'You shall find me a most faithful correspondent, which, I dare say,Plantagenet would not prove.'

  'Oh! I beg your pardon,' said George; 'you have no idea of thequantity of letters he wrote me when he first quitted England.And such delightful ones! I do not think there is a more livelyletter-writer in the world! His descriptions are so vivid; a fewtouches give you a complete picture; and then his observations, theyare so playful! I assure you there is nothing in the world more easyand diverting than a letter from Plantagenet.'

  'If you could only see his first letter from Eton to me?' saidVenetia. 'I have always treasured it. It certainly was not verydiverting; and, if by easy you mean easy to decipher,' she addedlaughing, 'his handwriting must have improved very much lately. DearPlantagenet, I am always afraid I never pay him sufficient respect;that I do not feel sufficient awe in his presence; but I cannotdisconnect him from the playfellow of my infancy; and, do you know, itseems to me, whenever he addresses me, his voice and air change, andassume quite the tone and manner of childhood.'

  'I have never known him but as a great man,' said Captain Cadurcis;'but he was so frank and simple with me from the very first, that Icannot believe that it is not two years since we first met.'

  'Ah! I shall never forget that night at Ranelagh,' said Venetia, halfwith a smile and half with a sigh. 'How interesting he looked! I lovedto see the people stare at him, and to hear them whisper his name.'

  Here they seated themselves by a fountain, overshadowed by aplane-tree, and for a while talked only of Plantagenet.

  'All the dreams of my life have come to pass,' said Venetia. 'Iremember when I was at Weymouth, ill and not very happy, I used toroam about the sands, thinking of papa, and how I wished Plantagenetwas like him, a great man, a great poet, whom all the world admired.Little did I think that, before a year had passed, Plantagenet, myunknown Plantagenet, would be the admiration of England; little did Ithink another year would pass, and I should be living with my fatherand Plantagenet together, and they should be bosom friends. You see,George, we must never despair.'

  'Under this bright sun,' said Captain Cadurcis, 'one is naturallysanguine, but think of me alone and in gloomy England.'

  'It is indeed a bright sun,' said Venetia; 'how wonderful to wakeevery morning, and be sure of meeting its beam.'

  Captain Cadurcis looked around him w
ith a sailor's eye. Over theApennines, towards Genoa, there was a ridge of dark clouds piled upwith such compactness, that they might have been mistaken in a hastysurvey for part of the mountains themselves.

  'Bright as is the sun,' said Captain Cadurcis, 'we may have yet asquall before night.'

  'I was delighted with Venice,' said his companion, not noticing hisobservation; 'I think of all places in the world it is one whichPlantagenet would most admire. I cannot believe but that even hisdelicious Athens would yield to it.'

  'He did lead the oddest life at Athens you can conceive,' said CaptainCadurcis. 'The people did not know what to make of him. He lived inthe Latin convent, a fine building which he had almost to himself,for there are not half a dozen monks. He used to pace up and down theterrace which he had turned into a garden, and on which he kept allsorts of strange animals. He wrote continually there. Indeed he didnothing but write. His only relaxation was a daily ride to Piraeus,about five miles over the plain; he told me it was the only time inhis life he was ever contented with himself except when he was atCherbury. He always spoke of London with disgust.'

  'Plantagenet loves retirement and a quiet life,' said Venetia; 'but hemust not be marred with vulgar sights and common-place duties. That isthe secret with him.'

  'I think the wind has just changed,' said Captain Cadurcis. 'It seemsto me that we shall have a sirocco. There, it shifts again! We shallhave a sirocco for certain.'

  'What did you think of papa when you first saw him?' said Venetia.'Was he the kind of person you expected to see?'

  'Exactly,' said Captain Cadurcis. 'So very spiritual! Plantagenet saidto me, as we went home the first night, that he looked like a goldenphantom. I think him very like you, Venetia; indeed, there can be nodoubt you inherited your face from your father.'

  'Ah! if you had seen his portrait at Cherbury, when he was onlytwenty!' said Venetia. 'That was a golden phantom, or rather he lookedlike Hyperion. What are you staring at so, George?'

  'I do not like this wind,' muttered Captain Cadurcis. 'There it goes.'

  'You cannot see the wind, George?'

  'Yes, I can, Venetia, and I do not like it at all. Do you see thatblack spot flitting like a shade over the sea? It is like thereflection of a cloud on the water; but there is no cloud. Well, thatis the wind, Venetia, and a very wicked wind too.'

  'How strange! Is that indeed the wind?'

  'We had better return home,' said Captain Cadurcis I wish they had notgone to Lavenza.'

  'But there is no danger?' said Venetia.

  'Danger? No! no danger, but they may get a wet jacket.'

  They walked on; but Captain Cadurcis was rather distrait: his eye wasalways watching the wind; at last he said, 'I tell you, Venetia, wemust walk quickly; for, by Jove, we are going to have a white squall.'

  They hurried their pace, Venetia mentioned her alarm again about theboat; but her companion reassured her; yet his manner was not soconfident as his words.

  A white mist began to curl above the horizon, the blueness of the dayseemed suddenly to fade, and its colour became grey; there was a swellon the waters that hitherto had been quite glassy, and they werecovered with a scurfy foam.

  'I wish I had been with them,' said Captain Cadurcis, evidently veryanxious.

  'George, you are alarmed,' said Venetia, earnestly. 'I am sure thereis danger.'

  'Danger! How can there be danger, Venetia? Perhaps they are in port bythis time. I dare say we shall find them at Spezzia. I will see youhome and run down to them. Only hurry, for your own sake, for you donot know what a white squall in the Mediterranean is. We have but afew moments.'

  And even at this very instant, the wind came roaring and rushing withsuch a violent gush that Venetia could scarcely stand; George put hisarm round her to support her. The air was filled with thick whitevapour, so that they could no longer see the ocean, only the surfrising very high all along the coast.

  'Keep close to me, Venetia,' said Captain Cadurcis; 'hold my arm and Iwill walk first, for we shall not be able to see a yard before us in aminute. I know where we are. We are above the olive wood, and we shallsoon be in the ravine. These Mediterranean white squalls are nastythings; I had sooner by half be in a south-wester; for one cannot runbefore the wind in this bay, the reefs stretch such a long way out.'

  The danger, and the inutility of expressing fears which could onlyperplex her guide, made Venetia silent, but she was terrified.She could not divest herself of apprehension about her father andPlantagenet. In spite of all he said, it was evident that hercompanion was alarmed.

  They had now entered the valley; the mountains had in some degree keptoff the vapour; the air was more clear. Venetia and Captain Cadurcisstopped a moment to breathe. 'Now, Venetia, you are safe,' saidCaptain Cadurcis. 'I will not come in; I will run down to the bay atonce.' He wiped the mist off his face: Venetia perceived him deadlypale.

  'George,' she said, 'conceal nothing from me; there is danger,imminent danger. Tell me at once.'

  'Indeed, Venetia,' said Captain Cadurcis, 'I am sure everything willbe quite right. There is some danger, certainly, at this moment; butof course, long ago, they have run into harbour. I have no doubt theyare at Spezzia at this moment. Now, do not be alarmed; indeed thereis no cause. God bless you!' he said, and bounded away. 'No cause,'thought he to himself, as the wind sounded like thunder, and thevapour came rushing up the ravine. 'God grant I may be right; butneither between the Tropics nor on the Line have I witnessed a severersquall than this! What open boat can live in this weather Oh! that Ihad been with them. I shall never forgive myself!'