CHAPTER XI.
Venetia, without undressing, lay down on her bed, watching for somesound that might give her hope of George's return. Dwelling on everyinstant, the time dragged heavily along, and she thought that thenight had half passed when Pauncefort entered her room, and shelearnt, to her surprise, that only an hour had elapsed since she hadparted from her mother. This entrance of Pauncefort had given Venetiaa momentary hope that they had returned.
'I assure you, Miss Venetia, it is only an hour,' said Pauncefort,'and nothing could have happened. Now do try to go to sleep, that isa dear young lady, for I am certain sure that they will all return inthe morning, as I am here. I was telling my lady just now, I said,says I, I dare say they are all very wet, and very fatigued.'
'They would have returned, Pauncefort,' said Venetia, 'or they wouldhave sent. They are not at Sarzana.'
'La! Miss Venetia, why should they be at Sarzana? Why should they nothave gone much farther on! For, as Vicenzo was just saying to me, andVicenzo knows all about the coast, with such a wind as this, I shouldnot be surprised if they were at Leghorn.'
'O Pauncefort!' said Venetia, 'I am sick at heart!'
'Now really, Miss Venetia, do not take on so!' said Pauncefort; 'fordo not you remember when his lordship ran away from the abbey, andwent a gipsying, nothing would persuade poor Mrs. Cadurcis that he wasnot robbed and murdered, and yet you see he was as safe and sound allthe time, as if he had been at Cherbury.'
'Does Vicenzo really think they could have reached Leghorn?' saidVenetia, clinging to every fragment of hope.
'He is morally sure of it, Miss Venetia,' said Pauncefort, 'and I feelquite as certain, for Vicenzo is always right.'
'I had confidence about Sarzana,' said Venetia; 'I really did believethey were at Sarzana. If only Captain Cadurcis would return; if heonly would return, and say they were not at Sarzana, I would try tobelieve they were at Leghorn.'
'Now, Miss Venetia,' said Pauncefort, 'I am certain sure that they arequite safe; for my lord is a very good sailor; he is, indeed; all themen say so; and the boat is as seaworthy a boat as boat can be. Thereis not the slightest fear, I do assure you, miss.'
'Do the men say that Plantagenet is a good sailor?' inquired Venetia.
'Quite professional!' said Mistress Pauncefort; 'and can command aship as well as the best of them. They all say that.'
'Hush! Pauncefort, I hear something.'
'It's only my lady, miss. I know her step,'
'Is my mother going to bed?' said Venetia.
'Yes,' said Pauncefort, 'my lady sent me here to see after you. I wishI could tell her you were asleep.'
'It is impossible to sleep,' said Venetia, rising up from the bed,withdrawing the curtain, and looking at the sky. 'What a peacefulnight! I wish my heart were like the sky. I think I will go to mamma,Pauncefort!'
'Oh! dear, Miss Venetia, I am sure I think you had better not. If youand my lady, now, would only just go to sleep, and forget every thingtill morning, it would be much better for you. Besides, I am sure ifmy lady knew you were not gone to bed already, it would only make herdoubly anxious. Now, really, Miss Venetia, do take my advice, and justlie down, again. You may be sure the moment any one arrives I will letyou know. Indeed, I shall go and tell my lady that you are lying downas it is, and very drowsy;' and, so saying, Mistress Pauncefort caughtup her candle, and bustled out of the room.
Venetia took up the volume of her father's poems, which Cadurcis hadfilled with his notes. How little did Plantagenet anticipate, when hethus expressed at Athens the passing impressions of his mind, that,ere a year had glided away, his fate would be so intimately blendedwith that of Herbert! It was impossible, however, for Venetia to loseherself in a volume which, under any other circumstances, might havecompelled her spirit! the very associations with the writers addedto the terrible restlessness of her mind. She paused each instantto listen for the wished-for sound, but a mute stillness reignedthroughout the house and household. There was something in this deep,unbroken silence, at a moment when anxiety was universally diffusedamong the dwellers beneath that roof, and the heart of more than oneof them was throbbing with all the torture of the most awful suspense,that fell upon Venetia's excited nerves with a very painful and eveninsufferable influence. She longed for sound, for some noise thatmight assure her she was not the victim of a trance. She closed hervolume with energy, and she started at the sound she had herselfcreated. She rose and opened the door of her chamber very softly, andwalked into the vestibule. There were caps, and cloaks, and whips, andcanes of Cadurcis and her father, lying about in familiar confusion.It seemed impossible but that they were sleeping, as usual, under thesame roof. And where were they? That she should live and be unable toanswer that terrible question! When she felt the utter helplessness ofall her strong sympathy towards them, it seemed to her that she mustgo mad. She gazed around her with a wild and vacant stare. At thebottom of her heart there was a fear maturing into conviction toohorrible for expression. She returned to her own chamber, and theexhaustion occasioned by her anxiety, and the increased coolness ofthe night, made her at length drowsy. She threw herself on the bed andslumbered.
She started in her sleep, she awoke, she dreamed they had come home.She rose and looked at the progress of the night. The night was waningfast; a grey light was on the landscape; the point of day approached.Venetia stole softly to her mother's room, and entered it with asoundless step. Lady Annabel had not retired to bed. She had sat upthe whole night, and was now asleep. A lamp on a small table wasburning at her side, and she held, firmly grasped in her hand, theletter of her husband, which he had addressed to her at Venice, andwhich she had been evidently reading. A tear glided down the cheek ofVenetia as she watched her mother retaining that letter with fondnesseven in her sleep, and when she thought of all the misery, andheartaches, and harrowing hours that had preceded its receipt, andwhich Venetia believed that letter had cured for ever. What miseryawaited them now? Why were they watchers of the night? She shudderedwhen these dreadful questions flitted through her mind. She shudderedand sighed. Her mother started, and woke.
'Who is there?' inquired Lady Annabel.
'Venetia.'
'My child, have you not slept?'
'Yes, mother, and I woke refreshed, as I hope you do.'
'I wake with trust in God's mercy,' said Lady Annabel. 'Tell me thehour.'
'It is just upon dawn, mother.'
'Dawn! no one has returned, or come.'
'The house is still, mother.'
'I would you were in bed, my child.'
'Mother, I can sleep no more. I wish to be with you;' and Venetiaseated herself at her mother's feet, and reclined her head upon hermother's knee.
'I am glad the night has passed, Venetia,' said Lady Annabel, in asuppressed yet solemn tone. 'It has been a trial.' And here she placedthe letter in her bosom. Venetia could only answer with a sigh.
'I wish Pauncefort would come,' said Lady Annabel; 'and yet I do notlike to rouse her, she was up so late, poor creature! If it be thedawn I should like to send out messengers again; something may beheard at Spezzia.'
'Vicenzo thinks they have gone to Leghorn, mother.'
'Has he heard anything!' said Lady Annabel, eagerly.
'No, but he is an excellent judge,' said Venetia, repeating allPauncefort's consolatory chatter. 'He knows the coast so well. He sayshe is sure the wind would carry them on to Leghorn; and that accounts,you know, mother, for George not returning. They are all at Leghorn.'
'Would that George would return,' murmured Lady Annabel; 'I wish Icould see again that sailor who said they were at Lerici. He was anintelligent man.'
'Perhaps if we send down to the bay he may be there,' said Venetia.'
'Hush! I hear a step!' said Lady Annabel.
Venetia sprung up and opened the door, but it was only Pauncefort inthe vestibule.
'The household are all up, my lady,' said that important personageentering; ''tis a beautiful morning. Vicenzo has
run down to the bay,my lady; I sent him off immediately. Vicenzo says he is certain surethey are at Leghorn, my lady; and, this time three years, the verysame thing happened. They were fishing for anchovies, my lady, closeby, my lady, near Sarzana; two young men, or rather one about the sameage as master, and one like my lord; cousins, my lady, and just in thesame sort of boat, my lady; and there came on a squall, just the samesort of squall, my lady; and they did not return home; and everyonewas frightened out of their wits, my lady, and their wives andfamilies quite distracted; and after all they were at Leghorn; forthis sort of wind always takes your open boats to Leghorn, Vicenzosays.'
The sun rose, the household were all stirring, and many of themabroad; the common routine of domestic duty seemed, by some generalyet not expressed understanding, to have ceased. The ladies descendedbelow at a very early hour, and went forth into the valley, once thehappy valley. What was to be its future denomination? Vicenzo returnedfrom the bay, and he contrived to return with cheering intelligence.The master of a felucca who, in consequence of the squall had put inat Lerici, and in the evening dropped down to Spezzia, had met an openboat an hour before he reached Sarzana, and was quite confident that,if it had put into port, it must have been, from the speed at which itwas going, a great distance down the coast. No wrecks had been heardof in the neighbourhood. This intelligence, the gladsome time of day,and the non-arrival of Captain Cadurcis, which according to their moodwas always a circumstance that counted either for good or for evil,and the sanguine feelings which make us always cling to hope,altogether reassured our friends. Venetia dismissed from her mind thedark thought which for a moment had haunted her in the noon of night;and still it was a suspense, a painful, agitating suspense, but onlysuspense that yet influenced them.
'Time! said Lady Annabel. 'Time! we must wait.'
Venetia consoled her mother; she affected even a gaiety of spirit;she was sure that Vicenzo would turn out to be right, after all;Pauncefort said he always was right, and that they were at Leghorn.
The day wore apace; the noon arrived and passed; it was evenapproaching sunset. Lady Annabel was almost afraid to counterorder theusual meals, lest Venetia should comprehend her secret terror; thevery same sentiment influenced Venetia. Thus they both had submittedto the ceremony of breakfast, but when the hour of dinner approachedthey could neither endure the mockery. They looked at each other, andalmost at the same time they proposed that, instead of dining, theyshould walk down to the bay.
'I trust we shall at least hear something before the night,' said LadyAnnabel. 'I confess I dread the coming night. I do not think I couldendure it.'
'The longer we do not hear, the more certain I am of their being atLeghorn,' said Venetia.
'I have a great mind to travel there to-night,' said Lady Annabel.
As they were stepping into the portico, Venetia recognised CaptainCadurcis in the distance. She turned pale; she would have fallen hadshe not leaned on her mother, who was not so advanced, and who had notseen him.
'What is the matter, Venetia!' said Lady Annabel, alarmed.
'He is here, he is here!'
'Marmion?'
'No, George. Let me sit down.'
Her mother tried to support her to a chair. Lady Annabel took off herbonnet. She had not strength to walk forth. She could not speak. Shesat down opposite Venetia, and her countenance pictured distress to sopainful a degree, that at any other time Venetia would have flown toher, but in this crisis of suspense it was impossible. George was insight; he was in the portico; he was in the room.
He looked wan, haggard, and distracted. More than once he essayed tospeak, but failed.
Lady Annabel looked at him with a strange, delirious expression.Venetia rushed forward and seized his arm, and gazed intently on hisface. He shrank from her glance; his frame trembled.