‘He is again your suitor?’ said Lady Annabel, with a scrutinising glance.

‘Indeed he is not.’

‘He will be,’ said Lady Annabel.  ’Prepare yourself.  Tell me, then, are your feelings the same towards him as when he last quitted us?’

‘Feelings, mamma!’ said Venetia, echoing her mother’s words; for indeed the question was one very difficult to answer; ’I ever loved Plantagenet; I love him still.’

’But do you love him now as then?  Then you looked upon him as a brother.  He has no soul now for sisterly affections.  I beseech you tell me, my child, me, your mother, your friend, your best, your only friend, tell me, have you for a moment repented that you ever refused to extend to him any other affection?’

’I have not thought of the subject, mamma; I have not wished to think of the subject; I have had no occasion to think of it.  Lord Cadurcis is not my suitor now.’

‘Venetia!’ said Lady Annabel, ‘I cannot doubt you love me.’

‘Dearest mother!’ exclaimed Venetia, in a tone of mingled fondness and reproach, 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 ask such cruel questions?  Whom should I love but you, the best, the dearest mother that ever existed?  And what object can I have in life that for a moment can be placed in competition with your happiness?’

‘Then, Venetia, I tell you,’ said Lady Annabel, in a solemn yet excited voice, ’that that happiness is gone for ever, nay, my very life will be the forfeit, if I ever live to see you the bride of Lord Cadurcis.’

‘I have no thought of being the bride of any one,’ said Venetia.  ’I am happy with you.  I wish never to leave you.’

’My child, the fulfilment of such a wish is not in the nature of things,’ 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 with resignation, 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 own misery 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, I should not survive the spectacle; I know myself, Venetia, I could not survive it.’

’But why anticipate such misery?  Why indulge in such gloomy forebodings?  Am I not happy now?  Do you not love me?’

Venetia had drawn her chair close to that of her mother; she sat by her side and held her hand.

‘Venetia,’ said Lady Annabel, after a pause of some minutes, and in a low voice, ’I must speak to you on a subject on which we have never conversed.  I must speak to you;’ and here Lady Annabel’s voice dropped lower and lower, but still its tones were distinct, although she expressed herself with evident effort:  ’I must speak to you about—­your father.’