‘It is no use thinking of old days,’ said Venetia.

’No use! said Cadurcis.  ’I do not like to hear you say that, Venetia.  Those are some of the least agreeable words that were ever uttered by that mouth.  I cling to old days; they are my only joy and my only hope.’

‘They are gone,’ said Venetia.

‘But may they not return?’ said Cadurcis.

‘Never,’ said Venetia, mournfully.

They had walked on to a marble fountain of gigantic proportions and elaborate workmanship, an assemblage of divinities and genii, all spouting water in fantastic attitudes.

‘Old days,’ said Plantagenet, ’are like the old fountain at Cadurcis, dearer to me than all this modern splendour.’

‘The old fountain at Cadurcis,’ said Venetia, musingly, and gazing on the water with an abstracted air, ‘I loved it well!’

‘Venetia,’ said her companion, in a tone of extreme tenderness, yet not untouched with melancholy, ’dear Venetia, let us return, and return together, to that old fountain and those old days!’

Venetia shook her head.  ‘Ah, Plantagenet!’ she exclaimed in a mournful voice, ‘we must not speak of these things.’

‘Why not, Venetia?’ exclaimed Lord Cadurcis, eagerly.  ’Why should we be estranged from each other?  I love you; I love only you; never have I loved another.  And you, have you forgotten all our youthful affection?  You cannot, Venetia.  Our childhood can never be a blank.’

‘I told you, when first we met, my heart was unchanged,’ said Venetia.

‘Remember the vows I made to you when last at Cherbury,’ said Cadurcis.  ’Years have flown on, Venetia; but they find me urging the same.  At any rate, now I know myself; at any rate, I am not now an obscure boy; yet what is manhood, and what is fame, without the charm of my infancy and my youth!  Yes, Venetia! you must, you will he mine?’

‘Plantagenet,’ she replied, in a solemn tone, ‘yours I never can be.’

‘You do not, then, love me?’ said Cadurcis reproachfully, and in a voice of great feeling.

‘It is impossible for you to be loved more than I love you,’ said Venetia.

‘My own Venetia!’ said Cadurcis; ’Venetia that I dote on! what does this mean?  Why, then, will you not be mine?’

‘I cannot; there is an obstacle, an insuperable obstacle.’

‘Tell it me,’ said Cadurcis eagerly; ‘I will overcome it.’

’I have promised never to marry without the approbation of my mother; her approbation you never can obtain.’

Cadurcis’ countenance fell; this was an obstacle which he felt that even he could not overcome.

‘I told you your mother hated me, Venetia.’  And then, as she did not reply, he continued, ’You confess it, I see you confess it.  Once you flattered me I was mistaken; but now, now you confess it.’

‘Hatred is a word which I cannot understand,’ replied Venetia.  ’My mother has reasons for disapproving my union with you; not founded on the circumstances of your life, and therefore removable (for I know what the world says, Plantagenet, of you), but I have confidence in your love, and that is nothing; but founded on your character, on your nature; they may be unjust, but they are insuperable, and I must yield to them.’