Among these woods, too, had Venetia first mused over her father; before her rose those mysterious chambers, whose secret she had penetrated at the risk of her life.  There were no secrets now.  Was she happier?  Now she felt that even in her early mystery there was delight, and that hope was veiled beneath its ominous shadow.  There was now no future to ponder over; her hope was gone, and memory alone remained.  All the dreams of those musing hours of her hidden reveries had been realised.  She had seen that father, that surpassing parent, who had satisfied alike her heart and her imagination; she had been clasped to his bosom; she had lived to witness even her mother yield to his penitent embrace.  And he too was gone; she could never meet him again in this world; in this world in which they had experienced such exquisite bliss; and now she was once more at Cherbury!  Oh! give her back her girlhood, with all its painful mystery and harassing doubt!  Give her again a future!

She returned to the hall; she met George on the terrace, she welcomed him with a sweet, yet mournful smile.  ‘I have been very selfish,’ she said, ’for I have been walking alone.  I mean to introduce you to Cherbury, but I could not resist visiting some old spots.’  Her voice faltered in these last words.  They re-entered the terrace-room together, and joined her mother.

‘Nothing is changed, mamma,’ said Venetia, in a more cheerful tone.  ‘It is pleasant to find something that is the same.’

Several days passed, and Lord Cadurcis evinced no desire to visit his inheritance.  Yet Lady Annabel was anxious that he should do so, and had more than once impressed upon him the propriety.  Even Venetia at length said to him, ’It is very selfish in us keeping you here, George.  Your presence is a great consolation, and yet, yet, ought you not to visit your home?’ She avoided the name of Cadurcis.

‘I ought, dear Venetia.’ said George, ’and I will.  I have promised Lady Annabel twenty times, but I feel a terrible disinclination.  To-morrow, perhaps.’

‘To-morrow, and to-morrow, and to-morrow,’ murmured Venetia to herself, ‘I scarcely comprehend now what to-morrow means.’  And then again addressing him, and with more liveliness, she said, ’We have only one friend in the world now, George, and I think that we ought to be very grateful that he is our neighbour.’

‘It is a consolation to me,’ said Lord Cadurcis, ’for I cannot remain here, and otherwise I should scarcely know how to depart.’

‘I wish you would visit your home, if only for one morning,’ said Venetia; ‘if only to know how very near you are to us.’

‘I dread going alone,’ said Lord Cadurcis.  ’I cannot ask Lady Annabel to accompany me, because—­’ He hesitated.

‘Because?’ inquired Venetia.

‘I cannot ask or wish her to leave you.’

‘You are always thinking of me, dear George,’ said Venetia, artlessly.  ’I assure you, I have come back to Cherbury to be happy.  I must visit your home some day, and I hope I shall visit it often.  We will all go, soon,’ she added.