Some one entered the room; it was Mistress Pauncefort.  She held a taper in her hand, and came tripping gingerly in, with a new cap streaming with ribands, and scarcely, as it were, condescending to execute the mission with which she was intrusted, which was no greater than fetching her lady’s reticule.  She glanced at the table, but it was not there; she turned up her nose at a chair or two, which she even condescended to propel a little with a saucy foot, as if the reticule might be hid under the hanging drapery, and then, unable to find the object of her search, Mistress Pauncefort settled herself before the glass, elevating the taper above her head, that she might observe what indeed she had been examining the whole day, the effect of her new cap.  With a complacent simper, Mistress Pauncefort then turned from pleasure to business, and, approaching the couch, gave a faint shriek, half genuine, half affected, as she recognised the recumbent form of her young mistress.  ‘Well to be sure,’ exclaimed Mistress Pauncefort, ’was the like ever seen!  Miss Venetia, as I live!  La!  Miss Venetia, what can be the matter?  I declare I am all of a palpitation.’

Venetia, affecting composure, said she was rather unwell; that she had a headache, and, rising, murmured that she would go to bed.  ’A headache!’ exclaimed Mistress Pauncefort, ’I hope no worse, for there is my lady, and she is as out of sorts as possible.  She has a headache too; and when I shut the door just now, I am sure as quiet as a lamb, she told me not to make so much noise when I left the room.  “Noise!” says I; “why really, my lady, I don’t pretend to be a spirit; but if it comes to noise—­” “Never answer me, Pauncefort,” says my lady.  “No, my lady,” says I, “I never do, and, I am sure, when I have a headache myself, I don’t like to be answered.”  But, to be sure, if you have a headache, and my lady has a headache too, I only hope we have not got the epidemy.  I vow, Miss Venetia, that your eyes are as red as if you had been running against the wind.  Well, to be sure, if you have not been crying!  I must go and tell my lady immediately.’

‘Light me to my room,’ said Venetia; ’I will not disturb my mother, as she is unwell.’

Venetia rose, and Mistress Pauncefort followed her to her chamber, and lit her candles.  Venetia desired her not to remain; and when she had quitted the chamber, Venetia threw herself in her chair and sighed.

To sleep, it was impossible; it seemed to Venetia that she could never rest again.  She wept no more, but her distress was very great.  She felt it impossible to exist through the night without being reconciled to her mother; but she refrained from going to her room, from the fear of again meeting her troublesome attendant.  She resolved, therefore, to wait until she heard Mistress Pauncefort retire for the night, and she listened with restless anxiety for the sign of her departure in the sound of her footsteps along the vestibule on which the doors of Lady Annabel’s and her daughter’s apartments opened.