He had imbibed from his own reflections, at a
very early period of life, a due sense of the importance of his lot;
he was proud of his hereditary honours, blended, as they were, with
some glorious passages in the history of his country, and prouder of
his still more ancient line. The eccentric exploits and the violent
passions, by which his race had been ever characterised, were to him a
source of secret exultation. Even the late lord, who certainly had
no claims to his gratitude, for he had robbed the inheritance to the
utmost of his power, commanded, from the wild decision of his life,
the savage respect of his successor. In vain Mrs. Cadurcis would
pour forth upon this, the favourite theme for her wrath and her
lamentations, all the bitter expressions of her rage and woe.
Plantagenet had never imbibed her prejudices against the departed, and
had often irritated his mother by maintaining that the late lord was
perfectly justified in his conduct.
But in these almost daily separations between Plantagenet and Venetia,
how different was her lot to that of her companion! She was the
confidante of all his domestic sorrows, and often he had requested
her to exert her influence to obtain some pacifying missive from Lady
Annabel, which might secure him a quiet evening at Cadurcis; and
whenever this had not been obtained, the last words of Venetia were
ever not to loiter, and to remember to speak to his mother as much as
he possibly could.
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