And yet, and yet, and yet; in vain
she reasoned. There is a strange sympathy which whispers convictions
that no evidence can authorise, and no arguments dispel. Venetia
Herbert, particularly as she grew older, could not refrain at times
from yielding to the irresistible belief that her existence was
enveloped in some mystery. Mystery too often presupposes the idea of
guilt. Guilt! Who was guilty? Venetia shuddered at the current of her
own thoughts. She started from the garden seat in which she had fallen
into this dangerous and painful reverie; flew to her mother, who
received her with smiles; and buried her face in the bosom of Lady
Annabel.
CHAPTER II.
We have indicated in a few pages the progress of three years. How
differently passed to the two preceding ones, when the Cadurcis family
were settled at the abbey! For during this latter period it seemed
that not a single incident had occurred. They had glided away in one
unbroken course of study, religion, and domestic love, the enjoyment
of nature, and the pursuits of charity; like a long summer
sabbath-day, sweet and serene and still, undisturbed by a single
passion, hallowed and hallowing.
If the Cadurcis family were now not absolutely forgotten at Cherbury,
they were at least only occasionally remembered.
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