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.
An hour elapsed, and at length the sound was heard. Convinced that
Pauncefort had now quitted her mother for the night, Venetia ventured
forth, and stopping before the door of her mother's room, she knocked
gently. There was no reply, and in a few minutes Venetia knocked
again, and rather louder. Still no answer. 'Mamma,' said Venetia, in a
faltering tone, but no sound replied. Venetia then tried the door,
and found it fastened. Then she gave up the effort in despair, and
retreating to her own chamber, she threw herself on her bed, and wept
bitterly.
Some time elapsed before she looked up again; the candles were flaring
in their sockets. It was a wild windy night; Venetia rose, and
withdrew the curtain of her window. The black clouds were scudding
along the sky, revealing, in their occasional but transient rifts,
some glimpses of the moon, that seemed unusually bright, or of a star
that trembled with supernatural brilliancy. She stood a while gazing
on the outward scene that harmonised with her own internal agitation:
her grief was like the storm, her love like the light of that bright
moon and star.
Pages:
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173