It was in the enjoyment of these exquisite feelings that a year,
and more than another year, elapsed at our lone hall of Cherbury.
Happiness and content seemed at least the blessed destiny of the
Herberts. Venetia grew in years, and grace, and loveliness; each day
apparently more her mother's joy, and each day bound to that mother
by, if possible, more ardent love. She had never again experienced
those uneasy thoughts which at times had haunted her from her infancy;
separated from her mother, indeed, scarcely for an hour together, she
had no time to muse. Her studies each day becoming more various and
interesting, and pursued with so gifted and charming a companion,
entirely engrossed her; even the exercise that was her relaxation was
participated by Lady Annabel; and the mother and daughter, bounding
together on their steeds, were fanned by the same breeze, and
freshened by the same graceful and healthy exertion.
One day the post, that seldom arrived at Cherbury, brought a letter to
Lady Annabel, the perusal of which evidently greatly agitated her.
Her countenance changed as her eye glanced over the pages; her hand
trembled as she held it. But she made no remark; and succeeded in
subduing her emotion so quickly that Venetia, although she watched
her mother with anxiety, did not feel justified in interfering with
inquiring sympathy.
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