Why? For her
sake; for her child; for 'his own Venetia!' His own!
She clenched her feverish hand, her temples beat with violent
palpitations, her brow was burning hot. Time flew on, and every minute
Venetia was more sensible of the impossibility of rising to welcome
her mother. That mother at length returned; Venetia could not again
mistake the wheels of the returning carriage. Some minutes passed, and
there was a knock at her door. With a choking voice Venetia bade them
enter. It was Pauncefort.
'Well, Miss,' she exclaimed, 'if you ayn't here, after all! I told my
lady, "My lady," says I, "I am sure Miss Venetia must be in the park,
for I saw her go out myself, and I have never seen her come home."
And, after all, you are here. My lady has come home, you know, Miss,
and has been inquiring for you several times.'
'Tell mamma that I am not very well,' said Venetia, in a low voice,
'and that I have been obliged to lie down.'
'Not well, Miss,' exclaimed Pauncefort; 'and what can be the matter
with you? I am afraid you have walked too much; overdone it, I dare
say; or, mayhap, you have caught cold; it is an easterly wind: for I
was saying to John this morning, "John," says I, "if Miss Venetia will
walk about with only a handkerchief tied round her head, why, what can
be expected?"'
'I have only a headache, a very bad headache, Pauncefort; I wish to be
quiet,' said Venetia.
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