'She has seen him; she loves him; she has forgotten her mother.'
'My dear lady, you require rest,' said Doctor Masham. 'You are
overcome with strange fancies. Whom has your daughter seen?'
'Marmion.'
'Impossible! you forget he is--'
'Here also. He has spoken to her: she loves him: she will recover: she
will fly to him; sooner let us both die!'
'Dear lady!'
'She knows everything. Fate has baffled me; we cannot struggle with
fate. She is his child; she is like him; she is not like her mother.
Oh! she hates me; I know she hates me.'
'Hush! hush! hush!' said the Doctor, himself very agitated. 'Venetia
loves you, only you. Why should she love any one else?'
'Who can help it? I loved him. I saw him. I loved him. His voice was
music. He has spoken to her, and she yielded: she yielded in a moment.
I stood by her bedside. She would not speak to me; she would not know
me; she shrank from me. Her heart is with her father: only with him.'
'Where did she see him? How?'
'His room: his picture. She knows all. I was away with you, and she
entered his chamber.'
'Ah!'
'Oh! Doctor, you have influence with her. Speak to her. Make her love
me! Tell her she has no father; tell her he is dead.'
'We will do that which is well and wise,' replied Doctor Masham: 'at
present let us be calm; if you give way, her life may be the forfeit.
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