'Good night, dear Lady Annabel,' he said, as he
pressed her hand; 'you know not how happy, how grateful I feel, to be
once more at Cherbury. Good night, Venetia!'
That last word lingered on his lips; it was uttered in a tone at once
mournful and sweet, and her hand was unconsciously retained for a
moment in his; but for a moment; and yet in that brief instant a
thousand thoughts seemed to course through his brain.
Before Venetia retired to rest she remained for a few minutes in her
mother's room. 'What do you think of him, mamma?' she said; 'is he not
very changed?'
'He is, my love,' replied Lady Annabel; 'what I sometimes thought he
might, what I always hoped he would, be.'
'He really seemed happy to meet us again, and yet how strange that for
years he should never have communicated with us.'
'Not so very strange, my love! He was but a child when we parted, and
he has felt embarrassment in resuming connections which for a long
interval had been inevitably severed. Remember what a change his life
had to endure; few, after such an interval, would have returned with
feelings so kind and so pure!'
'He was always a favourite of yours, mamma!'
'I always fancied that I observed in him the seeds of great virtues
and great talents; but I was not so sanguine that they would have
flourished as they appear to have done.
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