It seemed to him that there
was only one being in the world whom he had ever loved, and that was
Venetia Herbert: it seemed to him that there was only one thing in
this world worth living for, and that was the enjoyment of her sweet
heart. The pure-minded, the rare, the gracious creature! Why should
she ever quit these immaculate bowers wherein she had been so
mystically and delicately bred? Why should she ever quit the fond
roof of Cherbury, but to shed grace and love amid the cloisters of
Cadurcis? Her life hitherto had been an enchanted tale; why should
the spell ever break? Why should she enter that world where care,
disappointment, mortification, misery, must await her? He for a season
had left the magic circle of her life, and perhaps it was well. He was
a man, and so he should know all. But he had returned, thank Heaven!
he had returned, and never again would he quit her. Fool that he had
been ever to have neglected her! And for a reason that ought to have
made him doubly her friend, her solace, her protector. Oh! to think of
the sneers or the taunts of the world calling for a moment the colour
from that bright cheek, or dusking for an instant the radiance of that
brilliant eye! His heart ached at the thought of her unhappiness, and
he longed to press her to it, and cherish her like some innocent dove
that had flown from the terrors of a pursuing hawk.
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