Let us recur to her on the night when she returned home, after
having met with Plantagenet at her uncle's, and having pursued a
conversation with him, so unexpected, so strange, and so affecting!
She had been silent in the carriage, and retired to her room
immediately. She retired to ponder. The voice of Cadurcis lingered in
her ear; his tearful eye still caught her vision. She leant her head
upon her hand, and sighed! Why did she sigh? What at this instant was
her uppermost thought? Her mother's dislike of Cadurcis. 'Your mother
hates me.' These had been his words; these were the words she repeated
to herself, and on whose fearful sounds she dwelt. 'Your mother hates
me.' If by some means she had learnt a month ago at Weymouth, that her
mother hated Cadurcis, that his general conduct had been such as to
excite Lady Annabel's odium, Venetia might have for a moment
been shocked that her old companion in whom she had once been so
interested, had by his irregular behaviour incurred the dislike of her
mother, by whom he had once been so loved. But it would have been a
transient emotion. She might have mused over past feelings and past
hopes in a solitary ramble on the seashore; she might even have shed
a tear over the misfortunes or infelicity of one who had once been
to her a brother; but, perhaps, nay probably, on the morrow the
remembrance of Plantagenet would scarcely have occurred to her.
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