I must speak to you;' and here Lady Annabel's voice dropped
lower and lower, but still its tones were distinct, although
she expressed herself with evident effort: 'I must speak to you
about--your father.'
Venetia uttered a faint cry, she clenched her mother's hand with a
convulsive grasp, and sank upon her bosom. She struggled to maintain
herself, but the first sound of that name from her mother's lips, and
all the long-suppressed emotions that it conjured up, overpowered her.
The blood seemed to desert her heart; still she did not faint; she
clung to Lady Annabel, pallid and shivering.
Her mother tenderly embraced her, she whispered to her words of great
affection, she attempted to comfort and console her. Venetia murmured,
'This is very foolish of me, mother; but speak, oh! speak of what I
have so long desired to hear.'
'Not now, Venetia.'
'Now, mother! yes, now! I am quite composed. I could not bear the
postponement of what you were about to say. I could not sleep, dear
mother, if you did not speak to me. It was only for a moment I was
overcome. See! I am quite composed.' And indeed she spoke in a calm
and steady voice, but her pale and suffering countenance expressed the
painful struggle which it cost her to command herself.
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