Lady Annabel stood for some minutes supporting her speechless and
agitated child; then, as her sobs became fainter, and the tumult of
her grief gradually died away, she bore her to the sofa, and seated
herself by her side, holding Venetia's hand in her own, and ever and
anon soothing her with soft embraces, and still softer words.
At length, in a faint voice, Venetia said, 'Mother, what can I do to
restore the past? How can we be to each other as we were, for this I
cannot bear?'
'Love me, my Venetia, as I love you; be faithful to your mother; do
not disregard her counsel; profit by her errors.'
'I will in all things obey you,' said Venetia, in a low voice; 'there
is no sacrifice I am not prepared to make for your happiness.'
'Let us not talk of sacrifices, my darling child; it is not a
sacrifice that I require. I wish only to prevent your everlasting
misery.'
'What, then, shall I do?'
'Make me only one promise; whatever pledge you give, I feel assured
that no influence, Venetia, will ever induce you to forfeit it.'
'Name it, mother.'
'Promise me never to marry Lord Cadurcis,' said Lady Annabel, in a
whisper, but a whisper of which not a word was lost by the person to
whom it was addressed.
'I promise never to marry, but with your approbation,' said Venetia,
in a solemn voice, and uttering the words with great distinctness.
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