A blazing fire of pine wood soon gave cheerfulness to the vast and
somewhat desolate apartment into which our friends had been ushered;
their sleeping-room was adjoining, but separated. In spite of the
lamentations of Pauncefort, who had been drenched to the skin, and who
required much more waiting upon than her mistress, Lady Annabel and
Venetia at length produced some degree of comfort. They drew the table
near the fire; they ensconced themselves behind an old screen; and,
producing their books and work notwithstanding the tempest, they
contrived to domesticate themselves at Rovigo.
'I cannot help thinking of Arqua and its happy tenants, mamma,' said
Venetia.
'And yet, perhaps, they may have their secret sorrows,' said
Lady Annabel. 'I know not why, I always associate seclusion with
unhappiness.'
Venetia remembered Cherbury. Their life at Cherbury was like the life
of the German at Arqua. A chance visitor to Cherbury in their absence,
viewing the beautiful residence and the fair domain, and listening to
the tales which they well might hear of all her mother's grace and
goodness, might perhaps too envy its happy occupiers. But were they
happy? Had they no secret sorrows? Was their seclusion associated with
unhappiness? These were reflections that made Venetia grave; but she
opened her journal, and, describing the adventures and feelings of the
morning, she dissipated some mournful reminiscences.
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