She never moved, she never sighed, nor wept; she took no notice of
anything that occurred; she sought relief in no resources. Books, and
drawings, and music, were quite forgotten by her; nothing amused, and
nothing annoyed her; she was not even fretful; she had, apparently,
no physical ailment; she remained pale and silent, plunged in an
absorbing paroxysm of overwhelming woe.
The unhappy Lady Annabel, at a loss how to act, at length thought it
might be advisable to cross over to Venice. She felt assured now, that
it would be a long time, if ever, before her child could again endure
the fatigue of travel; and she thought that for every reason, whether
for domestic comfort or medical advice, or those multifarious
considerations which interest the invalid, a capital was by far the
most desirable residence for them. There was a time when a visit to
the city that had given her a name had been a favourite dream of
Venetia; she had often sighed to be within
The sea-born city's walls; the graceful towers
Loved by the bard.
Those lines of her father had long echoed in her ear; but now the
proposition called no light to her glazed eye, nor summoned for an
instant the colour back to her cheek. She listened to her mother's
suggestion, and expressed her willingness to do whatever she desired.
Pages:
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532
533