CHAPTER VI.
Her mother had not returned; it was a false alarm; but Venetia couldnot quit her bed. There she remained, repeating to herself herfather's verses. Then one thought alone filled her being. Was he dead?Was this fond father, who had breathed this fervent blessing over herbirth, and invoked on his own head all the woe and misfortunes of herdestiny, was he, indeed, no more? How swiftly must the arrow have spedafter he received the announcement that a child was given to him,
Of all his treasured loves the long-expected heir!
He could scarcely have embraced her ere the great Being, to whom hehad offered his prayer, summoned him to his presence! Of that fathershe had not the slightest recollection; she had ascertained that shehad reached Cherbury a child, even in arms, and she knew that herfather had never lived under the roof. What an awful bereavement! Wasit wonderful that her mother was inconsolable? Was it wonderful thatshe could not endure even his name to be mentioned in her presence;that not the slightest allusion to his existence could be tolerated bya wife who had been united to such a peerless being, only to beholdhim torn away from her embraces? Oh! could he, indeed, be dead? Thatinspired countenance that seemed immortal, had it in a moment beendimmed? and all the symmetry of that matchless form, had it indeedbeen long mouldering in the dust? Why should she doubt it? Ah! why,indeed? How could she doubt it? Why, ever and anon, amid the tumult ofher excited mind, came there an unearthly whisper to her ear, mockingher with the belief that he still lived? But he was dead; he must bedead; and why did she live? Could she survive what she had seen andlearnt this day? Did she wish to survive it? But her mother, hermother with all her sealed-up sorrows, had survived him. Why? For hersake; for her child; for 'his own Venetia!' His own!
She clenched her feverish hand, her temples beat with violentpalpitations, her brow was burning hot. Time flew on, and every minuteVenetia was more sensible of the impossibility of rising to welcomeher mother. That mother at length returned; Venetia could not againmistake the wheels of the returning carriage. Some minutes passed, andthere was a knock at her door. With a choking voice Venetia bade thementer. It was Pauncefort.
'Well, Miss,' she exclaimed, 'if you ayn't here, after all! I told mylady, "My lady," says I, "I am sure Miss Venetia must be in the park,for I saw her go out myself, and I have never seen her come home."And, after all, you are here. My lady has come home, you know, Miss,and has been inquiring for you several times.'
'Tell mamma that I am not very well,' said Venetia, in a low voice,'and that I have been obliged to lie down.'
'Not well, Miss,' exclaimed Pauncefort; 'and what can be the matterwith you? I am afraid you have walked too much; overdone it, I daresay; or, mayhap, you have caught cold; it is an easterly wind: for Iwas saying to John this morning, "John," says I, "if Miss Venetia willwalk about with only a handkerchief tied round her head, why, what canbe expected?"'
'I have only a headache, a very bad headache, Pauncefort; I wish to bequiet,' said Venetia.
Pauncefort left the room accordingly, and straightway proceeded toLady Annabel, when she communicated the information that Miss Venetiawas in the house, after all, though she had never seen her return,and that she was lying down because she had a very bad headache. LadyAnnabel, of course, did not lose a moment in visiting her darling. Sheentered the room softly, so softly that she was not heard; Venetia waslying on her bed, with her back to the door. Lady Annabel stood by herbedside for some moments unnoticed. At length Venetia heaved adeep sigh. Her mother then said in a soft voice, 'Are you in pain,darling?'
'Is that mamma?' said Venetia, turning with quickness.
'You are ill, dear,' said Lady Annabel, taking her hand. 'Your hand ishot; you are feverish. How long has my Venetia felt ill?'
Venetia could not answer; she did nothing but sigh. Her strange mannerexcited her mother's wonder. Lady Annabel sat by the bedside, stillholding her daughter's hand in hers, watching her with a glance ofgreat anxiety.
'Answer me, my love,' she repeated in a voice of tenderness. 'What doyou feel?'
'My head, my head,' murmured Venetia.
Her mother pressed her own hand to her daughter's brow; it was very hot.'Does that pain you?' inquired Lady Annabel; but Venetia did not reply;her look was wild and abstracted. Her mother gently withdrew her hand,and then summoned Pauncefort, with whom she communicated withoutpermitting her to enter the room.
'Miss Herbert is very ill,' said Lady Annabel, pale, but in a firmtone. 'I am alarmed about her. She appears to me to have fever; sendinstantly to Southport for Mr. Hawkins; and let the messenger useand urge all possible expedition. Be in attendance in the vestibule,Pauncefort; I shall not quit her room, but she must be kept perfectlyquiet.'
Lady Annabel then drew her chair to the bedside of her daughter, andbathed her temples at intervals with rose-water; but none of theseattentions apparently attracted the notice of the sufferer. She was,it would seem, utterly unconscious of all that was occurring. She nowlay with her face turned towards her mother, but did not exchange evenlooks with her. She was restless, and occasionally she sighed deeply.
Once, by way of experiment, Lady Annabel again addressed her, butVenetia gave no answer. Then the mother concluded what, indeed, hadbefore attracted her suspicion, that Venetia's head was affected. Butthen, what was this strange, this sudden attack, which appeared tohave prostrated her daughter's faculties in an instant? A few hoursback, and Lady Annabel had parted from Venetia in all the glow ofhealth and beauty. The season was most genial; her exercise haddoubtless been moderate; as for her general health, so complete washer constitution, and so calm the tenour of her life, that Venetiahad scarcely experienced in her whole career a single hour ofindisposition. It was an anxious period of suspense until the medicalattendant arrived from Southport. Fortunately he was one in whom, fromreputation, Lady Annabel was disposed to place great trust; and hismatured years, his thoughtful manner, and acute inquiries, confirmedher favourable opinion of him. All that Mr. Hawkins could say,however, was, that Miss Herbert had a great deal of fever, but thecause was concealed, and the suddenness of the attack perplexed him.He administered one of the usual remedies; and after an hour hadelapsed, and no favourable change occurring, he blooded her. Hequitted Cherbury, with the promise of returning late in the evening,having several patients whom he was obliged to visit.
The night drew on; the chamber was now quite closed, but Lady Annabelnever quitted it. She sat reading, removed from her daughter, that herpresence might not disturb her, for Venetia seemed inclined to sleep.Suddenly Venetia spoke; but she said only one word, 'Father!'
Lady Annabel started; her book nearly fell from her hand; she grewvery pale. Quite breathless, she listened, and again Venetia spoke,and again called upon her father. Now, with a great effort, LadyAnnabel stole on tiptoe to the bedside of her daughter. Venetia waslying on her back, her eyes were closed, her lips still as it werequivering with the strange word they had dared to pronounce. Againher voice sounded; she chanted, in an unearthly voice, verses. Theperspiration stood in large drops on the pallid forehead of the motheras she listened. Still Venetia proceeded; and Lady Annabel, throwingherself on her knees, held up her hands to Heaven in an agony ofastonishment, terror, and devotion.
Now there was again silence; but her mother remained apparently buriedin prayer. Again Venetia spoke; again she repeated the mysteriousstanzas. With convulsive agony her mother listened to every fatal linethat she unconsciously pronounced.
The secret was then discovered. Yes! Venetia must have penetrated thelong-closed chamber; all the labours of years had in a moment beensubverted; Venetia had discovered her parent, and the effects of thediscovery might, perhaps, be her death. Then it was that Lady Annabel,in the torture of her mind, poured forth her supplications that thelife or the heart of her child might never be lost to her, 'Grant, Omerciful God!' she exclaimed, 'that this sole hope of my being may bespared to me. Grant, if she be spared, that she may never desert hermother! And for him, of whom she has heard th
is day for the firsttime, let him be to her as if he were no more! May she never learnthat he lives! May she never comprehend the secret agony of hermother's life! Save her, O God! save her from his fatal, hisirresistible influence! May she remain pure and virtuous as she hasyet lived! May she remain true to thee, and true to thy servant, whonow bows before thee! Look down upon me at this moment with graciousmercy; turn to me my daughter's heart; and, if it be my dark doom tobe in this world a widow, though a wife, add not to this bitternessthat I shall prove a mother without a child!'
At this moment the surgeon returned. It was absolutely necessary thatLady Annabel should compose herself. She exerted all that strength ofcharacter for which she was remarkable. From this moment she resolved,if her life were the forfeit, not to quit for an instant the bedsideof Venetia until she was declared out of danger; and feeling consciousthat if she once indulged her own feelings, she might herself soonbe in a situation scarcely less hazardous than her daughter's, shecontrolled herself with a mighty effort. Calm as a statue, shereceived the medical attendant, who took the hand of the unconsciousVenetia with apprehension too visibly impressed upon his gravecountenance. As he took her hand, Venetia opened her eyes, stared ather mother and her attendant, and then immediately closed them.
'She has slept?' inquired Lady Annabel.
'No,' said the surgeon, 'no: this is not sleep; it is a feverishtrance that brings her no refreshment.' He took out his watch, andmarked her pulse with great attention; then he placed his hand on herbrow, and shook his head. 'These beautiful curls must come off,' hesaid. Lady Annabel glided to the table, and instantly brought thescissors, as if the delay of an instant might be fatal. The surgeoncut off those long golden locks. Venetia raised her hand to her head,and said, in a low voice, 'They are for my father.' Lady Annabel leantupon the surgeon's arm and shook.
Now he led the mother to the window, and spoke in a hushed tone.
'Is it possible that there is anything on your daughter's mind, LadyAnnabel?' he inquired.
The agitated mother looked at the inquirer, and then at her daughter;and then for a moment she raised her hand to her eyes; then shereplied, in a low but firm voice, 'Yes.'
'Your ladyship must judge whether you wish me to be acquainted withit,' said Mr. Hawkins, calmly.
'My daughter has suddenly become acquainted, sir, with some familyincidents of a painful nature, and the knowledge of which I havehitherto spared her. They are events long past, and their consequencesare now beyond all control.'
'She knows, then, the worst?'
'Without her mind, I cannot answer that question,' said Lady Annabel.
'It is my duty to tell you that Miss Herbert is in imminent danger;she has every appearance of a fever of a malignant character. I cannotanswer for her life.'
'O God!' exclaimed Lady Annabel.
'Yet you must compose yourself, my dear lady. Her chance of recoverygreatly depends upon the vigilance of her attendants. I shall bleedher again, and place leeches on her temples. There is inflammation onthe brain. There are other remedies also not less powerful. We mustnot despair; we have no cause to despair until we find these fail. Ishall not leave her again; and, for your satisfaction, not for my own,I shall call in additional advice, the aid of a physician.'
A messenger accordingly was instantly despatched for the physician,who resided at a town more distant than Southport; the very town,by-the-bye, where Morgana, the gipsy, was arrested. They contrived,with the aid of Pauncefort, to undress Venetia, and place her in herbed, for hitherto they had refrained from this exertion. At thismoment the withered leaves of a white rose fell from Venetia's dress.A sofa-bed was then made for Lady Annabel, of which, however, she didnot avail herself. The whole night she sat by her daughter's side,watching every movement of Venetia, refreshing her hot brow andparched lips, or arranging, at every opportunity, her disorderedpillows. About an hour past midnight the surgeon retired to rest, fora few hours, in the apartment prepared for him, and Pauncefort, by thedesire of her mistress, also withdrew: Lady Annabel was alone with herchild, and with those agitated thoughts which the strange occurrencesof the day were well calculated to excite.
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