s, in a fury, stamping
with passion; 'are these fit terms to use when speaking of the most
abandoned profligate of his age? A man whose name is synonymous with
infamy, and which no one dares to breathe in civilised life; whose
very blood is pollution, as you will some day feel; who has violated
every tie, and derided every principle, by which society is
maintained; whose life is a living illustration of his own shameless
doctrines; who is, at the same time, a traitor to his king and an
apostate from his God!'

Curiosity, overpowering even indignation, had permitted Venetia to
listen even to this tirade. Pale as her companion, but with a glance
of withering scorn, she exclaimed, 'Passionate and ill-mannered boy!
words cannot express the disgust and the contempt with which you
inspire me.' She spoke and she disappeared. Cadurcis was neither able
nor desirous to arrest her flight. He remained rooted to the ground,
muttering to himself the word 'boy!' Suddenly raising his arm and
looking up to the sky, he exclaimed, 'The illusion is vanished!
Farewell, Cherbury! farewell, Cadurcis! a wider theatre awaits me! I
have been too long the slave of soft affections! I root them out of my
heart for ever!' and, fitting the action to the phrase, it seemed that
he hurled upon the earth all the tender emotions of his soul. 'Woman!
henceforth you shall be my sport! I have now no feeling but for
myself. When she spoke I might have been a boy; I am a boy no longer.
What I shall do I know not; but this I know, the world shall ring with
my name; I will be a man, and a great man!'

CHAPTER VIII.

The agitation of Venetia on her return was not unnoticed by her
mother; but Lady Annabel ascribed it to a far different cause than the
real one. She was rather surprised when the breakfast passed, and Lord
Cadurcis did not appear; somewhat perplexed when her daughter seized
the earliest opportunity of retiring to her own chamber; but, with
that self-restraint of which she was so complete a mistress, Lady
Annabel uttered no remark.

Once more alone, Venetia could only repeat to herself the wild words
that had burst from Plantagenet's lips in reference to her father.
What could they mean? His morals might be misrepresented, his opinions
might be misunderstood; stupidity might not comprehend his doctrines,
malignity might torture them; the purest sages have been accused
of immorality, the most pious philosophers have been denounced as
blas