what, Pauncefort?'

'Why, my lady, doesn't your la'ship know his lordship left the abbey
yesterday, and never said nothing to nobody; rode off without a word,
by your leave or with your leave? To be sure he always was the oddest
young gentleman as ever I met with; and, as I said to John: John, says
I, I hope his lordship has not gone to join the gipsies again.'

Venetia looked into a teacup, and then touched an egg, and then
twirled a spoon; but Lady Annabel seemed quite imperturbable, and only
observed, 'Probably his guardian is ill, and he has been suddenly
summoned to town. I wish you would bring my knitting-needles,
Pauncefort.'

The autumn passed, and Lord Cadurcis never returned to the abbey,
and never wrote to any of his late companions. Lady Annabel never
mentioned his name; and although she seemed to have no other object in
life but the pleasure and happiness of her child, this strange mother
never once consulted Venetia on the probable occasion of his sudden
departure, and his strange conduct.

BOOK IV.

CHAPTER I.

Party feeling, perhaps, never ran higher in England than during the
period immediately subsequent to the expulsion of the Coalition
Ministry. After the indefatigable faction of the American war, and the
flagrant union with Lord North, the Whig party, and especially Charles
Fox, then in the full vigour of his bold and ready mind, were stung to
the quick that all their remorseless efforts to obtain and preserve
the government of the country should terminate in the preferment and
apparent permanent power of a mere boy.

Next to Charles Fox, perhaps the most eminent and influential member
of the Whig party was Lady Monteagle. The daughter of one of the
oldest and most powerful peers in the kingdom, possessing lively
talents and many fascinating accomplishments, the mistress of a great
establishment, very beautiful, and, although she had been married
some years, still young, the celebrated wife of Lord Monteagle found
herself the centre of a circle alike powerful, brilliant, and refined.
She was the Muse of the Whig party, at whose shrine every man of wit
and fashion was proud to offer his flattering incense; and her house
became not merely the favourite scene of their social pleasures, but
the sacred, temple of their political rites; here many a manoeuvre was
planned, and many a scheme suggested; many a convert enrolled, and
many a votary initiated.

Reclining on a couch in a