he
appealed to him to follow her example, now with cajolery, now with
menace, till at length, worked up by the united stimulus of the
Mountain and her own ungovernable rage, she dashed down the glass and
unfinished slice of cake, and, before the astonished Lady Annabel,
rushed forward to give him what she had long threatened, and what she
in general ultimately had recourse to, a good shake.

Her agile son, experienced in these storms, escaped in time, and
pushed his chair before his infuriated mother; Mrs. Cadurcis, however,
rallied, and chased him round the room; once more she flattered
herself she had captured him, once more he evaded her; in her despair
she took up Venetia's 'Seven Champions,' and threw the volume at his
head; he laughed a fiendish laugh, as, ducking his head, the book flew
on, and dashed through a pane of glass; Mrs. Cadurcis made a desperate
charge, and her son, a little frightened at her almost maniacal
passion, saved himself by suddenly seizing Lady Annabel's work-table,
and whirling it before her; Mrs. Cadurcis fell over the leg of the
table, and went into hysterics; while the bloodhound, who had long
started from his repose, looked at his mistress for instructions, and
in the meantime continued barking. The astonished and agitated Lady
Annabel assisted Mrs. Cadurcis to rise, and led her to a couch. Lord
Cadurcis, pale and dogged, stood in a corner, and after all this
uproar there was a comparative calm, only broken by the sobs of the
mother, each instant growing fainter and fainter.

At this moment the door opened, and Mistress Pauncefort ushered in the
little Venetia. She really looked like an angel of peace sent from
heaven on a mission of concord, with her long golden hair, her bright
face, and smile of ineffable loveliness.

'Mamma!' said Venetia, in the sweetest tone.

'Hush! darling,' said Lady Annabel, 'this lady is not very well.'

Mrs. Cadurcis opened her eyes and sighed. She beheld Venetia, and
stared at her with a feeling of wonder. 'O Lady Annabel,' she faintly
exclaimed, 'what must you think of me? But was there ever such an
unfortunate mother? and I have not a thought in the world but for that
boy. I have devoted my life to him, and never would have buried myself
in this abbey but for his sake. And this is the way he treats me,
and his father before him treated me even worse. Am I not the most
unfortunate woman you ever knew?'

'My dear madam,' said the kind Lady Annabel, i