ity, was watching Venetia. Suddenly her
aunt approached her, and invited the lady who was conversing with Miss
Herbert to sing; Lord Cadurcis immediately advanced, and took her
seat. Venetia was surprised that for the first time in her life
with Plantagenet she felt embarrassed. She had met his look when he
approached her, and had welcomed, or, at least, intended to welcome
him with a smile, but she was at a loss for words; she was haunted
with the recollection of her mother's behaviour to him at dinner, and
she looked down on the ground, far from being at ease.

'Venetia!' said Lord Cadurcis.

She started.

'We are alone,' he said; 'let me call you Venetia when we are alone.'

She did not, she could not reply; she felt confused; the blood rose to
her cheek.

'How changed is everything!' continued Cadurcis. 'To think the day
should ever arrive when I should have to beg your permission to call
you Venetia!'

She looked up; she met his glance. It was mournful; nay, his eyes were
suffused with tears. She saw at her side the gentle and melancholy
Plantagenet of her childhood.

'I cannot speak; I am agitated at meeting you,' she said with her
native frankness. 'It is so long since we have been alone; and, as you
say, all is so changed.'

'But are you changed, Venetia?' he said in a voice of emotion; 'for
all other change is nothing.'

'I meet you with pleasure,' she replied; 'I hear of your fame with
pride. You cannot suppose that it is possible I should cease to be
interested in your welfare.'

'Your mother does not meet me with pleasure; she hears of nothing
that has occurred to me with pride; your mother has ceased to take an
interest in my welfare; and why should you be unchanged?'

'You mistake my mother.'

'No, no,' replied Cadurcis, shaking his head, 'I have read her inmost
soul to-day. Your mother hates me; me, whom she once styled her son.
She was a mother once to me, and you were my sister. If I have lost
her heart, why have I not lost yours?'

'My heart, if you care for it, is unchanged,' said Venetia.

'O Venetia, whatever you may think, I never wanted the solace of a
sister's love more than I do at this moment.'

'I pledged my affection to you when we were children,' replied
Venetia; 'you have done nothing to forfeit it, and it is yours still.'

'When we were children,' said Cadurcis, musingly; 'when we were
innocent; when we were happy. You, at least, are innocent still; are
you happy, Ven