ine?'

'I cannot; there is an obstacle, an insuperable obstacle.'

'Tell it me,' said Cadurcis eagerly; 'I will overcome it.'

'I have promised never to marry without the approbation of my mother;
her approbation you never can obtain.'

Cadurcis' countenance fell; this was an obstacle which he felt that
even he could not overcome.

'I told you your mother hated me, Venetia.' And then, as she did not
reply, he continued, 'You confess it, I see you confess it. Once you
flattered me I was mistaken; but now, now you confess it.'

'Hatred is a word which I cannot understand,' replied Venetia. 'My
mother has reasons for disapproving my union with you; not founded on
the circumstances of your life, and therefore removable (for I know
what the world says, Plantagenet, of you), but I have confidence in
your love, and that is nothing; but founded on your character, on your
nature; they may be unjust, but they are insuperable, and I must yield
to them.'

'You have another parent, Venetia,' said Cadurcis, in a tone of almost
irresistible softness, 'the best and greatest of men! Once you told me
that his sanction was necessary to your marriage. I will obtain it.
O Venetia! be mine, and we will join him; join that ill-fated and
illustrious being who loves you with a passion second only to mine;
him who has addressed you in language which rests on every lip, and
has thrilled many a heart that you even can never know. My adored
Venetia! picture to yourself, for one moment, a life with him; resting
on my bosom, consecrated by his paternal love! Let us quit this mean
and miserable existence, which we now pursue, which never could have
suited us; let us shun for ever this dull and degrading life, that is
not life, if life be what I deem it; let us fly to those beautiful
solitudes where he communes with an inspiring nature; let us, let us
be happy!'

He uttered these last words in a tone of melting tenderness; he leant
forward his head, and his gaze caught hers, which was fixed upon the
water. Her hand was pressed suddenly in his; his eye glittered, his
lip seemed still speaking; he awaited his doom.

The countenance of Venetia was quite pale, but it was disturbed. You
might see, as it were, the shadowy progress of thought, and mark the
tumultuous passage of conflicting passions. Her mind, for a moment,
was indeed a chaos. There was a terrible conflict between love and
duty. At length a tear, one solitary tear, burst from her bu