ude, by one to whom he had poured forth all
the passion of his desolate soul; to be called 'Father' by this being
was the aspiring secret of his life. He had painted her to himself in
his loneliness, he had conjured up dreams of ineffable loveliness, and
inexpressible love; he had led with her an imaginary life of thrilling
tenderness; he had indulged in a delicious fancy of mutual interchange
of the most exquisite offices of our nature; and then, when he had
sometimes looked around him, and found no daughter there, no beaming
countenance of purity to greet him with its constant smile, and
receive the quick and ceaseless tribute of his vigilant affection, the
tears had stolen down his lately-excited features, all the consoling
beauty of his visions had vanished into air, he had felt the deep
curse of his desolation, and had anathematised the cunning brain
that made his misery a thousand-fold keener by the mockery of its
transporting illusions.

And now there came this transcendent creature, with a form more
glowing than all his dreams; a voice more musical than a seraphic
chorus, though it had uttered but one thrilling word: there came this
transcendent creature, beaming with grace, beauty, and love, and had
fallen upon his heart, and called him 'Father!'

Herbert looked up to heaven as if waiting for some fresh miracle to
terminate the harrowing suspense of his tortured mind; Herbert looked
down upon his mysterious companion; the rose was gradually returning
to her cheek, her lips seemed to tremble with reviving breath. There
was only one word more strange to his ear than that which she had
uttered, but an irresistible impulse sent forth the sound.

'Venetia!' he exclaimed.

The eyes of the maiden slowly opened; she stared around her with a
vague glance of perplexity, not unmingled with pain; she looked up;
she caught the rapt gaze of her father, bending over her with
fondness yet with fear; his lips moved, for a moment they refused to
articulate, yet at length they again uttered, 'Venetia!' And the only
response she made was to cling to him with nervous energy, and hide
her face in his bosom.

Herbert pressed her to his heart. Yet even now he hesitated to credit
the incredible union. Again he called her by her name, but added with
rising confidence, 'My Venetia!'

'Your child, your child,' she murmured. 'Your own Venetia.'

He pressed his lips to hers; he breathed over her a thousand
blessings; she felt his t