nly yours? Annabel, look on me,
look on me only one moment! My frame is bowed, my hair is grey, my
heart is withered; the principle of existence waxes faint and slack in
this attenuated frame. I am no longer that Herbert on whom you once
smiled, but a man stricken with many sorrows. The odious conviction of
my life cannot long haunt you; yet a little while, and my memory will
alone remain. Think of this, Annabel; I beseech you, think of it. Oh!
believe me, when the speedy hour arrives that will consign me to the
grave, where I shall at least find peace, it will not be utterly
without satisfaction that you will remember that we met if even by
accident, and parted at least not with harshness!'

'Mother, dearest mother!' murmured Venetia, 'speak to him, look on
him!'

'Venetia,' said her mother, without turning her head, but in a calm,
firm tone, 'your father has seen you, has conversed with you. Between
your father and myself there can be nothing to communicate, either of
fact or feeling. Now let us depart.'

'No, no, not depart!' said Venetia franticly. 'You did not say depart,
dear mother! I cannot go,' she added in a low and half-hysterical
voice.

'Desert me, then,' said the mother. 'A fitting consequence of your
private communications with your father,' she added in a tone of
bitter scorn; and Lady Annabel moved to depart, but Venetia, still
kneeling, clung to her convulsively.

'Mother, mother, you shall not go; you shall not leave me; we will
never part, mother,' continued Venetia, in a tone almost of violence,
as she perceived her mother give no indication of yielding to her
wish. 'Are my feelings then nothing?' she then exclaimed. 'Is this
your sense of my fidelity? Am I for ever to be a victim?' She loosened
her hold of her mother's hand, her mother moved on, Venetia fell upon
her forehead and uttered a faint scream. The heart of Lady Annabel
relented when she fancied her daughter suffered physical pain, however
slight; she hesitated, she turned, she hastened to her child; her
husband had simultaneously advanced; in the rapid movement and
confusion her hand touched that of Herbert.

'I yield her to you, Annabel,' said Herbert, placing Venetia in her
mother's arms. 'You mistake me, as you have often mistaken me, if you
think I seek to practise on the feelings of this angelic child. She is
yours; may she compensate you for the misery I have caused you, but
never sought to occasion!'

'I am not hurt, dear