ke. I could always put him in an
amiable mood in an instant by mentioning your name.'

'I wish you knew the abbey, George,' said Venetia. 'It is the most
interesting of all old places. I love it. You must promise me when you
arrive in England to go on a pilgrimage to Cadurcis and Cherbury, and
write me a long account of it.'

'I will indeed; I will write to you very often.'

'You shall find me a most faithful correspondent, which, I dare say,
Plantagenet would not prove.'

'Oh! I beg your pardon,' said George; 'you have no idea of the
quantity of letters he wrote me when he first quitted England.
And such delightful ones! I do not think there is a more lively
letter-writer in the world! His descriptions are so vivid; a few
touches give you a complete picture; and then his observations, they
are so playful! I assure you there is nothing in the world more easy
and diverting than a letter from Plantagenet.'

'If you could only see his first letter from Eton to me?' said
Venetia. 'I have always treasured it. It certainly was not very
diverting; and, if by easy you mean easy to decipher,' she added
laughing, 'his handwriting must have improved very much lately. Dear
Plantagenet, I am always afraid I never pay him sufficient respect;
that I do not feel sufficient awe in his presence; but I cannot
disconnect him from the playfellow of my infancy; and, do you know, it
seems to me, whenever he addresses me, his voice and air change, and
assume quite the tone and manner of childhood.'

'I have never known him but as a great man,' said Captain Cadurcis;
'but he was so frank and simple with me from the very first, that I
cannot believe that it is not two years since we first met.'

'Ah! I shall never forget that night at Ranelagh,' said Venetia, half
with a smile and half with a sigh. 'How interesting he looked! I loved
to see the people stare at him, and to hear them whisper his name.'

Here they seated themselves by a fountain, overshadowed by a
plane-tree, and for a while talked only of Plantagenet.

'All the dreams of my life have come to pass,' said Venetia. 'I
remember when I was at Weymouth, ill and not very happy, I used to
roam about the sands, thinking of papa, and how I wished Plantagenet
was like him, a great man, a great poet, whom all the world admired.
Little did I think that, before a year had passed, Plantagenet, my
unknown Plantagenet, would be the admiration of England; little did I
think another year