Venetia - Benjamin Disraeli (books to read as a couple TXT) 📗

the past; hitherto I have come here to dwell upon the form that, in spite of all that has happened, I still was, perhaps, weak enough, to love. Those feelings are past for ever. Yes! you would rob me of my child, you would tear from my heart the only consolation you have left me. But Venetia shall still be mine; and I, I am no longer yours. Our love, our still lingering love, has vanished. You have been my enemy, now I am yours. I gaze upon your portrait for the last time; and thus I prevent the magical fascination of that face again appealing to the sympathies of my child. Thus and thus!' She seized the ancient dagger that we have mentioned as lying on the volume, and, springing on the chair, she plunged it into the canvas; then, tearing with unflinching resolution the severed parts, she scattered the fragments over the chamber, shook into a thousand leaves the melancholy garland, tore up the volume of his enamoured Muse, and then quitting the chamber, and locking and double locking the door, she descended the staircase, and proceeding to the great well of Cherbury, hurled into it the fatal key.

'Oh! my lady,' said Mistress Pauncefort, as she met Lady Annabel returning in the vestibule, 'Doctor Masham is here.'

'Is he?' said Lady Annabel, as calm as usual. 'I will see him before I lie down. Do not go into Venetia's room. She sleeps, and Mr. Hawkins has promised me to let me know when she wakes.'


CHAPTER VIII.

As Lady Annabel entered the terrace-room, Doctor Masham came forward and grasped her hand.

'You have heard of our sorrow!' said her ladyship in a faint voice.

'But this instant,' replied the Doctor, in a tone of great anxiety.' Immediate danger--'

'Is past. She sleeps,' replied Lady Annabel.

'A most sudden and unaccountable attack,' said the Doctor.

It is difficult to describe the contending emotions of the mother as her companion made this observation. At length she replied, 'Sudden, certainly sudden; but not unaccountable. Oh! my friend,' she added, after a moment's pause, 'they will not be content until they have torn my daughter from me.'

'They tear your daughter from you!' exclaimed Doctor Masham. 'Who?'

'He, he,' muttered Lady Annabel; her speech was incoherent, her manner very disturbed.

'My dear lady,' said the Doctor, gazing on her with extreme anxiety, 'you are yourself unwell.'

Lady Annabel heaved a deep sigh; the Doctor bore her to a seat. 'Shall I send for any one, anything?'

'No one, no one,' quickly answered Lady Annabel. 'With you, at least, there is no concealment necessary.'

She leant back in her chair, the Doctor holding her hand, and standing by her side.

Still Lady Annabel continued sighing deeply: at length she looked up and said, 'Does she love me? Do you think, after all, she loves me?'

'Venetia?' inquired the Doctor, in a low and doubtful voice, for he was greatly perplexed.

'She has seen him; she loves him; she has forgotten her mother.'

'My dear lady, you require rest,' said Doctor Masham. 'You are overcome with strange fancies. Whom has your daughter seen?'

'Marmion.'

'Impossible! you forget he is--'

'Here also. He has spoken to her: she loves him: she will recover: she will fly to him; sooner let us both die!'

'Dear lady!'

'She knows everything. Fate has baffled me; we cannot struggle with fate. She is his child; she is like him; she is not like her mother. Oh! she hates me; I know she hates me.'

'Hush! hush! hush!' said the Doctor, himself very agitated. 'Venetia loves you, only you. Why should she love any one else?'

'Who can help it? I loved him. I saw him. I loved him. His voice was music. He has spoken to her, and she yielded: she yielded in a moment. I stood by her bedside. She would not speak to me; she would not know me; she shrank from me. Her heart is with her father: only with him.'

'Where did she see him? How?'

'His room: his picture. She knows all. I was away with you, and she entered his chamber.'

'Ah!'

'Oh! Doctor, you have influence with her. Speak to her. Make her love me! Tell her she has no father; tell her he is dead.'

'We will do that which is well and wise,' replied Doctor Masham: 'at present let us be calm; if you give way, her life may be the forfeit. Now is the moment for a mother's love.'

'You are right. I should not have left her for an instant. I would not have her wake and find her mother not watching over her. But I was tempted. She slept; I left her for a moment; I went to destroy the spell. She cannot see him again. No one shall see him again. It was my weakness, the weakness of long years; and now I am its victim.'

'Nay, nay, my sweet lady, all will be quite well. Be but calm; Venetia will recover.'

'But will she love me? Oh! no, no, no! She will think only of him. She will not love her mother. She will yearn for her father now. She has seen him, and she will not rest until she is in his arms. She will desert me, I know it.'

'And I know the contrary,' said the Doctor, attempting to reassure her; 'I will answer for Venetia's devotion to you. Indeed she has no thought but your happiness, and can love only you. When there is a fitting time, I will speak to her; but now, now is the time for repose. And you must rest, you must indeed.'

'Rest! I cannot. I slumbered in the chair last night by her bedside, and a voice roused me. It was her own. She was speaking to her father. She told him how she loved him; how long, how much she thought of him; that she would join him when she was well, for she knew he was not dead; and, if he were dead, she would die also. She never mentioned me.'

'Nay! the light meaning of a delirious brain.' 'Truth, truth, bitter, inevitable truth. Oh! Doctor, I could bear all but this; but my child, my beautiful fond child, that made up for all my sorrows. My joy, my hope, my life! I knew it would be so; I knew he would have her heart. He said she never could be alienated from him; he said she never could be taught to hate him. I did not teach her to hate him. I said nothing. I deemed, fond, foolish mother, that the devotion of my life might bind her to me. But what is a mother's love? I cannot contend with him. He gained the mother; he will gain the daughter too.'

'God will guard over you,' said Masham, with streaming eyes; 'God will not desert a pious and virtuous woman.'

'I must go,' said Lady Annabel, attempting to rise, but the Doctor gently controlled her; 'perhaps she is awake, and I am not at her side. She will not ask for me, she will ask for him; but I will be there; she will desert me, but she shall not say I ever deserted her.'

'She will never desert you,' said the Doctor; 'my life on her pure heart. She has been a child of unbroken love and duty; still she will remain so. Her mind is for a moment overpowered by a marvellous discovery. She will recover, and be to you as she was before.'

'We'll tell her he is dead,' said Lady Annabel, eagerly. 'You must tell her. She will believe you. I cannot speak to her of him; no, not to secure her heart; never, never, never can I speak to Venetia of her father.'

'I will speak,' replied the Doctor, 'at the just time. Now let us think of her recovery. She is no longer in danger. We should be grateful, we should be glad.'

'Let us pray to God! Let us humble ourselves,' said Lady Annabel. 'Let us beseech him not to desert this house. We have been faithful to him, we have struggled to be faithful to him. Let us supplicate him to favour and support us!'

'He will favour and support you,' said the Doctor, in a solemn tone. 'He has upheld you in many trials; he will uphold you still.'

'Ah! why did I love him! Why did I continue to love him! How weak, how foolish, how mad I have been! I have alone been the cause of all this misery. Yes, I have destroyed my child.'

'She lives, she will live. Nay, nay! you must reassure yourself. Come, let me send for your servant, and for a moment repose. Nay! take my arm. All depends upon you. We have great cares now; let us not conjure up fantastic fears.'

'I must go to my daughter's room. Perhaps by her side I might rest. Nowhere else. You will attend me to the door, my friend. Yes! it is something in this life to have a friend.'

Lady Annabel took the arm of the good Masham. They stopped at her daughter's door.

'Rest here a moment,' she said, as she entered the room without a sound. In a moment she returned. 'She still sleeps,' said the mother; 'I shall remain with her, and you--?'

'I will not leave you,' said the Doctor, 'but think not of me. Nay! I will not leave you. I will remain under this roof. I have shared its serenity and joy; let me not avoid it in this time of trouble and tribulation.'


CHAPTER IX.

Venetia still slept: her mother alone in the chamber watched by her side. Some hours had elapsed since her interview with Dr. Masham; the medical attendant had departed for a few hours.

Suddenly Venetia moved, opened her eyes, and said in a faint voice, 'Mamma!'

The blood rushed to Lady Annabel's heart. That single word afforded her the most exquisite happiness.

'I am here, dearest,' she replied.

'Mamma, what is all this?' inquired Venetia.

'You have not been well, my own, but now you are much better.'

'I thought I had been dreaming,' replied Venetia, 'and that all was not right; somebody, I thought, struck me on my head. But all is right now, because you are here, my dear mamma.'

But Lady Annabel could not speak for weeping.

'Are you sure, mamma, that nothing has been done to my head?' continued Venetia. 'Why, what is this?' and she touched a light bandage on her brow.

'My darling, you have been ill, and you have lost blood; but now you are getting quite well. I have been very unhappy about you; but now I am quite happy, my sweet, sweet child.'

'How long have I been ill?'

'You have been very ill indeed for four or five days; you have had a fever, Venetia; but now the fever is gone; and you are only a little weak, and you will soon be well.'

'A fever! and how did I get the fever?'

'Perhaps you caught cold, my child; but we must not talk too much.'

'A fever! I never had a fever before. A fever is like a dream.'

'Hush! sweet love. Indeed you must not speak.'

'Give me your hand, mamma; I will not speak if you will let me hold your hand. I thought in the fever that we were parted.'