When the breakfast was over, they wandered about the valley, which Cadurcis could not sufficiently admire. Insensibly he drew Venetia from the rest of the party, on the pretence of showing her a view at some little distance. They walked along by the side of a rivulet, which glided through the hills, until they were nearly a mile from the villa, though still in sight.

‘Venetia,’ he at length said, turning the conversation to a more interesting topic, ‘your father and myself have disburthened our minds to each, other this morning; I think we know each other now as well as if we were as old acquaintances as myself and his daughter.’

‘Ah! I knew that you and papa must agree,’ said Venetia; ‘I was saying so this morning to my mother.’

‘Venetia,’ said Cadurcis, with a laughing eye, ‘all this is very strange, is it not?’

‘Very strange, indeed, Plantagenet; I should not be surprised if it appeared to you as yet even incredible.’

‘It is miraculous,’ said Cadurcis, ‘but not incredible; an angel interfered, and worked the miracle. I know all.’

Venetia looked at him with a faint flush upon her cheek; she gathered a flower and plucked it to pieces.

‘What a singular destiny ours has been, Venetia! ‘said Cadurcis. ‘Do you know, I can sit for an hour together and muse over it.’

‘Can you, Plantagenet?’

‘I have such an extraordinary memory; I do not think I ever forgot anything. We have had some remarkable conversations in our time, eh, Venetia? Do you remember my visit to Cherbury before I went to Cambridge, and the last time I saw you before I left England? And now it all ends in this! What do you think of it, Venetia?’

‘Think of what, Plantagenet?’

‘Why, of this reconciliation?’

‘Dear Plantagenet, what can I think of it but what I have expressed, that it is a wonderful event, but the happiest in my life.’

‘You are quite happy now?’

‘Quite.’

‘I see you do not care for me the least.’

‘Plantagenet, you are perverse. Are you not here?’

‘Did you ever think of me when I was away?’

‘You know very well, Plantagenet, that it is impossible for me to cease to be interested in you. Could I refrain from thinking of such a friend?’

‘Friend! poh! I am not your friend; and, as for that, you never once mentioned my name to your father, Miss Venetia.’

‘You might easily conceive that there were reasons for such silence,’ said Venetia. ‘It could not arise on my part from forgetfulness or indifference; for, even if my feelings were changed towards you, you are not a person that one would, or even could, avoid speaking of, especially to papa, who must have felt such interest in you! I am sure, even if I had not known you, there were a thousand occasions which would have called your name to my lips, had they been uncontrolled by other considerations.’

‘Come, Venetia, I am not going to submit to compliments from you,’ said Lord Cadurcis; ‘no blarney. I wish you only to think of me as you did ten years ago. I will not have our hearts polluted by the vulgarity of fame. I want you to feel for me as you did when we were children. I will not be an object of interest, and admiration, and fiddlestick to you; I will not submit to it.’

‘Well, you shall not,’ said Venetia, laughing. ‘I will not admire you the least; I will only think of you as a good little boy.’

‘You do not love me any longer, I see that,’ said Cadurcis.

‘Yes I do, Plantagenet.’

‘You do not love me so much as you did the night before I went to Eton, and we sat over the fire? Ah! how often I have thought of that night when I was at Athens!’ he added in a tone of emotion.

‘Dear Plantagenet,’ said Venetia, ‘do not be silly. I am in the highest spirits in the world; I am quite gay with happiness, and all because you have returned. Do not spoil my pleasure.’

‘Ah, Venetia! I see how it is; you have forgotten me, or worse than forgotten me.’

‘Well, I am sure I do not know what to say to satisfy you,’ said Venetia. ‘I think you very unreasonable, and very ungrateful too, for I have always been your friend, Plantagenet, and I am sure you know it. You sent me a message before you went abroad.’

‘Darling!’ said Lord Cadurcis, seizing her hand, ‘I am not ungrateful, I am not unreasonable. I adore you. You were very kind then, when all the world was against me. You shall see how I will pay them off, the dogs! and worse than dogs, their betters far; dogs are faithful. Do you remember poor old Marmion? How we were mystified, Venetia! Little did we think then who was Marmion’s godfather.’

Venetia smiled; but she said, ‘I do not like this bitterness of yours, Plantagenet. You have no cause to complain of the world, and you magnify a petty squabble with a contemptible coterie into a quarrel with a nation. It is not a wise humour, and, if you indulge it, it will not be a happy one.’

‘I will do exactly what you wish on every subject, said Cadurcis, ‘if you will do exactly what I wish on one.’

‘Well!’ said Venetia.

‘Once you told me,’ said Cadurcis, ‘that you would not marr............