One circumstance alone cast a gloom over this happy family, and that was the approaching departure of Captain Cadurcis for England. This had been often postponed, but it could be postponed no longer. Not even the entreaties of those kind friends could any longer prevent what was inevitable. The kind heart, the sweet temper, and the lively and companionable qualities of Captain Cadurcis, had endeared him to everyone; all felt that his departure would occasion a blank in their life, impossible to be supplied. It reminded the Herberts also painfully of their own situation, in regard to their native country, which they were ever unwilling to dwell upon. George talked of returning to them, but the prospect was necessarily vague; they felt that it was only one of those fanciful visions with which an affectionate spirit attempts to soothe the pang of separation. His position, his duties, all the projects of his life, bound him to England, from which, indeed, he had been too long absent. It was selfish to wish that, for their sakes, he should sink down into a mere idler in Italy; and yet, when they recollected how little his future life could be connected with their own, everyone felt dispirited.

‘I shall not go boating today,’ said George to Venetia; ‘it is my last day. Mr. Herbert and Plantagenet talk of going to Lavenza; let us take a stroll together.’

Nothing can be refused to those we love on the last day, and Venetia immediately acceded to his request. In the course of the morning, therefore, herself and George quitted the valley, in the direction of the coast towards Genoa. Many a white sail glittered on the blue waters; it was a lively and cheering scene; but both Venetia and her companion were depressed.

‘I ought to be happy,’ said George, and sighed. ‘The fondest wish of my heart is attained. You remember our conversation on the Lago Maggiore, Venetia? You see I was a prophet, and you will be Lady Cadurcis yet.’

‘We must keep up our spirits,’ said Venetia; ‘I do not despair of our all returning to England yet. So many wonders have happened, that I cannot persuade myself that this marvel will not also occur. I am sure my uncle will do something; I have a secret idea that the Bishop is all this time working for papa; I feel assured I shall see Cherbury and Cadurcis again, and Cadurcis will be your home.’

‘A year ago you appeared dying, and Plantagenet was the most miserable of men,’ said Captain Cadurcis. ‘You are both now perfectly well and perfectly happy, living even under the same roof, soon, I feel, to be united, and with the cordial approbation of Lady Annabel. Your father is restored to you. Every blessing in the world seems to cluster round your roof. It is selfish for me to wear a gloomy countenance.’

‘Ah! dear George, you never can be selfish,’ said Venetia.

‘Yes, I am selfish, Venetia. What else can make me sad?’

‘You know how much you contribute to our happiness,’ said Venetia, ‘and you feel for our sufferings at your absence.’

‘No, Venetia, I feel for myself,’ said Captain Cadurcis with energy; ‘I am certain that I never can be happy, except in your society and Plantagenet’s. I cannot express to you how I love you both. Nothing else gives me the slightest interest.’

‘You must go home and marry,’ said Venetia, smiling ‘You must marry an heiress.’

‘Never,’ said Captain Cadurcis. ‘Nothing shall ever induce me to marry. No! all my dreams are confined to being the bachelor uncle of the family.’

‘Well, now I think,’ said Venetia, ‘of all the persons I know, there is no one so qualified for domestic happiness as yourself. I think your wife, George, would be a very fortunate woman, and I only wish I had a sister, that you might marry her.’

‘I wish you had, Venetia; I would give up my resolution against marriage directly.’

‘Alas!’ said Venetia, ‘there is always some bitter drop in the cup of life. Must you indeed go, George?’

‘My present departure is inevitable,’ he replied; ‘but I have some thoughts of giving up my profession and Parliament, and then I will return, never to leave you again.’

‘What will Lord —— say? That will never do,’ said Venetia. ‘No; I should not be content unless you prospered in the world, George. You are made to prosper, and I should be miserable if you sacrificed your existence to us. You must go home, and you must marry, and write letters to us by every post, and tell us what a happy man you are. The best thing for you to do would be to live with your wife at the abbey; or Cherbury, if you liked. You see I settle everything.’

‘I never will marry,’ said Captain Cadurcis, seriously.

‘Yes you will,’ said Venetia.

‘I am quite serious, Venetia. Now, mark my words, and remember this day. I never will marry. I have a reason, and a strong and good one, for my resolution.’

‘What is it?’

‘Because my marriage will destroy the intimacy that subsists between me and yourself, and Plantagenet,’ he added.

‘Your wife should be my friend,’ said Venetia.

‘Happy woman!’ said George.

‘Let us indulge for a moment in a dream of domestic bliss,’ said Venetia gaily. ‘Papa and mamma at Cherbury; Plantagenet and myself at the abbey, where you and your wife must remain until we could build you a house; and Dr. Masham coming down to spend Christmas with us. Would it not be delightful? I only hope Plantagenet would be tame. I think he would burst out a little sometimes.’

‘Not with you, Venetia, not with you,’ said George ‘you have a hold over him which nothing can ever shake. 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............