‘No, now, now!’ eagerly exclaimed Venetia, ’I am quite well.  It was not pain or illness that overcame me.  Now let us walk, now let us talk of these things.  He lives?’

‘I have little to add,’ said Dr. Masham, after a moment’s thought; ’but this, however painful, it is necessary for you to know, that your father is unworthy of your mother, utterly; they are separated; they never can be reunited.’

‘Never?’ said Venetia.

‘Never,’ replied Dr. Masham; ’and I now warn you; if, indeed, as I cannot doubt, you love your mother; if her peace of mind and happiness are, as I hesitate not to believe, the principal objects of your life, upon this subject with her be for ever silent.  Seek to penetrate no mysteries, spare all allusions, banish, if possible, the idea of your father from your memory.  Enough, you know he lives.  We know no more.  Your mother labours to forget him; her only consolation for sorrows such as few women ever experienced, is her child, yourself, your love.  Now be no niggard with it.  Cling to this unrivalled parent, who has dedicated her life to you.  Soothe her sufferings, endeavour to make her share your happiness; but, of this be certain, that if you raise up the name and memory of your father between your mother and yourself, her life will be the forfeit!’

‘His name shall never pass my lips,’ said Venetia; ’solemnly I vow it.  That his image shall be banished from my heart is too much to ask, and more than it is in my power to grant.  But I am my mother’s child.  I will exist only for her; and if my love can console her, she shall never be without solace.  I thank you, Doctor, for all your kindness.  We will never talk again upon the subject; yet, believe me, you have acted wisely, you have done good.’

CHAPTER XI.

Venetia observed her promise to Doctor Masham with strictness.  She never alluded to her father, and his name never escaped her mother’s lips.  Whether Doctor Masham apprised Lady Annabel of the conversation that had taken place between himself and her daughter, it is not in our power to mention.  The visit to Marringhurst was not a short one.  It was a relief both to Lady Annabel and Venetia, after all that had occurred, to enjoy the constant society of their friend; and this change of life, though apparently so slight, proved highly beneficial to Venetia.  She daily recovered her health, and a degree of mental composure which she had not for some time enjoyed.  On the whole she was greatly satisfied with the discoveries which she had made.  She had ascertained the name and the existence of her father:  his very form and appearance were now no longer matter for conjecture; and in a degree she had even communicated with him.  Time, she still believed, would develope even further wonders.  She clung to an irresistible conviction that she should yet see him; that he might even again be united to her mother.  She indulged in dreams as to his present pursuits and position; she repeated to herself his verses, and remembered his genius with pride and consolation.