’I see the holy father in the distance.  Let us walk to him, my child, and meet him.’

Accordingly Lady Annabel, now leaning on Venetia, approached the monk.  About five minutes elapsed before they reached him, during which not a word was spoken.

‘Holy father,’ said Lady Annabel, in a tone of firmness that surprised her daughter and made her tremble with anticipation, ’you know the writer of this letter?’

‘He is my friend of many years, lady,’ replied the Armenian; ’I knew him in America.  I owe to him my life, and more than my life.  There breathes not his equal among men.’

A tear started to the eye of Lady Annabel; she recalled the terms in which the household at Arqua had spoken of Herbert.  ‘He is in Venice?’ she inquired.

‘He is within these walls,’ the monk replied.

Venetia, scarcely able to stand, felt her mother start.  After a momentary pause, Lady Annabel said, ‘Can I speak with him, and alone?’

Nothing but the most nervous apprehension of throwing any obstacle in the way of the interview could have sustained Venetia.  Quite pale, with her disengaged hand clenched, not a word escaped her lips.  She hung upon the answer of the monk.

‘You can see him, and alone,’ said the monk.  ’He is now in the sacristy.  Follow me.’

‘Venetia,’ said Lady Annabel, ’remain in this garden.  I will accompany this holy man.  Stop! embrace me before I go, and,’ she added, in a whisper, ‘pray for me.’

It needed not the admonition of her mother to induce Venetia to seek refuge in prayer, in this agony of her life.  But for its salutary and stilling influence, it seemed to her that she must have forfeited all control over her mind.  The suspense was too terrible for human aid to support her.  Seated by the sea-side, she covered her face with her hands, and invoked the Supreme assistance.  More than an hour passed away.  Venetia looked up.  Two beautiful birds, of strange form and spotless plumage, that perhaps had wandered from the Aegean, were hovering over her head, bright and glancing in the sun.  She accepted their appearance as a good omen.  At this moment she heard a voice, and, looking up, observed a monk in the distance, beckoning to her.  She rose, and with a trembling step approached him.  He retired, still motioning to her to follow him.  She entered, by a low portal, a dark cloister; it led to an ante-chapel, through which, as she passed, her ear caught the solemn chorus of the brethren.  Her step faltered; her sight was clouded; she was as one walking in a dream.  The monk opened a door, and, retiring, waved his hand, as for her to enter.  There was a spacious and lofty chamber, scantily furnished, some huge chests, and many sacred garments.  At the extreme distance her mother was reclined on a bench, her head supported by a large crimson cushion, and her father kneeling by her mother’s side.  With a soundless step, and not venturing even to breathe, Venetia approached them, and, she knew not how, found herself embraced by both her parents.