all, that mournful truth, that, after all, we have
no friends that we can depend upon in this life but
our parents. All other intimacies, however ardent,
are liable to cool; all other confidence, however
unlimited, to be violated. In the phantasmagoria
of life, the friend with whom we have cultivated mutual
trust for years is often suddenly or gradually estranged
from us, or becomes, from, painful, yet irresistible
circumstances, even our deadliest foe. As for
women, as for the mistresses of our hearts, who has
not learnt that the links of passion are fragile as
they are glittering; and that the bosom on which we
have reposed with idolatry all our secret sorrows
and sanguine hopes, eventually becomes the very heart
that exults in our misery and baffles our welfare?
Where is the enamoured face that smiled upon our early
love, and was to shed tears over our grave? Where
are the choice companions of our youth, with whom we
were to breast the difficulties and share the triumphs
of existence? Even in this inconstant world,
what changes like the heart? Love is a dream,
and friendship a delusion. No wonder we grow callous;
for how few have the opportunity of returning to the
hearth which they quitted in levity or thoughtless
weariness, yet which alone is faithful to them; whose
sweet affections require not the stimulus of prosperity
or fame, the lure of accomplishments, or the tribute
of flattery; but which are constant to us in distress,
and console us even in disgrace!
Before she retired for the night, Lady Annabel was
anxious to see Plantagenet. Mistress Pauncefort
had informed her of his visit to his mother’s
room. Lady Annabel found Cadurcis in the gallery,
now partially lighted by the moon which had recently
risen. She entered with her light, as if she
were on her way to her own room, and not seeking him.
‘Dear Plantagenet,’ she said, ‘will
you not go to bed?’
‘I do not intend to go to bed to-night,’
he replied.
She approached him and took him by the hand, which
he did not withdraw from her, and they walked together
once or twice up and down the gallery.
‘I think, dear child,’ said Lady Annabel,
’you had better come and sit with us.’
‘I like to be alone,’ was his answer;
but not in a sullen voice, low and faltering.
‘But in sorrow we should be with our friends,’
said Lady Annabel.
‘I have no friends,’ he answered.
‘I only had one.’
’I am your friend, dear child; I am your mother
now, and you shall find me one if you like. And
Venetia, have you forgotten your sister? Is she
not your friend? And Dr. Masham, surely you cannot
doubt his friendship?’
Cadurcis tried to stifle a sob. ‘Ay, Lady
Annabel,’ he said, ’you are my friend
now, and so are you all; and you know I love you much.
But you were not my friends two years ago; and things
will change again; they will, indeed. A mother
is your friend as long as she lives; she cannot help
being your friend.’