The blood rushed to Lady Annabel’s heart.  That single word afforded her the most exquisite happiness.

‘I am here, dearest,’ she replied.

‘Mamma, what is all this?’ inquired Venetia.

‘You have not been well, my own, but now you are much better.’

‘I thought I had been dreaming,’ replied Venetia, ’and that all was not right; somebody, I thought, struck me on my head.  But all is right now, because you are here, my dear mamma.’

But Lady Annabel could not speak for weeping.

‘Are you sure, mamma, that nothing has been done to my head?’ continued Venetia.  ‘Why, what is this?’ and she touched a light bandage on her brow.

’My darling, you have been ill, and you have lost blood; but now you are getting quite well.  I have been very unhappy about you; but now I am quite happy, my sweet, sweet child.’

‘How long have I been ill?’

’You have been very ill indeed for four or five days; you have had a fever, Venetia; but now the fever is gone; and you are only a little weak, and you will soon be well.’

‘A fever! and how did I get the fever?’

‘Perhaps you caught cold, my child; but we must not talk too much.’

‘A fever!  I never had a fever before.  A fever is like a dream.’

‘Hush! sweet love.  Indeed you must not speak.’

’Give me your hand, mamma; I will not speak if you will let me hold your hand.  I thought in the fever that we were parted.’

‘I have never left your side, my child, day or night,’ said Lady Annabel, not without agitation.

’All this time! all these days and nights!  No one would do that but you, mamma.  You think only of me.’

‘You repay me by your love, Venetia,’ said Lady Annabel, feeling that her daughter ought not to speak, yet irresistibly impelled to lead out her thoughts.

‘How can I help loving you, my dear mamma?’

‘You do love me, you do love me very much; do you not, sweet child?’

‘Better than all the world,’ replied Venetia to her enraptured parent.  ’And yet, in the fever I seemed to love some one else:  but fevers are like dreams; they are not true.’

Lady Annabel pressed her lips gently to her daughter’s, and whispered her that she must speak no more.

When Mr. Hawkins returned, he gave a favourable report of Venetia.  He said that all danger was now past, and that all that was required for her recovery were time, care, and repose.  He repeated to Lady Annabel alone that the attack was solely to be ascribed to some great mental shock which her daughter had received, and which suddenly had affected her circulation; leaving it, after this formal intimation, entirely to the mother to take those steps in reference to the cause, whatever it might be, which she should deem expedient.

In the evening, Lady Annabel stole down for a few moments to Dr. Masham, laden with joyful intelligence; assured of the safety of her child, and, what was still more precious, of her heart, and even voluntarily promising her friend that she should herself sleep this night in her daughter’s chamber, on the sofa-bed.  The Doctor, therefore, now bade her adieu, and said that he should ride over from Marringhurst every day, to hear how their patient was proceeding.