otten at Cherbury,
they were at least only occasionally remembered. These last three
years so completely harmonised with the life of Venetia before their
arrival, that, taking a general view of her existence, their residence
at the abbey figured only as an episode in her career; active indeed
and stirring, and one that had left some impressions not easily
discarded; but, on the whole, mellowed by the magic of time, Venetia
looked back to her youthful friendship as an event that was only an
exception in her lot, and she viewed herself as a being born and bred
up in a seclusion which she was never to quit, with no aspirations
beyond the little world in which she moved, and where she was to die
in peace, as she had lived in purity.

One Sunday, the conversation after dinner fell upon Lord Cadurcis.
Doctor Masham had recently met a young Etonian, and had made some
inquiries about their friend of old days. The information he had
obtained was not very satisfactory. It seemed that Cadurcis was a more
popular boy with his companions than his tutors; he had been rather
unruly, and had only escaped expulsion by the influence of his
guardian, who was not only a great noble, but a powerful minister.

This conversation recalled old times. They talked over the arrival of
Mrs. Cadurcis at the abbey, her strange character, her untimely end.
Lady Annabel expressed her conviction of the natural excellence of
Plantagenet's disposition, and her regret of the many disadvantages
under which he laboured; it gratified Venetia to listen to his praise.

'He has quite forgotten us, mamma,' said Venetia.

'My love, he was very young when he quitted us,' replied Lady Annabel;
'and you must remember the influence of a change of life at so tender
an age. He lives now in a busy world.'

'I wish that he had not forgotten to write to us sometimes,' said
Venetia.

'Writing a letter is a great achievement for a schoolboy,' said the
Doctor; 'it is a duty which even grown-up persons too often forget
to fulfil, and, when postponed, it is generally deferred for ever.
However, I agree with Lady Annabel, Cadurcis was a fine fellow, and
had he been properly brought up, I cannot help thinking, might have
turned out something.'

'Poor Plantagenet!' said Venetia, 'how I pity him. His was a terrible
lot, to lose both his parents! Whatever were the errors of Mrs.
Cadurcis, she was his mother, and, in spite of every mortification, he
clung to her. Ah! I shall