various and
interesting, and pursued with so gifted and charming a companion,
entirely engrossed her; even the exercise that was her relaxation was
participated by Lady Annabel; and the mother and daughter, bounding
together on their steeds, were fanned by the same breeze, and
freshened by the same graceful and healthy exertion.

One day the post, that seldom arrived at Cherbury, brought a letter to
Lady Annabel, the perusal of which evidently greatly agitated her.
Her countenance changed as her eye glanced over the pages; her hand
trembled as she held it. But she made no remark; and succeeded in
subduing her emotion so quickly that Venetia, although she watched
her mother with anxiety, did not feel justified in interfering with
inquiring sympathy. But while Lady Annabel resumed her usual calm
demeanour, she relapsed into unaccustomed silence, and, soon rising
from the breakfast table, moved to the window, and continued
apparently gazing on the garden, with her face averted from Venetia
for some time. At length she turned to her, and said, 'I think,
Venetia, of calling on the Doctor to-day; there is business on which I
wish to consult him, but I will not trouble you, dearest, to accompany
me. I must take the carriage, and it is a long and tiring drive.'

There was a tone of decision even in the slightest observations of
Lady Annabel, which, however sweet might be the voice in which they
were uttered, scarcely encouraged their propriety to be canvassed. Now
Venetia was far from desirous of being separated from her mother this
morning. It was not a vain and idle curiosity, prompted by the receipt
of the letter and its consequent effects, both in the emotion of her
mother and the visit which it had rendered necessary, that swayed her
breast. The native dignity of a well-disciplined mind exempted Venetia
from such feminine weakness. But some consideration might be due to
the quick sympathy of an affectionate spirit that had witnessed, with
corresponding feeling, the disturbance of the being to whom she was
devoted. Why this occasional and painful mystery that ever and anon
clouded the heaven of their love, and flung a frigid shadow over the
path of a sunshiny life? Why was not Venetia to share the sorrow or
the care of her only friend, as well as participate in her joy and her
content? There were other claims, too, to this confidence, besides
those of the heart. Lady Annabel was not merely her only friend; she
was her par