miss. I know her step,'

'Is my mother going to bed?' said Venetia.

'Yes,' said Pauncefort, 'my lady sent me here to see after you. I wish
I could tell her you were asleep.'

'It is impossible to sleep,' said Venetia, rising up from the bed,
withdrawing the curtain, and looking at the sky. 'What a peaceful
night! I wish my heart were like the sky. I think I will go to mamma,
Pauncefort!'

'Oh! dear, Miss Venetia, I am sure I think you had better not. If you
and my lady, now, would only just go to sleep, and forget every thing
till morning, it would be much better for you. Besides, I am sure if
my lady knew you were not gone to bed already, it would only make her
doubly anxious. Now, really, Miss Venetia, do take my advice, and just
lie down, again. You may be sure the moment any one arrives I will let
you know. Indeed, I shall go and tell my lady that you are lying down
as it is, and very drowsy;' and, so saying, Mistress Pauncefort caught
up her candle, and bustled out of the room.

Venetia took up the volume of her father's poems, which Cadurcis had
filled with his notes. How little did Plantagenet anticipate, when he
thus expressed at Athens the passing impressions of his mind, that,
ere a year had glided away, his fate would be so intimately blended
with that of Herbert! It was impossible, however, for Venetia to lose
herself in a volume which, under any other circumstances, might have
compelled her spirit! the very associations with the writers added
to the terrible restlessness of her mind. She paused each instant
to listen for the wished-for sound, but a mute stillness reigned
throughout the house and household. There was something in this deep,
unbroken silence, at a moment when anxiety was universally diffused
among the dwellers beneath that roof, and the heart of more than one
of them was throbbing with all the torture of the most awful suspense,
that fell upon Venetia's excited nerves with a very painful and even
insufferable influence. She longed for sound, for some noise that
might assure her she was not the victim of a trance. She closed her
volume with energy, and she started at the sound she had herself
created. She rose and opened the door of her chamber very softly, and
walked into the vestibule. There were caps, and cloaks, and whips, and
canes of Cadurcis and her father, lying about in familiar confusion.
It seemed impossible but that they were sleeping, as usual, under the
same roof. And whe