Chapter 4.

Cadurcis had proposed, and Lady Annabel had seconded the proposition with eager satisfaction, that they should seek some day at the abbey whatever hospitality it might offer; Dr. Masham was to be of the party, which was, indeed, one of those fanciful expeditions where the same companions, though they meet at all times without restraint and with every convenience of life, seek increased amusement in the novelty of a slight change of habits. With the aid of the neighbouring town of Southport, Cadurcis had made preparations for his friends not entirely unworthy of them, though he affected to the last all the air of a conductor of a wild expedition of discovery, and laughingly impressed upon them the necessity of steeling their minds and bodies to the experience and endurance of the roughest treatment and the most severe hardships.

The morning of this eventful day broke as beautifully as the preceding ones. Autumn had seldom been more gorgeous than this year. Although he was to play the host, Cadurcis would not deprive himself of his usual visit to the hall; and he appeared there at an early hour to accompany his guests, who were to ride over to the abbey, to husband all their energies for their long rambles through the demesne.

Cadurcis was in high spirits, and Lady Annabel scarcely less joyous. Venetia smiled with her usual sweetness and serenity. They congratulated each other on the charming season; and Mistress Pauncefort received a formal invitation to join the party and go a-nutting with one of her fellow-servants and his lordship’s valet. The good Doctor was rather late, but he arrived at last on his stout steed, in his accustomed cheerful mood. Here was a party of pleasure which all agreed must be pleasant; no strangers to amuse, or to be amusing, but formed merely of four human beings who spent every day of their lives in each other’s society, between whom there was the most complete sympathy and the most cordial good-will.

By noon they were all mounted on their steeds, and though the air was warmed by a meridian sun shining in a clear sky, there was a gentle breeze abroad, sweet and grateful; and moreover they soon entered the wood and enjoyed the shelter of its verdant shade. The abbey looked most picturesque when they first burst upon it; the nearer and wooded hills, which formed its immediate background, just tinted by the golden pencil of autumn, while the meads of the valley were still emerald green; and the stream, now lost, now winding, glittered here and there in the sun, and gave a life and sprightliness to the landscape which exceeded even the effect of the more distant and expansive lake.

They were received at the abbey by Mistress Pauncefort, who had preceded them, and who welcomed them with a complacent smile. Cadurcis hastened to assist Lady Annabel to dismount, and was a little confused but very pleased when she assured him she needed no assistance but requested him to take care of Venetia. He was just in time to receive her in his arms, where she found herself without the slightest embarrassment. The coolness of the cloisters was grateful after their ride, and they lingered and looked upon the old fountain, and felt the freshness of its fall with satisfaction which all alike expressed. Lady Annabel and Venetia then retired for a while to free themselves from their riding habits, and Cadurcis affectionately taking the arm of Dr. Masham led him a few paces, and then almost involuntarily exclaimed, ‘My dear Doctor, I think I am the happiest fellow that ever lived!’

‘That I trust you may always be, my dear boy,’ said Dr. Masham; ‘but what has called forth this particular exclamation?’

‘To feel that I am once more at Cadurcis; to feel that I am here once more with you all; to feel that I never shall leave you again.’

‘Not again?’

‘Never!’ said Cadurcis. ‘The experience of these last few weeks, which yet have seemed an age in my existence, has made me resolve never to quit a society where I am persuaded I may obtain a degree of happiness which what is called the world can never afford me.’

‘What will your guardian say?’

‘What care I?’

‘A dutiful ward!’

‘Poh! the relations between us were formed only to secure my welfare. It is secured; it will be secured by my own resolution.’

‘And what is that?’ inquired Dr. Masham.

‘To marry Venetia, if she will accept me.’

‘And that you do not doubt.’

‘We doubt everything when everything is at stake,’ replied Lord Cadurcis. ‘I know that her consent would ensure my happiness; and when I reflect, I cannot help being equally persuaded that it would secure hers. Her mother, I think, would not be adverse to our union. And you, my dear sir, what do you think?’

‘I think,’ said Dr. Masham, ‘that whoever marries Venetia will marry the most beautiful and the most gifted of God’s creatures; I hope you may marry her; I wish you to marry her; I believe you will marry her, but not yet; you are too young, Lord Cadurcis.’

‘Oh, no! my dear Doctor, not too young to marry Venetia. Remember I have known her all my life, at least so long as I have been able to form an opinion. How few are the men, my dear Doctor, who are so fortunate as to unite themselves with women whom they have known, as I have known Venetia, for more than seven long years!’

‘During five of which you have never seen or heard of her.’

‘Mine was the fault! And yet I cannot help thinking, as it may probably turn out, as you yourself believe it will turn out, that it is as well that we have been separated for this interval. It has afforded me opportunities for observation which I should never have enjoyed at Cadurcis; and although my lot either way could not have altered the nature of things, I might have been discontented, I might have sighed for a world which now I do not value. It is true I have not seen Venetia for five years, but I find her the same, or changed only by nature, and fulfilling all the rich promise which her childhood intimated. No, my dear Doctor, I respect your opinion more than that of any man living; but nobody, nothing, can persuade me that I am not as intimately acquainted with Venetia’s character, with all her rare virtues, as if we had never separated.’

‘I do not doubt it,’ said the Doctor; ‘high as you may pitch your estimate you cannot overvalue her.’

‘Then why should we not marry?’

‘Because, my dear friend, although you may be perfectly acquainted with Venetia, you cannot be perfectly acquainted with yourself.’

‘How so?’ exclaimed Lord Cadurcis in a tone of surprise, perhaps a little indignant.

‘Because it is impossible. No young man of eighteen ever possessed such precious knowledge. I esteem and admire you; I give you every credit for a good heart and a sound head; but it is impossible, at your time of life, that your character can be formed; and, until it be, you may marry Venetia and yet be a very miserable man.’

‘It is formed,’ said his lordship firmly; ‘there is not a subject important to a human being on which my opinions are not settled.’

‘You may live to change them all,’ said the Doctor, ‘and that very speedily.’

‘Impossible!’ said Lord Cadurcis. ‘My dear Doctor, I cannot understand you; you say that you hope, that you wish, even that you believe that I shall marry Venetia; and yet you permit me to infer that our union will only make us miserable. What do you wish me to do?’

‘Go to college for a term or two.’

‘Without Venetia! I should die.’

‘Well, if you be in a dying state you can return.’

‘You joke, my dear Doctor.’

‘My dear boy, I am perfectly serious.’

‘But she may marry somebody else?’

‘I am your only rival,’ said the Doctor, with a smile; ‘and though even friends can scarcely be trusted under such circumstances, I promise you not to betray you.’

‘Your advice is not very pleasant,’ said his lordship.

‘Good advice seldom is,’ said the Doctor.

‘My dear Doctor, I have made up my mind to marry her, and marry her at once. I know her well, you admit that yourself. I do not believe that there ever was a woman like her, that there ever will be a woman like her. Nature has marked her out from other women, and her education has not been less peculiar. Her mystic breeding pleases me. It is something to marry a wife so fair, so pure, so refined, so accomplished, who is, nevertheless, perfectly ignorant of the world. I have dreamt of such things; I have paced these old cloisters when a boy and when I was miserable at home, and I have had visions, and this was one. I have sighed to live alone with a fair spirit for my minister. Venetia has descended from heaven for me, and for me alone. I am resolved I will pluck this flower with the dew upon its leaves.’

‘I did not know I was reasoning with a poet,’ said the Doctor, with a smile. ‘Had I been conscious of it, I would not have been so rash.’

‘I have not a grain of poetry in my composition,’ said his lordship; ‘I never could write a verse; I was notorious at Eton for begging all their old manuscripts from boys when they left school, to crib from; but I have a heart, and I can feel. I love Venetia, I have always loved her, and, if possible, I will marry her, and marry her at once.’