'Venetia,' at length said Lady Annabel, 'why are you silent?'
'Mother, I have no more to say. I pretend not to act in this life; it is my duty to follow you.'
'And your inclination?' inquired Lady Annabel.
'I have ceased to have a wish upon any subject,' said Venetia.
'Venetia,' said Lady Annabel, with a great effort, 'I am miserable.'
This unprecedented confession of suffering from the strong mind of her mother, melted Venetia to the heart. She advanced, and threw her arms round her mother's neck, and buried her weeping face in Lady Annabel's bosom.
'Speak to me, my daughter,' said Lady Annabel; 'counsel me, for my mind trembles; anxiety has weakened it. Nay, I beseech you, speak. Speak, speak, Venetia. What shall I do?'
'Mother, I will never say anything again but that I love you!'
'I see the holy father in the distance. Let us walk to him, my child, and meet him.'
Accordingly Lady Annabel, now leaning on Venetia, approached the monk. About five minutes elapsed before they reached him, during which not a word was spoken.