He found Veronica alone, standing in one of those beautiful halls which have seen the fair and the bright of other days, and seem in their very atmosphere to bear the memories of more poetical times, even in the steam and rail-road age in which we live. She was arranging flowers in a large antique vase, and the classic lines of her beautiful figure accorded well with every object that the room contained, while an air of intense thought, all too deep for the light employment in which she was engaged, harmonized the whole--like the low tones of some fine instrument in the bass, pervading with its solemn sounds a fine and complicated piece of music.
Veronica looked up from the flowers as Morley entered, but seemed scarcely to see him for a moment or two, so intense was the fit of musing into which she was plunged. Then, with a graceful wave of the head, and a smile at her own abstractedness, she gave him her hand, saying--"You have been long; and, as I always do when left alone, I had fallen into a reverie."
"A sweet or a bitter one?" demanded Morley.
"Mixed," she replied, "as all things on earth are. But come, dinner will be ready in a few minutes, and in the meanwhile I will sing you a song, which has never been heard by any ears but yours. It is by a young composer, named Bellini, who will one day be a great man."
The reader may imagine how the evening passed--music, and poetry, and deep thought, and bright fancies,--Wit, and Imagination and Feeling, sporting like three sweet children on the carpet, while the good old nurses, Judgment and Prudence, were kept at the back of the door. Twice a fit of musing fell upon Veronica. Was the cause of it fear? Did she doubt herself? Did she doubt her companion? Who shall say? One thing is certain--she and Morley Ernstein were equally resolved not to fear anything, which is, in general, a strong sign of being afraid. It was late when they parted, and both started when they found how late, for the minutes had gone so rapidly that each thought the night was not far spent. They only left each other to meet again the following morning early, Veronica exacting a promise that Morley would see nothing more in Venice without her.
"I cannot refuse your friend's company," she said, "if it needs must be so; but I shall never like him, even if he were to call me an angel."
Lieberg, however, refused to be of the party, saying, with a sneer--"The housemaids in England, Morley, have a proverb which sets forth the inconveniences attending upon the number, three; at least, in reference to social things. Now, what is good for a housemaid is good for a king or a count, and therefore I will not render your party of the obnoxious number. So fare you well, and success attend you, though I am quite willing to take you a bet of five thousand pounds this moment that you do not succeed."
"I shall succeed in all I seek for," replied Morley, "for I shall seek for nothing that is not very easily obtained."
Once more the gondola skimmed along the canals, and once more Morley and Veronica, side by side, were borne over the bright Adriatic waters, throughout a world of beautiful things, and indulging their fancies to the utmost. Veronica told Morley again all that she had told him before about the coldness of her nature, and the impossibility of her ever loving any one; and Morley laughed, and assured her that the warning was unnecessary; and then they both smiled and continued the subject of love, till, landing at a palace on the Grand Canal, they walked thoughtfully into the vacant rooms hung with pictures beautiful and inestimable in themselves, but falling into sad decay. The first thing that their eyes rested upon was a small but exquisite painting of the marriage of St. Catherine, by Paul Veronese, and before it they paused for several minutes without uttering a word.
"It is strange," said Veronica, at length, "that such things should exist."