she had been at least the mistress of Sir Edward Sackville, afterwards the
fourth Earl of Dorset; that Dorset tired of her; and on Digby's return she
was more than willing to return to her old love. But, alas! Sackville had
her picture, which seemed to her compromising. Digby, therefore, having
accepted her apologies and extenuations, challenged Sackville to a duel;
whereupon the faithless one proved at least magnanimous; refused to fight,
gave up the picture, and swore that Venetia was blameless as she was fair.
A private marriage followed; and it was only on the birth of his second son
John that Sir Kenelm acknowledged it to the world. To read nearly all his
_Memoirs_ is to receive the impression that he looked on his wife as a
wronged innocent. To read the whole is to feel he knew the truth and took
the risk, which was not very great after all; for the lady of the many
suitors and several adventures settled down to the mildest domesticity.
They say he was jealous; but no one has said she gave him cause. The tale
runs that Dorset visited them once a year, and "only kissed her hand, Sir
Kenelm being by."

But Digby was a good lover. All the absurd rhodomontade of his strange
_Memoirs_ notwithstanding, there are gleams of rare beauty in the story of
his passion, which raise him to the level of the great lovers. His
_Memoirs_ were designed to tell "the beginning, progress, and consummation
of that excellent love, which only makes me believe that our pilgrimage in
this world is not indifferently laid upon all persons for a curse." And
here is a very memorable thing. "Understanding and love are the natural
operation of a reasonable creature; and this last, which is a gift that of
his own nature must always be bestowed, _being the only thing that is
really in his power to bestow_, it is the worthiest and noblest that can be
given."

But, as he naïvely says, "the relations that follow marriage are ... a clog