the bridegroom, tenderly, "and she, Mary, beautiful as she
is, she can never make another as happy as you have made me."

Vaudemont heard, and his heart felt sad. "Poor Fanny!--And yet, but for
that affliction--I might have loved her, ere I met the fatal face of the
daughter of my foe!" And with a deep compassion, an inexpressible and
holy fondness, he moved to Fanny.

"Come, my child; now let us go home."

"Stay," said Fanny--"you forget." And she went to strew the flowers
still left over Catherine's grave.

"Will my mother," thought Vaudemont, "forgive me, if I have other
thoughts than hate and vengeance for that house which builds its
greatness over her slandered name?" He groaned:--and that grave had lost
its melancholy charm.

CHAPTER VII.

"Of all men, I say,
That dare, for 'tis a desperate adventure,
Wear on their free necks the yoke of women,
Give me a soldier."--Knight of Malta.

"So lightly doth this little boat
Upon the scarce-touch'd billows float;
So careless doth she seem to be,
Thus left by herself on the homeless sea,
To lie there with her cheerful sail,
Till Heaven shall send some gracious gale."
WILSON: Isle of Palms.

Vaudemont returned that evening to London, and found at his lodgings
a note from Lord Lilburne, stating that as his gout was now somewhat
mitigated, his physician had recommended him to try change of air--that
Beaufort Court was in one of the western counties, in a genial
climate--that he was therefore going thither the next day for a short
time--that he had asked some of Monsieur de Vaudemont's countrymen, and
a few other friends, to enliven the circle of a dull country-house--that
Mr. and Mrs. Beaufort would be delighted to see Monsieur de Vaudemont
also--and that his compliance with their invitation would be a charity
to Monsieur de Vaudemont's faithful and obliged, LILBURNE.

The first sensation of Vaudemont on reading this effusion was delight.
"I shall see her," he cried; "I shall be under the same roof!" But the
glow faded at once from his cheek;--the roof!--what roof? Be the guest
where he held himself the lord!--be the guest of Robert Beaufort!--Was
that all? Did he not meditate the deadliest war which civilised life
admits of--the War of Law--war for name, property, that very hearth,
with all its household gods, against this man--could he receive his
hospitality? "And wh