“Fanny, look there--no, to the left--you see that old woman, in rags, crawling wearily along; turn now to the right--you see that fine house glancing through the trees, with a carriage and four at the gates? The difference between that old woman and the owner of that house is--Money; and who shall blame your grandfather for liking Money?” Fanny understood; and while the wise man thus moralised, the girl, whom his very compassion so haughtily contemned, moved away to the old woman to do her little best to smooth down those disparities from which wisdom and moralising never deduct a grain! Vaudemont felt this as he saw her glide towards the beggar; but when she came bounding back to him, she had forgotten his dislike to her songs, and was chaunting, in the glee of the heart that a kind act had made glad, one of her own impromptu melodies. Vaudemont turned away. Poor Fanny had unconsciously decided his self-conquest; she guessed not what passed within him, but she suddenly recollected--what he had said to her about her songs, and fancied him displeased. “Ah I will never do it again. Brother, don’t turn away!” “But we must go home. Hark! the clock strikes seven--I have no time to lose. And you will promise me never to stir out till I return?” “I shall have no heart to stir out,” said Fanny, sadly; and then in a more cheerful voice, she added, “And I shall sing the songs you like before you come back again!” CHAPTER VIII. “Well did they know that service all by rote; Some singing loud as if they had complained, Some with their notes another manner feigned.” CHAUCER: Pie Cuckoo and the Nightingale, modernised by WORDSWORTH.--HORNE’s Edition. And once more, sweet Winandermere, we are on the banks of thy happy lake! The softest ray of the soft clear sun of early autumn trembled on the fresh waters, and glanced through the leaves of the limes and willows that were reflected--distinct as a home for the Naiads--beneath the limpid surface. You might hear in the bushes the young blackbirds trilling their first untutored notes. And the graceful dragon-fly, his wings glittering in the translucent sunshine, darted to and fro--the reeds gathered here and there in the mimic bays that broke the shelving marge of the grassy shore. And by that grassy shore, and beneath those shadowy limes, sat the young lovers. It was the very place where Spencer had first beheld Camilla. And now they were met to say, “Farewell!”