And Camilla, when that uncle had dismissed her for the night, sat down thoughtfully in her own room. The dark eyes of Vaudemont seemed still to shine on her; his voice yet rung in her ear; the wild tales of daring and danger with which Liancourt had associated his name yet haunted her bewildered fancy--she started, frightened at her own thoughts. She took from her bosom some lines that Sidney had addressed to her, and, as she read and re-read, her spirit became calmed to its wonted and faithful melancholy. Vaudemont was forgotten, and the name of Sidney yet murmured on her lips, when sleep came to renew the image of the absent one, and paint in dreams the fairy land of a happy Future! CHAPTER VI “Ring on, ye bells--most pleasant is your chime!” WILSON. Isle of Palms. “O fairy child! What can I wish for thee?”--Ibid. Vaudemont remained six days in London without going to H----, and on each of those days he paid a visit to Lord Lilburne. On the seventh day, the invalid being much better, though still unable to leave his room, Camilla returned to Berkeley Square. On the same day, Vaudemont went once more to see Simon and poor Fanny. As he approached the door, he heard from the window, partially opened, for the day was clear and fine, Fanny’s sweet voice. She was chaunting one of the simple songs she had promised to learn by heart; and Vaudemont, though but a poor judge of the art, was struck and affected by the music of the voice and the earnest depth of the feeling. He paused opposite the window and called her by her name. Fanny looked forth joyously, and ran, as usual, to open the door to him. “Oh! you have been so long away; but I already know many of the songs: they say so much that I always wanted to say!” Vaudemont smiled, but languidly. “How strange it is,” said Fanny, musingly, “that there should be so much in a piece of paper! for, after all,” pointing to the open page of her book, “this is but a piece of paper--only there is life in it!” “Ay,” said Vaudemont, gloomily, and far from seizing the subtle delicacy of Fanny’s thought--her mind dwelling upon Poetry, and his upon Law,--“ay, and do you know that upon a mere scrap of paper, if I could but find it, may depend my whole fortune, my whole happiness, all that I care for in life?” “Upon a scrap of paper? Oh! how I wish I could find it! Ah! you look as if you thought I should never be wise enough for that!” Vaudemont, not listening to her, uttered a deep sigh. Fanny approached him timidly. “Do not sigh, brother,--I can’t bear to hear you sigh. You are changed. Have you, too, not been happy?” “Happy, Fanny! yes, lately very happy--too happy!”