TO W-- G-- MAN SEES THE DEED GOD THE CIRCUMSTANCE. JUDGE NOT, THAT YE BE NOT JUDGED. "Fanny, this tomb fulfils your pious wish: it is to the memory of him whom you called your father. Whatever was his life here--whatever sentence it hath received, Heaven, at least, will not condemn your piety, if you honour one who was good to you, and place flowers, however idle, even over that grave." "It is his--my father's--and you have thought of this for me!" said Fanny, taking his hand, and sobbing. "And I have been thinking that you were not so kind to me as you were!" "Have I not been so kind to you? Nay, forgive me, I am not happy." "Not?--you said yesterday you had been too happy." "To remember happiness is not to be happy, Fanny." "That's true--and--" Fanny stopped; and, as she bent over the tomb, musing, Vaudemont, willing to leave her undisturbed, and feeling bitterly how little his conscience could vindicate, though it might find palliation for, the dark man who slept not there--retired a few paces. At this time the new-married pair, with their witnesses, the clergyman, &c., came from the vestry, and crossed the path. Fanny, as she turned from the tomb, saw them, and stood still, looking earnestly at the bride. "What a lovely face!" said the mother. "Is it--yes it is--the poor idiot girl." "Ah!" said 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_.