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 what then!" he exclaimed, as he paced to and fro the room,--"because her father wronged me, and because I would claim mine own--must I therefore exclude from my thoughts, from my sight, an image so fair and gentle;--the one who knelt by my side, an infant, to that hard man?--Is hate so noble a passion that it is not to admit one glimpse of Love?--_Love_! what word is that? Let me beware in time!" He paused in fierce self-contest, and, throwing open the window, gasped for air. The street in which he lodged was situated in the neighbourhood of St. James's; and, at that very moment, as if to defeat all opposition, and to close the struggle, Mrs. Beaufort's barouche drove by, Camilla at her side. Mrs. Beaufort, glancing up; languidly bowed; and Camilla herself perceived him, and he saw her change colour as she inclined her head. He gazed after them almost breathless, till the carriage disappeared; and then reclosing the window, he sat down to collect his thoughts, and again to reason with himself. But still, as he reasoned, he saw ever before him that blush and that smile. At last he sprang up, and a noble and bright expression elevated the character of his face,--"Yes, if I enter that house, if I eat that man's bread, and drink of his cup, I must forego, not justice--not what is due to my mother's name--but whatever belongs to hate and vengeance. If I enter that house--and if Providence permit me the means whereby to regain my rights, why she--the innocent one--she may be the means of saving her father from ruin, and stand like an angel by that boundary where justice runs into revenge!--Besides, is it not my duty to discover Sidney? Here is the only clue I shall obtain." With these thoughts he hesitated no more--he decided he would